Sources of the interdisciplinary hierarchy
by Sebastian Benthall
Lyotard’s 1979 treatise The Postmodern Condition tells a prescient story about the transformation of the university. He discusses two “metanarratives” used for the organization of universities: the German Humboldt model of philosophy as the central discipline, with all other fields of knowledge radiating out from it; and the French model of the university as the basis of education of the modern democratic citizen. Lyotard argues (perhaps speciously) that because of what the late Wittgenstein had to say about the autonomy of language games (there are no facts; there are only social rules) and because of cybernetics (the amalgamation of exact and applied sciences that had been turned so effectively towards control of human and machine), the metanarratives had lost their legitimacy. There was only “legitimation by performativity”, knowledge proving itself by virtue of its (technical) power, and “legitimiation by paralogy”, knowledge legitimizing itself through semantic disruption, creating pools of confusion in which one could still exist though out-of-alignment with prevailing cybernetic logics.
This duality–between cybernetics and paralogy–excludes a middle term identified in Habermas’s 1968 Knowledge and the Structure of Human Interests. Habermas identifies three “human interests” that motivate knowledge: the technical interest (corresponding to cybernetic performativity), the emancipatory interest (perhaps corresponding to the paralogic turn away from cybernetic performativity), and, thirdly, the hermeneutic interest. The latter is the interest in collective understanding that allows for collective understanding. As Habermas’s work matures, this interest emerges as the deliberative, consensual basis of law.
These frameworks for understanding knowledge and the university share an underlying pragmatism. Both Lyotard and Habermas seem to agree about the death of the Humboldt model: knowledge for its own sake is a deceased metanarrative. Knowledge for democratic citizens, the purportedly French model in Lyotard, was knowledge of shared historical narratives and agreement about norms for Habermas. Lyotard was pessimistic about the resilience of these kinds of norms under the pressure of cybernetics. Indeed, this tension between “smart technology” and “rule of law” remains today, expressed in the work of Hildebrandt. The question of whether technical knowledge threatens or delegitimizes legal/hermeneutic knowledge is still with us today.
These intellectual debates are perhaps ultimately about university politics and academic disciplines. If they are truly _ultimately_ about that, that marks their limitation. For what the pragmatist orientation towards knowledge implies is that knowledge does not exist for its own sake, but rather, in most cases, for its application. Philosophers can therefore only achieve so much by appealing to generalized interests. All real applications are contextualized.
Two questions unanswered by these sources (at least in what is assuredly this impoverished schematic of their arguments) are:
- Whence the interests and applications that motivate the university as socially and economically situated?
- What accounts for the tensions between the technical/performative disciplines and the hermeneutic and emancipatory ones?
In 1979, the same publication year of The Postmodern Condition, Pierre Bourdieu published Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgement of Taste. While not in itself an epistemology, Bourdeiu’s method and conclusions provide a foundation for later studies of science, journalism, and the university. Bourdieu’s insight is that aesthetic taste–in art, in design, in hobbies, etc.–is a manifestation of socioeconomic class understood in terms of a multidimensional matrix of forms of capital–such as economic wealth, but also social status and prestigue, and social capital in knowledge and skills. Those with lots of wealth and low cultural capital–the nouveau riche–will value expensive, conspicuous consumption. Those with low wealth and high cultural capital–academics, perhaps–will value intricate works that require time and training to understand and so on. But these preferences exist to maintain the social structures of (multiply defined) capital accumulation.
A key figure in Bourdieu’s story is that of the petit bourgeoisie, the transitional middle class that has specialized their labor, created perhaps a small business, but has not accumulated capital in a way that secures them in the situation where they aspire to be. In today’s economy, these might include the entrepreneurs–those who would, by their labor, aspirationally transform themselves from laborers into capitalists. They would do this by the creation of technology–the means of productions, capital. Unlike labor applied directly to the creation of goods and services as commodities, capital technologies, commodified through the institution of intellectual property, have the potential to scale in use well beyond the effort of their creation and, through Schumpeterian disruption, make their creators wealthy enough to change their class position. On the other hand, there are those who prefer the academic lifestyle, who luxuriate in the study of literature and critique. Through the institutions of critical academia, these are also jobs that can be won through the accumulation of, in this case social and cultural, capital. By design, these are fields of knowledge that exist for their own sake. There are also, of course, law and social scientific disciplines that are helpful for the cultural formation of politicians, legislators, and government workers of various kinds.
