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Tangentially Nobel-related

Earlier this month, the Nobel memorial economics prize(s) awarded to Ostrom and Williamson caused a bit of a stir, and for a variety of remarkable reasons, not the least of which is Ostrom’s career being ostensibly limited to the political sciences.  Reflexively hailing the merits of analysis whose influence stretches beyond traditional disciplines over “pure” research may ring superficial, but not because doing so is the conceit of prevailing preferences for multi-(everything).  Rather, embracing such a qualitative distinction seems to reinforce ideas that the noumena of human philosophy can be compartmentalized according to some defined range of subjects that must in turn be transcended for the sake of holistic knowledge.  By my limited understanding of these things, the governance phenomena that the two recipients have been both witnesses to – and also advocates of – do not raise issues of specialism vice generalism, but rather offer context between and among traditional constructions of knowledge to pursue the fundamental questions: What is, and what can and ought be?

Now, with that preliminary tangent in mind (and out of the way), I’d like to snatch out of context a brief phrase from Ostrom’s “Stockholm whiteboard seminar” which I came to by way of the indispensable Global Dashboard:

We’ve got to have institutions that match the complexity of the systems that are involved. . . Build enough diversity to cope with the diversity of the world . . . so that you don’t try to have a uniform top-down panacea that’s predicted to cure everything and instead of curing it, kills it.

What is being challenged here, it seems, is a certain tendency to think that our interactions with circumstance can somehow be reduced to their purest, most significant form…and then managed in a linear, efficient fashion — by directive — with a minimum of repercussions to be contained.  Along such lines, where the reaction of the world, the Other, bears little resemblance to the plan envisioned, missteps were surely made in distilling the essence of the problem and not in the fundamentally misguided premise of the solution.

The orchestration of policy and governance arrangements that refuse to be bounded by existing governmental, organizational, or economic capabilities will increasingly require a certain release, a freedom, from our designs in favor of a willingness, and readiness, to embrace substantive contributions from outside “normal” channels of power for their own sake and on their own merits.  When we recognize the need to go “beyond” – beyond the discipline, institution, nation — it is a recognition of the insufficiency of our constructs rather than of the knowledge itself.

Theoretical peace?

It has just been announced that President Obama has won the 2009 Nobel Peace Prize, for his administration’s “extraordinary efforts to strengthen international diplomacy and cooperation between peoples.”

This is a remarkable decision, and though I’m just about as entrenched an Obama supporter as a common citizen can be, it may not be remarkable for the right reasons.  Champions of diplomacy as a (the?) primary vehicle of statecraft, particularly those who are eager to criticize the previous U.S. administration’s tendency to rely upon the inevitability of unilateral force, must recognize that diplomacy will be judged by its results, both in the near term and within the historical narrative.  By this measure, Obama’s recent successes at the United Nations provide the most obvious gauge, and plaudits are generally owed to the public and hidden efforts that made these moves possible: scaling back an aggressively-positioned missile capability, forcing increased scrutiny towards questionable nuclear proliferation, and committing to a two-state policy in Israel/Palestine.

Nevertheless, there remains more than one plank in the eye of American policy.  Two American wars still rage, and those affected by them — civilian populations and combat troops — can surely attest that this is not the face of peace.  Neither, obviously, is the alternative, yet such is the nature of the beast.  Fleeing from the responsibilities to justice that are inherent in the conflicts in Afghanistan and Iraq is simply unacceptable, regardless of the circumstances that have led to the present state of uncertainty.  Once some ascertainable notion of peace becomes apparent in fact, the honor will be a matter of course.  As things stand, I fear that the Prize is yet unwarranted, for the burden of state lies in reality.

Update: It should be noted that Martti Ahtisaari was awarded the prize in 2008 for “his important efforts, on several continents and over more than three decades, to resolve international conflicts.”

