A Critical Discussion of Barad
Vol. I:
The Quantum, the Queer and
the Qualitative
Dave
Harris
There are versions of this piece on Researchgate
and Academia: DOI: 10.13140/RG2.2.11558.47681
Epigraph
‘Did you
never study atomics when you were a lad?’ asked
the Sergeant, giving me a look of great inquiry
and surprise.
‘No,’ I answered.
‘That is a very serious
defalcation,’ he said, ‘but all the same I will
tell you the size of it. Everything is composed
of small particles of itself and they are flying
around in concentric circles and arcs and
segments and innumerable other geometrical
figures too numerous to mention collectively,
never standing still resting but spinning away
and darting hither and thither and back again,
all the time on the go. These diminutive
gentleman are called atoms. Do you follow me
intelligently?’
...‘you can safely infer that
you are made of atoms yourself and so is your
fob pocket and the tail of your shirt and the
instrument you use for taking the leavings at
the crook of your hollow tooth. Do you happen to
know what takes place when you strike a bar of
iron with a good coal hammer or with a blunt
instrument?’
...‘Ask a blacksmith for the
true answer and he will tell you that the bar
will dissipate itself away by degrees if you
persevere with the hard wallops. Some of the
atoms of the bar will go into the hammer and the
other half into the table or the stone or the
particular article that is underneath the bottom
of the bar'....
‘The gross and net result of
it is that people who spent most of their
natural lives riding iron bicycles over the
rocky roadsteads of this parish get their
personalities mixed up with the personalities of
their bicycle as a result of the interchanging
of the atoms of each of them and you would be
surprised at the number of people in these parts
who nearly are half people and half
bicycles'....
‘When a man lets things go so
far that he is half or more than half a bicycle,
you will not see so much because he spends a lot
of his time leaning with one elbow on walls or
standing propped by one foot at curb stones…‘The
behaviour of a bicycle that has a high content
of humanity,’ he said, is very cunning and
entirely remarkable. ...[He/it] will walk
smartly always and never sit down and he will
lean against the wall with his elbow out and
stay like that all night in his kitchen instead
of going to bed. If he walks too slowly or stops
in the middle of the road he will fall down in a
heap and will have to be lifted and set in
motion again by some extraneous party’
O’Brien, F (2007) The
Third Policeman. London: Harper Perennial
pp 85–92
Introduction and Apology
Barad’s work (Barad 2007, 2014) seems to have
emerged as a favourite approach for qualitative
researchers pursuing theoretical inputs,
especially those in Education. Deleuze was once
popular, and certain readings of deleuzian
philosophy might well have pointed to similar
posthumanist conclusions, but these had been
neglected in the most common readings in
qualitative research in favour of a humanist
approach that stressed the creativity of human
subjectivity. It is Barad's work that seems to
have had the most influence so far, however. This
is especially surprising, since Barad writes about
science, previously held to be unable to grasp
much of the qualitative dimensions of social life,
at least without distortion.
I have set out to critically evaluate aspects of
the work of Karen Barad and of those who have
followed her. I am aware that trying to pursue a
critical evaluation might disqualify me from the
start, since there are arguments in Barad's work
that such critique really belongs to the old
notions of knowledge production dominated by naive
positivism and male power relations. I think this
approach ignores critical approaches like
‘immanent critique’, as argued below. The
implication seems to be that we should just
'apply' Barad's concepts, although I find myself
necessarily wanting to interrogate them first and
make sure I do have an accurate understanding of
what she might mean by terms like 'entanglement'
or 'diffraction'. Without such an attempt at
accuracy, applying her work seems to be little
different from what has been called 'incantatory'
writing, where somehow the spirit of Barad is just
evoked. There is also the problem of theorising by
homonymy, where the words in Barad's account are
taken to be identical with the words in one's own
understandings of events or arguments.
It might be necessary therefore to issue a kind of
trigger warning that I will be developing a
critical approach. I am a male. I am a
conventional academic (retired). I do not wish
anyone supporting Barad to feel in any way
vulnerable. Nevertheless, I cannot accept that
that intersectional identity automatically
disqualifies me from being able to comment. It
follows that in my view academic comment is not
the same as personal comment, and that is
perfectly possible to admire and respect
individual writers while interrogating their work,
and anyone reading Barad must be impressed by the
depth of her scholarship. I draw here upon the
Popperian tradition that argues that attempting to
falsify people's work is more profitable in terms
of cognitive gain than endlessly confirming it.
The best example of this tradition, perhaps, is
provided by the work of Martyn Hammersley (see for
example Hammersley 1992, 2013; Hammersley &
Traianoua 2014) who attempts to question the
'validity claims' in a wide range of educational
research. I think this is constructive, because no
one produces perfectly valid arguments, and
pointing out where they might be repaired is
entirely helpful.
I am particularly influenced by the notion of
'immanent critique', which tries to get to the
bottom of claims to the strength of arguments of
all kinds, not just empirical ones, but
theoretical and philosophical ones as well. The
technique is to interrogate claims made, to ask
about the adequacy of those claims, to suggest
implications, some of which might be unintended,
that might follow from the claims, and, only then,
if at all, to suggest alternatives. In this case,
I have asked myself questions about matters such
as the coherence of particular definitions,
whether there are universal implications of using
terms derived from quantum theory to explain
social life irrespective of scale, or what the
ethical implications of Barad's arguments actually
might be in practice.
Of course this could be understood as still doing
symbolic violence to Baradian work, but the
symbolic violence is inevitable unless we are just
to reproduce Barad’s texts. The form that
you find in academic life is not necessarily
connected to the kind of male violence you find in
family relations: I have argued myself that it is
more like the kind of licensed and restrained
violence found in contact sports, obviously with
the assumption that this is not for everybody. I
personally prefer more formal discussions where
there is a neutral chair or referee to rule out
any inappropriately personal criticism should it
arise. It is inevitable that any critique, no
matter how positive, also makes claims to superior
understanding or validity, and one should be
prepared for counter critique, or even help it by
being as open as possible about background
assumptions. In my case, this includes providing
links to fuller summaries of various pieces (in
the References section) which I have located on my
personal website, so that anyone interested can
open up my comments here to wider investigation.
Finally, I am aware that this discussion does not
take the conventional form of a journal article.
It is much longer, and summaries are more
extensive. I might transform it into one (or two)
conventional articles, but I am retired and have
little appetite for that task at the moment. Any
feedback at this stage would be very welcome.
I have subdivided the arguments into separate
sections for convenience and to invite selective
reading:
Section 1 The quantum world
Section 2 Machines
Section 3 Animals
Section 4 Sociology of Work
Section 5 Ethics and Difference
Section 6 Foundationalism
Volume II focuses on
diffraction and examines Barad herself, and a
number of diffractive readings
Section 1: The quantum world
Barad seems to have tried out the themes of her
book in several earlier articles, such as Barad
(2003). Much of Barad (2007) relates in more depth
and detail the intriguing development of modern
quantum theory, summarising the contributions of
various of the main contributors in the early
stages, and focusing especially on Böhr, the
subject of her PhD and her ‘interlocutor over the
years ‘ (Barad 2007, p. xi). This presents the
reader with an immediate formidable task to grasp
what must be for many of us very unfamiliar
material and very unfamiliar forms of argument.
Barad does her best to popularise, obviously at
the expense of leaving out the clearly important
but particularly inaccessible mathematical
modelling that seems to have been involved, but
this will inevitably become her own representation
of quantum physics. We are very much in her hands,
unlikely to be able to comment externally with our
own informed readings and dependent on other
popular representations, for example Penrose
(2016), Cox & Forshaw (2012) Al-Khalili (nd),
New Scientist eg Henderson (2018), and
online sources such as Freiberger (2012). Barad
(2016) suggests some more popular and accessible
readings herself, including New Scientist
and Wikipedia.
All of these accounts raise an immediate problem
of the language to use to describe both the
quantum and the normal macro world. Physicists
will use mathematical models among themselves, of
course, but the mathematical possibilities do not
correspond precisely to ordinary states described
in ordinary language. The Schrödinger wave
equation, for example, seems crucial in
understanding energy levels in the peculiar
quantum world, and supporting concepts like
‘superposition’, but it is expressed in an
equation which is highly inaccessible to
non-mathematicians, with its combination of
constants and ‘complex numbers’. Freiberger (2012)
tells us that this equation ‘generally doesn't
represent a straightforward wave in
three-dimensional space...[and]...the question
remains whether there is some sort of physical
wave associated to it.’ Overall, she recommends
that ‘it's best to suspend your intuition about
what it really means to say that a particle
behaves like a wave’. It is waves in the macro
world, in light or in water, that have led to more
popular understandings of terms like
‘interference’ and ‘ diffraction’, although other
properties are less well discussed – refraction
(see below), and also absorption, polarisation and
scattering. Even there physicists might prefer to
describe wave characteristics in terms of an
equation. It is clear that there is normally
substantial mathematical modelling involved.
There seems to be a tradition of playfully
invoking ordinary terms to address quantum
complexity, as Barad’s subsequent work
shows: there are the Joycean roots of the
term ‘quark’, and both Barad (nd) and Barad (2017)
tell us that Feynman described the behaviour of
electrons as ‘immoral’ or as indicating
‘perversions’ for example. Barad (nd, p. 14)
herself says she turned increasingly to 'different
narrative registers' especially 'poetics as a mode
of expression', and sees this as not moving away
from thinking rigorously, but rather luring us to
'engaging the force of imagination in its
materiality'. Other scientists like Bacon also
used poetic imagery, Barad tells us, and we need
imagination to sense the insensible and the
indeterminate, to appreciate and help us touch
'the imaginings of materiality itself in its
ongoing thought’. Conversely, she also explains
that we have to acquire a technical language to
fully grasp the arguments — 'I'm not making up my
own metaphorical terms to help make this
[mathematical procedures to manage infinite
possibilities] more accessible' (nd p. 13).
It would surely be misleading to argue that poetic
language alone was instrumental in scientific
discovery. There remains an additional problem of
playfulness or rhetorical flourishes (including
personification and hyperbole), however, when we
read statements such as that the past 'is
literally swirling around with the radioactivity
in the ocean [off Fukushima] ' (Barad 2017,
p74). Presumably she meant ‘literally’
poetically, not literally. These are literary
flourishes necessary to communicate to a
nonspecialist audience in the modern era, via a
popular book, but ambiguity is one result.
The key issue of anthropomorphism focuses the
discussion best, and I am not clear how to
understand arguments like the ones she advances in
her discussion of starfish (see Section 3 below),
or in Barad (2014, p. 178) that there is 'an
uncanny topology: no smooth surfaces, willies
everywhere’, or whether calling electrons ‘queer
particles’ (over several pieces) is sufficient to
establish a link between quantum indeterminacy and
human sexual indeterminacy, and if so, what kind
of link it is. The same goes for frequent
references to Derrida, hauntology, ghosts and
difference: it is tempting to read them as simply
metaphorical, but Barad (2003, 2016) cites
‘materialist’ readings of Derrida which have
influenced her, and says that consequently the
results of the ‘which-slit’ experiments provide
'empirical evidence for a hauntology' (2016, p.
71).
There are many passages where ‘Nature’ is given a
human character -- 'the vacuum is flush with
yearning, bursting with innumerable imaginings of
what could be', for example (Barad 2016, p. 13).
There are occasions when scientific notions are
directly replaced with human ones as a kind of
more abstract personification – a pre-determined
sequence of events in a laboratory is replaced
with a comment that this is the same as the human
notions of 'yesterday, today, and tomorrow' (Barad
2017, p. 67) or that explanations for the ways in
which matter might be generated by fluctuation in
the quantum vacuum can be seen as some sort of an
explanation for ‘birth, life and death’
(2017, p 78).
These examples play a central part in the entire
work. Specific sections are discussed below
where Barad offers seeming contradictions and
incoherencies as she moves between the human and
the non-human, but the whole deployment of
different registers, scientific and poetic, is
what really carries the argument: we are told that
'all time–beings mourn', (Barad 2017, p. 86), that
starfish philosophise, above all that Nature or
matter is ‘agential’, possibly implying ‘capable
of acting as an agent in the human sense’,
although we might need to add ‘in effect’. This
may be poetic licence, or it may be that a serious
reductionism and denial of difference (ironically
enough) is being smuggled in – detailed discussion
is necessary.
The differences between the language of
mathematics and science and ordinary language
cannot be ignored because this risks what Lacan
(1968, p. 9) called ‘argument by homonym’. This
assumes that the same words mean the same thing in
both specialist academic approaches and ordinary
accounts. This possibility seems chronic in much
of what follows. Insisting on using only our own
familiar ordinary language will mean we must rely
on metaphor, analogy, homonymy or interpretation.
This introduces inevitably subjective judgments
involving similarity, as Deleuze (2004) argued. As
one example, the term 'complex' in the
mathematical term 'complex numbers', mentioned
above, has a specialist meaning not captured by
the usual understandings of 'complex', but the
similarities in terms can conceal this
difference. These tropes might also generate
a sense of mystery and uncertainty as well. The
discussion below suggests instead that we might
need specialist languages instead, not only for
the quantum world but in describing interaction
with animals and machines.
To return to Barad’s summary, Böhr’s quantum
theory seems to offer some very challenging
ontological arguments, especially those arising
from experimental results where particles can be
in two places at once -- 'ontological
indeterminacy' — and Barad describes a number of
experiments concerning the famous ‘2-slit’
observations that imply that electrons, for
example, can exist both as particles and as wave
functions: while particles produce characteristic
'bar' shapes, waves produce diffraction patterns
in the recording apparatus when they overlap,
giving Barad one of her main terms.
Overall, Barad gives Böhr the last word in the
ensuing debates in the 2007 book, although she has
subsequently discussed some alternatives (see
Hollin et al. 2017). Some details are provided as
we go through. She insists that it is not possible
to disentangle, practically or conceptually,
quantum particles, observations and the
human-designed apparatus used to organise and
perform the observations. ‘Entanglement’ has a
specialist meaning in quantum theory, it seems,
but it becomes a general term for Barad, possibly
interchangeable with ‘intra-action’. We can only
isolate aspects of this complex reality locally in
order to intervene in some way to gain knowledge
or take action – making an ‘agential cut’.
Böhr seems to have used a term common in
philosophy at the time to capture this
entanglement – we can only work with ‘phenomena’,
things-as-they-appear-to-us, to use modern
terminology. This postponed the problem of
dividing the real from the subjective, as we shall
see. The term clearly points in two directions –
an idealist philosophy which investigates the
structures of consciousness that create the real
for us, like Husserl
(1973), or a materialism which grants matter
itself some agency in producing phenomena. Barad
replaces Böhr’s ‘ideological’ commitment to human
consciousness altogether with a more materialist
ontology that also includes non-human agents, who
lack consciousness, so that reality constitutes
itself, and generates non-human agential cuts both
to separate some characteristics from the
entanglements and to unite others – ‘cutting
apart-together’. (There is another interpretation
of Böhr’s ‘philosophical turn’ as prioritising
calculation, as we shall see.) There is an
inevitable material entanglement of relata and
relations, so profound that the two terms
‘constitute’ each other, not just logically but
ontologically. She claims her work will complete
Böhr’s ontology, in an approach that will feature
heavily in subsequent work developing diffractive
approaches, as we shall see. Barad makes clear
that she is not naive enough to think she is being
simply 'faithful to Böhr' but is diffracting his
work 'through my agential realist understanding'.
Barad’s work generally acknowledges influences
from earlier physicists, from social theorists
including Marx, Nietzsche, Foucault and Derrida
and from current feminists. Barad (2014, p.186)
begins by noting that 'Diffraction owes as much to
a thick legacy of feminist theorising about
difference as it does to physics'. There is
much wide-ranging scholarship to admire, and her
commentary on Derrida is interesting enough to be
included in a specialist Derrida journal (Barad
2010). There is some uncertainty about the actual
sequence in which the works were read: Barad
(2014) says that her work is situated 'in physics,
feminist theory and feminist science studies' now,
but her discussions in Santa Cruz (with feminists
in the late 1980s) were more preliminary although
she had already half finished writing the 2007
book. The 2003 article covers the main ground for
the book too. Both Levinas and Derrida were first
read by colleagues, diffractively of course, to
develop a more compatible materialism (Barad
nd). Barad would perhaps deny there is any
significance in the chronological sequence, and
‘diffractive reading’ can range back and forth in
time,‘re-turning’ to earlier work to reformulate
it and thicken description.
