Here we see a hint of what I mentioned in my earlier blog post; the influence of Internet communications on Fortun's story. The chapter is scattered with quotes from various online commentators on the Yahoo! finance message board. Fortun's main emphasis is, of course, on what these people are saying; they are used to illustrate the disconnect between the average investor and the actual investment mechanics -- i.e. those that require "DD". The quotes are intriguing because of their content. Indeed, in the medium of the Internet all one can produce is content; with no "stability" behind authorship, any and every act or statement on the Internet functions as a means of self-representation. And it is precisely because of this fact that Fortun's use of message board transcripts is a particular deft move; on the Internet, each and every contributor enacts (explicitlyXimplicitly) a series of promises -- this is who I am, this is what I have a stake in, etc. (Promises that can never be proved true or disingenuous!)
Thus Fortun's analysis of promising has heavy implications for the political structure of the Internet. Frequently, the Internet is lauded as a democratizing tool -- i.e. now anyone (with a computer and Internet access!) can connect with anyone and communicate on any topic. But if identity on the Internet is bound up in promises -- things that defy a true/false binary -- how can one consistently interpret and understand the identity of the Other? How does one establish (if even as a fiction) "same" and "different" -- which are undoubtedly the foundation of political cohesion?
To move the questioning back to genomics, what happens when an enterprise is built not only on the promises of companies to investors and of investors to companies, but also on the very promised existence of investors? (Isn't this sort of thing played out when Icelanders buy second and third-hand shares of deCode? Aren't they counting on the existence of other investors?)
Fortun's promises seem to be everywhere, even in places he leaves explicitlyXimplicitly unexplored.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Friday, February 19, 2010
IcelandXWorld
There's a lot going on in chapter 12, IcelandXWorld. At first glance it can seem a bit jumbled: fishing for fish, fishing for genes, and a self-conscious policeman. What does it all mean?
The key to answering this question, I think, lies in taking account of the chapter's position relative to the preceding chapters. In other words, in can be more fruitful to "pull back" and view the whole of the text, rather than concentrating on the minute details of chapter 12.
In the preceding chapters, Fortun has explored his complex relationship to his object of study; he admits to distanceXcomplicity, a chiasmic relationship that involves the blurring of boundaries between subject and object. Fortun is enfolded into the very events he studies.
But if the preceding chapters blur the line between Fortun and his object, how does IcelandXWorld take this further?
Chapter 11 ends with a question: "So just where is the boundary to mark the differences between Iceland and the rest of the world?" (158) This is precisely the question that chapter 12 seeks to illuminate, with all its talk of policemen and fishing. As the chapter title -- and the sprawling style -- indicates, Fortun is arguing for another chiasmic blurring of boundaries. In this instance, it is not the blurring of subjectXobject, but rather objectXnotobject ("notobject" representing everything that we use to distinguish the object as "set apart"). In other words, not only does Fortun recognize the extent to which he is entangled in his object of study, but he also recognizes the extent to which the very act of "picking out" an object is an artificial construction that runs afoul of the much more complex -- and scandalous -- IcelandXWorld.
This chapter, then, serves to illuminate another way in which Fortun is enfolded into his study: The very act of selecting an object of study constitutes the subjective creation of that object.
The key to answering this question, I think, lies in taking account of the chapter's position relative to the preceding chapters. In other words, in can be more fruitful to "pull back" and view the whole of the text, rather than concentrating on the minute details of chapter 12.
In the preceding chapters, Fortun has explored his complex relationship to his object of study; he admits to distanceXcomplicity, a chiasmic relationship that involves the blurring of boundaries between subject and object. Fortun is enfolded into the very events he studies.
But if the preceding chapters blur the line between Fortun and his object, how does IcelandXWorld take this further?
Chapter 11 ends with a question: "So just where is the boundary to mark the differences between Iceland and the rest of the world?" (158) This is precisely the question that chapter 12 seeks to illuminate, with all its talk of policemen and fishing. As the chapter title -- and the sprawling style -- indicates, Fortun is arguing for another chiasmic blurring of boundaries. In this instance, it is not the blurring of subjectXobject, but rather objectXnotobject ("notobject" representing everything that we use to distinguish the object as "set apart"). In other words, not only does Fortun recognize the extent to which he is entangled in his object of study, but he also recognizes the extent to which the very act of "picking out" an object is an artificial construction that runs afoul of the much more complex -- and scandalous -- IcelandXWorld.