Viewed in this way, we can start to see “human interests” not merely as transcendental features the general human condition, but rather as the expression of class and capital interests. This makes sense given the practical reality of universities getting most of their income through tuition. Students attend universities in order to prepare themselves for careers. The promise of a professional career allows universities to charge higher tuition. Where in the upper classes people choose to compete on intangible cultural capital rather than economic capital, universities maintain specialized disciplinary tracks in the humanities.
Notably, the emancipatory role of the humanities, lauded by Habermas, subtly lampooned (parhaps) by Lyotard, is in other works more closely connected to leisure. As early as 1947, Horkheimer, in Eclipse of Reason, points out that the kind of objective reason he sees as essential to the moral grounding of society that has been otherwise derailed by capitalism relies on leisure time that this a difficult class attainment. In perhaps cynical Bourdieusian terms, the ability to reflect on the world and decide, beyond the restrictions of material demands, on an independent or transcendent system of values is itself a form of cultural accumulation of the most rarified kind. However, as this form of cultural attainment is not connected directly to any means of production, it is perhaps a mystery what grounds it pragmatically.
There’s an answer. It’s philanthropy. The arts and humanities, the idealistic independent policy think tanks, and so on, are funded by those who, having accumulated economic capital and the capacity for leisurely thinking about the potential for a better word, have allocated some portion of their wealth towards “causes”. The competition for legitimacy between and among philanthropic causes is today a major site of politics and ideology. Most obviously, political parties and candidacy run on donations, which is in a sense a form of values-driven philanthropy. The appropriation of state funds, or not, for particular causes becomes a battlefield of all forms of capital at the end of the day
This is all understandable from the perspective that is now truly at the center of the modern university: the perspective of business administration. Ever since Herbert Simon, it has been widely known that the managerialist discipline and computational and cybernetic sciences are closely aligned. The economic sociology of Bourdieu is notable in that it is a successor to the sociology of Marx, but also a successor to the phenomenological approach of Kant, and yet is ultimately consistent with the managerialist view of institutions relying on skilled capital management. Disciplines or sub-disciplines that are peripheral to these core skillsets by virtue of their position in the network of capital flows are marginal by definition.
This accounts for much of interdisciplinary politics and grievance. The social structures described here account for the teleological dependency structure of different forms of knowledge: what it is possible to motivate, and with what. To the extent that a discipline as a matter of methodological commitment is unable to account for this social structure, it will be dependent on its own ability to perpetuate itself autonomously though the stupefication of its students.
There is another form of disciplinary dependency worth mentioning. It cuts the other way: it is the dependency that arises from the infrastructural needs of the knowledge institutions. This instrumental dependency is where this line of reasoning connects with Ihde’s instrumental realism as a philosophy of science. Here, too, there are disciplines that are blind to themselves. To the extent that a discipline is unable to account for the scientific advances necessary for its own work, it survives through the heroics of performative contradiction. There may be cases where an institution has developed enough teleological autonomy to reject the knowledge behind its own instrumentation, but in these cases we must be tempted to consider the knowledge claims of the former to be specious and pretensious. What purpose does fashionable nonsense have, if it rejects the authority of those that it depends on materially? “Those” here referring to those classes that embody the relevant infrastructural knowledge.
The answer is perhaps best addressed using the Bourdieusian insights already addressed: an autonomous field of discourse that denies its own infrastructure is a cultural market designed to establish a distinct form of capital, an expression of leisure. The rejection of performativity, or tenuous and ambiguous connection to it, becomes a class marker; synecdochal with leisure itself, which can then be held up as an esteemable goal. Through Lyotard’s analysis, we can see how a field so constructed might be successful through the rhetorical power of its own paralogic.
What has been lost, through this process, is the metanarrative of the university, most especially of the university as an anchor of knowledge in itself. The pragmatist cybernetic knowledge orientation entails that the university is subsumed to wider systems of capital flows, and the only true guarantee of its autonomy is philanthropic endowment which might perpetuate its ability to develop a form of capital that serves its own sake.