Monday, October 24, 2016

You love the Left

It is so tremendously handy. If anything stupid is ever uttered, someone from the Left uttered it. If something stupid happens, someone on the Left thought it a good idea. If something ever goes wrong, there is always some specter of the Left causing it.

This state of things solves the ever so tricky problem of finding someone to blame. It is after all something of a hassle to analyze the situation, understand the historical context and identify the motives of all the relevant moving parts. It is an even bigger hassle to admit that things are complex and more often than not ended up the way are without anyone actually wanting them that way.

Blaming the Left is so much easier. Whatever it is, whatever has happened, whatever the situation. It was always the Left.

The only thing left is to admit it. You love the Left.

The alternative is, as you already know, an uncomfortable hassle.

Originally published May 26, 2015

Words about words about you

Looking back on the now not so recent Discursive Anomaly on plagiarism, I realized just how much of a multi-stage process source use is. And, moreover, how many stages of knowing what it is about there actually are. It's not as simple as knowing or not knowing, but rather a complex coming into one's own as a reading subject.

Here are some sketches of these stages. To give you something to think about.

The first stage is not being aware at all of the use or purpose of using sources. While I suspect humans are incapable of existing in this state in a more general sense (the phrase "but mom said" is in fact source use), in the context of writing they can and do exist without it. Reporting what someone else has written is not an intuitive concept, and like writing itself it has to be learned.

The next stage is knowing that sources can be used. Even if it is only rudimentary, or mechanically. Or, as in many a case, that there's an expectation to put something like (Foucault 1975) at an appropriate looking spot in the text. The text needs to relate to other texts somehow, or at least go through the motions of doing so.

This might seem like a trivial difference. The step from not being aware of something and being superficially aware of it is not a big step. But, as with many things, you have to start somewhere, and then gradually work through it. Even if the baby steps will look awkward in hindsight.

Next up is knowing that not all sources are good, and that some ought to be avoided. Simply having a source does not a well-grounded text make, and knowing what counts as a good source and what does not count is a skillset all of its own. The ability to look upon different texts and see what they have to offer to the specific context of one's own writing is a skill that takes time, practice and familiarity to grow.

These things are not made easier by different contexts drawing upon different bodies of knowledge. Sometimes, drawing upon Wikipedia is frowned upon, while at other times it is perfectly fine. It all depends, and finding out exactly on what it all depends (genre, tradition, situation, politics, policies, etc) is a slow and wordy process.

Next up is to summarize a line of argument. That is to say, to in some fashion paraphrase a text to give readers some insight into what it has to say. This goes beyond simply invoking the name (Foucault 1975) or saying that someone said something. Giving an account of what someone else has said, and working through the steps of it in a fair fashion, takes more work than it seems. It forces you as a reader to look closely at what the sourced text does, and to understand it well enough to give a fair account in your own words of it.

Texts do more than they seem to at first glance. Reading a text once and getting the gist of it is all well and good. But when read again, you'll find that the text makes all kinds of assumptions and uses a wide range of premises that your first glance didn't catch. Summarizing a text and conveying its core message means sorting through which of its parts are important and which are not. Figuring out what's what can sometimes take more time than might be reasonable to expect.

The point here is to take the strong points of someone else's argument and repurpose them in your own writing. No need to reinvent the wheel when you can borrow the schematics, as it were.

Next up is finding out that you do not have to agree with what you source. You can summarize it (as indicated above), and then go on to explain why you don't agree with it. Of course, simply saying that you do not agree with it is somewhat of a waste of verbiage - the fact that you have given a summary of what the other said means you can go into specific detail of why and how you don't agree. You can get real.

You still have to do the work of summarizing the other's line of argument in a fair and correct way, though. If you get it wrong, then the fact that they got it wrong first is lost upon closer inspection.

Next up is comparing and contrasting. That is to say, to summarize several texts and see how (or if) they relate to each other. The point of this is to put things and texts into context, and to make sure that this context is one of your own making. It is one of the hardest things to do, writing wise, but if you can manage to source several texts in such a way that your own point of view comes across in the process, you have a power that is both immense and beyond comprehension.

Next up is whatever you well damn please. You can take texts and make them dance. Compare a beautiful passage here with a striking argument there, and see what interesting thought children they make.

