Academic Speak

I haven't had a chance to read others' responses yet, so this may be a bit repetitive:

In French Theory: How Foucault, Derrida, Deleuze, & Co. Transformed the Intellectual Life of the United States, Cusset describes Sokol and Bricmont’s late twentieth-century attack on the “veritable intoxication with words” they found to be so prominent in French Theory (quoted on p.2). These two physicists posed the argument that, “if the texts seem incomprehensible, it is for the excellent reason that they mean precisely nothing” (quoted on p.3). These comments may seem to be nothing more than the reactionary response of two scientists to French theory’s attempt to undermine and deconstruct both “unified knowledge and . . . the unviolated ‘truth’” (327), but I believe they point to a larger issue. Cusset’s account of Sokol and Bricmont’s criticism of French theory reminded me of a recent conversation I had with two fellow graduate students concerning the impenetrability of Deleuze’s writings. One student recounted her experience of attempting to find meaning in a sentence from one of her courses’ weekly readings; after re-reading and reflecting on a passage from Deleuze, she finally resorted to asking her professor for clarification—clarification which he was unable to provide. I suggested to this student that I have never been able to understand Deleuze, and a third student made a comment to the effect that anyone who says they understand Deleuze is either lying or deluded. I found the conversation reassuring, because it indicated to me that other highly intelligent individuals with advanced education have the same problems with theory that I do; however, it made me think about the broader question of the importance of clear communication, particularly when it comes to theory.

In The Examined Life, Peter Singer asks if we can make our academic studies more relevant to the important questions of the day; I would ask, if our goals is to make academic studies more relevant to the world outside academia, is it not necessary to make our scholarly work more accessible to the public? I was raised (in a highly intelligent and well educated family) to believe that one should “never use a dollar word when a dime word will do,” and although I recognize that “dollar words” (and theory too!) are often not only needed but extremely useful, I am nevertheless suspicious of what Cusset describes as a “jargon-filled, decontextualized approach” to writing and speaking about theory (xiv). I raised this issue in my class on Performance Theory and Literary Analysis: I complained that some of the theorists we were reading employ what I described as the “intentionally obscure” language suggestive of intellectual posturing rather than of complex ideas. Another student responded with the comment that theory is often inherently difficult to understand because language is an insufficient tool to convey particularly complex ideas; the obscurity, he argued was not intentional, but unavoidable. This was something I had not considered. Is language inherently Sisyphean? Is clear, concise communication something towards which we strive but which we never achieve? Perhaps obscure prose facilitates the kinds of “felicitous misreading[s]” that Cusset values (337). Can an “incomprehensible” text allow for a kind of performative creativity that fosters the development of new ideas and new approaches? Or does it simply exclude those who live, work, and read outside the academic discourse?

Perhaps my issue with obscure academic prose can be redirected towards a question of audience. I was once told that, when writing a research proposal for a SSHRC application one should imagine one’s audience as an “educated lay-person,” that is, an intelligent and educated individual whose area of specialty is outside of (and perhaps completely removed from) my own area of studies. I believe that academics should write for an “educated lay-person” even when they are in fact writing for their colleagues in the same field. I think one of the reasons why many people regard academia as aloof professors reading and writing in an ivory tower because, really, that’s how we write. If we, as academics, could shift academic discourse and scholarship to make it more accessible, our work would be more relevant to the world outside academia.

Catastrophe?

Examined Life was at times a very engaging film (I will not dwell on Avital Ronell, as I believe Jana has taken up the very point I’d make here). I found the Butler and Zizek segments most accessible, in part because they were the least mechanically “framed” as the philosopher in motion, and because I found the language of each engaging on immediate levels – and they both successfully made jokes, which I think anyone who has struggled through their texts would find highly entertaining. Zizek’s critique of the so-called myths of ecology was most thought-provoking for me, and I think much of what he said could be applied to our questions about the status of the university.

What constitutes a catastrophe? I remain optimistic that a bad grade or a rejection of a grant application doesn’t fit the bill (really), but Zizek’s comments on our relationship to ecological catastrophe got me thinking about what catastrophe means in terms of humanities traditions. Is the closure of humanities departments a catastrophe? Perhaps. What if the humanities departments are all rolled into one big department at each university? Is it necessarily and only a bad thing? I’m going to propose a very tentative “maybe.” Obviously, for everyone attempting (or hoping) to eke out a living in those departments, job availability and security is/ has already been basically eliminated. I wondered, however, if there is a possibility to look forward to and engage with the other side of the catastrophe. What does a Canadian university look like in 10 years and how will the humanities be a part of that institution? Perhaps, even, should they be? (oh crap are we the dinosaurs that will be someone else’s oil?)

