Reading John Stuart Mill’s ‘Utilitarianism’

~ Liam Greenacre ~ Leave a comment

While researching Epicurus, I came across John Stuart Mill’s ‘Utilitarianism’. An 1861 book it aims to introduce and discuss a theory of ethics that centres around achieving the maximal happiness for all individuals affected by an action. In this post, I shall discuss my experience of reading it and raise any points I found significant.

Mill starts by raising the divisive nature of ethical theories. The question of right and wrong, according to him, ‘has occupied the most gifted intellects and divided them into sects and schools carrying on a vigorous warfare against one another’. One cannot disagree with Mill on this, morality is a central question for humanity and so it is not surprising that it can be divisive. Another interesting point about ethics is that, unlike science, theory must precede practice. In my recent post, on Epicurus and Musonius Rufus, I argued philosophy should aim to be practical. However, ethics is an example that shows that theory is certainly not redundant. You cannot walk blindly into a scenario without an innate sense of right or wrong. Furthermore, if you do have a philosophical theory of ethics, it should certainly influence your actions.

So how should we make decisions according to Mill? According to him ‘actions are right in proportion as they tend to promote happiness; wrong as they tend to produce the reverse of happiness.’ Like Epicurus, Mill believes that pleasure can be equated with happiness, whereas unhappiness is equated with pain. Utilitarianism is therefore a theory that holds actions should be undertook with a calculation of how much pleasure or happiness they shall produce for the maximum number of people affected. Mill states ‘pleasure and freedom from pain are the only things desirable as ends’. It is worth noting here, that Mill was definitely influenced by Epicurus, he mentions him several times, so understandably their ideas share some similarities.

However, when you state that pleasure is the ultimate aim of your philosophy you inevitably encounter a problem. Some think your idea of pleasure can be equated with base desires. And Mill certainly had this problem, he reveals that some think of utilitarianism as ‘a doctrine worthy only of swine’. Mill responds to this criticism by arguing ‘human beings have faculties more elevated than the animal appetites’ and also writes ‘there is no known Epicurean theory of life which does not assign to the pleasures of the intellect, of the feelings and imagination, and of the moral sentiments a much higher value as pleasures than to those of mere sensation’. Therefore, ‘base desires’ do not have much of a place in utilitarianism.

One aspect that sounds potentially dangerous initially is Mill’s separation between those of a higher intellect and a lower intellect. ‘Capacity for other nobler feelings is in most natures a very tender plant’, according to Mill. The lack of mental cultivation is according to him one of the main factors that prevents happiness in life. Thankfully, he attributes this absence to a person’s social position in life, rather than any innate factor. Mill states ‘the present wretched education and wretched social arrangements are the only real hindrance to its (happiness) being attainable by almost all.’

Another interesting aspect of Mill’s thought is his emphasis on the consequence of an action rather than the motive behind it. He writes ‘he who saves a fellow creature from drowning does what is morally right, whether his motive be duty or the hope of being paid for his trouble’ and ‘the great majority of good actions are intended not for the benefit of the world, but for that of individuals, of which the good of the world is made up.’ Utilitarianism therefore emphasises actions can still be right, even if they are not done for the right reason. This, as Mill predicts, raises a potential criticism of the ethical theory. It suggests a bad person can carry out good actions and if they did utilitarianism would not critique them.

What other problems does utilitarianism face? Mill devotes an entire chapter to one- what is the motive to obey its ethical theory? Firstly, the improvement of education would have a pivotal role. It would do this by cultivating the inbuilt sense of unity human beings have. Mill states ‘if we now suppose this feeling of unity to be taught as a religion, and the whole forces of education, of institutions, and of opinion directed, as it once was in the case of religion, to make every person grow up from infancy surrounded on all sides by the profession and the practice of it, I think that no one who can realise this conception will feel any misgiving about the sufficiency of the ultimate sanction for the happiness morality.’ Another factor would also play a key role- the hope of favor and fear of displeasure from fellow humans or from God. Likewise, the fact that every being naturally desires his own happiness would have a role.

Mill also comments on the proof that is required for the utilitarian doctrine. His answer is simple; ‘no reason can be given why the general happiness is desirable, except that each person, so far as he believes it to be attainable, desires his own happiness.’ Utilitarianism is right because of the innate human desire for happiness and pleasure.

Another interesting aspect of Mill’s thought centres around virtue and the role it plays in utilitarianism. Virtue plays a central role in the ancient philosophy of Stoicism, so it was fascinating to find out that Mill still believes it to be important in his more Epicurean focused ideas. Virtue, according to Mill, is conductive to our pleasure and protects us from pain. As a result, it should be cultivated among the people to ensure general happiness. This crossover between Epicureanism and Stoicism in Mill resembles the interaction between the two philosophies in the ancient world. They were never in complete isolation from each other, even if sometimes they were opposed.

The final chapter of John Stuart Mill’s ‘Utilitarianism’ deals with the concept of justice. Mill raises that one of the main objections to theory that happiness is right or wrong comes from this topic. Should people not be punished or rewarded depending on their actions? Mill responds to this question by suggesting that justice should be guided by utility (whether it promotes happiness or not). He writes ‘I account the justice which is grounded on utility to be the chief part, and incomparably the most sacred and binding part, of morality.’ Therefore, justice with utilitarian principles would not be like the conception we have of it. Mill suggests to save a life, it may be allowable and a duty, to steal or take by force medicine or kidnap a medical practitioner. Utilitarian justice would therefore calculate if an action promoted happiness or not when making a decision on whether it should punished or not.

I have summarised Mill’s ‘Utilitarianism’, to conclude I will discuss my opinion on the work. I agree with the idea that one should carry out an action with a view to how much happiness it produces. However, I do not like how utilitarianism focuses on the consequences of an action rather than whether the action itself is right or wrong. The former could be dangerous- it could allow people to perform completely immoral acts just because they are seen to promote happiness. Nevertheless, I find the idea that education should focus on promoting happiness through utilitarianism quite an engaging idea. While it still should be taught alongside other ideas, teaching individuals the importance of attaining happiness and encouraging the unity of man could have the practical impact that education and philosophy should have. It is therefore fair to say then, that although I do not completely agree with Mill, I find most of the main concepts behind utilitarianism quite attractive.

Reading Musonius Rufus and Epicurus

~ Liam Greenacre ~ 4 Comments

In a previous post, I mentioned that I thought Stoicism was a good system for approaching life. In this post, I will aim to describe why I have changed my mind to an extent. I will do this through a reading of the writings of Musonius Rufus, a Stoic, and Epicurus, the founder of Epicureanism. However, do not expect a complete shift, I still believe that Musonius Rufus has some wisdom to offer, even though I do not completely agree with his version of Stoicism.

I will start by discussing Musonius Rufus. Who was he? Rufus was a Roman eques (knight) who was born before 30 AD and died before 101/102. He was also a preeminent Stoic philosopher, even if he is less well known than his fellow Stoics; Seneca, Marcus Aurelius and Epictetus. Stoicism, in a simplified form, can be described as a philosophy that believes virtue is the main goal and good to strive towards and that it can be reached through self-control of our faculties. Rufus’ lectures and sayings are preserved in a fifth-century Anthology by Stobaeus. And these writings shall form part of my discussion in this post.

Before I criticise him, I want to make clear there are some very admirable traits of Musonius Rufus. Firstly, his belief that woman should also be educated and learn philosophy, as he puts it ‘women have received from the gods the same reasoning power as men.’. He also believes they can attain virtue like men, so long as they are not a ‘slave to desires’ and are ‘self-controlled’. Therefore, even though Rufus thinks woman should be allowed to study philosophy, he still demands the same tough standards he has for men. Another aspect of Rufus I like is his belief that philosophy should be practical rather than only theoretical. He argues this using a series of analogies. For example, arguing that you would rather see a doctor who can practice medicine, rather than only one who can talk about his expertise. This does not mean I believe that theory has no place in philosophy, but I believe it should be done with practicality in mind. If someone is studying the philosophy of history, then it should affect how they approach history in practice. Rufus also advocates vegetarianism, while I believe people should be free to choose what they eat, it does make me a tad more sympathetic towards him as I am vegetarian.

However, what I do not like about Rufus is his focus on pain. And this is where I found myself losing my fondness of Stoicism. Rufus writes ‘because we humans acquire all good things by pain, the person who is himself unwilling to endure pain all but condemns himself to being worthy of nothing good’. Statements like these put my commitment to Stoicism in doubt. When reading the other main Stoic philosophers, I do not remember this obsession with pain coming up much if at all, but nevertheless Rufus’ comments do put me off. However, the worst part about this, is that he advocates voluntary inflicting pain on oneself in order to train your ability to endure. He writes ‘we will train both soul and body when we accustom ourselves to cold, heat, thirst, hunger, scarcity of food, hardness of bed, abstaining from pleasures, and enduring pains.’ Seeking pain so you can endure more pain seems a disagreeable idea to me.

