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A Comparativist-Behavioralist: Seymour Martin Lipset

2012-02-25T13:03:00.001-08:00

As I have frequently argued, it is impossible to understand a country without seeing

how it varies from others. Those who know only one country know no country.

For those in the comparative politics subfield of political science, the second sentence of the opening quote by Seymour Martin Lipset to this blog post is probably the best known. And it should be easy enough to understand why that is. Particularly since Lipset’s thematic focus throughout his career was primarily American society (e.g., public opinion, trade unions, social stratification/cleavage), an espousal of this type endears him all the more to a comparativist. Interestingly, he was also at times something of a political behavioralist. Like many American political scientists during the decades after WWII, he often embraced the Dewey-Popper line that a more scientific investigation of politics can be conducive for American democracy.^[2] As much as he was a comparativist then, he was also a behavioralist.^[3] By marshaling Seymour Martin Lipset’s 1959 paper “Some Social Requisites of Democracy” as an exemplar of this comparativist-behavioralist viewpoint, this essay will argue just that: that Lipset’s professional outlook during this period displayed those very same “cross-cutting cleavages” that he so often advocated in his work as analgesic to the support of democracy.^[4] This essay will concentrate on (1) Lipset’s credentials in comparative politics before teasing out (2) the behavioral elements of his argument in his 1959 paper.

The Comparativist Role

Some may still identify the main units of analysis of comparative politics with “the old ‘institutionalism’ of Woodrow Wilson and others”.^[5] Though the various aspects and origins of institutions are still anatomized in comparative politics today^[6], the units of analysis are in fact much more broad. These can run from the state to groups and institutions within/out the state to movements, ideologies, religions to parties and individuals. Someone who proved instrumental in this movement away from just institutional comparisons to other aspects of society was Lipset. In his argument of what supports democracy, Lipset admitted that he was unsatisfied “with the determinants of actions within various political institutions”.^[7] He instead wanted to maneuver the discussion of variables toward “society as a whole.” And this he very much did, positing a host of factors such as economic wealth, open class/equalitarian value systems, capitalist economy, literacy, participation level in voluntary organizations^[8], and others as well. Being true to the quote that opened this essay, Lipset incorporated these societal factors into a comparative analysis across national states. See the table below as an example of Lipset’s quadfurcated conceptualization. (Remember though that this description is from over fifty years ago.) This is a simple example, but is illustrates well Lipset’s commitment to thinking in a comparative manner. As for a comparison of specific societal variables, the second part of this blog on behavioralism will illuminate those.

Lipset’s article “Some Social Requisites of Democracy” also foreshadows many concepts that would later become key to comparative political scientists. One additional example will suffice here before moving on to Lipset’s behavioral turn. The first is the concept of societal “cleavages” grounded in historical circumstances, which simply means any divide or chasm which may separate two groups on any one issue whereby crossing the cleavage may seem nearly impossible. Some popular cleavages utilized in examples then and now are religion, sect, class, caste, citizenship, language, rural/urban, and others. Though variations on the idea of societal cleavages have always existed, it was Lipset’s use of the concept that gained traction with other researchers in comparative politics. Lipest with Stein Rokkan^[9] would later go on to further develop these ideas, and other influential examples can be found in the work of comparativists like Stathis Kalyvas^[10], Stefano Bartolini^[11], Giovanni Capoccia^[12], and many others^[13], but one of the more celebrated comparative studies using Lipset’s concepts was done by Gregory Luebbert^[14] on the effect that historically rooted cleavages before WWI had on regime formation (e.g. liberal, social democratic, or fascist) in Western Europe during the interwar period. Lipset, then, earned his stripe as a comparativist some time ago.

The Behavioralist Role

As for using Lipset’s essay “Some Social Requisites of Democracy” as an example of the behavioral approach, he states in the abstract: “In this paper the problem [of the conditions for a democratic society] is attacked from a sociological and behavioral standpoint” (1959, 69). For the contemporary student of political science, reading his essay half a century later, two elements will immediately strike one as peculiar: first, how ordinary the essay seems, and second, how untechnical the statistical presentation is compared to today. One wonders if Robert Dahl knew how correct he would become when he wrote: “For [behavioralism] will become, and in fact is becoming, incorporated into the main body of the discipline. The behavioral mood will not disappear, then, because it has failed. It will disappear rather because it has succeeded”.^[15] Disappear is the correct word for it conveys the fact that a contemporary student of political science would have difficulty identifying what exactly was so behavioral about a work like Lipset’s. Nothing that Lipset presents would seem beyond the pale for the contemporary political scientist trained in America.^[16]

For example, witness Lipset’s “Methodological Appendix” at the end of his paper. Lipset must highlight repeatedly that his way of going about studying the issue of society’s supporting role in democracy is somehow different from that of the colleagues of his time: “This approach stresses the view that a complex characteristics of a total system have multivariate causation…this paper does not attempt a new theory of democracy, but only the formalizing, and the empirical testing, of certain sets of relationships implied by traditional theories…” (104-5). Lipset must also state implicitly how his approach is different from Max Weber’s “attempt to trace the origins of modern capitalism” (105). For better or worse, no American student in political science today is required to read Weber today before taking a research design course, even in comparative politics, so Lipset’s pleas for understanding come across as a superfluity. Karl Popper’s “four basic tenets” of falsification, testability, tenativity, and methods over results are already so ingrained in the American political science student that Lipset’s desire to explain the “new method” seems quaint.^[17] The “scientific outlook” of the behavioral approach as described by Dahl is taken for granted for those of a deductive-empiricist persuasion today. One also wonders if Lipset’s figure below would have also been novel for the time. Here Lipset is displaying what for him is the arrow of causality in his argument:

For the contemporary empirical political researcher, the figure above should not seem revolutionary. Though Lipset’s ideas of causal variables on the left of the figure are open to dispute—i.e. they could be tested and hence falsified in the language of Popper—the methodology may seem run-of-the-mill to the contemporary political scientist; our unquestioning acceptance of the this formalization is all the more proof that behavioralism has inundated the way we go about our research today. To repeat the claim above: Lipset’s approach seems very ordinary to contemporary researchers.

A second example of Lipset’s use of the behavioral approach was his utilization of statistics in his analysis of the various societal conditions that could possibly support democracy in his theory. Though not all behavioral research must use statistical quantification, the aesthetic that behavioral-type research must be “far more rigorous” has been common for at least the past half century.^[18] Lipset in his research did not baulk at this challenge. For his essay on democracy, Lipset grouped his statistics into four categories of indices: wealth, industrialization, education, urbanization. He then arrayed them over the four conceptual grouping of nations as listed in table above: (1) stable democracies, (2) unstable democracies and dictatorships, (3) democracies and unstable dictatorships, (4) stable dictatorships. As an example I have placed the results of one of Lipset's "statistical" analyses below:

What may strike a contemporary researcher as interesting is how easy it is to read and interpret Lipset’s data. Lipset only uses two types of statistic in his paper: mean and range. A standard research design textbook of today would probably decry these as lesser “descriptive statistics”, and not “inferential statistics”.^[19] King, Keohane, and Verba (1994) might ever be kinder and call Lipset’s analysis “descriptive inference”, gerrymandering the meaning of “inference” to cover Lipset’s research as well.^[20] Either way though, Lipset’s analysis fits safely within the boundary of what would have been the behavioral approach of his time.

Two In One

This quick survey of Seymour Martin Lipset’s 1959 seminal essay in The American Political Science Review entitled “Some Social Requisites of Democracy: Economic Development and Political Legitimacy” indentifies Lipset’s credentials as both a researcher in the comparative political tradition and as a practitioner of the behavioral approach to methodology. The value of this essay has been twofold. First, it examples someone who fits within the comparative politics fold and who embraced the behavioralist project as it became popular within the larger political science community of scholars. Second, it highlights how behavioralism and Popper’s ideas have become essentially mainstream—though it does not go by the name of behavioralism anymore—even within a subfield like comparative politics, which has traditionally been somewhat of a safe house for other methods (e.g. Mill’s two methods, process tracing^[21], and others) and the a posteriori in general.

[1] See page 17 of Lipset, Seymour Martin. 1997. American Exceptionalism: A Double-Edged Sword. New York: W. W. Norton & Company.

[2] See pages 149-157 of Ricci, David M. 1984. The Tragedy of Political Science: Politics, Scholarship, and Democracy. London: Yale University Press.

[3] At least for those post-WWII years. I imagine that a student of the American government subfield (if they still learn about Lipset’s work at all) might be more familiar with this modernization-sounding quote: “…the more well-to-do a nation, the greater the chances that it will sustain democracy” (Lipset 1959, 75).

[4] In other words, not all comparativists are behavioralists and vice versa, yet they can cohabitate.

[5] See page 493 of Blyth, Mark. 2006. “Great Punctuations: Prediction, Randomness, and the Evolution of Comparative Political Science.” American Political Science Review 100 (4): 493-498.
[6] The mother of all institutions being, of course, the Leviathan. See Evans et al.’s (1985) Bringing the State Back In.

[7] See page 69 (emphasis his) of Lipset, Seymour Martin. 1959. “Some Social Requisites of Democracy: Economic Development and Political Legitimacy.” American Political Science Review 53 (1): 69-105.

[8] This “participation in voluntary organizations” often goes under the name of “social capital” and/or “sociability” in contemporary comparative politics. See Unger’s (1998) Building Social Capital in Thailand or Putnam’s (1994) Making Democracy Work.

[9] Rokkan, Stein, and Seymour Martin Lipest. 1990. “Cleavage Structures, Party Systems, and Voter Alignments.” In The West European Party System, Peter Mair, Ed. New York: Oxford University Press.

[10] Kalyvas, Stathis. 1998. “From Pulpit to Party: Party Formation and the Christian Democratic Phenomenon.” Comparative Politics 30 (3): 293-312.

[11] Bartolini, Stefano. 2007. The Political Mobilization of the European Left, 1860-1980: The Class Cleavage. New York: Cambridge University Press.

[12] Capoccia, Giovanni. 2005. Defending Democracy: Reactions to Extremism in Interwar Europe. Baltimore, MD: John Hopkins University Press.

[13] Actually, many more comparative political scientists have played with these concepts, but these are just the ones that are still fresh in my mind from the course on comparative historical analysis taken last semester.

[14] Luebbert, Gregory. 1991. Liberalism, Fascism, or Social Democracy: Social Classes and he Political Origins of Regimes in Interwar Europe. New York: Oxford University Press. I really enjoyed this book actually. See link for my thoughts on the text.

[15] See page 770 of Dahl, Robert A. 1961. “The Behavioral Approach in Political Science: Epitaph for a Monument to a Successful Protest.” American Political Science Review 55 (4): 763-772.

[16] And I do mean America here. Despite the roll we’ve been on for the past seventy years since the close of WWII, reminding ourselves every once in a while that other traditions and/or values in the study of politics do thrive outside of America can be quite refreshing. Again, I invite the more provincial members of our profession to reread Catarina Kinnvall’s essay in Kinnvall, Catarina. 2005. “Not Here, Not Now! The Absence of a European Perestroika Movement.” In Perestroika! The Raucous Rebellion in Political Science, Kristen Renwick Monroe, Ed. New Haven, CN: Yale University Press.

[17] See page 116 in Ricci, David M. 1984. The Tragedy of Political Science: Politics, Scholarship, and Democracy . London: Yale University Press.

[18] See page 970 in Key, V. O. 1958. “The State of the Discipline.” American Political Science Review 52 (4): 961-971.

[19] “Traditionally, statistics has been divided according to two functions—descriptive and inferential. Descriptive statistics is concerned with organizing and summarizing the data at hand to make them more intelligible. The high and low scores [read: range] and average score [read: mean]…are descriptive statistics.” See page 457 in Singleton, Royce A., and Bruce C. Straits. 2005. Approaches to Social Research: Fourth Edition. New York: Oxford University Press.

[20] Though, of course, this is pure semantic tautology; in order to continue to propagate the normative illusion that Lipset could have been more rigorous in his research, they then have to invent the term “causal inference” to take the place of what would commonly be called “inferential statistics.” See King, Gary, Robert O. Keohane, and Sidney Verba. 1994. Designing Social Inquiry: Scientific Inference in Qualitative Research. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.

[21] This is an anachronism I know. Weber would not have used Paul Pierson’s (2000) term of “process tracing” with “increasing returns”. See Weber’s The Methodology of the Social Sciences (1949, 182-5) for an earlier conceptualization of this idea; also see Pierson, Paul. 2000. “Increasing Returns, Path Dependence, and the Study of Politics.” American Political Science Review 94 (2): 251-267.

Machiavelli Personality Test

2012-02-05T19:21:00.000-08:00

Machiavelli Personality Test

Huh?...

I was doing research online for materials on Machiavelli and I came upon this:

So, of course, I took the test and then the machine said this:

Is this proof that I'm a jerk???

Here is the link to the test if you'd like to give it a whirl.

Drywall

2012-01-25T20:20:00.000-08:00

New flash fiction piece can be seen at Microstory A Week. So check it out! :)

----

Drywall

Head Coach Patterson leant into the crowbar, heaving his weight against the bar of iron until the drywall loosened slowly before yawing open. Flecks of chalky plaster clouded the stillness of the small, emptied-out bedroom. Wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his arm, the man ambulated to the window and released the latch to slide open a pane of glass. Patterson looked up from the.....[read more]

Forget Thomas Kuhn—I Study Politics!

