The last blog question of the semester!
We touched on this a bit last week, but I wanted to expand on it a bit, especially in light of some of the issues raised in the simulation today and -- although you may not realize this yet, if you haven't read ahead -- in the thing I assigned for Thursday’s class. Basically, the thing I want you to wrestle a bit with is that Torodov’s three axes of alterity, the epistemic, the axiological, and the praexological, are made roughly equivalent in his account. In part Todorov is able to do this because the only “epistemic” dimension he discusses is knowledge of the other. He does not discuss knowledge of the effects of different cultural practices. The problem, or perhaps the challenge, is that knowledge of effects is, or purports to be, of a different order than questions of value hierarchy. (“Human sacrifice is wrong,” for example, is, or purports to be, a different kind of statement than, e.g., “human sacrifice is an inefficient way to organize a political system, and produces long-term instability,” precisely in that the former can't be adjudicated with evidence, but the latter can and should be.)
So, the question is: if we consider knowledge of effects, does “difference with equality” lose its moral force as an ideal? Should we be looking instead to eliminate inaccuracies in favor of better-supported empirical claims? Or is that process itself a reassertion of the kinds of hierarchies that Todorov argues that we need to call into question?
Or: can you be correct without illegitimately subordinating the other? Is there such a thing as the correct dismissal of alternatives, so to speak?
18.11.19
SISU-105.015 F2019 blog question #11
Short question this week, but don’t be deceived: it may be an easy question to state but it is far from an easy question to answer. As Todorov asks on p. 62, “Did the Spaniards defeat the Indians by means of signs?”
4.11.19
SISU-105.015 F2019 blog question #10
Hopefully after class today you have a better idea about the history of these international financial institutions, and about the centrality of economic growth to the various strategies that they have pursued over time. The question I would like you to wrestle with a bit is: should growth be as central to international economic policies as it is? The presumption of a growth-oriented approach is that if the economy grows, a variety of practical problems will be solved or resolved, because there will be more economic circulation and hence more opportunity and improvement. I’m less interested in empirical assessments of that proposition, since at this point in your education you probably don't have enough background knowledge to say with any certainty what economic growth does or does not generate. Instead, I’m interested in the set of values embedded in a focus on economic growth. Are there other ways that we ought to be running economic policy, and other goals that we ought to be pursuing? Why, or why not?
28.10.19
SISU-105.015 F2019 blog question #9
Our ninth weekly blog question already!
In 1952, Arnold Wolfers, one of the more prominent international studies scholars in the early days of the field, published an essay in Political Science Quarterly entitled “National Security As An Ambiguous Symbol.” In that essay, he argued that
Wolfers goes on to argue that what is true of the notion of the national interest is equally true of the notion of national security: both are vague concepts, indicating a direction rather than any concrete set of policies. One consequence that follows from this observation would be that in a sense, “national security” can mean whatever one wants it to mean, and in principle anything can be an issue of national security.
Is Wolfers correct? Is the notion of “national security” more or less infinitely malleable? Can anything be a “security” issue? Should security be defined as broadly as that, or should we operate with a more narrow definition? As you ponder, please feel free to bounce off of the readings assigned for this week, all of which speak to this issue in some way.
In 1952, Arnold Wolfers, one of the more prominent international studies scholars in the early days of the field, published an essay in Political Science Quarterly entitled “National Security As An Ambiguous Symbol.” In that essay, he argued that
In a very vague and general way “national interest” does suggest a direction of policy which can be distinguished from several others presenting themselves as alternatives. It indicates that the policy is designed to promote demands that are ascribed to the nation rather than to individuals, subnational groups, or mankind [sic, sexism in original] as a whole. It emphasizes that the policy subordinates other interests to those of the nation. But beyond this, it has very little meaning.
Wolfers goes on to argue that what is true of the notion of the national interest is equally true of the notion of national security: both are vague concepts, indicating a direction rather than any concrete set of policies. One consequence that follows from this observation would be that in a sense, “national security” can mean whatever one wants it to mean, and in principle anything can be an issue of national security.
Is Wolfers correct? Is the notion of “national security” more or less infinitely malleable? Can anything be a “security” issue? Should security be defined as broadly as that, or should we operate with a more narrow definition? As you ponder, please feel free to bounce off of the readings assigned for this week, all of which speak to this issue in some way.