Bibliophilia, more or less

I’ve had this post in mind for a while, actually since reading this clever piece on what our bookshelves might say about us.  Having procrastinated long enough, and having mentioned to two good friends just yesterday that I was thinking about this, it seems like as good a time as any to take a short stroll though my books and see where I stand.  By no means would I think to claim that my library is particularly broad or particularly deep, but it does have a few gems that are well worth sharing.  Or, better yet, my personal attachment to some of these books may just be irrational, and thus I’ve convinced myself that writing about them would interest someone, anyone, other than myself!  At any rate, I take a certain joy in being able to share these items of my education with guests, so why not in this space as well?

Library

The bottom shelf pretty much represents what you’d expect to see from a would-be political theorist: an overview of the Continental canon (that is, looking at it now, weighted rather heavily towards modern texts that I have yet to take the time to really understand…Wittgenstein and Heidegger come to mind).  The two large volumes toward the left, Weber’s Economy and Society, and its neighbors represent my fascination with the sociologist during graduate school.  Noteworthy there is a first English printing of Mommsen’s historiography.

American history and political thought take over much of the next shelf, along with all the apologia one might need to realize how un-settled the case for the nation has always been.  Earnest debate eloquently written…marvelous.  My copy of The Federalist Papers is just to the left of the four black volumes; de Tocqueville is slightly to the right.  Above these, various volumes of European and Middle Eastern history.  Were it not for an off-hand suggestion by a tutor during my first week at college, I may never have come to be fascinated by the history of that region, or have even made it beyond my first year.

Fictional literature has collected itself around the edges, and is mostly represented by a narrow selection, which is to say: Camus, Mann, and Conrad can be found here.  And from among these, it was Der Zauberberg that provided me with the one truly profound reading experience.  I turned to the novel during the summer after leaving Princeton, while I was working in the Wyoming mountains and had yet to imagine any particular direction that my life would take.  Despite the intervening years since my first introduction to Hans Castorp, I need but close my eyes to hear him sing of the Lindenbaum as he rushes headlong into uncertainty.

Und seine Zweige rauschten

Als riefen sie mir zu…

Up opposite the decanter, in two volumes, is the first English printing of The Magic Mountain, along with a German first edition of the prophetically anti-fascist Mario und der Zauberer.  These, quite surely, are the prizes of my library.

Hear, hear.

I’ve been catching up on some reading tonight, and have been struck by two gentlemen whose credentials are the ultimate vouchers for their claims.  While their position is hardly novel in either academic theory or political discourse, it seems worth at least a moment to reflect on the fact that they are both retired Marine generals.  On Sept. 11, Charles Krulak and Joseph Hoar denounced — in the strongest terms one can expect from their station — the apologetic being foisted upon the conscience of free society by architects of torture.

Krulak and Hoar’s rejection of the logical fallacy invoked in defense of these policies, which requires little more than perfect hindsight, is surprisingly subtle, considering the prevailing canard of absolute security.  But, their purpose seems to be more fundamental.  They recognize that something greater is at stake.

Rules about the humane treatment of prisoners exist precisely to deter those in the field from taking matters into their own hands. They protect our nation’s honor.

The laws that were cast aside in all this, the Geneva Conventions, are neither the thorns of surrendered sovereignty nor the shadows of bygone imperialism.  They are, to the best of our ability, the balance between the just and the unjust.  Though we may wish to see ourselves the judge in our own case, by what should we be measured if not by the standards of our own providence?  Fear, these writers have reminded us before, is the surest means to forget oneself.

It is perhaps appropriate, in this context, to consider Richard Goldstone’s piece in today’s New York Times.  Writing from his position as lead UN investigator of recent conflict in Gaza, the jurist’s primary interest is to

hold accountable those who violate the laws of war.

The means by which this challenge is met will always suffer from a contentious relationship with the subjects of global conflict, of course.  Nevertheless, the task is paramount.  If friends are either unwilling or unable to give account of themselves as they would have given of their enemies, we risk

a deeply corrosive effect on international justice, and reveal an unacceptable hypocrisy.

