May 12th, 2009 admin
Comparative ontology asserts that humans already have ontologies, and that machine ontologies are both projections of human ontologies (those of the numerati) and material agents that intervene in the ongoing reproduction of ontologies (everyone else’s). Developers of ontologies for the web of linked data would do well to understand the nature of human ontologies, as well as they way machine ontologies intervene in the ongoing construction of social life.
Human ontologies are not like ROM programs, hard-wired into our brains and executed without modification; they are designed to be reprogrammed through engagement with the world. They are one of our most effective adaptive traits.
Ontologies are adaptive
Anthropologists have studied ontologies in the wild for a long time, under the various categories of “structure,” “symbolism,” “culture” and “collective representations.” One of the most important contributors to the study of ontology is the American cultural anthropologist Marshall Sahlins.
Sahlins began as a cultural materialist but had a road to Damascus experience in the 1970s in which he got culture. You may recognize his name as the unfortunate target of fellow anthropologist Gananath Obeyesekere, who criticized Sahlins’ interpretation of the events leading to Captain Cook’s death in Hawai’i as orientalist. In fact, Obeyesekere’s criticism was an exercise in occidentalist stereotyping and, in any case, Sahlins’ control of the material eventually proved his critic’s position incoherent.
Sahlins’ principal theoretical contibution to cultural anthropology has been to retrieve the concept of cultural structure of the ahistorical, formalist, and mechanistic conception developed by Lévi-Strauss, whose own work on mythology belies his more theoretical pronouncements. Rather than separating structure from event (and history), and locating the former deeply within a universal mind–like a camshaft responsible for the jigsaw puzzle of culture–Sahlins focuses on what he calls the “structure of the conjuncture” of structure and event. History emerges as a culturally distinctive second-order structure that results from the ongoing work of categories in praxis. So categories have a structure, but that structure undergoes reevaluation and change as it is applied to the world.
In this, Sahlins is consistent with both Victor Turner’s understanding of processual structure in ritual behavior, and Bourdieu’s concept of the habitus which mediates, through improvization, the “dialectic of objectification and embodiment.” In fact, I believe that the revised structuralism developed by these anthropologists (and others) is coherent enough to deserve a name; I call it “neostructuralism.”
In Islands of History Sahlins describes the process of cultural (ontological) change in terms of the “risk of reference”: as cultures classify things in the world–as they deploy ontologies–they also put these ontologies at risk. For things in the world do not always behave as classified, or planned. Even the sun has an occasional eclipse. Although the keepers of culture–from priests to grandmothers–try to enforce adherence to the categories, the behavior of things will inevitably contradict the categories and call for their revision. Sahlins reads the Hawai’ian’s classification of Captain Cook as Lono as just such a world changing event.
Ritual is one mechanism humans use to synchronize the world with world view. As people grow, for example, and change statuses, rites of passage are used to mediate this “contradiction” and reclassify people so that they can fit into the system. Another mechanism is prophecy, where the reverse is true–world views are aligned with a world that has changed. Millenarian movements are the classic example of this: a prophet emerges who can make sense of the new in terms of the old, but changes the old in the process.
Rituals and prophetic movements are the original forms of change management.
This is the ongoing work of culture. Cultural reproduction is never mechanical. That is one reason we humans have history. There is always a disproportion between words and things, plans and situations.
Texts, as forms of discourse, can be likened to rituals and prophetic movements. Novels in particular are efforts to both makes sense of an influence the world, a task in which they often succeed. They deploy a set of categories that make sense, to the author at least, in a certain time and place. The risk of reference works at various levels–from the basal meanings of words out of which tropes are created, to the description of scenes in which the unsaid is shared among a presumed audience, to more elaborate allegorical mappings of fictional characters to real persons. But the referrential risk of textuality is compounded as the message is removed from its original personal, cultural, and historical contexts, and the world of the text is forced to fit new contexts for new readers. Hermeneutics arose as a method to retrieve meanings lost in this way; Roman Law and the Christian Bible being two major examples of distanced texts being applied and reapplied to new situations. The French philosopher and hereneutic theorist Paul Ricoeur called the result of this risk the “surplus of meaning” in a text, and saw it at as an opportunity for a kind of ontological excavation.
Databases (and the point of this post)
Now, a data model, such as a set of tables and fields in a relational database, an XML schema of elements and attributes, or an RDF vocabulary of classes and properties, is a plan, a schema of classification. And database applications, like rituals and texts, have their own forms of referential risk to contend with. They classify the world and, in the process, both effect the world they classify and open themselves up for revision by that world as it changes.