While I was reading Seneca, Marcus Aurelius and Epictetus, an aspect of their thought I liked was their dichotomy of control. This involves separating what you can control from what you cannot. Nearly, everything in Stoicism is out of your control, apart from your own mind and perceptions. However, I am no longer sure this is an effective dichotomy. What happens if there are certain instances in life where a person is no longer in complete control of their faculties due to no fault of their own? Stoicism might not be very useful in these circumstances. It is fair to say then I fallen out with Stoicism quite a lot then, although I believe no system is completely foolproof.

So what alternatives to Stoicism are there? Surprisingly, I have found myself drawn to Epicureanism, an ancient rival to Stoicism. Epicurus, who was born in 341 BC in the Athenian colony of Samos, argues that pleasure is the ultimate good. As he himself writes in his Letter to Menoeceus, ‘pleasure [is] the alpha and omega of a happy life. Pleasure is our first and kindred good.’ Epicureanism is therefore hedonistic with its focus on pleasure. This may evoke images of debauchery, but Epicureanism is far from that (and those who know me would probably laugh at the concept of me being hedonistic in the first sense, for example I do not drink). It seems Epicurus himself encountered misconceptions of his philosophy because he writes:

‘When we say pleasure is the end and aim, we do not mean the pleasures of the prodigal or the pleasures of sensuality, as we are understood to do by some through ignorance, prejudice, or willful misrepresentation. By pleasure we mean the absence of pain in the body and of trouble in the soul. It is not an unbroken succession of drinking-bouts and of merrymaking, not sexual love, not the enjoyment of the fish and other delicacies of a luxurious table, which produce a pleasant life; it is sober reasoning…’ Epicurus, Letter to Menoeceus.

Epicureanism thus like Stoicism is focused on happiness, but it believes this is to be achieved through pleasure rather than virtue. This does not mean Epicureanism believes pain can be completely avoided in life. Rather it asks you to calculate and weigh up when making a decision whether the pleasure is worth the later pain, or whether a small pain will produce much greater pleasure in return. As Epicurus writes we ‘often pass over many pleasures when a greater annoyance ensures from them. And often we consider pains to superior to pleasures when submission to the pains for a long time brings us a consequence a greater pleasure.’ Epicurus’ approach of maximising pleasure and minimising pain now seems a lot more attractive to me then Stoicism’s focus on enduring pain being necessary. Its ‘method of calculating’ pain and pleasure seems more positive and more proactive rather than simply enduring fate.

It is necessary to note here that Stoicism and Epicureanism are not completely opposed. In fact, Senenca often quotes from Epicurus. Epicureanism still believes we can control our desires of pleasure to minimise pain. For example, Epicurus writes ‘Don’t ruin the things you have by wanting what you don’t have, but realise that they too are things you once did wish for.’ Epicurus also warns ‘the esteem of others is outside our control; we must attend instead to healing ourselves.’ Therefore, if I am embracing Epicureanism more, it is not at the cost of all my Stoic learnings.

While I am newly interested in Epicureanism, that does not mean I agree with everything it says. Its physics is atomist (arguing the world is made of atoms) and as I do not have much of a background in the history of science, I cannot really comment on his theories. Furthermore, as I hinted at a previous post, I disagree with his approach to God (for him the classical Gods) as not being involved in the world. I believe that the very definition of God as omnipotent and omnibenevolent requires his intervention in the world. Therefore, I might agree more with the Stoics than Epicurus on divine matters.

To end, I want to quote Epicurus one more time. He writes ‘And to say that the season for studying philosophy has not yet come, or that it is past and gone, is like saying that the season for happiness it not yet or that is now no more’. Philosophy, as hopefully this post has shown, can have a direct influence on your wellbeing.

A Historian Learning Theology

~ Liam Greenacre ~ Leave a comment

This post aims to discuss my experience of learning about theology. I took Religious Studies as an A-Level student, however this is the first time I have engaged with this topic in a while. As a theist and a postmodernist at the same time, I am seeking a theology or philosophy to align my values together. This post will explore this and shall therefore look at John Caputo’s Postmodern Theology, as well as the movement of Radical Orthodoxy. The discussion will centre around two books ‘What Would Jesus Deconstruct?’ by Caputo and Stephen Shakespeare’s ‘Radical Orthodoxy: A Critical Introduction’. I will not try to give a full overview of each book, but instead discuss the ideas that I find most interesting.

I will start by discussing the ideas of Caputo. ‘What Would Jesus Deconstruct?’ begins by examining the 1896 novel ‘In His Step’ by Charles Sheldon. Caputo uses it as an example of what a Christian should be. In the novel, a man, out of work, shows up at a Sunday sermon and raises issues of social justice and then exclaims ‘but what would Jesus Do?’. Subsequently, the congregation respond to this message and actively challenge social injustices more. A Christian, according to Caputo, should be someone who campaigns for social justice or acts out what they preach.

This theme of how a Christian should act cotinues throughout the book. Later Caputo denounces militarism, approaches economic injustice, argues against patriarchy, before commenting on abortion and homosexuality. Mostly, Caputo is thankfully fairly liberal on these issues, however he shows a degree of hesistance regarding abortion, arguing that Jesus’ message of peace complicates the issue. In the final chapter, Caputo also provides, what he calls, exemplarly Christians. The first is John Mcnamee, a working priest who runs St Malachy’s Church in North America and works in a deprived neigbourhood with problems such as drug addiction and crime. The second is Ikon, an assembly of young laypeople, intellectuals, church and community activists that is inclusive. It contains Catholics and Protestants, liberals and conservatives and runs in Belfast. As Caputo puts it ‘Ikon is not so much a church as an experimental group in which an alternate church and a paraliturgy are being reinvented in a postmodern mindset.’

However, Caputo also goes beyond moral behaviour in his theology. In particular, he heavily relies on the Continental philosopher Jacques Derrida to make many of his points. He uses Derrida’s idea of deconstruction in particular. Caputo states deconstruction ‘is organised around the idea that things contain a kind of uncontainable truth, that they contain what they cannot contain’. This is an acceptable approximation of what the concept means, even if it is hard to define. Caputo also describes ‘deconstruction as a hermeneutics of the kingdom of God’ arguing that it can radically alter the Church by forcing into contact with the other.

Caputo also argues the name of God is also like an event- a ‘simmering potency’ in a name’ that is trying to express something, but never quite does. Here Captuo refers to Derrida’s work on democracy. Democracy is like a promise which is never quite realised, no modern democracy ever lives up to its name. The promise of God is never quite realised, but it is an event that stirs up desire and faith that never quite reaches its destination. Caputo also refers to the Church as a substiution- the early disciples believed the kingdom of God was imminent, but when it did not arrive the Church was required provisionally. I was suprised here to find that Caputo did not refer to Derrida’s idea of the supplement here in more depth, especially given this point. The supplement is a key theme in Derrida’s Of Grammatology and takes into consideration a variety of forms of substitution, such as a wet nurse for a mother. It would have been interesting for Captuo to discuss more the supplementarity of the Church.

Another interesting point in Caputo’s work is his focus on the powerlessness of Jesus. As Caputo himself puts it ‘whenever one would expect an excercise of power from a classical hero, Jesus displays the stunning power of powerlessness- of nonviolence, nonresistance, forgiveness, mercy, compassion, generosity.’ The Son of God, a title which Caputo disputes, reveals his power through his lack of power. Likewise, God displays his strength through the absence of his power.

Overall, I have mixed feelings about Caputo’s approach. I like the idea of the name of God being an event that stirs up feelings and I also agree with the mostly liberal inclinations of Caputo. However, I am divided about the ideas regarding the weakness and non-presence of God. My inner postmodernist likes how Caputo argues against the metaphysics of presence, with his focus on Jesus’ and God’s weakness. It prevents a dangerous dominant metanarrative about Christianity from arising. However, Caputo does not spend much time in ‘What Would Jesus Deconstruct?’ discussing the traits of God. Is God still omnipotent and omniscient in his theology? If he is, does he simply choose not to intervene to display the power of being absent? Is God simply nothing more than a word that stirs an event? Caputo offers some persuasive ideas, but I certainly do not agree with him completely.

Radical Orthodoxy offers an alternative way of thinking about religion to Caputo’s theology. Shakespeare’s book on it is an effective introduction to a theology that takes into account multiple thinkers with multiple ideas. One interesting claim is that all the world can be understood as participating in the being of the God- no part of the world can be understood in isolation from Him. This sounds similar to the medieval philosopher Duns Scotus’ idea of the univocity of being and is an idea that I again was divided over. I like the idea that all beings participate in God and the liberating effect that could have, nevertheless the way Radical Orthodoxy poses it could have negative and actually restrictive consequences. The claim that Christianity offers the only way of understanding the world potentially squashes out other worldviews- an idea that does not go with my dislike of metanarratives. Alternatively, the idea that we all participate in God could be used to encourage openess to the other and to support treating fellow humans more kindly.

