Suchergebnisse

Eyal
Weizman on the Architectural-Image Complex, Forensic Archeology and Policing
across the Desertification Line







Incidents
in global politics are usually apprehended as the patterned interaction of macro-actors
such as states. Eyal Weizman takes a different tack—an architect by training,
Weizman tackles incidents through detailed readings of heterogeneous materials—digital
images, debris, reforestation, blast patterns in ruins—to piece together concrete
positions of engagement in specific legal, political, or activist controversies
in global politics. In this Talk,
Weizman—among others—elaborates on methods across scales and material
territories, discusses the interactions of environment and politics, and traces
his trajectory in forensic architecture.




Print version of this Talk (pdf)




What
is—or should be—according to you, the biggest challenge, central focus or
principal debate in critical social sciences?



We
live in an age in which there is both a great storm of information and a
progressive form of activism seeking to generate transparency in relation to government
institutions, corporations or secret services. These forms of exposure
exponentially increase the number of primary sources on corporations and state
and provide also rare media from war zones, but this by itself does not add
more clarity. It could increase confusion and increasingly be used disseminate
false information and propaganda. The challenge is to start another process to
carefully piece together and compose this information.



I'm
concerned with research about armed conflict. Contemporary conflict tends to take
place in urban environments saturated with media of varicose sorts, whenever
violence is brought into a city, it provokes an enormous production of images,
clips, sounds, text, etc.



As
conflict in Iraq, Syria, Missouri and the Ukraine demonstrate, one of the most
important potential sources for conflict investigations is produced by the very
people living in the war zones and made available in social networks almost
instantly. The citizens recording events in conflict zones are conscious of
producing testimonies and evidence, and importantly so, they do so on their own
terms. The emergence of citizen journalists/witness has already restructured
the fields of journalism with most footage composing Al Jazeera broadcasts, for
example, being produced by non-professional media. The addition of a huge
multiplicity of primary sources, live testimonies and filmed records of events,
challenge research methods and evidentiary practices. There is much locational
and spatial information that can be harvested from within these blurry, shaky
and unedited images/clips and architectural methodologies are essential in
reconstructing incidents in space. Architecture is a good framework to
understand the world, alongside others.



Whereas
debates around the 'politics of the image' in the field of photography and
visual cultures tended to concentrate on the decoding of single images and
photojournalistic trophy shots we now need to study the creation of extensive
'image-complexes' and inhabit this field reconstruct events from images taken
at different perspective and at different times. The relation between images is
architectural, best composed and represented within 3D models. Architectural
analysis is useful in locating other bits of evidence—recorded testimonies,
films and photos—from multiple perspectives in relation to one other bits of
evidence and cross referring these in space.



But
'image complexes' are about interrogating the field of visibility it is also
about absence, failures of representation, blockages or destruction of images.





How
did you arrive at where you currently are in your thinking about global
politics?



I'm
an architect, and my intellectual upbringing is in architectural theory and
spatial theory. I tend to hold on to this particular approach when I'm entering
a geopolitical context or areas that would otherwise be the domain of
journalists and human rights people, traditional jurists, etc. Architecture taught
me to pay attention to details, to materiality, to media, and to make very
close observations about the way built structures might embody political
relations.



When I study political situations, I
study them as an architect: I look at the way politics turns into a material—spatial
practice—the materialization, and at the spatialization, of political forces. Architectural
form—as I explained many times—is slowed-down force. My thinking is structured
around a relation between force and form. And form, for an architect, is an
entry point from which to read politics. So when I look at matter and material
reality—like a building, a destroyed building, a piece of infrastructure, a
road or bridge, a settlement or suburb or city—I look at it as a product of a political
force field. But it is never static. A city always grows, expands or contracts
recording the multiple political relations that shaped it.



Buildings
continuously record their environment. So one can read political force on buildings.
In taking this approach, I am influenced by building surveyors, and insurance
people going into a building to look at a scratch in a wall to piece together
what might have happened, and what might still happen. So I feel like a kind of
property surveyor on the scale of a city at times of war. But in practicing
this forensic architecture
I also work like an archaeologist: archaeology is about looking at material remains
and trying to piece together the cultural, political, military, or social spheres.
But I'm an archaeologist of very recent past or of the present. While
some of my investigations will always retain a haptic dimension based on
material examination, much of it is an analysis of material captured and
registered by various medias. Verify, locate, compose and cross-reference a
spatial reality from images of architecture.





What
would a student need to become a specialist in your field or understand the
world in a global way?



The institutes I run do not recruit
only architects. We need to open up the disciplinary bounds of education. We work
with filmmakers and architects and with artists.



It embodies a desire to understand
architecture as a field of inquiry, with which you can interrogate reality as
it is effectively registering material transformation. I see architecture as a
way of augmenting our way of seeing things in the world, but it's not for me a
kind of sacred field that should not be touched or changed.



But I'm also using architecture
across the entire spectrum of its relation to politics, from the very dystopian—with
forensic architecture, a kind of architectural pathology—to the utopian. I have
a studio in Palestine with Palestinian partners of mine, and internationals.
Alessandro Petty and Sandi Hilal
are in this group, which is called Decolonizing Architure. It's this group that is engaged in
very utopian projects for the West Bank and Palestine and the return of
refugees and so on. So I use architecture across the entire spectrum, from the
very dystopian to the very utopian. Architecture is simply a way of engaging
the world and its politics. Space is the way of establishing relations between
things. And actually space is not static, it is both a means of establishing
relations between people and objects and things. Just as material itself is
always an event, always under transformation. So that is something I have taken
from architecture and try to bring into politics, but not only in analyzing
crimes, but in producing the reality yet to come.