For example, the categories produced by a requirements elicitation process for an application designed to improve some workflow, and encoded in a database that sits at the bottom of an application stack, may not accurately represent the workflow as it is actually practiced, and as it will inevitably change as new developments take place–changing personnel, clients, strategic plans, etc. The database, then, is put into a situation–the situation of the conjuncture–into which its categories are at risk.
In this situation, databases are like texts–they are built on the armature of a hard-coded ontology, and they can move beyond their original domain of applicatibility.
But unlike most texts, and very much like sacred texts, database applications (and their administrators) are usually given a central position within an organization. They are often deployed as key elements of an enterprise architecture that calls the institutional shots. Thus they can insulate themselves from referential risk. They can force conformity to their logic–as Michael Wesch’s New Guinea villagers redesigned their settlement pattern to conform to the government census–or they can produce a black market of behaviors in an organization that bypasses the database governed workflow. This is what faculty do who are forced to use an LMS but would rather use Google Docs.
Comparative ontology can help here. If we view ontologies as always situated, then we should (1) design systems for maximum flexibility and adaptabilty, and (2) learn a lesson from the ritual life of peoples around the world and throughout history: engage our ontologies in constant reevaluation and modification, making the world (of our organizations) fit where appropriate, and also refining the categories to fit the world.
To meet the first challenge, we shouldn’t create overwrought ontologies, but rather focus on just enough classification to achieve the effects we need. Usually, the effects we are most concerned with are connecting people to people, people to information, and information to information, in as few links as possible.
To meet the second challenge, we may want to refine what we mean by “social operating system”–for that is precisely what a ritual system is. Maybe it’s time to follow McLuhan’s advice and exploit the ritual effects of the electric, in order to mitigate and shape the more dangerous effects of the electronic. When we build ontologies, maybe we should also be thinking of the physical and virtual spaces in which they will be deployed, and the material and digital artifacts that will be their vehicles of expression.
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May 11th, 2009 admin
I am all for user-driven design methodologies. My instinct is to distrust the Central IT ethos of “we know better” because “we think more rationally about things” and all that. That perspective is based on a simultaneous over-valuing of a linear, rational notion of process (“planning”) and a grudging acceptance of user behavior as “cultural” and therefore outside the scope a requirements gathering process.
The term “non-functional requirements” speaks volumes and captures the Central IT attitude very well. Under that category, the whole point of effective software design is swept under the rug. We know that software will be most effective when it adapts to user behavior and vice versa, but we often sidestep that issue, hoping for incremental, evolutionary changes to produce the desired effects over the long run. We miss the opportunity to innovate, leaving that to the less timid.
But I also find that user-centric methodologies are based on naive assumptions about what users want, or who The User is, or what the point of the user research is in the first place. Unless you have a very restricted audience for your software–and admittedly one often does–it is very difficult to translate the views of a few people, whether captured by focus group, survey, or even participant-observation, into generalized principles for an application. Ultimately, good design is what works, and we retrospectively attribute success to our process. But we really have no clue.
What is it that one is capturing by user-centric research, anyway? The attitudes and dispositions within a class of individuals? This can’t be it. User attitudes and mental models are highly variable, and they are mutable because humans are adaptive, more than we think. If you build software based on some static notion of what users want, what they say they want, you will miss the effect software has on redefining what they really want. This is because users inhabit cultural environments, and software inevitably has effects on those environments. If you focus too much on the abstract user–what’s “in” the user–you will often have the feeling of the goal posts moving. Or you may end up dismissing the user altogether as fickle and irresponsible, and go on with your own design ideas. If you design software for a living, I am sure you know what I am talking about.
I think the proper focus of user-centric software design has to be the user-in-context. That is, not the user but the Situation. But sutuation defined in a specific, rigorous way. Situation as the objective, institutional framework of power and infrastructure in which people work. This is difficult terrain to study, hedged in as it is by all sort of taboos and misrecognitions that keep the social gears moving. Let me give you an example.
