Archive for the 'Social Theory' Category

Dreams of my father

David Frum isn’t usually my favorite pundit but recently he’s been posting too much common sense to ignore. He’s been at the forefront of conservative skepticism about Palin. One key Frum line is that Palin euphoria has moved the McCain platform from the home of straight-talking realism to a confusing land in which personal charisma, endearing backstories and competing aesthetics muddy each other. Thanks to the Palin pick,

it turns out that many conservatives care as little as ever about administrative skill and executive accomplishment. Our party and our movement overwhelmingly respond to symbolic cues.

It’s an argument other commentators have been picking up on all week and it’s got plenty of GOP loyalists worried. Peggy Noonan was embarrassed to be caught claiming that Palin only got the pick because

“I think they went for this, excuse me, political bullshit about narratives. Every time the Republicans do that, because that’s not where they live and that’s not what they’re good at, they blow it”

The question that keeps coming up is where personal narrative belongs effectively in a McCain campaign. Paul Mirengoff puts it best

We conservatives have had a good time ridiculing the Obama phenomenon, especially its messianic feel — the willingness of its adherents to pour so much hope and belief into such an empty, or at least incomplete, vessel — and its elevation of “narrative” over substance.

It turns out that we were dying to have basically the same experience.

I’d question Noonan’s conviction that “Republicans can’t do narrative” - after all, what was Bush Junior’s 2000 race but the return of the prodigal son? It turned out there was a way to take those alcoholic frat boy stories and make them do good. But Mirengoff is right to point out that they can’t ridicule Obama’s campaign for being narrative-heavy and then turn the same trick themselves. Incidentally, it’s telling that he calls Palin “a vessel” - guess those passive views of femininity just gotta pervade the language mornin’ noon and night.

But there’s a specific literary reason why Palinites shouldn’t try fighting Obama when it comes to narrative in America. Some months ago I heard a truly great literary conservative argue that the truly American narrative is the narrative of the fatherless. As a Brit, I’m often stunned by how preoccupied my American friends are with matters of ethnicity - if a nation won’t provide centuries of history to help one root one’s identity, perhaps neurotically plotting one’s genealogy and racial composition can help fill the void.

Look at the great American novels: Huck Finn, the story of a parentless boy torn between escaping and yearning for a shiftless father; The Scarlett Letter, the plot entirely driven by a child’s fatherlessness; The Catcher in the Rye, told by a boy whose parents are all too absent but who spends his days wishing he could offer children the paternal protection he clearly craves himself; The Great Gatsby, whose dominant character desperately covers up his father’s lowly origins and tries to create a whole new lineage for himself, even though that same rejected father is one of the very few who’ll show up for his funeral…the list goes on and on, the literature of a nation defined by a sense of historical rootlessness, descended from no forbears and entirely self-begotten.

So it’s not a theory I can claim as my own work, but I like it. And when it comes to narratives of fatherlessness, Obama is always going to win hands down. Sorry Sarah, you got the pick because the media strategists hadn’t read enough American novels.

And while we’re at it, check out this older Frum post attributing the cold reception given to Russell Kirk’s The Conservative Mind on publication to the Old Right’s reluctance to privilege the power of romantic narrative.

He who laughs in the newspaper of record, laughs best.

I feel a bit of an obligation to call attention to David Brooks’ column from last Friday, not because it’s particularly novel but precisely because it isn’t — at least, not to anyone who read my exchange with Reihan on cultural capital, here and here. In fact, Brooks cited it accordingly (if vaguely), in a passage that reads extremely awkwardly in unlinked print:

[With the release of the iPhone,] media displaced culture. As commenters on The American Scene blog have pointed out, the means of transmission replaced the content of culture as the center of historical excitement and as the marker of social status. Now the global thought-leader is defined less by what culture he enjoys than by the smartphone, social bookmarking site, social network and e-mail provider he uses to store and transmit it. (In this era, MySpace is the new leisure suit and an AOL e-mail address is a scarlet letter of techno-shame.)