2012-01-24T19:19:00.000-08:00

Physics Envy—this epithet pretty much sums up the study of politics in modern-day America. I can already sense my tetchier PoliSci colleagues wincing at this polemic. However, after spending some time with Thomas S. Kuhn, Kristen R. Monroe [1], PaulDiesing, and others this past fortnight, I feel emboldened on this point. I shall therefore maneuver this blog post toward a harder position than I should normally affect: mainly, that science and politics simply don’t jive. Though possibly sophomoric to do so—particularly in light of the good efforts begun by Hume, Smith, and others of the Scottish Enlightenment[2] so many years ago—I want to question specifically the science in political science. Undoubtedly, this will shake loose the politics in political science as well.

The further I read in Thomas Kuhn’s TheStructure of Scientific Revolutions the further puzzled I became, and, thankfully, we learn that in the postscript written seven years after initial publication Kuhn felt somewhat puzzled as well.[3] Kuhn’s bemusement stems from the fact that the central thesis of his evolutionary-like process of normal science to paradigm shift via scientific revolution is built upon the shared experience—the unacknowledged history really—of natural scientists. The word before scientist is important. Notice that he said natural science. He didn’t say social science, nor did say political science. Therefore, Thomas Kuhn has nothing to do with the study of politics, for he only speaks of natural science.

What Thomas Kuhn highlights about natural science is the frequent irrationality of its practitioners. Essentially, he shows that the practice of natural science is a very human one. Studying natural science is not as scientific as one might learn from our textbooks in high school and college. Personality, persuasion, and prominence of name count a lot in the separation of science from myth.[4] This book is actually fascinating, and has made a dent in the way I think about natural science. It is also a quick read and makes me wonder if Karl Popper and Robert K. Merton are as easy to digest—and whether they are as irrelevant as Kuhn has proven to me to be to politics.[5] So let us query now: Why the arranged marriage between Kuhn’s concept of paradigms and the study of politics?

Two things immediately caught my attention. First, Kuhn is very open about his influence from the irreconcilable spats endemic within social science.[6] Second, Kuhn’s revolutions in science are a parallel to the real revolutions in politics that we study.[7] My sense is that this borrowing from politics to describe processes in natural science somehow encouraged some of our more nerdy colleagues to think that a reciprocal borrowing was in order. Sorry, but such an adoption must remain unsuccessful. This is also somewhat ironic since Kuhn does a wonderful job at displaying the unscientific elements of natural science. Why then would wannabe scientists of politics rush after something just indicated to be unscientific is honestly beyond my ken. I open that as an additional question. Maybe a shopworn, threadbare blanket of scientism just keeps us warmer than no science at all? Are we really that afraid of the hermeneutic?

Allow me to cite Kuhn’s concept of paradigm. Inherent in the concept of paradigm is the acknowledgement by the natural scientific community that a newly won paradigm has progressed beyond old theories—that the old theories are dead. My favorite example of this is Aristotle’s Physica.[8] Rightly so, Kuhn tells us that no modern-day physicist is required to read that particular tome. However, within the study of politics, Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics is still studied. Even the cheesiest political positivist should still be able to recant Aristotle’s typology of regimes.[9] Here are some other fun political ideas that never seem to disappear: natural law, liberalism, realism, Marxism, and a zillion other isms. Why is this so? Does that mean that each one of these is a Kuhnian paradigm fighting it out for supremacy—hardly so. The reason is because none of these will ever gain supremacy, none of them will ever kill off their forbearers. Patricide, though coeval with natural science, is foreign to political science.[10] Unlike the natural sciences, we in the study of politics “allow numerous competing accounts of the intellectual movements, research programs, and central figures that have shaped (or on some accounts misshaped) the discipline. We have a variety of histories to match our plurality of identities.”[11] To study politics means to reject the concept of paradigm. Paradigms are for natural science! In the study of politics, we might have trends, we might have fads, and we most certainly shall have ideologies, but what we shall never have is a paradigm, even if the crazies insist on calling it that.

I was happy to learn that in Paul Diesing’s How Does Social Science Work?: Reflections on Practice[12], he too was able to brush off Kuhn’s importance to the study of politics. Diesing examples Radcliffe-Brown’s functionalism versus diffusionist theory, the disagreements between Keynes and the Chicago school, and the ideas of Norbert Wiener and feedback loops for artificial intelligence. Diesing states: “if old and new traditions continue side by side, acrimoniously, Kuhn’s original conception of progress does not apply, and the issue of whether social science progresses or only changes remains open.”[13]

If you are one of those types who insists on thinking of the study of politics as something still in a Kuhnian pre-paradigm stage and that someday maybe, just maybe we shall be cool enough to hang out with the natural scientists, I am sorry to report to you that your expectant paradigm is stillborn. It has been this way for the past few millennia and it will continue to be like this for the next few. This is because the study of politics is essentially at the crossroads of humanities and the harder sciences. John Gunnel described political science in America as a holding company of many different traditions.[14] This crossroads or holding company, I believe, creates something of a tension. The question for me is less, How do we rid ourselves of the tension? and more, How do we intend on embracing it? There is a dynamism to this tension I think. Why should we want to be a “normal” science anyway? And just in case you are still intimidated by the natural science crowd, don’t forget the power of a few ideological isms peppered about a nation to stop scientific progress.[15] For better or for worse, when things get chaotic, a dipsomaniacal Machiavelli will always prove more useful than a teetotal Newton.

Again, Kuhn appears to be in agreement with me about this misuse of paradigms outside of natural science. This can be seen in the breakdown of how different disciplines are taught. Generally, Kuhn says that throughout one’s education, the longer a discipline’s dogma is filtered through textbooks rather than via the original texts themselves is a good indicator as to how appropriate the Kuhnian paradigm concept is. For example, in English literature, the sooner a student leaves behind the abridged or Cliffs’ Notes version for the original the better. In a field like political science, both original classics and journal articles of studies are compulsory. In chemistry though, “the student relies mainly on textbooks until, in the third or fourth year of graduate work, he begins his own research.”[16] The figure below is created from a typical eight-year horizon of undergraduate to masters’ to doctorial work.

The scale is, of course, not exact, but it helps for conceptualization. Kuhnian paradigms thus are a reflection of the staying power of dogma within a field. That is why Kuhn must describe the changeover from one paradigm to the next as a “crisis”[17], for that is surely how it must feel to those who have not yet rejected the older paradigm. In a sense then, the real difference between natural science and theology is not a matter of dogma, but rather that one permits change and the other does not. In natural science, change means revolution. In theology, change is heresy. Either way though, for the study of politics, we can see that it is right in the middle of the gamut, hence the tension alluded to earlier between those with a more humanities bent and those who wish the study of politics to be more like the natural sciences.

One more question for this blog is then: Will the science in political science ever be anything more than an affectation? But now we have to think about the concept of science as opposed to natural science. If the science in political science is meant to represent what Thomas Kuhn explained through his paradigms, then we can easily reject it, for it has nothing to do with the study of politics at all. However, if science is to be a byword for logic, analytical thinking, or systematic reasoning, then I cannot help but feel like I have been a “scientist” for quite some time. Hmmmmm.... And so I shall close this flippantly recalcitrant post with a final question: What the hell does the science in political science mean? I can say this much at least; when anyone asks me what I am in the future, I shall prefer to say that I study politics, and leave it at that.

[1] See Monroe, Kristen, Ed. 2005. Perestroika!The Raucous Rebellion in Political Science. New Haven, CN: Yale University Press.

[2] See the piece by Farr, James. 1988. “Political Science and the Enlightenment of Enthusiasm.” American Political Science Review 82(1): 51-69.

[3] See page 208 in book by Kuhn, Thomas S. 1996. The Structures of Scientific Revolutions, Third Edition. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. “A number of those who have taken pleasure from [the book] have done so less because it illuminates science than because they read its main theses as applicable to many other fields as well…but their reaction has nevertheless puzzled me.”

[4] Kuhn 1996, 2.

[5] Actually, I’ve just ordered those on Amazon and am looking forward to starting in on them.

[6] Kuhn 1996, x: “Particularly, I was struck by the number and extent of the overt disagreements between social scientists about the nature of legitimate scientific problems and methods. Both history and acquaintance made me doubt that practitioners of the natural sciences possess firmer or more permanent answers to such questions than their colleagues in social science.”

[7] Kuhn 1996, 92: “Political revolutions are inaugurated by a growing sense, often restricted to a segment of the political community, that existing institutions have ceased adequately to meet the problems posed by an environment that they have in part created. In much the same way, scientific revolutions are inaugurated by a growing sense, again often restricted to a narrow subdivision of the scientific community, that an existing paradigm has ceased to function adequately in the exploration of an aspect of nature to which that paradigm itself had previously led the way.”

[8] Kuhn 1996,10: “—these and many other works served for a time implicitly to define the legitimate problems and methods of a research field for succeeding generations of practitioners.”

[9] They should, shouldn’t they?

[10] Extend the metaphor further and we see that political science is more akin to allowing our parents, grandparents, and great grandparents live upstairs with us indefinitely, occasionally allowing them to come down for special holidays. Extend the metaphor even further and we see that theology then is something like unrequited zombie love.

[11] See page 1250 on essay by Dryzek, John S., and Stephen T. Leonard. 1988. “History and Discipline in Political Science.” American Political Science Review 82(4):1245-1260.

[12] See book by Diesing, Paul. 1991. How Does Social Science Work?: Reflections on Practice.

[13] Diesing 1991, 320.

[14] See page 37 of essay by 1990. “The Nature of Contemporary Political Science: A Roundtable Discussion.” PS: Political Science and Politics 23(1): 34-43: “From its birth as a professional association in 1903, political science as a field was more a holding company for some diverse enterprises dealing with the study of politics than a field with a political core, as economics, for example, tended to be.”

[15] This goes for economists as well. A little bit of nuclear war or genocide can do wonders for riding oneself of the “law” of supply and demand.

[16] Kuhn 1996, 165.

[17] Kuhn 1996, 66.

Kindle Edition of Chiang Mai and Northern Thailand!

2012-01-20T18:02:00.000-08:00

For those of us who have started to travel with only our Kindles, iPads, or laptops, you will be happy to hear that the most up-to-date guidebook on Chiang Mai and Northern Thailand is now available on Kindle. Check it out! (I think the publisher is offering it for around $8 as well, which is awesome!!)

Chiang Mai and Northern Thailand

Mr. Livy Was A Skeptic

2011-12-31T15:51:00.000-08:00

I had not realized how little I knew about Roman history (and mythology) until I started in on Titus Livius’s (aka Livy) The History of Rome. I have to thank Machiavelli for pointing me in the direction of this fellow. If Machiavelli had titled his political philosophy tome something like Discourses on Pultarch’s Lives of Nobles or perhaps Discourses on the Geography of Strabo instead of Discourses on the First Decade of Titus Livius, I doubt I would ever be able to muster the commitment that I am now for reading Mr. Livy here. How much of Livy’s work plays into Machiavelli’s political thought though, I am not sure. But I figured since Machiavelli used the bloke’s name in the title, I can only assume that Livy’s musings make an appearance once or twice in Machiavelli’s book. I shall surely learn more when I take the semester-long course on Machiavelli this spring.

Machiavelli aside, there is more than enough in Livy’s work to keep one’s self busy. Though I had only planned on reading the first ten of the forty or so books in his history (each book contains around 40-50 chapters or around 50 pages a book), I now plan on reading all of the books. Livy was born in c.59 BCE and wrote these books from the middle part of his life till his death after the turn of the millennium.

As for the first book, it mainly tells the story of the founding of Rome (which was in 753 BCE for Livy). Since this is seven hundred years before he was born, the historicity of what Livy has to say in the first book is pretty much zilch. His account of those first years of Roman history, from the supposed escape of Aeneas from Troy to the west coast of the Apennine Peninsula (modern-day Italy), to the kings of Alba, to the birth of Romulus and Remus, to the first Roman kings on down to the wars that ended the Roman monarchy, and to the first election of the two-person Consular government—all of that awesome tradition, despite being fiction, makes for a really exciting read. Finally placing myself on a firmer ground as to what that mythological tradition was really feels rewarding. It makes me realize that aside from the occasional Hollywood flick, I really have not had much exposure to these stories.

When reading Livy word for word, it can be difficult to ascertain what is history and what is mythology. Or is it? Doubtless, reading over some contemporary historical accounts of Ancient Rome should give me a better idea. But some things, like Romulus’s assent to the realm of the gods in a lightning storm, or his mother’s run-in with Mars are beautifully mythological...surely that's not real. However, as one reads further in the text, into the centuries and decades of Livy’s own lifetime, mythology takes more of a backseat to history.

Actually, that is one of the things I enjoyed most about Livy: his handling of mythology. He is surprisingly skeptical. I would have assumed that since the pantheon of gods was the state religion of Rome, speaking against their supposed divinity would be heresy. But Livy is pretty forward about aspects of his nation’s history that he thinks might be fiction. For example, when discussing the birth of Romulus and Remus, he has this to say about Rhea Sylvia, their mother:

“The vestal being deflowered by force, brought forth twins, and declared that the father of her doubtful offspring was Mars; either because she really thought so, or in hopes of extenuating the guilt of her transgression by imputing it to the act of a deity” (Bk I, Ch 4, emphasis mine)[1].