14.10.19
SISU-105.015 F2019 blog question #8
Karl Deutsch once argued that power was “the capacity not to have to learn” -- in other words, the truly powerful are those who can go on as they have been going on, without having to modify their actions as a result of how things turn out. I am usually put in mind of Du Bois’ notion of the double consciousness by this remark, because in a way Du Bois could be read as arguing that those on the margins, those laboring under the burden of double consciousness from “being a problem,” have no choice but to learn how the dominant society operates so that they can try to find some place within it or at least a relationship to it. Those at the center have the luxury of not having to do so.
Does it therefore follow that those with double consciousness understand the society they are living in better than those at the center do? Do only certain kinds of double consciousness afford this epistemic privilege, or are there multiple marginal points of view...and how might we deal with that multiplicity? In a way, what I am asking here is: might there not be certain benefits, not to say advantages, or having a double consciousness? [Note that I am not asking about benefits of being marginalized and pushed down in the hierarchy, which I think is by definition a bad thing. I am instead asking about possible flowers that grow in the cracks at the side of the pavement, so to speak.]
Does it therefore follow that those with double consciousness understand the society they are living in better than those at the center do? Do only certain kinds of double consciousness afford this epistemic privilege, or are there multiple marginal points of view...and how might we deal with that multiplicity? In a way, what I am asking here is: might there not be certain benefits, not to say advantages, or having a double consciousness? [Note that I am not asking about benefits of being marginalized and pushed down in the hierarchy, which I think is by definition a bad thing. I am instead asking about possible flowers that grow in the cracks at the side of the pavement, so to speak.]
7.10.19
SISU-105.015 F2019 blog question #7
Question #7 already!
The version of constructivism that Shotter gives us, sometimes called “rhetorical-responsive constructivism,” emphasizes the way that people situated within various cultural traditions engage with one another. Social order emerges (and continually re-emerges) from those engagements, as people draw on the socio-ontological resources of their “living traditions” to determine what to do next. A skeptic, or perhaps a cynic, might call this naive or utopian, and say instead that social life can’t possibly be thought of as emerging from such rhetorical engagement; power and interest, the main themes of realist and liberal (not “liberalist” :-)) thought, are more important than dialogue and discussion.
Is constructivism, as portrayed and presented by Shotter, “idealistic” and “utopian”? Are the critics missing something, or are they essentially correct? Feel free to consider specific examples if that helps you make your argument.
The version of constructivism that Shotter gives us, sometimes called “rhetorical-responsive constructivism,” emphasizes the way that people situated within various cultural traditions engage with one another. Social order emerges (and continually re-emerges) from those engagements, as people draw on the socio-ontological resources of their “living traditions” to determine what to do next. A skeptic, or perhaps a cynic, might call this naive or utopian, and say instead that social life can’t possibly be thought of as emerging from such rhetorical engagement; power and interest, the main themes of realist and liberal (not “liberalist” :-)) thought, are more important than dialogue and discussion.
Is constructivism, as portrayed and presented by Shotter, “idealistic” and “utopian”? Are the critics missing something, or are they essentially correct? Feel free to consider specific examples if that helps you make your argument.
6.10.19
reflection after seven (!) weeks of classes
Having not given myself the binding instruction or commitment to do a reflective blog entry every week, I find my blogging unsurprisingly sporadic this semester. On one hand I feel badly about that: I feel like I should be reflecting in this written space more often. On the other hand I don’t feel badly at all: I'm engaged in my usual practice of making notes about each class session after it concludes, but those are notes to myself, and while there’s nothing confidential there, I do worry about the possible effects and consequences of having members of my class read those rough and raw notes while we are still actively engaged in the early stages of the ongoing process of producing our learning community. When I do the mid-semester anonymous surveys in a couple of weeks, those results and my thoughts on them will be public contributions, but that’s a bit different from the in-process notes I regularly take.
That said, what I can and will say here is that the thing that has been most puzzling to me this semester is the class discussion format. 26 people is not a large class in some ways and in some pedagogies, but in and for others it’s quite unwieldy. If I were lecturing, 26 is a fine number, small enough that people can ask questions without feeling “performance anxiety” of the sort that can shut down questions in a much larger lecture setting, but large enough that the lecture form doesn’t break down into conversation all the time. But I don’t lecture, deliberately: I am not interested in any student figuring out what I think, and in my experience that’s what often happens when I or anyone else lectures. I don’t think of my role in the classroom as a presenter of arguments; my job is instead to facilitate encounters, and while that can be done through lectures of a particular sort — the “grand tour” sort of lecture, come here and look at what I have found — I’m usually not comfortable doing that in the classroom. So instead, it’s “here’s a thing, let’s see what we make of it.”