Whether later readings can ever be completely
conceptually innocent is in doubt though. Some
commentators refer to revisiting and rereading
earlier work: for example, we 'read Whitehead
today' taking into account 20th century physics
and post-modern concerns (Sehgal 2014). This is
inevitable, but it might also be seen as offering
a methodological problem in accessing what earlier
works might have meant at the time, missing a
chance to encounter difference by installing older
arguments under newer ones, somehow completing
them, as if there were some underlying progress to
the truth to be detected. The usual acts of
interpretation are undesirable if they translate
the terms of one account into terms in a more
privileged colonialising one, but the issue is
whether this special non-hierarchical diffractive
reading escapes that tendency – further discussion
ensues in Vol II. It is unclear whether all
the people Barad diffractively reads have actually
discussed her work with her.
Barad’s later work extends the 2007 arguments by
referring to more recent work in quantum theory
and Quantum Field Theory (QFT). Barad makes the
arguments as clear as possible for
non-specialists, especially in Barad (2017), with
the aid of useful diagrams, and she supplies
additional reading, but there is no practicable
independent way for non-specialists to assess her
conclusions, of course. She extends superposition
to involve states in time and well as space, which
means that the usual concept of linear time are
’troubled’, although this might have been apparent
already from popular readings of Einstein’s
special theory of relativity, which QFT apparently
incorporates . For me, the most insightful part
turned on discussions of the void or vacuum (Barad
nd) and the quantum version which radicalises the
conventional implication of nothingness. It seems
the quantum vacuum features vibrations which
actually produce (probably ‘co-constitute’ is
better) a number of particles, both actual and
virtual, which in principle continue to interact
ad infinitum. Barad uses this astounding theory to
advocate that touching is a universal constituent
of mattering, which clearly extends to human
touching and implications for self-other
relations. However, I saw it as raising the issue
of connections with deleuzian notions of the
virtual and the immanent, and how material
actualises from it, which DeLanda (2002) has
described as operating in the more conventional
terms of complexity theory.
The real issue is what sort of reading Barad’s is.
It looks on the surface to be a classic example of
interpretation of various authors, seeing each as
offering a partial account of a more general
process. We can see how this is done in Barad
(2007) in more detail below. In later work, Böhr
and Anzaldúa both reveal 'a contingent iterative
performativity’ as the key general concept joining
their work (Barad 2014, pp. 173–4), even though
they are writing at different times and on
different topics. More direct comparisons are also
made – F. Grimaldi (1618–63) 'observes diffraction
fringes — bands of light inside the edge of the
shadow', with no sharp boundary separating light
from dark, and, since Anzaldúa
also describes colonisation in terms of darkness
and light, they are somehow united. Barad (2017)
renders similar: Derrida on hauntology (also
discussed in Barad 2010) , quantum theory on
superposition in time and space, and the Japanese
novelist Kyoko Hayashi’s technique of describing
events non-chronologically and non-geographically
– ‘travel hopping’ (Hayashi, 2010) . An argument
based on the endless deferral and evocation of
language, on experimental findings in a science
laboratory, and in an imaginative part-fictional
part-autobiographical narrative using rather
common ‘broken narrative’ techniques are all
somehow leading in the same direction. A key issue
is whether Barad implies that it is the behaviour
of subatomic particles that has directly
influenced Derrida and Hayashi, or determined the
actions of all of us, just as the quantum
vacuum produces material by ‘self-touching
intra-action’ (2017, p. 79). More examples follow.
Barad herself still refers to interpretation in
science: 'results in science are never
incontrovertible, but rather are always open to
question and to multiple interpretations and to
the possibility of a reinterpretation' (2007, p.
310). Apparently, she even agrees that agential
realism is '"vulnerable to empirical results…
[and] could ultimately be proven wrong"' (quoted
in Hollin et al 2017). Other physicists, like
Penrose (2016, p.125), insist that with an
impressive accumulation of observational data,
conformity to mathematical models with a high
degree of precision, and support from leading
scientists: ‘the dogma [sic] of quantum mechanics
is often taken for absolute truth, so that any
phenomenon of nature is necessarily regarded as
having to conform to it’. However, Penrose argues
at some length that ‘[problems] cannot be
dismissed at all lightly and that there should be,
indeed, a profound limit to our quantum faith’
(p.126). To anticipate a point lower down about
incoherence, quantum theory still seems testable,
although it is less likely that the ‘thick legacy
of feminist theorising’ is.
Barad does not offer us much discussion of the
specific social or political factors that affect
interpretations, including any that she might have
incorporated into her diffractive reading, despite
her background in ‘feminist science studies’,
although there is a brief account of their impact
on the Stern-Gerlach experiments (see
below), and she provides some autobiographical
material on her own social background in the
Preface and Acknowledgements to Barad ( 2007).
Hollin et al (2017, p 1), for example, can see
‘frictions and unacknowledged affinities with
science and technology studies [STS]’ here, and,
as a result, ‘Barad’s uptake within this community
has been patchy’ (10). Other theorists do seem to
have been influenced by social contexts for
Baradians – Whitehead, for example, can be
forgiven his non-standpoint and impersonal
formal and scholastic ‘objective’ style (Sehgal
2014), because he was conforming to the
conventions of the day in order to engage in
public debate, and those defects can now be
repaired by more feminist preferences. Even Böhr’s
critical insights into the quantum world, seem to
have been limited by his own humanist ideology and
Heisenberg’s by his confused thinking (Barad 2010)
but this is not explored. Barad’s own intellectual
history and biographical details are provided in
her Acknowledgments (Barad 2007, pp. ix--xiii) and
provide general information about her commitments.
On more sociological matters, Barad does
acknowledge that quantum physics is 'deeply
entangled with the military-industrial complex'
(2017, p.60), while ‘Newtonian physics helped
consolidate and give scientific credence to
colonialist endeavours' (Barad 2017, p 77). Some
of the political and moral aspects of the
discussions between Böhr and Heisenberg in 1940
are also mentioned in the general and abstract
context of showing that physics and ethics are
intertwined, via a discussion of a play by M Frayn
based on their meeting (Barad 2007, pp. 3—24,
2010). Current ideological uses do not totally
affect the theory at the familiar ‘pure’ level,
though: ‘quantum physics opens up radical spaces
for exploring the possibilities of change from
inside hegemonic systems of domination' (p. 61).
As it is, quantum physics seems to have appeared
just under the force of its own cognitive power,
unconstrained at the pure level by any of the
usual social and political factors (except for
Stern and Gerlach).
Böhr and recent quantum theory
Böhr was working in the 1920s –40s (he died in
1962) , and it is an obvious question to ask where
his particular solutions are located now in the
more recent history of quantum theory. This is
clearly a specialist field, and, as before, I can
only rely on the more popular accounts. What
follows is heavily dependent on articles in New
Scientist, Penrose (2016), and Freiberger’s
(2012) three contributions in the online Plus
magazine.
It seems that Böhr's decision to attempt to deal
with measurement problems with his concept of the
phenomenon has not survived particularly well, and
that arguments are still lively about whether
quantum theory has a 'real' existence, and the
extent to which human observers can describe
it. If anything, the realists and
representationalists seem to have regained some
ground. Penrose (2016) renders Böhr as suspending
questions of reality — he calls it resorting to
'philosophy' — in favour of getting on with the
mathematical modelling that offered such promise.
Henderson (2018) refers to this as the 'shut up
and calculate' approach, and acknowledges the
successes that the approach has produced. However,
he cites a number of more recent physicists who
are far more interested in the conventional
question of whether the quantum world is real and
objective after all, that is not dependent on
human observation or measurement.
This interest is found in another popular article
in New Scientist – Howegego (2019 – no
page numbers) on whether quarks are real or just
'mathematical monsters', necessary to develop
mathematical models of the behaviour of other
larger particles but not actually there. In an
account of the classic abductive (see Reichertz
2010) process of testing mathematical models
against observational data and vice versa, Howgego
(2019) says that led to early models led to
unpalatable conclusions such as the possibility of
infinite number of 'colours' for quarks, which
apparently meant infinite spin, and thus an
infinite number of quarks. Drawing back from this
possibility led to a simplification of the model,
which solved the problems temporarily by invoking
mechanisms to reduce spin considerably in certain
circumstances, or devising a way to let quarks
themselves regulate their spin. One further
development postulated the existence of a
two-dimensional 'quantum foam' which would let
regulated quarks emerge. This in turn 'implies
that the quarks in these particles aren’t
fundamental at all, but a consequence of the
quantum foam’s behaviour. “It’s like a new state
of matter, or a new state of quark,”' (Howgego,
quoting Komargodski) There are suggestions of an
emerging research programme, because there are
apparently links with research on neutron stars
and gravitational waves, but perhaps the main
point for nonspecialists is that 'If there are
circumstances under which quarks seem to be
emergent rather than fundamental, does that mean
that all quarks are little more than abstractions?
If so, what is reality really made of?' Some think
that quarks are real, fundamental objects, but
others that quarks are not fundamental any more.
The other implication might well be that quantum
foam is even more fundamental than quarks, raising
the issue of whether Böhr’s quantum theory is the
basis of Nature after all: ‘Quarks may represent
another rung on the ladder of reality, but we
haven’t reached the bottom yet.’
What emerges for me is the restoration of belief
in independent reality : 'Most physicists think
that the standard model of particle physics
doesn’t capture the full truth about reality, not
least because we don’t know why it is like it is.’
(Howgego 2019). Henderson (2016, quoting Saunders)
reports another argument, that: '“If quantum
theory doesn’t tell us what goes on inside
molecules and atoms...then we better find another
theory that does.”' Saunders himself apparently
adheres to the ‘multiple universes’ view, which
suggests that particles (and observers) are
actually appearing in other universes when they
seem to be undetectable in this one.
Focusing back on Böhr’s apparent proposition that
measurement itself is entangled with quantum
behaviour, Henderson (2016) tells us that 'John
Stewart Bell, [a famous physicist] once wrote,
“What exactly qualifies some physical systems to
play the role of ‘measurer’? Was the wave function
of the world waiting to jump for thousands of
millions of years until a single-celled living
creature appeared? Or did it have to wait a little
longer, for some better qualified system… with a
PhD?”’ In particular, Henderson suggests that Böhr
was prepared to leave the mysterious workings of
the apparatus uninvestigated, or to 'black box' it
in Latour's terms. This implies some autonomy for
apparatuses for Barad, but more recent theorists
have done much more to investigate what actually
goes on to transform quantum phenomena into macro
observations, including patterns on screens or
other measurements.
Penrose describes this as searching for a process
that limits the possible degrees of freedom in
states of superposition or indeterminacy and so
turns quantum events into macro ones, like
patterns on a screen, involving the problem of
scale, which Barad evades -- in Barad (2017,
p.61), for example, she says that the normal
geography separating macro and micro 'is but a
marker of an imperialist and colonising
worldview'. Penrose (2016) is intended to be
popular but is still highly dependent on a
knowledge of mathematics and the relevant
equations, such as the Schrödinger wave
equation. I have attempted to piece together
only a patchy understanding of the problems these
are intended to solve from an additional number of
popular sources including Wikipedia and YouTube
videos. Penrose does offer occasional ordinary
language descriptions that punctuate the
mathematical arguments. I am not claiming any
particular authority for my account, however.
Specifically, Penrose begins with processes in
nature that apparently limit the possibilities of
transformation at the quantum level, which might
include gravity, if the mass of particles is also
a variable. Standard quantum theory apparently
omits mass, but if we reconsider it, gravity,
understood as in Einstein’s special theory of
relativity, can affect quantum particles. This
will ‘collapse’ the abstract quantum possibilities
including indeterminacies and superpositions. This
break in processes of quantum linearity to include
macro states is one way to explain the puzzle of
‘quantum jumps’ from one state to another. It was
the disturbing possibility of these jumps, Penrose
argues, that led Böhr and others to suggest that
they should be better understood as jumps in
perception and consciousness. Penrose’s suggestion
would limit the range of quantum processes,
which would operate only within a specific range
of mass. He thinks that all the important
technological applications of standard quantum
theory would not be affected, but just discounting
mass as a variable is better understood as a leap
of faith in the universal applicability of quantum
theory. If gravity is a factor, the apparently
independent effects of the apparatus in producing
effects could be explained as the apparatus and
its environment being able to channel and focus
the (relatively very weak) effects of gravity
Henderson (2019), in New Scientist, offers
a good account for non-specialists. He has
suggested that options to the Böhrian conception
now include a postulated 'collapse wave' which
triggers indeterminate quantum particles to take
on a more determinate macro form. If objects are
large enough, they are '"pinged"' by the collapse
wave and assume ' their rightful place in macro
reality'. Penrose’s suggestion that this might be
connected to the actions of gravity is one of the
reasons for all the excitement in the recent
detection of 'gravity waves'. As an example of the
potential of this explanation, Henderson explains
that some recent experiments suggest that the
collapse from superposition and indeterminacy
takes place even with tiny macro objects in an
extremely short period of time, but that
investigations are still proceeding into the
processes at work in that period. Henderson also
suggests that there might be a further test,
involving the possibility of detecting collapse
waves in space. That this is a promising
development is indicated by the funding that the
project is attracting, from both the EC and the
ESA.
You do not have to be a particular specialist to
see possible implications for Barad. Her Böhrian
model of the quantum world (and thus of Nature) is
not the only one. Representational approaches are
still in use. The mysterious intra-action,
supported by Böhr's work and demonstrated by the
apparently autonomous activities of apparatus like
that in the two slit experiment might have been
produced by Böhr’s pragmatic black boxing. That
side-stepped many problems at the time and
permitted very useful calculations to proceed, but
those problems might now be explicable using
realist ontologies after all. Barad attempts to
develop Böhr into a fully fledged materialism, by
ignoring the idealism still present in
phenomenology, (and a mistake she says Böhr made
in his epistemology which made his work necessarily
applicable only to the microscopic realm --
Barad 1998,p.120), but more recent
attempts seem to have moved on much more
substantially and the whole issue of materialism
and reality is open to debate again.
However, there is still an argument for
phenomenological accounts that stress the
inevitable and indeed constitutive role of human
subjectivity in the very processes of measurement.
Schrader (2012) has a good but 'difficult' account
of the continuing debates about 'Maxwell's demon'
in thermodynamics which include accounts
based on the irreducibly 'immaterial' nature of
human knowledge even in 1991. She also tries out
Barad on agential realism for that debate.
The argument is not that Böhr’s approach has been
completely superseded, nor Barad’s interpretation
of it. In her terms, for example, the actions of
gravity could still be seen as an agential cut, no
doubt, with the agent now being gravitational
force not the actual apparatus. Nevertheless, two
general issues would remain. First, how
mathematical or political possibilities ‘collapse’
in practice and why this has been ignored. This
seems as important at least as the ways in which
possibilities proliferate, and might be part of a
more general trend in Barad to emphasise utopian
possibilities rather than existing structures.
Second, it is clear that agency in general can be
preserved, but the level at which it is located is
important, since agential cuts at a high level of
abstraction level severely restrict the
possibility of agential cuts at more specific
levels. Barad has only a brief acknowledgment that
'the degrees of freedom of the instruments are
bracketed' (2007, p. 346) by agential cuts made in
the name of science. Gravity restricts the agency
of apparatus, and, by analogy, social and
political structures restrict the agency of human
beings, at least in everyday life. In the realm of
free thought, in mathematics or in matters of
culture and identity or utopian speculation,
agency might seem far less restricted. Empirical
procedures, scientific tests or sociological
investigations provide more realistic accounts of
practical agency and its limits.
The main point is that even popular discussions
show that Böhr's approach is actually testable. 'A
confirmed collapse signal would wipe untold
blackboards clean at a stroke', while 'If no new
physics is found... the only consistent approach
is to give up on realism altogether and retreat to
something like Böhr’s view.' (Henderson 2016).
There is no parallel here with feminist activism
that can be easily defended against any
proposition that it might be tested by referring
to the male power relations in testing procedures.
The ground can also be shifted in a way that makes
activism and its consequences the most important
issue rather than any conventions of theoretical
or analytical rigour. Nor is there any
authoritative panel of commentators to arbitrate
on test results.