I suspect they will be beautiful striking and interesting by virtue of being yours. -

Sunday, October 9, 2016

Horse notes

I'm writing a thesis on horse_ebooks (because of course that's what I'd be doing), and one of the possible avenues of approach I'm investigating is Bakhtin's notion of genre. Because you are interested in the Horse, I'm going to share a few notes on this notion with you. To further a common understanding of the situation.

A classic understanding of communication and utterances is that someone wants to say something. They have some inner thought or emotion they wish to express, and in order to express it they turn to language. Using their understanding of grammar and their available vocabulary, they effort to produce some discourse that will hopefully convey the message across to the listener. It's a directed process, from one self to another.

Bakhtin is not a fan of this classic understanding. Rather, he proposes we understand communication in terms of genres. While it is true that communication takes place between individuals, it's not a question of one person talking directly to another person. Instead, it is a question of a person in a particular situation talking to others who are also in the same particular situation, and this situation has distinct and non-subtle effects on how the things being said are interpreted. The situation is as much a part of the communicative effort as the individuals in it.

A trivial example of this is a wedding ceremony. Everyone gathered has a certain understanding of what is going on, and unless something out of the ordinary happens, the situation will unfold as expected. Everyone knows the genre of wedding ceremonies, and this knowledge informs how those present understand what is occurring there and then. And, conversely, that it'd be weird if someone would act in a manner not in accordance with this genre.

Someone suddenly standing up and giving a rousing oration on the need to lower import taxes would be extremely out of place, and possibly cause a minor scandal. Whether or not there's actually a need to lower these tariffs is beside the point - there's a wedding going on, after all.

This kind of situational awareness is not unique to weddings, to be sure. It goes for all social situations, in general. However, there are only a certain number of such situations, and most of them tend to resemble each other over time. They become genres, albeit informal ones, and the understanding of those present informs what can be said in future such situations. If you are able to mobilize an understanding of the relevant genres, you will be able to make things happen in future situations pertaining to them.

The next time you hear someone relate an anecdote of someone acting strange at work, then they are giving an account of someone not understanding the genres at work. There is a certain expectation of how people ought to behave, and someone didn't act in accordance with these expectations. To amusing or confounding effect.

I imagine you might be thinking to yourself - how does this relate to the Horse? Which is a both understandable and crucial question

Remember how Bakhtin wasn't a fan of the classic understanding of communication? How it's not about one person saying something in a void, but rather a process of shared understanding of specific situations?

This becomes relevant in the context of the Horse, as it becomes meaningless to analyze it in terms of semantics and intention. It does not try to convey some sort of message, and decoding what it might be intending to communicate is a pointless exercise. It is communication without a subject, as it were.

Yet, it has over a hundred thousand followers. Clearly, it accomplished something with its tweets. And my hunch is that Bakhtin's notion of genre as social expectations might help uncover what this is.

Tuesday, October 4, 2016

Grading EU on a curve

Technically, our local universities have a new grading system. This follows from the Bologna process, which aims to standardize grading systems across the EU (among other things). However, given the considerable autonomy our local universities have, the rate of implementation varies from university to university.

The reasons for this have little to do with the new grades in and of themselves, above and beyond the basic reluctance of institutions to change anything at all. Rather, it has to do with a peculiarity of the legal status given to the new grades, and what it means to be given a particular grade instead of another.

The old system had three grades: fail, pass and pass with distinction. The difference between passing and passing with distinction is often quite significant in terms of effort, and utterly irrelevant to anything at all outside of your sense of accomplishment. The important thing is whether you passed or not, and the range of important grades stops there.

This has implications for the legal status of these grades. Given that our local universities are government institutions, and you cannot challenge decisions by government institutions that are in your favor, this means that you cannot challenge the decision to give you a "pass" rather than a "pass with distinction". The difference between passing and passing with distinction is so miniscule that it makes no difference, but passing a course is beneficial to you. Thus, since passing a course is a beneficial governmental decision, it cannot be challenged.

(It is not unheard of for students to intentionally fail a test they know they'd only get a pass on, in order to redo it later to ensure they'd pass with distinction. These minmaxing daredevils are rare and far between, though.)