So what we
need from people is the desire to understand aesthetics as a field of inquiry,
not simply as a pleasurable play of beauty and pleasing kind of effect, but as
a kind of very sensorial field, sensorium, in which you can interrogate reality
as it is effectively registering material transformation. So I would look
simply for that kind of sensorial intensity and high critical approach and
understanding and speculating of how it is we know what we think we know. Of
course, you cannot see, or you do not know what you see, you do not have the
language to interpret or question what it is you 'see' without abstract
constructs. This means I don't necessarily look for theoretical capacities in
people: I see theory as a way of augmenting our way of seeing things in the
world, of registering them, of decoding them, but it's not for me a kind of
sacred field to which I submit in any way.







So
what is it you work on now?



I'm mostly trying to establish forensic architecture as a
critical field of practice and as an agency that produce and disseminate
evidence about war crimes in urban context. Recent forensic investigations in Guatemala
and in the Israeli Negev involved
the intersection of violence and environmental transformations, even climate
change. For trials and truth commissions, we analyze the extent to which
environmental transformation intersect with conflict.



The imaging of this
previously invisible types of violence—'environmental violence' such as land degradation, the destruction of fields and forests (in the tropics), pollution
and water diversion, and also long term processes of desertification—we use as new type of evidence of processes dispersed across time
and space. There are other conflicts that unfold in relation to climatic and
environmental transformations and in particular in relation to environmental
scarcity.



Conflict has reciprocal
interaction with environment transformation: environmental change could
aggravate conflict, while conflict tends to generate further environmental
damage. This has been apparent in Darfur, Sudan where the conflict was
aggravated by increased competition over arable due to local land erosion and desertification.
War and insurgency have occurred along Sahel—Arabic for 'shoreline'—on the
southern threshold of the Sahara Desert, which is only ebbing as million of
hectares of former arable land turn to desert. In past decades, conflicts have
broken out in most countries from East to West Africa, along this shoreline:
Eritrea, Ethiopia, Somalia, Sudan, Chad, Niger, Mali, Mauritania, and Senegal.
In 2011 in the city of Daraa, farmers' protests, borne out of an extended cycle
of droughts, marked
the beginning of the Syrian civil war. Similar processes took place in the
eastern outskirts of Damascus, Homs, al-Raqqah and along the threshold of the
great Syrian and Northern Iraqi Deserts. These transformations impact upon
cities, themselves a set of entangled natural/man-made environments. The conflict
and hardships along desertification bands compel dispossessed farmers to embark
upon increasingly perilous paths of migrations, leading to fast urbanization at
the growing outskirts of the cities and slams.



I'm
trying to understand these processes across desert thresholds. There has been a
very long colonial debate about what is the line beyond which the desert begins.
Most commonly it was defined as 200 mm rain per annum. Cartographers were
trying to draw it, as it represented, to a certain extent, the limit of
imperial control. From this line on, most policing was done through bombing of
tribal areas from the air. Since the beginning, the emergence of the use of air
power in policing in the post World War I period—aerial control, aerial
government—took form in places that were perceived, at the time, as lying
beyond the thresholds or edges of the law. The British policing of Iraq, the
French in Syria, and Algeria, the Italians in Libya are examples where control
would hover in air.



Up
to now I was writing about borders that were physical and manmade: walls in the
West Bank or Gaza and the siege around it—most notably in Hollow Land (2007, read the introduction here).
Now I started to write about borders that are made by the interaction of people
and the environment—like the desert line—which is not less violent and brutal. The
colonial history of Palestine has been an attempt to push the line of the
desert south, trying to make it green or bloom—this is in Ben Gurion's terms—but
the origins of this statement are earlier and making the desert green and
pushing the line of the desert was also Mussolini's stated aim. On the other
hand, climate change is now pushing that line north.



Following
not geopolitical but meteorological borders, helps me cut across a big
epistemological problem that confines the writing in international relations or
geopolitics within the borders organize your writing. Braudel is an
inspiration but, for him, the environment of the Mediterranean is basically
cyclically fixed. The problem with geographical determinism is that it takes
nature as a given, cyclical, milieu which then affects politics—but I think we
are now in a period where politics affects nature in the same way in which
nature affects politics. The climate is changing in the same speed as human
history.





What does your background in
architecture add to understanding the global political controversies you engage
in?



We are a forensic agency that
provides services to prosecution teams around the world. With our amazing
members we ran 20-odd cases around the world from the Amazon to Atacama, for
the UN, for Amnesty, for Palestinian NGOs, in Gaza of course, West Bank, issues
of killings, individual killings in the West Bank that we do now, and much more
drastic destructions.