That is hilarious! Basically, what Livy is saying is that Romulus’s mom got knocked up by some schmuck whilst farting around the temple and then blamed it on god. Can you even imagine if a historian in the Middle Ages wrote something like this about the virgin Mary?—that humans cannot procreate asexually, so therefore, when a teenage tart says that an deity or angle made her pregnant, she is obviously lying. That Livy is willing to conjecture about the validity of his religion—and what is religion but bureaucratized mythology anyway really?—I think is a vote in his favor for the overall historicity of his project.

Elsewhere in the first book he also ruminates on why the Romans might think Romulus became a deity and his supposed disappearance into some clouds and lighting (Bk I, Ch 15-16). Livy also calls out the questionability of Rome’s second king, Numa Pompilus, and his relationship with the goddess Egeria, whom he was supposed to have taken as a wife (Bk I, Ch 21). Later on, when Livy is narrating on Tullus Hostilius (the king after Numa), he chides Tullus for being too religious:

“…his thoughts in matters of religion, became, at once, a slave to every kind of superstition, in cases either of great or trifling import, and even filled the minds of the people also with superstitious notions” (Bk I, Ch 31).

Livy peppers these comments throughout his history in other books as well. All of this has definitely changed my perspective on how Roman’s may have viewed their religion and the mythology behind their religion.

As far as reading Livy though, I have to admit that sometimes he can be tedious in some details, but even that can be interesting: what details he focuses on and what else he may have left out. Though I would say that Livy is a skeptic, which I view as a positive, he is also at times maybe too much of a patriot or apologist for Rome in general, but this does not pop up until later, after the initial book. However, I do get the sense that he is a republican more than a monarchist. Though he is incredibly clear about the democratic messiness that was the Roman Senate, Commons, Consuls, Military Tribunes, and occasional Dictator, the way Livy describes liberty and its importance to the people, whether patrician or plebian, makes one think that Livy was not a fan of Julius Caesar’s change in government.

Overall, I have really enjoyed reading Livy’s history. If you are looking for the real deal, I do not think you can get much better than going back and reading one of these ancient classics!

[1] All translations from Latin are from the 1823 edition by George Baker.

Oh, and Happy New Year's!! :)

Book Review: Mandragola by Niccolò Machiavelli

2011-12-14T19:46:00.000-08:00

In preparing myself for a class I shall be attending next semester on Niccolò Machiavelli, I stumbled upon this play by Machiavelli entitled Mandragola (or Mandrake, as in the herb, in English).

I had already read The Prince some years back, and have just started on Discourses on Livy. These two are, of course, the two one must read if one wants to have a decent sense of Machiavelli's contributions to political theory. However, since so much of his stuff can seem heavy at times, reading something more lighthearted by Machiavelli has been a lot of fun.

Mandragola is a comedy that takes place in Florence in the early sixteenth century. The characters are all humorous. The main character, Callimaco, is something of a rakehell, but a nice enough fellow. The play begins with him back at home in Florence after just finishing his studies in Paris. We learn that Callimaco has returned to Florence because of the reputation of one supposedly comely-looking girl, who is married to an older rich gentleman. Callimaco hatches a plan with his servant on how to turn the older husband into a cuckold. Essentially, this play is about Callimaco trying to get laid with some other man's wife. The comedy behind the play is in all the misadventures in which Callimaco and his team of licentious buddies involve themselves whilst accomplishing that goal.

More than a few good lines pop up in the dialogue, but my favorite scene is probably the last one, where, after the exciting deed has been done, everyone goes to church to make repentance--some more than others.

From a political theory perspective, Machiavelli's diction become important. Favorite words of his (like virtue, fortune, others...) are peppered throughout the dialogue, but on first read I found myself loosing myself in the story too much to pay attention to what any of this might mean in comparison to Machiavelli's larger body of political work. Doubtlessly, I shall be rereading this short play later in the coming months to work out these larger issues, assuming that they are there.

For those less interested in the political theory aspect, Mandragola still makes for a funny read. I hope I can see it some day performed on stage. It would be interesting to see how a director might flesh out the scenes and characters.

เทอมแรกเสร็จแล้ว

2011-12-10T08:09:00.000-08:00

โพสต์นี้เราอยากจะเขียนเป็นภาษาไทยบ้างนะครับ เรียนระดับปริญญาเอกเทอมแรกเพิ่งเสร็จแล้ว เทอมนี้ได้ศึกษาสึ่วิทชา อันได้แก่ ปรัชญาการเมืองของมงเตสกิเออ (Political Philosophy of Montesquieu) วิเคราะห์ทางประวัติศาสตร์ของการเมือง (Comparative Historical Analysis of Politics) การออกแบบการวิจัยของรัฐศาสตร์ (Research Design of Political Science) และภาษาไทยขั้นสูง (Advanced Thai) ทั้งหมดก็คือ ๑๒ หน่วยกิต ยังไม่รู้ว่าจะได้ A รึเป่าน่ะ

สำหรับวิทชาภาษาไทยเราได้เรียนคำศัพท์ใหม่ ๆ เยอะแยะเลย ส่วนมากเป็นคำศัพท์เกี่ยวกับรัฐศาสตร์ที่คนไทยทั่วไปคงไม่คอยรู้จักไม่คอยใช้เท่าไร เพราะเป็นศัพท์แสงทางรัฐศาสตร์เท่านั้น บางทีสงสัยว่าศัพท์นี้จะเป็นประโยชน์เมื่อเราสอนวิทชานี้หรือไม่ เนื่องจากคนไทยที่เรียนรัฐศาสตร์คงเก่งภาษาอังกฤษอยู่แล้วเนอะ แต่ยังไง ๆ เราชอบเรียนรู้ถึงศัพท์แสงนี้นะครับ ก็สนุกด้วย เช่น ประโยชน์นิยม (utilitarianism) กลุ่มอุดมคติ (idealists) เหตุผลสากล (universal reason) ทฤษฎีธรรมชาติ (natural theory) ทฤษฎีพลกำลัง (force theory) ทฤษฎีสัญญาประชาคม (social contract theory) ทฤษฎีเทวสิทธิ (divine theory) รัฐาธิปัตย์ (leviathan) แล้วก็ยังมีอีกหลายคำแต่ขี้เกียจที่จะพิมพ์อีกแล้วน่ะ เราก็รู้สึกว่าได้เรียนเยอะเทอมนี้ แล้วก็ได้พัฒนาตัวเองบ้างด้วยนะครับผม

Climate, Spirit, and Liberty in the Orient

2011-12-01T14:09:00.000-08:00

This post will probably be my last blog on Montesquieu for a while, mainly because the course I took on this fellow is coming to an end next week. Next semester I will be tackling Machiavelli, which should be cool too! J Most of these posts, though, have originated from snippets of other papers and essays for class. Basically, since they are too short to turn into real academic publications, I thought it might be fun to rework them here as weblogs.

Speaking of academic publications, I do have one piece about Montesquieu that I do hope to refashion into something that may be more acceptable for a peer-reviewed journal. The article will be entitled Montesquieu and the Commercial Republic of Thailand (มงเตสกิเออกับสาธารณรัฐเชิงพาณิชย์ไทย). From what I understand of the process of publishing in academic journals, it will be some time before this piece appears in print. I expect to have to vet my thoughts in a conference as well as subject the paper to at least another two-to-three drafts. So I am guessing six months at the earliest and two years at the latest. Best to start that process now, no? Anyway, until then, here are a few additional thoughts on Montesquieu …

Climate, Spirit, and Liberty in the Orient

“This is not meant at all as a complacent assertion of European superiority,

but on the contrary as a cautionary statement of the despotic menace

that forever lurks beneath the surface of political life.”

—Robert Launay[1]

Montesquieu’s ideation in The Spirit of the Laws is one of relationships. Cause and effect establish an inescapable relationship for this political philosopher. In his dilation upon liberty and the constellation of laws that best supports it, Montesquieu posits a causal relationship between these supportive laws and elements such as climate, terrain, “the way of life,” religion, inclinations, wealth, population, commerce, mores, manners as well as a few more.[2] These relationships for Montesquieu could be called deterministic, I believe. However, they are not unidirectional. Nor are they always sufficient or necessary, or some combination thereof. Nor are they static. Change is a possibility. For the underlying foundations of liberty, theses causes, though deterministic toward liberty’s maturation, are mutable. Determination and change are not mutually exclusive. In understanding Montesquieu’s skepticism of liberty’s potentiality in Persia, or any other Asian nation whose history has only ever exemplified despotism,[3] a recognition that Montesquieu levels a similar skepticism for England’s ability to attain liberty[4]—despite its stumbling upon a regime that appears to inculcate liberty[5]—would serve any modern reader of The Spirit of the Laws well. In this brief blog post, I shall argue that, though Montesquieu is quite explicit (and inventive) in the determining factors that lean toward liberty, he is equally as emphatic that liberty can bloom in even the dreariest deserts where despotism would seem to etiolate every seed, sprout, and sapling of liberty: in Persia, the wider Orient, or otherwise.

Before examining whether liberty can be extended to nations formally under the worse forms of despotism, one would do well to identify where liberty is normally found and what it entails. Liberty is normally found under moderate government, but being moderate is in itself no guarantee of liberty.[6] Having a constitution that is free, of course, can help, but this does not automatically equate to a citizenry that is free.[7] As mentioned above, England, whose constitution was geared toward this freedom, did not necessarily mean that the people had liberty.[8] Thus, before one can turn toward Asia, recognizing that liberty in the West is often inchoate becomes significant. This means that something beyond a constitution is required. For Montesquieu, elements like climate[9] or terrain[10] then emerge as important factors for liberty. Another determining cause for liberty is the spirit, mores, and manners[11]—or in a word, culture. As will be exemplified below in the case of China, the spirit, mores, and manners in the form of industriousness can prove consequential.

As for liberty as a concept, it is inseparable from security in the sense that without security, liberty cannot thrive.[12] Because liberty has been interpreted in so many ways beyond its dependence on security,[13] Montesquieu states unequivocally that liberty extends only as far as “the right to do everything the laws permit;”[14] push liberty beyond the laws and it ceases to have any meaning. One last conceptualization of Montesquieu’s liberty that should not be forgotten is his admission that liberty is not the same thing as happiness. Even if a state is able to attain liberty through some alignment of constitutional law, climate and terrain, and culture, it will never be a surety for happiness.[15]

On first read, then, liberty appears for Montesquieu to be something difficult to nurture in any part of the world, let alone in Asia. But he does single out “the South” in his analysis as facing additional hardships in the way of maintaining liberty. Interestingly, the premier hardship standing in the way of liberty is often the lack of hardships itself. Fertile countries situated upon plains, where less industry is needed for survival, appear to encourage despotism because of greater exposure to conquest.[16] But nations perched atop mountains, where industry is requisite for cultivation of barren lands,[17] seem to have little to preserve aside from liberty itself.[18] Industry appears to be a key component for the maintenance of liberty for Montesquieu.[19] This bodes doubly worse for tropical climates of the South, where the “heat of the climate can be so excessive that the body there will be absolutely without strength,”[20] producing a laziness that will chase labor away from their fields.[21] Montesquieu presents a direct causality between climate and terrain and industry and the resulting lawful administration of a country.[22]

However, this causal link should not be misconstrued as emanating from the person directly; instead people prove to be something like intervening variable between climate-terrain-spirit and the final formation that liberty takes. In other words, for Montesquieu, being Persian or Asian or anything else neither damns one to despotism nor promises liberty. The issue here is not ethnicity; it is not race. Montesquieu is clear that when Europeans spend more than a few seasons in the tropics, they have a propensity to take on similar characteristics of the natives.[23] The children of Northern people born in the South “lose the courage of the European climate”[24] and become more like the people around them. The spirit, mores, and manners then are greatly affected by climate and terrain. In this matrix, the people themselves often prove to be nothing better than vehicles for these traits, as opposed to being something inherent in the people themselves. The question for Montesquieu then arises whether the spirit, mores, and manners or some amalgamation of positive law can trump what may seem as the indomitable challenge of climate and terrain.