And for that kind of pedagogy, 26 is a large number, particularly in 75-minute class sessions. The common space of the conversation is a scarce piece of real estate, and I am still experimenting with how to create openness and hospitality in that space while still allowing the conversation to find its own way forward. Because that’s the real trick: to give the conversation its own reins, to let it breathe and stretch out in its own directions, not beholden to any one of the participants. “Joint action,” as Shotter (among others) would call it. I haven’t yet found a combination of structure and flexibility that will do that in this group...but I will keep trying alternatives and see what happens. Tomorrow is probably a second fishbowl, and Thursday likely a small group-with-outreporting kind of thing, but we’ll see.
Eventually I want to walk into the room and give the lightsaber to someone else and see what they do with it. Not quite sure we’re there yet, but perhaps soon.
30.9.19
SISU-105.015 F2019 blog question #6
Many things have changed since the authors of The Federalist Papers made their case for limited government that would preserve individual liberty by setting ambition against ambition and thus aligning individual interests with a maximal amount of individual autonomy. Central to their case, as we discussed in class today, is the idea that different individuals and different groups have different interests, and in consequence, having many such groups and individuals makes it unlikely that a faction can be put together that would abuse the rights and limit the liberties of others.
Given that “social media” in the days of the founding of the United States was the public reading of newspapers amid any subsequent discussion that might ensue in pubs and coffee houses — discussions that, like so much else in the social life of the time, were almost invariably limited to white property-holding male participants — I wonder what the authors of The Federalist Papers would make of our contemporary scene, in which social media seem to permit both a much greater range of participants and a much greater platform for reaching people in almost real time. Do these changes in the media, both changes in who gets to participate in conversations and how those conversations are carried out, necessitate any reconsideration or reevaluation of the praise heaped on a large republic by the authors, especially by Madison in Federalist 10 and Federalist 51?
Given that “social media” in the days of the founding of the United States was the public reading of newspapers amid any subsequent discussion that might ensue in pubs and coffee houses — discussions that, like so much else in the social life of the time, were almost invariably limited to white property-holding male participants — I wonder what the authors of The Federalist Papers would make of our contemporary scene, in which social media seem to permit both a much greater range of participants and a much greater platform for reaching people in almost real time. Do these changes in the media, both changes in who gets to participate in conversations and how those conversations are carried out, necessitate any reconsideration or reevaluation of the praise heaped on a large republic by the authors, especially by Madison in Federalist 10 and Federalist 51?
23.9.19
SISU-105.015 F2019 blog question #5
Today in class we brainstormed six core characteristics of a “realist” approach to politics: independence/autonomy; the balance of power; anarchy/self-help; the national interest; "realpolitik"; and history as a source of wisdom. Broadly speaking these help to define what a self-identified political realist might value and emphasize in her analyses.
So the question arises: what might a self-identified realist make of the worldwide climate strikes last Friday, or of the speech given by the inspiration for if not the leader of this whole movement, Greta Thunberg, at the United Nations earlier today? How, if at all, do these events connect with what a political realist would consider the core elements of politics, particularly international politics?
I am deliberately asking you to stretch a bit with this question, since neither Machiavelli nor Kelanic have much to say directly about climate change or thousands of striking/protesting students. But a general theoretical perspective ought to have something to say about such events, whether that is a dismissal of their importance or an insight into their dynamics and potential impact. So, stretch out a bit in articulating an answer to this one.
So the question arises: what might a self-identified realist make of the worldwide climate strikes last Friday, or of the speech given by the inspiration for if not the leader of this whole movement, Greta Thunberg, at the United Nations earlier today? How, if at all, do these events connect with what a political realist would consider the core elements of politics, particularly international politics?
I am deliberately asking you to stretch a bit with this question, since neither Machiavelli nor Kelanic have much to say directly about climate change or thousands of striking/protesting students. But a general theoretical perspective ought to have something to say about such events, whether that is a dismissal of their importance or an insight into their dynamics and potential impact. So, stretch out a bit in articulating an answer to this one.