There are further examples in Barad’s book of what
are either extensions of ground or what Popper
(1976) would call ‘ad hoc hypotheses’ to shift the
ground and rescue theories. For example, even if
ingenious non-human mechanical apparatus seems to
have played a determinate role on the development
of quantum physics, so did thought experiments,
requiring no non-human apparatus. Barad can retain
coherence by suggesting that the term ‘apparatus’
should be extended to include human concepts, but
the issue is whether this serves to extend
usefully the idea of apparatus (originally
associated with Böhr’s phenomenology) or rather to
bail out the earlier discussion. There are
consequences as well. The more general proposition
loses the rhetorical point about ‘agential’
emergent effects of machines specifically which
arise independently of humans. It also means human
conceptual constructions are reduced to technical
cognitive matters – that concepts are only what
Deleuze and Guattari (1994) would call
‘functions’. Apparatuses relate to the
‘objects’ under study, and that relation is always
involved even in attempts to understand objects of
study, but it is clear that apparatuses can offer
minimal or maximal effects of their own. If they
have a maximal effect we are describing
methodological artefacts rather than real objects,
and this is a lively issue, it seems in discussing
possible effects of mathematical models. The
development of quantum physics shows that the most
ingenious steps are required in developing
apparatus to eliminate that possibility, but it is
not even raised as a problem in other cases, where
concepts are deemed to be apparatuses without
enquiries into their construction or
corrigibility. Barad says that Heisenberg’s notion
of an observer effect was denied by the eventual
investigations into ‘quantum erasure’, but this
cannot lead us to assume that observer effects,
including unconscious biases and preferences as
well as explicit commitments, never have a role to
play anywhere. – this is the major problem with
‘scale’ it is suggested. In quantum physics, there
was considerable public discussion of the design
of the experiments and the apparatuses concerned,
with a critical specialist public composed of
other experts, and the possibility of rejecting
results, but there is no equivalent in activist or
‘committed’ research of the kind found in the
qualitative research discussed elsewhere.
Section 2: Machines
Barad's chapter 5 (2007) begins with expanding the
importance of machinery to understandings of and
operations on the human body. This is to apply the
more general discussions about the entangled role
of the apparatus in physics. The specific
discussion is the considerable impact of the
ultrasound scanner. The technology has become part
of the medicalisation of gender and sexual
reproduction, favouring both males and medical
personnel, and sometimes involving blaming
pregnant women for the fate of their fetus. Other
commentators have made similar points, like
Butler, but she suggests that culture and
discourse are the most crucial mediators. For
Barad, the technology itself has specific effects.
Ultrasound technology both makes and remakes
boundaries, including those between living and
non-living creatures, nature and culture, but
these philosophical implications are sidelined.
The fetus is taken as the objective referent only
for 'political and scientific reasons' (2007, p.
203). Ultrasound scanners are
'material-discursive' to cite another common term
– they have material effects and permit discourses
and these are entangled. Quantum entanglement has
had a high profile as a result of possible
technological applications including quantum
computers where we might read the characteristics
of one distant particle from another more local
one—'information teleportation'(2007, p. 385). It
is a serious possibility, and, significantly,
several major institutions are interested. Quantum
theory is no longer just theoretical, a sideline,
Barad argues, but the metaphysical issues should
also be equally prominent. Of course, it might be
that, equally, the philosophical implications are
a focus for Barad following her own ‘political and
scientific reasons’, however.
The issue of human relations with machines has
been much discussed, of course, and there are
variants. Pessimistic sociologists, probably at
least since Marx and Weber, have long argued that
human beings are being reduced to machines, at
least in their work activity. There is Haraway's
famous argument about information technology
permitting us to think of ourselves as cyborgs. We
discuss briefly Actor–Network Theory (ANT) below,
mentioned in Barad (2007). Machinism in Deleuze
and Guattari is not explicitly discussed, but it
might be implicit in her work, as we shall see. It
might be noted that Kuhn had already pointed out
that various ingenious mechanical devices in the
macro world were required before scientific
disputes could really be pursued into the
empirical. There were crucial developments in
optical instruments such as microscopes and
telescopes, which raises undiscussed implications
for Barad’s ‘reflection’ models as we shall see.
The most exciting interpretation of ANT implies
that machines are agents in the full human sense,
capable of affecting human history, although
Latour (1999) insists that this is not really what
he meant, and blames the tendency on
sociologists wanting to extend their favourite
dichotomies between agent and structure. Instead,
he was arguing that they should be seen as
'actants', which are not subjects but rather
condensed components of networks themselves,
complex interrelations of human obligations
embodied in the technology as ‘affordances’, and
then extending out to human users of the
technology. These are rarely analysed but are
treated instead as a black box. These actants have
had decisive roles in the development of science
at particular times, nevertheless. Latour sees a
much wider application. His own initial
iconcoclastic piece, written under a pseudonym for
reasons given in the actual article, discusses the
social and historical importance of a door closer
(Latour 1988). More popular ‘applications’ include
work on the social changes produced by the
development of the domestic electric cooker (Silva
2002) or by modern climbing equipment (Rossiter
2007). As largely unexamined black boxes, these
machines display astonishing qualities that seem
especially 'emergent' to the novice user ,
unexpected ‘competencies’ and unintended
consequences where they seem almost to act on
their own. It might be possible to consider
these as ‘affordances’ as deliberate, designed
in by engineers to exceed the normal
requirements and expectations of users – to
increase safety margins, for example -- and
often making them inaccessible to ordinary use.
This has one important consequence which
Latour develops further than Barad. Black
boxing machines also acts as a constraint if only
because it takes resources to unbox them , and
thus they constrain options in the future. Latour
also points out that engineers design machines
with users in mind, trying to prescribe or
'position' users, to use a term in Cultural
Studies (Latour 1988 deliberately compares
engineers to novelists) . That does not always
work, but modern machinery include a lot of
experience in the technique and often incorporates
other apparatuses already in use -- 'upstream'
work (Latour 1988,p. 307) Sometimes, they
prescribe use in the form of a 'chreod' (p.
380) or necessary path for people encountering
them. There are pressures and constraints that
stop us opening black boxes to rethink infinite
possibilities. We are rarely free to open up the
infinite possibilities. Even experimental
scientists find it difficult to open black boxes
and it is often easier to take them for granted
(Latour 1987 takes the example of the DNA model
proposed by Watson and Crick), so that it is
almost impossible to disagree in practice with a
successful claim. In 'Big Science'
especially, the only way to respond to
laboratory evidence is to develop bigger and
better laboratories, and this is clearly
resource-heavy and often practically impossible.
The results of 'fact writing' are
buttressed with networks of supporters, resources,
authorities and previous work as well.
Deleuze and Guattari have a much broader notion of
machinism which extends the notion of affordances
to cover those not introduced deliberately. To be
brief, if we think of a machine in its most
general sense, it is a device to combine forces to
produce actual effects. Not all of these forces
are available in the actual empirical world, but
remain at a virtual level, until actualised or
made empirical. This process can be described as
potentials being realised, but the virtual is
already another level of reality itself,
deleuzians insist, and prefer the term
‘actualisation’. In this general sense, the whole
universe is a machine, as the basic forces of
physics are focused by attractors in order
eventually to produce matter from energy. Human
consciousness can also be seen as machinic in this
sense, a term which Deleuze and Guattari prefer to
the usual alternatives of humanism and
structuralism. In Deleuze & Guattari
(1984) there were universal desiring
machines which fundamentally organised and shaped
our underlying desire into specific desires. At a
more specific level, there were machines ‘plugged
into’ the desiring machines, such as writing
machines which produced literary works even though
those appeared under signatures like Proust or
Kafka. Specific patterns of human interaction also
produced machinic specific effects, as in
Guattari’s (2014) analysis of the 'four – eyed
machine', where the common Anglo-Saxon
face-to-face model of psychoanalysis produced
particular effects, especially Freudian
transference.
In Deleuze & Guattari ( 2004) the term
desiring machine was replaced with another — the
assemblage. This term also has unfortunate
associations in suggesting that it is only human
beings who assemble components which include
humans and nonhumans. It is equally possible to
refer to sections where assemblages seem to be
self assembling, apparently an implication
rendered better in the French term agencement.
There are several specific and accessible
examples. DeLanda (1999) for example, has
written a short paper showing how atoms and
molecules assembled themselves into more complex
forms, including compounds, with a particular role
for metals, possessing properties permitting
catalysis, long before human beings actually
emerged. This may be what Barad means by 'Matter's
dynamism is inexhaustible, exuberant and prolific'
( 2007 170). There is also an occasional
flirtation,especially in Guattari (1995), with the
idea of self emergence, autopoeisis, popularised
by Maturana and Varela. Other simple examples do
include human agency, still not of an
individualised kind though, such as the actualised
assemblage formed when the stirrup was invented,
permitting horses and human beings to be combined
in particularly effective military ways in
particular political circumstances.
There is also a specific implication of
deleuzo-guattarian machinism in terms like
'machinic phyla'. This points to the potential of
machines which await development, ready for human
beings to discover them and develop the technology
to exploit them. Engineering really takes off once
human beings are able to 'diagram' the machines in
suitably abstract terms. Again DeLanda (1991)
provides a simple example by pointing to the
ballistic similarities in the way forces are
produced and then constrained in weapons like
blowpipes, gunpowder cannons and modern ballistic
missiles, with experience combining eventually
with mathematical models. All these weapons occupy
a particular machinic phylum. Exploring the phyla
is a major source of human creativity, especially
via mathematics, with an obvious implication for
the potentials of information technology
particularly.
None of these examples imply any kind of
humanisation of machines, no animistic underlying
shared spirit, although some writers seem to think
this is what Barad is arguing. They include some
of the feminists she met en route to her
development of diffraction: Anzaldúa apparently
believes 'in an ordered, structured universe where
all phenomena are interrelated and imbued with
spirit' Wyatt might be suggesting animism: he says
(Gale & Wyatt 2016) ‘The parked car had
reversed into me . The 4x4, right there beside me
as I stepped from the pavement but which had been
mere background – brute passive matter – in my
mission to place bag in bin was clearly – how
shall I say? -- agentic’. In a later piece Gale
&Wyatt (2018): 'I came to a crossroads. The
crossroads stopped me. (I was going to write: ‘I
stopped’, but that conveys too strong a sense of
‘my’ agency.) The crossroads-and-I held the
body-I-call mine steady. Paused me. ...The left
turn to Trinity chose me.’ Wyatt immediately
concedes that this ‘sounds grandiose: the left
turn to Trinity and I found ourselves together.)’
Section 3: Animals
Some domestic animals might usefully be considered
as machines, of course, at least in Latour’s
sense. This is not to denigrate them. Humans have
modified them and may soon be able to construct
them, so these animals can certainly no longer be
seen just as ‘natural’. Those in closest contact
with humans have imposed obligations on us and
affected our behaviour – making us into herdsmen
or more successful hunters or imposing duties of
care. Other animals are less well connected, of
course and have remained relatively ‘wild’. I am
not sure if classifying them like this would meet
with Barad’s approval or whether she would see
that as colonising or representing the animal
kingdom with embedded power relations.
Barad (2007) begins with a discussion of human
bodies. There is a connection with Foucault and
the notion of an apparatus as a disciplinary
mechanism, as in various surveillance regimes.
Again we have to extend the analysis especially as
modern technology 'provides for much more
intimate, pervasive, and profound reconfigurings
of bodies, power, knowledge and their linkage' (p.
200). We need to replace the notion of biopower
with '"technobiopower"' and take the necessary
step to see apparatuses, objects and subjects as
inherently combined in phenomena. Here we could
usefully read Foucault and Böhr together,
diffractively, with Foucault rounding out the
discursive aspects of technology, and Böhr on the
processes of materialisation, especially with
nonhuman bodies. (This ‘additive’ model of
diffraction is discussed below and in Vol II).
The specific discussion is the issue of ultrasound
in the fetus, combining Butler's emphasis on
discourse with a quantum physics understanding of
'how even the very atoms that make up the
biological body come to matter' (2007, p. 208)
generating 'mutually informative insights'. In
particular, we might think more about the
specifics of both fetus and the apparatus and how
they become objects. This combination might also
suggest a political way to escape social norms
relating to the body, since bodies are not fixed
by their physical properties but are becomings, 'a
congealing of agency' (210). We must not just
reduce materiality to discourse, if only because
there are material constraints and exclusions and
material dimensions to power. At the same time,
there is a gap between the general physical
characteristics of bodies and norms. The argument
recalls Deleuze and Guattari on the potentials of
‘body-without-organs’ and how this is virtual
entity is actualized, organized, into socially
acceptable forms.
This allows in principle for some rebellious
agency. She says that at least feminist politics
is not just a matter of being able to exploit
contradictory norms. There is a more active and
grounded possibility of intervention and
enactment, a matter of 'making iterative changes
to particular practices', and again that includes
machines. Ultrasound is enfolded into new
practices and exploring these will change our
understanding of bodies and alter some previous
workable boundaries, for example between surfaces
and depths or volumes. Feminists should be
involved in the technical debates — 'there is a
need to understand the laws of nature as well as
the law of the father' (p. 222).
It is worth entering a reservation here, though,
prompted by my reworking of Goffman on 'role
distance' (for another piece). Butler is
right to focus on human aspects and ignore
technological affordances if she is focusing
specifically on human culture and the way it
constructs sex and gender. It is there that we
find resources for particular kinds of dimensions
to performance -- irony, mockery, subversion, camp
-- which offer the best possibilities of
liberating feminist politics. As far as I can see,
Barad does not want to extend these forms to the
non-human -- plants or machines do not perform
ironically, even if it can sometimes seem that
way. Peculiarly human characteristics may be in
danger of being discarded in favour of a
technologism. I am unclear about whether Barad
agrees with Butler that performativity is all
there is, (while wanting to add non-human forms),
or whether she is suggesting some additional
foundational ontology of indeterminacy existing at
the quantum level underpinning human
performativity -- if the latter, Butler argues
that such ontologies only disguise their own
constitution in performance and distract us
from the most effective forms of femininst
politics.
Philosophising starfish
There is a long discussion (370f) of an
experimental study of a particular starfish, a
brittlestar, Ophiocoma wendtii
,which apparently has no conventionally-defined
eyes or brain (Aizenberg et al 2001) . I read
Aizenberg et al and the commentaries cited by
Barad for myself, and I admire Barad’s excellent
summaries. The brittlestar still seems to
react to light, however, and biologists eventually
realized that its skeletal structure could also be
a kind of compound eye, of particular value in its
actual environment. This was confirmed by an
inspection of the microscopic structure of one
dorsal arm skeletal plate made of calcite. Barad
describes the study in detail, including how the
armplates were removed from the animal, then
‘cleansed of organic matter’ and ‘polished’, as
Aizenberg et al put it (2001, p. 819), before
being examined. No-one considers the ethics of
this specific experiment, nor whether these
operations might have artificially enhanced the
lens-like capacities. The experimenters later
pursued a possible application of the results by
producing artificial crystals based on the
structure of the ones appearing in starfish. The
two studies validate each other because there is a
‘possibility that the mechanistic implications
proposed in this study are directly relevant to
the formation of analagous structures in the
biological world’ (Aizenberg et al 2003 p. 1207).
Barad assumes that the team can be seen as
supporting her ontology as a result, although this
is not actually clear.
Aizenberg et al (2001) are quite cautious in
actually reporting their own work. There is only a
'lensing effect' (2001, p 820), and after being
able to confirm this by comparing observations to
predicted results, they note that this still only
strongly suggests ‘a conceivable compound–eye
capability’(p.821). There is 'only limited
evidence that the lens apparatus operates at a
distance' (821) as would a fully developed eye,
and some less central issues remain 'poorly
understood and controversial'.
However, Barad also cites other commentaries based
on the reports of the experiments, expressed in
newsletter-type short announcements in Nature
or Science, in an article in the New
York Times, and during a broadcast on
National Public Radio. Barad says that the terse
Aizenberg report follows convention and shows
‘understatement (or at least reserve)’ (2007,
p.373), and that more comment is justified to
develop their conclusions. Aizenberg et al (2001,
p. 821) actually conclude that brittlestars show
the 'remarkable ability of organisms, through the
process of evolution, to optimise one material for
several functions'. This can also provide 'new
ideas for the fabrication of "smart" materials'.
However, Barad quotes the reporter on National
Radio saying the Aizenberg study shows that ‘”Even
the most primitive creatures might have the edge
over modern science”’ (2007, pp. 372–3).
Sambles, in another example, (2001, p. 783), in a
very brief summary of about 800 words, reports
Aizenberg et al. discovering that ‘a species of
brittlestar, Ophiocoma wendtii, possesses a
remarkable microlens array’. It is remarkable
mostly because ‘The construction and operation of
microlenses have strict [technical] requirements’.
