I received a job description via an agent recently with gems like this in it – this is for Cadbury's, a famous blue-chip company, not some dodgy fly-by-night outfit...
Create time to develop yourself and others, look to keep your functional and professional skills up to date. Translation: there's no formal training programme, there's not even an informal one and unless you book the days out, you could get swamped. Leave it to Cadbury's HR and your manager and you could work there a decade and never see a bar of chocolate. That isn't how it was back in the day.
Be resilient and tenacious when faced with difficulty, courageous and tough minded to overcome obstacles, promote change and act quickly, persuade and engage others, project yourself with impact and presence, gain support for and commitment to a course of action, build and maintain effective team relationships, understand how the organisation works, think and act beyond borders and functions, deal with conflict and criticism constructively - trust me that's about a quarter of the job description. Translation: your department has no clout, so you'll be brushed off with all sorts of excuses (“Project Moonshine is our top priority and we have no spare resource until H2 next year”), plus there are processes and procedures that will make you tear your hair out with their pointlessness, furthermore you'll have to figure out how things work for yourself because your manager doesn't know and if you don't go along, man are you ever not going to get along, because it's that kind of a place.
Exercise sound judgement of inputs to arrive at a balanced viewpoint, think in a rigorously analytical way, think differently about the future and how to get things done, anticipate events and possible alternatives. They have to ask for this? Why? Because so few people there do this?
This kind of HR job description twaddle was unknown thirty years ago. Companies accepted that no-one would do things the Cadbury way and took pride in training people to do it the Cadbury way – now they don't because no-one knows what the Cadbury way is anymore. A company would never have expected people to work against its own informal culture as this role is being expected to do. Because it would never have destroyed its traditions, networks and experience in twenty years of downsizing, sales, mergers, reorganisations and redundancies. Companies are a mess, so it becomes the role of the most junior of managers to do what the company once would have done automatically but now can no longer even describe in plain English.
You don't believe me? Here's the job: "to understand the role of price and promotion in driving growth and efficiency; using all data sources available and working closely with the Insights team to determine the role and context of price and promotion in the in store decision making process; develop market tracking reports to monitor price realisation for Cadbury UK and competitors; develop market place tracking for Cadbury UK & competitor pricing and format changes (standard and seasonal) by channel to inform how we price our products to deliver an improved revenue realisation; develop tracking reports to monitor and understand retailer, competitor and adjacent market promotional programmes and strategies to help inform promotional guidelines; develop and implement methods that combine market, customer, financial, and forecasting data in order that we can establish ongoing promotional evaluations, and therefore create future promotional guidelines; provide market data and selling rationale to support the price increase process; develop an agreed methodology to establish the link between Price and volume (price elasticity)".
Huh? Cadbury's don't have a price elasticity model? It's the end of the Oughties, they've been in business how long and they don't have a price elasticity model? They don't have an understanding of the role of price and promotion in the “store decision making process”? And they're in fmcg? What the heck have they been doing for the last thirty years? What act of corporate amnesia lost all the work on those things from the 80's and 90's? They would have had such models back then because I was reading ads like this for jobs like that back then. Do they really mean that no-one is tracking what the competition get up to now? Wouldn't that be something you'd do as natural as breathing? What the heck are the “Insights” team doing if they don't have an understanding of how shoppers make decisions? (By the way, the moment you see a company has an “Insight” team, you can safely assume they have no idea about their customers and never will. In the modern corporation, “insight” means “data dredging”.) How much trouble are they in? And what do you think happened to the previous guy?
Saturday, 11 July 2009
Thursday, 9 July 2009
Living With Yourself: Part Three
Psychological personality types are always fun. It's a respectable version of “what star sign are you”? There was a huge fad for the Belbin Team Roles in the Seventies – does anyone use them now? Completer-Finishers, Specialists and Team Players? It's tempting to use a typology and then explain yourself with it: you do that because you're an ISTJ.
It doesn't work like that. Typologies are not explanations.
A personality typology is an attempt at an equivalence relation: two people are equivalent modulo the typology if they satisfy the same characteristics. Any bunches of characteristics will do as long as they are mutually exclusive and comprehensive, in other words, you can't be two types and you must be one of them. Most typologies suffer from four faults: politeness, vagueness, ambiguity and optimism. They are polite, so there's no type(s) for jerks, screw-ups and substance-abusing degenerates; they are vague, so that you wind up identifying with two or more of the types; and they are optimistic, in that the criteria chosen are drawn from the lighter, positive side of human nature. The questionnaires are not going to ask you anything about how often you have thought about making your quietus with a bare bodkin. Finally the questions are ambiguous. As an example from an online survey, You rapidly get involved in social life at a new workplace. Well, you did at the last one, but this lot are a bunch of stiffs and frankly the less you see of them the better – you're going to be making a lot of phone calls and visits to old haunts until you can find another job. And which social life? The sports-and-social club life or the serious gossipy-drinkers? Different people will have different interpretations. If you raise these questions while you're doing a typology quiz, you'll be told to interpret it how you understand it, which is not the right answer, but does get you to finish the exercise. They need you to finish or they can't work their ju-ju.
Until the twentieth century, the most developed typologies came from the various forms of astrology. The more academically-serious the typology, the more it scores you along various axes or characteristics, rather than putting you into one of a small-ish number of pigeon-holes: an equivalence relation based on a continuous parameter is still an equivalence relation.
The real problem with typologies is that their reading of you may be of the person you are pretending to be, have learned to be, have compromised as or are for want of any ideas of your own. Anyone who works in business will pay lip service to meeting deadlines, having objectives, being professional, punctual and all those other good things, even if it they don't do it very well and would not if they had the choice. People can spot the “right answers” a mile off and can be guaranteed to provide them.
According to the Chinese, I'm a Yang Wood Horse; to Western Astrology, a Taurus with Venus and Jupiter in Mercury, Mars in Capricorn and Aries rising (I think); my Enneatype for a long while was a Romantic; and to Myers-Briggs, I'm all over the INxy's. Does this help me any?