This, I dare say, threatens to be a needless assault upon the edifice of liberal democracy.

A personal reflection

Recently, after visiting my elderly grandmother, I stopped somewhere that I had not passed since I was a child.  This time, the emotions that had eluded me years ago caught me quite off guard, and have returned often in the intervening days.  To say that this has had a sobering effect would be an understatement; indeed, the juxtaposition of my modest, though ultimately privileged, youth with the narrative of earlier generations has been humbling.  The place in question is a small memorial wall to the side of a cemetery entrance in a quaint southern German town.  There is no flag that can be flown here, no great cause to validate the sacrifice, no heroes to be carried off into history, leaving but names in stone to remember sons, husbands, brothers, and fathers.  As memories of the fallen fade with a passing generation, may the tragedies that led to this not be forgotten.

Memorial Wall

Among the names is that of my grandfather, who did not return from Russia.

Hermann Baur

Visiting this place some six decades on, I recalled the only two occasions that I’ve seen my father’s steady composure break, if only for an instant, betrayed by no more than a slight crack in his voice and a brief pause to collect his thoughts. The first time, he toasted to the birthdays of his mother and stepfather, and shared a story of receiving his first 50 Pfennig to go to a traveling movie show. The second time, he spoke of the strength of his mother’s generation, when lives and families had to be rebuilt after the war left too many chairs unfilled.

Quite frankly, I don’t really know what to make of the stories that find themselves twisted up in one of history’s great calamities…perhaps they are just that, tiny droplets of misfortune in an ocean of war’s misery.  Certainly, it is easier to consider family history separate from the greater narrative of the times.   In any case, this void left in my father’s life may help explain his unwavering loyalty to me, and for that I still struggle to find the proper thanks.

Cyber and complexity

This past weekend, the New York Times published a fascinating article about an issue that, like an onion, offers just about enough layers for everyone to get their share before coming apart in a mess of theory, law, power politics, and ethics.  Apparently, an intricate American plan to wreak havoc on the Iraqi cyberstructure was eventually tabled because, in sum, the cascading consequences of such an attack could neither be fully anticipated nor hedged, and possible damages “at home” could not be discounted.  It’s not a stretch to assume that staffs involved in the planning process were guided by “effects-based” standards of certainty quite impossible to satisfy in the physical, let alone in the digital, world.  Such is the paradox of the networked society.

Two quotes, in particular, stand out from the article.  First, we are warned of an apparent disconnect in the approaches to assessing the damages caused by hostile action:

“Policy makers are tremendously sensitive to collateral damage by virtual weapons, but not nearly sensitive enough to damage by kinetic” — conventional — “weapons,” said John Arquilla, an expert in military strategy at the Naval Postgraduate School in Monterey, Calif. “The cyberwarriors are held back by extremely restrictive rules of engagement.”

And second, we must struggle with the dilemmas posed by the nation-state paradigm in (virtual) spaces where sovereignty is, to say the least, highly negotiable:

“Cyberwar is problematic from the point of view of the laws of war,” said Jack L. Goldsmith, a professor at Harvard Law School. “The U.N. Charter basically says that a nation cannot use force against the territorial integrity or political independence of any other nation. But what kinds of cyberattacks count as force is a hard question, because force is not clearly defined.”

Dodging these issue by embracing Willkür and asserting unilateral sovereignty of action (yes, states will do as they please) simply begs the question: why not stand to account?  Indeed, while it may be that the hand of the botnets was staid by uncertainty in this instance, it also seems quite clear that the connectivity implied by this uncertainty is a precipice from which there is no turning back.  There is ample reason to be concerned that our expectations of order are based on stacks of assumptions quite out of proportion to the stability these assumptions might afford when violently tested.

Coming to terms with problems that cannot be managed, predicted, or contained to any satisfactory degree will require an exercise in jargon: resilience.

Everything and nothing

This past week’s news has been nothing short of fascinating.