His own conclusion is: ‘Human ingenuity came up
with microlens arrays only a few years ago... Once
again we find that nature foreshadowed our
technical developments.’ Barad renders this as
saying that ‘The brittlestar [has]...superior
ingenuity, which exceeds the current technological
ingenuity of humans’ (2007, p.372).
Whitfield, also quoted by Barad is more effusive
still in a news item in Nature:
‘Near-perfect microscopic lenses in brittlestars'
bones are more sophisticated than anything humans
can produce, say engineers keen to copy the
trick.’ He quotes Aizenberg et al. (2003): ‘The
tiny crystal balls "were too similar to lenses to
have been formed by chance"’ and Sambles: ‘"It's
astonishing that this organic creature can
manipulate inorganic matter with such precision -
and yet it's got no brain"’. Barad (2007, p.373)
quotes ‘ a Discover Magazine
reporter’ who ‘juxtaposes a statement by
Aizenberg...with a pull-no-punches opening line:
‘Until now, engineers have only dreamed of such
perfect microlenses...Aizenberg is inspired: “This
is very clever engineering”, she says’.
Overall, Barad’s account sounds a little naive for
an STS scholar – a scientist working for Bell just
happened to be investigating starfish and then
went on only subsequently to explore commercial
applications? Subsequent scientists found
themselves philosophising about the results, again
apparently innocent of any need to publicise their
chosen specialism and compete with other
specialisms in the struggle for resources. There
seems to be no discussion of any political or
ethical issues proceeding from engineering
applications – it is not clear if there are any
miitary applications arising from developing
lenses like this, for example.
Barad does acknowledge that press reports have
different rules from science reports and can be
‘very upbeat about the discovery’ or even ‘rachet
up the experiment a notch’ (2007, p.374).
Nevertheless, much of her own commentary draws on
these reports, or even exceeds them. She develops
implications for the representationalist approach,
where the observing subject can detach herself
from the separate objects of reality and easily
(which might be the crucial point) represent them
with a name. The Cartesian legacy means we put our
faith in representations instead of matter,
thinking that we have better access to
representations. Optical metaphors thus came to
dominate philosophy. The starfish rebukes the
notion of 'epistemological lenses or the
geometrical optics of reflection', however (2007,
p. 375). Its visual system is embodied, so that
being and knowing entail each other.
As it has no brain, there can be no knowing
subject brittlestar. The animal can break off a
damaged body part and regrow it, so it has
flexible bodily boundaries like everything else
including us. This leads to a very strong claim
that the reworking of its bodily boundaries can be
seen as 'discursive practices—the boundary drawing
practices by which it differentiates itself from
the environments with which it intra-acts...
materially enacted'. It displays some predictable
activity in its responses and thus 'plays an
agentive role role in its differential production'
(2007, p.376). It shows that the body is a
performance. Embodiment is more active than just a
matter of 'being of the world in its dynamic
specificity' (2007, p.377). The starfish also
shows 'great diversity in sexual behavior and
reproduction', and some can reproduce asexually by
regenerating bodies out of parts.
Barad even says that 'rethinking embodiment in
this way will surely require rethinking
psychoanalysis as well'. Here, she references
'possibilities for lost limb memory trauma'. It
would not be freudian psychoanalysis, of course,
which at the very least requires human language
for its ‘talking cure’. The only application I can
think of at the moment is ‘ego adjustment’ for
patients by letting them observe starfish
stoically coping with limb loss, or perhaps
persuading them that limb loss is better
understood as a new kind of embodiment, or that
embodiment has always entailed an idealised body.
Barad in full flow sees brittlestars as
diffraction gratings. A recognition like this is
not confined to human cognition, since even a
brittlestar can recognize a predator and can
differentially respond in ways that matter for its
survival. In the laboratory, ‘"humans" and
"brittlestars” learn about and co- constitute each
other through a variety of brittlestar-human
intra-actions'(2007, pp. 381 - 2). If that
argument involves euphemism, subsequent points
look more like simple anthropomorphism. They are
so exaggerated that they might be written
playfully as a provocation. I have suggested that
quantum physicists can indeed be playful. This is
risky ground, however. Zizek asked his audience –
‘Is she [Barad] serious?’ (Zizek 2012), followed
by ‘Is she a lesbian?’, and was accused of
possessing a 'blatant sexist and homophobic
attitude' (Geerts & van der Tuin 2016, (no
page numbers). Barad is herself quite capable of
operating playfully in order to provide light
relief for non-physicists, however, claiming to
travel in time in one case by giving an account of
Young’s work as if she were there, in 1803 (Barad
2014). The moderator for the discussion is also
playful and humorous in suggesting that studies of
relations between humans and animals might
usefully be applied to parent-child interactions:
Barad replies that she will discuss ‘butch
mothering’ later. Readers must judge for
themselves whether the remarks that follow are
also playful. There is also the remark in Barad
(2012) that anthropomorphism is being embraced but
rhetorically, as a way to challenge
anthropocentrism and human exceptionalism.
I also like Dalziell (in Kirby 2107). After
reviewing some experiments on slime moulds
(different one from Barad), she quotes some of the
scientists who argue that there really are signs
of intelligence in this simple creature(s). There
are also signs of complexity and indeterminacy in
the relations between human individuals and the
social in Sociology -- eg Durkheim (a long-overdue
citation). But they have to report their findings
playfully, and put key terms like 'decision' into
quote marks. This is professionally necessary to
get published, it seems. Dalziell says they should
bite the bullet, and at least consider whether
there really is intelligence at work,and if so,
how it might be related to human capacities
--maybe it is proto-consciousness, biologically
engineered, embodied, and an early form of human
consciousness? Maybe it is as Kirby suggests, a
singularity produced as much as human
consciousness by the possibilities of virtual
multiplicities. Barad needs to come clean too.
'Brittlestars literally enact my agential realist
ontoepistemological point about the entangled
practices of knowing and being. They challenge our
Cartesian habits of mind', says Barad (2007, p.
379) and show us that knowledge making is not
mediated but is rather 'a direct material
engagement... a part of the world in its dynamic
material configuring'. Apparently they make
stimuli intelligible (to themselves?) through
intra-actions again. Knowing is not exclusive to
humans, Barad argues, but only after considerable
reductionism: the fundamental components of human
knowledge are sense stimuli. Only after this can
our own participation in practices of knowing be
seen as 'part of the larger material configuration
of the world and its ongoing open-ended
articulation' attuned to processes of
differentiation, within determinate boundaries.
Since the animal is engaged in a struggle for
survival, this bodily diffraction is 'not about
any difference but about which differences matter'
(2007, p. 378). The canny creatures 'know better
than to get caught up in a geometrical optics of
knowing'.
The whole argument seem to just simply assert that
‘recognition’, ‘predator’, ‘response’,
‘communication’ and ‘co-constitution’ mean the
same things for brittlestars and humans.
‘Intra-action’ loses its rhetorical distinction
with interaction by this controversial
generalisation – how the difference between the
two terms might be observed in starfish-human
relations is not clear, but it is surely
controversial to describe a relation where one
creature has an appendage removed by another in an
experiment as ‘intra-action’, except in the most
abstract technical sense. There can surely be no
notion of equality in interaction, or the full
recognition of otherness in each participant which
the term sometimes suggests.
Collective purposive rational action to exclude
possibilities and focus interventions has played a
major part in the development of science and
technology. It clearly has a place in practical
politics if we have to decide, say, whether a
particular poverty-relief programme achieves its
goals or not It also plays a major part in
everyday life, and to ignore it is to risk partial
understanding (in both senses). Intra-action
acknowledging all the possible components would be
as dysfunctional in everyday life as it would in
science. It is probably only intimates that will
require intra-action in practice: to take Schutz’s
example, a pretty anonymous ideal-type and
functionally focused interaction will best suit
both parties when the mail person delivers the
mail. No doubt the specific mail person and I
could explore our deeper connections until we
established a more intimate relationship, but
no-one can have full relationships of absolute
otherness with everybody we encounter. Nor indeed
with every thing. Relevance systems would operate
to prioritise, behind our backs if necessary,
whatever we declared our ethical position to be.
To deny this would risk reproducing a main
characteristic of ideology where calculative
interests are represented as general moral
proclamations, and specific interests are pursued
in the misleading form of universal ones.
It is not clear how the Aizenberg team operated,
but exercising responsibility toward starfish in
practice probably meant adhering to Bell Labs’
ethical policy. It is not clear whether this would
have conformed to Barad’s ethics and whether the
study should be invalidated if it did not. It
seems like a classic scientific study as well,
using standard experimental techniques and
mathematical formulae, assuming precisely a
distance between the scientific human subjects and
inert objects. No quantum effects seem to have
been discussed. Above all, the entire argument is
based on Barad’s account of other accounts. It
seems Barad did not experiment on starfish
herself, so reports could easily involve processes
of written representations or even representations
of representations: the data themselves do not
seem to have been produced by diffractive
approaches by the experimenters or reporters
themselves. Somehow, Barad’s subsequent
diffractive reading alone overcomes all these
epistemological and ethical problems in this case.
Now that the boundaries of the human are being
reconfigured, we should be able to do better,
developing or perhaps unfolding 'post humanist
ethics, an ethics of worlding' (2007, p. 392). It
is not clear if this is an inevitable next step as
the latest incarnation of Nature, or whether we
should indeed consciously choose to take it.
Post-humanist ethics seem much more extensive than
earlier kinds. Our responsibilities are
essentially embodied, not just a cultural matter,
but grounded in Nature itself. Responsibility to
others, including nonhuman others, is a primary
mode of objectivity as well as subjectivity (2007,
p. 392). Our responsibilities are extensive. We
are responsible not only for the other but for the
'lively relationalities of becoming of which we
are a part'.'Responsibility is not ours alone',
nor does it just extend to other human beings,
because we must now be responsive to all
entanglements, including relations with things
that are far off and in the past: these are never
out of touch, except as an act of exclusion: the
need to be hospitable runs ‘through all being and
non-/being' ( Barad nd. p 9). In Barad’s
work, exclusion seems to be a minor issue, not
worth discussing, but it seems crucial in actually
operating on and in the world, of course. Hollin
et al also argue that exclusion of alternatives
pose the most pressing ethical issues.
Queer animals
Barad (2012) adds to the examples of queer animals
and discusses 'social amoeba', some
stingrays and a particular kind of
dinoflagellate Pfiesteria piscicida.
Lightning and, of course, suabtomic particles in
the quantum world are examples of queer
inanimates. They are deemed to be queer
because they display ambiguities when compared to
conventional classifications like 'individual' and
'social' or 'animal' and 'plant'. They also
display surprising behaviours. Stingrays seem able
to anticipate receiving inputs to certain receptor
cells by activating those cells before any input
is actually generated. This is rendered as '"some
mysterious clairvoyancy"' (2012, p.36) by a
certain V Kirby, who is cited and quoted widely
(I haven't read any of her work yet [I have now
here], and likened
to a fortunate coincidence of research interests
emerging as different candidates, including
Kirby herself) defended their work to a
funding panel. Kirby detects an 'infectious algorithm [that] had
already brought us together before our actual
meeting'. Kirby has been influential in
offering a materialist reading of Derrida,
Barad tells us, which turns on a claim that Derrida's
argument that there is no outside of
the text can be read as '"there is no
outside of nature"''Barad 2012 Note 60,
p.50) .Barad also cements this reading of
Derrida by repeating the claim that the
quantum eraser experiments have given
Derridavian 'deconstructionism
empirical traction' (p.44)[That
particularly ignores the differences,much
against the 'spirit' of Derrida, between
the sort of deconstruction Derrida does --
very detailed examination of philosophical
writings to spot them moments where
{phal}logocentrism intrudes -- and quantum
physics,which still maintains some
corrigibility]
I have some more extended notes on
Kirby (both V and J) here
The other examples of queerness include
summarising an argument in Schrader that
the Pfiesteria
displays such ambiguous behaviour,
compared to some comventional
understandings of indidviduality and
causality that we must conclude that 'its
very species being is indeterminate'. In
particular, properties and
characteristics formerly though of as
fixed can transform into one another,
so that the possible toxicity (for
fish) is affected both by present
environments but also by the history
of the organism. The term history
implies
'"a biochemical memory"' (Barad
2012,p.38 quoting Schrader), which,
if it exists, would not be like
human memory at all, of course. This
in turn means there is a temporal
dimension in their relations with
their environment. This is
rendered as '"the effects of
indeterminable intra-action that have
led to Pfiesteria's
current material mode". It also
implies a performative capacity in the
dinoflagellate, a particularly
goal-oriented one: its behaviour seems
to vary according to what needs to
be done. It might be possible to
suggest that additional causals
could be built into more complex
models of the organism's behaviour,
but for Barad and Schrader the only
alternative is to se the creatures
as making 'choices… not
simply deterministic causality,
acausality, or no causality' (39).
Schrader says the organism is so
dangerous potentially, that there
is not time to wait for further
analysis becasue there are 'real-world
concerns at stake', although the
real-world implications of
thinking of the animals as
making choices are not at all
clear.
I read this article by Schrader
on Pfiesteria piscicida
for myself (and I am grateful
for her making it available). I
am also reading another piece by
her on Maxwell's Demon --
gripping stuff. This was my
immediate reaction to the Pfiesteria
piece:
There are some
ingenious experiments that
have been done on this
creature, and it does seem
very complex, with different
versions taking quite
different forms, including
toxic and non-toxic forms. It
seems particularly difficult
to define what sort of
creature it is, and to
reconstruct its life-cycle.
Understandably, a lot of
biologists are particularly
interested in how and why it
gets toxic and kills fish, and
again there are all sorts of
ingenious experiments trying
to isolate the causals — it's
not just environmental cues,
because one variable is
whether or not it has killed
fish before, and whether
killable fish are actually
present. Even the biologists
concerned seem to want to talk
about things like 'memory'.
The usual
paradox presents itself
though, whether this is an
epistemological uncertainty,
which could in principle be
pinned down to complex systems
of determinants, or whether
this is an ontological
indeterminacy, somehow
mirroring the indeterminacy of
quantum particles and showing
the same characteristics like
'complementarity' between the
different forms. The first
variant is perhaps represented
best by a huge complex diagram
with all sorts of lines of
different lines joining the
components. This nearly gets
accepted when Schrader talks
about a Pfisteria
'complex' with several actual
variants — that sounds a bit
like Kirby in a deleuzian
phrase. Elsewhere, the
processes are described as
'synchronisation', not quite
as mysterious, and even
Schrader lapses into listing
the main suspect variables or
even using the term
determinations.
However,
Schrader mostly opts for the
second possibility,
understandably loyal to Barad
and trying to work in all
sorts of Derridvian
implications about hauntings
and traces. I'm not terribly
convinced that we need Derrida
to describe what goes on in
ordinary human consciousness
and language as recapturing
subjective time [I think
personally that Bergson would
be just as useful,and,via Deleuze,
'duration' already links
subjective time and material
reality] , although he would
of course refer to linguistic
systems. But only linguistic
systems -- so is the argument
that Nature is also a text
with a system of signs? [Does
Nature write in the same way
as humans in Derrida's
sense?].
The main
interest, though, is the way
all this is argued. There is
almost a kind of prime
knowledge tactic where complex
scientific experiments are
discussed, and arranged in a
kind of narrative of
increasing complexity and
mystery. Then Baradian
terminology starts to get
applied to the discussion.
This is really a rhetorical
shift, but Schrader wants to
suggest that it follows
necessarily from the
difficulties faced by the
conventional approaches. As
before, sometimes those
conventional approaches are
straw men, with simple
positivist notions of cause or
identity that are fairly
easily shown to be inadequate.
Underneath the persuasion, I
suspect that it is really a
matter of argument by residue
— even the finest current
biology cannot solve the
problem, so we somehow must
switch the paradigms
altogether and talk about
matters that seem even more
mysterious and unsolvable,
like whether this
dinoflagellate is actually
'performing' or 'enacting' its
various transformations.
Reviving Kuhn's discussion, it
can be seen that there is an
interesting asymmetry here. The
ambiguities of Pfiesteria
behaviour seem
to have provided
some conventional
biologists with a
problem, but
scientists can
accept Kuhnian
problems as
puzzles to be
resolved by
further work,
without abandoning
the whole
paradigm.
Something like
this is suggested
in Barad(2012)
(Note 5,
p.47):
'Amoebozoa are now
considered by most
to form a separate
kingdom-level
clade',
quoting a
Wikipedia entry.
