Via Leiter Reports, a link to a short piece by the editors of a new Reader on Pragmatism, challenging the standard narrative of the ‘eclipse of pragmatism’ in post-WWII US philosophy – a narrative ascribed to the influence of Richard Rorty’s self-representation of his own post-Analytical apostacy, but also to books such as Louis Menand’s The Metaphysical Club and John McCumber’s Time in the Ditch which tell the story of this eclipse as political tales, and against which the emergence of ‘neo-pragmatism’ since the 1980s is usually asserted. In line with this argument, the Reader includes pieces by philosophers not usually associated with the ‘canon’ of philosophical pragmatism – Carnap and Quine for example; it also includes Richard Posner, who is often ignored in accounts of the resurgence of pragmatism (not least, for example, when pragmatism in human geography is being discussed; here is Rorty on Posner), and whose inclusion tends to play havoc with a conventional interpretation of the politics of pragmatism as naturally ‘leftish’ (although Posner has recently had a semi-conversion of sorts to a Keynsian-esque position on certain things).
From Political Theory, news that Derek Parfit’s On What Matters, a two-volume work, has now been published. It is already being hailed as the most important work of moral philosophy since the 1870s. This is hardcore stuff, dealing with the fundamental issues of reason, rationality, and normativity.
Parfit’s classic Reasons and Persons is, I think, the most difficult thing I have ever read, or even tried to read. Back in the day, sceptics used to complain that French theory was willfully difficult compared to the clarity of ‘proper’ English language philosophy. I have always found this a bit disingenuous – it’s easy to read Continental Philosophy if you ‘grew up’ with it, as it were. And the sparse prose style of English-language ‘analytical’ style philosophy is its own sort of esotericism, especially once it’s couched within a broader frame of reference in which what’s at stake is often presumed in advance rather than explicitly signalled (the lack of referencing in this style of work is really an indication that it’s not trying to help the reader learn, unless they are already in the know; compare that to Derrida, who in his classic works actually just includes large extracts of Saussure, or Rousseau, so you get shown what it is they are saying that he is commenting upon – much friendlier, much better pedagogy).
I think the reason that a book like Parfit’s was so difficult was not intrinsic to it, of course, but because of my lack of feel for the context, the practice, of this sort of philosophical writing (the practice from within which one would be able to grasp not so much why this style of analysis matters, but what the point of it is meant to be). I actually think Reasons and Persons is fascinating – interesting stuff about the importance of thinking temporally rather than ‘spatially’ about the self, for example; its’ ‘atheism’ is clearly meant to be scandalous in a certain way. But it’s not part of a world that I inhabit – reading this sort of thing is like a hobby, in so far as it doesn’t really relate to the fields of work in which I am able to pass.
It’s also true, of course, that this style of philosophy is much more self-enclosed than ‘continental’ work – there is not really the same sort of secondary literature on a writer like Parfit which one finds on Foucault, or Derrida, or Deleuze (only very recently have publishers like Polity begun to publish critical introductions to thinkers like Cavell, Bernard Williams, Dummett, and the like). ‘Continental’ philosophy has always circulated, on the other hand, in translation – I don’t mean only, or even primarily, in terms of translations from one language to another – but in terms of the simultaneous circulation of the ‘original’ text (in translation) and a literature of both exegesis and critical commentary – Derrida-with-Culler, Derrida-with-Norris; Foucault via Edward Said; Foucault included in Dreyfus and Rabinow; Habermas via Held, or Giddens; Irigaray or Cixous or Kristeva via Toril Moi; pretty much everyone via Literary Theory. And so on.
If one were a card-carrying Foucauldian of a certain vintage, one might even suggest that these different styles of philosophical writing are defined by the very distinctive ‘author-effects’ through which key texts are disseminated and/or contained. It’s standard enough to observe that ‘Theory’ grew and developed through cultures of academic celebrity – a condition pilloried in turn by writers like David Lodge and Malcolm Bradbury (my favourite of this genre is his Mensonge). English-language philosophy has its own author-effects, no doubt, they are just very different – not least, this is a style of writing that is systematically self-effacing in certain ways (all those initials: how to tell that A.J. was Freddie and G.E.M. was Elizabeth?).
In fundamental respects, it seems to me, these two styles of writing are distinguished not least by their different relationships to space, dare I say – the problem with the ‘geographical’ framing of Continental versus Anglo/Analytical, apart from anything else, is that it suggests two fixed locations – but ‘continental’ philosophy, as Theory, is shaped by always being in movement, in translation, across language and discipline; a writer like Parfit, whose new book has actually been circulating in draft for some years (that’s why there is already an edited collection out about it, and critical commentaries in the newly published two volumes) writes into what would appear to be much more of a known than an imagined community, one where the personae of the philosopher is no less important, just not in the same way as it is for the genre characterised by multiple biographies of Foucault and fanzines, apparently, for Judith Butler.