Why the iPhone is the single catalyst for so seismic a shift is left unexplained, which is a shame. Brooks’ only major innovation over Reihan and me (other than the advice-column conceit, which is admittedly hilarious) is mapping our vague generalities onto a particular historical timeline — an innovation which would be much more welcome if the points on said timeline were justified rather than apparently arbitrary.

But Brooks’ additions are secondary; it’s the fact that his column exists at all that best proves its point (though I hope this was unintentional). It’s medium, not content, that determines who leads culture — which could be why the fact that these points were originally made by people other than Brooks is far less relevant than the fact that Brooks made them in a far more influential medium. But since the NYT isn’t as hip as a blog, Brooks’ audience doesn’t qualify as members of his “early rejecter” elite. This turns the entire column into a subtle tribute to the fringe bloggers who cultivate ideas for the media mainstream to farm, toiling in our elite obscurity, doomed to being “influential” — which as we know is a euphemism for “small potatoes”.

Chairman Dave’s Little Black Book

Anyone who cares about social decay should be heartened to see Michael Gove, the British Conservative Shadow Secretary for Children, Schools and Families speak out against the endemic pornographication of the female body in “Lads Mags” and “men’s magazines”. David Cameron, the Conservative leader, has dropped in a fair few references to our culture of sexualisation in his time as well. Being a Tory, he hasn’t even made the mistake of advocating censorship, but rather throws around concepts of “commercial responsibility” and “social awareness”.

It’s a shame, then, that “commercial responsibility” hasn’t started a little closer to home. Samantha Cameron, David’s elegant wife, is Creative Director of Smythson of Bond Street, London’s most exclusive stationary shop. It’s not a haunt I usually inhabit, but my sister has expensive tastes, so I recently trotted along, as firmly instructed by a birthday wishlist, to rub shoulders with the Duchesses and design divas gasping over bijou party invitations and business cards. Imagine my shock, in such illustrious surroundings, on seeing a display stack of a very special kind of gentleman’s notebook. For a mere £40.00, you can treat the man of your choice to a little black telephone book divided into three sections: Redheads (A-Z), Brunettes (A-Z), Blondes (A-Z). The shop assistant tells me that it’s one of Smythson’s most popular sellers. Now, I’m all for allowing politician’s spouses to retain an apolitical role, with an independent life. Samantha Cameron has never tried to make herself a public figure. But I’m sure David would agree with me that it’s a sad world in which a man’s record in casual sexual encounters remains a mark of such admirable prowess that it’s worth keeping a record in a beautifully bound Smythson quality leather product.

Shame, with Love at strife.

Helen continues her advance on the heights of literary society by getting paid to blog ’bout ha’ obsessions. Shame culture, as ever, is on the agenda, as today Ms Rittelmeyer applauds the cashier who told a teenager trying to buy a pregnancy test that “you shouldn’t be having sex in the first place”. Helen has long championed “shame culture” over “guilt culture”, a distinction known to popular parlance ever since ER Dodds identified Homeric society as a “shame society” (even if JT Hooker’s analysis of Iliad threatened to prove him wrong). According to Helen, in a moral society, there should be no “freedom from shame”. The problem is that the example she has picked to illustrate it, on further examination, actually illustrates shame failing to police the teenage sexual activity that Helen so deplores.

According to Helen’s argument, teenagers should cease a behavioural practice simply because other people will express disapproval (which is why Benedict, in her groundbreaking study of shame culture in Japan, defined it as fundamentally collectivist social trait).  Letting aside the obvious protests about the tyranny of the majority, this doesn’t involve the girl in question making a change to her own moral philosophy, just going to enough lengths not to get caught. What the individual does in private doesn’t matter, unless the consequences of that action ever become public and identifiable. This is fine if you think the problem can be solved by the teenager using enough contraception to ensure she never has to face another check out clerk. That’s not what the clerk herself had in mind, however, given that she was keen to dictate her customer that “you shouldn’t be having sex at all”. 

The social behaviour actually enforced by the clerk was: Buying pregnancy tests is shameful. Therefore, don’t buy pregnancy tests at all. 