Radical Orthodoxy also rejects Enlightenment values and the separation between faith and reason. Again, I like this rejection, but I feel Radical Orthodoxy simply wants to replace one metanarrative with another. Surely, Enlightenment values and ideas can offer us some offer some insight the world, even if they cannot provide full, easy answers- the world is surely more complex than any single thesis. Another interesting idea in Radical Orthodoxy revolves around the Eucharist. It argues that becuase the wine and bread can be literally seen as the body and blood of Christ, the Eucharist acts as a bridge between language and reality. Radical Orthodoxy therefore offers a solution for accessing reality outside of language. I was reminded of William Reddy’s concept of emotives at this point. Reddy claims that emotional utterances act as an anchor on reality because of their potential of failing. It was fascinating to see Radical Orthodoxy trying to offer another answer to the problem of escaping language.

Radical Orthodoxy also emphasises the importance of the Christian community, arguing it is the only true form of worship. However, the the Church is not meant to be a theocracy, instead it resists the violent politics of the modern secular world. This opposition to violence is of course very welcome and it is a valuable addition to Radical Orthodoxy’s message. The claim that the secular world is to blame for violence is also interesting, even if not infallible.

It is also important to note that Radical Orthodoxy is a broad movement, not all thinkers who adhere to it agree with each other. Some thinkers, for example such as Stuart are thankfully tolerant of homosexuality. As Shakespeare puts it ‘Stuart is claiming that Christianity is queer by its very nature. Because it believes in a God who is trascendent, it is not bound by the social conventions of culture’. However, some scholars, like Stephen Long have upheld a more traditional opposition to same-sex unions. Different thinkers in Radical Orthodoxy take different approaches to some critical issues.

Radical Orthodoxy also places desire for God back at the forefront of human life. It argues desire has been corrupted by sin, especially by capitalism and its stimulation of false desires. Christianity, according to Radical Orthodoxy, retargets this desire back to its direction at God. A point of comparison can be made here to Caputo’s theology. Caputo also believes in the importance of the desire for God in faith and believes it stirs up feelings like a ‘promise’ or an ‘event’. Therefore, while Caputo and Radical Orthodoxy may seem at odds with each other to an extent they both place desire at the centre of religion, alongside both critquing Englightenment values.

Overall, I have mixed feelings about Radical Orthodoxy, much like I did when reading about Caputo’s theology. For example, I like the idea that humans participate in the being of God, but feel it could be redirected to an appreciation of the other, rather than as a claim that Christianity is the only ‘proper’ way of understanding the divine being. Likewise, Radical Orthodoxy is also made of numerous thinkers and so it would be wrong to claim that I support or disagree with the movement in its entiriety, when there are so many diverse beliefs within it. I certainly believe I need to read more individual authors who are part of the movement, to understand more their nuances. It seems ‘What Would Jesus Deconstruct?’ and ‘Radical Orthodoxy: A Critical Introduction’ are not going to provide easy answers for realigning my theism and postmodernism.

Reading Nietzsche’s ‘Thus Spoke Zarathustra’

~ Liam Greenacre ~ Leave a comment

This post will discuss Friedrich Nietzche’s ‘Thus Spoke Zarathustra’. It is not meant to be a review. Instead, it is a novice’s attempt to talk about their experience of reading and learning about a particular philosophical thinker. I will elaborate on the ideas that I found most interesting in Nietzche’s work and raise any other points I think are important.

Friedrich Nietzche’s ‘Thus Spoke Zarathustra’ is a nineteenth-century philosophical novel which takes the form of a series of teachings by the eponymous prophet Zarathustra, who himself is named after the ancient Persian prophet Zoroaster. The format of this book is therefore unusual and interesting and I found it to be one of its most endearing qualities- although it sometimes makes it harder to read. The passages in ‘Thus Spoke Zarathustra’ are loosely connected through a thin storyline, which documents the prophet’s journeys and teachings, and a number of themes. I will now discuss the latter.

The first interesting theme found in ‘Thus Spoke Zarathustra’ is Nietzche’s attack on contemporary religion and metaphysics. When Zarathustra speaks to a saint he claims he ‘has not yet heard in his forest that God is dead!’. Nietzche’s death of God is mainly targeting the Christian tradition. For example, he criticises priests, claiming ‘He whom they call Redeemer has cast them into bondage – into the bondage of false values and false scriptures!’. Nietzche then comments ‘ah that someone could redeem them from their Redeemer!’ However, while Nietzche targets Christianity in particular, I was under the impression that the ‘death of God’ goes beyond religion- it as an attack on the tradition of Western thought as whole. His focus on Christianity is only prevalent throughout his work because it was the dominant belief system of his time and place.

The wider implications of the ‘death of God’ are found when Nietzche denounces the traditional morality system of good and evil, which have been central to most Western ways of thinking throughout history. While talking about the three evils, he claims ‘Sensual pleasure, lust for power, selfishness: these three have hitherto been cursed the most and held in the worst and most unjust repute’. Nietzche here shocked me, something he does a lot, and I dare say that I do not wholly agree with him. However, his critiques of good and evil are a necessary part of his effort to undermine Western values as a whole.

On the same subject of morality, I was especially interested about what Nietzche had to say about virtue. I have read a lot about Stoic ethics and I think it is a pretty good, if not perfect, way to approach a lot of (if not all) scenarios in life. Virtue is a cornerstone of Stoicism so Nietzche’s response to it was something I paid attention to. Zarathustra states ‘there is no reward-giver nor paymaster’ and ‘I do not even teach that virtue is its own reward.’ This stance is clearly against traditional notions of virtue, Zarathustra even claims that we should ‘grow weary of the words ‘reward’, ‘retribution’, ‘punishment’, ‘righteous revenge.’ Nietzche is certainly condemining how we would usually see virtue, in particular by criticising Christianity regarding how it sometimes sees our actions as having an eternal consequence. So what is virtue to Nietzche? It may intially appear that that he does not believe in it as concept, but this is not the case. This is shown by how Zarathustra claims ‘that your virtue is your Self and not something alien’. What does this mean? To understand it we have to discuss Nietzche’s notion of the Superman.

The idea of the Superman is introduced very early in ‘Thus Spoke Zarahustra’. The eponymous prophet states ‘I teach you the Superman. Man is something that should be overcome’ and ‘all creatures hitherto have created something beyond themselves.’ A Superman is therefore someone who overcomes himself (through self-mastery) and who creates something beyond himself and beyond the values he has inherited. Virtue, to Nietzche, is associated with this overcoming of oneself through willpower. Another important point is raised here. Before I read ‘Thus Spoke Zarathustra’ I unfairly equated Nietzche with nihilism (a belief that life is meaningless) because of his rejection of contemporary values. However, Nietzche, at least at his point in his life, was not a nihilist. The Superman is meant as a replacement for tradition and is something that gives meaning to life, as one tries to strive towards it.

A key aspect of the Superman I found interesting is his association with creation. The Superman is meant to go beyond himself (his cotingent background) and be inventive. Zarathustra says ‘I love him who wants to create beyond himself’. For Nietzche, the Superman is somone who goes further than the values they have inherited and creates new ones for himself. This is shown by how Zarathustra claims ‘he who has to be a creator in good and evil, truly, has first to be a destroyer and break values’. Only by getting rid of old values can one create new ones (new ideas of good and evil). Nietzche also comments on people who tend to be creative, in particular he focuses on scholars and poets. For example, Zarathustra is made to crticise poets by saying ‘I have grown weary of the poets, the old and the new: they all seem to me superficial and shallow seas ‘ and ‘they have not thought deeply enough.’ For Nietzche, poets may be creators, but they have not gone beyond themselves like the Superman. Likewise, scholars are condemned for being ‘mere spectators in everything’. Merely producing something that uses old values is not the same as creating something new.

While reading Nietzche’s attacks on contemporary values and his idea of the Superman, I could not help thinking of the American philospher Richard Rorty. In particular, his idea of the Liberal Ironist as found in his 1989 book ‘Contingency, Irony and Solidarity.’ A Liberal Ironist is someone who recognises the contingency of their vocabulary and background. Nietzche, like Rorty, is sceptical of the vocabulary used at his time and strives to go beyond it. However, Nietzche, unlike the Liberal Ironist, believes in an ulimate vocabulary that is true- the idea of the Superman and his will. It therefore comes as no suprise, that Rorty actually uses Nietzche in his book as an example of an ironist, while still criticising his occasional slide back into metaphysics through the concept of the Superman.

A passage I found especially interesting in ‘Thus Spoke Zarathustra’ can be linked to another philosopher, namely Jacques Derrida and his work ‘Of Grammatology.’ Nietzche comments on writing during the first part of ‘Thus Spoke Zarathustra’ and claims it can be used as a weapon against metaphysics by stating ‘he who knows the reader, does nothing further for the reader. Another century of readers-and spirit itself will sink’. Only writing is creative and can go beyond itself, Zarathustra loves ‘only that which is written with blood.’ It is interesting to see how writing is seen by Nietzche as something that can criticise traditional metaphysics. This is because traditionally Western societies have been logocentric (which Derrida notices) and have placed writing as below speech, therefore not giving it power to attack metaphysics. Nietzche therefore, like Derrida, inverts the traditional role of wrting in society to attack his inherited tradition.