So, the ‘difficulty’ is no doubt mine; perhaps I should just get another hobby (or who knows, maybe Parfit’s new book is much easier, I haven’t seen it – though I have read a rather forbidding essay on ‘normativity’ which I think probably makes up a chapter of it, which didn’t make me confident that this would be the case). But perhaps too, the difficulty is an index of the degree to which one of these genres has succeeded in its own popularisation – is indeed internally defined by this movement towards a certain sort of general reader, of an overly qualified sort, like me – compared to the other one, the one which is supposed to be defined by the clarity of its argumentative style, but seems content to circulate amongst a world in which in-jokes about High Table at All Souls can be made to carry the full weight of serious philosophical demonstration (see G.A. Cohen’s otherwise wonderful account of the political value of conservatism for the left).
It’s been an interesting couple of weeks if you are interested in the popularisation of behaviouralism. A couple of weeks ago, there was the wonderful news story that seemed to suggest that babies who are breastfed suffer from fewer behavioural problems later in life than those who are bottle fed (this was quickly collapsed into a story about breastfeeding being the route to better behaved babies – not true in our case at the moment, since our breastfed baby is currently refusing to have anything to do with a bottle, which just isn’t good behaviour at all). This science story was fantastic precisely because the causality involved in the correlation was open to entirely different interpretations – it could be something to do with acids in breast milk; or bonding between mother and child.
This week, The New York Times’ pundit David Brooks has been in the UK, promoting his book The Social Animal, which makes strong claims about the importance of neuroscience, psychology and behavioural economics in establishing the non-rational factors which explain decision-making (in fact, Brooks’ version is really a rehashed version of the low-level conservative anti-rationalism that runs from Burke to Oakeshott; it also seems in part to be shaped by a concern to account for the failure of the US punditocracy of which he is a leading figure to notice that invading Iraq might not work out too well, oh, and that unfettered financial speculation tends to lead to catastrophic banking crises). Brooks got to trail his argument in The New Yorker earlier this year, where the Churchlands and David Eagleman have also been profiled recently – if nothing else, neuro-thought seems to have become something like the ‘spontaneous ideology’ of a certain field of academic-policy-punditry discourse in which the discovery that people don’t conform to the most abstract of models of rational utility maximizing seems to have come as a surprise (while we’re on the topic of The New Yorker and economists’ models of rationality, there is a fascinating series of interviews, from last year, by John Cassidy with various economists from the Chicago School – including Gary Becker, Richard Thaler, and Raghuram Rajan – which provides interesting insights into just where the differences between different understandings of rationality and non-rationality lie within this world).
The attention, and credulity, extended to Brooks this week reminded me of a line from a blog by Alice Bell which I think I have mentioned before, in which she refers to Nikolas Rose’s observation to the effect that neuroscientists themselves are highly sensitive to the mis-representation of their field, and that “if anything, the further away from researchers you get, the less reflexive you get”.
But anyway, what was my point? One of the features of the popularisation of brain-led behaviouralism in public culture – through more or less selective reference to cognitive psychology, evolutionary biology, behavioural economics, or neuroscience – is the degree to which it reproduces a deep, underlying individualism even as it seems to disavow certain understandings of individual rationality. This is most evident in the claim that various forms of action which, ordinarily, don’t seem that odd at all actually stand as proof of the fundamentally irrational, or non-cognitive, or emotional, or unconscious dynamics of human decision-making. This framing is indicative of the way in which the associational dynamics of action get folded back into an individualised model of action in specific academic fields, and certainly in popular representations of these fields. This is not my thought – it’s a recurring riff throughout Viviana Zelizer’s recent collection of greatest hits, Economic Lives, which I was speed-reading on a train a while ago now. Zelizer is keen to distinguish economic sociology and its attention to the social relations in which economic action is embedded from the approach of game theory and behavioural economics, which also breaks from excessively ‘rational’ models of rational utility. As she puts it, “game theory and behavioural economics involve modification, but not elimination, of economic models’ deep individualism” – and this is evident in the way in which categories such as emotion or irrationality effectively condense the relational contexts of action back into psychologise-able, model-able figures of explanation (Diane Coyle has an interesting, sceptical response from the perspective of an economist to Zelizer’s own project).
