November 4th, 2009 Rafael Alvarado
“We must jump off Lévi-Strauss’s bus one stop before he does.“
Wendy Doniger, The Implied Spider, p. 149.
It is hard to overestimate the infliuence of Claude Lévi-Strauss, a French philosopher turned anthropologist who liked to be known as a craftsman, on the discourse of the humanities and social sciences in the second half of the twentieth century. Operating among a surplus of great thinkers (especially in France) during a period of the devaluation of the role of intellectual, his name nevertheless stands out not simply for having founded one of the most important intellectual movements of the century — structuralism — but for having defined the agenda, along with Wittgenstein, for a host of major thinkers up to the present time. Without Levi-Strauss, there is no Foucault, no Derrida, no Bourdieu, no Lyotard to both absorb and react to the idea of structure and the great anthropological tradition which served to flesh out the idea. For without Levi-Strauss, the vast storehouse of descriptive ethnography that he discovered and fully absorbed in America, in the New York Public Library, while in exile during the war, would never have reached Paris. The significance of these materials — many of them dry catalogs of cultural traits interspersed with tentative observations about the nature of culture — would never have caught the attention of the European eye. And without his role as cultural vector between American empirical ethnography and French philosophical anthropology, the deep well of ethnography in general might never have informed the imagination of deconstruction, poststructuralism, and postmodernism. Evidence for the influence of this source can be found everywhere, both implicitly, as in Foucault’s appropriation of the idea of mana to theorize power, and explicitly, as in Lyotard’s strong reference to Lévi-Strauss and the ethnographic example of the Cashinahua in the Postmodern Condition. Surprised by his fame and notoriously absent from the activism of the 1960s, Lévi-Strauss was the unmoved mover for an entire system of thinkers whose lights shone the brighter for their proximity to him.
Today the bus has stopped. For those of us who have followed Doniger’s advice — and you have to — perhaps now we may consider getting back on for a few more stops.
Posted in Athropology | No Comments »
June 7th, 2009 Rafael Alvarado
RDF Schema Definition Language&rft.source=The Transducer&rft.date=2009-06-07&rft.identifier=http://transducer.ontoligent.com/?p=534&rft.language=English&rft.aulast=Alvarado&rft.aufirst=Rafael&rft.subject=Comparative Ontology">
When I get the time, I’m going to write a vocabulary creation language to support structuralist text interpretation. It will consist of two specs: one to handle the marking up the surface features of text, such as rhetorical figures and tropes. This will be based on my work with the Princeton Charrette Project and it will likely incorporate some ideas from Steven Bird’s work on annotation graphs. The second will be either an extension of or a variant of SKOS and|or OWL designed to represent extracted symbolic structures. It will incorporate predicates to handle relations of signification, such as has_part, has_analogy, and has_metonym, between the elements represented in the first language. At a larger level, I want to represent holistic dimensions such as context and level, as well as narratological things like encompassment, transformation, inversion, and liminality.
One of the big problems I see in this project is an apparent limitation in RDF to support triples about triples. For example, an analogy is a relation between structures, not terms. The assertion A : B :: C : D is, at minumum, an assertation about the relationship between two assertations, A : B and C : D. (The predicate of the assertions themselves is usually X has_part Y.) An anology looks something like this then:
[A has_part B] just_as [C has_part D]
The easiest way to accomplish this task would be to provide URIs for each RDF triple. I haven’t seen a general solution to this problem. I know I can create local URIs within a specific triple store, and use these in triples. But I need to define an RDF triple as a datatype first. And I anticipate problems further downstream; I wonder if the current RDF toolset is designed to handle indexing and inferencing of these kinds of triples.
If anyone has suggestions about how to handle this issue, I’d be glad to hear them.
AFTERTHOUGHT:
After writing this, it strikes me that to say that two triples are analogous is just to say that they share a predicate–so long as that predicate is sufficiently specified. To assert an analogy, then, is to assert that such an identity is important or relevant in a certain context.
Posted in Comparative Ontology | 7 Comments »
May 12th, 2009 Rafael Alvarado
Comparative ontology asserts that humans already have ontologies, and that machine ontologies are both projections of human ontologies (those of the numerati) and material agents that intervene in the ongoing reproduction of ontologies (everyone else’s). Developers of ontologies for the web of linked data would do well to understand the nature of human ontologies, as well as they way machine ontologies intervene in the ongoing construction of social life.
Human ontologies are not like ROM programs, hard-wired into our brains and executed without modification; they are designed to be reprogrammed through engagement with the world. They are one of our most effective adaptive traits.
Ontologies are adaptive
Anthropologists have studied ontologies in the wild for a long time, under the various categories of “structure,” “symbolism,” “culture” and “collective representations.” One of the most important contributors to the study of ontology is the American cultural anthropologist Marshall Sahlins.