What may appear as Montesquieu’s most strident claim against liberty’s potentiality in Asia should be read, I believe, as skepticism, not as an inevitability. One chapter dealing specifically with the relationship between the laws and the climate is entitled The Cause of the Immutability of Religion, Mores, Manners, and Laws in the Countries of the East.[25] Readers who see a concept like immutability may conclude that Montesquieu is advancing a position bereft of any hope of change—that those initial causes of climate and terrain are insurmountable. This is incorrect. Though Montesquieu colors the end effect as deterministically immutable, he does not say that the cause is immutable. The positioning of the epithet immutable becomes decisive here, precisely because, though it freezes the effects so that they appear “today as they were a thousand years ago,”[26] it also frees up the mutability of initial causality. Such a situation where a regime type becomes locked-in or frozen or too costly to alter after an initial conjuncture of causes is nothing more than what a modern political scientist would refer to as path-dependent.[27] Essentially, the path-dependency here is illustrated when the causal conjuncture of elements like climate, terrain, mores, and the like continue without abeyance, negatively paying back into a system without liberty that is incredibly difficult to alter. However, with the addition of the correct variable, the situation, no matter how immutable it may have appeared before, can take on a new path-dependent course. And Montesquieu does not mince words when he finds evidence of such a situation in Asia:

“Thus, in spite of the climate of China, where one is by nature inclined to servile obedience, in spite of the horrors that attend an excessively large empire, the first legislators of China were obliged to make very good laws, and the government was often obliged to observe them.”[28]

The correct variable above turned out to be industriousness. Its addition opened a path towards greater liberty where “power had to be moderate.”[29] If change were not an option in Montesquieu’s theory, then why would he prescribe solutions to those without industry-inducing climates or terrains? For the South, Montesquieu tells us:

“…a good education is more necessary to children than to those of mature spirit, so the peoples of these climates have a greater need of a wise legislator than the peoples of our own.”[30]

Again, when Montesquieu meets with evidence that supports amelioration of the worst effects of climate and terrain, he singles these out with examples—the examples almost always stemming from acts that impress industriousness. He praises instances in China and Siam, where the emperor would perform agricultural ceremonies “to rouse the peoples to their plowing.”[31] Even in the case of Persia—undoubtedly Montesquieu’s exemplar of despotism[32]—he extols people whom he normally pans:

“Among the ancient Persians, on the eight day of the month named Chorm rez the kings would lay aside their pomp and eat with the plowmen. These institutions are remarkable for encouraging agriculture.”[33]

Thus, despite the near impossibility of changing the climate or terrain, other initial causes like spirit, mores, and manners can be altered, effecting new paths toward liberty.

I am afraid that in North America in the early 21st Century, where, for better or for worse, multiculturalism has become something of the dominant (and moral) position in academia, Montesquieu’s theorizing on liberty’s potentiality along the lines of climate, terrain, spirit, mores, manners, and so forth may smack many of our more tetchy readers as something that borders on ethnocentrism, Eurocentrism, imperialism, or even out-and-out racism. Before concluding this blog then, I propose to step back from Montesquieu and marshal a comparative approach by positioning Montesquieu’s ideas above with the ideas of another Frenchman who also made use of climate as a causal variable for political liberty.[34] What should become obvious (I hope!!) is how much Montesquieu’s thoughts do not match up at all with Arthur de Gobineau’s[35] combination of climate and ethnicity—two elements that, unlike Montesquieu, de Gobineau argues are intertwined and immutable. Two quotes will suffice to illustrate the vast difference between an acknowledgement of change (particularly through industriousness) by Montesquieu and the abnegation of change by de Gobineau. Here are de Gobineau’s thoughts on climate:

“If, again, we consider…the most varying conditions of climate and environment…we must conclude that a part of mankind is in its own nature stricken with paralysis, which makes it forever unable to take even the first steps towards civilization, since it cannot overcome the natural repugnance, felt by men and animals alike, to a crossing of blood.”[36]

Unlike Montesquieu, who acknowledges change and examples advice in that direction, de Gobieneau states plainly the impossibility of people from the South of ever attaining “civilization.” De Gobienaeu later connects climate, terrain, and spirit to liberty. He states that the people of the North:

“…have a remarkable love of liberty, and are openly hostile to the formalism under which the Chinese are glad to vegetate, as well as to the strict despotism which is the only way of governing the negro.”[37]

De Gobieneau, in direct opposition to Montesquieu, does not allow room for the change factor that industriousness or any other spirit or constitution of law can have on the South. This short comparative foray into madness ought to clear up any misconceptions about Montesquieu.

In conclusion, Montesquieu’s argument may very well be considered deterministic. Climate and terrain have a direct causal relationship with liberty. However, this determinism is not fatalistic: change can be had, but we should not misconstrue it as a facile undertaking. If liberty is to be introduced into Persian or any other despotic lands where no other form of government has been known,[38] Montesquieu suggests that before we think about changing laws “it would be better to change them by other mores and other manners.”[39] The mores and manners that seem to offer the greatest leverage for Montesquieu are found in industriousness. Montesquieu’s hope for any population wishing to free themselves from the yoke of despotism is, forsooth, tempered by the realities on the ground. But to call his outlook pessimistic would ignore his emblazonment of the power of spirit.

[1] Laurnay, Robert. 2001. “Montesquieu: The Specter of Despotism and the Origins of Comparative Law.” In Rethinking the Masters of Comparative Law, ed. Annelise Riles. Portland, Oregon: Hart Publishing. (page 38).

[2] I 3 ¶14. For ease of reference, all citations of The Spirit of the Laws are from the Cambridge edition edited by Anne M. Cohler, et al. (1989 [1748]) and marked as book, chapter, paragraph.

[3] Persian Letters #80 ¶1: “…Asia, where the rules of politics are the same everywhere.” Citations of Persian Letters are from the Penguin Classics edition edited by C. J. Betts (1973 [1721]) and are indicated by letter, paragraph.

[4] XI 6 ¶69.

[5] III 3 ¶4: “It was a fine spectacle in the last century to see the impotent attempts of the English…Finally, after much motion and many shocks and jolts, they had to come to rest on the very government that had been proscribed.”

[6] XI 4 ¶1.

[7] XII 1 ¶3.

[8] XI 3 ¶69.

[9] XIV 13 ¶5.

[10] XVIII 2 ¶1.

[11] XIX 2 ¶1: “Even liberty has appeared intolerable to peoples who were not accustomed to enjoying it.”

[12] Or, at the very least, an illusion of liberty may suffice. VI 2 ¶2; XII 1 ¶2; XII 2 ¶2.

[13] XI 2 ¶1.

[14] XI 3 ¶2.

[15] XI 7 ¶1; XIV 12 ¶1.

[16] XVIII 2 ¶1-2.

[17] XVIII 4 ¶1.

[18] XVIII 2 ¶1-2.

[19] IV 6 ¶7: “And if, in so doing, it had done no more than increase industry among men, it would have accomplished much”; V 6 ¶6; V 14 ¶17; V 19 ¶14; VII 2 ¶1: “The spirit of commerce, of work, and of virtue makes each one there able and willing to live from his own goods”; VII 3 ¶2; VII 6 ¶2; VII 7 ¶1: “The lazy people living there ruin those who work”; X 13 ¶10; XIII 2 ¶1-4: “She makes them hard workers because she attaches greater rewards to greater work”; XIV 9 ¶1: “A means of encouraging industriousness”; XVIII 4 ¶1; XVIII 6 ¶1-3; XVIII 7 ¶1-2: “There are industrious nations that do good things that do not end with themselves”; XIX 9 ¶1; XIX 20 ¶2; XXI 2 ¶1; XXI 16 ¶6; XXI 22 ¶22: “An accidental tax that does not depend on the industry of the nation…is a bad kind of wealth”; XIII 28 ¶1-3: “…so that not a moment for work is lost”; XIII 29 ¶8; XXX 12 ¶1; Persian Letters #19 ¶7; #85 ¶6: “All the zealots…wreck our industry, thus ensuring that the empire fell…”; #106 ¶18; #115 ¶5-6: “…made for a hard-working population and stimulated industrial and technical skills”; #115 ¶8; #146 ¶8.

[20] XIV 2 ¶13.

[21] XIV 6 ¶1.

[22] XIV 10 ¶7: “The differing needs of different climates have formed differing ways of living, and these differing ways of living have formed the various sorts of laws.”

[23] XIV 3 ¶1-4.

[24] XIV 3 ¶1.

[25] XIV 4 ¶1.

[26] Ibid.

[27] Actually, the term originated in economics. See Pierson, Paul. 2000. “Increasing Returns, Path Dependence, and the Study of Politics.” American Political Science Review 94 (2): 251-267

[28] XVIII 6 ¶3.

[29] XVIII 6 ¶2.

[30] XIV 3 ¶3.

[31] XIV 8 ¶1.

[32] III 10 ¶5; IX 4 ¶4; XI 9 ¶2; XII 29 ¶3; XII 30 ¶5; XIII 19 ¶5.

[33] XIV 8 ¶3.

[34] For a comparative approach, more important than being French, of course, is that this fellow’s writings were, like Montesquieu’s, published before Charles Darwin’s The Origin of Species (1859) or any of the other treatises that misrepresented Darwin’s theory of natural selection thereafter.

[35] de Gobineau, Arthur. 1915 [1853]. The Inequality of Human Races. Adrian Collins and Oscar Levy, eds. New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons.

[36] de Gobineau 1915 [1853], 27-28.

[37] de Gobineau 1915 [1853], 207.

[38] Persian Letters #131 ¶1.

[39] XIX 14 ¶1.

Book Review: Liberalism, Fascism, or Social Democracy by Gregory M. Luebbert

2011-11-15T12:45:00.000-08:00

Luebbert, Gregory M. 1991. Liberalism, Fascism, or Social Democracy: Social Classes and thePolitical Origins of Regimes in Interwar Europe. New York: Oxford University Press.

This book presents a structural argument. Luebbert accounts for the adoption of liberalism, social democracy, and fascism (and “traditional dictatorship” to a much lesser degree) in Europe between the two world wars.

This argument is also comparative—not just one state’s (mis)adventures alone in liberalism, social democracy, or fascism—but an analytical rendering that takes into account the divergent experiences of every national state in Western Europe in its finial estimation of why it is that Britain, France, and Switzerland remained liberal democracies and Sweden, Norway, Denmark, Germany, Netherlands, Belgium, Italy, and Spain went down the path of either social democracy or fascism in the interwar period. This structural-comparative historical angle is important, because for Luebbert the “commonplace explanations of fascism as ‘caused’ by the depression, or by the great inflation in Germany, or by resentment of the Versailles settlement simply do not stand up to comparative analysis” (1991, 307).

Luebbert conceptually divides Europe into liberal and aliberal societies. (This is aliberalism, not the same thing as antiliberalism; the former just means that they were not liberal, whilst the latter indentifies a stronger position of being against liberalism, particularly its penchant for centrist rule in democracies in as much as any preferences for a market-orientated economy.) Historical trends leading up to the interwar period are for Luebbert primary in understand society’s drift towards one of the three regime varieties. Particularly, he highlights the challenges that multifarious societal “preindustrial” cleavages (à la Stein Rokkan) posed for parties and governments. Some preindustrial cleavages included: urban-rural, religious, language, class, urban middle class vs urban worker, rural “family peasantry” vs rural proletariat, or any combination thereof. In general, the more cleavages that were snuffed out before the culmination of WWI, meant the more likely the society would continue to be liberal as opposed to aliberal between WWI and WWII.

Just some interesting takeaways: hadn’t realized that societies that ended up embracing a form of fascism experimented with social democracy first. A devolution of liberalism à social democracy à fascism was the trend in Western Europe for those that did take on fascism (Germany, Italy, and Spain to a lesser degree). Another cool truism: fascism is only possible with mass mobilization, otherwise what you have is the normal, run-of-the-mill dictatorship (like the ones that popped up in Eastern Europe during this period despite affectations otherwise).

Luebbert also defines these three seemingly umbrella terms as different regime types during the interwar period by highlighting the type of identity-class coalitions that they embraced. I’ll let you read about which segments of society partnered with which groups and how that all played out since this is the real meat of Luebbert’s argument.

As far as the applicability of his argument outside of the immediate time-space of interwar Western Europe, Luebbert is cautious of replication/generalizability, especially any adaptations to the “Third World.” But, in the last chapter, he does allow that some concepts may prove useful for comparative ideation.

Overall, enjoyed the book. Definitely finished it feeling more knowledgeable than before. And I feel I have some additional tools for being skeptical of those within case, single-N causal arguments that he dilated against above.

Philosophy of Determinism

2011-11-06T19:30:00.000-08:00

The sorghum that looked like a sea of blood…had been drowned

in a raging flood of revolution and no longer exists.

—Mo Yan, 1993[1]

Having the opportunity to come full circle on Theda Skocpol’s State and Social Revolutions[2] has been rewarding for me and has assisted me in my understanding of comparative historical analysis (CHA) as a methodology. Now that I have had the chance to delve deeper into at least one of the texts that nearly every one of the practitioners of this flavor of methodology cites whenever they want to argue either for or against CHA, I am glad that after first having read the criticisms (and accolades) of Skocpol’s work—and then second stealing some time to read the work in its entirety this past week or so—I can now return to those original essays, reread them, and feel more confident about carving out a place for myself in the exchange of ideas.

For this blog I want to critique the critiques. My floor is covered with crinkled papers and well-thumbed books from Burawoy, Gorski, Lieberson, Mahoney, Rueschemeyer, Sewell, and quite a few others, all of them fighting to find a place in my essay on Skocpol. But I wish to concentrate on one—the one irked me the most. Therefore, in this blog, I shall argue the following: Stanley Lieberson’s essay Small N’s and Big Conclusions[3], though a fine example of the possible misappropriations of Mill’s methods of agreement and disagreement, wholly misrepresents Skocpol’s use of Mill’s methods and completely ignores her accomplishments in successfully acclimating Mill’s methods to a comparative historical study.