Not much. The real questions are: how did I get to be an INTP? Am I happy being one? Is it a good fit with where I work? With my partner? With my ambitions and dreams? Am I stuck with being the wrong “type” for my hopes or have you got to change your hopes to fit my “type”?
The most a typology quiz can do is help you think about yourself, how you behave, react and feel. And about the differences between how you do those things and how you would like to do them. It's the space between what we do and what we would like to do that measures how far we are from ourselves – or how much of a fantasist we are.
It doesn't work like that. Typologies are not explanations.
A personality typology is an attempt at an equivalence relation: two people are equivalent modulo the typology if they satisfy the same characteristics. Any bunches of characteristics will do as long as they are mutually exclusive and comprehensive, in other words, you can't be two types and you must be one of them. Most typologies suffer from four faults: politeness, vagueness, ambiguity and optimism. They are polite, so there's no type(s) for jerks, screw-ups and substance-abusing degenerates; they are vague, so that you wind up identifying with two or more of the types; and they are optimistic, in that the criteria chosen are drawn from the lighter, positive side of human nature. The questionnaires are not going to ask you anything about how often you have thought about making your quietus with a bare bodkin. Finally the questions are ambiguous. As an example from an online survey, You rapidly get involved in social life at a new workplace. Well, you did at the last one, but this lot are a bunch of stiffs and frankly the less you see of them the better – you're going to be making a lot of phone calls and visits to old haunts until you can find another job. And which social life? The sports-and-social club life or the serious gossipy-drinkers? Different people will have different interpretations. If you raise these questions while you're doing a typology quiz, you'll be told to interpret it how you understand it, which is not the right answer, but does get you to finish the exercise. They need you to finish or they can't work their ju-ju.
Until the twentieth century, the most developed typologies came from the various forms of astrology. The more academically-serious the typology, the more it scores you along various axes or characteristics, rather than putting you into one of a small-ish number of pigeon-holes: an equivalence relation based on a continuous parameter is still an equivalence relation.
The real problem with typologies is that their reading of you may be of the person you are pretending to be, have learned to be, have compromised as or are for want of any ideas of your own. Anyone who works in business will pay lip service to meeting deadlines, having objectives, being professional, punctual and all those other good things, even if it they don't do it very well and would not if they had the choice. People can spot the “right answers” a mile off and can be guaranteed to provide them.
According to the Chinese, I'm a Yang Wood Horse; to Western Astrology, a Taurus with Venus and Jupiter in Mercury, Mars in Capricorn and Aries rising (I think); my Enneatype for a long while was a Romantic; and to Myers-Briggs, I'm all over the INxy's. Does this help me any?
Not much. The real questions are: how did I get to be an INTP? Am I happy being one? Is it a good fit with where I work? With my partner? With my ambitions and dreams? Am I stuck with being the wrong “type” for my hopes or have you got to change your hopes to fit my “type”?
The most a typology quiz can do is help you think about yourself, how you behave, react and feel. And about the differences between how you do those things and how you would like to do them. It's the space between what we do and what we would like to do that measures how far we are from ourselves – or how much of a fantasist we are.
Tuesday, 7 July 2009
Living With Yourself: Part Two
Once upon a time no-one was f---d-up: not because they weren't, but because there was no concept of being normal. Read any philosopher from Plato to John Stuart Mill – not one of them uses the idea of being a “normal” person. They may refer to “savages” (very un-PC) or to “children” as a contrast to mature adults capable of making reasonably prudent decisions, but never to being “normal” (they did talk about “ordinary people”, but that always meant “people who don't hold the silly views I am now criticising”). You won't find the modern therapeutic idea of “normal people” or “functional people (or families)” and certainly not the idea of “dysfunctional people (or families)”. The psychotherapists gave us the idea.
Psychotherapists are not psychologists, though they may have started their training as one. Psychology has two branches: there is a science that investigates the relationship between emotional states and behaviours and brain-states and hormone levels; then there is a a branch of moral philosophy masquerading as a descriptive science, and that's where the ideas of “normal”, “dysfunctional”, “personality disorder” and other such things come from. (In case you're wondering, psychiatry is a branch of medicine, not psychology. Psychiatrists may use Freudian or other ideas to help them, but then some GP's will give alternative medicines a shot as well.) All those personality typologies – Myers-Briggs, 16PF, the “Big Five” - are just well-researched versions of the Ancient Greek “humours”. Descriptions of the various personality types or traits are riddled with evaluative language and often show rather less subtlety than a sophisticated character reading from a horoscope.
Modern psychotherapy starts with that well-known coke-head Sigmund Freud, who stated that the aim of his therapy was to replace neurotic misery with ordinary unhappiness. In this aim, a lot of people have devised a lot of techniques, theories, schools, cliques and cults. People from L Ron Hubbard to Carl Jung, via Bill Wilson and Dr Bob Smith, have devised therapeutic techniques to cure a wide range of “feeling-bad” and self-destructive behaviour. The idea of a “normal” person arises as a contrast to the parade of human upset, misery, craziness and plain bad behaviour that passes through therapists' consulting rooms every year. A “normal / functioning / healthy person” is someone who doesn't suffer from any of those complaints and also manages to meet a number of basic social norms – for instance, regular washing, holding down a job, paying bills and driving on the proper side of the road.
Now, it is not obvious that a society that only had normal people would make any progress. Normal people are not so ambitious they will sacrifice or set aside much of their lives to achieve a very specific goal – so they aren't excellent at anything (trust me on this, I work in a company full of normal people). Anyone who tells you that an Olympic gold medallist, Oscar-winning writer, or well-known-in-their-profession scientist, engineer, medical consultant or artist is “an ordinary person” is simply not thinking straight. Normal people watch junk TV and spend Saturdays playing amateur sports, recovering from hangovers or taking their children to the zoo – not doing mathematics or practising a Bach cello suite for an upcoming performance on a Sunday.