Introducing the
bizarre notions of
amoeba 'making
choices' is
clearly not the
only alternative,
even if puzzles
remain. In other
cases, of course,
puzzles escalate
into serious
anomalies that do
challenge
paradigms, and
this is
illustrated best
of all in quantum
theory for Barad
when decisive
experiments like
the 'quantum
eraser' seemed to
offer such serious
disturbances of
conventional
notions of time
and space that it
looked as if it
was possible to
actually alter the
past. Barad thinks
this it is
conclusive
evidence for
Böhr's account
that it could
explain this
apparent anomaly,
at least better
than Heisenberg's
account.But as we
saw above, Böhr's
account is still
under challenge.
If Kuhn is right,
the issue will not
be resolved until
a host of other
factors intervene,
including social
and political
ones: empirical
observations are
never conclusive,
no matter how
bizarre the
observed behaviour
of Barad's queer
critters.
Another key factor
will be the
plausibility of
the theoretical
apparatus
deployed,and here
Barad has departed
from Böhr, of
course, pursuing
the mysterious 'diffractive
reading of
insights from
physics and
poststructuralist
theory through
one another'
.
Whether this can be coherent is
discussed below, but it is already
possible to suggest that physics (in
the form of the quantum eraser
experiment) is unable to provide any
empirical evidence or traction for
Derrida's concepts, whether the
metaphysics of presence of
différance, because they simply were
not were not designed to do so.
Bagemihl's (1999) book is only
lightly cited in the 2012 article on
queer performativity, but I did
manage to get hold of a copy.
Here is my summary of (some parts
of) that:
It has some
problems of compatibility with
Barad's account, and some problems
of its own anyway. The argument is
that homosexual and bisexual
behaviour is very common among
animals, which means it must have
some biological and (limited)
cultural origins. If other
primates display such common and
frequent behaviour, that makes
human displays of sexual diversity
'natural' as well as cultural. The
explanatory mechanism is
'biological exuberance' where an
excess of sexual energy has to be
discharged in a range of
polymorphous sexual activities,
since the opportunities for
heterosexual contact are never
enough to exhaust this exuberance.
Bagemihl admits that there are
problems in sustaining this
argument. For example sexual
activity among wild animals is
hard to observe at the best of
times. Domestic and captive
animals display the same kind of
behaviour, however. But there are
notorious problems in defining
sexual activity, of course.
Bagemihl opts for some
delightfully operational
definitions, such as genital
rubbing or mounting, and he also
considers as sexual activities
various contacts with objects as
well. Perhaps the most
controversial points arise when he
claims that studies have
identified sexual pleasure arising
from these contacts, possibly even
orgasm, and these are defined
operationally too as erected
organs (among mammals) or screams
and cries.
It is pretty clear that we are
entering positivist territory here
with these operational
definitions, and the solemn
observations based on them. I
could not remove from my mind the
image of an earnest zoologist
hiding in a bush with binoculars
in one hand and a stopwatch in the
other, producing quantitative data
about the frequencies of genital
contact among female Bonobo. It is
not surprising that there is a
reference to the classic
positivist studies of human
sexuality by Masters and Johnson.
What this sort of positivism is
doing being quoted as support by
Barad is a mystery.
Bagemihl''s arguments vary. The
most common one is paratactic
onslaught, where point after
point, summary after summary is
hurled at the reader, ranging
across a wide variety of sexual
activities and animal activists.
Bagemihl acknowledges that there
is a problem of aggregating all
this data, but that does not stop
him suggesting that it does all
aggregate together, whether we are
talking about dolphins,
chimpanzees, plovers, or polar
bear, and discussing activities
ranging from playful propulsion to
mixtures of aggression and
maternal care. There is absolutely
no way to check this sort of
argument — even one of the animals
examined in detail in the
'bestiary' yielded about 20
references in zoological journals.
We are simply in his hands, and
now and then, he summarises things
for us and points us in the right
direction of the underlying truth,
in a classic form of 'academic
realism'.
Strangely, there is also a lengthy
section on the wisdom of
indigenous peoples in recording
and commenting on animal sexuality
in particular. Although such
wisdom is not at all based on the
sort of scientific observation and
recording that he values in
zoological studies, it still has
to be made compatible. This is
common, of course in some
qualitative research which also
values indigenous wisdom. The
findings in this wisdom somehow
anticipate scientific ones —
native classifications of species,
for example, include individuals
unknown to science until recently;
acute observations of the habits
of polar bears among the Inuit,
long enshrined in myth, have been
confirmed by recent studies;
apparently irrationally sexually
ambiguous characteristics of
cassowaries have been confirmed
once zoologists realised that the
birds possessed cloaca. Of course,
there are significant differences
between indigenous wisdom and
science as well, especially in
terms of the origins of these
findings, the methods, and their
social and religious significance,
but these can be ignored. I've
already argued that this kind of
approach could easily be seen as
science colonising indigenous
wisdom, correcting it, or doing
some other form of symbolic
violence to it. Amusingly,
Bagemihl claims that indigenous
peoples have even developed a kind
of quantum theory, long before the
Western heroes studied by Barad:
if we choose to interpret some of
their myths in that way, we will
find confirmation, no doubt.
The most common other form of
argument is anthropomorphism.
Bagemihl warns against this, and
detects it even in academic
zoological commentary. But it
creeps in to his own account, not
least in the descriptions of
sexual activity. I've already
mentioned dubious examples of
being able to identify
'pleasures', but there are several
other examples as well
There are rhetorical manoeuvres to
introduce generalisation and
therefore relevance to human
affairs. Take the arguments about
left-handed polar bears. Inuit and
other indigenous peoples regard
polar bears as predominantly
left-handed, and there is a
symbolic connection with sexual
ambiguity. As anyone familiar with
Lévi-Strauss knows, there are
often terms required to mediate
between apparent polar opposites —
so that substances that are
'cured' or smoked can mediate
symbolically between the raw and
the cooked, or substances like
honey have significance in that
they are not raw, but have been
processed by animals not humans.
It is not surprising to find a
considerable mythological and
social function for these
mediations in mechanical
solidarity, and in this case, of
course, we are talking about
plants and insects, not sexually
ambiguous mammals or birds.
Bagemihl wants to argue that just
as recent scientific observations
of polar bears have confirmed a
predominance of left-handedness,
so the attribution of sexual
ambiguity might also be valid.
That problem of extending validity
can be seen in other arguments as
well. For example, Bagemihl argues
that sexual behaviour is not
easily isolated from a whole
context which will include factors
such as the age and rank of the
individuals involved. The
strongest form of his argument is
that sexual behaviour is the
dominant one in the combination of
factors, but this is nearly always
inferred, never actually
demonstrated. Perhaps some extra
positivism, in the form of factor
analysis or cluster analysis might
help here? The weakest form of his
argument is much more reasonable —
that sexual behaviour should be as
important for zoological studies
as any other kind of behaviour,
such as aggression, tool use,
hunting or social bonding. Again
the most robust form of this
argument is that sexual behaviour
has been important in the
development of a lexicon of signs
and gestures among primates like
the bonobo, because there is such
variety of behaviour that the
animals need to develop some form
of communication to coordinate and
choose among the possibilities.
The main issue for our purposes is
the implication of all this for
human behaviour. There is a clear
agenda in Bagemihl, and in Barad,
to support liberatory sexual
politics in humans, including the
acceptance of 'deviant' behaviour
and the rejection of the argument
that only heterosexual conduct is
'natural'. Whether we need these
endless studies of birds and
mammals to make that point is not
clear. Old-fashioned symbolic
interactionism, perhaps in the
form of the studies of sexuality
by Plummer (in Brake 1982), long
argued that human beings can
either sexualise or de-sexualise
any encounter with any person or
thing, but this would give culture
far too much weight for the new
materialists, and lead to human
exceptionalism.
But human exceptionalism in sexual
matters is just not that easily
dispelled. We have to operate in
two directions. First we make
animal sexuality much more
variable and diverse, even
cultural in some cases. Then we
reduce human sexuality back to the
same combination of biology and
culture. The abundance of sexual
energy in animals seems to have
caused in some sense this sexually
diverse behaviour, perhaps rather
mechanistically as they seek
release. Applying this to human
beings would be much more
controversial, however, implying,
in effect that homosexuals gratify
themselves with people that come
to hand because they cannot
sufficiently access the 'proper'
object of their drives. Not only
would it seriously reduce the
cultural capacities of human
sexuality, the role of fantasy
that has been so important in some
studies, but it will also reduce
the political implications as
well. These are summarised for me
by quoting one of the last
comments in Barad's account of
queer performativity, about
queerness: 'Queer politics,
if it is to remain queer needs
to be able to perform the
function of emptying [human]
queerness of its referentiality
or positivity, guarding against
its tendency to concrete
embodiment,and hereby preserving
queerness as a resistant
relation rather than as an
oppositional substance'
. The whole emphasis in Bagemihl
is on the functional integration
of animal queerness as it
provides the innovation needed
for mechanical solidarity -- a
resistant relation requires a
politics. It is hard to
see any equivalent for this in
animal queerness. Biological
exuberance suggests a biological
basis underneath it all, even
allowing for some role for culture
– that is biologically determined
too, or at least affected by
evolution. That seems to be
attributed by outside observers,
and there is also running
throughout Bagemihl, a motive for
such observers in trying to
classify and domesticate more
aspects of animal behaviour,
precisely to resolve queerness
rather than celebrate it.
It
is easy to sympathise with arguments that animals
have surprising and sometimes adorable qualities
and that we must act responsibly towards them.
Less charming or dangerous animals are not
discussed which might suggest there is an implicit
aesthetic dimension to add to the ontological,
epistemological and ethical dimensions: we
intra-act only with pleasant animals. Approaching
malarial mosquitoes or rabid dogs could be simply
trying to ‘learn about and co- constitute’ us, or
challenge ‘our Cartesian habits of mind’, but it
would be rather risky to intra-act extensively
with them. There might not be a too difficult
ethical choice for us if they approached our
children. It is not clear that we should we take
any more than a highly abstract
responsibility for decidedly unpleasant animals
like the bacteria in skin infections, perhaps
musing for a few moments before destroying them in
the name of a higher ethical interest.
Further paradoxes and concrete dilemmas are
discussed in Schrader and Johnson (2017) on
'killability' (see Schrader).
These include scientists working on environmental
pollution who may well have to 'sacrifice' or
stress animals in a laboratory in order to
discover effects; farmers who raise livestock
precisely in order to kill them; taxidermists
preparing educational displays who kill animals in
order to make 'lifelike' representations and
preserve their specimens by killing any insects or
animals that might damage them; microscopic
animals that are only recently detectable (so we
did not realise until recently that we were
responsible for them). The practitioners in
laboratories develop procedures to solve their
sense of responsibility in various ways,including
distancing themselves from the animals they study
or developing comforting ritualistic 'ethical
codes'. It might be possible to detect some
popular ethical theories in these discussions --
that a good end justifies some unpleasant means,
or that the greater good must be pursued at the
expense of individual welfare. We seem to need to
fill out Barad's abstract 'response-ability' with
these very human perhaps exceptional forms of
reason: Buller in this collection argues that even
Derrida agrees that prohibitions against killing is
unique to human beings, and we also uniquely
know that '"there will
never be sufficient reason"' for Haraway.
It might be suitable at this point to compare
Barad with the discussions on animal communication
in Deleuze and Guattari (2004), and especially in
Guattari. These are lengthy sections of the
overall argument, and much of the discussion turns
on breaking down the usual simple distinctions
between human beings and animals, especially on
the issue of language use. Animal behaviour is
much more sophisticated than we think, and in
particular animals seem capable of learning from
their environment — the song of the Australian
Finch for example is not totally determined by
instinct, and other birds can adopt the songs of
their rivals and companions. (Guattari 2011) .One
implicit goal might be to rebuke Lacan. Lacan
(1993) on animal communication says that animals
can change direction as a lure when hunted, but
this is different from human activity: 'an animal
does not feign feigning' [it cannot play at the
second level, where true tracks are to be taken as
false] nor can animals deliberately efface their
tracks, because to do so would imply that they are
able to subjectively interact with signifiers. For
speech to become true speech, it requires 'the
locus of the Other, the Other as witness' (1993,
p.684), something clearly located elsewhere. This
is the real guarantee of truth, not its simple
correspondence with reality, and the origin of
fictional truths. (1993, p.683). One such
fictional truth attributes subjectivity to
animals. The metaphor is glossed over by using
technical terms. Human beings do not learn by
experimenting with stimuli in order to get the
right result — the fulfilment of desire is the
real response. Similarly, responding to others
really involves 'to recognize him or to abolish
him as subject' (Lacan 1968, p.64).
Deleuze and Guattari, want to go on to argue that
Lacan’s view of human language is too limited. We
need to develop a whole new semiotic, to take into
account the important non-semiotized affects
deriving from the objective world which can also
influence the human world. They have in mind the
work of Hjemslev in particular. Whatever the
specific virtues of Hjemslev, the existence of
alternative semiotics direct us to the more
general issues and potentials of semiology itself.
This will be a particular rebuke to Lacanians who
take French structural linguistics as the only
model for semiotics, and sometimes even claim that
it is a natural one. Everything else that Lacan
discovers in Freud develops from seeing structural
linguistics as the very model of human
consciousness.
Leaving aside the specifics, deleuzians seem to
have a point at least in suggesting that if we are
ever to properly communicate with animals, we will
need a new semiotic to do so. It might be as
complex as the developments in linguistics,
involving 'non-signifying' terms, that we needed
to communicate with machines — the development of
programming languages, machine codes, and binary
mathematics. For that matter, the paradoxes of
quantum physics seem most acute in any
ordinary-language account of the data – but there
is also a special non-signifying language
available there too in the form of advanced
mathematics. This language is inaccessible to most
of us so we cannot judge its success.
Human language for Deleuze and Guattari might
indeed be dominated by the pragmatics of ordinary
human language and ‘sensori-motor’ activity, and
be partially explained by structural linguistics,
although even there it must leave out certain
affects, and remain blind to political elements
such as 'order words'. But it would be even more
controversial to claim that this conception of
language could just be extended to animals. Yet
Barad seems to think there is a direct way of
translating animal behaviour into normal human
language, and does not change the conventional
terms to describe exchanges with animals –
especially the term ‘communication’. As a fan of
Derrida she must know that human terms will carry
unavoidable implications – ‘ghosts’ – which will
add additional meanings to animal behaviour, never
just simply describe or fix it . This risks
incorporating an unacknowledged humanism or
structuralism into our dealings with animals,
sidelining their differences in a colonizing
imposition of ‘sameness’ via ventriloquist
anthropomorphism. We should at least indicate our
reservations by placing terms like ‘communication’
inside brackets, ‘<<communication>>’,
or under erasure as in Derrida, and write it with
strikethrough ‘communication’ .
Much more work seems to be required: do animals
have their own language(s) and can we learn them,
or should we be teaching them new a-signifying
languages like the ones used to ‘communicate’ with
machines? There have been some experiments using
varieties of sign language with hand-reared
primates. Behaviourism seems to offer the
most technical progress so far, despite its
ethical deficits.
Section 4: Sociology of Work
Chapter 6 starts with summarising Fernandes
(1997), which I subsequently read as a classic
‘theoretically-informed ethnography’ (Willis and
Trondman 2000) of work relations in a jute mill in
Calcutta. Considering this sort of material is a
bold move by Barad, and a necessary one because
she explores the social level of relations nowhere
else, except the science laboratory. She will
inevitably attract criticism from sociologists
like me for not fully grasping the context and the
theoretical inputs. My point is rather to see this
as a test for her arguments about quantum
phenomena at social scales.
I noticed that Fernandes draws upon several
mainstream social theorists, including Bourdieu,
Giddens on spatial dimensions of interaction, and
de Certeau on shop-floor resistance, but a major
resource seems to be an approach associated with
Hall, based on a gramscian notion of a ‘dialectic
of hegemony and resistance’ concerning the
everyday political negotiation of social
categories and identities. Although Bourdieu is
mentioned on cultural and social capital, his work
on class closure and distancing, (Bourdieu 1986)
which seems equally relevant, is not cited,
however, nor is Parkin (1979) or Murphy
(1986) or anyone else in the ‘social closure’
tradition (see Barbalet 1982)
Feminist writers like Haraway or Harding are cited
on the politics of identity and the difficulties
of representing difference in research. A
‘genealogy’ of specific disputes, not at all a
matter of ‘co-constituting’, reveal that social
class, gender and various ‘community’ factors like
caste, honour and religious practices are drawn
upon rather opportunistically as resources to
guide management divisive strategies (on worker
retrenchment for example), and pragmatic union and
worker political alliances constructed to resist
these strategies. A self-critical discussion
addresses the problems and benefits of trying to
research these activities, focussing especially on
the political consequences of binary divisions or
‘pure’ analytic categories.