This chapter, then, serves to illuminate another way in which Fortun is enfolded into his study: The very act of selecting an object of study constitutes the subjective creation of that object.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
PromisesXPromises
Disclaimer: This is an exercise in what could very fairly be termed "bluffing" (or, promising?). I have not (yet!) read Derrida, Austin, or Felman, and therefore must draw my knowledge of these thinkers from superficial, textbook-style treatments (in the case of Derrida) and from Fortun's text itself (in the cases of Austin and Felman). Of course, as any goodXbad student knows, not having read the book does not prohibit one from writing about it; indeed, in light of this post's engagement with language and promising, it would seem impossible to do otherwise.
Near the beginning of Chapter X, Fortun notes that he has "preferred, throughout this text, to defer direct theorizing of promising, relying instead on the inferences that ethnographic empiricism offers, or at least promises." (104) Nevertheless, in this chapter Fortun finds a place for "some promise of theory" -- a move that, as I hope to show, occurs less by choice than by necessity (or rather, by choiceXnecessity), given Fortun's previous situation of his text in relation to the work of Jacques Derrida.
As early as chapter one, Derrida is invoked as the foundation of Fortun's investigation of promising. In this formulation, promising is not localized or tied to any specific object, event, or meaning. This allows Fortun to grasp the nebulous nature of promises, but it also significantly destabilizes Fortun's object of study. If promising is rooted in the Derridean conception of language as an infinite chain of signifiers, then it is impossible to speak (pardon the pun) of a promise as "fulfilled". Worse yet, it is impossible to know when and/or if a promise has been made.
But how then to study promises? If every attempt to "pin down" a promise merely results in displacement, isn't the attempt to study promises futile? Doesn't the infinite displacement of meaning render Fortun's text meaningless? In other words, the problem of nihilism: "However will we make judgements?!" (110)
Fortun's answer is a chiasmic nonXanswer. In Felman's terms, Fortun plays the devil. That is to say: Fortun is unwilling to "pin down" the status of his own text (and of his own "distanceXcomplicity") within the bounds of any normative logic. Rather, the text is rooted in a radical negativity (one that, I might add, sounds strikingly similar to Žižek's reading of Hegel, as rendered in his pop culture-tinged dialectic of "living, dead, and undead" -- i.e. "positive, negative, and the negation of the negative") that is fundamentally scandalous in that such a radical negativity "cannot be assimilated by historical or ethnographic understanding" and yet still "constitute[s] historical and ethnographic understanding." (111)
Thus, the use of Derrida drives Fortun to acknowledge that his text mirrors his object of study; just as promises are nebulous (scandalously so) and outside the bounds of normative logic, so is Fortun's endeavor. (This is why, sooner or later, Fortun must engage Derrida et al on a theoretical level.) Fortun's study is empirical -- rooted in facts. The phonograph needle is still there, somewhat. But the study is also fictional. The phonograph needle is playing back moreXless than it recorded. Empirical and fictional. The text is a nonXfiction.
(And a nonXfiction is precisely what Fortun provides at the end of the chapter. The final segment, accompanied by a drastic change in tone, can be seen as a microcosm of Fortun's theoretical commitments. But that would be a whole other blog post.)
Near the beginning of Chapter X, Fortun notes that he has "preferred, throughout this text, to defer direct theorizing of promising, relying instead on the inferences that ethnographic empiricism offers, or at least promises." (104) Nevertheless, in this chapter Fortun finds a place for "some promise of theory" -- a move that, as I hope to show, occurs less by choice than by necessity (or rather, by choiceXnecessity), given Fortun's previous situation of his text in relation to the work of Jacques Derrida.