Forensic Architecture is unique in using
architectural research methodologies to analyze violations of human rights and
international humanitarian law as they bear upon the built environment—on
buildings, cities and territories, and this is why we get many commissions. We
produced architectural evidence for numerous investigations and presented them
in a number of cases in national and international courts and tribunals. We
were commissioned by the UN Special Rapporteur for Human Rights to study single
destroyed buildings, as well as patterns of destruction, resulting from
drone warfare in Pakistan, Yemen, Somalia and Gaza. This study was presented at
the UN General Assembly in New York. We developed techniques to locate the
remains of buildings and villages overgrown by thick rain forests and presented
this material as evidence in the genocide trial of former president Efraín Ríos
Montt in the National Court of Guatemala and the Inter-American
Court. We quantified and analyzed levels of architectural destruction in Gaza
after the 2014 conflict for Amnesty International. We provided architectural
models and animations to support a petition against the wall in Battir
submitted to the Israeli High Court, helping to win the case.



Recently, we use and deal with the
reconstruction of human testimony. Witnesses to war give account of the worst
moment of their lives; times when their dear ones have died or hurt. Their
memory is disturbed, and tends to be blurred. We have developed a way of very
carefully interviewing and discussing with witnesses. Together with them, we
build digital models of their own homes. So we can see a very slow process of reconstruction
of the relation between memory space and architecture. And events start coming
back, through the process of building.



In order to develop this, we needed
to explore the historical use of memory and architecture, such as Frances Yates'
The Art of Memory (read it here), as well as different accounts on
the use of trauma, and bring them into the digital age, bring an understanding
of the relation of testimony and evidence into contemporary thinking. Single
incidents tend to be argued away as aberrations of 'standard operating
procedures'. To bring charges against government and military leaderships, it
is necessary to demonstrate 'gross and systematic' violations.
This means finding consistent and repeated patterns of
violations. Architectural analysis, undertaken on the level of
the city is able to demonstrate repetition and transformations in patterns of
violation/destruction in space and time—within the battle zone along the
duration of the conflict. Architectural analysis is useful not only in dealing
with architectural evidence—i.e with destroyed buildings—but also helpful in
locating other bits of evidence—testimony films or photos—in relation to one
other bits of evidence, and cross referring these in space.



Urban violence unfolds at different
intensities, speeds and spatial scales: it is made of patterns of multiple
instantaneous events as well as slower incremental processes of 'environmental
violence' that affects the transformation of larger territories. We aims to analyze
and present the relation between forms of violence that occur at different
space and time scales. From eruptive kinetic violence of the instantaneous/human
incident through patterns of destruction mapped across and along the duration
of urban conflict, to what Rob Nixon calls the 'slow violence' of environmental
transformation (read the introduction of the eponymous book here,
pdf).





Last question. How does your approach to research relate to, or differ
from, approaches to international politics?



To study conflict as a reality that unfolds across
multiple scales, we use the microphysical approach—dealing with details,
fragments and ruins—as an entry-point from which we will unpack the larger
dynamics of a conflict. We reconstruct singular incidents, locate them in space
and time to look for and identify patterns, then study these patterns in
relation to long terms and wide-scale environmental transformations. This
approach seeks to make connections between, what Marc Bloch of the Annales
School called 'micro- and macro-history, between close-ups and extreme long
shots' in his thesis on historical method. This topological approach is
distinct from a traditional scalar one: the macro
(political/strategic/territorial) situation will not be seen a root cause for a
myriad set of local human right violations (incidents/tactics). In the complex
reality of conflict, singularities are equally the result of 'framing
conditions' and also contributing factors to phase transitions that might
affect, or 'de-frame' as Latour has put it, changes occurring in wider areas.
Instead of nesting smaller scales within larger ones, our analysis will seek to
fluidly shift from macro to micro, from political conditions to individual
cases, from buildings to environments and this along multiple threads,
connection and feedback loops.



While in relation to the single
incident it might still be possible to establish a direct, liner connection
between the two limit figures of the perpetrator and the victim along the model
of (international) criminal law, evidence for environmental violence is more
scattered and diffused. Instead, it requires the examination of what we call
'field causalities'—causal ecologies that are non-linear, diffused,
simultaneous, and that involve multiple agencies and feedback loops,
challenging the immediacy of 'evidence'. 




Establishing field causalities requires the
examination of force fields and causal ecologies, that are non-linear,
diffused, simultaneous and involve multiple agencies and feedback loops.
Whereas linear causality entails a focus on sequences of causal events on the
model of criminal law that seeks to trace a direct line between the two limit
figures of victim and perpetrator field causality involves the spatial
arrangement of simultaneous sites, actions and causes. It is inherently relational
and thus a spatial concept. By treating space as the medium of relation between
separate elements of evidence brought together, we aim to expand the analytical
scope of forensic architecture. It is inherently relational and thus a spatial
concept. By treating space as the medium of relation between separate elements
of evidence brought together, field causalities expands the analytical scope of
forensic architecture.



Let me illustrate this a bit. Forms
of violence are crucially convertible one to another. Drying fields along the
Sahel or the Great Syrian Desert, for example, reach a point in which they can
no longer support their farmers, contributing to impoverishment, migration to
cities, slumnization and waves of protest that might contribute to the eruption
of armed conflict. These layers call for a form of architectural analysis able
to shift and synthesize information at different scales—from single incidents
as they are registered in the immediate spatial setting, through patterns of
violations across the entire urban terrain to 'environmental violence'
articulated in the transformation of large territories.





