Rough Theory

Theory In The Rough

The Order of Things

Just wanted to post a few quick thoughts about my reactions to the Governments and Communities in Partnership conference thus far. The conference is divided between refereed academic papers and practitioner presentations (often combined in the same panel, but still distinct presentation types) and, because I’m using the conference to learn about regional issues that reflect trends at my own field site, I’m generally choosing workshop sessions that tilt heavily toward the practitioner side. I have therefore managed to miss many academic papers that would have interested me – but that I can also easily track down post-conference, when the papers are published… I may comment on some of these papers at a later point…

Still, I’m finding myself reacting to the academic dimensions in the practitioner presentations (which isn’t completely surprising, since many of the practitioners also have a substantial academic background, or are working in tandem with research academics). One striking thing, to me, is how many papers view “theory” as a synonym for a sort of classificatory device – so your “theory” is something that allows you make definitions that then make it possible to draw grids, or sketch points along continua, in order to classify and organise various empirical observations. So, for example, a presentation might offer definitions of a “network” and of a “bureaucracy”, and then report back on which dimensions of particular organisations fit into the “network” box, and which fit into the “bureaucracy” box…

When I say that this is striking, I don’t mean that it’s surprising – theory-as-classification-system is, I suspect, a far more common understanding of sociological theory than, say, the kind of theory that I do. I find it striking, I think, because I often find myself personally confused about what these gridlike classifications systems illuminate, that thick description wouldn’t illuminate more effectively… I have a very similar reaction to social scientific work that takes what are essentially everyday observations and writes them in an “algebraic” style, when there is no actual math taking place: I’m happy for people to use equations to model human behaviour, but I’m not sold on the value of taking something that could just as easily be described in ordinary language, and translating that language into something that “looks mathematical”, but can’t actually be manipulated mathematically. To me, this has all the disadvantages of mathematical modelling (that someone has to learn your specific symbolic system to understand what you’re talking about), with none of the power…

And yet, gridlike classification systems (and, to some audiences at least, “mathlike” renderings of essentially non-mathematical observational data) do have a visible power when they’re presented: people do empirically – you can watch the effect cascade through the room – seem to find it clarifying to be told that government agency x falls closer to the “network” side of the continuum, while private company y falls more toward the “bureaucratic” side… I suspect the power has something to do with the “collective effervescence” of the experience – with the shock of recognition that something that you might have noticed about your own organisation, or other organisations, but had regarded as an essentially private and idiosyncratic interpretation, in actuality connects up with experiences that resonate far more broadly.

This recognition of shared experiences is valuable – although, by itself, I’m not sure it helps us orient ourselves better, so that we can choose better actions… Among other things, I’m concerned that the widespread recognition that, e.g., lots of people are thinking about networks – lots of people share an aesthetic that experiences networks as energetic and flexible and creative and marvelous in all dimensions – without an analysis that helps us understand why this experience is so common now, can contribute to the juggernaut of unreflexive transformation… But, of course, I would think that… ;-P

I am genuinely curious, though, about the “cash value” of this classificatory approach to social science research – which I acknowledge is far more common than the kind of theory I like to do. (I also recognise, of course, that refining definitions and abstraction from thick description is also important for the kind of theory that I do – I’m not trying to claim that my approach to theoretical work shares nothing with more conventional approaches.) I understand the value from a corporate or management perspective: once you’ve decided, for example, that you want to decentralise decision-making, it can be handy to know where decision-making remains highly centralised. But from an academic analytical perspective – from the perspective of grasping a phenomenon, understanding it, making sense of it: are we actually any closer to achieving these goals, when we’ve decided how we want to classify a phenomenon?

But this question is probably asked from a fairly idiosyncratic viewpoint – it could equally be asked whether we’ve really understood something when, as in the kind of theory I prefer, we’ve understood its contingency: how it came into being, and how it is currently being sustained. To me, of course, a knowledge of historical contingency provides a means of orienting ourselves to action – a means of knowing something about the possibilities and constraints open to us at a particular point in time. On the field of historical action, however, grids and definitions – as articulations that help to ossify interpretations of our historical moment – have dramatic practical effect by channeling perceptions of the current moment into deeper and more precisely defined grooves… So maybe the question is more what the “cash value” is of a form of theory that constantly tries to swim upstream against this kind of historical current…

Talking the Talk

I won’t blog today about the other papers at the Governments and Communities in Partnership conference – I’ve sketched some notes on some interesting convergent themes, but I’ll try to sum those up in a post tomorrow. I did want to post a copy of the talk I delivered below the fold – the talk is significantly shorter than the paper, but also significantly longer than a standard blog post, so be warned…

Some funny things from the session where I delivered my paper: first, the members of my reading group, evidently put out that my paper prevented our regular Monday lunchtime meeting, invaded the session (if by “invaded” you understand “slipped into the back and sat in the most shadowy corner of the conference room, from which they promptly slipped back out once I had finished speaking”).