Another theme that is found in ‘Thus Spoke Zarathustra’ is the idea of eternal recurrence. While talking to a dwarf, Zarathustra claims ‘all things have been here before’ and using a metaphor of a long lane states that time ‘goes on for an eternity’. The idea found here suggests that because time is eternal all events must inevitably repeat themselves due to the infinite nature of reality. I found this a rather interesting idea and it again corrected my misunderstanding that Nietzche was a complete nihilist- he believed in a certain metaphysics, even if it was an unconventional one.

So far, I have not really raised many crticisms of Nietzche. However, there were many points I found in ‘Thus Spoke Zarathustra’ that felt uncomfortable to my postmodern sensibilities. For example, his attitude towards women. Zarathustra states ‘everything about woman has one solution: it is called pregnancy’ and the prophet hopes they exclaim ‘may I bear the Superman!’. Aside from this, Nietzche is also crticial of the ill, lame and the rabble. This may be because he is so keen for Zarathustra to be an inversion of Jesus. Nevertheless, comments such as ‘where the rabble also drinks all wells are poisoned’ raise my ire, at what is otherwise an outstanding philosophical work. It is easy to see how Nietzche was abused by Nazism with statements like these. On the other hand, maybe these crticisms only feel valid because I am a Nietzche novice. There are certainly nuances to his work. For example, Zarathustra often claims pity is bad, but then later takes pity himself on a man he accidentally trod over. However, I still find reading Nietzche uncomfortable at times- but maybe that was the point.

Overall, then I enjoyed reading ‘Thus Spoke Zarathustra’ and while it has its faults, it is an interesting philosophical work. I particularly liked the format of a ‘novel’ and the idea of creating new values. Even so, I do not agree with the extent of his aggression against religion and Christianity and find some of ‘Thus Spoke Zarathustra’ unsavoury reading. Nevertheless, it is still a fascinating text.

Jacques Derrida, William Reddy and Emotions

~ Liam Greenacre ~ Leave a comment

This post contains an undergraduate essay which aimed to apply the ideas of William Reddy and Jacques Derrida to the history of emotions. It was in answer to the question; ‘Do emotions get lost or found over time or does the vocabulary to describe them merely change?‘.

Emotions cannot be lost or found over time, as they are never fully present in the first place. Likewise, while the vocabulary used to describe emotions may change this does not mean we can use words to meaningfully talk about them. This essay will use ideas from linguistics and continental philosophy to critique traditional approaches to the history of emotions. It will suggest the debate posed by the question is fundamentally flawed, as it relies on the assumption that emotions or the words used to describe them can be fully present. I will demonstrate this in two sections; the first will explain why the ideas of Jacques Derrida and William Reddy are relevant to tackling this question. The second section builds on this by using several case studies to show that many of the problems encountered in this debate are explained by these ideas. By doing this, it will become clear that any generalisations that can be made in this comparative discussion can be attributed to the historiographical, philosophical and scientific assumptions of scholars researching emotions.

The ideas of Jacques Derrida, a twentieth-century continental philosopher, are relevant to discussing whether emotions are lost or found or if emotional vocabularies merely change. This is seen by the ambiguity Derrida applies to words. Ferdinand de Saussure suggested that words only receive their meaning through their relations with others.[1] Derrida developed this through the idea of différance, which suggests because of this interdependence, words can never fully summon their meaning. It is always deferred due to the mixture of presence and absence created by these relationships.[2] The implications of this are shown through Derrida’s analysis of the word pharmakon found in Plato’s Phaedrus; which he describes as ambivalent, standing for both remedy and poison simultaneously.[3] Therefore, as a result of différance, a word never fully summons a single meaning.  How is this relevant? One only needs to look at the bibliography to see that previous histories of emotions have focused on single words; like nostalgia, sympathy or acedia. The ideas of Derrida would suggest this is wrong, emotional words cannot be understood in isolation. If one was to study a word to see if the vocabulary of emotions merely changes or an emotion is lost or found, they would be operating on the incorrect assumption words can accurately represent a given emotion at any time.

Having established that these ideas are relevant to discussing the vocabulary of emotions, how can we link them to experience rather than language? Reddy’s idea of emotives allows us to do this. Emotives are utterances which alter the state of an emotion itself, due to the effects vocalisation can have, like reaffirming or denying a particular state.[4] It may initially appear odd to use ideas from an article titled ‘Against Constructionism’ in conjunction with a postructuralist thinker like Derrida. However, Reddy clearly had some of his ideas in mind while discussing emotions. ‘Emotions are the real-world-anchor of signngs.’[5] For Reddy, emotives automatically confirm the existence of something outside of language through failing at representation. Therefore, they act like a bridge between reality and language.[6] Consequently, while discussing whether emotions are lost and found or the vocabulary to describe them merely changes, we need to recognise that the experience of an emotion and its language are interlinked.

I will now demonstrate the relevance of this to our discussion. If the experience of an emotion and the language used to describe it do not have rigid boundaries, we can also imply they might share similar qualities. In fact, a large portion of Derrida’s Of Grammatology was dedicated to undermining binaries like these. Like those of the eighteenth-century philosopher, Jean-Jacques Rosseau, such as speech/writing and nature/society.[7] Therefore, if the idea of différance makes it difficult to talk about emotional vocabularies, this would equally apply to the experience of an emotion itself. Derrida also suggested that the history of western metaphysics has been dominated by the idea of presence.[8] However, différance, as discussed, undermined this. The implications are clear. Most theories of emotions take it for-granted that emotions can be isolated and studied separate from their counterparts. This is most obvious in the ‘Hydraulic model’ which views emotions as bubbling below the surface, ready to be switched on or off.[9] However, based on Derrida’s ideas it is implausible to take this view which would prioritise an emotion’s presence. it is wrong to discuss whether emotions are lost or found over time or whether the vocabulary used to describe them merely changes, as doing so implies an emotion or word is ever fully present.  

Having problematised our ability to talk about whether emotions are lost and found or the vocabulary to describe them merely changes, I will now show how most issues encountered in this debate are attributable to presumptions that emotions or emotional words are ever fully present.  I will firstly do this by looking at those who suggest the words to describe emotions merely change or that there is an element of universality to emotions.

The first case study I will use to critique those suggesting words to describe emotions merely change, will focus on acedia. This word has proved problematic for historians trying to match its meaning with ‘modern’ emotions. Originating from the monastic movement of early Christianity, in particular through the writings of Evagrius (345-399) and John Cassian (360-435) scholars have connected it to a range of states like depression and Emile Durkheim’s concept of anomie.[10] The latter describing the disjuncture between a society’s expectations and an individual’s ability to reach them.[11] This discussion over what acedia can be ‘matched up to’ is a result of its symptomatic variety. For example, acedia was both seen as a dedication to prayer and extreme asceticism.[12] However, all the attempts at understanding acedia have a major similarity; they presume there is a single, definable concept that can be translated into the language of modernity. A manifestation of assigning importance to presence. A simpler explanation for acedia’s symptoms is that the emotion was never fully present in the first place. Like language, an emotion is slippery and can only be understood through its relationship with other emotions. It is never present by itself. This is shown by how John Cassian’s concept of Acedia borrows from the concept of sloth, whereas for him Tristia is also more equivalent to Evagrius’ notion of Acedia.[13]  Therefore, it is wrong to speak of the words describing acedia merely changing because doing so presumes we can identify single emotions in the past.

In comparison to this, the idea of presence has also been used in science to suggest the vocabulary to describe emotions merely changes. Several scholars have deferred to biology as a universal constant when studying emotions. Frevert describes how brain damage can impair a person’s sympathy, whereas Hunt writes autism also does this.[14] However, this recourse to science contradicts with these scholars’ semi-constructionism. For example, Frevert writes ‘honour can confuse those looking for a biological’ explanation to emotions, a claim at odds with her earlier statement.[15] This implies there is a problem using science to suggest words for emotions merely change.

The idea of presence can explain this contradiction found arguing for a degree of universality in emotions. Scholars presume medical terminology can accurately represent the condition it refers to. O’Sullivan’s study challenges this by looking at transformations in the diagnosis of nostalgia as a medical condition during nineteenth-century France.[16] There was not a single identifiable condition known as nostalgia, as a term can never fully describe an illness. This is reemphasised by nostalgia still having divergent meanings into the twentieth century.[17] Therefore, scholars using science to suggest words describing emotions merely change end up contradicting themselves, as the meaning of a condition is never fully present. Consequently, it is impossible to reduce emotions purely to a biological state. The use of science can therefore be compared to studies on the word acedia, as they both rely on the incorrect assumptions that emotions can ever be fully present. The similarities between them are not historic but based on philosophical presumptions of scholars.