Sahlins began as a cultural materialist but had a road to Damascus experience in the 1970s in which he got culture. You may recognize his name as the unfortunate target of fellow anthropologist Gananath Obeyesekere, who criticized Sahlins’ interpretation of the events leading to Captain Cook’s death in Hawai’i as orientalist. In fact, Obeyesekere’s criticism was an exercise in occidentalist stereotyping and, in any case, Sahlins’ control of the material eventually proved his critic’s position incoherent.
Sahlins’ principal theoretical contibution to cultural anthropology has been to retrieve the concept of cultural structure from the ahistorical, formalist, and mechanistic conception developed by Lévi-Strauss, whose own work on mythology belies his more theoretical pronouncements. Rather than separating structure from event (and history), and locating the former deeply within a universal mind–like a camshaft responsible for the jigsaw puzzle of culture–Sahlins focuses on what he calls the “structure of the conjuncture” of structure and event. History emerges as a culturally distinctive second-order structure that results from the ongoing work of categories in praxis. So categories have a structure, but that structure undergoes reevaluation and change as it is applied to the world.
In this, Sahlins is consistent with both Victor Turner’s understanding of processual structure in ritual behavior, and Bourdieu’s concept of the habitus which mediates, through improvization, the “dialectic of objectification and embodiment.” In fact, I believe that the revised structuralism developed by these anthropologists (and others) is coherent enough to deserve a name; I call it “neostructuralism.”
In Islands of History Sahlins describes the process of cultural (ontological) change in terms of the “risk of reference”: as cultures classify things in the world–as they deploy ontologies–they also put these ontologies at risk. For things in the world do not always behave as classified, or planned. Even the sun has an occasional eclipse. Although the keepers of culture–from priests to grandmothers–try to enforce adherence to the categories, the behavior of things will inevitably contradict the categories and call for their revision. Sahlins reads the Hawai’ian’s classification of Captain Cook as Lono as just such a world changing event.
Ritual is one mechanism humans use to synchronize the world with world view. As people grow, for example, and change statuses, rites of passage are used to mediate this “contradiction” and reclassify people so that they can fit into the system. Another mechanism is prophecy, where the reverse is true–world views are aligned with a world that has changed. Millenarian movements are the classic example of this: a prophet emerges who can make sense of the new in terms of the old, but changes the old in the process.
Rituals and prophetic movements are the original forms of change management.
This is the ongoing work of culture. Cultural reproduction is never mechanical. That is one reason we humans have history. There is always a disproportion between words and things, plans and situations.
Texts, as forms of discourse, can be likened to rituals and prophetic movements. Novels in particular are efforts to both makes sense of and influence the world, a task in which they often succeed. They deploy a set of categories that make sense, to the author at least, in a certain time and place. The risk of reference works at various levels–from the basal meanings of words out of which tropes are created, to the description of scenes in which the unsaid is shared among a presumed audience, to more elaborate allegorical mappings of fictional characters to real persons. But the referrential risk of textuality is compounded as the message is removed from its original personal, cultural, and historical contexts, and the world of the text is forced to fit new contexts for new readers. Hermeneutics arose as a method to retrieve meanings lost in this way; Roman Law and the Christian Bible being two major examples of distanced texts being applied and reapplied to new situations. The French philosopher and hereneutic theorist Paul Ricoeur called the result of this risk the “surplus of meaning” in a text, and saw it at as an opportunity for a kind of ontological excavation.
Databases (and the point of this post)
Now, a data model, such as a set of tables and fields in a relational database, an XML schema of elements and attributes, or an RDF vocabulary of classes and properties, is a plan, a schema of classification. And database applications, like rituals and texts, have their own forms of referential risk to contend with. They classify the world and, in the process, both effect the world they classify and open themselves up for revision by that world as it changes.
For example, the categories produced by a requirements elicitation process for an application designed to improve some workflow, and encoded in a database that sits at the bottom of an application stack, may not accurately represent the workflow as it is actually practiced, and as it will inevitably change as new developments take place–changing personnel, clients, strategic plans, etc. The database, then, is put into a situation–the situation of the conjuncture–into which its categories are at risk.
In this situation, databases are like texts–they are built on the armature of a hard-coded ontology, and they can move beyond their original domain of applicatibility.
But unlike most texts, and very much like sacred texts, database applications (and their administrators) are usually given a central position within an organization. They are often deployed as key elements of an enterprise architecture that calls the institutional shots. Thus they can insulate themselves from referential risk. They can force conformity to their logic–as Michael Wesch’s New Guinea villagers redesigned their settlement pattern to conform to the government census–or they can produce a black market of behaviors in an organization that bypasses the database governed workflow. This is what faculty do who are forced to use an LMS but would rather use Google Docs.