The grading system proposed by the Bologna process, however, has more steps in it, ranging from A to F(ail). This might seem like a minor point, and if your only aim is to get through the educational process in one piece, it is. However, since there are more steps in the new system, the legal status of any particular grade is slightly different compared to the old system.

Specifically, getting a B rather than, say, a C, is better all around. It makes a difference. It says something about you. Something that is left utterly implicit in the old system.

This means that it is possible to challenge grades given in the new system (given that they are not an A). And students do challenge grades, en masse. The universities can't revoke a grade due to a student being annoying, but they can raise a grade if badgered about it with sufficient paperwork. Thus, the paperwork commences.

Equally thus, universities are dragging their feet in implementing the new grade system. Because being badgered with paperwork is a chore. An easily avoided chore.

If you want to understand the process of EU integration, all you have to do is to take the state of affairs described above, and multiply it across all the institutions of all the countries.

All of them.

Friday, September 23, 2016

Free speech, but as a public good

The core of free speech is that words have meaning. This is a point so obvious that it goes without saying, and it is thus all the more confounding that it seemingly has to be said. Not least in these perilous times, when the only thing keeping pace with the frequency of meaningless statements is their volume.

I need not remind that one of the most frequent loudmouths has a fifty/fifty shot of becoming the next US president.

The classical arguments for free speech had very little to do with individual expression. They did not primarily expound the right and virtue of being an asshat in public. Rather, these classical arguments were primarily concerned with the positive effects of not having public debate limited by the public institutions that were the object of debate. Primary among such institutions were monarchies with varying degrees of absolute authority.

One of the positive effects of free speech is that the public, by partaking of the public debate, would have a reliable source of information to base their opinions on. After having read the arguments to and fro, for and against, the public would stand at the ready to mobilize their own rational faculties in their day-to-day democratic activities. Thus, the public is informed on the issues, understand who the actors are and what is at stake, and can get to work utilizing the best knowledge available to them. Whatever the king sovereign might opine on the matter.

The hidden premise here is of course that the public debate is conducted properly and in good faith. Those participating are expected to bring clear understanding to bear on the issues of the day, and inform the reading public about what is at stake. The function of public debate is to educate and mobilize the public with regards to the issues of the day. If this function is not fulfilled, things go awry. The public bases its decisions and deliberations on poorer information than it ought, and the democratic decision-making processes suffers because of this.

This is a radically different notion of free speech than the nihilistic freedom to unabashedly shout one stupidity after another in public. While some might feel good by roaring "RETARD!" at the top of their lungs on the town square, such roars do not contribute anything constructive to the public debate. Such antics do not create or convey an understanding of current issues, and it goes without saying that there are more interesting avenues of speech to explore.

The same goes for self-identified nazis. The issue as stake is not that the public has not heard what they have to say, and would be convinced if they but took the time to absorb more refined versions of nazi rhetoric. Quite the opposite: the arguments have already been presented, both in general and in their most specific implementation. Adding more speech will not further anyone's understanding of what is at stake. History has already rendered judgement on these matters, and there is little left to add.

With this in mind, it is hard to take self-proclaimed free speech provocateurs seriously. They are either disingenuous or know not of what they speak. In either case, nothing is gained by helping them spread their unrelenting ululations.

We know better know. It would be to insult generations of free speech advocacy to not have learnt these things by now.

Originally published August 10, 2016

Tuesday, September 20, 2016

The question of useful knowledge

Every once in a while, the question of the usefulness of knowledge rears its ugly head. Usually in the context of education, where it is accompanying the question of what to teach the kids (and where to allocate limited monetary resources). At other times, as a connotation to the accusation that you are wasting your life by not learning something else - such as the art of accounting or lawyering.

The worst part about it - aside from the "can we get away with not spending money on this" and "why are you wasting your life" parts - is that the measure of what is useful always is a retroactive quality. You never know what will be useful to know until you are in the situation wherein it would be useful, and by then it is usually too late to learn fast enough to make a difference. The only way to be prepared is to have learnt these things ahead of time. You never know what will be useful until it is.

Moreover, the notion of useful knowledge is usually defined with a few specific situations in mind, ruling out most of the vastness of human experience as irrelevant. This is seen most clearly when it comes to educational regimes focused on preparing kids for work, to the exclusion of everything else. Everything is geared towards this one particular purpose, and those things not specifically geared towards this purpose are ignored.

