Rough Theory

Theory In The Rough

On Branching Out

Kerim from Savage Minds has made an interesting post on the need to preserve a space within the academy for “large questions in their entirety”. Among other points, Kerim draws attention to the common advice given to graduate students to focus on narrow specialisations until they are well-established in their academic careers, at which point they can “branch out”. I’ve posted at greater length over at Savage Minds, but I thought I would reproduce part of the exchange here, since I’ve been meaning to mention some of these same issues on this blog. Within my initial response, I commented:

Weber’s view is fairly commonly expressed in advice to graduate students, in my experience – often accompanied with a kind of historical just-so story about how it used to be possible to theorise large issues, but the world has now sadly become too complex… I’ve always felt it contradictory, at best, for academics to say things like this, while continuing to assign classic theory to graduate students: if the world is now too complex for us to develop our own grand theories, surely the ones from the 19th century should now appear hopelessly naive…

I’ve also personally always questioned the notion that students should be apprenticed to narrow specialisation in the theory that, at some later point, they can “branch out”: surely it is more common for us to develop into deeper and more refined versions of what we actually practice, so that an exclusive focus on narrow specialisation will predictably generate experienced and practiced specialists – not big picture theorists… If the “big questions” aren’t somehow there from the beginning, I’m not sure how a lifetime of attention to small questions is supposed to generate them…

Kerim picks up on this, and comments critically on the tendency to teach graduates brief critiques of the principal “big picture” theoretical traditions, a position I second:

What I always think when I hear one of those one-line critiques is something along the lines of “false consciousness is also true”: the really interesting aspect of any critique is precisely that it casts into clear relief how very strange it is, that we have managed to make sense of the world through the theories we create, in spite of their (occasionally large) empirical weaknesses. Critique should be the beginning of the puzzle, not the end – the real trick is to uncover why the theories were plausible, not just to tick off why they are wrong.

Hostile Climate…

A balloon-clad stripper entertained scientists at a conference on global warming.Australian readers will already be familiar with the recent story about how scientists gathered for a conference on climate change discovered… new reasons for temperatures to rise. According to The Age articles linked above, the events organiser, one Professor Mike Hutchinson from the Centre for Resource and Environment Studies at ANU, booked what was apparently originally intended to be a 45-minute burlesque routine. The routine was cut after ten minutes, when a number of the scientists present began to walk out. Ten minutes, however, was evidently enough to allow a stripper covered in balloons to circulate around the room, offering the use of a pin to consenting scientists, and for other sexually-suggestive jokes and performances.

The event was apparently intended as the highlight of the 17th Annual Australia New Zealand Climate Change Forum, and had received sponsorship from the Australian federal government, the Australian Research Council, and others. In response to complaints about the event, the ANZ Climate Change Forum organising committee has offered to allow sponsors to withdraw, and at least some government sponsors have indicated that they will be taking up the offer.

I’m not personally sure what to say about this incident – mainly because I find the concept of scheduling this kind of entertainment for what claims to be a scientific conference so bizarre that I’m not sure I can really add anything meaningful to the… er… bare facts. Maybe I’m just not attending the right conferences, but I’ve generally seen conference entertainment like, you know, speakers who have something interesting or controversial to say about issues related to the conference topic…

I notice that one of the women involved in the burlesque performance has asked:

“Why is it any different to hiring a ventriloquist? Professor Hutchinson may well have misread his guests, but it’s a statement about how fearful we as a society are about sex. Are we also saying scientists are not sexual people, for heaven’s sake?”

I realise that much of the debate occurring over this incident relates primarily to the issue of gender relations, particularly given the sensitivities around recruiting and retaining qualified women in the sciences, and so it makes sense that most of the discussion has centred on the issue of comfort or discomfort with sexuality in a professional space. I have to admit, though, I’d also find it fairly bizarre to find myself entertained by a ventriloquist at an academic conference…

So I’ve become a bit curious about whether this incident seems even more odd to me than it should, given that my major form of entertainment is dragging interesting people to coffee shops to talk about social theory, and I perceive conferences primarily as opportunities to meet new people for this purpose… In others’ experience, is there a recent precedent for this kind of “entertainment” at academic conferences?