The therapeutic idea of normality is not the moral idea: a therapeutically healthy person can indulge in hard-core BDSM, extreme sports, make their money from playing online poker and relax by watching endless re-runs of The Simpsons and eating Doritos. As long as they're happy, meeting those basic social norms and not messing up anybody else's life, they count as normal. By contrast, the straightest girl on the block who works diligently for a local accounting firm, plays in an amateur hockey team, works in the soup kitchen Saturday Night and listens to Radios Three and Four, might feel as hollow as an empty oil-drum, as fake as a van Meergeren and as out of place as the proverbial bacon sandwich. Fortunately for the therapy business, almost all criminals and a majority of life's anti-social assholes do suffer from either psychiatric problems or addictions and so couldn't be happy if they tried. It's the jerks who are pleased with themselves who make you wonder if being less of a Good Person might actually have an improving effect on the quality of your life.
A therapeutically-healthy person is not a cohesive character: it's defined by absence, a “healthy person” doesn't do all that stuff. What appears to be positive advice or characteristics - “strong boundaries”, “letting go” - is in fact what you do when you don't do what screwed-up people do. Most ordinary people will have one or two “normality flaws” - things they do that a therapeutically-healthy person should not. This just means they aren't perfect, not that they need to start going to group sessions. Normal / Healthy / Functional is where we start, not where we finish. Though if you've spent twenty years in a cocaine-and-whisky haze, you may be happy just to be at the starting-point, since it's way on from where you were.
Psychotherapists are not psychologists, though they may have started their training as one. Psychology has two branches: there is a science that investigates the relationship between emotional states and behaviours and brain-states and hormone levels; then there is a a branch of moral philosophy masquerading as a descriptive science, and that's where the ideas of “normal”, “dysfunctional”, “personality disorder” and other such things come from. (In case you're wondering, psychiatry is a branch of medicine, not psychology. Psychiatrists may use Freudian or other ideas to help them, but then some GP's will give alternative medicines a shot as well.) All those personality typologies – Myers-Briggs, 16PF, the “Big Five” - are just well-researched versions of the Ancient Greek “humours”. Descriptions of the various personality types or traits are riddled with evaluative language and often show rather less subtlety than a sophisticated character reading from a horoscope.
Modern psychotherapy starts with that well-known coke-head Sigmund Freud, who stated that the aim of his therapy was to replace neurotic misery with ordinary unhappiness. In this aim, a lot of people have devised a lot of techniques, theories, schools, cliques and cults. People from L Ron Hubbard to Carl Jung, via Bill Wilson and Dr Bob Smith, have devised therapeutic techniques to cure a wide range of “feeling-bad” and self-destructive behaviour. The idea of a “normal” person arises as a contrast to the parade of human upset, misery, craziness and plain bad behaviour that passes through therapists' consulting rooms every year. A “normal / functioning / healthy person” is someone who doesn't suffer from any of those complaints and also manages to meet a number of basic social norms – for instance, regular washing, holding down a job, paying bills and driving on the proper side of the road.
Now, it is not obvious that a society that only had normal people would make any progress. Normal people are not so ambitious they will sacrifice or set aside much of their lives to achieve a very specific goal – so they aren't excellent at anything (trust me on this, I work in a company full of normal people). Anyone who tells you that an Olympic gold medallist, Oscar-winning writer, or well-known-in-their-profession scientist, engineer, medical consultant or artist is “an ordinary person” is simply not thinking straight. Normal people watch junk TV and spend Saturdays playing amateur sports, recovering from hangovers or taking their children to the zoo – not doing mathematics or practising a Bach cello suite for an upcoming performance on a Sunday.
The therapeutic idea of normality is not the moral idea: a therapeutically healthy person can indulge in hard-core BDSM, extreme sports, make their money from playing online poker and relax by watching endless re-runs of The Simpsons and eating Doritos. As long as they're happy, meeting those basic social norms and not messing up anybody else's life, they count as normal. By contrast, the straightest girl on the block who works diligently for a local accounting firm, plays in an amateur hockey team, works in the soup kitchen Saturday Night and listens to Radios Three and Four, might feel as hollow as an empty oil-drum, as fake as a van Meergeren and as out of place as the proverbial bacon sandwich. Fortunately for the therapy business, almost all criminals and a majority of life's anti-social assholes do suffer from either psychiatric problems or addictions and so couldn't be happy if they tried. It's the jerks who are pleased with themselves who make you wonder if being less of a Good Person might actually have an improving effect on the quality of your life.
A therapeutically-healthy person is not a cohesive character: it's defined by absence, a “healthy person” doesn't do all that stuff. What appears to be positive advice or characteristics - “strong boundaries”, “letting go” - is in fact what you do when you don't do what screwed-up people do. Most ordinary people will have one or two “normality flaws” - things they do that a therapeutically-healthy person should not. This just means they aren't perfect, not that they need to start going to group sessions. Normal / Healthy / Functional is where we start, not where we finish. Though if you've spent twenty years in a cocaine-and-whisky haze, you may be happy just to be at the starting-point, since it's way on from where you were.
Sunday, 5 July 2009
Eighties Music
I can't remember how many times I've come close to buying a Level 42 compilation. Back in the day I thought Level 42 – the eponymous album and The Early Tapes – were the business. I had their stuff on a cassette for my Walkman when I took a week's holiday in Paris, met a girl on the train over and spent not many nights at the hotel I'd booked. (And you thought Before Dawn didn't happen in real life?) As for the SOS Band, Jackie Graham, Joe Jackson's Night and Day, The Fatback Band, anything produced by Jam and Lewis, Spandau Ballet, MARRS, The Smiths, Frankie Goes to Hollywood, ABC, pretty much anything else produced by Trevor Horn (even Hand Held In Black and White)... the list goes on and on. All of them strong songs, great production... and I every time I think of putting a CD of it onto the iPod, I stop and put the CD back.