I will now demonstrate this is equally true when describing emotions as having a largely cultural basis or as being lost or found over time. Fiering describes various approaches to sympathy in the eighteenth-century, during which both theological and humanitarian approaches to the emotion interacted with each other.[18] However, constructivist approaches like this struggle to identify precise points for emotional transformations. Instead, they focus on longer time periods like a century. This problem is explained by the fact there is a not a single transition point for emotions, as due to their interdependence on each other they are never fully present. Sympathy in the eighteenth-century can only be understood through its religious, classical and humanitarian contexts and not by itself.[19] As a result, it is inaccurate to state that emotions are lost and found because they are never fully present in the first place.

The problem of metaphysical assumptions regarding presence can also be extended to the sources consulted when discussing whether emotions are lost or found. Halsall has described how the portrayal of King Guntram and Chilperic in Gregory of Tours’ sixth-century Ten Books of Histories often changed due to political circumstances.[20] Guntram’s inconsistent emotions, like piety and anger, could therefore be described as becoming lost or found in the sources due to the political conditions the author lived in. However, the emotional inconsistencies could also be attributed to that the fact that emotions are never fully present; Guntram’s anger can only be understood through its interaction with his piety. His frequently contradictory actions and emotions are explained by the fact that he is never fully in one state or another. In this way, talking about whether emotions are lost or found is problematised by ideas of presence.

This essay has suggested it is difficult to talk about whether emotions are lost and found or whether the vocabulary to describe them merely changes, as doing so operates on metaphysical assumptions regarding presence. It then explained how many of the problems encountered while studying emotions are a consequence of this. Simultaneously, it showed many comparisons made while studying emotions originate from historiographical presumptions, rather than the past itself. My argument may appear overly cynical regarding the information we can ascertain through the history of emotions. This was not intended. Future studies could focus on how different emotions and emotional words interact, which would increase our understanding of their multifaceted nature. Nevertheless, it is clear emotions are not lost or found over time and the words to describe them do not merely change.

Bibliography

Crislip, Andrew. “The Sin of Sloth or the Illness of the Demons? The Demon of Acedia in Early Christian Monasticism.” The Harvard Theological Review 98, no. 2 (2005): 143-69.

de Saussure, Ferdinand. Course in General Linguistics. Translated by Wade Baskin.  New York City: McGraw-Hill Paperbacks, 1966.

Derrida, Jacques. Of Grammatology. Translated by Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak.  Baltimore: The John Hopkins University Press 1977.

Derrida, Jacques. “Plato’s Pharmacy”. Originally published 1981. Accessed 19/02/2019 at http://www.occt.ox.ac.uk/sites/default/files/derrida_platos_pharmacy.pdf

Fiering, Norman S. “Irresistible Compassion: An Aspect of Eighteenth-Century Sympathy and Humanitarianism.” Journal of the History of Ideas 37, no. 2 (1976): 195-218.

Frevert, Ute. Emotions in History-Lost and Found.  Budapest: Central European University Press, 2011.

Halsall, Guy. “Nero and Herod? The death of Chilperic and Gregory of Tours’ writing of history.” In The World of Gregory of Tours, edited by Kathleen Mitchell and Ian Wood, 337-50. Leiden: Brill, 2002.

Hunt, Lynne. Inventing Human Rights: A History.  New York City: W. W. Norton, 2008.

Matt, Susan J. “You Can’t Go Home Again: Homesickness and Nostalgia in U.S. History.” Journal of American History 94, no. 2 (2007): 469-97.

O’Sullivan, Lisa. “The Time and Place of Nostalgia: Re-situating a French Disease.” Journal of the History of Medicine and Allied Sciences 67, no. 4 (2011): 626-49.

Reddy, William. “Against Constructionism: The Historical Ethnography of Emotions.” Current Anthropology 38, no. 3 (1997): 327-51.

Reddy, William, xa, and M. “Against Constructionism: The Historical Ethnography of Emotions.” Current Anthropology 38, no. 3 (1997): 327-51.

Rosenwein, Barbara H. “Worrying about Emotions in History.” The American Historical Review 107, no. 3 (2002): 821-45.

Toohey, Peter. “Acedia in Late Classical Antiquity.” Illinois Classical Studies 15, no. 2 (1990): 339-52.

[1] Ferdinand de Saussure, Course in General Linguistics, trans. Wade Baskin (New York City: McGraw-Hill Paperbacks, 1966), 114-16.

[2] Jacques Derrida, Of Grammatology, trans. Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak (Baltimore: The John Hopkins University Press 1977), 57-60.

[3] Jacques Derrida, “Plato’s Pharmacy”. Originally published 1981. Accessed 19/02/2019 at http://www.occt.ox.ac.uk/sites/default/files/derrida_platos_pharmacy.pdf

[4] William Reddy, “Against Constructionism: The Historical Ethnography of Emotions,” Current Anthropology 38, no. 3 (1997).

[5] Reddy, “Against Constructionism: The Historical Ethnography of Emotions,” 332.

[6] Reddy, “Against Constructionism: The Historical Ethnography of Emotions,” 332.

[7] Derrida, Of Grammatology.

[8] Derrida, Of Grammatology, 10-12.

[9] Barbara H. Rosenwein, “Worrying about Emotions in History,” The American Historical Review 107, no. 3 (2002): 834.

[10] Peter Toohey, “Acedia in Late Classical Antiquity,” Illinois Classical Studies 15, no. 2 (1990): 340; Andrew Crislip, “The Sin of Sloth or the Illness of the Demons? The Demon of Acedia in Early Christian Monasticism,” The Harvard Theological Review 98, no. 2 (2005): 159-66.

[11] Crislip, “The Sin of Sloth or the Illness of the Demons? The Demon of Acedia in Early Christian Monasticism,” 159.

[12]Crislip, “The Sin of Sloth or the Illness of the Demons? The Demon of Acedia in Early Christian Monasticism,” 150-53.

[13]Toohey, “Acedia in Late Classical Antiquity,” 342.

[14] Lynne Hunt, Inventing Human Rights: A History (New York City: W. W. Norton, 2008), 39; Ute Frevert, Emotions in History-Lost and Found (Budapest: Central European University Press, 2011), 20.

[15] Frevert, Emotions in History-Lost and Found, 52-53.

[16] Lisa O’Sullivan, “The Time and Place of Nostalgia: Re-situating a French Disease,” Journal of the History of Medicine and Allied Sciences 67, no. 4 (2011).

[17] Susan J. Matt, “You Can’t Go Home Again: Homesickness and Nostalgia in U.S. History,” Journal of American History 94, no. 2 (2007): 470.

[18] Norman S. Fiering, “Irresistible Compassion: An Aspect of Eighteenth-Century Sympathy and Humanitarianism,” Journal of the History of Ideas 37, no. 2 (1976): 215.

[19] Fiering, “Irresistible Compassion: An Aspect of Eighteenth-Century Sympathy and Humanitarianism,” 196-98.

[20] Guy Halsall, “Nero and Herod? The death of Chilperic and Gregory of Tours’ writing of history,” in The World of Gregory of Tours, ed. Kathleen Mitchell and Ian Wood (Leiden: Brill, 2002).

Isidore Mini-Project #1: What is the Ontological Turn?

~ Liam Greenacre ~ Leave a comment

This post starts a series where I will be exploring if the Ontological Turn, originating from anthropology, can aid our understanding of the Late Antique past. I will do this by examining some of Isidore of Seville’s texts to see if we can recover his ‘world’ or ontology. However, before this, I will introduce the Ontological Turn in this post and discuss its implications for the historical discipline.

The anthropologist Eduardo Viveiros De Castro describes one of the distinct features of some Amerindian societies. He states that within them they see animals as humans, in terms of their souls. Whereas, their body or ‘skin’ is mere clothing. This is different to the European point of view, where humans are elevated above animals due to their ‘superior’ souls and instead the body is seen as the unifying factor between species (e.g. through DNA). This suggests that Amerindian societies often had and have a distinct way of viewing the world that is radically different to Eurocentric understandings. This raises the question about how are to study Amerindian societies when they seem so at odds with post-Enlightment European views, raising questions regarding the tools and categories used in anthropological studies and other disciplines. The Ontological Turn engages with this problem and proposes a new way to study radical difference.

It does this by suggesting we should take the worlds of other societies seriously. Reality, according to the Ontological Turn, is not composed of a single world, instead it is composed of multiple worlds. It therefore opposes the idea of culture being imposed on a single reality and denies the existence of a common human nature. Another key aspect of the Ontological Turn is its focus on nonhuman actors. It goes beyond Actor-Network Theory (ANT) and Object-oriented Ontology (OOO), by focusing on animals, spirits and other non-human actors, alongside objects. To use an example that might this series’ medieval focus, if one world says God or dead saints have a role in society and agency, then one has to take that claim seriously. They really exist and exert an influence on a reality. This may seem at odds with the views of modernity, but to fully understand different worlds we need an openess to non-Eurocentric and pre-Englightment realities.

