Friday, May 9, 2008

Here at the end of all things

MCM0230: Digital Media Max Krugman

Final Project: Jenkins on convergence, Deleuze on control society.

Perhaps the most important element of modern (postmodern) cultural studies is the impact of the internet on society. Certain sections of academia, popularly represented by people like Marshall McLuhan, have been talking about globalization for a long time, without, perhaps, being taken as seriously as they should. Today, presented with the manifestation of these theories in the form of a global internet network—and their enormous impact upon all facets of global economy—many more people are paying attention, if mostly to figure out how best to profit from it, and by virtue of this attention spreading the network into the entirety of the population. Two interesting angles on the phenomenon are Gilles Deleuze’s discussion of control society and Henry Jenkins’ thoughts on what he calls convergence.

In “Postscript on the societies of control” Deleuze uses various different analogies to illustrate his idea of the control society we now inhabit as different from the disciplinary societies that immediately preceded it. As he puts it, disciplinary “enclosures are molds … but controls are a modulation,” or a “self-deforming cast,” or a “sieve whose mesh transmutes.” Essentially, what he means is that this is the next step in collective action. Disciplinary societies attempted to deal with the issue of conflicting motives by producing artifacts like the factory, which would regulate employees as a mass, and used incentives like bonuses to ensure good work. We are no longer limited by those possibilities. Today, corporations “present the brashest rivalry as a healthy form of emulation,” make employees internalize the sense of competition-through-participation that drives such organizations. Rather than being regulated by mass technologies like the factory, people in control society are made to regulate themselves by this internalization of rules and personal ethics in the form of appeals to their basic motivation, so that as circumstances change, each person in the control system—if it’s finely tuned enough—acts in such a manner that it will benefit the whole system, because as a part of the system he or she furthers personal goals at the same time. The idea is that internally self-regulating systems are the most efficient, because they can modulate themselves at any point, and have no center whose destruction could jeopardize the entire construct.

Jenkins’ idea of convergence seems to be simply another angle on this event. He doesn’t, however, analyze things as dryly and generally as Deleuze—for one, he provides several specific examples to illustrate his thoughts, and for another, he begins by looking at the individual rather than the system. “Media” is a very broad term, and Jenkins understands that it forms a continuum—while some people believe that media forms can die, become obsolete, Jenkins thinks (to put it one way) that the medium doesn’t die, only its current representation. Media objects don’t affect us through their physical bodies, but through our mental interpretations of them—that is, their relevance is cultural, not physical. Thus the obsolescence of the 8-track doesn’t mean that a media form has died—the media culture affected by the audio it transmitted has simply modulated itself as new technologies produced new motive forces, distorting the net but not breaking any of it. This concept of differing motivations is one of the most important things in Jenkins. “Convergence” implies a coming together of forces—which is exactly what society is, more and more obviously as the world becomes more connected. Everyone has personal motivations, but when people do things en masse certain things become apparent, as the system modulates itself ever more precisely to be more efficient. The most important of these is, of course, economic power.

Whether you call it control or convergence (and whether or not you think those two are the same thing), certain things seem to be occurring because of the new networks. Jenkins mentions a curious—seemingly, even contradictory—fact. Forms of media are coalescing into multi-media objects, or put differently, the “black box fallacy” (though considering the evolutionary potential of things like the iPhone, I don’t agree that it’s a fallacy), the creation of computer-like objects that are ubiquitous and supply all media to consumers, thereby allowing consumers to access enormous quantities of information cheaply, quickly, and at will. This empowerment of the consumer by the infinite extension of media-driven education is growing concurrently with the consolidation of enormously powerful corporations into monolithic organizations. So, it appears superficially that the two clearest manifestations of convergence are opposed to each other—one the growth of difference, the other the destruction thereof. Deleuze is particularly frightened by the latter prospect—he sees systems like regimented education and the constant prolongation of schooling as part of a universal corporatization, “the surest way of delivering the school over to the corporation.”

Jenkins mentions that he doesn’t think there’s anything to be afraid of, all we can do is hope for the best. I agree. Deleuze seems to miss an important consequence of what he says, perhaps because he hadn’t been exposed to the potential of mass media in the 21st century—namely, the quasi-empowerment of the consumer that Jenkins mentions, which occurs simultaneously with corporations’ growing awareness of what Jenkins calls “participatory culture,” a world in which consumers are self-regulating nodes in Deleuze’s control system, not passive audiences. Jenkins makes sure to say that he doesn’t really know what’s going to happen, because “no one group can control access and participation,” and time and circumstance will determine the outcome of things. But precisely because of this—because the system appears to be evolving into a self-regulating collective organism—the monolithic corporations that are justifiably feared by so many will be forced to alter their functioning, because as nationalistic philosophies of capital are superseded by the philosophy of control in all its incarnations, the difference between corporation and individual, producer and consumer, will likely thin and eventually even disappear—perhaps producing an entirely new paradigm, perhaps simply becoming stable. This seems unlikely, and it would be extremely naïve to hope for it, but a global control system that functioned like Jenkins’ corporations, by causing its employees to internalize the idea of individual self-promotion through collaboration with the broader goals of the company, could hypothetically modulate itself to a refined enough degree for international collective actions to produce something approaching true solutions to global problems.