This only happens with Eighties music. I'm fine with all the other stuff. There's too many memories. Too many feelings. Which is odd, because I “grew up” in the Sixties and Seventies. I did my homework by candlelight in the Three-Day Weeks, I can remember double-figure inflation, flared trousers and the Sex Pistols on Top of The Pops. I saw Bob Marley and the Wailers at university and Sam Peckinpah movies as they came out. The strong feelings are all supposed to be around being a teenager, falling in love all the time and discovering the world.
The Eighties was when I screwed up. It's when my future disappeared (at thirty – that's when you've had a great future behind you), when I realised that the party was anywhere I wasn't and on the rare occasions I found it, I didn't really get what was going on. It's when the Girl I Should Have Married told me she was marrying someone else – I hyperventilated for a couple of hours after that phone call. It's when I realised that at the end of the evening, I was the one who dropped everyone else off and then drove the last stretch back “home” on my own. Always. It's when my career crashed and burned, even as my salary went up. It's when I wished I was an accountant – so that I could be as self-satisfied and apparently as securely employed as they were. Did I mention the property company I worked for company whose CEO wound up in jail? Or the way the decade ended with me drinking myself into... well, let's say a state of mind I don't actually want to visit again in case I don't come back from it. Ever. If your character is built on sand, as mine was, then there's a time the lack of foundations is going to show: teens, twenties, thirties... all the way up to your seventies (after that you get to pass it off as “senior moments”). For me it was Eighties. And that music was the soundtrack.
I wasn't screwing up because I wasn't going about getting what I wanted very well: I was screwing up because I had no idea who I was. I thought I wanted the English dream: one wife, two children, three holidays, a four-by-four, five bedrooms and six good friends thing. I didn't. I'm so much more shallow that that. I didn't know that at the time. I didn't really chase after the English dream but I didn't chase after anything else either. Because I didn't know what it was I wanted to chase after. Other than fame, wealth and beautiful lovers – Freud's account of the motivations of artists everywhere – and there was and is no way I had the courage or talent to chase after that. I was too busy doing the damn day job, getting drunk, commuting, keeping up a reasonably respectable front and pretending even to myself to be having a life that was going somewhere.
If it wasn't for the memories, I think I'd be prepared to say that the popular music of the Eighties was about as good as it gets. Technically the writing, recording, arranging and production was way ahead of anything from the previous decades: the lyrics weren't as good, and I keel over now when critics quote the lyrics from Oughties songs because the entire lyrical output of the last ten years isn't worth the lyrics on Like A Rolling Stone. I'm going to assume that if you were nineteen, it had an emotional resonance that would have passed me by as I wasn't nineteen anymore, but was as strong for you as the music that was around when I was nineteen. Don't ask me what those emotions were though, because I can't guess, but your music provided the soundtrack to my lost years. Which is why I always put the CD back into the rack – no matter how much I remember that I liked the songs at the time.
This only happens with Eighties music. I'm fine with all the other stuff. There's too many memories. Too many feelings. Which is odd, because I “grew up” in the Sixties and Seventies. I did my homework by candlelight in the Three-Day Weeks, I can remember double-figure inflation, flared trousers and the Sex Pistols on Top of The Pops. I saw Bob Marley and the Wailers at university and Sam Peckinpah movies as they came out. The strong feelings are all supposed to be around being a teenager, falling in love all the time and discovering the world.
The Eighties was when I screwed up. It's when my future disappeared (at thirty – that's when you've had a great future behind you), when I realised that the party was anywhere I wasn't and on the rare occasions I found it, I didn't really get what was going on. It's when the Girl I Should Have Married told me she was marrying someone else – I hyperventilated for a couple of hours after that phone call. It's when I realised that at the end of the evening, I was the one who dropped everyone else off and then drove the last stretch back “home” on my own. Always. It's when my career crashed and burned, even as my salary went up. It's when I wished I was an accountant – so that I could be as self-satisfied and apparently as securely employed as they were. Did I mention the property company I worked for company whose CEO wound up in jail? Or the way the decade ended with me drinking myself into... well, let's say a state of mind I don't actually want to visit again in case I don't come back from it. Ever. If your character is built on sand, as mine was, then there's a time the lack of foundations is going to show: teens, twenties, thirties... all the way up to your seventies (after that you get to pass it off as “senior moments”). For me it was Eighties. And that music was the soundtrack.
I wasn't screwing up because I wasn't going about getting what I wanted very well: I was screwing up because I had no idea who I was. I thought I wanted the English dream: one wife, two children, three holidays, a four-by-four, five bedrooms and six good friends thing. I didn't. I'm so much more shallow that that. I didn't know that at the time. I didn't really chase after the English dream but I didn't chase after anything else either. Because I didn't know what it was I wanted to chase after. Other than fame, wealth and beautiful lovers – Freud's account of the motivations of artists everywhere – and there was and is no way I had the courage or talent to chase after that. I was too busy doing the damn day job, getting drunk, commuting, keeping up a reasonably respectable front and pretending even to myself to be having a life that was going somewhere.
If it wasn't for the memories, I think I'd be prepared to say that the popular music of the Eighties was about as good as it gets. Technically the writing, recording, arranging and production was way ahead of anything from the previous decades: the lyrics weren't as good, and I keel over now when critics quote the lyrics from Oughties songs because the entire lyrical output of the last ten years isn't worth the lyrics on Like A Rolling Stone. I'm going to assume that if you were nineteen, it had an emotional resonance that would have passed me by as I wasn't nineteen anymore, but was as strong for you as the music that was around when I was nineteen. Don't ask me what those emotions were though, because I can't guess, but your music provided the soundtrack to my lost years. Which is why I always put the CD back into the rack – no matter how much I remember that I liked the songs at the time.