This, of course, is no help to anyone. Whatever your views on abortion, it’s clear that the earlier a pregnancy is discovered, the better. 

We now live in a society where sex has been largely divorced from its visible consequences. So to use shame culture to stop someone having extramarital sex, you have to ensure that shame is inherent in the very moment of the sexual act. You can’t rely on pregnancy itself being shameful. Sexual acts only take place in the presence of people who approve of them. So the only way in which a disapproving spectator can be philosophically introduced is through belief in God. It is possible to teach people to feel shame in the sight of God. 

And isn’t that what we Christian cultures just call guilt?

American Birthday Defamiliarization Blogging

Savage Minds seems fairly willing to follow the Los Angeles Times in anointing Christian Lander, of Stuff White People Like, a “satirical ethnographer.” (The Times also calls him a “grassroots anthropologist” — would someone please tell them that’s more or less the only kind there is?) I appreciate the willingness to connect anthropology to cultural criticism, of course, but if it were actually anthropology it’d be funnier.

The key to this particular style of observational humor is the defamiliarization it accomplishes, which dovetails, SM notes, with “the idea that anthropologists cleverly reveal the deep structure of the seemingly close at home or obvious.” But the reason that Lander’s site is neither anthropological nor really that funny is that defamiliarization is stylistically tougher than it looks. It’s not just a matter of zooming out and noticing that all of these self-styled individualists that populate the hipster class (a class which Lander admits includes himself) are just the same, but pointing out that their everyday preferences and practices are completely ridiculous. The former gives you one joke, perhaps two; the possibilities of the latter are as limitless as the conventions and neuroses of the culture itself. But in order to properly achieve this kind of critical distance, the way in which the humorist leads his audience toward the subject — themselves — has to jar them out of their own skin: defamiliarization. (The best example I can come up with of humor that embodies this without being at all anthropological is Breakfast of Champions-era Vonnegut.)

The problem that I have with Lander isn’t that he’s unwilling to look beyond his own social circle for content (not even “lifting a Google,” to borrow a cringeworthy phrase from the Times piece). The subculture he’s describing is small and uniform enough that it works. My problem is that, at the end of the day, he doesn’t bother to disguise the fact that he knows he’s writing for them, too — or at least for people familiar with them — so he needs to do no more than point out an item on a list for his readers to start with the ironic smiles and knowing nods.

When he does continue to the “anthropological” analysis in the second part of the post, he continues to rely on the shared point of reference. Tying a phenomenon that the audience understands completely into an unfamiliar framework is about as jarring as tying an ornament to a Christmas tree. It’s not defamiliarization if they get it from the beginning. This is especially true on a blog, where any paragraph over two sentences has a drastically lower chance of actually getting read — especially if it’s not the first or last. (Lander’s less unfunny when he breaks with form, such as the post on scarves which opened with the assertion that “White People’s body temperatures do not operate on logical or consistent levels…”)

The result is that Lander doesn’t write about white people anthropologically — he’s not actually writing about them at all. He sticks quite faithfully to the name of the blog, less an ethnographer than a curator.

If you want to read a more effective (if dated) defamiliarization of the American bourgeois, check out another of my guilty-pleasure favorites of classic anthropology: Horace Miner’s “Body Ritual among the Nacirema.” In fact, I’d strongly recommend it. Holiday weekends are as much for reflection as for anything else, after all, and the Fourth — despite our continued narcissism over our origin myth — isn’t just about a moment but about the people, or peoples, to whom it gave a name.

Incidentally, when we read the Nacirema piece in my twelfth-grade English class, I was the last person to get the joke. Then I went off and became an anthro major. Funny, that.

Aren’t you a little too old for “Coming of Age in Samoa”?

Confessions of an Anthro major: the concerted efforts my more established co-scholars are currently making to re-establish public anthropolology (book awards for which I am sadly ineligible, etc.) are probably more closely tied than they admit to the wish, expressed by many of the anthropologists I know, that the public would just get the heck over Margaret Mead already. (In certain cases, the wish that the public would just get the heck over Jared Diamond already is also a motivating factor.)