One advantage of the Ontological Turn is therefore its acceptance of alterity. However, another aspect that needs consideration is that it offers a return to empirical and positvist inclinations. It takes statements at face value, rather than analysing cultural discourses that overlay the ‘real’ world . In it one describes the world as they find it, rather than seeking to apply one’s assumptions to it. However, there are also potential criticisms of the Ontological Turn. One raised by Vigh and Sausdal regards translation. if one denies the existence of a united human nature then how does one establish a ‘common ground’ to understand and interpret other worlds? Methodologically speaking, you might reach a dead end. A futher criticism raised by Vigh and Sausdal is that radical alterity and exotification are some of the primary ways anthropology has been misused outside the academy. Painting other worlds as inherently different might easily result in abuse in a political context.

While the Ontological Turn emerged from from anthropology, talk of other worlds can also be found in other disciplines. Kuhn’s The Structure of Scientific Revolutions claims that scientists working in other paradigms might be said to live in different worlds. Whereas, Swenson has engaged with the Ontological Turn in her work on Peruvian archaeology, despite the fact that she refutes it. In the historical discipline, Greg Anderson has been the most vocal proponent of the Ontological Turn, in particular by analysing ancient Athens. He claims there are three key aspects of the Athenian ‘world’ that separate it from ours. Firstly, that the Gods were living and that they were ‘real independent subjects and agents in the world of time and space’. Secondly, that Attica (Athens’ land) was a living organism, it was not just a generic territorial tract. Finally, that individuals in Athens formed part of a corporate body constitued of households, they saw themsleves as united together. Anderson argues, that only the Ontological Turn can prevent us from colonising the past and imposing the trappings of modernity on it. We must avoid applying our own historical categories and see the past as it was. This ends a summary of the Ontological Turn.

This post has addressed the question; what is the Ontological Turn? In the next post in this series, I will examine Isidore of Seville’s Etymologies in order to retrieve his ‘world’. The Etymologies are a good source when applying the Ontological Turn to the Late Antique past due to their encylopedic nature. During the next post, I will also consider the critical issues that might arise when trying to understand a past world through historical sources. Nevertheless, after this post, it should now be clear what the Ontological Turn is.

Bibliography:

Anderson, Greg. ‘Retrieving the Lost Worlds of the Past: The Case for an Ontological Turn.’ The American Historical Review 120, 3 (2015), 787-810.

Castro, Eduardo Viveiros de. ‘Cosmological Deixis and Amerindian Perspectivism.’ The Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute 4, 3 (1998), 469-488.

Pickering, Andrew.’The Ontological Turn: Taking Different Worlds Seriosuly.’ Social Analysis 61, 2 (2017), 134-150.

Sausdal, David and Henrik Vigh. ‘From Essence Back to Existence: Anthropology Beyond the Ontological Turn.’ Anthropological Theory 14, 1 (2014), 49-73.

Swenson, Edward. ‘The Materialities of Place Making in the Ancient Andes: a Critical Appraisal of the Ontological Turn in Archaeological Interpretation.’ Journal of Archaeological Method and Theory 22 (2015), 677-712.

Was the Late Antique World A Complex System?: A Thought Experiment

~ Liam Greenacre ~ Leave a comment

Since reading and reviewing Paul Cillers’ ‘Complexity and Postmodernism: Understanding Complex Systems’ an idea for a post has entered my mind. This post will fulfil that idea and act as thought experiment regarding complexity and its potential application to a historical era I am interested in.

Can we identify complex systems in the past? If so, what are the implications of this for the subject of history and its relation to other disciplines, especially considering the fact that ideas regarding complexity mainly emerge from the sciences and social sciences? As far as I know complexity theory has not been used much in the discipline of history and so this post will act as a novel attempt to see if it is possible to apply it to the past. This post will have two parts; the first will use Cilliers’ criteria for defining complex systems and see if the Late Antique ‘world’ can be called a complex system. I use ‘world’ here to denote Northern Europe, as well the Mediterranean region. The second part of the post will examine any questions that might arise as a result of this interdisciplinary exploration. I will start by copying down Cillier’s criteria for complex systems below, before seeing if they are applicable to Late Antiquity:

  1. Complex systems consist of a large number of elements. When the number is relatively small, the behaviour of the elements can often be given a formal description in conventional terms. However, when the number becomes sufficiently large, conventional means [e.g a system of differential equations] not only become impractical, they also cease to assist in any understanding of the system.
  2. A large number of elements are necessary, but not sufficient. The grains of a sand on a beach do not interest us as a complex system. In order to constitute a complex system, the elements have to interact, and this interaction must be dynamic. A complex system changes with time. The interactions do not have to be physical; they can also be thought of as the transference of information.
  3. The interaction is fairly rich, i.e any element in the system influences, and is influenced by, quite a few other ones. The behaviour of the system, however, is not determined by the exact amount of interactions associated with specific elements. If there are enough elements in the system [of which some are redundant] a number of sparsely connected elements can perform the same function as that of one richly connected element.
  4. The interactions themselves have a number of important characteristics. Firstly, the interactions are non-linear. A large system of linear elements can usually be collapsed into an equivalent system that is very much smaller. Non-linearity also guarantees that small causes can have large results, and vice versa. It is a preconditon for complexity.
  5. The interactions usually have a fairly short range, i.e information is received primarily from immediate neigbours. Long-range interaction is not impossible, but practical constraints usually force this consideration. This does not preclude wide-ranging influence– since the interaction is rich, the route from one element to any other can usually be covered in a few steps. As a result, the influence gets modulated along the way. It can be enhanced, suppressed or altered in a number of ways.
  6. There are loops in the interactions. The effect of any activity can feed back onto itself, sometimes directly, sometimes after a number of intervening stages. This feedback can be positive [enhancing, stimulating] or negative [detracting, inhibiting]. Both kinds are necessary. The technical term for this aspect of a complex system is recurrency.
  7. Complex systems are usually open systems, i.e they interact with their environment. As a matter of fact, it is often difficult to define the border of a complex system. Instead of being a characteristic of the system itself, the scope of the system is usually determined by the purpose of the description of the system. and is thus often influenced by the position of the observer. This process is called framing. Closed systems are usually merely complicated.
  8. Complex systems operate under conditions far from equilibrum. There has to be a constant flow of energy to maintain the organisation of the system and to ensure its survival. Equilibrum is another word for death.
  9. Complex systems have a history. Not only do they evolve through time, but their past is co-responsible for their present behaviour. Any analysis of a complex system that ignores the dimension of time is incomplete, or at most a synchronic snapshotof a diachronic process.
  10. Each element in the system is ignorant of the behaviour of the system as a whole, it responds only to information that is available to it locally. This point is vitally important. If each element ‘knew’ what was happening to the system as a whole, all of the complexity would have to be present in that element. This would either entail a physical impossibility in the sense that a single element does not have the necessary capacity, or constitute a metaphysical move in the sense that ‘conciousness’ of the whole is contained in one particular unit. Complexity is the result of a rich interaction of simple elements that only respond to the limited information each of them are presented with. When we look at the behaviour of a complex system as a whole, our focus shifts from the individual element in the system to the complex structure of the system. The complexity emerges as a result of the patterns of interaction between the elements.

Having listed Cilliers’ criteria for defining complexity, I will now see if we can apply them to Late Antiquity.

  1. This is perhaps the easiest to answer. Late Antiquity certainly consisted of a large number of elements, in terms of the number of people who were part of its ‘world’. However, source-wise we may only have access to a small proportion of the different ‘elements’, an implication I will return to later.
  2. Individuals in Late Antiquity naturally interacted with each other, sometimes physically, other times through the transference of information [such as by letter]. The ‘world’ of Late Antiquity also evolved over time, events arose out of interactions between different elements. As you can see, many of the criteria for complex systems can be applied to human societies in general and not just Late Antiquity.
  3. The interaction between components in Late Antiquity was rich. Individuals interacted with multiple other individuals. Gregory of Tours came into contact with a number of different elements during his career, such as Kings like Chilperic and a number of ecclesiastical figures he worked with. However, it is unlikely sparsely connected elements [such as those with few contacts or political influences] performed the same functions as those with lots of connections- raising doubts about whether we can precisely call Late Antiquity a complex system.
  4. Interactions in Late Antiquity were certainly not predictable or linear, small causes could have large effects [and vice versa]. For example, it seems unlikely that Theoderic the Great’s diplomatic policy [a large cause] would have a had a smaller impact in the form of Hygelac’s raid on the Franks [as argued by Storms].
  5. Interactions can defitnelty be said to be short range. Most of Cassiodorus’ Variae were directed towards people living in Italy or other Ostrogothic provinces. At the same time, rare long-range communication was possible. The Variae contain a few letters directed to the Eastern Roman Empire, as well as to foreign kings, like those of the Heruli and Thuringi. Influence in networks, could certainly be suppressed or enhanced by a number of factors, such as past friendliness and hostility.
  6. This is one of the harder criteria to argue for. Outputs [effects] may have created inputs [causes], but it is hard to identify feedback loops in the sources, due to the diversity of events in Late Antqiuity [it is difficult to assign causal laws to the past].
  7. The ‘world’ of Late Antiquity was certainly an open system. The Eastern Roman Empire, for example, interacted with Persia. It is hard to define the geographic boundaries of the Late Antique ‘world’ and it often seems to be more a historical tool employed by scholars, rather than a rigidly defined actuality.
  8. Late Antiquity operated far from equilibrium due to the diversity and volume of forces within it. There was no state where opposing forces were balanced.
  9. The Late Antique ‘world’ certainly had a history, from the influence of the Roman Empire to events that are recorded in histories or chronicles. Histories, like Gregory of Tours’, preserved memories [fictive or not], allowing the system’s past to affect its present.
  10. Individual components in Late Antiquity did not realise they were part of a wider complex system, people did not recognise all the forces at work in the system and responded to the information they had at hand. However, at the same time, individuals may have had ideas of the a shared Roman past, this might undermine the idea that components were not aware of the whole complex system.