Friday, 3 July 2009
How Not To Do Things With Words
Rae Langton is an America feminist philosopher who wrote a paper, Speech Acts and Unspeakable Acts, in which she used some ideas of J L Austin to defend the view that, despite the rulings of the Supreme Court, pornography should be actively banned by the US Federal Government. Unsurprisingly those ideas just won't get us to the required conclusion, and it's half-interesting to see why. Her argument is that exposure to pornography makes it impossible for men to hear a woman refusing their advances. She can say the words, but the meaning just doesn't get across. The same happens when she tries to give testimony during a rape trial: she can use the words, but the jury just don't get it. It's important to understand that Miss Langton is not saying that the female refusal and testimony is ignored. If something is ignored, it's at least heard. She's saying that pornography so alters the meaning of women's speech that they cannot find any words successfully to express sexual refusal. Run over that again and see if it makes sense to you. Let me try to explain why someone once thought it would.
Remember the bit in Blazing Saddles where the sheriff says “You'd do it for Randolph Scott” and the whole town removes its collective hat and says reverently “Randolph Scott!”? Well, quoting J L Austin's name in philosophical circles has the same effect – or is supposed to. Around about the same time as Wittgenstein was developing his ideas of language games, Austin developed his ideas of speech acts in a famous essay called How To Do Things With Words. The idea of both thinkers was that, pace the logical positivists, we use words to do more than describe the real world. We do things like recommending, promising, insulting, praising, instructing, suggesting, inspiring and so on. Austin called these illocutionary acts: what we do in saying something. Uttering the sentence itself is the locutionary act. The consequences of the illocutionary act are the perlocutionary acts. The terminology varies from writer to writer: your Mac dictionary will tell you that perlocutionary acts are those which intend to influence the actions of others, but are not themselves actions: in this sense, recommending, suggesting and persuading are perlocutionary, while promising, warning and prescribing (medicine) are illocutionary.
Langton's thesis is that though women can say No (locutionary act) they cannot express refusal by so doing (illocutionary act) because men who have seen pornography have been deafened to the possibility of female sexual refusal. According to Langton, women can speak, but in a culture with pornography their words carry no meaning. So pornography should be banned.
Refusing is an illocutionary act. When I say “no, thank you” (locutionary act), I am refusing (illocutionary act) with the intention that you cease trying to sell me double-glazing (perlocutionary act). What has gone wrong if you don't stop? Perhaps my locutionary act failed: you didn't hear me. Let me say it again louder. Did my illocutionary act fail? Did I fail to express refusal? I expressed it just fine: “no thank you” expresses refusal in a polite manner. Perhaps you failed to recognise it. Let's try “which part of 'get lost' didn't you understand?” and see if you go on talking. If you do, it's pretty clear that you are rude and persistent and I can close the door in your face with a clear conscience.
However, you explain that you have been trained to regard any remark like “no thank you” not as a refusal, but as an “objection” and your sales trainer has taught you a number of hokey tricks to “overcome” the objection. What left me as a refusal arrived with you as an objection. This might sound convincing, except that the very reason you are taught to regard what I say as an “objection” is exactly because you and your sales manager know very well it's a refusal. If you didn't, you wouldn't need to be trained to “overcome” it.
When might an illocutionary act fail? In other words, given that I have not mis-spoken, but used words that under the circumstances would be deemed by other people to convey my wish, can I still fail to refuse? Well, perhaps if I go to an Arab bazaar things might be a little odd. English is a curt language used by a blunt people: we say things once and expect to be understood halfway through the utterance. Other languages belong to more verbose and courtly cultures, and in those cultures it may be normal to express what in English would be a refusal but is actually a response to see how serious you are about selling to me. If you are, you will ask again, to see how serious I am about refusing. You change your sales pitch slightly and lower the price. I shake my head but do not move away. Last chance. If I refuse this time, we're over. If I don't understand that you come from such a culture, we are going to have a communication problem: what leaves me in English as a refusal, arrives with you in Arabic as a possible opening move of a negotiation. I need to find different words to express my intention: I need the Arabic for “I really, really am not interested, stop trying to sell me your damn carpets”. Or maybe I just have to say it three times.
A poorly-phrased locutionary act can fail to express my intentions, and thus express an illocutionary act I did not mean to express. But that's the point: the rest of the world hears my (ill-chosen) words and deduces my illocutionary intentions from those words. That's why it's my fault if I get the words out wrong. The illocutionary act is tied to my words, not to some mysterious inner state of mine. If I get the words out right, it's your fault (of commission if you ignore me or omission if you haven't bothered to learn the rules) if you don't understand it as a reasonable, educated speaker of the language would understand it. This is why a man who tries to defend himself by saying he didn't think she meant it is onto a loser: it isn't what he thought she meant, or even what she thought she meant, it's what she said that matters.
Now we have an empirical question. Has anyone ever re-wired the language of refusal? As far as I know, while various cultures have made "bad" come out "good", no-one has ever made No mean Yes. “Get away from me”, “get your hands off”, “let me out of the car now”, “it's time you got a cab home”, “what the …. do you think you're doing?” - these words mean only one thing. Anyone who thinks they mean “carry on trying your luck” is just hoping to con the jury. No (locutionary act) means NO (illocutionary act). No-one can change that, let alone a guy with a video camera, Devon Lee's number and a day's rent of a studio in the San Fernando valley.
However, Miss Langton may be thinking of, and at one point her discussion suggests she is, the more appalling excesses of the High School Entitled Jock. It's just possible that Entitled Jocks really do believe that No means Try Harder and a study of the collected works of Annie Cruz have been a part of gaining that belief. We call them Entitled Jerks and send them to jail if they behave like that: because they have such faulty illocutionary hearing and poor judgement they commit crimes as a result. High School is not the Marrakesh bazaar: Entitled Jerks are not culturally different, but culturally ignorant.