Mill’s Two Methods

To be fair Lieberson’s essay is not only focused on Skocpol’s causal argument. His essay is actually leveled against anyone attempting comparative historical research who also utilizes John Stuart Mill’s Method of Agreement or Method of Disagreement[4] in lieu of statistical probability. But, he does cite Skocpol, repeatedly, almost ad nauseum, to the point where that one senses the driving force behind the essay is not so much a refutation of Mill’s methods in comparative historical work, but an eager, long-awaited ambush on any social scientist who strays too far from the statistics path. If so, he chose poorly with Skocpol’s State and Social Revolutions. Skocpol is one of the most self-aware comparative-historical writers who consistently seems to go out of her way to acknowledge the importance of the positivist side of social science. What I really enjoyed about her book was that she accomplished this balancing act whilst also refusing to let go of her principles of time, space, duration, and conjunction in her analysis of social revolutions. Does Skocpol emphasize Mill’s methods as a jumping off point? Yes, very much so. Is Skocpol’s use of Mill’s methods anything as pithy as Lieberson’s examples of cranky airhostesses and dipsomaniacal motorists? Of course not. No one studying political science would bother to read her if that was the case. Allow me to explain why.

The main argument of Lieberson (1991, 307) is that in order to use Mill’s methods, one needs to assume 1) determinism over probability, 2) no errors in measurement, 3) the existence of single cause, and 4) the absence of interaction effects. Lieberson is of course correct. Users of Mill’s methods in the social sciences have their work cut out for them when they wish to move beyond the purely probabilistic universe of statistics. Deterministic propositions in social science are simply difficult to prove. In fact, it is hard to think of a political scientist that would adhere to Mill’s methods as blindly as Lieberson portrays in his example. What was so interesting about Skocpol’s study was that she moved beyond Mill’s methods wherever the realist facts of her research demanded her to do so. She was in no way caged in by Mill’s methods. In nearly every instance she incorporated other methods to tease out root causes and test against the current paradigm of revolutionary studies. I want to review each of the four assumptions that Lieberson levels against how Skocpol uses Mill’s methods herself, starting with the forth point of interaction effects and working backwards to what I believe to be the most challenging aspect of determinism.

Interaction Effects

For those not afraid of independent variables that play off one another, then I say welcome to the social sciences. For those that fret at this challenge, I wonder why they even bother with something as wonderfully messy as human society to begin with. One really has to revel in muck first to appreciate the gems of generalizeable causality occasionally unearthed. That Mill’s methods cannot handle interaction effects is all the more reason to abandon it when the evidence demands us to do so. Case in point, Skocpol’s embraces the fact that in each case of successful social revolution in France, Russia, and China, the level of play between her three main independent variables (organized semi-autonomous peasant communities, state-dependent elite landlords, and international military pressures) varied greatly. In some cases like in China, it was only after the Communist Party of China (CCP) had rallied the peasants to their cause that the CCP became the most effective force against outside military aggression (Skocpol 1979, 257). In other cases like in France, the peasants were largely ignored or even oppressed in places like the Vendee when new pressures to stabilize the state under international military pressure grew (Skocpol 1979, 188). The way the different variables of peasants, landed elites, and external military threats interacted with each other varied in respect to the different states under examination. Yet, by dusting away the more inconsequential nuances of each state case through historical process tracing, Skocpol was able to argue more clearly what three variables were necessary to spark and carry forward a successful social revolution. Skocpol did not adhere to Mill’s methods as stringently as Lieberson suggests. In terms of interaction effects, Skocpol knew when to utilize other tools.

Single Cause

Lieberman is correct in reminding us that Mill’s methods are best used when a single, key explanatory variable can be had. Interestingly, I believe that this assumption of Mill’s was actually adhered to by Skocpol, as opposed to the last point of interaction effects where she sought out completely different tools altogether. But how can this be if Skocpol posits three independent variables? Which of the three is the single cause? The only way Mill’s methods would work is if she were to accept a broader definition of single cause than Mill would have understood in his own time. Conjuncture is key here. The conjuncture of the three variables builds a single cause, for it is only in the combination of all three that Skocpolian social revolution can occur (Sewell 1985, 57)[5]. Any one of the necessary variables (peasants versus elites, elites verses state, or state verses external states) is not sufficient in and of itself to cause a successful social revolution. This can only occur when the conjuncture of all three necessary variables create a single action potential that causes Skocpol’s hypothesized outcome. Though a somewhat odd way of going about Mill’s methods, I do not believe that conjuncture violates the assumption of single cause when the conjuncture itself becomes the single cause.

Measurement Error

The lack of measurement error is a shopworn complaint against qualitative research as much as it is against Mill’s methods. Measurement error does not have any meaning outside of statistical studies. Probability’s concern for measurement error is foreign to Mill’s methods. It is like taking one’s holiday in the tropics and then complaining that there were no snow skis for rent at the beach. It is a conceptual tool that is inoperative when undertaking a comparative historical analysis, let alone an analysis utilizing Mill’s methods. In both single and small-n case studies one does not worry about measurement error; but, one does worry very much about measuring the wrong thing. Skocpol’s book reflects this concern openly. It is the hallmark of a good comparative historical study when the researcher explains why it is exactly she chose what to study and what to exclude. Since every study differs, so will every explanation differ as to the case selection. For Skocpol’s book on social revolution more than a third of the entire text is dedicated to the case selection process[6]. Reading Lieberson’s essay makes one think that Skocpol chose her cases of France, Russia and China “because it [was] relatively easy to develop a theoretical fit for small-n data” (1991, 315). What part of researching 182 full-length historical treatises and arcane academic papers on the French Revolution and Republic, 178 similar works on Russia and its old regime, and 210 on the collapse of Imperial China (not to mention the 600-odd works that the publisher did not allow her to include onto the end for England, Prussia/Germany and Japan[7]) go into Lieberson’s claim that it is “easy to develop a theoretical fit?” It is precisely because Skocpol does not have the luxury of a measurement error that she must delve infinitely deeper into the complexities surrounding which n she will analyze. Learning to tack a +ε onto the end of one’s y=x₁+x₂+x₃+… probability equation is facile. Learning to shift through cases for comparison in small-n analysis demands real talent. The assumption of no measurement error in Mill’s methods is a moot point. By evoking Skocpol’s work as an example of questionable case selection, Lieberson only hinders his own argument.

Determinism

As Lieberson identifies, Mill’s methods assume deterministic causal relationships, not probabilistic ones. I have been pondering over the issue of determinism versus probability since the start of the semester, and I still do not feel like I have come to firm conclusion myself as to which one a political scientist ought to court. However, I do suspect that one is a nobler pursuit than the other. By assuming from the start of any scientific inquiry that there exists between any two or more variables a line of direct deterministic causation, I believe, may be the only option for those verily seeking the Truth. Will the researcher be successful in her endeavor? Most of the time, I think not. Then why say the search for determinism is nobler than probability? Because with probability the researcher, in a sense, gives up before one even begins. Statistics is a highly powerful tool. And one that can benefit a political scientist of any stripe. But it should not be thought of as an epistemological philosophy in its own right. Probability is practical, possibly one of the most practical calculating tools every designed by our species, but I insist it should not be a philosophy. I do not want to search for what probably caused something else to happen. I want to know what specifically, directly, explicably, incontestably caused something to happen. If I use statistics it will only be to support a stronger claim I have postulated under the guise of determinism. Maybe it is bromidic to say “correlation is not causation.” But I believe this assonantal maxim to be true.

Whatever one wants to say about Mill’s methods, the relevant point for this discussion of Lieberson’s critique and Skocpol’s social revolutions is that Mill’s methods lean closer to a philosophy of determinism than to a philosophy of probability. More than any other reason, I think that is why Lieberson is interested in disparaging Skocpol’s espousal of Mill’s methods. Skocpol dismisses the tools of probability from the outset of her analysis, and Lieberson does not like it.

The next question is: what was Skocpol able to determine? She was able to conclude successfully, that for the cases of late eightieth-century France and early to mid twentieth-century Russia and China, a successful social revolution is dependent upon the conjuncture of 1) external military pressures, 2) internal conflict between fractured elites, and 3) a disgruntled autonomous peasantry. As for her theory having legs—like for example social revolutions today in the early twenty-first century and beyond—she is somewhat more timid. In Skocpol’s own words: “If a social revolution were to transform an advanced industrial nation, it would…have to take a very different form, and occur under quite different conditions” (1979, 293). Skocpol does supply one caveat though, that no matter how social revolutions come about in the future she is adamant that the “realm of the state” will be central.

Beyond Probability

In the end, I believe that Lieberson is correct in warning against an overly orthodox usage of Mill’s methods in social science. But because Skocpol never used Mill’s method in the way that Lieberson suggested, Lieberson seems to miss the mark entirely by conjuring up Skocpol’s States and Social Revolutions as his target. Since Lieberson dismisses Skocpol’s unique use ofMill’s methods outright, I believe we should also be able to dismiss Liebersom’s crotchety misuse of Skopol’s argument in a similar manner. As William H. Sewell (2005, 91)[8] has identified on many occasions, the real power behind Skocpol’s research does not stem from an argument based on any Millian type of comparative historical analysis, but rather from her fearless movement beyond the constraints of small-n methodologies when faced with the textual realities of her cases of France, Russia and China. I find myself agreeing more with Sewell’s upstanding of Skocpol’s contribution to the field: the “proof” of any causal argument is less in the Millian or probabilistic logic than in the successful narrative tracing of specific contextual detail.

[1] Story set during China’s revolutionary period (Mo 1993, 358). Mo Yan. 1993. Red Sorghum. New York: Penguin Books.

[2] Skocpol, Theda. 1979. States and Social Revolutions: A Comparative Analysis of France, Russia, and China. New York: Cambridge University Press.

[3] Lieberson, Stanley. 1991. “Small N’s and Big Conclusions: An Examination of the Reasoning in Comparative Studies Based on a Small Number of Cases.” Social Forces 70 (2): 307-320.

[4] Mill, John Stuart. 2002 [1843]. A System of Logic: Ratiocinative and Inductive. Los Angeles, California: University Press of the Pacific.

[5] Sewell, Jr.,William H. 1985. “Ideologies and Social Revolutions: Reflections on the French Case.” Journal of Modern History 57 (1): 57-85.

[6] I counted approximately 160 pages out of a 400 page book as being dedicated to this question of why she chose to compare France, Russia and China as successful cases, and England and Japan as unsuccessful (that is, as political not as social revolutions for England and Japan). This includes primarily the first chapter, the conclusion and all of the sources she cited in the back.

[7] Skocpol (1976, 351) includes even more for “Theoretical and Historical Background,” but after a while I started to get a headache, so I decided it was better to stop counting sources in her bibliography. One could argue that this level of research is to be expected for this type of study—with which I do agree. But I also think it is important to step back occasionally from the academic realm and recognize just how much time and energy it must have required to develop her “easy…theoretical fit.”

[8] Sewell, Jr.,William H. 2005. Logics of History: Social Theory and Social Transformation. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press.

New Book: Chiang Mai and Northern Thailand (Other Places Travel Guide)

2011-10-27T18:08:00.000-07:00

Chiang Mai and Northern Thailand (Other Places Travel Guide)

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Description from back cover:

The North of Thailand is emerging as a standalone, off-the-beaten-path destination in the otherwise well-traversed Southeast Asia travel route. With the northern mountains covered in verdant jungle and sprinkled with age-old hill tribes, elephant camps, and ancient ruins, it is no wonder that the North is becoming an unforgettable experience for travelers. Laid-back cities like Chiang Mai and Chiang Rai offer a burgeoning restaurant and nightlife scene that provides the perfect respite after experiencing the natural beauty of Northern Thailand.

T. F. Rhoden has spent seven years exploring this fascinating country. First as a student, then as a Peace Corps volunteer, and finally as an aid worker on the Thai-Burma border. Through his unique experiences, Rhoden provides insight into the country that has become his second home. With a comprehensive background section covering the history, culture, and logistics of travel, and sixteen sections dedicated to each stop on his recommended travel route, this book will allow travelers to feel like locals while enjoying the indisputable beauty that the North has to offer.

• Sights & Activities: From the elephant treks around Chiang Mai to the ancient ruins of Sukhothai Historical Park, we provide everything you will need to experience the beauty of the North.

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Book Review: The History of the Sevarambians by Denis Veiras

2011-10-22T17:28:00.000-07:00

Why did I read The History of the Sevarambians by Denis Veiras (surname also spelt Vairasse, Vairasse, Veyras, etc…)? I would be curious to learn why others might be reading this book in the early half of the 21^st Century. I wonder if others came by this text in the same way as I did.

So, when reading Montesquieu’s The Spirit of Laws, one quickly notices that Montesquieu has a penchant for citing other people’s works. Well, that is how I got introduced to this weirdly enchanting story about a lost tribe of Noah’s called the Sevarambians. Montesquieu’s direct quote comes from Book IV, Chapter 6, ¶1 of his famous tome:

“When you see, in the Life of Lycurgus, the laws he gives the Lacedaemonians, you believe you are reading The History of the Sevarambians.”

I was feeling inquisitive, so I went to the library to see if this Histoy of the Sevarambians even existed or if this citation was like so many of Montesquieu’s other sources in that it was going to be nearly impossible to unearth. As for Plutarch’s Life of Lycurgus, I knew I could find that easily enough, but the other one I was not so sure about. Luckily, they had a copy and I was able to lose myself for an evening or two in some fun 17^th Century lit.