I’m still trying to work out how, exactly, to approach this whole set of debates in a way that doesn’t reproduce the in-built prejudices of ‘constructivist’ social theory (which would include most styles of self-styled ‘materalist’ approaches), which sees in all this simply the machinations of ‘power’ and or bad-ontology; and which acknowledges that a critical social science that doesn’t think it has anything to learn from these fields about rationality is probably doomed to moralistic irrelevance. I am beginning to get a sense of where exactly my discomfort lies, not only in relation to the popularisation of all this behaviouralist discourse, but also in relation to the established norms for being sceptical towards it. I was helped by attending part of, but sadly not all, of a workshop on the practice and theory of ‘nudge techniques’ at the OU earlier this month. This included an excellent introduction to the Mindspace report developed by The Cabinet Office and The Institute for Government in early 2010 which provides the framework for behaviour change initiatives in public policy in the UK.
One staple feature of these popular and policy discourses around behaviour change, nudging, and the like, is the claim that there are two systems shaping behaviour – a rational, reflexive, cognitive system; and an automatic system, of unconscious motivations. One interesting division within this field of policy discourse, it seems, is just how the relation between these two ‘systems’ is understood: one version of nudging assumes that government can manipulate ‘choice architectures’ not so much behind people’s backs, but by prompting them to re-interpret their actions in new ways – it assumes that beliefs, habits, feelings, can be apprehended cognitively as a route to changing them (and others presume that the in-built, automatic systems which guide people’s behaviour can be ‘attacked’ directly, without routing through any rational ‘system’ at all).
Nick Chater, of Warwick Business School, gave a very good Keynote at this workshop, in which he basically argued that effective nudging is quite difficult – on the grounds that the logical conclusion of an emphasis on the intuitive, unconscious, less-than-rational dynamics of human decision-making is that most beliefs and attitudes and habits are enmeshed in webs of relations with other actions, habits, and commitments, which makes changing any one really difficult – this is why nudging tends to focus on behaviours and decisions which are not strongly connected or embedded (e.g. rare decisions like organ donation or investing in a pension). Chater’s emphasis, then, was on the efficacy of nudge techniques, not their ethics. Of course, the ‘ethical’ worry shaping this debate follows in large part from the bifurcation between ‘rational’ and ‘automatic’ – the concern is shaped by worries over covertly shaping people’s choices in directions they might not otherwise have taken by doing things to them ‘under the radar’, as it were.
I think it’s interesting that this intuitive ethical worry is so central to debates about the use of behaviour change approaches, because it seems to get at an aporia at the heart of the ‘theory’ behind much of this discussion. Chater’s talk exemplified this – it focussed on that the sense that there is introspective depth to human behaviour was an illusion. Now, the substance of his account of the self is really about the temporalities which relate behaviours, habits, beliefs, attitudes, reflection, and so on – but the rhetoric of illusion, the sense of an inner self endowed with a rational will is a fiction, is telling nonetheless. It’s never quite clear in much of the discussion around these issues what attitude is held to the everyday, intuitive sense that we do tend to have of ourselves as having inner selves, able to introspectively reason about our actions (actually, sometimes it is clear, there is a strong strain of explicitly eliminationist neurophilosophy that sees all this as mere folk psychology ripe for correction). Am I in error to hold this belief about my actions, my behaviours and attitudes? Or, shouldn’t this same range of theoretical work be able to provide an account of how such beliefs and attitudes actually help constitute the intuitive, unconscious, embodied, non-cognitive capacities that they otherwise champion? Old uncle Habermas has pointed out the degree to which arguments which collapse normativity into simple models of scientific naturalism end up having to present the self-understanding of acting subjects as mere epiphenomena (see the essay ‘Freedom and Determinism’ in Between Religion and Naturalism).
There is a range of broadly ‘genealogical’ analyses of the emergence of these new styles of thinking about governing behaviour – I can think of Rose’s work on the brain sciences and the new susceptible subjects of public policy, the Soft Paternalism project at Aberystwyth, or work informed by affect theory which discerns the emergence of new anticipatory logics in security apparatuses or urban design. These types of study are good at identifying new political rationalities, if by that we just mean the ‘causal’ understandings of behaviour that shape various attempts to intervene in different social fields.