As early as chapter one, Derrida is invoked as the foundation of Fortun's investigation of promising. In this formulation, promising is not localized or tied to any specific object, event, or meaning. This allows Fortun to grasp the nebulous nature of promises, but it also significantly destabilizes Fortun's object of study. If promising is rooted in the Derridean conception of language as an infinite chain of signifiers, then it is impossible to speak (pardon the pun) of a promise as "fulfilled". Worse yet, it is impossible to know when and/or if a promise has been made.
But how then to study promises? If every attempt to "pin down" a promise merely results in displacement, isn't the attempt to study promises futile? Doesn't the infinite displacement of meaning render Fortun's text meaningless? In other words, the problem of nihilism: "However will we make judgements?!" (110)
Fortun's answer is a chiasmic nonXanswer. In Felman's terms, Fortun plays the devil. That is to say: Fortun is unwilling to "pin down" the status of his own text (and of his own "distanceXcomplicity") within the bounds of any normative logic. Rather, the text is rooted in a radical negativity (one that, I might add, sounds strikingly similar to Žižek's reading of Hegel, as rendered in his pop culture-tinged dialectic of "living, dead, and undead" -- i.e. "positive, negative, and the negation of the negative") that is fundamentally scandalous in that such a radical negativity "cannot be assimilated by historical or ethnographic understanding" and yet still "constitute[s] historical and ethnographic understanding." (111)
Thus, the use of Derrida drives Fortun to acknowledge that his text mirrors his object of study; just as promises are nebulous (scandalously so) and outside the bounds of normative logic, so is Fortun's endeavor. (This is why, sooner or later, Fortun must engage Derrida et al on a theoretical level.) Fortun's study is empirical -- rooted in facts. The phonograph needle is still there, somewhat. But the study is also fictional. The phonograph needle is playing back moreXless than it recorded. Empirical and fictional. The text is a nonXfiction.
(And a nonXfiction is precisely what Fortun provides at the end of the chapter. The final segment, accompanied by a drastic change in tone, can be seen as a microcosm of Fortun's theoretical commitments. But that would be a whole other blog post.)
Sunday, February 7, 2010
KeikoXK.Co. ...and blogs
At the end of chapter five, Fortun relates a joke told by Kári: "Keiko is my offensive linesman [...] running interference for me. He's keeping me out of the papers for a while." (64) It's not until chapter eight that Keiko is examined in depth, but thoughout the chapter Fortun makes an increasingly strong case concerning the "KeikoXK.Co." chiasmus. The two are folded into each other.
What strikes me about the story of Keiko -- and by extension, the story of K.Co. -- is the technological state of the media during this particular period. I remember watching Free Willy and Free Willy 2 as a child, and I remember being vaguely aware of Keiko's trip "home". I do not, however, have a meaningful grasp of how the media that covered these events must have functioned -- i.e. without widespread camera phones, without blogs, and so on. It seems strange to me to think of turning to only a few sources for my daily news.
But the story of Keiko and K.Co. is placed before the widespread use of these news technologies, and this is evidenced with particular strength in Kári's joke about Keiko's "interference". The implication is, of course, that the media as a whole cannot focus on more than a single subject at a time; the news is (at least topically) hegemonic. This is a story from a time when the media was a whole -- not fractured.
I wonder, then, if the same kinds of promises and the same kinds of promissory rhetoric could be employed in the age of the blog. Now certainly, the media -- even grassroots media -- is fairly single minded, but it is hard to imagine a complete lack of critical Icelandic bloggers. It is hard to imagine no one sitting in front of a screen in a dark room, blogging away about the evils of deCode. If the media is fractured, surely some would keep their focus on Kári rather than Keiko?
This is, of course, all speculation; there is no way to know if a change in media configuration would have drastically altered the events documented in Promising Genomics. Still, I think it important to note that it is not only the rapidity of change in genomics that is relevant to its practice, but also the rapidity of change in the wider technological world that is relevant. New technologies, or the new use of technologies, may substantially change one of the "rings" of Model 2, which in turn may substantially change genomics.
I guess this means that to truly grasp genomics, our view must be very broad.