The copy I read was edited by two people: John Christian Laursen and Cyrus Masroori. If you are going to take the time to hunt this book down, then I recommend this edition for many reasons.

The first edition of this book was published in English in 1675, and again in 1679. The story is in the utopian genera. The only other specifically utopian book that I had read before this one was Jonathan Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels. Laursen et al., however, describe Veriras’s book more as a mixture between Thomas More’s Utopia and Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels. I think that Veiras’s book is more playful like Swift’s, though without quite the same level of symbolism of Swift’s tale.

Two elements I really enjoyed about the book were first the writing style (all those crazy, inconsistent spellings and verb endings of early-modern English as well as pre-novel confusion over the usefulness of things like quotes and paragraphs) and second all of the imaginative elements like unicorns for riding, different townships for people’s different iniquities, and odd laws on both the prohibition and encouragement of intercourse. There are a few other fun elements as well that make up the Sevarambians’s utopia, but I do want to give them away here.

The good thing about this edition by Laursen and Masroori, is that they have included the expanded editions of the text that appeared in other languages, but that was not translated back into English again until the 1738 publication. There also seems to be some doubt over whether or not this fellow named Denis Veiras even wrote the book. Laursen et al. proffer a nice introduction to the text that helps to explain this as well as elaborate on all of the other writers who have cited this strange book over the years (like Montesquieu, Kant, Bayle, Rousseau, Leibniz).

If you are looking for a fun and singular read from the 17^th Century that can be finished in two or three sittings, then I recommend this interesting tale.

The Science and Humanity of the Laws: Montesquieu

2011-10-15T07:40:00.000-07:00

…every Government ought to be established as much upon Natural Reason as possibly can be, that every Member of Society may freely enjoy his natural liberty…

—Denis Veiras, 1675[1]

Citing a lack of plan or order to Montesquieu’s The Spirit of the Laws may be a shopworn observation[2], but I also think that it is a sturdy, as well as honest, admission from which to delve deeper into the text. Every topic with which Montesquieu engages is limned from behind by a certain unsystematic light. But as Montesquieu outlines in the text’s preface, if we wish to understand in the least the author’s aim, we “can find it only in the design of the work” (Preface, ¶2)[3]. For this quick blog post I want to talk about Montesquieu’s concept of governmental regimes. Marshaling evidence from the first eight chapters, I think that two arguments could be forwarded that do surface beyond the text’s initially confusing design: first, that Montesquieu presents his analysis of regime types in a scientific way; and second, that through this scientific reading and through Montesquieu’s compositional style itself, Montesquieu affords the reader a clearer idea for what the morally[4] correct or best regime actually is—indeed a sharper contrast than would have been available if Montesquieu had simply stated outright his position on the matter.

Like Émile Durkheim, I see Montesquieu as a founder of social science. Unlike Durkheim, I have no desire to get tangled up in any singular (though interesting) ideas of externalist/internalist, final/efficient explanations[5]. More simply, what we can take away from Montesquieu’s analysis of regime type is that he does two things which warrant the social scientific label. First, he never comes out crudely and commits himself to any one regime type between Books II to XIII. His concern is first and foremost with understanding the efficiency and effectiveness of the three regime varieties he postulates: republican, monarchical, and despotic (Bk II, Ch 1, ¶1). To make these regimes as efficient as they can be, the “spring” internal to a regime must be clearly articulated. For democratic republicanism, that spring is virtue (Bk III, Ch 3, ¶1); for a less efficient aristocratic republicanism, that spring is “a lesser virtue, a certain moderation” (Bk III, Ch 4, ¶5); for monarchy, that spring is honor (Bk III, Ch 6, ¶1); and for despotism, that spring is fear (Bk III, Ch 9, ¶1). As for these regime varieties being effective, Montesquieu speaks to the educational goal of each particular regime. Under effective republicanism, education must be geared towards self-sacrificing patriotism (Bk IV, Ch 5, ¶2). Under monarchy, education primarily centers on politeness (Bk IV, Ch 2, ¶11). Under despotism, education is in servility (Bk IV, Ch 3, ¶1). All of this speaks of a cool, scientific equilibrium in his understanding of how regimes work well.

A second point that lends itself to describing Montesquieu as a founder of social science is his reliance on empirical evidence. These empirical data are nothing like the excesses found in the modern quantitative research of social scientists with a statistical bent. Instead, he uses evidence in a way similar to what today might be called historical comparative analysis in historical sociology and in my own subfield of comparative politics[6] (Mahoney 2003). The empirical data in Montesquieu’s cases are historical texts and secondary literature of that era. When Montesquieu makes a claim towards either a spring or educational component of one of those three regimes—what in my mind I translated earlier as efficiency and effectiveness of those forms of governments—he very often also backs up that claim with a historical example, normally from the ancient Greeks or Romans, or with a contemporary comparison, drawing from popular travelogues of that time. To take one example out of many, when Montesquieu discourses on the education most fitting for a republican regime, he cites in the same chapter both laws that Lycurgus gave to the Spartans in the past (Bk IV, Ch 6, ¶2) and contemporary examples from William Penn’s founding of a Quaker community in America (Bk IV, Ch 6, ¶4). Nearly every chapter of Book VIII is also an excellent example of this consistent utilization of comparative technique. Here, Montesquieu compares China to all of the ancient accounts he had forwarded earlier in Book VIII. In that last chapter, Montesquieu uses travelogues from former seamen (Bk VIII, Ch 21, ¶4), rudimentary ethnography from clergymen (Bk VIII, Ch 21, ¶3&7), and simple epistolary accounts from missionaries (Bk VIII, Ch 21, ¶5&13). Though Montesquieu would not have used these terms himself, this marshaling of empirical evidence marks a shift in thought, I believe, from the politically philosophic to the politically scientific.

If Montesquieu’s presentation of regime varieties is more socially scientific as I suggest, then why the great proliferation of diverse interpretations of Montesquieu’s intentions over the last two and a half centuries since publication? I believe much of this is born of his compositional style. In one breath Montesquieu can be cool-headed, almost painfully mechanistic:

“This relation between the laws and the principle tightens all the springs of government, and the principle in turn receives a new force from the laws. Thus in physical motion, an action is always followed by a reaction” (Bk V, Ch 1, ¶1).

And in other passages it is difficult not to think that Montesquieu is trying to warn the reader against particular regimes. When speaking of despotism he claims that:

“In these states, nothing is repaired, nothing improved. Houses are built only for a lifetime; one digs no ditches, plants no trees; one draws all from the land, and returns nothing to it; all is fallow, all is deserted” (Bk V, Ch 14, ¶18).

What then are we to make of this technique of presenting an argument of the three regimes mechanically, only later to be undercut by an impartibility articulated via vivid examples that cannot but illicit the emotive?

As a second argument, I want to suggest that we cannot ignore his style in this regard. Style welcomes interpretation. And though I recognize immediately my own empirical-seeking tendencies in representing the social scientific side of Montesquieu (as in my first argument), one can just as easily be enchanted by the lyrical methods in which Montesquieu turgidly populates his examples. When discoursing upon the three regimes between Book II to Book VIII, Montesquieu’s stylistic choices do indeed point to a preference for mankind. If we limit ourselves to Montesquieu’s big three—republicanism, monarchy, or despotism—his clearest penchant for what we should not want to live under is despotism. The other two are not as evident as despotism[7]. Using a humanities approach to style, despotism is the strongest example of a regime that Montesquieu dislikes. Evidence for this dislike will be forwarded by how he writes more than what he writes[8].

Montesquieu consistently gives short shrift to the passages on despotism when compared to republicanism and monarchy. A flippancy that is so pronounced suggests that he does not expect the reader to take despotism too seriously as something for which a citizenry should opt. For example, over three chapters of Book II, only three paragraphs are afforded for the nature of despotism, as opposed to forty-nine for republicanism and monarchy. Book IV also shows this heightened disparity: only five paragraphs on education in despotism, as opposed to fifty-seven for republicanism and monarchy. Book VII also has a similar disparity of concentration. See below for the overall trend for which regimes Montesquieu concentrates on the most[9].

The starkest example of style in the first eight books is in Book V, Chapter 13 when Montesquieu whittles down his “idea of despotism” to just one paragraph of two sentences—one lyrical, the other laconic. This one-paragraph, two-line chapter sticks out against the preceding and later chapters of Book V. In fact, aside from the initial chapter of Book VIII, this is the shortest chapter in the first eight books[10]. A writer simply does not do this without a reason. He is trying to draw the reader’s attention to these two sentences. As a reader, we have to take this signposting seriously. And this is what he asks us to halt for: “When the savages of Louisiana want fruit, they cut down the tree and gather fruit. There you have despotic government” (Bk V, Ch 13, ¶1). I do not believe anyone could read these two sentences—which Montesquieu has gone at out of his way to emphasize—as a positive, as an interpretation that he advocates despotism. More than any other compositional construction proffered in the first eight books, Montesquieu grabs our attention here and demands that we take seriously this description of despotism as his estimation of despotism.

By way of concluding this short post, I think we can ask ourselves: if Montesquieu truly wishes to elucidate a negative connotation for despotism from the reader, does this then mean that he also forfeits the scientific equilibrium posited in the initial argument of this essay? Not necessarily, I would argue. For a learned audience, the most convincing arguments are those that, though based on empirical observations, will also elucidate passion in the listener—much more so than any unempirical values that may elucidate passion. The former is far superior and Montesquieu wields this technique masterfully. In the end, though, I believe that Montesquieu is able to balance both the impartiality of the mechanisms behind his classification of regimes with a poetic emphasis on the undesirability of despotism. Within the first eight books of The Spirit of the Laws, Montesquieu shows himself to be a precursor to the social sciences as much as he displays himself to be a skilled and thought-provoking writer.

[1] I was not able to learn whether Montesquieu (Bk IV, Ch 6, ¶1) read the first edition of The History of the Sevarambians or one of the later expanded editions translated in French.

[2] Lowenthal, David. 1959. “Book I of Montesquieu’s The Spirit of the Laws.” The American Political Science Review 53 (2): 485-498.

[3] All citing/translations for The Spirit of the Laws are from the Cambridge edition edited by Anne M. Cohler, et al.

[4] This is a secular morality, I believe. Though Montesquieu ascribes some laws to the Christian deity (Bk I, Ch 1, ¶1-4), I cannot help but read those as playful affectations. Pierre Manent articulates well Montesquieu’s importance to our understanding of modernity, elucidating both the Christian and pagan values that he argues Montesquieu wishes from which to steer us. But, then, to steer us towards what? Though a precocious reading on my part of The Spirit of the Laws, Montesquieu like Spinoza before him offers the reader a glimpse of what a secular morality might look like, which is nowhere more evident than from the passion he ignites in the reader when scientifically analyzing the efficiencies of his three regime types—in truth, an emotive analysis in that the reader eventually becomes impelled to reject despotism for its inhumanity, if not the other two as well. Since this is a cross-fertilization (contamination?) of ideas stemming from my reading Montesquieu in tandem with Sam Harris’ The Moral Landscape: How Science Can Determine Human Values, I felt it better to relegate these musings to a footnote. The word morality could be withdrawn from the sentence whilst not impinging on my argument, but I wanted clarity around my use of it. Montesquieu and a secular (even scientific) morality? Better to save that for another post.

[5] Miller, W. Watts. 1993. “Durkheim's Montesquieu.” The British Journal of Sociology 44 (4): 693-712.

[6] Mahoney, James, and Dietrich Rueschemeyer, eds. 2003. Comparative Historical Analysis in the Social Sciences. New York: Cambridge University Press.

[7] Holistically speaking for the first eight books, Montesquieu has no fondness for despotism, but for monarchy and republicanism (and aristocracy) arguments could be and have been forwarded in either direction as to what his true intentions are. Stylistically (and personally), I think that he has no love for monarchy as well (Bk III, Ch 5, ¶8), but for this simple blog post, sticking to despotism works as a more focused example.

[8] As a political scientist, a humanities approach is not completely unfounded; it can even be quantifiable, as will be evident in my argument here. See Andrew Abbott’s Lyrical Sociology. Another reason for seeking answers in how he writes as opposed to what he writes is because I found myself mimicking Susan Krause’s (2000) argument too closely in her chapter in Montesquieu’s Science of Politics. In a way, a blog like this invites chancing an answer from less studier ground, hence the how.

[9] Thomas Pangle (1989, 95) also occasionally counts up chapters and pages to argue the point of where Montesquieu is focusing his attention. However, this does not represent an in-depth breakdown on which regimes Montesquieu tackles the most. Many paragraphs were unclear which regime he actually had in mind as well as many were on other topics completely so were left out of this graph. One can also argue that a surface analysis like ignores the various sizes of paragraphs as well. Republicanism and aristocracy could, of course, also be broken down into two different regimes, but I thought it more pertinent to keep to Montesquieu’s tripartite typology. (Plus, doing this with a few more colleagues would have increased intercoder reliability.)

[10] Other notable passages outside the first eight books are Bk X, Ch 1 on offensive force, Bk XV, Ch 11 on slavery, and Bk XXIV, Ch 1 on religion, wherein all of these I would argue that Montesquieu is using style to grab the reader’s attention as to his true intention on these subjects.