One of the areas where the Central IT software design ethos dominates is in the area of document management. Two factors drive the design of solutions: (1) developers assume (know) that paperlessness is a Good Thing, and (2) the paper-based workflows that users are enmeshed in are so crufty, complex, and idiosyncratic that it is impossible for users to describe them in enough detail to re-engineer them. The result is that the digital document management solution will almost always build around people’s behavior, or else it will break workflows where it has to. So, instead of stepping back and rethinking what the data flows entailed by a paper form entail, or taking advantage of the metasocial moment and asking Why are We Doing This in the First Place, document-logic is reproduced in the software. The efffect is not to reproduce the old way, and make it more efficient. It is something unpredictable and bound to have hidden consequences, not all of which can be good. Most likely, we’ve preserved the notorious stupidity of bureaucracies and have ensured its continued survival in a mutant and more powerful form. Because once categories get encoded in institutional databases, the tail wags the dog. Think health insurance.
So, what to do? I suggest that we pursue theory-driven design. We actually try to make sense of the sociology and anthropology of bureaucracies and operationalize the best ideas in these discourses as design principles. We think of how software behaves as an assemblage of artifacts in a living cultural environment. This is not social engineering, nor is it to tread the tired path of “organizational behavior,” a field that is too closely tied to the executive perspective. It is to pursue a rich, empirical understanding of software in the wild, or at least, the office.
Theory-driven design is not anti-empirical. It is the opposite: for a good theory generates testable hypotheses. It gives a framework to user-centric research beyond the unanswerable quest for what users really want. As they say, there is nothing so practical as a good theory.
A good starting point might be to take Ted Nelson’s ideas about documents and hypertext and combine them with, say, David Graeber’s critical anthropology of bureaucracy. Not to condone the anarchism of Graeber, but to lever the authenticity of perspective he brings to a discussion about the role of documents in the organization. Reading his essay, “Beyond Power/Knowledge an exploration of the relation of power, ignorance and stupidity,” it is hard not to believe that a radical rethinking of the document, and document-logic, would not benefit from his perspective.
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March 19th, 2009 admin
Looking at this bit of the SXSW panel on Edupunk, I have this to say:
It seems that Edupunk really has become about anarchy, just as Gardner feared, at least in the minds of many. Downes’ social club theory of education is just the sort of pointless populist angst that punk exploited, and which differs, I would argue, from the more authentic (in quotes) Clash-like music, where one gets a sense of hope. I’m not sure where it comes from, but it’s there, and it’s also not calling for destruction. I think it’s this: the Clash knew the limits of the medium — rouse but do not prescribe, but also do not proscribe. After all, we’re just a band. Leave social change for others.
I am afraid that Downes comes off as a typical representative of a now commonplace millenarianism among instructional technologists, at least at conferences — where the Las Vegas principle seems to apply (“What happens at ELI stays at ELI”). It’s a cargo cult.
Jim Groom is no millenarian. For him, the essence of Edupunk is not in its anarchism, but in its communitarinism, if I may impose that word upon him — the relocation of decision-making and creativity in the hands of faculty, students, and technologists, and not in the hands of corporate business models that may appear to be logical and necessary from an administrative point of view, but which are in fact neither. This does not at all mean Kill the University, as Downes very clearly argues. It means, Let’s not go down this slippery slope that certain kinds of software seem to be pushing us. That’s pretty much it (which is a lot).
Ironically, Downes’ approach puts education much more in the hands of anonymous centralization, for without the residential campus, there is no mediating institution between Google or the Canadian government and the individual. Downes commits the classic fallacy of radically individualistic political thought — the destruction of supposedly oppressive institutions like colleges, families, etc. only creates the social conditions of anomie and totalitarianism. Good luck with that.
Edupunk, for me, is really all about what Gardner and Jim, like McCartney and Lennon, had going at the very beginning. A discussion about what sort of leadership is appropriate to academic technology, given this new millieux of technology. What do we teach our students and faculty, both critically and practically? We need to recover this thread; from what I can see, the SXSW panel did not achieve this.
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March 17th, 2009 admin
I want to give my two cents on Edupunk, a wildy successful term coined by Jim Groom (Mary Washington) to describe a style of academic technology support that (1) eschews Central IT and its dependency on scalable but clunky and ultimately boring and possibly evil applications, such as Blackboard, and (2) instead favors helping faculty use more open, flexible, elegant, interesting, and available technologies from the open source and Web 2.0 spaces, such as WordPress. In coining the term, Jim gave meaning and focus to a real trend and tension that has been with us for some time, but which remained uncatalyzed for being unnamed. Naming is powerful magic and we would do well to pay attention to it when it succeeds as well as it has in this case.