[Note: photo of burlesque performer Rebecca Gale @2006 The Age, URL: http://www.theage.com.au/ffximage/2006/09/07/200_nat_0809.jpg ]

Elevator Evaluations

At least once a term, I end up crushed in the back of a crowded elevator, while some of my students gossip about my class in a… somewhat more candid manner than they would if they knew I were there. The gossip doesn’t bother me and, by the time I realise what’s happening, there’s usually no graceful way for me to warn the students that they’re doing this in front of me. But there’s always an awkward situation when the elevator clears out, or everyone gets off on the same floor, and the students suddenly realise that I’ve been there all along. My current strategy for minimising their concern is to pull out a book, a piece of paper, or something else to stare at, and try to look very absorbed and absent-minded professorish. Now I’m waiting for the moment when I find myself at the back of an elevator, overhearing students talk about how I’m so out of it that I didn’t even notice when they were gossiping about my course in the elevator the other day…

Class Acts

So my tutorial sessions this week in the undergraduate economics course have tried, in part, to disentangle two different ways of thinking about social class: one approach that sees class as a function of the quantity of income or wealth that someone possesses; and another – Weberian or Marxian – approach that sees class as a function of the way in which your income is derived.

Both approaches have their strengths and weaknesses. The first approach – commonly seen in pictorial representations of social “pyramids” or in discussions of population quintiles – relies, essentially, on a descriptive definition, prone to debates over where lines should be drawn between different income groups, and potentially useful for analysing things like the correllation between wealth and life outcomes. The second approach, which was historically developed to try to explain patterns in the “ideologies” or political behaviour of social groups, relies on a structural definition and argues that the role you play in the economy predisposes you to perceive society and your choices within society in specific ways – commonly expressed in terms of “class interest”.

Problems arise when, as in some of the materials I was discussing with my students today, these two very different concepts of class come to be blended together. Read more of this post

Unspeakably Good News

So now, in addition to politely refraining from blogging about things that are irritating me, I’ve been asked to refrain from blogging about things that are actually going well. I’ll therefore write generically for the moment: the “pending” grant I’ve been referencing for the past few months on the blog is now no longer pending. More details to follow, once we’ve taken our oaths of fealty, triple-checked that the funds have hit the account, etc.

Inconvenient Facts

My reading group has been working its way through Wittgenstein – first the Tractatus and now Philosophical Investigations. Along the way, we’re also reading some contemporaneous works chosen, according to our somewhat random collective mood, to cast the core text into relief.

Last week, I suggested looking at Weber’s “Science as a Vocation” – in the theory that the distinction Weber draws between the rationality of means, and the irrationality of ends, might share at least some aesthetic similarities with the Tractatus, with its distinction between the scientific propositions of which we can speak (but not as philosophers), and the metaphysical, about which we cannot speak, and therefore must be silent… I make no claim that my idiosyncratic association from Wittgenstein to Weber has any merit (Wittgenstein still being, for me, something about which I cannot intelligently speak, and whereof I therefore really must be silent…). I did enjoy, though, revisiting Weber’s text, not least because I had actually forgotten how directly Weber speaks to some of my recent dilemmas about teaching and research.

While I could engage with Weber’s text on many levels, two dimensions of his work resonate particularly strongly for me at the moment.

The first is Weber’s analysis of the academic in the role of a researcher, and the relation Weber draws between academic analysis and the commitment to the existence of a disenchanted world. Weber’s text is nuanced: he explicitly refuses to judge those who sincerely continue to believe in mystical forces, but he argues that, when entering into a specifically academic role, recourse to spiritual explanations is no longer available. Academic explanations operate within the framework of a disenchanted world, else they cease to be academic.

The second is Weber’s analysis of the academic in the role of a teacher. Weber argues passionately for explicit political advocacy – but not in the lecture hall. Significantly, Weber draws attention to the structural imbalance between faculty and students: “To the prophet and the demagogue, it is said: ‘Go your ways out into the streets and speak openly to the world’, that is, speak where criticism is possible. In the lecture-room we stand opposite our audience, and it has to remain silent.” Academic teaching operates within an intrinsic structural imbalance, thus creating an ethical obligation to refrain from political advocacy.