Friday, March 21, 2008

Snow Cog

Assignment #2, Topic #5: Snow Crash and Cognitive Mapping

Various elements of post-Marxist theorist Fredric Jameson’s essay “Cognitive Mapping” correspond to concepts dealt with in Neal Stephenson’s cyberpunk novel Snow Crash. Most important is Jameson’s description of the difficulty in changing a worldview based in local, city-centric space to one arising from postmodern global space, the problem being that our view has not evolved at the same pace as the technologies and economic circumstances that determine our real conditions, and is therefore no longer adequate and perhaps even harmful. Jameson claims the new reality is “no longer accessible to immediate lived experience and … not even conceptualizable for most people,” and it is therefore necessary to map out this new relationship between humans and the world (Jameson 349). Just as “A city like Boston … its monumental perspectives, its markers and monuments, its … dramatic boundaries … [allow] people to have … a generally successful and continuous location to the rest of the city,” an appropriate aesthetic of cognitive mapping might allow us to conceive of the globalized world in terms that are practically effective, if not the whole truth (Jameson 353). Stephenson’s vision of a post-capitalist (or hyper-capitalist) society and its reciprocally modifying relation to a fictional, post-internet Metaverse is one dream of the evolution Jameson anticipates.

In “Cognitive Mapping” Jameson refers to Marvin Surkin and Dan Georgakis’ book Detroit: I do Mind Dying, “a study of the rise and fall of the League of Black Revolutionary Workers in that city in the late 1960s,” which movement, he notes, was singularly effective on the scale of the city, coming “within a hair’s breadth of … taking over the city power apparatus” (Jameson 351). But such a movement would have had to be equally successful at the state and federal levels in order to succeed nationally, which was its intent. The LBRW attempted to expand in this manner by visiting similar organizations in other cities and countries, and by receiving appropriate visitors of their own, but upon this point they failed. By appealing to an international stage, the members of the organization had become “media stars,” and thus passed into the public domain, losing their political power for autonomous action. As Jameson puts it, “Having acceded to a larger spatial plane, the base vanished under them … the representation … triumphantly survives in the form of a film and a book, but in the process of becoming an image and a spectacle, the referent seems to have disappeared” (Jameson 352). The problem, then, was that the only way they could reach a global stage was by effectively being actors upon it—by playing parts, and becoming symbols, which are indeed universally understood but do not necessarily mean the same thing, or have the same power, outside of the particular soil from which they spring.

In Snow Crash, on the other hand, the world has moved beyond that stage. The problem of communication, which the LBRW tried to solve by traveling, no longer exists: the Metaverse makes all places one, and distance is no longer a significant factor. Local reality has been superseded by a reality that is at the same time global and virtual. What was once city-centered space has indeed become global space, but Stephenson puts a twist on it: we have thought in cities, but in this future, rather than modifying their thinking to be global, humans have made the world a city. In fact, the Metaverse is a great, virtual metropolis, where all human existence is symbolic—but not of equal value. Stephenson explicitly compares the Metaverse to Manhattan and Paris, two of the greatest symbolic cities: the most important part of the virtual realm is “the Street … the Broadway, the Champs Élysées of the Metaverse” (Stephenson 24). As on these famous streets, people’s appearance is of the greatest importance—the symbolic representation of people’s virtual selves is a commodity, and the upper classes of the Metaverse demonstrate their power by appearing more elaborately. The rapper Sushi K wears an absurdly enormous, luminous, multicolored hairdo—a parody of modern garish excesses, as Snow Crash is after all a parody of cyberpunk as well as a representative.