Eyal Weizman is an architect, Professor of Visual Cultures and director
of the Centre for Research Architecture at Goldsmiths, University of London.
Since 2011 he also directs the European Research Council funded project, Forensic
Architecture - on the place of architecture in international
humanitarian law. Since 2007 he is a founding member of the architectural
collective DAAR in Beit
Sahour/Palestine. Weizman has been a professor of architecture at the Academy
of Fine Arts in Vienna and has also taught at the Bartlett (UCL) in London at
the Stadel School in Frankfurt and is a Professeur invité at the École des
hautes études en sciences sociales (EHESS) in Paris. He lectured, curated and
organised conferences in many institutions worldwide. His books include Mengele's
Skull (with Thomas Keenan at Sterenberg Press 2012), ForensicArchitecture (dOCUMENTA13
notebook, 2012), The Least of all Possible Evils (Nottetempo
2009, Verso 2011), Hollow Land (Verso, 2007), A
Civilian Occupation (Verso, 2003), the series Territories 1,2
and 3, Yellow Rhythms and many articles in journals, magazines
and edited books. 



Related links





Facultyprofile at Goldsmith
Forensic Architecture homepage
Read
Weizman's introduction to Forensis
(2014) here
(pdf)
Read
Weizman's Forensic Architecture: Notes
from Fields and Forums (dOCUMENTA 2012) here
(pdf)
Read
Weizman's Lethal Theory (2009) here (pdf)
Read
the introduction to Weizman's Hollow Land
(2007) here
(pdf)


Print version of this Talk (pdf)




0
0
1
3506
19988
School of Global Studies, University of Gothenburg
166
46
23448
14.0





Normal
0




false
false
false

DA
JA
X-NONE









































































































































































/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-priority:99;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin:0cm;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:10.0pt;
font-family:"Times New Roman";}

0
0
1
4753
27095
School of Global Studies/University of Gothenburg
225
63
31785
14.0





Normal
0




false
false
false

EN-US
JA
X-NONE









































































































































































/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-priority:99;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin:0cm;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:10.0pt;
font-family:Calibri;}










Ned
Lebow on Drivers of War, Cultural Theory, and IR of Foxes and Hedgehogs









Drawing
on classical political theories, International Relations is dominated by
theories that presuppose interests or fear as dominant drivers for foreign
policy. Richard Ned Lebow looks further back into the history of ideas to conjure up a
more varied set of drives that underpin political action. In this Talk, Lebow, among others, elaborates on
the underpinnings of political action, discusses how war drives innovations in
IR theorizing in the 20th century, and likens himself to a fox,
rather than a hedgehog.





Print version of this Talk (pdf)








What
is, according to you, the biggest challenge / principal debate in current IR?
What is your position or answer to this challenge / in this debate?







Well, the big challenge in international politics is always
how do we keep from destroying one another and that's the negative question.
But it is mirrored by a positive question which is, how do we build community
and tolerance and peace? And that's not exactly the flip side, but that's
always been the big question in IR. And part of that, I think, is how we learn
to manage threatening change. Because in my perspective, that's the driving
force of conflict: ultimately, both World Wars can be attributed to
modernization and its destabilizing consequences. That is also the reason why
it is a falsehood to base theory on that little select slice of history during
the World Wars, extrapolate it, and try to think its universal. Yet that is
what IR theory does: so many theorists, and so many of the people you recently
interviewed, are guilty of doing that. So that's the big question and
certainly, that's what drove me to study IR in the hope that I could make some
small contribution to figuring out some of the answers or partial answers to
these questions.







If we turn to what the central debate should be in
International Theory, well, I would frame this in two parts: the first should
be 'what are the different ways in which we can conceive of international
theory and how, by all of us pursuing it the way we feel comfortable with, we
can enrich the field without throwing bric-a-brac at each other and find ways
of learning from each other?'







A few years ago, I edited a book with Mark Lichbach (Theory and Evidence in Comparative Politics
and International Relations) as a rejoinder to King, Keohane and Verba's
book, which we found deeply offensive. It has the narrowest framework and then
they base their understanding on the Vienna school yet they seem to have forgotten
that Hempel and Popper would disavow the positions that King, Keohane and Verba
(KKV) are anchoring themselves in as epistemologically primitive. And the very
examples they give to illustrate 'good science'—Alvarez and his groupaddressing the problem of dinosaur extinction—they fail to see that what
these people did was in fact code on the dependent variable, which is the big
no-no for KKV! And the reason why Alvarez et al were taken seriously, was not because they went through the order
of research that KKV promoted, but rather because they came up with an
explanation for a phenomenon that people have long known about—yet explanations
don't figure at all in KKV's take; they had no interest in mechanisms, it was
all narrow correlations. It's absurd! So we edited the book, and we invited
people who represented different perspectives, but all of whom had evidence and
struggled to make sense of the evidence, to talk to one another and to look at
the problems they themselves find in their positions and how one could learn
broadly from considering this. That's the kind of debate that seems to me is a
useful one. Not who is right or wrong, but how can we learn collectively. And
secondly, I think maybe we need fewer debates, and more good research.











How did you arrive
at where you currently are in your thinking about IR?







I suppose it's a combination of people, books, and events, and
being a dog that constantly gnaws on bones and works it through. Very clearly the
Second World War and the Cold War were what brought me to the study of IR. I'm sure
in their absence, considering the counterfactual, I would have gone into Astrophysics,
which was the other field that really interested me.