A technical glitch meant that the session began ten minutes late, which ordinarily wouldn’t have had much of an effect. This conference has been designed, though, to allow people to swap and change between concurrent sessions – so people could, for example, attend paper 1 from one session, and leave when that paper was done, being reasonably sure that paper 2 from another session would begin promptly on time. This meant that the entirety of the ten-minute delay had to come out of the first presentation, which, as luck would have it, was mine.

This had two impacts on my presentation: first, there was no time for questions afterward (this was likely a good thing, as my piece was so abstract, compared to the other papers I saw at the conference, that I’m reasonably certain no one would have had any questions to ask…) – instead, people were directed by the facilitator to my blog. The facilitator had evidently followed a footnote in the paper back here, and found it very striking that I would post work online – particularly work that I have specifically posted because I believe it needs additional revision. Before, during and after the panel session, she made a point of telling me how surprised she was at the “openness” of it all.

The second impact was that, contrary to my normal practice, I actually had to read the talk I had written, to make sure that I kept strictly to an allocated time substantially shorter than what I had expected. I hate reading talks, and I generally feel strongest and most comfortable giving ad-lib presentations. But, given the complexity of what I was trying to cover, the fundamental strangeness of my talk for this venue, and the time constraints, it seemed the best thing to do at the time…

The side effect is that the talk below is reasonably close to what I actually said, and provides a decent simplified and potted version of the full-length paper. I’ll give advance warning that this talk contains no footnotes or literature references, as the talk was not distributed at the conference, and I would expect readers to consult the published version of the paper for this purpose. Read more of this post

Governments and Communities Conference

For the next few days, I’ll be at a Melbourne University Centre for Public Policy conference, ambitiously titled Governments and Communities in Partnership: From Theory to Practice. I’ve mentioned previously that the paper I’ll be delivering there doesn’t exactly meet the ambitious “from theory to practice” goal posed in the conference title. Looking back over my paper to try to figure out how to speak to it at the conference, I notice with some amusement that the introduction to the paper follows the form: “Have you heard about this really interesting and important question? Yeah – that one – the one this conference is supposed to be about? Yeah – I agree – that question is just absolutely fascinating… But I’m not going to discuss that question here.” I then spend my allocated 8000 words, not even answering a different question, but instead just trying to figure out a good question to ask…

For any local readers who might be at the conference, my panel is on Monday afternoon at 1:45 – PM Workshop 8: Perspectives on Communities. I approach this panel presentation with some trepidation, as I appear to be the first paper off the rank and, strangely, don’t seem to say anything about communities… I’m not even completely sure I offer something that could properly be called a perspective… We’ll hope those in attendance don’t have high expectations that the first paper in their panel will actually have what one might call a… connection to the ostensible topic…

My intention is to blog a bit over the next few days about things I hear and read from the conference (best laid plans and all of that…).

The conference program is available online.

Holy Moses!

I’ve been intending to point readers to this BBC article on Amanda McKittrick Ros. I was too busy to put a post together in a timely fashion, though, and I now notice that many other bloggers have fun posts up on Ros and other creators of almost demonically inspired bad writing. The BBC article promotes a Belfast literary festival that has issued a challenge for “lovers of awful literature”: the festival will hold a competition to see who can read the longest passage from Ros’ work without laughing. Sound easy? See how well you go with these selections:

Visiting Westminster Abbey

Holy Moses! Have a look!
Flesh decayed in every nook!
Some rare bits of brain lie here,
Mortal loads of beef and beer,
Some of whom are turned to dust,
Every one bids lost to lust;
Royal flesh so tinged with ‘blue’
Undergoes the same as you. (via Wikipedia)

Or this piece on the death of a lawyer:

Beneath me here in stinking clumps
Lies Lawyer Largebones, all in lumps;
A rotten mass of clockholed clay,
Which grown more honeycombed each day.
See how the rats have scratched his face?
Now so unlike the human race;
I very much regret I can’t
Assist them in their eager ‘bent.’ (via fastlad)

Or perhaps you prefer more of a prose selection:

Every sentence the able and beautiful girl uttered caused Sir John to shift his apparently uncomfortable person nearer and nearer, watching at the same time minutely the divine picture of innocence, until at last, when her reply was ended, he found himself, altogether unconsciously, clasping her to his bosom, whilst the ruby rims which so recently proclaimed accusations and innocence met with unearthly sweetness, chasing every fault over the hills of doubt, until hidden in the hollow of immediate hate. (from Irene Iddesleigh via Oddbooks)

Oddbooks has an online shrine devoted to Ros’ work, for those who would like to learn more. You may also want to read the historical precedent for the Belfast Literary Festival event – attempting to read Ros without laughing was apparently a leisure activity for the Inklings.