What strikes me about the story of Keiko -- and by extension, the story of K.Co. -- is the technological state of the media during this particular period. I remember watching Free Willy and Free Willy 2 as a child, and I remember being vaguely aware of Keiko's trip "home". I do not, however, have a meaningful grasp of how the media that covered these events must have functioned -- i.e. without widespread camera phones, without blogs, and so on. It seems strange to me to think of turning to only a few sources for my daily news.
But the story of Keiko and K.Co. is placed before the widespread use of these news technologies, and this is evidenced with particular strength in Kári's joke about Keiko's "interference". The implication is, of course, that the media as a whole cannot focus on more than a single subject at a time; the news is (at least topically) hegemonic. This is a story from a time when the media was a whole -- not fractured.
I wonder, then, if the same kinds of promises and the same kinds of promissory rhetoric could be employed in the age of the blog. Now certainly, the media -- even grassroots media -- is fairly single minded, but it is hard to imagine a complete lack of critical Icelandic bloggers. It is hard to imagine no one sitting in front of a screen in a dark room, blogging away about the evils of deCode. If the media is fractured, surely some would keep their focus on Kári rather than Keiko?
This is, of course, all speculation; there is no way to know if a change in media configuration would have drastically altered the events documented in Promising Genomics. Still, I think it important to note that it is not only the rapidity of change in genomics that is relevant to its practice, but also the rapidity of change in the wider technological world that is relevant. New technologies, or the new use of technologies, may substantially change one of the "rings" of Model 2, which in turn may substantially change genomics.
I guess this means that to truly grasp genomics, our view must be very broad.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Callahan, Brown, and Ideology
This one goes out on a theoretical limb...
The pairing of Callahan's article on ideology and Brown's article on politicization is an interesting one, in that the subject of Brown's article (politicization) is -- at least partially -- the enactment of the subject of Callahan's article (ideology).
Early on in his article, Brown comments:
Brown has introduced an interesting schism here, one that can perhaps be best understood in terms of a divide between ontology and epistemology. The nature of the political (or, the political nature of something -- for example, bioethics) itself becomes a political question, thus forcing us to reflexively examine the manner in which we know the political. After acknowledging this problem, however, Brown abandons it -- to his argument's loss, I think.
Here Callahan points the way. It is at this divide between the ontological and the epistemological -- between definitions of the political and understanding how we arrive at these definitions -- that ideology functions. If we apply this conception to bioethics, then the problematization of the politicization of bioethics can be understood as a distinctly ideological phenomenon. That is to say, a change in the ontological status of the politics of bioethics (i.e. politicization) is only problematic if there is some sort of disjunction between the change and how we conceive of the change. This disjunction -- this gap -- is ideology.
As Callahan suggests, the study of ideology would then focus on both the gaps (negative masking) and their complement, the "bridges" between ontology and epistemology (positive masking) -- things that seem to be problematic but aren't necessarily so, and things that don't seem to be problematic but aren't necessarily so. Thus, the critique of ideology cuts far deeper than Brown's engagement, which (perhaps necessarily so, given his disciplinary situation) takes certain political terms/structures/processes for granted as his "building blocks". In turn, this limits Brown's ability to engage with the quickly changing reality of biotechnology (and by extension, the demands for new bioethics). What Callahan suggests is a much deeper critique -- a critique of the "building blocks" themselves. Given the rapidity of change within biotechnology, it seems likely that ideological critique is or will soon be a necessity for bioethics.
Bioethicists do not want to be stuck trying to build Notre Dame with Legos.
The pairing of Callahan's article on ideology and Brown's article on politicization is an interesting one, in that the subject of Brown's article (politicization) is -- at least partially -- the enactment of the subject of Callahan's article (ideology).
Early on in his article, Brown comments:
"To say that something has been “politicized” implies that it was previously not political. [...] To some extent, of course, the meaning of controversial concepts like politics and politicization are essentially contestable, and so any generic definition is inevitably subject to challenge. What counts as political often becomes a political question itself." (Brown, 2 - emphasis added)
Brown has introduced an interesting schism here, one that can perhaps be best understood in terms of a divide between ontology and epistemology. The nature of the political (or, the political nature of something -- for example, bioethics) itself becomes a political question, thus forcing us to reflexively examine the manner in which we know the political. After acknowledging this problem, however, Brown abandons it -- to his argument's loss, I think.