A lot has already been said about Edupunk and the range of ideas it connotes. In addition to the press that followed the coining of the term (including the New York Times), Jim has produced a playful but serious Battle Royale video series in which Jim and his former colleague Gardner Campbell (now at Baylor) debate the appropriateness and effectiveness of the term to advance goals they both share. (The topic was also the subject of a recent panel at SXSW 2009, but I have not listened to that yet.) After listening to these clips, though, I can’t help but think that the core idea has been weighed down by the considerable semantic load of the term “punk,” for better and for worse. So I thought I would take a stab at rescuing the idea from the word, if that’s at all possible. (I have no idea if this is cool with Jim.) Not that the debate between Gardner and Jim is reducible to mere semantics; they do have important differences of opinion on educational technology that go beyond the debate in question.
So, the core meaning of the term Edupunk derives from a rather straighforward analogy Jim draws between this style of academic technology and the late 1970s punk movement in music associated with groups like the Clash (his example). Just as the Clash had a raw freshness and energy in contrast to the bloated, formulaic, and empty music of Billboard 100 bands at the time, apps like WordPress and Drupal stand in contrast to the bloated and mind-numbing software that we often (but not always) get from the corporate sector, at least in the case of educational technology. The analogy works at a literal level since the success of bands like the Clash had a lot to do with their avoidance of Big Music production studios and producers in favor of cheaper technologies in available spaces like garages and basements. [Update: garage music is an example of the long tail of production being enabled by the commodification of the means of music production that took place in the 1970s.]
When you look at the analogy in this way, the term garage band, or some variant of it, turns out to be a better analogy than punk proper for what Jim is getting at. As a Clash song goes, they were a “garage band” from “garage land.” The image of a garage band — and think of early Devo or the Modern Lovers here — evokes the DIY ethos Jim refers to while avoiding analogies to bands like the Sex Pistols, who were cynically manufactured and marketed from the start. I have a hard time thinking of Drupal, for example, in the same space as the Sex Pistols. I have a less hard time comparing the software to the sound of, say, Joy Division. There is an elegant simplicity to both that, presumably, derives from their being developed without the encumbrances of a beauracracy and Big Leadership.
The analogy to the garage band music rather than punk per se avoids Gardner Campbell’s apt criticism about punk in the strict sense, that it was a divisive and cyncial movement without any real concern for change (one thinks of the Ramone’s I’m Against It or Richard Hell and the Voidoid’s Blank Generation), and therefore serves as a bad model for the hard work of crafting a transformational academic technology practice. But I suppose the norman “garage” does not lend itself to phrase coining the way the saxon-sounding “punk” does.
And the word “punk” does have an important connection to the open source software culture that Jim valorizes: there is a direct bloodline of descent that goes from punk (music) to cyberpunk (literature) to the hackerdom (technology) that produced Perl, Linux, and PHP. It’s a connection that is evident from the aesthetics of open source software before it became successful and co-opted (not necessarily for worse) by the web-inflated software industry. Just look at the covers ot 2600 and The Perl Journal from 1990s.
So, although I think Gardner is correct about not wanting to salute this particular flag because of its guilt by association with the Johnny Rotten school of anti-leadership, I think Jim was (is) onto something very important that needs further unpacking, even after the hype curve subsides. Ironically, I think the set of issues he catalyzed with the term have precisely to do with leadership and its connection to teaching and technology, where Gardner rightly shifts the debate. But more on that later.
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January 18th, 2009 admin
My previous musings on the opposition between McLuhan and Aristotle imply a two-dimensional continuum for locating various forms of media. If we let the term “narrative” cover what Butcher translates as “plot” in Aristotle, and we classify the four kinds of media discussed by Manovich, then he have the following structural table:
|
Spectacle |
Narrative |
| Database |
– |
– |
| Story |
– |
+ |
| Game |
+ |
– |
| Film |
+ |
+ |
This table is an example of the classic structuralist device, made famous by Lévi-Strauss, where all possible variations of an opposition are laid out in a kind of truth table. A plus sign (+) means that the category is present in the item, while a minus sign (–) indicates its absence. These tables are useful for generating ideas about how elements in a given field — in this case, media forms — are related to each other, generating further questions. For example, it emerges that databases are the strong opposite of films, while stories and games are weak opposites.