Langton conflates understanding what someone says with accepting the wishes it expresses and so makes success part of my illocutionary act. According to that, I haven't refused, or been heard as refusing, if you go on pitching your double-glazing at me. Which is convenient for you, as you are no longer a rude oaf for carrying on, but merely someone who has chosen the meaning of the words they hear to suit their purposes. And that brings us right back to it: if you had to choose the meaning you needed, it was because you knew that the meaning I intended did not suit your purposes. You knew darn well what I meant by “no thank you”. You just chose to ignore it and then hide that rudeness behind a philosophical theory of language. Why a feminist philosopher would devise that theory is beyond me, unless she was trying to argue something that really doesn't want to be a conclusion.
Remember the bit in Blazing Saddles where the sheriff says “You'd do it for Randolph Scott” and the whole town removes its collective hat and says reverently “Randolph Scott!”? Well, quoting J L Austin's name in philosophical circles has the same effect – or is supposed to. Around about the same time as Wittgenstein was developing his ideas of language games, Austin developed his ideas of speech acts in a famous essay called How To Do Things With Words. The idea of both thinkers was that, pace the logical positivists, we use words to do more than describe the real world. We do things like recommending, promising, insulting, praising, instructing, suggesting, inspiring and so on. Austin called these illocutionary acts: what we do in saying something. Uttering the sentence itself is the locutionary act. The consequences of the illocutionary act are the perlocutionary acts. The terminology varies from writer to writer: your Mac dictionary will tell you that perlocutionary acts are those which intend to influence the actions of others, but are not themselves actions: in this sense, recommending, suggesting and persuading are perlocutionary, while promising, warning and prescribing (medicine) are illocutionary.
Langton's thesis is that though women can say No (locutionary act) they cannot express refusal by so doing (illocutionary act) because men who have seen pornography have been deafened to the possibility of female sexual refusal. According to Langton, women can speak, but in a culture with pornography their words carry no meaning. So pornography should be banned.
Refusing is an illocutionary act. When I say “no, thank you” (locutionary act), I am refusing (illocutionary act) with the intention that you cease trying to sell me double-glazing (perlocutionary act). What has gone wrong if you don't stop? Perhaps my locutionary act failed: you didn't hear me. Let me say it again louder. Did my illocutionary act fail? Did I fail to express refusal? I expressed it just fine: “no thank you” expresses refusal in a polite manner. Perhaps you failed to recognise it. Let's try “which part of 'get lost' didn't you understand?” and see if you go on talking. If you do, it's pretty clear that you are rude and persistent and I can close the door in your face with a clear conscience.
However, you explain that you have been trained to regard any remark like “no thank you” not as a refusal, but as an “objection” and your sales trainer has taught you a number of hokey tricks to “overcome” the objection. What left me as a refusal arrived with you as an objection. This might sound convincing, except that the very reason you are taught to regard what I say as an “objection” is exactly because you and your sales manager know very well it's a refusal. If you didn't, you wouldn't need to be trained to “overcome” it.
When might an illocutionary act fail? In other words, given that I have not mis-spoken, but used words that under the circumstances would be deemed by other people to convey my wish, can I still fail to refuse? Well, perhaps if I go to an Arab bazaar things might be a little odd. English is a curt language used by a blunt people: we say things once and expect to be understood halfway through the utterance. Other languages belong to more verbose and courtly cultures, and in those cultures it may be normal to express what in English would be a refusal but is actually a response to see how serious you are about selling to me. If you are, you will ask again, to see how serious I am about refusing. You change your sales pitch slightly and lower the price. I shake my head but do not move away. Last chance. If I refuse this time, we're over. If I don't understand that you come from such a culture, we are going to have a communication problem: what leaves me in English as a refusal, arrives with you in Arabic as a possible opening move of a negotiation. I need to find different words to express my intention: I need the Arabic for “I really, really am not interested, stop trying to sell me your damn carpets”. Or maybe I just have to say it three times.
A poorly-phrased locutionary act can fail to express my intentions, and thus express an illocutionary act I did not mean to express. But that's the point: the rest of the world hears my (ill-chosen) words and deduces my illocutionary intentions from those words. That's why it's my fault if I get the words out wrong. The illocutionary act is tied to my words, not to some mysterious inner state of mine. If I get the words out right, it's your fault (of commission if you ignore me or omission if you haven't bothered to learn the rules) if you don't understand it as a reasonable, educated speaker of the language would understand it. This is why a man who tries to defend himself by saying he didn't think she meant it is onto a loser: it isn't what he thought she meant, or even what she thought she meant, it's what she said that matters.
Now we have an empirical question. Has anyone ever re-wired the language of refusal? As far as I know, while various cultures have made "bad" come out "good", no-one has ever made No mean Yes. “Get away from me”, “get your hands off”, “let me out of the car now”, “it's time you got a cab home”, “what the …. do you think you're doing?” - these words mean only one thing. Anyone who thinks they mean “carry on trying your luck” is just hoping to con the jury. No (locutionary act) means NO (illocutionary act). No-one can change that, let alone a guy with a video camera, Devon Lee's number and a day's rent of a studio in the San Fernando valley.
However, Miss Langton may be thinking of, and at one point her discussion suggests she is, the more appalling excesses of the High School Entitled Jock. It's just possible that Entitled Jocks really do believe that No means Try Harder and a study of the collected works of Annie Cruz have been a part of gaining that belief. We call them Entitled Jerks and send them to jail if they behave like that: because they have such faulty illocutionary hearing and poor judgement they commit crimes as a result. High School is not the Marrakesh bazaar: Entitled Jerks are not culturally different, but culturally ignorant.