I think the first concrete influence was as an undergraduate
and then as a graduate, being struck by certain individuals whose minds seemed
to sparkle; and I admired them for that and they became role models. And I
would make myself, intellectually, a little Hans Morgenthau, a little Karl
Deutsch; see the world through their eyes, and play with it. I never really wanted
to make myself into them, but rather to benefit by seeing what the world was
like when seen through their eyes. So in this sense, let me go back and draw on
Boswell, Hughes, and Mill for my answer. They all conceived of identity as
something that's a process of self-fashioning in which we mix and match the
characteristics that we observe in other people. And the purpose of society is
to throw up these role models and provide interaction with them so that we can
constantly be engaging in self-fashioning. And ultimately, we create something
that's novel that other people want to emulate or reject, as the case may be.
And I think that mixing and matching, and ultimately creating a synthesis of my
own, I developed my own approach to things.







The second element of this is to pick problems that engage
me, and stick with them. My first book in IR was about international crises and
I worked on this, it must have been 8, possibly even 9 years. I started out initially
convinced that deterrence theory made sense but wouldn't fit the historical evidence. Then one day, while
playing around, I realized the theory was wrong and by reversing it, I could
understand why it didn't work and see there were very different dynamics at
play. So working on a problem constantly and going back and forth between
theory and empirical findings, you gradually develop your own sense of the
field.







It also helps, over the course of an intellectual lifetime, to
work on different kinds of problems: I've just finished a book on the politics
and ethics of identity; I finished a manuscript up for review on the nature of
causation and different takes on cause; and the previous two books were on
counterfactuals and the origins of war. And I learned something theoretically
and methodologically by throwing myself into these problems and also, in some
cases, by going beyond what one would normally consider the domain of IR to look
for answers. I've often done philosophy and literature in the identity book. I
also go to musical texts: I have a reading of the Mozart Da Ponte Operas as a deliberate
thought experiment to test out ancient regime
and enlightenment identities under varying circumstances to expose what's wrong
with them and to work toward a better approach of Così fantutte. And I
read the music, not only the libretti,
to get at an answer. Of course, when you've been doing it a long time, it keeps
you alive and alert when you look at something new. I'm just finishing my 46th
year of University teaching. It's a long time!







Thirdly, there were a few pivotal books. I read George
Orwell's 1984 and Aldous Huxley's Brave New World in the early 50s. Both
of those were very powerful books. I also read in about 1950 - Life Magazine
produced a large volume on WWII and it had fabulous photographs and of course
Life was famous, Robert Capa's photographs, and
the text by John Dos Passos. A big big book that I read and re-read and that
was a powerful influence on me. I'd say the Diary of Anne Frank, when it came
out, which was not all that dissimilar but had a different ending from my own
war experience, and then in high school I read, or struggled to read—I don't
think I understood it—Ideology and Utopia
(full text here) by Karl
Mannheim, and then I read Politics among
Nations and the Twenty Year's Crisis.
And both those books made enormous sense to me at the time. But I think the
book that over the course of my lifetime has had the most influence on me of
anything is Thucydides' The History of
the Peloponnesian War (read full text here).











What would a
student need to become a specialist in IR or understand the world in a global
way?







I am tempted to give you a flippant answer that an expert is
somebody from out of town; what used to be with slides would now be with a PowerPoint
presentation. I think frankly you need to do two things: you need to be
analytically sophisticated and original on the one hand, but to do it well, you
have to have an empirical base. There has to be some problem or set of problems
that you've rolled up your sleeves, looked at the data, talk to the people who
are on the ground doing these things, and you need to go back and forth between
that empirical knowledge and conceptual one. That's success as a social scientist. 







And traditionally, there's
always been another key. You must have one foot in society in which you belong
and another foot outside so you can do it as an outsider as well as an insider.
That's terribly important. I think, in this sense, that Americans are more
parochial than other people. They are good insiders but they are not very good
outsiders and they just don't understand the rest of the world and when you
read what they write about the rest of the world, you wonder what planet they
are living on. If you don't see the rest of the world, you can't look at the
America from another perspective. It's like people who take hegemony seriously;
it's like believing in Santa Claus, except Santa Claus is benign. To gain a
deep experience of the world in itself is a pre-requisite. Do a year abroad in
some other culture. Learn a language. Have a relationship with someone from a
different culture—you begin to learn the languages and all the rest will come.
That's the way to start.











You are
most famous to most people for your Cultural
Theory of International Relations (2008). What does it comprise and can you
say something about its classical roots?







I return to classical theory of conflict and cooperation
because I find that in modern theory, all drives of human action have been
reduced to appetite, and reason to mere instrumentality. The Greeks, by
contrast, believed there were several fundamental drives—drives that affected
politics—and while these included appetite, they weren't just appetite. Reason was more than instrumentality; it also had
the goal of understanding what led to a happy life; then, next to reason and
appetite, the third drive was spirit or self-esteem (the Greek thumos), which is very different and
often opposed to appetite. It is about winning the approbation of others to
feel good about ourselves. The difference between honor and standing—two
variants of self-esteem—is that honor is status achieved within a fixed set of
rules, while standing is whenever you achieve status by whatever means.