The flawed categories include those trying to
explain the characteristics of Indian social
divisions in terms of binaries such as
traditional/modern, or precapitalist/capitalist.
There are critical implications specifically for
previous determinist analyses of social class
based on Marx, although Fernandes also rebukes
Weber for assuming that social groups, status or
class, form unitary identities. Fernandes does not
consider 'social closure' approaches based on
Weber's notion of 'party'.
Barad begins her discussion with an excellent
summary of Fernandes’s main points, and then
relates the study to her own concepts, which do
not appear in the original study. This might be
seen as similar to the process of developing a
more general and somehow implicit ontology, as
Barad did to Böhr. Barad argues that
Fernandes’s focus on shopfloor dynamics
instead of abstract structures illustrates a
notion of 'space of agency' (2007, p. 225) where
there is both determinacy and indeterminacy.
Processes of class closure and struggle are
'contests over space, time and movement' (2007,
p.228). We can identify disciplinary regimes that
structure time and space and produce
stratifications of the workforce. These combine
with stratifications of gender and community. The
resulting structures arise from what Foucault
calls ‘”immanent forces relating to
subject-formation”’ (Barad p 229), which can
be grasped as 'an intra-acting multiplicity of
material-discursive apparatuses of bodily
production'. The term ‘apparatus’ helps us think
about the machines used in jute processing, and
how they are connected to political and cultural
systems (but in specific processes of deskilling
and worker retrenchment or wider tactics of
‘winning consent’ in the actual study).
Fernandes cites Giddens in arguing that there is a
spatial dimension to human interaction, and the
ways in which (residential and working) spaces are
laid out embody political and social relations.
Fernandes argues that examples might include the
physical separation of managers’ wives from women
workers of lower castes. On the shopfloor,
machines are located in different places so that
spatial positions of workers on the factory floor
'mark class, gender, and community' (Fernandes p.
163). These positions are nor permanently fixed,
however, but indicate that space is 'a "practised
place"' [quoting DeCerteau], never static.
However, it seems an unevenly structured practice,
with management holding most of the cards to
discipline the workforce – management records
output, monitors the workforce to prevent sabotage
and so on. Fernandes cites Foucault’s notion of a
disciplinary regime here, although she says this
particular regime does not produce isolated
self-regulating individuals but rather separated
and conflicting interest groups.
For Barad, the machines (and buildings) do not
just embody social relations but have their own
'machinic agency'. Fernandes herself does not use
these terms. Machines are topological and can
configure relations and identities topologically.
Sometimes a machine 'refuses to work' [!] (2007,
p.237) and this can initiate subsequent events
like conflict between the workers or accusations
of mismanagement, sometimes as unintended
consequences. Overall, this confirms her earlier
more general view of machines: they can
agentically configure relations such as those
described as intersectionality, specifically
gender and ethnicity. Machines and humans produce
an entanglement which helps constitute the
components, she claims. Similarly, gender, class
and community are enfolded and 'produced through
one another', and aspects are material and
discursive. As a result, Fernandes’s study
illustrates for Barad that in intra-action we find
'nonarbitrary nondeterministic causal enactments
through which matter–in–the–process–of–becoming is
iteratively enfolded into its ongoing differential
materialisation'(2007 p. 234), just as in quantum
theory. Material conditions do more than support
discourses, but provide their own unfolding and
this should be fully considered. Barad suggests
Fernandes’s study shows that possibilities are
realised each time in configurations, so matter is
itself agentive. Overall, the jute mill can be
seen as 'an intra acting multiplicity of
material–discursive apparatuses of bodily
production' (2007 p. 237).
Barad briefly aligns Fernandes with EP Thompson’s
famous discussion about the necessary attention to
the processes of class formation in industrial
Britain. The context seems to involve Thompson’s
subsequent denunciation of the theoreticism of
marxist structural accounts like those in
Althusser. There is no real discussion of this
issue, however. One interesting option would be to
pursue the arguments of, say, Poulantzas (1975),
that apparent self-sufficient complexity can
itself be explained as the result of ‘many
determinations’ emanating from the three or four
‘levels’ Althusserian modelling provides.
Structural dimensions are present in actual
Fernandes too, underneath all the surface
complexity. Fernandes explains that these are
necessary if we are not to end with just a set of
confused categories (1997, p.11) Instead, she aims
at a general 'analytical framework that can
generate generalities without creating a hierarchy
of cases'(p. 11). Strict economic determinism is
not supported (nor is it by Althusser or
Poulantzas) ,but there are still hints of a wider
social determinism,or possibly historicism,
arising from Gramsci’s notions of the struggles in
modern capitalism as a series of wars, and Hall’s
extension of gramscian approaches into cultural
studies. Social boundaries, and specific political
struggles are 'the product of hegemonic practices
and discourses' (1997, p. 6), as Barad herself
notes (2007, p.242) . There are even three
underlying 'tiers—structure, consciousness and
political activity' (Fernandes 1997, p.10) , which
are not too far from Poulantzas. Categories are
formed 'through both temporal and spatial
processes' (p. 162) but these are not the
mysteries of quantum time processes but the
familiar linear time and historical sequence and
Cartesian space, as the actual case studies
reveal.
Barad’s reinterpretation of Fernandes’s work
emphasises the complexity and the processes. It is
not based on any further empirical studies of
Indian jute mills, it seems. It is not clear that
Fernandes herself assisted in Barad’s re-reading.
This might point to a controversy discussed in Vol
II on diffractive readings and how much symbolic
violence they permit to the primal texts that are
to be diffracted. It is also controversial in
generalising away from the specific contexts and
events which Fernandes stresses. Barad seems open
to the sort of critique that Marx made of earlier
political economists – they saw human labour and
exchange in general, naturalised terms, as
essential to human activity throughout the ages.
To take an obvious example, some economists argued
that it was ‘natural’ for humans to work in the
natural hours of daylight, which meant a working
day in factories of 12 hours or more at times.
Work and exchange are quite different in the
specific circumstances of capitalism, however –
humans work to produce and exchange commodities
specifically, and both of these capitalist
variants feature systematised forms of
exploitation embodied, so to speak, and concealed
in the actual practices themselves. To see the
specific variants as just further examples of a
wholly natural and timeless human activity is to
apologise for them and conceal their effects.
For Barad, general, ‘topological’ analysis of the
specifics can open up possibilities for change and
we can reconfigure other possibilities, so
ontology can support liberating political
practice, including 'subversion, resistance,
opposition, and revolution' (2007, p.218) . Barad
might be right in suggesting that there are no
limits to possibilities (p. 246) in principle, but
that still leaves the limits to possibilities in
specific practice. She stresses the infinite
possibilities of queer combination in Barad (nd)
and Barad (2017) and far too briefly acknowledges
that 'there are an infinite number of
possibilities, but not everything is possible'
(2017, p.78). It is debatable if her principled
abstract and utopian approach offers the best
chance for resistance and political change when we
are faced with 'global neocolonialism… The uneven
distribution of wealth and poverty' (2007, p.218),
which precisely limit the possibilities.
I think this problem of ignoring specifics
indicates a more general one with Barad's
sociology. It is very limited and seems to be
generalised from the science laboratory. In
that laboratory, there are what gives every
appearance of being autonomous individuals able to
decide what to do to take risks and accept
responsibility. This must have appeared to be
particularly the case in the era of classic
quantum theory, where famous individuals developed
insights and perspectives of their own, with their
names attached to them. Böhr and Heisenberg were
members of a team even in those days, ranging from
lab assistants to directors of institutes who
organised matters such as funding, although
thought experiments are notoriously inexpensive,
and it was not common to acknowledge others in the
team as we know from various controversies about
neglected members. Barad does not mention the team
members. The laboratory as metonym for social
relations in general provides other insights for
Barad -- that we need to take responsibility and
pay attention to details, for example (originally
recommended as a way to proceed in quantum erasure
experiments to overturn Feynman’s account – Barad
2017, for example). The
discussion in Barad
(2012) is also interesting for revealing
a context for Barad's problematic notion
of responsibility/response-ability.
Scientists made progress when they
stopped tgrying to impose determinstic
models on a particular organism's
behaviour and a better approach
invovled 'providing
opportunities for the organism to
respond' (p.38) -- in other
words devoting more time to
observations and reserving judgements
about their significance.
In Barad ( 1998) it is clear that the rejection of
'interaction' in favour of 'intra-action' also has
its roots in scientific understandings and
laboratory practices, especially the older notion
of doing science as an all-knowing human subject
manipulating entirely passive material. I argue
that interaction in Sociology has never had this
highly limited notion but has always covered a
range of relations with others,seeing them as
passive objects sometimes, say in behaviourism,
but also as fully equivalent human
subjects,sometimes with surprisingly subjective
and creative responses to social situations -- as
in 'symbolic interaction'.
In Barad 2007 (pp.161--4) there is a very brief
acknowledgement of the importance of 'class,
nationalism, gender', funding issues and the
ability to be sponsored by famous scientists, but
this is confined to one decisive experiment by
Stern and Gerlach. In an amusing account, Barad
relates describes how the detection apparatus
worked only when Stern handled the machinery.
Stern was precariously employed at the time and
could only afford to smoke cheap ‘sulfurous’
cigars. The fumes on his breath converted the
silver on the detecting plate into silver
sulphide, which was a better detector. If this is
to be taken as generally instructive, social class
seems to work only by affecting individual’s
bodies (and then only temporarily).
Relations between humans and apparatus in
laboratories are also quite special. The ingenious
experiments involving which-slit detectors had
emerged after years of thought and practice and
were so independent of the humans involved that
they had developed to a stage where they could
arbitrate between different theories. Barad (2010)
tells us that they produced results that
decisively settled the controversy between Böhr
and Heisenberg over whether it was epistemological
uncertainty or ontological indeterminacy that
produced the findings. The whole activity was
designed in a way that was protected from
immediate industrial political interests, relying
on the considerable autonomy of the institutions
in which they worked. As a model for social
relations, activities in the laboratory are
clearly inadequate. Those interactions between
individuals are special, and the relations between
the individual, the technological, social and the
political is quite different in other situations.
In particular, social interactions are
controllable in laboratories, so much so that
decisive experiments can be arranged to rule out
observer effects.
The emergence of quantum theory must have indeed
looked like an unusual level of investigation of
the old classical physics. My memories are being
taught that are very remote, but I do recall it
fitting pretty well what Barad calls the
reflection model. The natural world seemed to be
an inert object that we studied. The results of
study did indeed always generate the same — the
same underlying laws or formulas. Epistemology
itself was limited to positivist practices of
running through agreed methods in the form of a
checklist that we followed in writing up.
Reproducing those characteristics and applying
them to the whole of social life and intellectual
activity displays clear limits. Doing the
same with quantum theory also has problems. We see
some of them in the discussions of Fernandes. The
relations between workers and machines in the jute
factory are quite unlike the relations between
experimenter and which-slit apparatus. Machines
still appear to be autonomous, but they gained
this from a definite political relation embodied
in the factory form. People on the factory floor
are much more restricted in terms of the ways they
are expected to relate to these machines — they
more or less have to obey them, especially in the
rate at which they work. Intra-action seems
inappropriate to describe having your work
dominated by machines, even allowing for the
occasional chance that might arise to sabotage or
relocate the machine. Interactions might be a more
apt term here – exchanges are not unlimited, and
not devoted to pursuing knowledge, but rather to
maximising surplus value. There are serious
constraints of custom, power and, if necessary,
law to regulate those interactions. Machines do
not have the capacity to change thinking as they
do in science laboratories, and although it is
true that they embody human relations, those are
relations of power. Productive machines in
factories and expert systems generally incorporate
what Marxists call dead labour, the skilled labour
of the operative, and the labour of supervision
and regulation. What gives them their apparent
autonomy from the workers' perspective is that
they are the private property of factory owners,
and so appear alien and alienating.
Latour's discussions of machines, is more general
and considers those designed carefully to do
various aspects of human work, not just factory
labour. He is a sociologist (among other
things),and so his work is located at the level of
the social,and his analyses are based on machines
already deeply interwoven with social processes
and relations. That extends to current
knowledge-producing machines in cases like the
CERN accelerator. These are not at all like
the ingenious apparatus in the 1930s laboratory,
because they embody definite purposes and intents
by both owners and designers, and those include
the disciplining of human reactions. Human
reactions are carefully designed in, 'prescribed'
in the vocabulary of Latour 1988, and this
prescription can vary considerably in terms of how
restrictive it is, as we saw. In the machines in
the jute mills, the designers seem to have focused
carefully on regulating the inputs of human
beings, simplifying them and deskilling them to
the maximum extent possible at the time,and this
is almost the complete opposite to the one used in
the quantum eraser experiments. To take examples
not discussed by either Latour or Barad, we are
now familiar with machines designed for leisure
use that permit a wide range of playful human
interventions and that reward skilled
understanding of the conventions which the
machines use. But those machines are still
designed to present an optimal path, a chreod, for
users.
The everyday world, experienced by scientists as
well as laypersons, is structured by constraints
and opportunities, ranging from mild expectations
of good conduct to legal requirements, and by
social relations of various kinds, some indeed
self-constituting and some oppressive, and many
that are to be negotiated or that will change over
time. The story of self and other does not need to
be outlined at the level of electrons and virtual
particles because we are all familiar with it.
Everything changes when we consider social
situations not individual relations between
scientists or between individuals and Nature. It
also changes when we step outside of carefully
controlled laboratory conditions to everyday life.
I am not at all sure how a Baradian would cope
with these constraints and expectations. Urging us
to be responsible and to take responsibility for
every-thing would impose an almost impossible
burden of obligation in everyday life, and guilt
when this cannot be discharged. The demand to take
responsibility might just have meant urging
scientists to sign up for feminist activism (Barad
2003), but it has expanded to include everything
other or Other. Guilt at inactivity seems most
likely. Barad does not discuss guilt, because in
the laboratory it can be put on hold or excluded
altogether. I assume responsibility and guilt are
managed in a rather brisk bureaucratic manner by
ticking a box that says you have complied with the
relevant ethics policy. Social situations
are quite different, not least because those
involved in social relations can let us know how
they feel and can impose constraints on us. There
is no bureaucratic procedure to absolve us. We
rely on social conventions or negotiate individual
cases, and this is always messy.
I can see why some vegetarians refrain from eating
meat because they feel in some way responsible for
food animals, but I do not see how they could
exist at all if they were simultaneously and
somehow equally responsible for plant foods. I
don't see how I could breathe as naturally and
unselfconsciously, or possibly even as frequently,
as I do if I felt myself responsible for the fate
of the oxygen atoms that I was using in
respiration. How on earth could anyone sleep at
night if they felt responsible for the nitrogen
atoms in the atmosphere of Jupiter? I suspect
there is a familiar social coping strategy implied
in all this. This responsibility is purely
abstract and gestural, a moral expression, a
virtue to be signalled when appropriate, and then
people cheerfully carry on managing their
responsibilities in the familiar forms of denial
or 'bad faith' — I feel bad about food animals,
but I would not want to push farmers into
unemployment, and subjectively, if I buy meat in a
packet in a supermarket, I can easily forget that
it is a piece of an animal, or convince myself
that as it has been killed and butchered already I
might as well eat it as have it thrown away.
I do not suppose that lopping off an arm of a
starfish would cause much remorse – Barad seems to
express none – probably by a convenient
reassertion of the argument that they are not as
sensitive to pain as us, or that the ends justify
the means. On other occasions, it is a
relief to find that we are powerless to intervene
in a matter how responsible we might feel, or to
put the responsibility on others. All of these are
quite understandable and normal.
These examples show, of course that what might be
ethical conduct for one person is not necessarily
beneficial to other people. Barad's
abstract individualism ignores social
consequences, and individual obligations and
guilt, although these are really at the heart of
ethical and political problems. To cite an old and
influential Utilitarian argument, policies can
never make everyone happy and so they should
pursue the maximum happiness of the maximum number
of people, even while minorities also have rights.
On another tack, to borrow Foucault, the exercise
of power has both positive and negative
consequences, and it is difficult to first detect
these and then rank them. Barad seems to want to
somehow suggest a position that floats above these
difficult areas into abstract ontology. She looks
at quantum experiments in the laboratory, but then
offers only the most general and abstract
discussion of the exclusively negative
consequences in the development of both nuclear
power and nuclear weapons –we just leap from
Böhr’s laboratory to Nagasaki to Fukushima as if
the only connections were ontological ones.