But the difficult question is what to make of the emergence of these new fields of neuro-enhanced, behaviouralist intervention, once the genealogical description is done. Here, I think there is a division amongst critical social scientists: you can interpret all this as rather sinister, being drawn into a trap laid down by the reflective/automatic binary, adopting an inadvertently rationalist ‘ethical’ position that one might not, otherwise, be inclined to endorse at all; or you can affirm the basic understanding of the non-rational, non-intentional, non-cognitive dimensions of action that informs behaviour change ideas, but with the help of a dash of affect theory, more or less inflected by psychoanalysis perhaps, but draw up a distinction between good and bad affect – extending credulity to the rhetorical deflation of intentionality and rationality in the new behaviouralism, but finding therein untameable resources for disruption and creativity. Both these styles of ‘critique’ end up leaving intact the claims of scientific authority upon which behaviour change discourse depends.
This is why I have found the Ruth Leys intervention in debates about affect theory so refreshing and though provoking – it does two things which seem to me to provide important resources for thinking through what a sustained critical engagement by social scientists and the humanities with a whole range of new scientific fields of the mind would look like: it identifies some key questions about experimental design, inference, and generalisation that should be asked of any scientific field when its’ ideas begin to travel; and it locates this style of questioning within broader philosophical debates about the relationship between normativity and naturalism. My sense is that this second set of philosophical debates in particular – ones in which the status and value of the concept of action is quite fundamental (not behaviour, not subjectivity, but action) – is where the deep ethical and political issues at stake for a critical engagement with the (social-)sciences of behaviour change, really lie. I’m not convinced that the current conventions of theory-formation in critical social science as I have learnt them are well placed to engage with these debates – conventions in which mention of intention, rationality, or reason are met with quizzical looks or confident dismissal. I’m still trying to unlearn these conventions.
The New York Times’ online philosophy blog, The Stone, which is moderated by Simon Critichley, which was started last year and provides a platform for philosophers to address issues “both timely and timeless”, has returned for another run.
Here is a new blog on visual culture – visual/method/culture – from my colleague at the OU Gillian Rose, focusing on “how people encounter visual images, and what happens in those encounters”.
The University of Cambridge’s Programme for Sustainability Leadership has listed our book on the politics of ethical consumption, Globalizing Responsibility, as one of top 40 books on sustainability of 2010 (technically it was published in 2011). Which is very nice, a little surprising (I didn’t really think it was about sustainability), and a little weird – we are on the same list as Al Gore and Prince Charles; as well as proper social scientists like Tim Jackson, Joseph Stiglitz, and Richard Wilkinson and Kate Pickett.
The full list of ‘The 2010 Top 40 Sustainability Books’ is:
1. Accounting for Sustainability (Anthony Hopwood, Jeffrey Unerman & Jessica Fries)
2. Adaptation to Climate Change in Southern Africa (Steffen Bauer & Imme Scholz)
3. A Blueprint for a Safer Planet (Nicholas Stern)
4. Building Social Business (Muhammad Yunus)
5. Cents and Sustainability (Michael H. Smith, Karlson ‘Charlie’ Hargroves & Cheryl Desh)
6. The Climate Files (Fred Pearce)
7. Corporate Community Involvement (Nick Lakin & Veronica Scheubel)
8. CSR for HR (Elaine Cohen)
9. CSR Strategies (Sri Urip)
10. Dynamic Sustainabilities (Melissa Leach, Ian Scoones & Andy Stirling)
11. The Economics of Climate Change in China (FAN Gang, Nicholas Stern, Ottmar Edenhofer, XU Shanda, Klas Eklund, Frank Ackerman, Lailai LI and Karl Hallding)
12. Factor Five (Ernst von Weizsacker Karlson ‘Charlie’ Hargroves, Michael H Smith, Cheryl Desha & Peter Stasinopoulos)
13. Freefall (Joseph E Stiglitz)
14. Globalizing Responsibility (Clive Barnett, Paul Cloke, Nick Clarke & Alice Malpass)
15. Finders Keepers? (Terence Daintit)
16. Harmony (HRH The Prince of Wales, Tony Juniper and Ian Skelly)
17. How Bad Are Bananas? (Mike Berners-Lee)
18. Innovative CSR (Céline Louche, Samuel O. Idowu & Walter Leal Filho)
19. Integrated Sustainable Design of Buildings (Paul Appleby)
20. Nature and Culture (Sarah Pilgrim and Jules Prett)
21. The New Pioneers (Tania Ellis)
22. The New Rules of Green Marketing (Jacquelyn A Ottman)
23. Next Generation Business Strategies for the Base of the Pyramid (Ted London & Stuart L Hart)
24. Our Choice (Al Gore)
25. Peoplequake (Fred Pearce)
26. The Positive Deviant (Sara Parkin)
27. The Power of Sustainable Thinking (Bob Doppelt)
28. Prosperity Without Growth (Tim Jackson)
29. Requiem for a Species (Clive Hamilton)
30. Responsible Business (Manfred Pohl & Nick Tolhurst)
31. The Responsibility Revolution (Jeffrey Hollender & Bill Breen)
32. Smart Solutions to Climate Change (Bjorn Lomborg)
33. The Spirit Level (Richard Wilkinson and Kate Pickett)
34. Sustainability Education (Paula Jones, David Selby & Stephen Sterlin)
35. Sustainability in Austerity (Philip Monaghan)
36. The Sustainable MBA (Giselle Weybrecht)
37. Tackling Wicked Problems (Valerie A Brown, John A Harris & Jacqueline Y Russell)
38. Too Smart for Our Own Good (Craig Dilworth)
39. The Top 50 Sustainability Books (CPSL, Wayne Visser)
40. The World Guide to CSR (Wayne Visser & Nick Tolhurst)
A couple of weekends ago, amongst other important responsibilities, I managed to set-up a smart-meter to track our domestic electricity usage (it took 3 minutes). It’s basically a guilt-inducing-monitor, designed to show you just how much energy is used up by keeping the computer on all day and not turning the landing light off at night, how much this costs you, and how much CO2 is emitted by so doing.