This also leads me to the question of our own activism (or lack thereof) on behalf of the humanities. Do we need to do something to save ourselves from obliteration (if indeed that is what we’re facing…) Not as individual researches but as a collective voice in the national or North American institutions of higher education? (is there some kind of coalition that don’t know about?)

I realize this is troubling in a number of ways, considering the multivalent and in some cases contradictory approaches in the arts. The ethical strengths of the humanities are also, perhaps its worst PR nightmare. This is also a reaching out beyond what I see as our individual aspirations to a kind of collective examination that might make everyone really, really uncomfortable. But I can’t help but wonder (and I am NOT comparing loss of tenured positions to an oil spill here) what we can expect if, as Zizek suggests, we effectively disavow what is in front of us, that we watch what is happening in universities and then naively continue to pursue careers that are ceasing to exist.

On 'Examined Life'

Cornel West’s comments at the beginning of Examined Life frame much of what the philosophers in this film will discuss: he worries about the divide between domination and democracy, the elite and everyday people. Philosophy tries to confront structures of domination and control--patriarchy, white supremacy, imperial power, state power--and uphold some sort of dialogue in the face of dogmatism. Very noble, I’m sure; but I found it kind of hilarious to listen to him offer these points as he sits ensconced in a car, driven by the director, making comments about the ignorance of the people walking around him. Wisely stroking his beard, he admits that the philosopher may be isolated in a library, but there’s a lot more going on in his mind than in those of the people going by on the street: he’s sure that they’re undertaking “no intellectual interrogation at all.” It’s an ironic treatment of the notion of “taking philosophy to the streets”--perhaps deliberately so--since he’s not even on the street and has nothing but contempt for those who are. The segment with Avital Ronell was similar, and at one point I was actually laughing: the people relaxing on benches, and maybe particularly the guy stretched out for a nap, are presumably examples of those who don’t partake in her “politics of refusing gratification.” Maybe they do want meaning in their lives, or even a burger.

The segments with Martha Nussbaum and Judith Butler made more sense to me. (I didn’t know Judith Butler could make sense, which I suppose is my answer to Garry’s question about the effect of seeing these philosophers in the flesh.) Nussbaum’s “capabilities approach” to the theory of justice forces us to think, in practical terms, about the needs of those around us possessed of unequal mental powers, or unequal bodies. Butler’s discussion with Taylor has a similar effect, and also shows that she, Butler, is capable of holding an intelligible, interesting philosophical discussion outside of academic discourse. The film as a whole, and particularly these two segments, makes me wonder what it means to be a ‘thinker’--or an academic, or a teacher. If we cannot engage with anyone outside our tiny world in academia, is there any point to what we do? Are we not simply part of West’s notion of the elite, failing to connect with “everyday people”? It’s tough to feel relevant in this line of work, especially when you study a very early period. How might we, and particularly those of us whose research interests lie in the past, really take ‘thinking’ to the streets?

Thoughts on Examined Life

The Examined Life is, by the filmmaker’s own admission, an attempt to “bring philosophy to the streets,” an effort to explore philosophy through the medium of film, to examine concepts and ideas in verbal format rather than in a written text. It’s an attempt to communicate critical ideas to a broader audience, to bring what we scholars think to our fellow citizens. So I can’t help but thinking: If this film was an entry in the “Communicating Arts Research” Competition and I was a judge, would it get my vote?

I have to admit here that I place value on the importance of successfully communicating our ideas to a broader audience. It’s an important question for me, one not of “justification” but of “understanding”. If we really feel that thinking is so great, we should probably be able to communicate why it’s important—we should be able to inspire, draw interest, and find ways of doing that outside our little niche.

There are moments in the film where I was drawn in, was made to think, other moments where I rolled my eyes and said to myself, “this is why people don’t want to hear philosophy.” I was fascinated by Judith Butler’s interview of the film-maker’s sister, because the discussion performed philosophy in a completely non-traditional way that made me reconsider my own way of physically being in the world. Slavoj Zizek’s segment was similarly fascinating, and seemed to work well. The visual in-situ cues along with the short, ten-minute format communicated a new way of thinking about ecology as conservative ideology. Zizek’s critique was direct and pointed, and made me consider alternate ways of thinking about ‘trash’ and the rhetoric of the ecology movement. I think I’ve been persuaded that in order to genuinely face our present environmental catastrophes, we need to live more fully in them, in order to move away from dissociation and disavowal. But whether I agree or not isn’t really the point—the point is the effectively communicated critique. How often do we hear a pithy, easily distributable, and relatable challenge like this one to the ideology that underpins ecology? For me, it’s important to be able to engage with these types of challenges and critiques, in order to move towards intellectual growth.