Overall, it seems that the ‘world’ of Late Antiquity fits many of Cillier’s criteria for being a complex system. There are some instances where we encounter difficulties, but it seems we can apply complex systems theory to the past with some sucess. What are the implications of this? It suggests we have reason to argue that the discipline of history should be more open to interdisciplinarity outside of the arts and humanities. Certain scientific ideas, particularly more philosophical ones, are applicable to the past. Another question is also raised, to what extent can the historical discipline add to our knowledge of complex systems? Its preoccupation with time, might be useful for illuminating how we should look at the history of different systems, especially with regards to the methodologies and source criticism involved.

Nevertheless, there are some issues that need to be raised about this potential new area of interdisciplinarity for history. The sciences deal with phenomena that can be found in the world, which can be tested rigorously in repeatable conditions. Whereas, history is reliant on the sources availble to try and reconstruct the past- which might limit what we can learn about past systems. Furthermore, the past cannot be examined in repeatable conditions. There are therefore some limitations that need to be considered when trying to break the boundaries between history and the sciences.

Finally, what might complexity theory tell us about Late Antiquity? It tells us to view it as a nuanced world. Old [and now not very prevalent] ideas about this era as ‘dark’ do not seem reasonable, in light of a complex systems approach. The Late Antique world can not be considered as ‘simple’, when it is viewed as a complex and dynamic system. It also teaches to not apply simple monocausal explanations to Late Antiquity, by allowing us to view its ‘world’ as full of rich and varied connections that affect the wider system. Again, we can no longer view Late Antiquity as simple, when in fact it was full of diverse interactions with multiple causes and impacts.

To conclude, this post has examined whether complex systems theory is applicable to the past by using the case study of Late Antiquity. The overall answer is that it can be, as long as we still take into consideration a number of limitations. I then examined a number of questions that might arise as a result of this applicability and how this might affect interdisciplinarity. I suggested that using complex systems’ ideas might be beneficial for both the historical and scientific disciplines, even if some questions are raised by doing so. It therefore appears that the prospect of further interdisciplinary dialogue may be achievable.

Bibliography:

Primary Sources

Cassiodorus, Variae in The Letters of Cassiodorus: Being A Condensed Translation Of The Variae Epistolae Of Magnus Aurelius Cassiodorus Senator translated by Thomas Hodgkin. London: Henry Frowde, 1886.

Gregory of Tours, Ten Books of Histories in The History of the Franks translated by Lewis Thorpe. London: Penguin, 1974.

Secondary Sources

Cilliers, Paul. Complexity and Postmodernism: Understanding Complex Systems. London: Routledge, 1998.

Storms, G. ‘The Significance of Hygelac’s Raid.’ Nottingham Medieval Studies 14 [1970]: 3-26.

Review: Complexity and Postmodernism, Understanding Complex Systens

~ Liam Greenacre ~ Leave a comment

This post will review Paul Cilliers 1998 book ‘Complexity and Postmodernism: Understanding Complex Systems’. Integrating theory from the sciences and social sciences with postructural thought it aims to encourage interdisciplinarity discussion by looking at how they might mutually benefit each other.

The first issue raised by Cilliers is how do we define complexity? Complexity is a framework used in the sciences to understand systems with a distinct set of features. Cilliers provides ten criteria for thinking about them. These include containing a large amount of components, having non-linear interactions, being open to the environment and operating far from equilibrium, as well as having components that communicate locally. There is not space to list them all attributes of complex systems here, as the definition of them is somewhat debated, but it suffices to say that Cilliers’ definition is broad and incorporates a number of features systems may have. The examples he uses to exemplify complexity, the human brain and language, are introduced here and used throughout the book. Meanwhile, Cilliers also makes an effective comparison to the complexity of a country’s economy as a useful introductory example. A country’s economy can be composed of millions of people, have non-linear interactions like interest and be influenced by outside factors. It also requires constant flow to exist and economic agents who usually operate with those closest to their proximity.

Cilliers also describes connectionism in the opening chapter before providing a more in-depth explanation in the second chapter. Connectionism is a form of information processing inspired by the our understanding of the human brain. It is made up of neurons or nodes that are connected to each other. These connections have a number of weights that determine the characteristics of the network. In a ‘training period’, in which the network learns its function, the weights adjust based on what it inputs they receive. Connectionism, Cilliers argues, should also be defined as a distributed rather than rule-based form of representation, there is no algorithm with central control, a theme which Cilliers returns to later in the book.

This section also introduces the idea that connectionism may be similar to Ferdinand de Saussure’s model of language, which is addressed more thoroughly in the next chapter. In Saussure’s model, language is a system of relationships between different signs. ‘Brown’ gets its meaning from how it differs to ‘black’, ‘blue’, ‘grey’ and ‘train’. It does not get its meaning because it is tied to a particularly concept of brownness. As Cilliers puts it ‘The sign is a node in a network of relationships. The relationships are not determined by the sign; rather, the sign is the result of interacting relationships’. It therefore shares a similarity with a distributed connectionist approach in that relationships take precedence over the individual nodes or signs in this instance.

In the third chapter, Cilliers also engages with the ideas of the continental philosopher Jacques Derrida. This is because Saussure’s’ ideas can have some limitations when arguing for language as a complex system. For example, his theories present language as a closed, rather than open, system. Cilliers engages with the Derridean ideas of trace and différance. Trace, in this instance, refers to how a sign has no component that fully belongs to itself, ‘it is merely a collection of the traces of every other sign running through it.’ Whereas, différance refers in one case to the system of language consisting of differences and in another sense it refers to how meaning is continuously deferred. Cilliers then states ‘the characteristics of the system emerge as a result of the différance of traces, not as a result of essential characteristics of specific components of the system.’ Again, this draws comparisons with connectionist/neural networks. Because a weight only gains significance through its patterns of interaction, it might be possible to suggest, as Cilliers does, that ‘weight’ in a connectionist network and Derrida’s concept of trace are somewhat comparable. Likewise, différance can be used to explain how complex systems always contain loops and feedbacks. Because complex systems have delayed self-altering they are similar to différance, by the fact that they are also suspended between the active and the passive.

The next chapter deals with John Searle who would explicitly reject a postmodern way of understanding complex systems. Instead, he would take an analytical and rule-based approach to the brain and language. Cilliers engages with Searle’s ‘Chinese Room’ argument which is against strong AI and then criticises it. He also discusses the Searle/Derrida debate regarding speech acts. While short, the chapter effectively refutes some of the criticisms that could be launched be against Cilliers’ connectionist approach.

After this, Cilliers moves on to talking about the problem of representation. ‘Models of complex systems’ he states ‘will have to be as complex as the systems themselves’. Based on this Cilliers suggests classical theories of representation are inadequate to describe complex systems. In fact, connectionism puts the whole idea of representation at risk. This chapter consists of four main sections. The first critiques classical approaches, which establish a rule-based approach to understanding systems. It uses Hilary Putnam’s ideas to do this. The second section looks at connectionism and how it is better suited for modelling complex systems rather than algorithmic approaches. Firstly, connectionism does not require a theory to be developed before a solving a problem. Secondly, they can generalise solutions. Thirdly, connectionist networks are robust- they degrade slower than other forms of networks. Cilliers, in this section, also deals with some of the criticisms of connectionism. In the third part of the chapter, Cilliers looks at the practical benefit of connectionism for modelling, before he looks at some of the philosohical implications of connectionism in the final section.

After discussing representation, Cilliers moves on to look at self-organisation. Self-organisation is a feature of complex systems and can be defined as the ability of a system to develop or change their internal structure spontaneously and adaptively cope with its environment. As Cilliers describes, ‘self organisation in complex systems works in the following way. Clusters of information from the external world flow into the system. This information will influence the interaction of some of the components in the system- it will alter the values of the weights in the system.’ The chapter also applies selection- from theory of evolution- to how self-organising systems form, as well as looking again at some of the philosophical implications of the arguments in the chapter.