Weber also notes the same significant criticisms that would be posed to both of these positions today: that academic ends, in their own way, fall outside the scope of rational enquiry; and that, in practice, it is impossible to insulate students from the political opinions of the professor. I suspect that addressing these objections systematically would require a move beyond Weber’s sober theoretical pessimism. Still, Weber offers a vision of a distinctive character – a unique quality – of the academic vocation that I find personally compelling. He expresses this vision in specific relation to our role as teachers, but I would argue that it also applies, self-reflexively, to our role as researchers. Weber argues:

The primary task of a useful teacher is to teach his students to recognize ‘inconvenient’ facts – I mean facts that are inconvenient for their party opinions. And for every party opinion there are facts that are extremely inconvenient, for my own opinion no less than for others. I believe the teacher accomplishes more than a mere intellectual task if he compels his audience to accustom itself to the existence of such facts. I would be so immodest as even to apply the expression ‘moral achievement’, though perhaps that may sound too grandiose for something that should go without saying.

I find myself drawn to this description of what distinguishes academic work from other social roles: the unique importance of confronting – in others, certainly, but especially and primarily in ourselves – the existence and implications of inconvenient facts. I conceptualise the university as an institution committed to this ideal. And I agree with Weber’s assessment that this kind of work can represent a “moral achievement”. Whether I personally match up to this ideal, whether any specific university ever does, are perhaps inconvenient facts of their own… Such empirical shortcomings, however, would surely be worse, if the ideal itself were jettisoned.

On Not Hearing Myself Think

I’ve declared defeat on the draft conference paper posted below – one intended for the upcoming Melbourne Centre for Public Policy/OECD conference with the ambitious title: Governments and Communities in Partnership: from Theory to Practice. I think it’s safe to say I dove head first into the theory-practice chasm on this one – over progressive drafts, the original “practice” elements of this paper have gotten slimmer and slimmer, until now they’ve finally been completely effaced, and I’m left with an exclusively theoretical piece on Habermas, Rorty, Marx and… wait for it… Aristotle…

Some weeks ago, when the paper needed to go in for review prior to acceptance for the conference, I got to the point that I completely couldn’t hear my “voice” in the paper any more. I knew what was wrong with the paper, but I could no longer hear the cadence of the language from sentence to sentence – which usually doesn’t bode well for revising. I figured the paper was at a sufficient state for reader review, and so I sent it off, hoping that a few weeks’ break and some incisive critical commentary from the review process would drive me to make the necessary changes. Unfortunately, the main interaction I had with the reviewers was over the title (lest you get the wrong idea, the title currently on the piece is the one they finally accepted – so my original proposals were actually worse than the present rather awful title). And I’m still not hearing my voice in the paper… So I’ve given up and submitted it in its present state, hoping that I’ll get an opportunity to revise again before conference proceedings are formally published…

My current critical sense of the paper is that it suffers from three main problems:

(1) I drive full speed off a cliff at the end. Not much I can say to redeem this – it is what it is. Basically, I needed about thirty books to adequately express what I wanted to say at the conclusion to this paper, and I had only a few hundred words at my disposal. I knew this limitation going in, so the resulting moments of terror I’ll feel about this at the conference will have been well and truly earned.

(2) I suspect that my vocabulary is a bit scattershot and inconsistent across sections of the paper. Ideally, you want a kind of “object oriented” writing in a piece like this, where each section does its specific job, and passes a clear concept along to the next. I don’t think I’m quite there yet with this piece – but am having trouble revising around it because I need more distance from the paper to be able to “hear” the inconsistencies across sections.

(3) I misrepresent Rorty in the first few paragraphs of his section – focussing on the objectivism/relativism distinction, rather than mind/body dualism, which I think would be a better way “in”. Ironically, I don’t think this mistake has any implications for the critique I make of Rorty’s work – I think the critique still applies. I just make myself look a bit silly with how I describe the philosophical motivations for his work.