Langton conflates understanding what someone says with accepting the wishes it expresses and so makes success part of my illocutionary act. According to that, I haven't refused, or been heard as refusing, if you go on pitching your double-glazing at me. Which is convenient for you, as you are no longer a rude oaf for carrying on, but merely someone who has chosen the meaning of the words they hear to suit their purposes. And that brings us right back to it: if you had to choose the meaning you needed, it was because you knew that the meaning I intended did not suit your purposes. You knew darn well what I meant by “no thank you”. You just chose to ignore it and then hide that rudeness behind a philosophical theory of language. Why a feminist philosopher would devise that theory is beyond me, unless she was trying to argue something that really doesn't want to be a conclusion.
Wednesday, 1 July 2009
Gruesome Doubts and Testing
It's fairly easy to test that something does what it's supposed to do. That's what specifications and user acceptance testing is for. Let's call a requirement locally positive if it states that under conditions X, Y, Z the widget will do W within T seconds (or after N repetitions). Locally positive requirements are obtained by a demonstration: here it is doing it. An indefinite positive requirement, is one that asks that the widget does whatever it is at some unspecified time in the future. Similarly, a requirement is locally negative if it demands the widget doesn't do something within T seconds; it is indefinite negative if it demands the widget never does it. A locally negative requirement can be demonstrated: we set up the conditions, start up the widget and wait T seconds or N repetitions. No puff of smoke and it passes. How do we prove an unrestricted negative or an unrestricted positive? We can't, we don't have enough time. No amount of evidence will prove it, because tomorrow something might go wrong or it might go right. And since tomorrow never comes...
Now let's look at some doubts. A doubt is specific if it is about the widget's ability to fulfil a locally positive or negative requirement. Specific doubts are testable. A doubt is gruesome if it claims that under some as yet unknown set of circumstances, the widget will fail to do what we would want it to do if we knew the circumstances.
Why “gruesome”? The philosopher Nelson Goodman invented a predicate “grue”. An object is grue if it is green up to some date and blue afterwards. An emerald might be grue. His point was that if the date is far enough into the future, any evidence that the object was green and would not turn colour on the given date was also evidence that it was grue and would turn colour on the given date. You object to the idea of “grue” as a colour only if you've forgotten that many leaves are “gred”: green before autumn, and red during autumn. Gruesome doubts amount to the claim that the widget is reliable up to some unspecified time or event in the future and unreliable at or after that point. Or that it is reliable for a wide range of inputs but not for an as yet unspecified but suspected set of inputs. The point is, of course, that any evidence that the widget is reliable is also evidence that it is gruesome-ly unreliable.
Here's the point. No evidence can satisfy anyone with a gruesome doubt – and there is no point in trying. Gruesome doubts can, if expressed in the right way give you a reputation for wise caution: “let's keep an eye on it”, you say, or, “we should monitor it for any anomalies”, or “the tests seem to indicate that it is working, but I'd like to run some more later”. Gruesome doubts can also be used to bully people: “how do I know it will work with any bit of data / tomorrow / next week?” Don't use these arguments because they won't listen. They are out to make everyone involved look as if they haven't done a good job of testing and make them look bad and feel crazy. Why is she asking this when there is no answer? If you're in this position, philosophy is likely to be little consolation.
Now let's look at some doubts. A doubt is specific if it is about the widget's ability to fulfil a locally positive or negative requirement. Specific doubts are testable. A doubt is gruesome if it claims that under some as yet unknown set of circumstances, the widget will fail to do what we would want it to do if we knew the circumstances.
Why “gruesome”? The philosopher Nelson Goodman invented a predicate “grue”. An object is grue if it is green up to some date and blue afterwards. An emerald might be grue. His point was that if the date is far enough into the future, any evidence that the object was green and would not turn colour on the given date was also evidence that it was grue and would turn colour on the given date. You object to the idea of “grue” as a colour only if you've forgotten that many leaves are “gred”: green before autumn, and red during autumn. Gruesome doubts amount to the claim that the widget is reliable up to some unspecified time or event in the future and unreliable at or after that point. Or that it is reliable for a wide range of inputs but not for an as yet unspecified but suspected set of inputs. The point is, of course, that any evidence that the widget is reliable is also evidence that it is gruesome-ly unreliable.
Here's the point. No evidence can satisfy anyone with a gruesome doubt – and there is no point in trying. Gruesome doubts can, if expressed in the right way give you a reputation for wise caution: “let's keep an eye on it”, you say, or, “we should monitor it for any anomalies”, or “the tests seem to indicate that it is working, but I'd like to run some more later”. Gruesome doubts can also be used to bully people: “how do I know it will work with any bit of data / tomorrow / next week?” Don't use these arguments because they won't listen. They are out to make everyone involved look as if they haven't done a good job of testing and make them look bad and feel crazy. Why is she asking this when there is no answer? If you're in this position, philosophy is likely to be little consolation.
Monday, 29 June 2009
Living With Yourself: Part One
You didn't raise yourself. You were not born knowing the differential calculus. You gave up the piano lessons, remember? That would be why you can't play Blue in Green now. Someone taught you to swim, you had trainer wheels on your bicycle, and there were all those driving lessons. You didn't just ace the test first time you stepped into a car. Name anything you can do and you learned it from someone. The way you suck up to the boss with such dignity? You learned that at Oxford – it's what they really teach there. About the only thing a kid can do on their own is screw up: from burning their hands on the cooker to puking up because they drank too much from Daddy's whisky bottle to getting lost when they went for a walk on holiday and getting Mary (age 14) pregnant. You want to get much right in this world and you need guidance.
You may not have been paying attention at the time. You may not have the maths or the double-somersault gene. You may have had lousy teachers and parents, and you may have fallen in with the wrong crowd at school or in the neighbourhood and adopted ideas and attitudes way above or below your station. You may have gone to the wrong school, no-one noticed your reading difficulties or exceptional talent at tennis. They may have, but they didn't give a damn. You may have received the perfect upbringing for a child with well-connected parents, but yours weren't.