Book Review: Social Origins of Dictatorship and Democracy by Barrington Moore

2011-10-04T20:30:00.000-07:00

Publisher: Beacon Press; Reprint Ed (Sep 1, 1993)
ISBN-10: 0807050733
Price (paperback): $24.68
Price (Kindle): $15.12

Social Origins of Dictatorship and Democracy: Lord and Peasant in the Making of the Modern World is a masterful example of comparative historical analysis. More than any of the pieces we have read in the past few weeks, Barrington Moore, Jr. is able to build as solid of an argument for the three major “routes to the modern world” from agrarian society as he does for the importance of qualitative methodologies in general. In other words, what he analyzes is as important, I believe, as how he goes about analyzing it.

This is a sprawling, rolling text. And I think it is helpful to mention a few design elements of the book before tackling it. First off, you have to read the Preface. Do not just brush past that for Chapter I. Social Origins of Dictatorship and Democracy—much more like a tome from one of the political theorists of centuries past (Montesquieu’s Preface to The Spirit of the Laws comes to mind)—has a lot of important ideas crammed into the Preface. In fact, if you do not spend some time on just those first eight pages of the Preface, Chapters I-III, will wash over you like some ugly biblical wave of powerful historicity. Moore’s preface is the lifeboat that will keep you afloat. With that simple, but honest admission out of the way, we can move forward.

But instead of moving on to Chapter I, I suggest we do something criminal—something I am positive Moore would not want us to do—by skipping past the first six chapters and peaking ahead to the last three. Why do this? Well, it is because Moore does something a bit odd with the design of the book. In building his causal arguments of the main factors that propel a national state from an agrarian society to an industrial society, Moore, in a way, places the evidence before the argument. This is why I said the Preface was so important earlier, because without it, trying to understand what Moore is after can seem somewhat frustrating for the reader. This unique and imaginative design creates the surreal experience for the reader of being a watcher of history unfolding before you. You actually get the sense that you do not know how things are going to turn out.

Even though we all know that Chapters I-III on England, France, and America will end with these national states enjoying democratic regimes, and that Chapter IV and V on China and Japan will lead to more autocratic regimes, and that Chapter VI on India will lead to a muddled mess (you knew that one about India, right? ha! Do not forget that this was book was published in 1966)—even though we as good political science students know all this already, Moore, by electing to wait until the end of his book to outline clearly his main argument, allows the reader to truly appreciate the complicated narrative of case-specific facts that must not be allowed to rust alone and forgotten and that must be properly polished and used to prop up the enfolding process of time and rich textuality if we ever hope to understand what went into, what caused the modern world to be modern.

Cool, right? Anyway…

So here is the soulless version of Moore’s argument, stripped of all the goodies of time; three avenues exist, he argues, to get from peasant-infested agriculture to modern industry:

Route of Bourgeois Revolution, a combination of capitalism and parliamentary democracy (of which he cites England, France, and America in Chapters I, II, and III).
Route of “Revolution from Above,” the fascist variety, still with capitalism, though with ugly top-down reactionary politics (say hello to Japan in Chapter V).
Route of Peasant Revolution, this sucker leads to communism (China, he emphasizes here in Chapter IV).

There is also something of a fourth route, if one can call it that:

Route of Stillborn Revolution, it seems that India had yet to work out its “backwardness” by the time Moore was authoring this in the 1960s (Chapter VI).

This is the main gist of his book. And what, then, are the empirical data leading to this conclusion? That, of course, cannot be given away in this small review. I say that it is much better to digest the book for yourself. Enjoy!

The Gulf

2011-10-01T14:33:00.000-07:00

Yay! I have a new flash fiction piece out. She is short--less than 600 words I think--so enjoy!

The Gulf by T. F. Rhoden

Having that view of the gulf was important to the retired high school instructor. New apartments had been built, a modern shopping boulevard had been developed, and, even, a row of storage units had been constructed over the decades, but that view—his own private vantage point onto the salt water that seeps into Galveston, Texas every day—that view had been maintained.

Old Man Rockwall sat on his favorite stiff-backed chair...[read more]

Whence the State, Brutha?

2011-09-17T13:41:00.000-07:00

This week our reading materials have tried to answer questions like: Where does the modern state come from? How was it formed? Why did the rate of state formation differ across Europe? Or across the globe for that matter?

One of the things I like best about this class on Comparative Historical Analysis (CHA) is that its multifarious users are not afraid to marshal methodologies of social science that would cause other cheeseball quant-heads to baulk, such as: time series, analytical/causal narrative, path dependence, Boolean-like explanations, sufficient/necessary cause, and, in general, just better historical groundings. That last one, the historical groundings, is what I really find fascinating and simply enjoyable to learn. Utilizing CHA means being more concerned with outcome as opposed to any social-scientific affectations to experiment.

My favorite new thinker for this week is a fellow named Charles Tilly. Though we also went over works by Perry Anderson, Brian M. Downing, Michael Man and Francis Fukuyama, I thought Charles Tilly’s 1992 book Coercion, Capital, and European States, AD 990-1990 to be most explanatory for those questions posited above, as well as enjoyable (though Fukuyama was a close second—that cat really is the most readable out of the bunch!). We also had two more authors to go over, Fernado López-Alves and Jorge I. Domínguez, but I shall wait for a future post to go more in-depth on their writings since they were more concerned with Latin America than Europe like the others were.

Tilly starts off by stating that his goal is to understand the origins of the national state in Europe. Now, first off, when I initially read that I thought that national state was a typo for nation-state (no al suffix), but he clearly delineates between the two (as does Anderson):

National State: governs multiple regions/cities via “centralized, differentiated, and autonomous structures.”
Nation-State: people within share “strong linguistic, religious, and symbolic identity.”

When using those definitions, a national state is territorially fat (so not like a city-state à la Athens circa 500BC) and has reinforcing institutions (so not an empire à la Alexander 323BC). Notice that in this meaning, national states can be nation-states and vice versa, but that seems to be rare, for how often does a larger national state really meet the requirements of “strong linguistic, religious, and symbolic identity”—not so often really. This has made me realize that in the past when I used the term nation-state I probably should have said national state. In everyday life, though, I do not think it really matters which one I use to refer to an entity like the USA. But for the political science world, it is most definitely better to start internalizing these hair-splitting definitions.

Anyhow…

So where did Europe get their plethora of national states? Well, Tilly's analysis boils down to two main factors: war and economy (hence the title of the book Coercion, Capital, and European States). In his estimation they have mutually reinforced each other in Europe for years and have had the capacity to make—if not directly lead to—the formation of numerous national states. What I enjoyed so much about this piece is that though this may seem reductionist, in some way one does have to whittle down to the most relevant factors if he or she is going to try and explain 1,000 years in 271 pages. In that sense the argument has a Jared Diamond feel about it.

War can be thought of as a process of accumulation and concentration of coercion towards the growth of a state, whilst the economy can be seen as a process of accumulation and concentration of capital towards the growth of cities. It is then when these two, the state and the city, become more dependent on each other that one sees the formation of national states within the geopolitical arena. Concepts like human agency and class are taken as less relevant (though Tilly does address those). A basic schematic is below:

The real joy of the book though is not so much in his answer to the question Whence the state? as postulated above, but in the awesome whirlwind tour of Europe from 990AD to 1990AD that he provides as evidence for his claim. That is really the heart of the book. After the initial chapter where he outlines his main idea above, he runs through the following: how wars made states and vice versa, states and their citizens, lineages of the national state, the European state system, and ends with a discussion on soldiers and states in the modern world.

This formulation of Charles Tilly is clearly ambitious and was not published until the last decade of his career. Criticisms do abound for his explanation, but most of them have been leveled at the particulars. What would make a more fruitful criticism—what I want to read for myself as well—would be one that encompasses the same scope as Tilly’s argument. That, too, would make an awesome read.

Seattle's 'The Monarch Review' Publishes New Short Story entitled 'Oils'

2011-09-06T20:26:00.000-07:00

Yay, I'm happy about this! Even though I know the editor over there probably wanted to strangle me, we were able to work through my super-verbose-crazy-simile-filled-flowery-fuck-being-parsimonious-stylist issues and publish this short story (which reminds me that I want to do a post about the tumultuous dynamic that exists between writer and editor). So, here is the first bit. Click on the link to read more. And don't worry she clocks in at less than 2,000 words! ^__^

Oils

No morning romp, no private onanism; no shared breakfast, no quick snack; no pot of coffee, no shot of espresso: the two hours or so before dawn had to be used for work, had to be used solely for painting.

Sevek awoke because of despair. But he awoke quietly, disturbing neither Pranaya nor the child sleeping bodkin between her parents. His wife and daughter knew nothing of his desperation. They only had a vague sense of his plight, understood that he wanted to paint, but did not know the ultimate reason why.

Pranaya’s head lay unpillowed. She was as supine to her husband’s plight as she was to the world beyond their mattress.

Sevek’s daughter, lying flesh against her mother’s umber midriff, seemed lifeless to him. Both the females looked dead in their sleep.

The painter rolled away from his family towards the uncurtained window. The city glow of downtown Dallas murmured into the bedroom, enough to allow Sevek to read the unadorned timepiece at the other end of their bedroom. He had some time yet ere dawn.... [read more]

Damn those imperialistic tendencies of mine...

2011-09-03T12:12:00.000-07:00

Is it bad form as a writer to respond to a blog-post review? :) I admit fully that when I was compiling these stories for Burmese Refugees, I did not think that others would think me an imperialist, but...

Read the full review by the brunette bibliophile here.

T F Rhoden said...

Thank you for the review!

At first I admit I was hesitant to respond though. It seems there were more than a few parts of the publication that really irked you.

I am disappointed that you reject my reflections because they are "white male Western." This gave me pause.

But, after mulling it over a bit, I came to the conclusion that you have not traveled outside of America much. In that case, I think that I can be faulted for not having presented a more vivid picture of how sordid the situation in Burma is as well as what some of that country's deficiencies are when compared to a country like America or other Western European states.

The quote that you cite in evidence of my imperialist tendencies I believe is misplaced. Is it so wrong that I wish to use the adjectives "normal" or "modern" for a woman who is educated and willing to speak out about the issues that matter to her?

Culture runs deep--but not deeper than the right for liberty, regardless of the form of participatory government it takes. Maybe it is bromidic to say such things in the face of multiculturalism's popularity today in the US? But until you have worked with people that have lived under regimes without liberty, I suppose it can be very hard to conceptualize what effect that lack of liberty can have on a person's cultural upbringing.

I reject fully the notion that I cannot critique a culture that teaches servility and docility to a despotic regime.

If you do not believe me, book a ticket to Yangon right now. The culture of fear there is palpable. I praised the woman as independent, vocal--and dare I say it!--modern and normal because of her strength in standing up against a bad regime and the culture of fear that it perpetuates.

Being male, Caucasian or Western should not preclude me--nor anyone--from such salient observations. It worries me that you believe I am stepping out of bounds for making such observations.

Lyrical Sociology

2011-08-28T19:26:00.000-07:00

Defenses of epistemological turf, questions concerning others’ ontological claims, a million-zillion methodologies…and I am less than a fortnight in.

I have already concluded that the social sciences are funky: it seems any idea can find a home here as long as its owner knows his Greco/Latinate vocab, never forgets to say the data show and not the data shows, and can memorize the names of a thousand lonely practitioners of this field for citing purposes, ninety-nine percent of them wholly unknown to the rest of the hapless public. (And speaking of science, one, it seems, needs neither be particularly scientific nor social in his or her research to be included in this club as well, but I shall save that paradoxical story for another post.)

I admit fully that this is all kinda cool! I already feel as though my brain is growing—my neurons are working overtime: synapses are finding new connectors, dendritic trees are pulsating with commands, action potentials are being strengthened, myelin sheaths are massaging axons at thrice their normal rate, terminals are releasing payloads of milky chemicals with extra special care. Yep, I’m getting smart up in this nug!

That said, I am finding my first written assignment on methodology a challenge. One either knows this stuff or not; there is no in-between when it comes to this. The particular class is entitled Comparative Historical Analysis (CHA) in Political Science. It is considered one of the core courses for my proposed subfield of Comparative Politics. There is quite a lot to take in, but let me see if I can explain the three main theoretical concerns of CHA with as little social science jargon as possible. Basically, anyone who undertakes a study of some social phenomenon utilizing CHA needs to consider the following:

Causal analysis is important (as opposed to weird system theories that consider human actors and events as superfluous—yeah, those are out there!).
Time is an important factor (as opposed to even weirder structural theories that are afraid of temporal analysis, since time means they also have to consider change).
Must be clear about the time periods compared. (Some folks opt for a “freezing up” of time periods in order to compare case by case; others emphasize how intertwined/dependent these cases can be.)

I already have a feeling that CHA may end up being the way I go when I begin research for the doctorial dissertation. There are a few other elements that I really like about this approach as well (like the openness to use both qualitative and/or quantitative when necessary), but first I feel I must mention Andrew Abbott’s incredibly seductive idea of “lyrical sociology” to show how it stands up against CHA’s eventful temporality approach for political science.