Here Callahan points the way. It is at this divide between the ontological and the epistemological -- between definitions of the political and understanding how we arrive at these definitions -- that ideology functions. If we apply this conception to bioethics, then the problematization of the politicization of bioethics can be understood as a distinctly ideological phenomenon. That is to say, a change in the ontological status of the politics of bioethics (i.e. politicization) is only problematic if there is some sort of disjunction between the change and how we conceive of the change. This disjunction -- this gap -- is ideology.
As Callahan suggests, the study of ideology would then focus on both the gaps (negative masking) and their complement, the "bridges" between ontology and epistemology (positive masking) -- things that seem to be problematic but aren't necessarily so, and things that don't seem to be problematic but aren't necessarily so. Thus, the critique of ideology cuts far deeper than Brown's engagement, which (perhaps necessarily so, given his disciplinary situation) takes certain political terms/structures/processes for granted as his "building blocks". In turn, this limits Brown's ability to engage with the quickly changing reality of biotechnology (and by extension, the demands for new bioethics). What Callahan suggests is a much deeper critique -- a critique of the "building blocks" themselves. Given the rapidity of change within biotechnology, it seems likely that ideological critique is or will soon be a necessity for bioethics.
Bioethicists do not want to be stuck trying to build Notre Dame with Legos.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
The Middleman
Towards the end of "Life, Science, and Biopower", Raman and Tutton comment on what they see to be the future of STS research on biopower:
But what particular relations make up this cluster? Or, to phrase the question differently: In the context of the "power from above" vs. "power from below" debate, who and/or what constitutes the "middle"? The answers, of course, are many, but one of the more interesting "middle" figures is the general medical practitioner -- that is, the figure who, for most people, serves as an interface between the complicated, technical world of biological/medical innovation and the lay person's existence. As trained professionals, they are by necessity more in touch with and more able to make sense of advances in biotechnology than the average citizen; but at the same time, most general practitioners are decidedly not specialists in the field of biotechnology. General practitioners stand, in a sense, with a leg in each world.
This means that GPs are often the real-world focal points for the legal and ethical dilemmas that are regularly debated by bioethicists. It is GPs who negotiate the balance between promoting length of life and quality of life (for example: should one administer chemotherapy to the exceptionally elderly? i.e. possibly extend their life by a couple years, but at the cost of greatly reducing their quality of life?).
Although GPs are often the site at which biopower and biopolitics comes in contact with the average citizen (for example, a GP urging his or her patient to quit smoking is a tangible enactment of an increasingly normative push for a certain kind of health-oriented behavior), it is also important to remember that GPs are as much subject to the forces they enact as are their patients. GPs are members of a (disciplinary) profession. This means that ethical injunctions (initiated by the new development of technologies) quickly become professional/legal requirements for GPs. Since the work of biopolitics is necessarily a procedure of normalization, subjective judgments with regard to health are necessarily tossed aside. The "goal" of medicine -- whatever it may be -- must be standardized. To return to the chemotherapy example, an extensive biopolitics/biopower simply cannot leave the use of chemotherapy up to the patient's discretion; increasingly, the GP, to protect him or herself legally (and the legal is always connected to the discretion of the profession), is obligated to encourage a particular treatment, precisely because of the standardizing and normalizing effects of biopower/biopolitics. In other words, the middle level is increasingly obligated to obligate the lesser level.
This chain of obligation seems to run parallel with Raman and Tutton's critique of Rabinow and Rose's work. If the middleman is constrained, the how much more so are those down "below"?