The table above can also be expressed as a two-dimensional field, where the named column headers become the X and Y axes of a discrete Cartesian plane, and the values in the first column become values in the field. This is the sort of device made famous by Bourdieu (see Distinction). The advantage of this device is that it allows us locate media forms with more precision. Here’s what I have in mind:

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January 18th, 2009 admin
It came to me recently how completely and diametrically opposed Aristotle and McLuhan really are. By which I mean the ancient academic sensibility that still pervades academia and the (post)modern, new media one that wants to break free from the old forms associated with literacy.
In the Poetics Aristotle specifies two distinguishing features of tragic poetry: (1) the paramount importance of the plot, or sequencing of events in the play, and (2) the downgrading of the “spectacle” of the play — the scenery, special effects, etc. Here’s how he puts it (emphases mine):
The plot, then, is the first principle, and, as it were, the soul of a tragedy; Character holds the second place. A similar fact is seen in painting. The most beautiful colors, laid on confusedly, will not give as much pleasure as the chalk outline of a portrait. Thus Tragedy is the imitation of an action, and of the agents mainly with a view to the action.
The Spectacle has, indeed, an emotional attraction of its own, but, of all the parts, it is the least artistic, and connected least with the art of poetry. For the power of Tragedy, we may be sure, is felt even apart from representation and actors. Besides, the production of spectacular effects depends more on the art of the stage machinist than on that of the poet.
So, the plot is the soul of tragedy while spectacle is the least artistic part of it. Spectacle is so low in Aristotle’s reckoning that he even suggests that drama doesn’t need actors and stages! Apparently, the script by itself will do fine to achieve the sublime effects of the art. (Here it is clear that what Aristotle means by poetry is writing, and that he strongly values the stand-alone written work of art with this hierarchy. Although the form of the novel emerges much later, it is hard not to notice a genealogical connection here.)
Notice how opposite this is of the new media. On the one hand, as McLuhan states over and over, the medium is the message — i.e. that spectacle is the most important dimension of art and communication. And, regarding plot, consider Lev Manovich’s idea that the database is the symbolic form of our time: the sortable, selectable, random-access, paradigmatic, and non-linear form of the database, broadly defined, is the precise opposite of writing, although both involve text. For writing is, above all, the construction of a specific and unique sequence of sentences into a work that has, the more artistic it is, what Frank Kermode called the sense of an ending. Writing, in the sense of literary or philosophical or historical representation, is distinguished by the presense of an argument, a narrative, an unfolding of events and ideas in time, where the progression itself is as important as the content. Not so with databases, where content is decomposed into elemental units (records and fields) and then subject to endless growth and manipulation.
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January 8th, 2009 admin
If electric media creates experiential drama for McLuhan, does Aristotle’s theory of tragedy — peripeteia, etc. — help us understand that drama? (Does it matter that I arrived at this idea in the form of an Aristotelian syllogism?) Can education be understood as a dramatic, or ritual, process? If so, Victor Turner’s theory of ritual process may be helpful — he discribes the liminality that McLuhan values, but he does so in Aristotelian terms.



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January 8th, 2009 admin
Does McLuhan get us beyond Aristotle?
Just the other day I was re-reading my copy of Aristotle’s Poetics (tr. Butcher), and it struck me how interesting it might be to juxtapose Aristotle to McLuhan. They intersect at a lot of points. They are both media theorists–in fact, with the Poetics, Aristotle invents the field–but Aristotle is McLuhan’s opposite in that he is the first to theorize (and embrace) writing as a medium. But Aristotle also provides a supplement to McLuhan, since he unpacks the concept of drama that McLuhan draws on so heavily in his characterization of the new media. (For McLuhan, new media create an electric environment which serves as a global mise en scène for a postmodern drama of social life.) In addition, Aristotle sets a bar for McLuhan — for until the latter, or rather new media theorists who follow him, can provide an alternative to the concept of mimesis — with something more useful than Sonntag’s “erotics of art” (which admittedly sounds pretty fun) — then we will remain Aristotelians, for better or for worse. It is not enough to view mimesis as an artifact of writing, for that is a statement of faith and begs the question. A truly radical media theory would find the means to displace this concept, or else embrace it with abandon.