Now most existing IR theories are either only built on
appetites—as liberalism and Marxism—or fear. And for the Greeks fear is not a
human drive but a powerful emotion which can become a motive. And when reason
loses control over either appetite or spirit, people begin to worry about their
own ability to satisfy their appetites, their spirit, or even protect
themselves physically. That's when fear becomes a powerful motive. Realism is
of course the paradigm developed around fear. I differ in that my theory
recognizes multiple motives, that are active to varying degrees at different
times. They don't blend the way a solution does in chemistry, but they retain
their own characteristics, even if jumbled together. So my theory expects to
see quite diverse and often conflicting behavior, whereas other theories only
pay attention to state behavior that seems to support their theory, and feel
the need to explain away other behavior inconsistent with their theory. I revel
in these variations. Second, I vary in describing what derives from these
motives as (Weberian) ideal types—which means, something you don't encounter in
the real world, but rather, an abstraction, a fictional or analytical
description, that helps to make sense of the real world but never maps onto it
exactly. So, a fear-based world gives you a very nice description of a
foundation of anarchy. But of course this is an ideal-type world. Fear is only
one motive. You have go to a place where civil order has broken down, like
Somalia or the trenches in WWII, to see fear-based models compete.







Starting from these three motives and the emotion of fear, I
argue that each of these generates a very different logic of cooperation,
conflict and risk-taking; and each is associated with a different kind of
hierarchy. And all of them except fear rely on a different principle of
justice. Just to give an example: for actors—whether individuals or
states—driven by self-esteem, they tend to be risk prone (because honor has to
be won by successfully overcoming ordeals and challenges); it leads to a
conflictual logic because you are competing with others for honor; and it can
be rule-based (although the rules can brake down and move into fear); and the
principle is one of fairness, in contrast to interest or appetite which has a
principle of equality. The hierarchy is one of clientelism, where people honor
those at the top, which, in return, provides practical benefits for those on
the bottom. The Greeks called this hegemonia;
the Chinese had a similar system.







But because any actual system is not an ideal type, we have
to figure out what that mixture is and we can begin to understand foreign
policies. And I try to give numerous examples in the book. And the big turning
point, I argue, is modernity, where it becomes more difficult to untangle the
motives and their discourses. Because in modernity both Rousseau and Adam Smith
try to understand why we want material things, so the two become connected. You
could argue that even in Egyptian times they were connected, in the pyramids,
which are nothing if not erections of self-esteem. But it becomes more
difficult and so, rather than saying, using literary texts, artistic works and
political speeches as a way of determining the relationship, I approached the
problem differently with the examples of the World Wars, the Cold War, and the
Anglo-American Invasion of Iraq. I said let's run a test of seeing how
carefully we can explain the origins and the dynamics of these conflicts on the
basis of interest, on the basis of fear, on the basis of self-esteem. And I
think that's methodologically defensible.



Now the interesting point is that the honor or self-esteem
explanation is gone completely from modern IR explanations but does at least
just a good a job—if not better—at explaining these conflicts I mention above. There is an important sense—and this is my latest book—in which going to war was the dominant way to get recognized as a great power, and I feel that the example of the war in Iraq illustrates that that principle is on the retreat.







I obviously use Greek thinking as a source here of—again, I
wouldn't use the word knowledge—but as a source of insight into human nature
and the recurring problems regardless of society. Some of the great writers and
thinkers cannot be surpassed as sources of knowledge that we as social
scientists are shadows on the cave by comparison. And I find the Greeks
particularly interesting for several reasons. One, they had a richer
understanding of the psyche that moderns who have adduced everything to appetite
and reason to a mere instrumentality, this is, to me, an incredibly narrow,
crude way of thinking of the human mind. And, for whatever reason, they were
gifted with tragedians who pierced to the core of things. So I find them as a
source of inspiration but it's by no way limited to the Greeks. You can pick
great authors from any culture, in any century, and read them and learn a lot.











How
should we understand your cultural theory of international relations in
relation to the 'big' paradigms?







My theory is constructivist, at every level. I can go even further and claim that my theory is
the only constructivist theory.
Alexander Wendt is not a constructivist. If anything, he's a structural
liberal. It did have preexisting identities and has a teleology as he believes
a Kantian world is inevitable— that's quite a statement to make! And I hope
he's right. On the other hand, I define constructivists in a broader way. Most
constructivists start with identities and identities are certainly an important
feature of my work, but my theory rests on a different premise, and that is the
notion of there being certain core values which are germane to politics, and
they vary in relative importance from society to society, and they find
expression in different ways. So it is constructivist, I think, in the Weberian
sense: we have to understand from within the culture what makes things
meaningful. And, in that sense, you could bring in the notion of
inter-subjective reality, but I go beyond it, because other values are always
present in this mix and therefore there's behavior that appears contradictory
that is often misunderstood if you apply the wrong lens to it. So there's a
lack of interdisciplinary understanding as well: you have to look at both to
see how the world works. So cultural theory is constructivist and it allows us
to reframe and expand what constructivism means.