At the level of politics, abstraction tends to
leave things pretty much as they are. Confessing
to a general responsibility, before shrugging and
carrying on anyway avoids the challenge of
actually trying to work out what can be changed.
Sweeping abstract ethical statements are far less
relevant than active micropolitics in the sense of
Guattari and Rolnik (2008). We need to analyse
'stereotyped relations of personal life, conjugal
life, romantic life, and professional life, in
which everything is guided by codes'. We
need a new pragmatics [at the level of analysis as
well as action]. Abstract or symbolic guilt
is an effective regulator of desire. If there is a
first rule of micropolitics, it is 'be alert to
all the factors of culpabilization; be alert to
everything that blocks the processes of
transformation in the subjective field'. We
need to overcome the problems in escaping, since
it is always difficult. In particular we
need 'the social analysis of the attribution of
guilt' (2008, p.191).
Other social situations feature now and then in
Barad's accounts, and they are also not always
typical. She talks a lot about colonisation, for
example, and records the oppressions felt by
women, often from ethnic minorities, in
marginalised situations — in ‘borderlands’. This
leads to a simplified oppressive view of the
social world, as when male rulers always adopt a
policy of divide and rule, or differences harden
into exclusionary categories as in
apartheid. It is worth pointing out that
Fernandes’s study, which is cited as showing the
importance of ‘divide and rule’ also displays
several other favourite hegemonic techniques
including incorporation of critics. There are many
other situations which are by no means as
clear-cut, of course, where mixtures of sameness
and difference are far more contingent and
flexible, far less subject to social constraint
and far more open to negotiation. Even football
fans at the height of football spectator violence
in the 1980s, for example were capable of managing
flexible ‘segmented’ identities, seeing
themselves as in conflict with local rivals if
there is a 'derby' but forming alliances with
local fans if there is a game at the national
level (see Dunning et al. 1986). Sexual conduct is
another example where flexible identities have
been encouraged and have flourished, and the same
goes with many identities associated with leisure
(developing identities as idealised selves in the
stuff on hobbies for example – see Kjølsrød 2003).
There is even much more flexibility at work
especially in loosely coupled organisations.
The result is that the clash between radicalised
difference and openness grounded in quantum theory
as opposed to dominating social situations
described by women who have been oppressed and
excluded is far too limited. The normal
ambiguities of social life might be a far more
promising field for investigation than the utopian
speculations about full respect for difference and
full responsibilities for everything.
At the end of the next chapter, 7, which outlines
these early debates, Barad develops her own
general overall perspectives. She offers a variety
of justifications for going into general
philosophy. It is immediately clear that we are
not going to rely on the same densely
interconnected empirical and mathematical forms of
reasoning that produced quantum theory, although
they have produced an authoritative set of
conclusions up to this point. She makes a familiar
claim of providing more explanatory power, saying
that her philosophy loses nothing from Böhr’s
focus but adds more general implications,
including implications for the macro world, for
social and cultural realities, a whole unified
ontology. At one point, Barad says this is a
direction based on empirical evidence provided by
quantum physics, but it remains unclear whether
this implies some kind of quantum determinism, a
more flexible set of limits on the macro world
with many more possibilities, or whether this is
some kind of model or metaphor to encourage us to
reject rigid definitions of the natural.
Section 5: Ethics and difference
It is the similarities between nonhumans and
ourselves that seem to provide support for Barad’s
general ontology. It is one that works by denying
the importance of differences after all, so that
possession of a brain makes no difference to
knowing. There is however, one area for Barad in
which starfish are not the same as human beings:
although 'we are not the only active beings...this
is never a justification for deflecting our
responsibility on to others' (2007, p.390).
Starfish do not seem to have this responsibility
for themselves or for us. Much of Barad’s (2007)
book could be seen as denying the usual claims of
distinctive difference for human beings compared
to other things, to preserve the positive
otherness of machines or starfish. Barad (2017,p.
86) has a particularly ambivalent argument: we are
human not because we are ontologically distinct
from non-humans or sub-humans, but because of 'our
relationship with and responsibility to the dead,
to the ghosts of the past and the future'.
However, a note on the same page suggests that
this is not exceptional to humans after all 'since
all time–beings mourn'.
Barad argues that we should extend ethical
questions to our relations and not limit ourselves
to some notion of mechanical intervention with
animals, or objects. However, we do not choose
responsibility—in a phrase repeated several times,
it is 'an incarnate relation that precedes the
intentionality of consciousness' (discussed
below). Confusingly, ‘responsibility’ means
different things, as Barad recognises by also
coining the neologism ‘response-ability’ (and, on
one occasion ‘respons-ibility’, Barad 2010, p. 265
– doubtless a typo). The latter seems to imply a
capacity to make a response of some kind rather
than an ethical obligation to act responsibly.
Barad tends to elide the two, however, to support
a naturalistic ethics.
Neologisms play a considerable rhetorical role in
her arguments. ‘Intra-action’ has been widely
adopted, for example, although whether the full
implications are accepted is less clear: the word
has a nice ring to it, alluding to friendly
cooperations among equals with no social
hierarchies. Strangely ‘interference’ remains
unmodified though. There are many experiments with
a technique I first came across reading French
structural linguistics involving different
syllabic stresses in words – ‘e-motion’ and
‘e-merge’ or ‘dis/continuity’ for example. The use
of forward slashes seems to be to challenge binary
distinctions, also indicated perhaps in
hyphenating words like ‘material-discursive’. I
can see that that would apply to ‘e-merge,
although I still cannot see the point of
‘e-motion’, unless it is to imply a connection
between electrons and emotions. This could be
playful argumentation again. The alternative is to
see it as a form of utopian idealism, where
changing words is sufficient to change worlds.
Being the product of an ‘incarnate relation’ (see
below) might be seen to absolve us from any
particular human ethical responsibility. We do
seem to have additional human responsibilities,
after all, though. We are not just 'pawns in the
game of life' (2007, p172). Humans are not the
only agents, but they do have a role; we must
'intra-act responsibly in the world's becoming'
(p. 235). Also, 'generally speaking, the results
don't simply announce themselves; rather, one has
to analyze the data in some way' (p. 312). But on
the other hand these human activities are still
somehow part of Nature: 'we are a part of that
nature that we seek to understand'(2007, p. 26);
acts of knowledge making are 'social-material
enactments that contribute to, and are a part of,
the phenomena we describe'. Thus 'Responsibility
is not ours alone' (393). The book just offers
some compromises too 'we are [only partly]
responsible for the cuts that we help enact', even
though we do not choose these cuts. We are ‘an
agential part of the material becoming of the
universe’ (2007, p. 178), yet we still need to
choose to meet the universe halfway, 'to take
responsibility for the role that we play in the
world's differential becoming’.
'Post-humanism' therefore becomes 'a thoroughgoing
critical naturalism' (2007, p.331), where humans
and the activities of knowing, including
scientific knowing, are natural processes of
engagement with the world. There are some
unfortunate precedents for such ethical
naturalism, however, not least those values
associated with Nietzsche. Ethics is not just 'a
super imposing of human values onto the ontology
of the world’ (Barad 2010, p.264).The argument
seems to be that because difference and
heterogenity are entangled with everything and
everyone, we must acknowledge this instead of
denying or repressing it. Barad (2010, p. 264)
elaborates: we have relations of obligation
because we are bound to the other and are
ourselves 'enfolded traces of othering', and
'ethicality entails non-coincidence with oneself'.
Derrida is cited to remind us that humans have a
responsibility to their ancestors and to those to
come, and this gets drastically extended, in Barad
(nd, p. 9): 'Ethicality entails hospitality to the
stranger threaded through oneself and through all
being and non-/being', being open to 'a cacophony
of whispered screens, grasps, and cries [from] an
infinite multitude of indeterminate beings' (Barad
nd, p. 9) a very burdensome debt to discharge.
It will be an impossible debt to discharge in
practice, I have already suggested, because we
cannot be equally responsible in the usual sense
to all the others deeply entangled with ourselves
and with nonhuman life, because this is sometimes
a contested entanglement. We seem obliged to
extend hospitality to every stranger, including
dangerous ones. We never seem to have to choose
between strangers, on the basis of need, deserts
or rights, or rather, when we do, we can find no
guidance from Barad’s ethics. In practice, this
will almost inevitably lead to an ethical
tokenism, where we humbly acknowledge our debts,
and then proceed without practical lives none the
less. It might be that we do not have a personal
kind of responsibility but rather some Hegelian
notion that human reason has been produced by
Spirit’s Reason as a kind of development of
self-consciousness.
Thiele (2016) sees Barad’s ethics as a matter of
seeking and welcoming difference, which also gives
it a feminist inflection. We have already
seen that this has an ontological basis in the
entangled inseparability of self and other. There
is a paradox in insisting that everyone and
everything must be treated in the same way by
recognising their differences: we see this when
Barad (2017, p. 65) reminds us that 'Not all
differences are the same', and asks 'What
differences do differences in production [of jute]
make for the production of different differences'
(2007, p.227). It follows that some hierarchy must
exist among differences – some might be linked in
a hierarchy of entailment so that one difference
must entail another. Some might be more important
politically. Barad herself clearly prioritises
gender differences, possibly with those displayed
by ethnic inequalities, while class differences
are relatively neglected. There is an indifference
to different differences in favour of a common
origin of abstract difference -- differences are
not natural or externally determined for Barad but
are the result of agential cuts. Barad also
prefers to think of the differences produced by
cuts as iterative, sequential and constantly
'enacted in the ongoing ebb and flow of agency’
(2007, p. 338). The problem is that this
overpredicts change and is inadequate to explain
the continuity of those power differentials that
she also identifies.
For some of the feminists considered by Geerts and
van der Tuin, there is a view of women’s
difference which is limited to a phallogocentric,
prescribed range of unthreatening alternatives,
while others want to explore what might be seen as
real, positive or unconstrained differences. We
might develop ‘a "singular model" of subjectivity
versus a patriarchal "model of the two" that
leaves the differences between the subjects
intact’ More generally, there are differences in
feminist theorising of sexual/gender difference,
with some leading to demands for equality, and
others to women having ‘ specific rights on the
basis of sexual difference.’(Geerts & van der
Tuin no page numbers). There is also the ‘carnal
aspect of heterosexual love’, which requires the
"erotic attraction" between two sexually different
subjects to be sustained while both subjects
recognize each other as equals in their
difference. Quoting Irigaray: "each must be
a place" for one another, without destroying "the
interval (of attraction) between the two". It
might be different again in same-sex love.
Apparently, Beauvoir thinks same-sex relationships
might better deliver carnal love between women as
the place where alterity is respected, and here
each woman can be "subject and object at the same
time".
In practice Barad’s exhortation to be responsible
and ethical in our dealings with the world looks
much more like an abstract commitment, a black
box, just as it is in qualitative research. There
are some general recommendations: we can proceed
by distributing agency to include nonhuman forms.
However 'not all possibilities are open at each
moment'. We must be aware of oppressive operations
of technology, for example where reproductive
technology might be used to create hybrid embryos.
Here, genetic material is nonhuman agency, and the
technology unlocks its potential. Both hegemonic
and counter hegemonic implications arise and we
should continually remind ourselves of
accountability and responsibility. However,
consequences are also important and may complicate
the ethical position. There might be both costs
and benefits to the development of particular
technologies, for example gene editing, and some
of these will not emerge until after conventional,
even positivist, research has been undertaken on
the effects. It will not be easy to gauge overall
political consequences either, and difficult to
see in advance if they will be (counter)
hegemonic.
Seeing personal political and ethical commitments
as an integral component of validity means it is
practically impossible for outsiders to
distinguish between technical concepts and social
judgments. Barad needs to explain in more detail
how she has balanced her rival allegiances
herself. She says, in her 2014 article
(p.181) that it would be wrong to see it as an
narrative produced by an ‘I’ 'since this position
is counter to diffracting. There is no ‘I that
exists outside the diffraction pattern, observing
it, telling its story. In an important sense, this
story in its ongoing (re)patterning is
(re)(con)figuring me’. However, this also implies
no personal prejudices, biases, misunderstandings
or special interests arise from the standpoint of
the specific character Prof K Barad. The
autobiographical section in Barad (2007) is more
informative, but in a general sense. There may be
no god’s eye view, but professorial style, based
on undoubted expertise, is also apparent in the
combination of excellent impersonal summaries and
impassioned appeals to welcome the other. Barad’s
expertise is apparent, of course, in the
conventional ‘author’s notes’ attached to her
articles.
In a university context, there is a committee to
decide ethical matters of course, but outside
there is only a presumably amateur grasp of
ethical issues. Barad does not seem to recommend
expert technical input into discussions of ethics,
Levinas apart. It ends with something quite like
male heroics after all, where the researcher alone
bears all the risks and obligations but
courageously sets out undaunted nevertheless. In
actual cases, like the examples with dangerous
animals, zero-sums are often involved, there are
competing ethical responsibilities, and Barad has
not made clear how we might detect which specific
way quantum physics might point in those cases.
Politically, insisting on a general ethical
responsibility while not providing any guidance
about how to be ethical in practice might lead to
a generalised radical rethinking about the links
between humans, machines and Nature, as Barad
hopes, but it could equally well lead to a general
otherwordly piety, to tokenism or to opportunism,
or even to dominant ethical systems supported by
power relations.
There is also a tendency to set the whole
discussion in terms of a debate with various straw
persons. Thus the excessive individualism
attributed to humanist perspectives is probably
only confined to the most naive examples of
classical economics or neoliberal political
theory, but that stands for individualism in
general. The limited notion of interaction which
is to be replaced with the neologism intra-action
probably belongs to that tradition with its
sovereign individuals. By contrast, sociological
critiques of classical economics and neoliberal
political theory have always stressed the social
nature of interaction from the beginning. The way
in which contractual relations, for example are
underpinned by shared cultural norms and
understandings was argued by Durkheim. Weber
defines social action, as action oriented to
others. This leaves open the possibility of other
kinds of action too, especially
‘purposive-rational’ kinds.
Barad favours intra-action so much compared to its
simple binary opposite that she elides all the
forms of interaction into the most naive version,
a matter of isolated individuals operating
directly on the world, and it is this that Barad
insists that it must be abandoned in favour of
intra-action. In the social world, intra-action
itself might be ambiguous if human interaction is
strategically designed to look intra-active. Some
apparent interaction might be made with
intra-active intent – early pedagogical
instruction for example. As with other binary-like
divisions, the choice of intra- or inter-action,
to describe human behaviour at least, conceals a
number of options between the two poles.
Section 6 Foundationalism
There has been some enthusiasm for post-modern
approaches, especially those in the work of
Lyotard, and some qualitative researchers of an
earlier generation have been inspired by his
argument that there is now considerable
'scepticism towards metanarratives' in both
political and academic quarters. The obvious
example given the context is the ways in which
Marxism withered away as an organising
metanarrative in French academic and political
life. This led to renewed interest in Nietszche
and Spinoza instead of Marx and Hegel, for example
in deleuzian work.
Perhaps it was not appreciated that this
scepticism can be extended towards any
metanarrative, however. Barad offers a
metanarrative, with a whole array of foundational
concepts as we have seen, and with a claim to have
an extremely general if not universal
applicability for them. Linking with feminism
makes it a classic metanarrative offering
liberation from phallogocentric positivism.
There are always technical problems, identified
best, perhaps in the work of Hindess and Hirst who
undertook to test out the applicability of the
marxist foundational concept 'mode of production'
against a range of historical examples in Marx
himself. They concluded that it was not possible
to 'apply' foundational concepts without a
combination of incoherence and dogmatism. Specific
cases are clearly more complex than foundational
concepts, and 'applying' the concept must involve
selectively and often unsystematically neglecting
aspects of this specificity. Some specific cases
will be managed differently from other specific
cases, and characteristics will be just
arbitrarily categorised as relevant commonalities
or irrelevant specific differences. This is the
technical meaning of the term ‘dogmatism’: it
might also be seen as essentialism, which is
inherently tautological, for Deleuze.