What is the workplace utility of critical literacy, of knowing how to be a supporting family member, or of fluency in the arts?

What is the workplace utility of having read a poem that makes the experience of having a bad breakup more bearable?

When push comes to shove, the notion of useful knowledge always depends on just exactly who it is supposed to be useful for. More often than not, it tends to be someone who is not you. Their exact identity is shared on a need-to-know basis, and you do not need to know.

The question of whether knowledge is useful or not is never asked without hostile intent. Let there be no mistake about that.

Friday, September 9, 2016

Against content

Containerization is one of the forgotten obvious aspects of modern life. Containers are everywhere, and many modern cities have huge areas dedicated to their loading and unloading. Containers move hither and dither, but unless you are actively working with logistics, you are not likely to think about them other than as something that has always been there. Indeed, it would be very strange and disconcerting if they weren't there - the rhythm and ambiance of daily city life would be perturbed without them at the periphery of perception. Containers are as staple as the goods they contain, as it were.

Like malls, if you've seen one, you've seen them all. One container is identical to any other container, except for eventual external markings of corporate ownership. They are all the same size, weigh the same and handle the same. Which is the point. No matter where you are, you can pack things in containers and transport them anywhere else in the world. Wherever you go, there will be infrastructure ready to accept and process your container - since they are all identical.

The point of this standardization is to make it easier to move things around. Since the containers are all the same, it doesn't matter what happens to be inside them. Writ large, this means that the various trucks, trains and airplanes used to move things can be designed to move a certain number of containers, and set in motion once they have loaded the desired number. Moving any one container is the same as moving any other, and large amounts of content can be moved efficiently as it can all be processed through the same system, rather than in parallel systems that all move differently. One size fits all.

It might be surprising to find out that the process of containerization began rather recently, and that harbors, airports and train stations used to have trained crews on hand to load and unload different cargoes in the manners that suited them. Furniture had to be handled in a different manner than, say, foodstuffs, and each category of things had to have specialized infrastructure and institutionalized knowledge sets in place in order to be processed properly and efficiently. Which, as you might imagine, is more resource and labor intensive than having an all-encompassing system being able to process all the things.

This before-time is still in living memory, and there are plenty of stories of logistical mishaps to be told from those days. You have but to know whom to ask.

The reason for this text coming to being is not, however, the fascinating global process of logistical standardization in and of itself. Rather, it's how this same process has begun to happen in a more metaphorical way in the present. It can all be summed up in one singular word, and you will understand the significance of the above paragraphs once you see it:


The notion of content is problematic, to say the least. It assumes that all mediated things are, in some fashion, identical, and that the particulars of any given media artifact does not matter. Writing, movies, computer games, music - it's all content. In the standardized world of content delivery, it's all the same. All of human culture has been reduced to one singular ubiquitous gray goo, and the point of it all is not to distinguish one artifact from another, but to keep consumers busy with enough content to maintain a satisfactory profit margin.

This is a rather nihilistic view of culture, and if you spend too much time with it you end up thinking of your creative processes as content creation. You're not writing to express ideas or influence people; you're writing to give readers enough content to keep reading. You're not making music that will move souls and provide katharsis for a new age; you're filling out the minutes until you have enough content. You're not creating anything in particular, but rather a sustained generalized discursive noise that will keep your audience content - if you'll pardon the pun.

This is not to say that there isn't uses for such lines of thinking. Some things become easier to do once you realize that most of it is content - for example functional writing such as journalism or graduate theses.  These things become less cumbersome to do once you realize that it's not about you, and that the main thing is getting words on a page. But it shouldn't be your only line of thinking about your creative processes, or even the main one. You're not doing what you do because you have to, but because you want to.

Content can be created by pressing record and screaming into a microphone for three hours. If we follow the logic of containerization of culture and ideas, we end up in a place where there really is no point to go those extra miles in order to say something in particular. When the aim is to fill out empty containers with content, anything goes. And it goes with expedient efficiency.

You're not a content creator. You're a writer, artist, game maker, musician - you're doing things in order to express something that wouldn't be expressed if it weren't for you. You're contributing to this world. You're a context creator.

What you do matters.

Keep at it.