If I apply this constructivist thinking to one of the core
principles in our approach to world politics: what is a cause? I start by
asking, what does 'cause' mean, in physics? Why physics? Because physics is
always the field that political scientists look at, we have 'physics envy', so
to speak. And interestingly, in physics, there is no consensus about what cause
means. Some physicists think that very notion of cause is unhelpful to what
they do. Others are happy with regularities and subscribe to causal thinking. Still
others thing that you need to have mechanisms to explain anything. Still others,
and here statistical mechanics can be taken as a case in point, invoke Kantian
understandings of cause. Within physics there's no argument between people
adhering to these different understandings of 'cause', because you should do
what works! They don't criticize one another. So if they have this diversity,
why shouldn't we? Why shouldn't we develop understandings of cause that are
most appropriate to what we do? So I develop an understanding I call 'inefficient
causation' (download full paper here),
sort of playing off of Aristotle. And it is a constructivist understanding, but
it also incorporates elements that are distinctively non-constructivist. And
identities are only a small piece of the puzzle.











Is
there any sense to make of the way IR has evolved over the 20th
century?







I think if you look at some of the central figures, it's
quite easy. There are 2 great cohorts of International Relations theorists.
Those born in the early years of the 20th century comprise Hans
Morgenthau, John Hertz, E.H. Carr, Harold Lasswell, Nicholas Spykman, Frederick Schuman, and Karl Deutsch—who was
on my dissertation committee together with Isaiah Berlin and John Hertz. The
second cohort is born between about 1939 and 1945, and it comprises Robert
Jervis (Theory Talk #12), Joseph Nye
(Theory Talk #7), Robert Keohane (Theory Talk #9), Oren Young, Peter
Katzenstein (Theory Talk #15), Stephen Krasner (Theory Talk#21), Janice Steinberg… And I'll tell you what I think the reasons are for
these groups to emerge at these particular moments: the first cohort lived
through World War I. And did so, fortunately, in at an age where they were too
young to be combatants for the most part, but they certainly had to deal
intellectually and personally with its consequences and then watch the horrors
unfold of the 1930s.







And the second, my own, cohort was born at the outset of the
Second World War. I think, in that group, I may be the only one of them born in
Europe (France). The rest of them were born in the US. And we came of age
during the most acute crisis of the cohort. So I was either in university or
graduate school during the Berlin crisis, during the Cuba crisis, and certainly
had an interest first in the consequences of WWII and how something like this
could happen, and then living through the horrors of the Cold War, not knowing
if indeed one would live through
them. And that created a very strong incentive and focus for our group of
people. Now a surprising number of this second group did their graduate studies
at Yale: Janice Stein, I, Oren Young, Bruce Russet, Krasner, later all at Yale
with Karl Deutsch. The rest, Jervis, Keohane and Krasner at Harvard with Samuel
Huntington. I think you have the odd person who's born somewhere in between –
so, Ken Waltz (Theory Talk #40), for
instance, is younger. He must be a 1920 person, almost exactly in between these
two, just as Ernst Haas.







And I wouldn't be surprised now if there is another cohort
emerging, the people of around the age of Stefano Guzinni, Jens Bartelson,
Patrick Jackson (Theory Talk #44).
What ties this third cohort together is that they all watched the end of the
Cold War and are coping with its aftermath. So I believe that it's probably two
things: the external environment and the extent to which you're in an
intellectually nurturing institution. And of course for our cohort, it
certainly helped that there were jobs. That was not true of the earlier cohort.
Almost all of them, except E.H. Carr, ended up in the US as refugees. Did you
know Morgenthau started as an elevator boy in New York? Then he got a job
teaching part-time at Brooklyn College because someone fell ill. His wife
cleaned other people's apartments to supplement their income. Then he got a job
at the University of Kansas City, which was a hellhole, and finally Harold
Lasswell got called to Washington for some war work and got Chicago to hire
Morgenthau to replace him.











What is
the issue with the discipline today if, as you noted before, we fail to ask the
most interesting questions and instead focus on method?







Well, it of course depends on which side of the pond you
sit. On the American side of the pond, positivist or game-theoretical
behaviorist or rationalist modeling approaches dominate the literature; it's
just silly, from my perspective. It's based on assumptions which bear no
relationship to the real world. People like it because it's intellectually
elegant: they don't have to learn any languages, they don't have to read any
history, and they can pretend they're scientists discussing universals.
Intellectually, it's ridiculous. Bruce Bueno de Mesquita (Theory Talk #31) is a classic case in point. He's made a huge
reputation for himself with The War Trap (1981).
That book and the corresponding theory are based on a simple assumption,
namely, that there's a war trap compelling states into war, because initiators
win wars. But just look at the empirical record from 1945 to the present—initiators
lose between 80-90% of the wars they start. And that really depends on the
definition of victory. If you use the real definition, the Clausewitzian one,
you have to ask: do they achieve their political goals through violence? Then
the answer is, even fewer "victories". Well, let's cut them some slack, use a
more relaxed definition: did they beat the other side militarily? Initiators
still lose 78 or 82%—I forget exactly which percentage of their wars. And the
profession right now is so ignorant of history that nobody said 'Wait a
minute!' the day the book came out. Instead IR scholars all focus on this model
and fine-tuning it—it's ridiculous! And well, I don't want to go on with a
critique, but this is a serious problem, for it concerns a huge
misunderstanding regarding one of the most important problems out there.