16.9.19
SISU-105.015 F2019 blog question #4
Today in class we spent some time working out a few of the key points of Machiavelli’s argument, though a deliberately artificial set-up in which I assigned you a position for your side of the class to adopt. (I have posted photos of the board giving the points raised in the exchange on the BlackBoard site in case you want to look back at a them.) For this week's blog question I want to take off that restriction, and ask you the same question — on balance, is Machiavelli basically right? — but without the need to adopt either the pro or the con side as assigned. Now that you understand Machiavelli’s argument a bit better, do you think he’s basically right, or not? Why?
15.9.19
reflection after three weeks of classes
Yes. Three weeks. It doesn’t seem like it, in part because of Labor Day so we’ve only had five (and not six) class meetings, and in part because the past three class sessions involved an ongoing game — really two parallel ongoing games — of Diplomatic Risk rather than a more traditional set of bounded class activities. But tomorrow we start week four already. And before you know it we’ll be at mid-semester and it wil be time for analytical essays...
But before that we get to go through and discuss Machiavelli and Locke and a number of other authors. Hopefully this allows the class members to draw out the various theoretical principles that were implicit in the Diplomatic Risk set-up: in the goals that teams had to pursue, in the rules of the game itself, in the dynamic interactions between teams on the map and in the World Council and in the hallways (literally). The whole point of the exercise was to give people some “synthetic experiences” that we can draw on for subsequent conversations. Obviously the gaps between the game and the wider world of international affairs are just as fair game as the parallels, and I hope that over the next few weeks we’ll be able to explore both.
Plus, if I am being honest, it’s just a lot more fun to play Diplomatic Risk in class than it is for me to talk about theoretical perspectives on international affairs. I could, obviously. But that would feel largely like a waste of all of our time. My hope is that by approaching those perspectives indirectly and implicitly, through experience rather than through explicit delineation, everyone will develop a better practical sense of what they entail. I mean, I don't even have to say anything about trust under conditions of anarchy now, because everyone experienced the breakdowns that can occur when sovereign entities make deals but then one party reneges or backs out.
I also tried a little experiment this year, putting up a blog question that asked the students to think about the “Athenian thesis” in the context of the novel we read at the beginning of the semester, by presenting a brief but contextualized except from Thucydides. I think it was largely successful; several insightful posts explored the way that even using power for good turns into the pursuit of power in order to do good, and then into simply the pursuit of power almost as an end in itself. Awiti’s tragedy may be that she lost herself, but because of her immortality she cannot simply fade away but persists indefinitely. The lessons there for us are something we still have to explore, I think.
But before that we get to go through and discuss Machiavelli and Locke and a number of other authors. Hopefully this allows the class members to draw out the various theoretical principles that were implicit in the Diplomatic Risk set-up: in the goals that teams had to pursue, in the rules of the game itself, in the dynamic interactions between teams on the map and in the World Council and in the hallways (literally). The whole point of the exercise was to give people some “synthetic experiences” that we can draw on for subsequent conversations. Obviously the gaps between the game and the wider world of international affairs are just as fair game as the parallels, and I hope that over the next few weeks we’ll be able to explore both.
Plus, if I am being honest, it’s just a lot more fun to play Diplomatic Risk in class than it is for me to talk about theoretical perspectives on international affairs. I could, obviously. But that would feel largely like a waste of all of our time. My hope is that by approaching those perspectives indirectly and implicitly, through experience rather than through explicit delineation, everyone will develop a better practical sense of what they entail. I mean, I don't even have to say anything about trust under conditions of anarchy now, because everyone experienced the breakdowns that can occur when sovereign entities make deals but then one party reneges or backs out.
I also tried a little experiment this year, putting up a blog question that asked the students to think about the “Athenian thesis” in the context of the novel we read at the beginning of the semester, by presenting a brief but contextualized except from Thucydides. I think it was largely successful; several insightful posts explored the way that even using power for good turns into the pursuit of power in order to do good, and then into simply the pursuit of power almost as an end in itself. Awiti’s tragedy may be that she lost herself, but because of her immortality she cannot simply fade away but persists indefinitely. The lessons there for us are something we still have to explore, I think.