Comparative ontology can help here. If we view ontologies as always situated, then we should (1) design systems for maximum flexibility and adaptabilty, and (2) learn a lesson from the ritual life of peoples around the world and throughout history: engage our ontologies in constant reevaluation and modification, making the world (of our organizations) fit where appropriate, and also refining the categories to fit the world.
To meet the first challenge, we shouldn’t create overwrought ontologies, but rather focus on just enough classification to achieve the effects we need. Usually, the effects we are most concerned with are connecting people to people, people to information, and information to information, in as few links as possible.
To meet the second challenge, we may want to refine what we mean by “social operating system”–for that is precisely what a ritual system is. Maybe it’s time to follow McLuhan’s advice and exploit the ritual effects of the electric, in order to mitigate and shape the more dangerous effects of the electronic. When we build ontologies, maybe we should also be thinking of the physical and virtual spaces in which they will be deployed, and the material and digital artifacts that will be their vehicles of expression.
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April 10th, 2009 Rafael Alvarado
“Foundational” Texts in the Digital Humanities&rft.source=The Transducer&rft.date=2009-04-10&rft.identifier=http://transducer.ontoligent.com/?p=250&rft.language=English&rft.aulast=Alvarado&rft.aufirst=Rafael&rft.subject=Digital Humanities">
Recently, Matt Kirschenbaum, English Professor at Maryland, Associate Director of the Maryland Inistitute for Technology in the Humanities, and author of Mechanisms, tweeted a request for “absolutely foundational” articles or chapters for “an introduction to the digital humanities.” The following is my list, in chronological order.
- Vannevar Bush, 1945, “As We May Think.”
- Claude Shannon, 1948, “A Mathematical Theory of Communication.”
- Norbert Wiener, 1954, “Organization is the Message.”
- Claude Lévi-Strauss, 1955, “The Structural Study of Myth.”
- Benjamin Colby, 1966, “Culture Patterns in Narrative.”
- Gregory Bateson, 1967, “Style, Grace, and Information in Primitive Art.”
- Rodney Needham, 1975, “Polythetic Classification.” *
- Jean-François Lyotard, 1979, The Postmdern Condition.
- Ted Nelson, 1980, Literary Machines.
- Walter Ong, 1982, Orality and Literacy.
- Lucy Suchman, 1988, “Representing Practice in Cognitive Science.” *
- Douglas Adams, 1990. Hyperland. *
- Diana Forsythe, 1993, “The Construction of Work in Artificial Intelligence.” *
- Steven Bird and Mark Liberman, 1999, “Annotation graphs as a framework for multidimensional linguistic data analysis.”
- Lev Manovich, 2001, “Database as Symbolic Form.”
- John Unsworth, 2001, “Knowledge Representation in Humanities Computing.”
- Stephen Ramsey, 2005, “In Praise of Pattern.”
- Tim Berners-Lee, 2006, “Linked Data–Design Issues.”
* These were added after the original post. I reserve the write to amend and annotate this list at any time …
Here are a few qualifiers.
Number one, I don’t think there are, strictly speaking, any foundational texts in the digital humanities. Not in the way that physics can claim Newton’s Principia or biology Darwin’s Origin. I am not sure if this situation is due to the (perennial) infancy of the field–if, indeed, it is a field. (I think of it more as a cross-displinary methodology.) Moreover, my saying so certainly isn’t due to any distaste on my part for the concept of a canon. Instead, there are, roughly corresponding to the pre– and post-war era of the previous century, a number of loosely related essays that adumbrate a set of ideas which subsequent generations of people who call themselves digital humanists have been unpacking. The latter have produced a number of essays which the majoritoy of digital humanists will have read, and these may be called foundational, in the sense of a shared discourse. Fair enough. But none of these texts can claim the status of having defined a method or a domain that we can, in retrospect, claim as distinctly concerning the digital humanities. Also–and here I will be controversial–I believe that this particular corpus has had the effect of producing, though the hyercoherence that can affect small “thought collectives” (Fleck), a rather narrow set of concerns which have put the field into a groove from which it would do well to extricate itself.
Number two, since I consider the digital humanities to be at once critical and practical, these texts come from both angles, one set concerned with method, the other with historical context.
Number three, parts of this list are, as you’ll quickly see, pretty specific to me, and my background as an American cultural anthropologist with strong English and French influences. These are texts that have been foundational to my conception of the digital humanities, and which have made a difference to my way of thinking about textuality, digital textuality, and what happens to text when it becomes digital. But it is not entirely idiosyncratic. In its defense, I would argue that the digital humanities is more closely tied with the structuralism of the 1950s and 60s than is usually recognized–and indeed, more than structuralists are prepared to admit. (There is an important chapter of intellectual history that needs to be written here, concerning the close but relatively hidden relationship between structuralism and the “cybernetic moment.”) Moreover, the anthropological angle is always worth pushing, insofar as the discipline, before its reflexive self-implosion in the 1980s and 90s, bequeathed the culture concept on which the realignment of the humanities and itnerpretive social sciences has been constructed. From an anthropologist’s view, the wild success of cultural studies and cultural history has the sad sweetness, the tristes tropiques, that attends the simultaneous death and birth of cultures.