The Metaverse, however, does not suffice. Jameson hopes that the coming totality will prove a good thing; Stephenson sees the culmination of the internet, the most likely road to this totality, as a chaotic place of excess and classism, where no truth can be found. Jameson mentions that “all forms of hierarchy have always been based ultimately on gender hierarchy and … the family unit,” and hopes that as Marxist theory and feminist theory evolve they will eventually meet and provide some form of resolution. Stephenson seems to mock the family aspect—in Snow Crash the main appearance of the family is in the form of “The Family,” or Cosa Nostra: the Italian Mafia, which now controls pizza delivery, and is run by the universally famous Uncle Enzo. Traditional families seem to have collapsed, and Y. T., one of the protagonists, is so lonely and alienated from her biological family that she immediately takes Enzo as something like a father figure upon being shown some slight kindness. On the other hand, gender difference is given a prominent if vague role: ultimately, Juanita, Hiro Protagonist’s love interest, takes on the role of the Sumerian goddess Inanna, while Hiro may represent Enki, her male counterpart, and their collaboration as female and male principles ends up saving the world.

Stephenson is still a science-fiction writer, and his work only serves to explicate ideas as complex as Jameson’s to a certain extent. However, Jameson himself might approve of Snow Crash: “even if we cannot imagine the productions of such an aesthetic, there may, nonetheless, as with the very idea of Utopia itself, be something positive in the attempt to keep alive the possibility of imagining such a thing.” The world of Snow Crash is not a utopia, but neither is it hell on earth; the progression towards globalization seems inevitable, but Stephenson and Jameson agree that it doesn’t have to be a thing of horror, indeed, it may allow us to reach into the “deep structures” of our minds and rework our reality to our advantage.

Thursday, February 21, 2008

The Shining Trapezohedron


The first word in the quote I used below is I. This picture is the last result Google Images gave me when I searched for I.

The last word in the quote I used above is ribs.



Those ribs don't look great, because it's a bad picture, but I'm sure they were really tasty. Or maybe they are still really tasty? I have been led to understand that in the postmodern view the passage of time is irrelevant, so do these ribs, though I'm sure they've been long since eaten, have some kind of eternal existence in the ether?

That picture was the first result, though, for symmetry (first word-last result, last word-first result). Curiously, the man photographed in the first picture almost undoubtedly possesses his own set of ribs--perhaps more than one, if he likes to barbecue.

Starry Wisdom & the Three-Lobed Burning Eye

"She you woman, Case?"

"I dunno. Nobody's woman, maybe." He shrugged. And found his anger again, real as a shard of hot rock beneath his ribs. "

(Neuromancer 186)
------------------------------------------------

If we make a bit of stretch, "She you woman, Case?" can be interpreted as an interrogation of Molly and Case's shared femininity (or lack thereof), which is to say (are) she (and) you woman, Case? His answer, then, is "I dunno, nobody (is) woman, maybe," which is a striking statement, lending itself to more interpretation--perhaps Case has problematized the concept of woman to the extent that it no longer holds any meaning for him.

It's easier to assume that Maelcum has simply spoken with an accent, and not sounded the "r" in "your," as we can presume that this is what Gibson intended for us to think. Maelcum is an ethnic futuristic supporting character, aiding the protagonist as he jacks into cyberspace, and is referred to as a "Zionite." The connection to The Matrix is apparent. Still, the issue at hand is sexuality. Our last (chronologically) encounter with it was back on page 179, where Ashpool discusses his escapades, including sex with the Queen of Spain and apparently pseudo-incestuous liaisons with various Janes. Furthermore, the girl Molly discovers dead in bed has been slain with a triangular "scraper," evidently a metaphor for rape. Ashpool is set up as an evil objectifier of women, and he is old. Case is young and will not compromise Molly's autonomy even with words (nobody's woman, maybe), and approaching this horrible vanishing point, I'll read him as the manifestation of William Gibson's support for feminism/desire to seem intellectually appealing to young women.

I'm not sure how I got there just now, and I don't really like that place, but the plurality of the text is supposed to go "as far as the eye can reach" or something, right?

Anyway, the combination of letters "he shrugged" appears in the text of Neuromancer a total of fourteen times, of which eight are "He shrugged" and six are "She shrugged."

As for finding his anger again, finding and losing abstract things is quite a theme in the book: Case losing his ability, Corto losing his personality, Wintermute/Neuromancer losing its existence as an entity (if you read the book backwards), Case regaining his ability. For that matter, the ability Case has lost and regained refers to entirely abstract things--navigating the internet, hacking. Nothing that has been found or lost has any physical reality. Thus the statement "real as a shard of hot rock beneath his ribs" becomes more interesting. How real is a shard of hot rock beneath his ribs? Evidently he doesn't have one, because that would probably kill him. However, "rock" is a street name for cocaine, particularly crack cocaine, the most addictive sort. Perhaps a reference to Case's drug habit, which he has by now kicked due to Armitage messing with his liver by proxy. But in fact, cocaine no longer exists to Case as a drug--it has no reality as an intoxicant to him anymore, because he is immune. So, is Case's anger a drug, or is it real, or is it false?