The popular unrest in Iran has created an outpouring of support on the Web, which has been — truth be told, and yet again — the far and away most reliable vehicle by which unfolding events have been relayed en masse to a wider audience.  Twitter, that blasted thing, has been a driving force behind a flood of impassioned dissent emerging from within borders more accustomed to presenting a uniform picture of order.  First hand accounts, unsubstantiated speculation, expressions of solidarity, and propaganda have converged into a wealth of noise unprecedented in magnitude and confusion…and yet, somehow, the digital public is learning to make sense of the whole thing.  The images, sounds, and messages of resistance to which we have been witness, and in whose distribution we have shared a part, defy the conventional wisdom of information production and analysis.  Considering that a rising star in the U.S. State department played a role in delaying Twitter’s scheduled maintenance just long enough to let Tehran turn in for the night, it should be quite clear that the logical conclusions of the digital age have finally kicked in the doors of power (regardless of Twitter’s alternative version of events).

So, it’s a good thing that Twitter is just a toy, for otherwise we might really have a thing on our hands…

Yet, at the same time that masses are producing, organizing, and disseminating information from the disaggregated input of their peers, we are inclined to overlook more fundamental questions about the services we enjoy, particularly if these avenues are being considered as means for officialdom to engage new audiences and build public-private partnerships.  Though minor on an individual basis, what concerns ought the outward-facing enterprise (government, military, NGO, and so on) have over lost messages?  Dropped contacts?  Ownership of the data archive?  Similarly, how is a rush towards public platforms to be justified that are already reaching the bounds of actionable utility?  As the data stream continues to bloat, it is accessibility to that raw information, and not its presentation, that must drive the architecture of social enabling technologies if they are to cope with the scalability and sustained interaction necessary for truly dismantling barriers to information and meaningful cooperation.

On a cautionary note, we should remember that the various means of socializing information, from established media to emerging technologies, are but extensions of the behavior of social beings.  That is, digital dynamics will only be approximate representations of actual circumstances.  The more the two can be aligned, the more we can expect to see generative interactions take root within, across, and among human enterprises.

Hint: it’s not always about the technology.  Now, let’s see if I can explain what I think that means.

Here’s a brief run-down of what’s been going on lately.

An information sharing project that I’ve been working on continues to tinker along its merry way with very little apparent sense of direction or awareness of its surroundings.  The reason why this is significant is because its surroundings are *supposed* to be the Web…that strange place where the book continues to be written on what it takes to emerge community-driven productivity, incubate niche technologies, and aggregate everything without centralizing anything.  Granted, that last one is a bit of hyperbole, but it’s good enough to make a point.  And the point is that you’re never going to build the thing that creates transparency, aligns disparate interests, and forges common purpose.  In fact, attempting to do so doesn’t just hint at conceit, but betrays an undue faith in an industrial model ill-suited to a digital age.  So stop pretending.  What you should be able to do, on the other hand,  is take yourself into the Web’s ecosystem, listen to what’s going on, and learn to play by its rules; begin to understand that Web tools are as much where they come from as how they are used or what they do.  Perhaps such introspection is esoteric superfluity, but — in most obtuse terms — if the capabilities of the Web are not the source of your diminished relevance, then what is to blame?

On a separate note, an ongoing discussion about precisely these issues is beginning to sound more and more like the previous one should have, though their specific problem spaces may only partially overlap.  I’m wary of too much initial optimism, mostly because of concerns I’ve expressed before; pursuing the generativity of the Web turns in many cases to chasing the dragon of false assumptions.  Nevertheless, this thing looks like it’s headed down the right track, with many different angles to prove out the deep-down ‘2.0′ concepts in ways that should speak for themselves.  Heh, I’m curious what I’ll be saying once some more clarity emerges and the dialogue really starts to take shape.  If the conversation can be managed in a way that avoids fetishizing tools over potential capabilities, however, then I think there are some good times ahead.  Once we’re out the gate, I’ll start dropping names and shout-outs.