Want to See Something Really Scary?

Scott Eric Kaufman over at Acephalous is blogging about dissertation fears again (for the record, he and I have had this conversation before).

Scott started things off with four of his fears; others have added theirs – as of this posting, the list is up to 16 (with two different contenders for #15). My main fear has remained constant now across several research degrees: that I am working on something that is completely obvious to everyone else, and that, when I finish, everyone will look at me and say, “You’ve spent three years on this?! Everyone knows this!”

From the Acephalous thread, I particularly enjoyed #8: “If you re-read your own work, you will discover you haven’t been writing in complete sentences.”

A warning, though, before you hop over and have a look: one recent commenter has complained, “Ya’ll certainly know how to dampen the (apparently naive) enthusiasm of a first year grad student.”

*sigh*

Site problems again… You may see some odd issues over the next several days, as we play around in the back end…

This Seems Strangely… Familiar…

Via Urban Planning Blog, an image from Jorge Cham’s Piled Higher and Deeper (PhD) comics that is perhaps particularly poignant for us ARC Linkage Grant PhD students…

But I write it up using the Scientific Method...

Note: This image copyright Jorge Cham “Piled Higher and Deeper” http://www.phdcomics.com

How Advanced Is My Class?

I’ve just received a “graduate capabilities” survey from my university, asking me to indicate how advanced are the skills conferred by my History and Theory of Planning course. The form is divided into subcategories for specific topics and skill sets – sustainability, economics, IT skills, etc. I would imagine this sort of information is used for overall course planning, to make sure that, as a degree program, we offer students the capacity to receive advanced training in all of these areas through an appropriate combination of courses.

The trick for me is that the form requires a comparative knowledge of other courses – knowledge that I don’t necessarily have. I feel reasonably comfortable, for example, indicating that my course doesn’t provide advanced training in sustainability, because I knew when designing the course that students have other opportunities for detailed work in this area, so I didn’t emphasise this topic. I’m less sure, however, how to evaluate some of the other topics and skills – it’s harder to tell, from the information I have available, how other courses cover, for example, topics like economics, or skills like critical thinking…

All of which is a long-winded way of saying that I’ve made the blank form available online, in case lurking students would like to help me out with a bit of comparative feedback. If you have time, could you fill in your personal perception of how the skills covered in my History and Theory of Planning course compare to the standards across the degree program as a whole, and email the results to me. Or, if you prefer, post comments below on the topics that interest you.

I have a couple of weeks to respond, so any feedback between now and early October would be most helpful. The form is available here.

[Note: this form is not used to evaluate my personal teaching skills, so don’t worry if you need to indicate that the course doesn’t cover something, or covers something very superficially: no course will cover all listed skills at an “advanced” level.]

Chocolate Covered Homework

Guess what I just dug out of my backpack…

My son apparently decided to file a chocolate bar in my bookbag, which I then crushed under a large stack of student papers. It gives a certain chocolate gild effect to the edges of the assignments…

I suppose it’s better than the time he got to my desk while I was grading, and left his own “comments” all over a student’s assignment…

Becoming the Teachers We Didn’t Have

Like parents who want to spare their children the worst experiences from their own childhoods, academics often choose pedagogical strategies in the hope of sparing their students from their own worst university experiences. A post from See Jane Compute reminded me of this issue. Jane reports:

The story of how I teach intro courses has to start with my own first experience with a programming class in college. In short, it was a complete disaster. Now, I was not a complete newbie–I had taken a few computer courses in junior high and in high school, although none on the “serious programming content” or AP level, so I at least knew a bit about how computer programs worked. And for the first few weeks, everything was fine. But about halfway through the class, we were introduced to a concept–and I don’t even remember exactly what it was anymore–that I just could not understand. Unfortunately, programming courses build heavily on previous material, and so this pretty much sealed my doom. Also, the class picks up steam and more material is covered in the second half, so I quickly found myself drowning. On top of everything, the professor was one of those brilliant types that have no business teaching undergrads (i.e., couldn’t teach you if you weren’t already a programming genius), the TA spoke little English, and I was intimidated by the fact that all of my classmates either (a) seemed to get things much faster than I did, or (b) cheated their way through the class. By some miracle, I got a B in the class–to this day, I have no idea how I pulled it off. But the damage was done: I now *hated* programming, an activity that had only brought me joy in the past.

She then goes on to say:

This experience, more than any other experience I had as an undergrad, colors the way I approach teaching. My number one goal in teaching intro courses is to make sure that my students’ first experience with programming is overwhelmingly positive (or as positive as possible). I remember the despair I felt, and I keep that in mind as I introduce concepts, make up homeworks, and talk to my students in class and in office hours. I try to make sure that my interactions with students, and what I do in the classroom, encourages them rather than discourages them.

I have a similar undergraduate memory that haunts my teaching practice. Read more of this post

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