But what happens now is this kind of thinking metastasizes
throughout the discipline because what students in International Relations or
Political Science more generally are taught are calculus, statistics—and I'm
not against this, one should learn them; I use them myself when I wear my
psychologist hat and do quantitative research and statistical analysis—but they
don't learn languages, they don't learn history, they don't learn philosophy.
They are so narrow! Much of this of course has to do with the reward structure
in the United States. It's clear that the statistical scientists are at the top
of the hill. So, economists transform themselves into scientists; but the
social scientists copy them because there are clear institutional rewards. If
you look at our salaries in comparison to the salaries of anthropologists,
historians—then if you sit at the edge of your chair and look over the abyss
you might see the humanists down there in terms of what they get. So very
clearly, there are strong institutional rewards. Once the positivist crowd got
a lock on various foundations and journals, if you want a job, if you want to
rise up through the profession, students tell me you have to do this stuff. IR
graduate students are bricklayers that get turned out of these universities.
That's the tragedy! It's no longer a serious intellectual enterprise. It's not
connected to anything terribly meaningful.







And mind you, I must say, while on the other, European, side
of the pond there is more diversity (one of the reasons I feel more comfortable
here), at the same time there is a strong tendency to go for a certain
heavy-handed brand of post-modernism. If you don't start an article with a
genuflection to Foucault or De Saussure or Derrida, you don't get published.
And by not looking beyond these 20th century thinkers, people in
Europe are often given credit for inventing things which were common knowledge
for hundreds and hundreds of years. Utterly ridiculous. But in between, there
are of course people who are trying to make sense of the world, including many
people in the positivist tradition who are doing good quantitative research and
trying to address serious problems in the world. The difficulty is that these
two extremes are often people who approach IR as a religion and they think that
their way of doing research is the only way
and they have no respect for others. And that's a kind of arrogance to which,
to me, is a violation of what the university is all about.







Ultimately, what is good theory? One approach would be to
say that a good theory is one that appears to order a domain in a way that is
conceptually rigorous - to the extent that that's even possible - that is
original and that raises a series of interesting questions which haven't been
asked before, but which are amenable to empirical research and finally it
should have normative implications. This is what Hans Morgenthau meant when he
said that the purpose of IR theory is not to justify what policymakers did, but
to educate them to act in ways that would lead to a better and more peaceful
world. And that, I think, is the ultimate goal of IR theory that we should not
lose sight of.











You
indicated that Isaiah Berlin was on your dissertation committee. He famously
tries to explain Tolstoy's philosophy of history (in War and Peace) through the parable of the hedgehog and the fox. If
theorists constraining themselves to one drive underpinning policy choices
would be hedgehogs, how would you see yourself? A fox or a hedgehog?







I am clearly a fox! I do different things. Whether I do them
well is debatable. But I certainly think that I'm a man of many tricks. Of
course the distinction also implies not believing in an overarching truth, and
indeed, I try hard not to think about truth because I don't think you can get
very far when you do. Epistemologically and eclectically, I'm a great believer
that we can never really establish a cause, truth, and knowledge. One of the
great problems here goes back to Plato who was shocked that craftsmen equated
technical ability to produce things with knowledge—Sofia, which is wisdom. And
today you have the problem one step up, so another category of knowledge for
the Greeks was episteme. Aristotle
would describe it as 'conceptual knowledge' or that which might even be
represented mathematically. And the people who would be 'expert' in episteme
think they have sofia and their claim
to being a hedgehog is the same kind of conceit, a form of hubris. Berlin's
distinction between hedgehogs and foxes is a very useful and nice concept to
play around with.







Yet it's a bit much to reduce Tolstoy to that tension. You
could do it as a game but it doesn't do much justice because there is so much
else in Tolstoy. He's tilting against the French historians of the 19th
century who have erected Napoleon into this strategic genius. And he does a
very convincing job of showing that what goes on on the battlefield has nothing
whatsoever to do with what Napoleon or anyone else who is wearing a general's
ebullience or theorists hat says. And also, and in this sense, one could see
him as the beginning of subaltern history of social science, he's telling the
story—admittedly about aristocrats, not commoners—but he's telling the story of
ordinary people on the battlefield, not the people making the decisions. So the
war is in a way a background to the lives of the people, focusing our attention
a very humanist way, on people. This, too, is revolutionary for his time.















Professor
Richard Ned Lebow Professor of International Political Theory at the Department
of War Studies, King's College London and James O. Freedman Presidential
Professor Emeritus at Dartmouth College. He is also a Bye-Fellow of
Pembroke College, University of Cambridge. He has taught strategy and the
National and Naval War Colleges and served as a scholar-in-residence in the
Central Intelligence Agency during the Carter administration. He has
authored and edited 28 books and nearly 200 peer reviewed articles.















Related
links








Read the
first chapter of Lebow's The Tragic
Vision of Politics (2003) here (pdf) 
Read
Lebow & Kelly's Thucydides and
Hegemony: Athens and the United States (Review of International Studies
2001), here (pdf) 
Read
Lebow's Deterrence and Reassurance:
Lessons from the Cold War (Global Dialogue 2001) here (pdf) 
Read
Lebow's The Long Peace, the End of the
Cold War, and the Failure of Realism (International Organization, 1994)
here (pdf) 
Read
Lebow's The Cuban Missile Crisis: Reading
the Lessons Correctly (Political Science Quarterly 1983) here (pdf) 



Print version of this Talk (pdf)