Some scholars are trying to do things differently by developing what I would describe as an affective research style. To some that does not seem like academic or disciplinary science. I got inspired to this post by my colleague Rune Saugmann's blog on a seminar he attended with the British political scientist Cynthia Weber and her "painstakingly emotional, passionate, and engaged visual works" ‘I am an American' project and asked whether her work was "social science?", as Weber's
audiovisual language speaks to one’s feelings in a much stronger and more immediate way than words usually do, but it rarely tries to live up to principle of academic transparency - signaling where one builds upon others’ work, where one criticizes it and where (and how) one claims to produce new knowledge? In not doing so, does it critically loose the openness to engaged criticism that is the hallmark of academic debate?Rune wisely enough does not provide any answer.
I had the same question recently - or rather whether what I just had finshed was 'humanistic science' - when I read anthropologist's Kathleen Stewart's book Ordinary Affects (Duke University Press, 2007). Stewart, an associate professor at University of Texas, Austin, have a traditional lofty academic goal in trying to understand the "present" and its current socio-economic upheavels, or as she puts it, to bring the "the forces" that "neoliberalism, advanced capitalism and globalization" are trying "to name" and tries to "bring them into view as a scene of immanent force, rather than leave them looking like dead effects imposed on an innocent world." The way she goes about is similar to Weber's as she focus on 'ordinary affects' which she describe as "public feelings that begin and end in broad circulation, but they're also the stuff that seemingly intimate lives are made of." But the problem with affect for many academics is that they in many way defies, evades or fight our normal modes of analysis, or as Stewart better put it:They work not through "meanings" per se, but rather in the way that they pick up density and texture as they move through bodies, dreams, dramas, and social wordlings of all kinds . Their significance lies in the intensities they build and in what thoughts and feelings they make possible. The question they beg is not what they might mean in an order of representations, or whether they are good or bad in an overarching scheme of things, but where they might go and what potential modes of knowing, relating, and attending to things are already somehow present in them in a state of potentiality and resonance. ... At once abstract and concrete, ordinary affects are more directly compelling than ideologies, as well as more fractious, multiplicitous, and unpredictable than symbolic meanings. They are not the kind of analytic object that can be laid out on a single, static plane of analysis, and they don't lend themselves to a perfect, three-tiered parallelism between analytic subject, concept, and world. They are, instead, a problem or question emergent in disparate scenes and incommensurate forms and registers; a tangle of potential connections. Literally moving things — things that are in motion and that are defined by their capacity to affect and to be affected — they have to be mapped through different, coexisting forms of composition, habituation, and event.She also wisely describes her book as "an experiment" - a well honed tool in many a scientists tool box but it nevertheless almost all but lack the normal scientific trappings of thesis, hypothesis, footnotes (only 17 in the whole book) and reads more like a strung together short (133pp) book of essays or poems, where each 'chapter' can be anything from four lines to four pages.
I picked it up as I am trying to understand the materiality of fear and how things like gas-masks, fallout shelters and bollards can make people feel differently about terror and terrorism, and because it had backside blurbs by a former friend (Lauren Berlant) and wannahave colleague (Donna Haraway). Not expecting it nevertheless has several explicit discussions of security, terrorism and politics. The best way to understand the book's meaning is however to experience its affects and therefore I will give a couple of lengthy quotes from it.
All through the book it is about the politics of power and materiality and of the power of materiality, because power is "a thing of the senses. It lives as a capacity or a yearning". It is as the following chapter calls out, about "The politics of the ordinary":
Ideologies happen. Power snaps into place. Structures grow entrenched. Identities take place. Ways of knowing become habitual at the drop of a hat. But it's ordinary affects that give things the quality of a something to inhabit and animate. Politics starts in the animated inhabitation of things, not way downstream in the various dreamboats and horror shows that get moving. The first step in thinking about the force of things is the open question of what counts as an event, a movement, an impact, a reason to react. There's a politics to being/feeling connected (or not), to impacts that are shared (or not), to energies spent worrying or scheming (or not), to affective contagion, and to all the forms of attunement and attachment. There's a politics to ways of watching and waiting for something to happen and to forms of agency — to how the mirage of a straightforward exercise of willis a flag waved in one situation and a vicious, self-defeating deflation in anotherThe second is from the chapter "The Turner Diaries" about William L. Pierce's notorious racist novel that allegedly inspired the terriorist group "The Order" and the Oklahoma City bombing 1995:
She also gives attention to such hotly debated issues like riot mentality and agency of materiality, at least that is how I read these following chapters on 'Swarming' (whole) and 'Agencies':But what is most surprising about the book is its focus on domestic scenes and the ordinary details of everyday life. The tips it offers are not just about how to organize armies and make bombs but also how to set up cozy shelters and keep house while living underground. The heroes distinguish themselves not by acts of bravery and camaraderie but by honing their skills in engineering, shooting, sexual performance, and housekeeping. It's a recipe book for domestic competence. A little world comes into view. It is a world based on a military model of community and skill, but it is one that is filled, too, with the textures and sensory details needed to imagine a dream world. This lived, affective constellation of practices and sensibilities make the book not just an ideological diatribe (which it certainly is) but also a scene of life filled with worries, fetishes, compulsions, and hoped-for satisfactions. It is possible to imagine how, for those readers who find it compelling but are not about to build bombs, it's a kind of self-help book. Self-help racism. For the uninducted reader, on the other hand, reading it is an eerie experience haunted by what seem at first to be bizarre links between a racist rage at disorder, contamination, and decay and an appreciation for the well-tended suburban lawn, the Martha Stewart-inspired interest in interior design, and the fantasy game of reading catalogues to imagine oneself in that dress, with that face, or holding that particular gun.
We will follow any hint of energy, at least for a little while. When something happens, we swarm toward it, gaze at it, sniff it, absorb its force, pour over its details, make fun of it, hide from it, spit it out, or develop a taste for it. We complain about the compulsion to participate. We deny its pull. We blame it on the suburbs and TV and ourselves. But we desire it too, and the cure is usually another kind of swarming, this time under the sign of redemption: a mobilization for justice, a neighborhood watch committee, some way of keeping our collective eyes open. Something to do.The book's final lines describes it as "only an beginning, just scratching the surface. But that's what matters in an ordinary saturated with affect's lines of promise and threat."
Agency can be strange, twisted, caught up in things, passive, or exhausted. Not the way we like to think about it. Not usually a simple projection toward a future. It's what we mean by "having a life" (as in "get a life"). But it's caught up in things. ... and that all agency is frustrated and unstable and attracted to the potential in things. It's not really about willpower but rather something much more complicated and much more rooted in things.
I don't know if Stewart's work is 'science' but I know that it made me understand the political functions of affect and of threat much better than before. But I am still at loss for words for how to explain it.
A slightly different version has been published on the 'Words of Security' blog.
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