There is plenty of academic work on this sort of domestic technology, one that sits of the cusp of a shift in the rationalities of ‘sustainability’ initiatives as they move from a focus on information provision to embedding devices in everyday life which encourage or provoke people to reflect on their practices.
I have been thinking about this sort of initiative, and specifically about to think about it genealogically, a lot recently – partly because I have been working on a research report about the use of market segmentation tools in the planning and design of public engagement initiatives across the public, voluntary, charity and campaigning sector. There is an interesting relationship between social science methods and social science theory in these sorts of fields. On the one hand, there is a heavy reliance on technologies of enumerating and data gathering and data mining, to identify aggregate patterns of behaviour. For example, segmentation methods normally use forms of statistical cluster analysis. This is one example of the process that has been dubbed ‘the social life of methods’ – the ways in which changes in the practices and processes of generating information, often led by non-academic actors, reconfigures understandings of social processes. On the other hand, this statistical aggregation of ‘the social’ is associated with the proliferation of various ‘causal’ narratives, drawn variously from cognitive and experimental psychology, behavioural economics, neuroscience, or evolutionary biology. It’s also part of the rise of certain sorts of public social science, the ‘freakonomics’ or ‘black swan’ genre.
What is interesting about the segmentation example is that the relationship between the method (e.g. cluster analysis) and the theory (increasingly some variety of psychology of human motivations) is almost entirely contingent: cluster analysis is a purely descriptive method for identifying structures and patterns in data, without any explanatory power. The patterns are generated by the starting assumptions about variables plugged into the method at the start.
There is, in short, something chronically inductive about the styles of reasoning involved in this sort of policy area, which depend on weak inferences bolstered by generalised claims drawn from other fields of equally empiricist, inductive ‘experimental’ science.
Anyway, back to the problem of how to theorise all this – the rise of styles of behavioural or strongly psychologized forms of policy discourse. There is a sort of default governmentality approach which would lead one to interpret all this as an example of the governing of new subjects – anxious, neurotic, vulnerable, susceptible ones. Segmentation models are certainly used to design communications strategies, marketing campaigns, and the public facing activities of organisations in commercial and non-commercial fields.
But I wonder how far this doesn’t mislead us into giving too much credence to the models of personality, motivation, or emotion they ascribe to ordinary people. The explanatory theories that float around the calculative technologies of behaviour change governance, for example, might tell us a lot more about the professional fields charged with intervening to address, for example, obesity, or pro-environmental behaviour, than they do about the subjects of such initiatives – they might tell us more about the subjectivities operative of professional fields. The strictly statistical correlations generated by data-heavy technologies don’t really provide a feel for what works, what moves people, that is necessary to be able to act effectively in, for example, urban planning and design, or arts marketing, or transport planning. Some model of the causal qualities of persons, environments, contexts, mediums, is necessary to operate in these different fields – not necessarily the same model of course: it is the combination of the availability of data with the causal narratives of, for example, human motivation or ‘animal spirits’ that renders certain fields of activity amenable to ‘interventions’ of different sorts.
So, if there is an issue in these sorts of initiatives around understanding the configuration of subjects – it might well be the subjects of various professional modes of expertise that are the place to start. I gave up looking at the electricity monitor after about two minutes; it sat on the sideboard for a further week; now I have unplugged it, to save energy.