So, on the one hand we have Butler and Zizek, and on the other we have….Avital Ronell. Who wants to hear her complain, “th[is] is scandalous, I understand that the others would have ten minutes but to bring me down to ten minutes is an outrage”? Maybe some people will be able to get past this apparent arrogance to begin to engage with her ideas, but for me, she lost me with that first sentence. I’m not compelled to engage with someone who oozes such pretension, so her ideas, I’m afraid, were missed.

I guess in conclusion, I’m convinced the film was a valiant effort to “bring philosophy to the street,” and some segments were great. It’s a good first step. (This is probably a cop-out, but) I vote 'maybe'. But I think we philosophers-theorists-literary critics need to think further about how we go about successfully communicating our ideas to a broader audience. I’m compelled to think about how I talk about what I do with my friends who work in construction, manufacturing, or the oilfield. If we’re going to be good thinkers-teachers-writers, I think we need to consider how we say what we say and do what we do, and how we communicate that to those outside our EFS department.

Academic Dreams and Nightmares

As I mulled over the film Examined Life I suddenly remembered a dream that I had had the night before. In my dream I woke up to find that my mouth, my upper lip and chin had changed into that of a man’s! I had a dark sand-paper 5 o’clock shadow, and as I looked into the mirror I didn’t know if I should try to rub it away with one of those “as seen on TV rub-away hair removers” … and I wondered too if I was the last one to notice that my mouth had changed. Why am I telling you this? I’m telling you this because I think I was (subconsciously) already asking the question that sprang to my mind after reflecting on Judith Butler and Sunaura Taylor’s segment of Examined Life. My question is who has a voice in the academy?

Butler and Taylor’s segment invoked the strongest reaction for me. It bothered me that Butler was speaking about bodies and abilities from a (comparatively) privileged position. It bothered me that she kept steering the conversation towards gender, which she chooses to perform in a certain way, while Taylor’s point about bodies dealt specifically with abilities, about which she does not have the same luxury of performative choice. Why did this matter of choice bother me so much? After some thought I realized that I could identify more with Taylor than with Butler. Although I am not physically impaired like Taylor is, I have struggled all of my life with being a physically small person. This may seem un-important, but I have noticed that in group conversations, at customer service counters, and in classrooms discussions that smaller people are often dismissed more easily, interrupted more frequently, and are given less attention than other taller, louder, bigger, or male peers.

I think that this observation has important ramifications on many levels of the academy, including teaching. As we know, charisma plays an important role in teaching (along with expertise, empathy, and communication skills). But who has charisma? A friend of mine in the sociology department here recently published an article that argues that charisma is not something inherent in a speaker, but rather it is something that is given to him (or her) by an audience. This leads me to wonder what role our physical size, our height, the loudness of our voice, or our gender plays when an audience decides whether or not the speaker’s ideas are valid, or whether or not that voice should be valued. I think that this decision is (unfortunately) not always a rational one. Think about it. How many times have you been at a party where some loud-mouthed idiot dominates the conversation? Or a classroom where a teacher or student thinks that shouting an opinion somehow makes it more valid? Why does everybody listen to him (or her)? Is it reason or instinct that decides what voices are heard, and who we attribute charisma to?

My uncle (a 78-year-old retired psychology professor) likes to joke about how, as soon as he got his PhD, everybody treated him differently. Everybody listened to him. Everybody thought he had something important to say. But he also has a loud voice. He’s a big guy. His joke makes me wonder if my voice will magically change once I get my PhD.

Isn't our department called English and Film Studies, and not English and Cultural Studies? Just wondering...

Why Bother?