I really don’t like that meme. It’s been applied to too much by too many and might as well just be synonymous with “new and improved”. Sure, there’s plenty of transformative stuff going on under the designation, but also plenty of misdirection to cloak the old in the new. Kind of like, if you have to announce that you’re cool, you’re probably not. Which reminds me, my boss had something to say about the relevance of the “I hate memes” meme…so I’ll just leave it at that. Maybe it’s not such a big deal.

On the other hand, maybe it is a big deal. Maybe the essence of “being” 2.0 is so lost on certain audiences, or has become so warped, that crucial distinctions are treated as eccentric nuances, and alternatives are weighed against false assumptions. On that note, let me first explain my choice of title for this post. It is intended to invoke the First Principles of the liberal democratic state, but also embodies a wicked false choice that too often baffles the public mind. Once convinced of the primacy of one over the other, it proves immensely difficult to be pursuaded otherwise — and yet the compromise often fabricated between these, as opposing forces, distorts the fact that they are constitutive elements of one and the same just society.

Now, back to the real point. I remember reading about this at the time, and today an individual whom I don’t know — but whose commentary I read regularly — pointed me to it again: the patently LEAST self-aware social media shot in the dark yet. Now, to be fair, there is an angle to that story about technological cooperation for economic stabilization, and on and on, so it might be snarky to use it as a straw man, but the red flag here seems to be that implementations of the thing are being mistaken, willfully or not, for the real thing. That is to say, understanding what it means, at a constitutive level, to make organizations and institutional knowledge as fluid as the Web, let alone figuring out the covenants of rapid data that Wells and Drapeau mention, often seems to get lost in the discourse. Sure, public platforms are great watering holes of information, but they’re not the source of the rain. I’m afraid that certain circles are setting themselves up for a series of false choices if the issue du jour goes no deeper than figuring out how to build a fancy social media shell around a hollow core.

Bottom line, I guess, is that you don’t get your 2.0 merit badge for getting yourself a Facebook account. Now, I’m off to check on my Twitters, so I’ll see you on the Web.

That’s been one of those creeping thoughts lately, the kind that nags you until you’re forced to find some answer that will sufficiently hush up your Unconscious long enough to let you get on with it. We’re not talking about an existential crisis here, nor some deep soul-searching psychoanalysis, but simply about knowing that “all this” is going somewhere. You see, I’m the type that really has a distaste for things like using good ideas — deep, thoughtful insights — to erect facades for bad ideas…or no ideas. Houses of cards, one should know, have a tendency to collapse. Where am I going with this? I haven’t the foggiest idea.

Thing is, I work for a company that builds stuff, and that quite well, I’m told. I say “I’m told” because I haven’t the first clue about engineering. In fact, it’s pretty much the exact opposite of what I’ve spent the last decade doing, nor is it a field for which I have the mind, patience, or calling. I’m a political theorist, a student of philosophy, which is as precise as I can be while avoiding pronouncing myself a generalist, driven by anything I find right, just, and concerned with betterment in our brief time. On that note, I’m reminded of the opening pages of Gadamer’s Truth and Method, in which the philosopher is concerned with the concept of Bildung, or, as he quotes Herder, the “rising up to humanity through culture”. Regarding this cultivation of one’s humanity, “that by which and through which one is formed becomes completely one’s own. To some extent, everything that is received is absorbed, but in Bildung what is absorbed is not like a means that has lost its function. Rather, in acquired Bildung nothing disappears, but everything is preserved.”

I toil over ideas. I cannot take lightly Lakatos’ arguments on science; I cringe in admiration at the dexterity of Marx; I marvel at the Greeks. What I’m capable of building may be fleeting or may endure — yet it will have as its end what ought to be. If ideas can shape the spaces amongst people, and differences can be bridged by that which is held in common, then there may be something here after all.

Well then, how much does this matter? The answer with which I’ve been able to subdue my doubts: Ideas matter precisely as much as they are made to.

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