There are so many ways everyone involved can screw up raising a child that everyone comes out of their teenage years with some rough patches, confusion, hurts, pain and missing competencies. I hear they can come out with some polish, strength, skills and happiness – but I think that's just hype put out by expensive fee-paying schools. This does not mean that “everyone is messed up” because there's a difference between not being able to draw a recognisable face (not messed up) and not being spaced out on downers at age fifteen (messed up). It means “nobody can do it all”.
There is no one right way to be a person. There are a few really wrong ways (psychopath, serial killer, rapist, degenerate gambler, drug addict, useless drunk, downsizing CEO, corrupt policeman, child abuser, paedophile, human traffiker, pimp, Taliban, slaughtering dictator and their henchmen, actually, quite a few ways of being a Bad Person) but the rest are okay. You may talk on your mobile on the train, install loud alarms in your cars and house that go off for no reason at two in the morning, not pay your due bills and use power tools on a Sunday evening, but that just makes you an anti-social jerk.
What matters is how much pain you are in living the life you lead. Not regret or sorrow, actual pain. One of the little-noticed clauses about the notorious personality disorders in DSM-VI is that to qualify you have to be in pain and not functioning well. That's what anti-social jerks are: people with personality disorders who don't feel any pain and pay their bills. This pain can come from two sources: because you really are missing out on something you would be a lot better off if you had, or because you think there's something wrong with you because you aren't doing whatever it is, and whatever it is happens to be, in the list of things, optional.
I, for instance, don't do fun. I'm fine with this until the company insists I go on some frakking day out where we listen to empty, generic speeches from the high mucka-mucks and spend the afternoon playing a silly game. On that day I am as miserable as Job and for the same reason: I am suffering torments inflicted by Satan. What's worse is I keep thinking it's my fault. It isn't. Those just aren't my strokes, and I am no longer going to pretend that they should be.
And I'm not terribly good at making a social life. I have some friends, but I don't have a social circle and I miss that whenever I see signs that other people do have one. Just as much of my life, at my age, looks like it does so I don't have to be around squalling kids and irritable parents, or loud partying young people, so I avoid anything that reminds me that people have friends and do things like have eight of them rent a villa in Tuscany for a week. I think I'm missing out there. As I say, I have a lot of tricks for not noticing it, but it still hurts when I do.
Now I am prepared to believe the therapists and wise men when they tell me I would be better off with a social life. I am not prepared to believe anybody if they tell me I would be better off being able to tolerate corporate BS days. I think that might involve the loss of faculties I find quite valuable for the rest of the year.
If you are wondering what I meant by “actual pain” back there, congratulations: you either have everything you need to live a productive and successful life, or are happily adjusted to your limitations, or of course, are an anti-social jerk. If you aren't sure, it isn't you.
I'm just getting started on this.
You may not have been paying attention at the time. You may not have the maths or the double-somersault gene. You may have had lousy teachers and parents, and you may have fallen in with the wrong crowd at school or in the neighbourhood and adopted ideas and attitudes way above or below your station. You may have gone to the wrong school, no-one noticed your reading difficulties or exceptional talent at tennis. They may have, but they didn't give a damn. You may have received the perfect upbringing for a child with well-connected parents, but yours weren't.
There are so many ways everyone involved can screw up raising a child that everyone comes out of their teenage years with some rough patches, confusion, hurts, pain and missing competencies. I hear they can come out with some polish, strength, skills and happiness – but I think that's just hype put out by expensive fee-paying schools. This does not mean that “everyone is messed up” because there's a difference between not being able to draw a recognisable face (not messed up) and not being spaced out on downers at age fifteen (messed up). It means “nobody can do it all”.
There is no one right way to be a person. There are a few really wrong ways (psychopath, serial killer, rapist, degenerate gambler, drug addict, useless drunk, downsizing CEO, corrupt policeman, child abuser, paedophile, human traffiker, pimp, Taliban, slaughtering dictator and their henchmen, actually, quite a few ways of being a Bad Person) but the rest are okay. You may talk on your mobile on the train, install loud alarms in your cars and house that go off for no reason at two in the morning, not pay your due bills and use power tools on a Sunday evening, but that just makes you an anti-social jerk.
What matters is how much pain you are in living the life you lead. Not regret or sorrow, actual pain. One of the little-noticed clauses about the notorious personality disorders in DSM-VI is that to qualify you have to be in pain and not functioning well. That's what anti-social jerks are: people with personality disorders who don't feel any pain and pay their bills. This pain can come from two sources: because you really are missing out on something you would be a lot better off if you had, or because you think there's something wrong with you because you aren't doing whatever it is, and whatever it is happens to be, in the list of things, optional.
I, for instance, don't do fun. I'm fine with this until the company insists I go on some frakking day out where we listen to empty, generic speeches from the high mucka-mucks and spend the afternoon playing a silly game. On that day I am as miserable as Job and for the same reason: I am suffering torments inflicted by Satan. What's worse is I keep thinking it's my fault. It isn't. Those just aren't my strokes, and I am no longer going to pretend that they should be.
And I'm not terribly good at making a social life. I have some friends, but I don't have a social circle and I miss that whenever I see signs that other people do have one. Just as much of my life, at my age, looks like it does so I don't have to be around squalling kids and irritable parents, or loud partying young people, so I avoid anything that reminds me that people have friends and do things like have eight of them rent a villa in Tuscany for a week. I think I'm missing out there. As I say, I have a lot of tricks for not noticing it, but it still hurts when I do.
Now I am prepared to believe the therapists and wise men when they tell me I would be better off with a social life. I am not prepared to believe anybody if they tell me I would be better off being able to tolerate corporate BS days. I think that might involve the loss of faculties I find quite valuable for the rest of the year.
If you are wondering what I meant by “actual pain” back there, congratulations: you either have everything you need to live a productive and successful life, or are happily adjusted to your limitations, or of course, are an anti-social jerk. If you aren't sure, it isn't you.
I'm just getting started on this.
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