From what I can tell, Abbott is a kind of a quirky guy. He seems to be both well respected (meaning that others cite him freely in the academicjournals) and to have some original thoughts that sometimes seem to boot the science right out of social science. Observe:

In a paper entitled Against Narrative: A Preface to Lyrical Sociology he argues away the importance of causal narrative (CHA) as defined above, trying to replace it with figurative emotion. I was a bit spellbound by Abbott’s discount of the narrative for any type historical analysis of the social world when I read the journal paper—thought it was kind of cool actually. His argument is like taking a Gatling gun, arming it with concepts and aesthetics from the humanities, setting the crosshairs at Comparative Historical Analysis, and letting go at the target.

Abbott thinks sociologists should not to be afraid to figuratively jump into the world they are describing. He argues for strong personification of the subject matter under study. He aims to have the researcher communicate their emotional stance, and to do so engagingly. The word that Abbott uses to capture what he believes needs to be comparatively studied is image. So, for example, whereas someone using CHA might compare, say, independent historical cases or path-dependent narratives, Abbott would argue that only the images of those cases or those narratives are what really matter for a researcher. The image of this lyrical sociology would then be made up of three theoretical elements:

Momentaneity (being able as the researcher to feel the “presentness” of that past case/narrative and convey it to the reader)
Location (being able to change one’s perspective of the world to that of the subjects’ under consideration—in both time and space—and then effectively conveying that to the reader as well).
Expression of non-moral emotion (being able to pump the images full of as much raw emotive power whilst also avoiding any moral judgments).

The reason why, I think, this lyrical sociology of Abbott’s is so compelling is because he also stresses the importance of the reader of these social scientific studies. No one else, not a single one of the other denizens I had to plow through for this week’s initial literature in CHA ever bothered to mention the fact that others eventually have to read this shit. This is a gem of an insight that Abbott is not afraid to reflect on and even theorize about.

So, will I really be able to use Abbott’s singsong concepts for my own research in the future? Honestly, I cannot say yet. As I mentioned above, I am less than two weeks into the first semester of a four-year PhD program, so I am hesitant to place all of my ontological eggs in one epistemological basket. But I can say easily enough that I am smitten with Abbott’s view of Comparative Historical Analysis at the moment.

Book Review: Persian Letters by Montesquieu

2011-08-19T08:37:00.000-07:00

I understood, entering into this PhD thing, that my intake of books (and magazines, newspapers, journals) would have to increase by about fourfold, but, of course, like anything in life, appreciation for the challenge is never palpable until you experience it firsthand. I thought it might be fun to reflect on some of these texts as I go through the learning process and write a few reviews of these books that no one outside of the political science world—let alone the social sciences—would probably ever want to read. This first title, though, does have a wider audience then the normal poli-sci klatch.

One of my courses for the semester is entitled Topics: Modern Political Philosophy, which is a class offered every semester here where the topical political philosopher in question changes. This term the philosophizing fellow is the early eighteenth-century thinker Charles-Louis de Secondat, baron de La Brède et de Montesquieu, better known simply as Montesquieu. Before class starts on Monday, I wanted to read something by the guy that was neither part of proscribed syllabus nor only about politics. Thankfully he wrote a small piece called Persian Letters before he wrote The Spirit of the Laws.

Here is what I think:

Publisher: Oxford University Press, USA (May 11, 2008)

ISBN-10: 0192806351

Cover Price (print): $13.95

Cover Price (e-book): $7.16

Any book that has the staying power that this title has had will have merit. Published nearly three hundred years ago (in 1721), Persian Letters by Montesquieu is an epistolary novel that traces the fictional correspondence between two eighteenth-century Persians and their countrymen as they travel through the occidental world for the first time, eventually settling in Paris for a decade during the remaining years of Louie XIV’s reign. The book illustrates what we would now call today culture shock for the two main characters as they try to make sense of their new surroundings and the colorful people that enliven their day-to-day soirées and sojourns into European life at the onset of the Enlightenment.

This compellation has more than a few witticisms and biting criticisms of the times. Reading it today, three-hundred years later, it is obvious that Montesquieu used the fictional characters as a cover for his own criticisms. Though which critiques actually parallel his thoughts is open to question, this ambiguity, I think, actually making the piece more enjoyable to read. I cannot verify the accurateness of Montesquieu’s portrayal of these Persians—would they have really have reacted the way they had?—but a quick glance at the introduction to any modern reprinting of the text will tell you that Montesquieu used the best available resources at the time to capture what they would have likely reacted. Sometimes, you have to wonder though if he is working off imaginative stereotypes more than anything. The character development of the Persians is slight and the plot that Montesquieu throws us is light until the last few letters when events seem to pick up and then rush towards an interesting finale. However, I think it is better to judge the book on its playful musings and witticisms. I can imagine that much of what this Frenchman wrote would have been shocking, maybe even scandalous at the time.

The most entertaining features of the book come from the main Persian’s communiqué with his seraglio back home. His many wives under lock and key in his desert harem, their hinted-at misadventures in lesbianism and infidelity, and the dictatorial African eunuchs who relentlessly keep watch over them—all of that fun stuff kept the book moving forward, and, consequentially, was my favorite part as well.

Another entertaining element to the piece was, of course, Montesquieu’s musings on everything from government, virtue, law, morality, taxation, metrology to religion, particularly the Catholic Church. The best quotes from the book come from his thoughts on religion. One of my favorites:

“I believe in the immortality of the soul periodically. My opinions depend entirely on my physical condition. According to whether I have greater or less vitality, or my digestion is functioning well or badly…I know how to prevent religion from disturbing me when I am well, but I allow it to console me when I am ill.”

Speaking of quotes, that is one thing that I feel I ought to warn against. I imagine that I am not the only one who will be reading this text in anticipation of Montesquieu’s treatise The Spirit of the Laws. I found myself enjoying the book much more when I read it as literature and not when I was hunting for witty quotes to be used later on for the inevitable research paper I will have to write for my political theory class.

I think it is best to compare the novel to something from its own era, and the person’s writing that first comes to mind to someone who is largely ignorant of that time period in French literature is, naturally enough, Voltaire. Like me, you will have probably have read Voltaire before tackling Montesquieu, which there is good reason for since I believe that Voltaire is much more readable than Montesquieu. If we compare Candide to Persian Letters, Candide comes out the winner easily: stylistically, for it imaginativeness, and hilarity. That said, I did enjoy the Persian Letters and recommend it for anyone who wants an entertaining reflection on early eighteenth-century France.

Two Years สองปี

2011-07-31T20:33:00.000-07:00

Two years have passed since returning to Southeast Asia after completing my graduate studies at Thunderbird School of Global Management. These have been a full two years. And I can attest to both accomplishments and failures for myself. Goals were met, some beyond my expectations, whilst others remain unfulfilled, sorely so. That is normal; it would be silly to pine for more than that. The way I normally gauge whether or not my life is flittering in the direction that I want is to ask two questions of myself in as self-aware a way as possible:

1) How full was the day?

2) Would others envy your life?

The first question is in reference to no one other than myself. This is a personal query. The correct answer is always: really fucking full. No chimera here, this is just a simple admission on my own part as to how much of the world I had been able to take in that day, that week, that month, so on… On those days when events seem to pale to the fuller ones, I do not fret. Instead I rejoice in the break and relax, preferably by reading an awesome book or looking at retarded videos online (assuming of course I have an internet connection—those were hard to find in mountain-top refugee camps).

The second question is comparative. It is as important as the first, maybe even more so for many of us. The glowy, gooey, yummy feeling one marshals from another’s envy rushes upon you faster and stronger than the feeling from knowing you are living life to the fullest, I believe, but, because of that, also fades more quickly. I view it as an occasional treat to be savored along the way as I concentrate on the first question.

To both questions, the personal and the comparative, I am satisfied at the moment and hope to carry that forward.

For the next two years and beyond, one of my goals as I prepare for my return to America and scholastic pursuits has been to start this blog. I have been incredibly fortunate to find avenues—a few small ones anyway— in the publishing world where my voice has been heard, in print and online. However, I occasionally would like to have the opportunity to publish my musings without considering their marketability first. A weblog meets this niche perfectly.

I hope to whisk together a post every month or two. Topics will probably include political science, Southeast Asia, PhD life, the art/business of writing, libertinism, and tacos. Expect to find a translation in Thai below as well; I hope to raise my talents in that language from its current base somewhere near the gutter to something much more professional. This is a perfect opportunity to do so.

สองปีผ่านมาแล้วตั้งแต่ผมลงเอซียอาคเนย์ใหม่หลังจากจบการศึกษารัดับโทที่ Thunderbird School of Global Management สองปีนี้เต็มที่เลยนะครับ แล้วผมสามารถยืนยันถึงความสำเร็จและความล้มเหลวทั้งสองเลยสำหรับตัวเอง ผมได้พบกับเป้าหมายของผมบ้าง บางเป้าหมายนั้นสำเร็จอย่างเกินความคาดหมาย แล้วบางเป้าหมายนั้นยังคงไม่ได้ผล ทั้งนั้นเป็นเรื่องปกติ ต้องการอย่างรุนแรงมากกว่านี้คงไร้ประโยชน์จริง ๆ ส่วนใหญ่วิธีการที่ผมได้ใช้เพื่อวัดชีวิตของผมก้าวหน้าในทิศทางที่ผมต้องการหรือไม่ คือการถามตัวเองอย่างมีความตระหนักในตนเองแท้จริวสองคำถาม ว่า

๑) วันนี้เต็มที่แค่ไหน

๒) คนอื่น ๆ จะอิจฉาชีวิตของคุณหรือเปล่า

คำถามแรกไม่ได้อ้างอิงถึงใครนอกจากผมตัวเอง นี้เป็นคำถามที่ส่วนบุคคล คำตอบที่ถูกต้องเสมอคือ โคตรเต็มที่ล่ะวะ นี่ไม่ใช่เพ้อฝัน แค่การรับเข้าเรียนง่าย ๆ ของตนเองว่า ผมได้รับประสบการณ์หลากหลายใหม่ ๆ แค่ไหนในวันนี้ ในสัปดาห์นี้ ในเดือนนี้เป็นต้น... ในวันที่เหตุการณ์ต่าง ๆ ดูเหมือนจะอ่อนในการเปรียบเทียบกับวันที่สุดยอดผมไม่ได้หงุดหงิดเลย ผมมีความชื่นชมยินดีในการหยุดพักต่างหาก แล้วจะรีแลกซ์บ้าง โดยเฉพาะการอ่านหนังสือที่ดยอดเยี่ยมหรือดูวิดีที่โง่โอออนไลน์ (สมมติว่ามีการเชื่อมต่ออินเทอร์เน็ต—เหล่านั้นยากที่จะหาในศูนย์อพยพบนภูเขา)

คำถามที่สองคือการเปรียบเทียบ นั้นมีความสำคัญเท่าคำถามแรก แล้วอาจจะมีความสำคัญมากยิ่งขึ้นเพื่อสำหรับเราหลายคน ความรู้สึกที่ดีที่คนได้รับจากความอิจฉาของผู้อื่นเป็นสิ่งที่วิ่งตามคนได้เร็วกว่าและแข็งแรงกว่าความรู้สึกที่เกิดจากการมีชีวิดเต็มที่ แต่ผมเชื่อว่าความรู้สึกดีนั้นจะหายไปได้รวดเร็วยิ่งขึ้นไม่มีอยู่ ผมดูมันเป็นสิ่งที่เป็นครั้งคราว ซึ่งผมสามารถเพลิดเพลินกับการไปพร้อมกันเมื่อในขณะเดียวกันตั้งสมาธิกับคำถามแรกอยู่ครับ

แล้วคำถามที่ทั้งส่วนบุคคลและการเปรียบเทียบ ผมพอใจในขณะนี้และหวังว่าจะพอใจในอนคตด้วยครับ

สำหรับสองปีถัดไปและนอกจากนั้นด้วย เป้าหมาย ๆ หนึ่งของผมในเวลานี้—เวลาที่ผมกำลังเตรียมความพร้อมกลับไปอเมริกาและศึกษาต่อ—ก็คือว่า เริ่มเขียนบล็อกนี้ ผมได้รับโชคดีอย่างเหลือเชื่อที่จะหาทางเล็ก ๆ น้อย ๆ ในโลกการเผยแพร่ที่เสียงของผมได้รับการได้ยินบ้าง ทั้งในการพิมพ์และออนไลน์ แต่บางครั้งผมต้องการที่จะมีโอกาสเผยแพร่ความคิดเห็นของผมโดยไม่คำนึงถึงการตลาดก่อน เว็บบล็อกแบบนี้เติมความต้องการได้อย่างสมบูรณ์แบบ

ผมหวังว่าจะเขียนบทความแต่ละเดือนหรือสองเดือน หัวข้อบทความอาจจะรวมถึงรัฐศาสตร์ การเมือง เอเชียตะวันออกเฉียงใต้ ชีวิต PhD ศิลปะและธุรกิจของการเขียน libertinism และทาโก้เป็นต้น คาดหวังจะพบการแปลเป็นภาษาไทยด้านล่างเช่นกัน ผมหวังว่าจะยกระดับความสามารถของผมในภาษานี้จากระดับฐานในปัจจุบันนี้คอยถึงระดับที่เป็นทางการอย่างมากขึ้นนะครับ นี้เป็นโอกาสเหมาะที่จะทำเช่นนั้นครับผม

*note: this translating into Thai crap is exceedingly more difficult than I originally thought!!