I’ve mentioned before that it’s bad for public image of the discipline that “the Anthropologist You Are Most Likely To Be Asked About By The Person Sitting Next To You On The Plane” (as Rex of Savage Minds puts it) comes from an era in anthropological history that most in the discipline today are uncomfortable with at best. But unfortunately, ignoring Margaret won’t get her to go away, and I’m increasingly convinced that allowing her reputation to stand prevents new public anthropologists from breaking in on their own terms, because in the public eye they can only lay claim to an identity as anthropologists insofar as they’re doing the “Margaret Mead thing” (comprehensive fieldwork in Melanesian societies that deliberately tries to ignore the effects of modernity, etc.)

Obviously, this wouldn’t be as frustrating if Mead had done her fieldwork properly; but really, she didn’t. So I’m thrilled to do my part to dismantle her legacy by urging you to read this article that examines how Mead’s preconceptions and approach shaped her eventual conclusions (again, h/t Savage Minds); to quote authors Ira Bashkow and Lise Dobrin, ” in many ways the situations that anthropologists experience in the field are ones that they themselves have played a role in shaping.” If methodological criticism isn’t what turns you on (even clear, concise, enlightening methodological criticism), read it because it uses a love triangle as an explanatory factor and comes very close to saying “Fieldwork: ur doin it wrong.”

Yes, the concept of “wrong” does exist in anthropology, though it loses much of its resonance and respectability when applied to contemporary work as opposed to that of the Benighted Past; we too are suckers for our own progressive narrative. But the continual eye-rolling and hand-wringing over Mead indicates that in the absence of being able to judge our subjects with impunity, anthropologists tie the reputation of the discipline to holding our methods to very high standards; some would say this is in the name of science, but I (loath to lean on the term “science” for credibility) think it’s really just necessary to good scholarship. And I hold out a little bit of idealistic hope that if the avatar for the anthropological profession weren’t a woman whose methods were so loosey-goosey and unrigorous, pundits et al wouldn’t be so quick to affix the word “anthropological” to any cock-eyed analysis that happened to mention the word “taboo.”

After all, real anthropologists need those jobs. We have precious few enough as it is.

When I talk about “standards,” I don’t mean a political-sciencey Scrupulous Standardization of the Gathering of Facts. That’s impossible to do in anthropology, and even if it weren’t it would certainly lead to the impossibility of any pop anthro — up to and including most of my contributions to print media thus far, and arguably some of my contributions to this blog as well. I mean a constant interrogation of the role one’s own outlook plays in filtering information, and a refusal to present one’s conclusions as uncolored by those filters.

Thinking straight

For anyone who’s read the news flashed around the world this week about the latest supposed differences between “gay brains” and “straight brains”. Cognitive researcher Mark Lieberman has a great piece here dissecting the bunkum statistics in this latest piece of junk science. (Thanks to Adrian).

http://languagelog.ldc.upenn.edu/nll/?p=256

Egg : Chicken :: Apathy : State

Conservatives should be familiar with the argument that state intervention destroys communal bonds. Back in March, I wrote:

So what happens when the state starts taking care of the poor, the elderly, and the sick? Well, we don’t do it ourselves. It suddenly becomes possible to walk past a hungry person, because we can tell ourselves that the government will take care of the problem. Taxes let us fulfill our societal obligations by writing a check, which is easier and far less personal than any kind of meaningful interaction.

Peter Schweizer makes much the same case: conservatives care more, because if you buy into the idea that the state should be doing something, it’s simple to ignore your part in it.

But what if that isn’t it? More interesting than his argument is the data he cites:

Those surveyed were asked: ‘Is it your obligation to care for a seriously injured/ill spouse or parent, or should you give care only if you really want to?’ Of those describing themselves as ‘conservative’, 71 per cent said it was. Only 46 per cent of those on the Left agreed.

To the question: ‘Do you get happiness by putting someone else’s happiness ahead of your own?’, 55 per cent of those who said they were ‘very conservative’ said Yes, compared with 20 per cent of those who were ‘very liberal’.