"...biopower, to use Foucault’s language, is characterized by the molecular and the population as ‘‘two poles of development linked together by a whole intermediary cluster of relations.’’ The work that is required, therefore, for scholars in STS and related fields is the tracing and understanding of this cluster of relations." (Raman & Tutton, 19)
But what particular relations make up this cluster? Or, to phrase the question differently: In the context of the "power from above" vs. "power from below" debate, who and/or what constitutes the "middle"? The answers, of course, are many, but one of the more interesting "middle" figures is the general medical practitioner -- that is, the figure who, for most people, serves as an interface between the complicated, technical world of biological/medical innovation and the lay person's existence. As trained professionals, they are by necessity more in touch with and more able to make sense of advances in biotechnology than the average citizen; but at the same time, most general practitioners are decidedly not specialists in the field of biotechnology. General practitioners stand, in a sense, with a leg in each world.
This means that GPs are often the real-world focal points for the legal and ethical dilemmas that are regularly debated by bioethicists. It is GPs who negotiate the balance between promoting length of life and quality of life (for example: should one administer chemotherapy to the exceptionally elderly? i.e. possibly extend their life by a couple years, but at the cost of greatly reducing their quality of life?).
Although GPs are often the site at which biopower and biopolitics comes in contact with the average citizen (for example, a GP urging his or her patient to quit smoking is a tangible enactment of an increasingly normative push for a certain kind of health-oriented behavior), it is also important to remember that GPs are as much subject to the forces they enact as are their patients. GPs are members of a (disciplinary) profession. This means that ethical injunctions (initiated by the new development of technologies) quickly become professional/legal requirements for GPs. Since the work of biopolitics is necessarily a procedure of normalization, subjective judgments with regard to health are necessarily tossed aside. The "goal" of medicine -- whatever it may be -- must be standardized. To return to the chemotherapy example, an extensive biopolitics/biopower simply cannot leave the use of chemotherapy up to the patient's discretion; increasingly, the GP, to protect him or herself legally (and the legal is always connected to the discretion of the profession), is obligated to encourage a particular treatment, precisely because of the standardizing and normalizing effects of biopower/biopolitics. In other words, the middle level is increasingly obligated to obligate the lesser level.
This chain of obligation seems to run parallel with Raman and Tutton's critique of Rabinow and Rose's work. If the middleman is constrained, the how much more so are those down "below"?
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
scienceXrhetoric
Over the last week and a half, much of our discussion has revolved around the difference between two models of scientific practice (depicted on the left). The movement from Model 1 to Model 2 is fundamentally one of destabilization, in that the rigid systems and hierarchies of Model 1 are replaced with the interrelated actors of Model 2, each of which contribute to the formation and movement of the others.
What I find most interesting about this shift -- this act of destabilization -- is that the second model includes an ethical critique and demand that is not present (or perhaps is present, but hidden) in the first model. Model 2 places research practices, academic disciplines, political institutions, and media outlets in mutually influential relation to one another. Thus, any change in one area effects a change in another. Or, to take it further, any perceived change in one area effects change in another. It is this element of perception (which is closely linked to the subjectivity of the promise) that includes the ethical critiqueXdemand: Scientists should not only be concerned with the ethics of their methological practice, but also with the ethics of their rhetorical practice. In other words, how they speak (whether amongst themselves, or to Congress, or to the public, etc.) is as important as what they do, precisely because it is the subjectivity of perception that drives the system, rather than the concrete accumulation of facts. It is for this reason that the truly important moment for the Human Genome Project was the press conference announcing the project's completion, rather than the actual completion of the project itself, which, in Collins' case, came somewhat later (Zwart, 370-371).
But what does this mean for the future of genomics? Any rhetorical move implies the existence of competing discourses. With this in mind, it seems safe to assert that the current state of affairs in genomics -- laden with rhetoric as it is -- is a myriad of competing discourses. But isn't the progression of science from complicated uncertainty to black-box, textbook-style facts itself dependent on the establishment of a hegemonic discourse in which (explicit) rhetorical moves play less and less of a role? If anything, the rapid progress of genomics research has only multiplied the range of discourses present at any one particular time, thus moving genomics even further from the hegemony necessary to pin down "facts" methodologically and rhetorically -- and consequently, further into territory in which the scientist is responsible not only for what he or she does, but what he or she says (and how he or she says it). The future is, of course, up for grabs, but if current trends continue it seems that the outcome may be an expression of science radically different than that of the traditional textbook-dissemination model.
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