* * *
Posted in Digital Humanities | 8 Comments »
February 5th, 2009 Rafael Alvarado
One of the things I like to do when designing a course is to view the syllabus as a kind of plot or outline of a story. The story may end up as the basis of a book, but mainly it provides structure to the experience of the students taking the course. Structure at this level is important because it provides a cognitive scaffolding for students when they are trying to ingest the content of the course as a whole.
Now, in general, there are two cognitive models one may use to present material to students in a way that maximizes the ability of the students to retain the information: the historical and the logical (or perhaps “structural”). The sciences, of course, tend to be logical, for obvious reasons — ideas build on themselves in a way that requires going from the simple to the complex. (Sometimes this order matches historical development, but not necessarily; often the work of simplification occurs late in the stage of the development of a theory.) The humanities, on the other hand, tend to be historical, or some variant thereof (such as reverse chronological order.) The human sciences tend to be somewhere in the middle, which raises the point of this blog entry.
In a course I am designing now — the Anthropology of the Information Society — I found myself being unable to decide between the two. An historical approach would be easy, and in fact I have used it in the past. But I think it is a bit plodding: begin with the Cybernetic moment, in both the commercial and academic spheres, and march one’s way through to the current posthumanist era of the web and commercialized cyberspace. Additionally, one easily falls into the traps of teleology and the ever-dreaded metanarrative (the fear of which is itself part of what we are studying). On the other hand, a purely structural approach — say, along the lines of a traditional ethnography, where various institutions are studied in succession (religion, politics, economics, kinship and the family, etc.) has it’s problems too: such divisions, although not as artificial as some may argue, nonetheless they prevent an organic understanding of their relations — in anthropology especially, one wants to talk about religion, politics and economics at the same time.
My solution has been to adopt a rhetorical device that seems to combine the historical (that is, the sequential) with the structural into what might be thought of as a temporal structure: the figure of chiasmus. We know this as the familiar pattern A B B’ A’, as in the following:
“Love is the irresistible desire to be desired irresistibly .”
Rhetoricians and poets have though the ages used this device to structure units of discourse from simple one or two-liners (like this example) to entire poems and stories, such as Chretien de Troye’s Lancelot. The subtitle of The Hobbit expresses this logic: “There and Back Again.”
Chiasmus at the larger units of discourse (such as a course) is useful, I think, because it provides a temporal, historical frame that is easy to follow, but which, by the doubling back that defines its character, exposes structure as well. I think this is best presented by example.
In my course, I expect to discuss the role of the computer as both a symbol and artifact that both structures and is structured by the social institutions in which it is embedded. The major institutions in play are the political and the economic, along with a more diffuse and pervasive one I call ideology, which includes religious and ontological beliefs of all kinds (following the thinking of many anthropologists, such as Mary Douglas and Louis Dumont). Now to present this, I could, as I mention above, proceed historically or structurally. Historically, I could begin with the diffusion of the computer, or computerization, as ideology in the 1950s, where the ideas of information, communication and control dominate the human and biological sciences, and even anthropology itself. I could then move onto the 1960s and 1970s and the rise of information-driven economies and economic organizations (such as, notably, international corporations). Finally, I could conclude with the effects on the political sphere (rights, privacy, community) with the emergence of the blogosphere and the rise of yet another model of the surveillance state.
The problem with this approach, though, is that it doesn’t provide an opportunity to show the effects of each phase on the previously discussed levels — what happens to the symbolics of the computer as it becomes more overtly enmeshed in the dynamics of political communication? Also, the succession of ideology, economics, and politics, which I had not noticed upon first teaching the course, raises the larger question of how these social dimensions are related. I do not want to imply a simple causal hierarchy in which ideas influence infrastructure which in turn constrains politics. At the largest level, there is a structural point to be made about these dimensions, which argues for discussing them in isolation from their historical sequence.
This is where chiasmus comes in: I plan to organize the course in the following manner:
- Introduction
- Ideology
- Economics
- Politics
- Politics
- Economics
- Ideology
- Conclusion
WIth this structure, I can march my way through history, and then double back and make the structural points that are really the point of the course, linking economics, politics and ideology together as a conflicted yet organic whole. And notice how each dimension is structurally privileged: Ideology encompasses, whereas the political is at the center; and economics mediates and bridges.
Anyway, the structure has already proved useful in organizing my thoughts and materials, regardless of the merits of my arguments for it
[Note: this is a republishing of an entry I wrote for Dickinson’s local blog on teaching and learning.]
Posted in Teaching and Learning | No Comments »