What if it’s not the political structures around us that influence character, but character that influences our political ideals? If that’s true, then the problem isn’t that the state is robbing us of the human connection we ought to feel; rather, the problem is that some people just don’t feel it.

Sure, it would be better if the poor were helped by charity in their neighborhoods, but let’s assume for a moment that they won’t be. In such a circumstance, it is better to have government welfare programs: state intrusion is preferable to starvation.

Maybe the Right’s conviction that private charity will help people, and the Left’s insistence on using the state, can be traced back very simply to the idea that everyone else is like me.

And if that’s so, what do we do?

On the other hand, “The natives probably thought this was a large bird or a spirit” would be a pretty catchy tagline for a blog…

Apparently anthropologically irresponsible stories are like bullies: you can ignore them out of smugness, but they won’t go away.

Check out Culture Matters for a thorough and just-snarky-enough takedown of what’s wrong with this particular iteration of the “undiscovered tribe” myth. I’ll post more on what’s wrong with the myth as a whole early next week (since I also saw Indiana Jones tonight and was pleasantly surprised–as an anthropology student, that is, not as a movie viewer).

In the meantime, I’ll be getting settled into my summer digs in Minneapolis, where I hope to do my part to keep giving you the Iqra’i you crave while splitting what remains of my time between campaign work, senior essay research and freelancing. In case you were wondering what I was doing with my summer while Nicola does the right-footed Beltway shuffle.

Tuesday Anthro Blogging: in which Dara apologizes for her hermeneutic tendencies.

I’m not sure I have anything interesting to add on pedagogy per se, but Helen (perhaps predictably) piqued my interest in this exchange by linkdropping my favorite half-guilty-pleasure anthropological article ever, “Notes on the Balinese Cockfight”:

When Roland Barthes unpacks the symbolic meaning of everyday things, or Clifford Geertz talks about what’s really going on in a Balinese cockfight, or feminist film critics say that screwball comedy is inherently sexist, they’re not pointing out possible interpretations; they’re calling attention to messages we’ve already received without necessarily realizing it.

First of all, of course, it’s sort of important to point out that we can’t know for sure if Geertz’s interpretation of the Balinese cockfight is definitely “what’s really going on,” because we only have Geertz’s account to work with. I’m sure there are other, contradictory accounts, but I haven’t read them and I’d be surprised if Helen has. (There is at least one line of enduring criticism of the piece that I’ve encountered, however, which is that Geertz somehow neglected to mention that Indonesia was in the midst of civil war and unrest while he was doing his fieldwork. It’s certainly possible that this had little or no impact on the cockfight, but is it really the job of the hermeneutist to bet against hidden connections between social systems?)

The broader issue here is that the sphere of things that are true about a particular text/film/phenomenon — messages that one can accurately say are embedded — is, if not infinite, incredibly vast. But it’s obviously true that not every message embedded in a piece is received, as any failed artist will attest; my favorite example of this, of course, is Brecht, who in attempting to make a theatre beyond the personal and the sentimental ended up inventing characters with whom his audiences sympathized madly. Sure, there’s an obligation to point out the influential messages, but doesn’t falsely assuming that a message has been influential distort the text rather than revealing it?

It’s also often true that messages are reflected rather than created by the text — while screwball comedy may have, in its way, reinforced gender inequalities (something to which those of us who consider ourselves genre conversationalists remain susceptible). Recognizing the difference between conduit and origin is important, sure, but a reflected message is only half the battle – it’s somewhat irresponsible not to try to go back and search for the origin itself, especially if you’re attempting to point out to your students/readers/audience messages that they’ve already received.

The enduring popularity of the essay, and Geertz’s work in general, isn’t because of its theoretical insights but because of its literary ones — hermeneutics requires a faithful representation of the text being considered, and “thick description” makes ethnography much more fun to read. Geertz does a brilliant job with narrative in the piece, but narrative really does require deliberate choices, and those depend more on the hermeneutist’s own perspective than we scholars, critics and pundits usually care to admit.