Cusset opens the preface of his text with a bold question: “Why still bother with theory, French or otherwise?” (xi). For Cusset, “It would take a true rhetorical talent to convince anyone . . . that theory and the many debates surrounding it can have any impact” (xi). Despite this, Cusset concludes that theory, “once extracted from its academic matrix[,] . . . can still offer its users a way to decipher all of the operations of power and the imposition of norms at work in the dominant discourse” (335). Regardless of whether or not Cusset successfully redeems theory, I find it curious that the use of, creation of, or study of theory requires such justification.
Recently, a notice for a grad student competition (Let’s Talk: How to Make Arts Research Go Public) was sent to the gsec listserv. The intention of the competition is to communicate to the community what we do, how we do it, and (seemingly the most important question to answer) why we do it. To disseminate our work is never a bad thing. Neither is it a bad thing to participate in community outreach, particularly if the act results in the amelioration, as it were, of humanities research. What troubles me, though, is the necessity of justification. I do not question the importance of medical research or work in computing science, etc., etc. Yet, I am often asked to justify my choice to study literature -- worst of all, I study literature that was written four hundred years ago! Perish the thought! After all, what is the relevance of early modern texts to the present day? Who cares if the Cavendish sisters staged a play while they were confined by Parliamentary forces? Perhaps literary study is even less valuable (or at least less valued) than theory.
The French theorist that I tend to draw upon in my own work is Foucault, because I find his theory of power structures to be useful. Further, Butler’s employment and (to some extent) refiguration of Foucault in, for example, Bodies that Matter, illuminates his applicability to gender studies. Theory provides useful tools with which I can unpack literary texts. More than, or at least in addition to, French theorists, I draw on contemporary scholars, their research and their approaches. Stephen Greenblatt, Andrew Gurr, Marta Straznicky -- these are all scholars that have, in one way or another, influenced my work on early modern drama. Is the work of a scholar less valuable than the work of a theorist? The ideas of both are valuable and are, I submit, undervalued.
As young academics, we will continually be asked to justify our work, whether it be to a SSHRC committee or to a friend in the sciences. So why do we bother in the humanities, and can we justify our research?
Perhaps the answer to Cusset’s question lies in the quote with which Astra Taylor opens her documentary, The Examined Life: “The unexamined life is not worth living” - Plato. Life ought to be examined . . . it is through the study of theory and of literary texts that we can reflect on our own state of being?

WHY SO SERIOUS!?!?!

Batman is boring and never has any fun; however, the joker is not! What does this have to do with our discussions? Academics tend to take themselves far too seriously because “critical thinking” and “philosophy” are serious business. So is saving the world, but Buffy Summers is still able to stop multiple apocalypses while maintaining a social life and wicked wardrobe. Irrelevant? I think not!
As “junior academics,” we are supposed to be engaged in the “serious” business of educating students and inspiring them to think critically about the world around them. Why do you want to think critically about the world around you? To improve it? To save it?
The film, The Examined Life, was boring and uninspiring. For the most part, it seemed as though the academics interviewed just enjoyed hearing themselves speak – but that is not important. Ironically, I found Judith Butler’s segment the most engaging and lucid, which is quite surprising given that her writing tends to veer into theoretical abstractions so obscure and nonsensical that I can’t help but right “bitch, please” on almost every page of her work.
Nonetheless, Butler was the only one to engage on a very literal level with the idea of what it means to be a philosopher that walks. More importantly, she spoke with someone that I assume is not a university professor, but who, nonetheless, was able to speak at a nuanced level with issues related to disability and impairment. What I found the most interesting was not what they said to each other, but that Butler acknowledged a form of knowledge outside academia: the filmmaker’s sister is a philosopher.
Gender studies classify “hegemonic masculinity” as the “ideal” masculinity to which all men aspire to, but ultimately fail to achieve. Is there not a “hegemonic philosopher” or a “hegemonic academic”? In other words, is there not an ideal that we all aspire to, or try to subvert? For those of us who watched the film together we discussed the stereotypical professor as a tweed-wearing, pipe smoking, old, white man sitting at Oxford or Harvard. For many of us in that room, and in this cohort, we will never be that professor, and yet there is still a demand to embody this “ideal”. This is the “serious” academic, for whom the “big questions” always matter – but do they really? Can we not have fun with what we study and fuck up, and admit our fuck ups? Would it be the end of the world if something we said at a lecture, conference or wrote in a paper was wrong or just plain silly? Shouldn’t we try to knock this professor off of his high horse and admit that despite the fact that we are academics, we are not Mary Poppins, and therefore not practically perfect in everyway?
I am not arguing that we should not take what we do seriously, but we cannot take it too seriously. If everything we do is super serious then failure to succeed will have catastrophic results because some academics do take themselves far too seriously and will tear our work to shreds and we will go home and cry because they didn’t like our ideas – but who cares? Ideas are not static. I do not really think we can be open to our own growth – intellectually and emotionally – if we take ourselves too seriously because we will not be as open to new ideas, and new perspectives.
In my opinion, super serious Batman is the status quo, and the Joker is the one who wants to mix shit up and have some fun: the joker is social change, while Batman is blah-conservatism. More importantly, the Joker always wears purple, which is just fucking fabulous!

Please watch: http://www.xtranormal.com/watch/7451115/

Mandatory eTextbooks

Further to our talks about the transmission of knowledge through online and/or digital channels: http://chronicle.com/article/The-End-of-the-Textbook-as-We/125044/

The scary part for students is the lack of choice this model offers--you pay the university a flat rate that covers all your eTextbooks. More "democratic" because the costs of education are (supposedly) substantially less, or less democratic because students have no choice?

PhD Colloquium Blog

Hi all,
Details to follow on how we might best use this blog to share ideas and engage in discussions in advance of our meetings. More soon, Imre
PS If anyone wants to spend some time improving its design, that'd be great!