There are plenty of other problems: I gesture to heaps of literature, particularly literature critical of Habermas and Rorty – without nailing down specific citations for examples of the kinds of critique I’ve referenced; I gesture to broad swathes of Habermas and Rorty’s work in the citations, rather than narrowing in on specific quotations or easily-identifiable sections of their arguments (some of this is intrinsic, given the level of abstraction with which I’m discussing hundreds of pages of philosophical work, but I’d still like to have done a better job with this); I don’t gesture to the works of other authors who might offer useful takes on these same issues… These sorts of problems, at least, I can hopefully clean up before final publication.

And then there’s the problem of practice… I’m beginning to resign myself to the notion that, when I’m given twenty-odd pages to work with, I’ll write either a theoretical or an empirical piece – it’s just not enough room to combine the two in the peculiar way I want to combine them, for an audience not already somewhat familiar with how I think… This means that I recurrently alternate between writing empirical pieces (like the one I presented to the HDR conference), and having people express confusion about how this relates to my theoretical concepts, or writing theoretical pieces, and having people express confusion over how I’ll ever tie this to empirical work… Maybe I’ll eventually have a eureka moment that reveals to me how to overcome this problem. For the moment, though, if I worry too much about it, I won’t get anything written or presented – I figure it’s best just to accept it…

For anyone who wants to read the current problematic draft, the link is: Grounding the Potential for Transformative Practice

Ideological Amplification

I was looking at The New Republic’s new Open University group blog, and noticed Cass Sunstein’s post on “ideological amplification”: the process by which, some studies have argued, group interaction appears to cause politically-similar groups to move toward more extreme political positions than arise in politically-mixed groups. Sunstein cites a recent study on the issue, for those who would like to follow up.

Time constraints prevent me from writing my own views of the concept now, but I thought I’d still plug Sunstein’s blog entry for any lurking methods students who are considering how to design focus groups – depending on what research question you’re trying to explore, you might find it useful to play off of some of the ideas in the study when thinking about the composition of your groups. I also suspect the concept of ideological amplification might be interesting for some of the planning students contemplating pieces on communicative planning theory, as it might cast an interesting light on the interpretation of community consultations as a social learning process…

[Hat tip to Scott Eric Kaufman at Acephalous for drawing my attention to the Open University blog.]

The Falling Man

Reading the news this morning, I stumbled across a review of Henry Singer’s documentary 9/11: The Falling Man, which centres on Richard Drew’s iconic, but apparently quickly suppressed, photograph of a person falling from the Twin Towers. Read more of this post

Planning History and Theory: Course Renewal

As I’ve mentioned previously on this blog, I taught an undergraduate History and Theory of Planning course last term – my own (somewhat rushed) design. This term, I’m teaching into the postgraduate version of the history and theory course, which now therefore shares many of the same readings and some of the organisational elements of the undergraduate version. As it happens, the postgraduate version is also due for “renewal”, and I’ve been offered a postgraduate student’s dream job: being paid to read, so that I can refresh the reading list and reconceptualise the organisation of concepts presented in the course. While I’m at it, I’ll also rethink the reading list for the undergraduate version, if only to make my life easier if I happen to be the one who teaches that course next time around…

Course readings are intended to be refreshed every few years but, in this case, the course renewal process is also driven by the introduction of a new postgraduate planning history course – the hope being that the history course can provide basic factual knowledge that will enable the theory course to delve into more complex territory when exploring the relationship between planning theory and the broader historical context.

If anyone has any suggestions, please feel free to post them here. For reference, I’ve posted the undergraduate Course Guide and PowerPoints below the fold. (The postgrad syllabus and lectures aren’t “mine”, so I won’t reproduce those here.) My temptation is to use the historical structure of the undergraduate course in rethinking the postgraduate one – with perhaps a bit more “hard” philosophy at the outset to give a firmer understanding of core concepts – romanticism, liberalism, Enlightenment, capitalism, etc. – that can then be traced through the course. Read more of this post

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