The art “without a name“
If there is any doubt that Aristotle is the first to embrace writing as a medium, and to dismiss Socrates’ concerns about it in the Phaedrus, check out this passage, which occurs at the end of Section I:
There is another art which imitates by means of language alone, and that either in prose or verse—which verse, again, may either combine different meters or consist of but one kind—but this has hitherto been without a name. For there is no common term we could apply to the mimes of Sophron and Xenarchus and the Socratic dialogues on the one hand; and, on the other, to poetic imitations in iambic, elegiac, or any similar meter. People do, indeed, add the word ‘maker’ or ‘poet’ to the name of the meter, and speak of elegiac poets, or epic (that is, hexameter) poets, as if it were not the imitation that makes the poet, but the verse that entitles them all to the name. Even when a treatise on medicine or natural science is brought out in verse, the name of poet is by custom given to the author; and yet Homer and Empedocles have nothing in common but the meter, so that it would be right to call the one poet, the other physicist rather than poet. On the same principle, even if a writer in his poetic imitation were to combine all meters, as Chaeremon did in his Centaur, which is a medley composed of meters of all kinds, we should bring him too under the general term poet [emphases mine].
Here Aristotle carves out a space for this new craft, writing, “under the general term poet.” The Poetics is about this new form of mimetic practice, this new medium, with particular emphasis not on the spectacle – McLuhan’s focus — but on the action, the arrangement of scenes … the screenplay.
The Spectacle of McLuhan
Here is what Aristotle has to say about the spectacle (the massage) of drama, one of the distinctive features he discerns in the art:
The Spectacle has, indeed, an emotional attraction of its own, but, of all the parts, it is the least artistic, and connected least with the art of poetry. For the power of Tragedy, we may be sure, is felt even apart from representation and actors. Besides, the production of spectacular effects depends more on the art of the stage machinist than on that of the poet.
So we have a very thick line drawn in the sand. It’s not Gutenberg that created the old world that McLuhan wants to transform, it is Aristotle.
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December 18th, 2008 admin
Jim Groom writes another excellent piece in his blog, Bavatuesdays. In the post he makes the very important point that edutech poeple need to be aware, constantly aware, of the fact that technology, especially educational technology products like Blackboard, are bound up with corporate interests that are not our own. That technology does not always have the interest of teaching and learning to heart. I would add two things to this.
First, it’s not just corporations and capitalism that we need to be wary of, it’s governments too. Power is power, and educational technology can be the handmaiden of any institution willing to control it. What freaks me out about Blackboard most — and Angel too for that matter — is the way in which they push the assessment angle. In these systems the course becomes a conduit of information from the pedagogic periphery to the administrative core (and not between professor and student, the core relation). At some point, grade books — proffered as a convenience — will eventually frame how courses are taught and students graded, as they morph into devices for projecting standards and guidelines for teaching. The tail wags the dog.
Second, it’s not just Blackboard, but Web 2.0 as well. Facebook, for example, is about generating consumer data. It’s not, at root, about friends. So is Google. They’ve connected the web, but they’ve also helped transform the academic internet into a corporate web. The web is essentially a vast market mechanism which is quickly transforming and replacing the old, currency-based “system of the world” (if it has not done so already. The fact that banks and car makers are collapsing perhaps signifies this shift.) At least Blackboard is a knowable enemy, and therefore manageable to some extent. With Web 2.0, we have entered a matrix of surveillance the likes of which no dystopian novel I have read anticipated, since it is a matrix that we voluntary participate in. The degree of trust that we have given over to the web is amazing.
This is why I think edutech needs to do two things. We need to activate faculty as critics of technology, not simply users. By critic I mean one who understands technology for what it is, a cultural form with cognitive, pedagogical and social consequences, for good and for bad, and not merely a convenience. This is an important dimension of media fluency. And we need to encourage the development of what I call academia’s “indigenous” technologies, the true source of open source. Academia created contributed heavily to the creation of the internet and the web, and we have traditions of digital scholarship and e-science that provide alteranate frameworks for doing edutech than the Web 2.0 world of tags, life streaming, and network effects. These things are great — I am for them — but they can’t be our refuge from Blackboard.
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December 16th, 2008 admin
Why is Faraday in McLuhan’s text (The Medium is the Massage)? Because McLuhan finds a happy juxtaposition of form and content in him: it is fitting that one of the discoverers of electricity also embodies the values of electric culture that McLuhan espouses–playful, participatory, aliterate. Faraday becomes an ancestral progenitor of the spontaneous participation his medium produces. Although never as foregrounded as Gutenberg, he becomes the cultural fountainhead of the electric in McLuhan’s mythology.
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