It will take detailed analysis to pursue this with
the work of Barad, but there are already hints of
it in the sceptical discussions of examples
covered just above. We might highlight some
possible incoherences, for example, in the very
attempt to combine scientific investigation and
feminist activism. Barad’s conclusions are
certainly far removed from the experimental
findings with which she begins her discussions,
and require additional interpretation of
particular accounts, not based on experimental
findings, followed by explorations of what is
entailed. To sharpen a comment by Kirby
(2017) (which might originally have been a comment
by Meillassoux),attaching a prefix 'co-' to a word
like 'constituting' only produces an illusory
philosophical principle. We might make the
same point about the other terms in Barad --
the forward slash in 'material/discursive' or
the jamming together of words as in
'spacetimemattering'.
A less confrontational approach might involve
attempts to reconstruct the arguments in detail,
to see how potentially conflicting or incoherent
matters are actually theorised and reconciled. We
might be able to detect in her arguments the
process of ‘abduction’ developed for example in
Reichertz 2010), which is neither induction nor
deduction but a creative combination of the two,
following implications as they arise. We might
start with a notion of a phenomenon, for example
and then have to think out some implications, like
how phenomena actually also produce the apparently
fixed objects of experience. A notion like
‘agential cut’ might be necessary, but then there
are implications for the phenomenon and the
location of agents in it. This can be solved by
making any component into an agent, including
non-human ones, but then human exceptionalism has
to be addressed and the agency of objects,
machines and animals investigated. Attributing
agency to animals, starfish, say, will involve
necessary interpretations of empirical behaviour,
coming to see behaviours like avoiding sudden
looming shadows as agentic avoidance of predators.
These attributions are consistent with the other
theoretical work, providing a mutual
justification. Finally, phenomena have a quantum
level of operation, building on the arguments
established by Böhr so we can introduce all the
openness and unpredictability as further examples
of agency. The concept of ‘intra-action’ is
entailed by this quantum openness and
indeterminacy, demonstrated best in the quantum
vacuum. The issue of scale then has to be
addressed to connect the quantum with the ordinary
world – and so on.
Tracing the entailments in an argument is not easy
– they might follow logically from each other, or
along the lines of theoretical or empirical
adequacy, appearing as either hypotheses or
deductions, to use an older vocabulary: they can
mutually support or act as a test for one another.
I am not saying that this is the actual track of
Barad’s arguments – she says she starts ‘in the
middle’ of chains of argument like this, the
abstract and the empirical wings can be explored
in any order.
Responsibility as an incarnate relation
As an illustration, there is a phrase that turns
up in several places (Barad 2007, 2010, 2014)
concerning ‘responsibility’, whose problematic
status is discussed above in terms of whether it
indicates human exceptionalism or not. The phrase
is that responsibility is 'an incarnate relation
that precedes the intentionality of
consciousness'. It is worth trying to pursue
in more detail the dense argumentation that
supports this statement. It can be seen as echoing
the ambiguities displayed in Section 5 of this
Volume about whether human beings were determined
by ‘Nature’ or distinct in their ethical
responsibilities.
The 2007 book has this phrase in a section close
to the end entitled ‘Towards an Ethics of
Mattering’, which begins with citing Levinas, or
rather a reading of Levinas by Ziarek. This is
described as a ‘materialist‘ reading (Barad 2010)
remedying Levinas’s humanism: I have not read it
yet and so I cannot comment on whether this is a
valid reading or not, but the point is that
Barad’s subsequent arguments depends on it.
Levinas apparently argues that responsibility is
the primary mode of subjectivity, so ethics itself
has an existential base. For him ethics
always involves a relation of responsibility to
the other. The ethical subject is not the usual
one 'but rather an embodied sensibility which
response to its proximal relationship to the other
through a mode of wonderment that is antecedent to
consciousness' (Barad 2007, p.391). This can be
linked to feminist work on how ethical
significance is crystallised in touch (explored
further in Barad nd), where Ziarek also appears.
Levinas is interpreted by Ziarek to mean that
embodiment is not about seeing the body as just a
surface for the inscription of culture, nor just
as the biological body, but '"the condition of
relations to objects but also a prototype of an
ethical experience”' (Barad, p.391, quoting
Ziarek). Continuing to cite Ziarek, nor is the
body the object of self reflection because the
self is always embodied. The embodied self
is 'the pre-logical, pre-synthetic entwinement of
thought and carnality, or what Levinas calls
"being in one's skin"', Ziarek concludes (Barad,
p. 391)
Barad says that this means (assuming we accept
Ziarek’s reading and Barad’s subsequent abridgment
of it) that we cannot escape responsibility,
because this is 'a prior ethical relation',
referring to '”non-coincidence within oneself”',
which therefore becomes the basis for ethical
relations to others — 'before all reciprocity in
the face of the other, I am responsible' (Barad
2007, p. 392). Therefore responsibility is an
incarnate relation that precedes the
intentionality of consciousness, that is it is a
general relation, inevitably embodied in this
Levinas/Ziarek sense, not something found in the
normal consciousness, not confined to or energised
by conscious human relations. It is ontologically
prior, ‘”prior to every engagement”’ (still
quoting Ziarek, Barad p. 392).
Now Barad wants to take another step in extending
alterity to include other-than-human as an aspect
of ‘non-coincidence with oneself’. This might
involve extending beyond Levinas/ Ziarek.
Barad then argues that if we were to take
this step, it would mean that responsibility is
not just a matter for human embodiment, that it is
not just about human encounters because ‘the
boundaries of the human… are continually being
reconfigured’. This is why humanist ethics won't
suffice and why we need post-humanist ethics, 'an
ethics of worlding' (2007 p. 392). A similar
argument follows when Ziarek says that
Levinas says that culture does not add extra
attributes onto some representation of the thing,
but that '"the cultural is essentially embodied
thought expressing itself, the very life of flesh
manifesting"’ (Barad p.392, quoting Ziarek). Barad
goes on to suggest that we might extend again, and
think of this as being 'true of nature as well…
that nature expresses itself, that nature is not
the other of thought or speech' (p.392). She
cautiously switches to subjunctive mode with these
extensions of argument — 'what would it mean', or
'what if we were to acknowledge'. If all
this were to be granted, the materiality of
everything as well as human embodiment 'always
already entails "an exposure to the Other"' (I
think the capitalised Other includes more than
human others). If we could acknowledge that, then
'responsibility is "the essential, primary and
fundamental mode" of objectivity as well as
subjectivity'
Barad offers in support of these initially
cautious and conditional arguments that in
agential realism she has already argued that
matter is indeed a dynamic expression or
articulation of the world in its becoming, and
that all bodies come to matter through the
performativity of the world. Intra-activity
produces differential enactments of boundaries,
properties and meanings. An especially important
part of this argument in favour of agential
realism is that differentiation is not radical
exteriority but 'agential separability' as much
about 'making connections and commitments' as
'othering or separating' (2007 p. 392). Matter is
always entangled with the Other before any such
intra-action cuts it: intra-action co-constitutes
parts of phenomena. This applies to objects as
well as subjects, so (extending Levinas) as above,
the other is not just in our skin but in our
material bodies and 'this is as true for electrons
as it is for brittlestars as it is for the
differentially constituted human'.
Now we have argued for the relationality of
matter, Otherness and human beings and the dynamic
agency of all three we can conclude that overall,
the human subject is neither the locus of knowing
nor of ethicality because we are always already
responsible to others with whom we are entangled
even if 'not through conscious intent' but rather
through 'ontological entanglements that
materiality entails' (p. 393).
This seems to be a binary again – this is
consciousness in the usual sense of
self-awareness, which is classically unaware of
anything affecting it, and there is no human
unconscious for example, especially not in a
social form. Agential cuts do not separate
in a way that persists in social formations,
totally, nor do they individuate.
Ethics is not about the right response to others
as exterior but about a very abstract
'responsibility and accountability for the lively
relationalities of becoming of which we are a
part' (p. 393). Everything is consistent, if
Levinas has been managed by Ziarek anyway, and if
we accept what has already been argued about
intra-action and non-human agency. However, we end
with an extremely abstract and ambiguous ethics as
argued before based on our responsibility for
everything, all the things that have constituted
us, our ‘inheritance’, all the infinite others and
Others that relate to us, universally, not only in
the past but in the future. The argument gains
relevance and focus only by equating this abstract
ethical stance rather arbitrarily or
opportunistically with feminism or queer politics.
Deleuze notes that this could be tautological –
specific similarities are chosen on the basis of
some assumed and deduced onto-epistemo-ethical
essential qualities, but then the presence of
those qualities is itself justified by ‘finding
them’ inductively in specific examples. Sometimes
Barad’s argument claims its force from extending
Böhr into a general ontology and predicting the
consequences; sometimes it seems to be inferring
universal qualities like intra-action from
considering research in animal laboratories, uses
of advanced medical technology, or the politics of
jute mills. One approach supports the other, and
there seems to be no attempt to test
generalisations against examples that might
correct them, not even a possibility of doing so,
which indicates dogmatism.
Overall, dogma can produce ‘lazy theorising’ where
essential characteristics are just ‘recognised’ in
empirical cases without any more analytic effort,
and we might be able to detect this in Barad’s
discussion of Fernandes. Deleuze's own approach
has been criticised along these lines, for
example. Badiou (2000) argues that the emphasis in
Deleuze is really on the 'univocity of being', a
phrase that he actually uses in Difference and
Repetition. In other, simpler, words, the
mechanics of the emergence of actual being from
virtual being are universal and affect everything.
However Badiou argues that this approach produces
a certain indifference to empirical variation and
actual cases, including cases of difference — all
equally are produced by the voice of Being in the
same way. Despite Deleuze's attempts to undertake
concrete analysis, say of the cinema, only the
same underlying concepts are allowed to triumph.
Zizek's similar account makes a particularly sharp
point — that Deleuze's approach would not be able
to distinguish philosophically the liberating
fluid and nomadic political and personal
developments he supports from the fluidity,
flexibility and diverse flows of modern global
capitalism. It might be possible to make similar
comments about Barad’s abstractions – no doubt
Wordsworth’s poems, the activities of starfish and
Trump’s foreign policy could all be analysed
technically as agential acts, managing complex
entangled phenomena with cultural, political,
mathematical, historical technological and
geographical components (more so in some cases
than others), but this is probably the least
interesting and relevant quality they possess. All
the interesting and important differences in
quality stem from discussing specifically human
matters such as understandings, relevance systems,
intentions, purposes and consequences, intended
and unintended, and we find none of those
specified in Barad’s ontology.
I have now read a bit of Ziarek -- a
chapter in a general book reviewing Levinas for
feminism. That article proceed via a reading of
Levinas by by irigaray, which substitutes
the general notion of the relation to
the other to a specific encounter -- erotic
love. This moves from Levinas's choice of
non-erotic 'fecundity' as the key social relations
showing the effects of passion ( a passion to get
a stake for the future in offspring). This
requires rejecting Levinas's patriarchal and
Christian underpinnings. What seems to remain is
L's ethics which are grounded in the specific
recognition of others at very heart of human
subjectivity, in the way language addresses others
as soon as it tries to communicate -- like Derrida
here. This leaves 'ipseity' with a
particular contradiction between sensibility and
language. A sense of self develops first via
language, maybe as a mirror relation, then gains
additional meaning from encounters with others.
The other is internalised, part of the human body
itself (incarnated --more Christian heritage?)
--ie not just in consciousness. This leads to
tensions ( 'torsions') . Quite similar to Lacan
says Zairek. Quite similar to D&G on
'order words'. I thought -- interlocution always
has a prior orientation to the other. Quite
similar to Derrida for that matter, in his
critique of Husserl saying that we cannot dispense
with others in speech or consciousness. Not
dissimilar from symbolic interaction with with its
abilities to take the role of the other and this
learn about social life ( maybe especially in
Peirce's pragmatism?)
I'm not sure this is easily applied to animals,
though. They interact with others, of course, but
not as full Others -- as prey,as mates, as rivals,
as food item etc. If there is no human language
there can be no self or self-and other
relations,no mirrors. If ethics is incarnated in
animals it must be via a different process not
discussed in Levinas? It is a Barad 'extension'?
A context for post-human materialism
It might be possible to sketch out a context, at
least for the emergence of feminist post-humanism
and the popularity of Barad’s work among
qualitative researchers nevertheless. Barad’s early
interests certainly turned on trying to get
feminists interested in STS,but she was also
working with physicists in her University. The
issues seem to have arisen first in science
studies (now known as STS) addressed by Barad
before she wrote the great book. In particular,
Hollin et al (2017) suggest that Barad aligned
herself with those who wanted to re-divide STS,
after much work to integrate the various earlier
subdivisions (sociology of science, history of
science etc). The new split would hive off a
specialist feminist STS. There is a
hint of inter-disciplinary tensions in Barad (Jeuleskjaer & Schwennesen
2012), either in her Faculty at the
time or in the Science & Technology Studies
Group. She was in the interesting position of
working with physicisist in her University and
feminists and notes a difficulty when feminists
wanted to form a group called 'Femininst
Critiques of Science'. The physicists seemed
dismissive and did not welcome such critique and
Barad faced a problem of credibility with her
colleagues,possibly even some lack of
cooperation. The group's name was changed to
'Feminist Studies of Science'. Barad goes on in
her interview to argue
against critique as a general approach in
academic discussion, in favour of affirmative
diffraction, and again this specific case has
been taken as a general principle by later
Baradians to be followed in all academic
discussions.
This is not meant to be dismissive, just to
recognise that there are many social and political
issues intertwined, entangled if you prefer, in
academic programmes. Denying these in the hope of
persuading readers that there are only pure
disinterested motives, to pursue the better
argument, say, is only likely to lead to cynicism.
The popular approaches in qualitative research
that preceded the turn to quantum physics clearly
ran into serious difficulties associated with the
earlier adherence to 'social constructivism'.
Apart from anything else, it became apparent to
Denzin that anything could be seen as socially
constructed, and that even Bush could use the term
critically to undermine his opponents. The ensuing
relativism might be managed by insisting on a
particular kind of politics or ethics as
additional external criteria, but this can look
like an arbitrary and incoherent ‘bolt on’.
As we can see in another section, feminist
theorists also saw a chance to overcome the
relativising and relativist tendencies of feminist
standpoint epistemologies and to respond to
criticism by Lather (2000) or ST Pierre (2008) .
Lenz Taguchi (2012. p. 277) wants to end that
tolerance for multiple interpretations, 'which in
fact means that anyone can "own" the reality of
the event', or that only people with ‘epistemic
privilege’ can. In this way interpretive and
multiple discourse analysis 'merely produces
socially constructed alternative points of view,
satisfying only for those who have the power to
"play" with alternatives'. More specifically,
Geerts and van der Tuin ( 201) can see a way to
end generational divides in feminist theory by
diffractively reading De Beavoir and Irigaray,
discussed below. Several diffractors have seen a
possible reconciliation between different
educational theories or the factions inside
Education Studies that embody them,
including Hill (2017) ( further discussion
in Vol. II).
Earlier generations of sociologists in particular
had been rebuked for taking science as a model for
their characteristic research and argumentation.
This might have been the result of ‘physics envy’
(Hollin et al 2017). Positivist science was also
heartily condemned as oppressive, of course.
Richardson is perhaps the most prominent advocate
of the importance of narrative even in science,
which permitted new alliances to be made across
the earlier division between the academic camps of
science and humanities, but rather in favour of
humanities. The particular versions of science in
quantum physics seem to restore a necessary
openness and indeterminacy that could be seen to
parallel flexible cultural politics, while also
offering a mathematical and empirical rigour to
compete with or even replace positivism.
The ecological movement might also been
responsible for challenging excessive
anthropocentrism, and urging us to respect the
rights not only of animals but of 'the planet'
itself, and to be unusually sensitive to neglected
aspects of 'the environment'. These tendencies
might have also emphasised the elements of
personal commitment as a welcome, even necessary,
feature of particular kinds of qualitative
research. There is a possibility of a pleasurable
cultural politics, what hostile critics have
scornfully termed ‘virtue-signalling’
It is important to realise that these debates go
on in the context of academic micropolitics, both
within and between universities and research
institutes. What is at stake is the ability to
develop one research programme against its rivals
in the competition for resources and prestige. For
Lyotard (1986) this is the main motor of theory
choice and development. Science is performative in
this specific zone of academic micropolitics as
well. This context is not often discussed in
considering rival academic approaches, but several
commentators have insisted on its relevance,
especially Bourdieu (1988) .The need to keep
generating a sense of the new – parology in
Lyotyard’s terms – is what might be fuelling the
constant search for authoritative philosophical
backing for qualitative research. This is not to
reduce academic endeavour to micropolitics, but to
point to an important and often neglected
dimension of it.
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Barad page
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