9.9.19
SISU-105.015 F2019 blog question #3
Thucydides’ History of the Peloponnesian War is a classic of international studies: a detailed account of a power struggle between the Athenian city-states of Athens and Sparta, featuring military and diplomatic maneuvers, as well as contests for leadership within various polities based on their visions of how the war ought to be conducted, all conducted in the shadow of the Persian empire in the fifth century BCE (as denominated in the calendar “common” to the U.S. and to other places colonized by Europeans). We aren’t reading any Thucydides in this class because there is limited syllabus space. But Thucydides is a standard point of reference in international studies, especially Anglophone international studies, often classified as a “realist,” by some accounts the first realist, on the strength of moments in the text like this (in)famous excerpt from a debate between representatives of Athens (the Athenians) and the representatives of Melos (the Melians) in which the Athenians are trying to persuade the Melians to lay down their arms without a fight, since the Athenians have a clearly superior force, and the Melians object that simply submitting to power is not fair:
It's actually a fairly tricky point of Thucydides scholarship as to whether the author himself should be identified with what has come to be known as the “Athenian thesis” about the nature of politics, but regardless, the “Athenian thesis” is a good basic statement of political realism.
For your blog question this week I want you to think about which, if any, characters in The Truth About Awiti would agree with the “Athenian thesis” that justice is a secondary consideration and only power matters in politics, and which characters, if any, would not agree. Be textually precise; use specific textual passages from the novel to make your case. And note that I am not asking you to give your opinion on this issue; time enough for that in class when we turn to Machiavelli next week!
Athenians: ...you know as well as we do that, when these matters are discussed by practical people, the standard of justice depends on the equality of power to compel and that in fact the strong do what they have the power to do and the weak accept what they have to accept.
Melians: Then in our view (since you force us to leave justice out of account and to confine ourself to self-interest) — in our view it is at any rate useful that you should not destroy a principle that is to the general good of all men — namely, that in the case of all who fall into danger there should be such a thing as fair play and just dealing...
(Book Five, §89-90)
It's actually a fairly tricky point of Thucydides scholarship as to whether the author himself should be identified with what has come to be known as the “Athenian thesis” about the nature of politics, but regardless, the “Athenian thesis” is a good basic statement of political realism.
For your blog question this week I want you to think about which, if any, characters in The Truth About Awiti would agree with the “Athenian thesis” that justice is a secondary consideration and only power matters in politics, and which characters, if any, would not agree. Be textually precise; use specific textual passages from the novel to make your case. And note that I am not asking you to give your opinion on this issue; time enough for that in class when we turn to Machiavelli next week!
3.9.19
SISU-105.015 F2019 blog question #2
The promised "bonus blog question" despite our not having had class on Monday this week!
The novel The Truth About Awiti seems to suggest that Awiti -- who might represent the African diaspora community in general, or the descendants of U.S. slaves in particular, or perhaps something else -- will never find peace by pursuing her campaign of vengeance. But is peace the goal she ought to be pursuing, or is her campaign serving another purpose? How should Awiti be handling her pain, and does that have implications for how we might or should act in a world structured by the experiences and transnational arrangements that provoke her wrath?
The novel The Truth About Awiti seems to suggest that Awiti -- who might represent the African diaspora community in general, or the descendants of U.S. slaves in particular, or perhaps something else -- will never find peace by pursuing her campaign of vengeance. But is peace the goal she ought to be pursuing, or is her campaign serving another purpose? How should Awiti be handling her pain, and does that have implications for how we might or should act in a world structured by the experiences and transnational arrangements that provoke her wrath?
27.8.19
class blogs for Fall 2019
Here are the six class blogs for this semester:
World Politics Think Tank
Sassy Scholars
The Erudite Iconoclasts
The Jackson Four
Blog F. Kennedy
Pangea
If you are commenting on any of these blogs, remember to respect the chosen username of each poster, and refer to them that way. Happy discussing!
World Politics Think Tank
Sassy Scholars
The Erudite Iconoclasts
The Jackson Four
Blog F. Kennedy
Pangea
If you are commenting on any of these blogs, remember to respect the chosen username of each poster, and refer to them that way. Happy discussing!
26.8.19
SISU-105.015 F2019 blog question #1
And away we go!
Blog question #1: what is the most pressing issue in world politics today? Why?
Blog question #1: what is the most pressing issue in world politics today? Why?
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