The final chapter of Cilliers’ book looks at the intersections between postmodernism and complexity. It does this with a very nuanced approach to postmodernism. Postmodernism is presented not as saying ‘anything goes’, but instead as having a sensitivity to complexity. Cilliers uses Lyotard’s The Postmodern Condition to support his arguments in this section. Cilliers then moves on to argue that postmodern society can be compared to some of the features of complex systems he outlined earlier. For example, it is composed of a high number of components and is characterised by a series of local ‘narratives’ over a metanarrative. The author then examines language as a complex system, before arguing for a postmodern approach to science, which values openness and flexibility regarding different narratives, rather than a more constrained and conservative approach. ‘Descriptions’ of the world ‘cannot be reduced to simple, coherent and universally valid discourses’ due to its complexity. Finally, the chapter also looks at the connections between postmodernism and the philosophy of ethics.

Overall, ‘Postmodernism and Complexity’ successfully integrates a number of interdisciplinary themes in a well-structured fashion. The book introduces the idea that postmodernism and complexity may be compared to each other, opening the door to a range of potential research directions. To summarise, Cillier’s contribution here is important as well as an exciting prospect to read.

Review: Theoderic and The Imperial Roman Restoration

~ Liam Greenacre ~ Leave a comment

Was Theoderic the Great considered as a Roman emperor by his subjects? Did the early sixth century see a revival within the Roman Empire? These are the central arguments in Johnathan Arnold’s 2014 book ‘Theoderic and The Roman Imperial Restoration.’ This post will review this work and assess how successfully it makes these points.

Arnold’s evidence mainly comes from Ennodius and Cassiodorus, so he starts his argument by introducing their major works. In particular, Ennodius’s Life of Epiphanius and Panegyric on Theoderic, as well as Cassiodorus’ Variae. These chapters, in part one of Arnold’s book, serve as useful introductions. As I already have a degree of knowledge about the Variae, I found the section on Ennodius more helpful. However, this was not due to the fault of the author, the chapter on Cassiodorus was still serviceable enough, even if it is not the most expansive account. Part one also establishes some other key components of Arnold’s thesis. It introduces the idea that the fifth century saw a period of decline within the Roman Empire- which is pivotal when arguing Theoderic’s reign saw a period of revival. This period of decline was not just under the rex Odovacer, who deposed Romulus Augustus, but had been endemic to a series of leaders throughout the past century. Whereas, Arnold also discusses the extent to which the categories of Roman and Barbarian were becoming conflated during this period. For example, Ennodius, at times (though not always), saw the barbarian Ricimer as more civilised and arguably more Roman than the Eastern Roman Anthemius during their conflict with each other. Part one thus acts as an introduction to Cassiodorus and Ennodius, while also sowing the seeds of some of Arnold’s later arguments.

Part two of ‘Theoderic and the Roman Imperial Restoration’ further elaborates Arnold’s discussion. In particular, the first chapter of this section discusses Theoderic’s relationship with the Eastern Empire, as well the titles used by Theoderic. The latter topic is especially interesting, the terms for a ruler of the Western Empire had to some degree lost their meaning. Theoderic did not need to be called Imperator to be considered as a emperor, over titles such as rex and princeps were still suitable. Theoderic often employed the latter as, according to Arnold, it evoked images of the ‘glory days’ of the first century, when the emperors were considered as first citizens in a republic. The section on terminology is thought-provoking addition to Arnold’s argument, as it denounces the idea one had to be called ’emperor’ in order to be recognised as one. In terms of Theoderic’s relationship to the Eastern Empire, Arnold suggests ‘Theoderic promoted the traditional idea of imperial and unity and fraternity with the East, yet staked a claim to the West’s separate existence as one of two Roman republics.’ Naturally, he also altered his portrayal of the Eastern Empire depending on whether he was in contact with them or alternatively Italo-Romans. Part two of Arnold’s work focuses on Theoderic’s imperial image, in particular it consults the visual sources available to do this. Apart from the possible absence of wearing a diadem, Theoderic, according to Arnold, presented himself in a way that Italo-Romans would expect of an emperor. It sections such as these it can sometimes feel like Arnold is in danger of overstretching the evidence, in particular surrounding his Imperial image, however thankfully Arnold’s study is reflexive enough to avoid this.

The first chapter of part three of Arnold’s work firstly analyses Gothicness and its role in the Roman Empire. This section was especially interesting for me, due to the fact that my undegraduate dissertation argued for the irrelevance of ethnicity in Ostrogothic Italy. Nevertheless, Arnold argues that there was indeed a distinction between Goths and Romans under Theoderic, but also that Gothicness became just another form of Romaness available. In other words, Goths were not seen as ‘barbarian savages’ most of the time, but as representing martialism and old Roman virtues. They were symbols of the revival of old Roman values. The next chapter focuses on Theoderic’s Greek upbringing and education and how this might have made his life easier in Italy (even if still occasionally alienated some Western Romans). Arnold also covers Theoderic’s Amal descent in this chapter and discusses how this was also used to legitimise his rule and helped the idea of revival.

The next section focuses on how the province of Liguria and the city of Rome both saw a revival under Theoderic. These areas had suffered heavily during the period of decline already mentioned. Liguria also needed attention due to the damage caused by the war between Odovacer and Theoderic, which meant its loyalty to Theoderic may have been precarious. By consulting the Life of Epiphanius again Arnold describes how Theoderic gained the support of this region. He also discusses the improvements Theoderic made to a number of northern cities such as Verona, Como and Parma. In the chapter on Rome, Arnold emphasises how the city had been neglected by his recent emperors, with the capital either being Ravenna, Milan or Pavia. The city was thus graced with an extended Imperial visit in 500, which Arnold describes in some detail, while he also mentions a number of restoration projects in The Eternal City. Furthermore, to these points, Arnold also shows how Theoderic showed respect and deference to the Senate, therefore fitting in with his ideology of being a princeps or first citizen of a Roman republic.

The final section in ‘Theoderic and the Roman Imperial Restoration’ focuses on the Ostrogothic reconquest of Gaul. This is a welcome addition, as there is not much in the secondary literature on this subject. However, it is a shame that Arnold does not cover Theoderic’s other additions to his ’empire’ in this section, but this is somewhat understandable due to the little amount of information on them in the primary sources. The first chapter focuses on Italo-Roman attitudes to Gaul and how these manifested in a number of ways. These included old stereotypes, such as of the province being more ‘barbarian’ than Italy to more positive images based on their literary culture. The last chapter of this section focuses on the actual conquest of Gaul and how Theoderic gained the loyalty of his new subjects in his new province. It therefore also mentions some of the new administrative structures put in place as well, such as a Prefect of Gaul and a vicar.

Overall, ‘Theoderic and the Roman Imperial Restoration’ is a solidly argued and nuanced book. At times it might risk overemphasise or even sometimes the opposite, but overall its discussion is very convincing and elaborate. It therefore seems we may need change how we see the fall of the Western Empire, with it no longer ending in 476 with the deposition of Romulus Augustus. As Arnold puts it ‘there was no need for Justinian to restore the Western Empire: Theoderic had already done so.’

A Historian Learning Archaeology

~ Liam Greenacre ~ Leave a comment

As part of my MA, I have recently completed a mini-module with the aim of introducing students to archaeology. I am also currently participating in a interdisciplinary module on the Vikings, which has several seminars on archaeology. Before starting my MA, I had encountered archaeology through my history degree to an extent, which inspired me to take an introductory module. However, I had not took any modules with seminars purely focused on it. This post will therefore focus on my experience of learning a new discipline.

The first seminar of the mini-module focused on artefacts. The biggest surprise for me while doing this module was how in-depth an artefact can be analysed. Spectrometry forms the basis of most analytical techniques in this area and consists of directing radiation at a sample to generate wave-lengths characteristic of the material. There are several sub-techniques of spectrometry, such as x-ray diffraction, which is used to identufy crystalline materials. Going into this module, I was unaware of these scientific techniques and so it was interesting to find out how they are used.

For this seminar, I concentrated on ceramics for my reading. I firstly looked at the different ways in which they can be analysed and defined. For example, clays can be defined by their depositional structure, particle size, chemical definition and mineralogical definitions. I also learned that you have to understand not just the finished product, but also the creation process of the ceramic itself. The preparation of clays can involve mixing different kinds of and adding various kinds of organic or inorganic materials. Furthermore, you also need to look at how the firing process and kiln fit into the archaeological picture because by doing so you can learn more about where a ceramic is produced and build a picture of regional and long-distance trade. While looking at ceramics, I also found Paul Blinkhorn’s article on undecorated Anglo-Saxon wares an interesting read. His argument is that we cannot simply dismiss studying undecorated wares as they form a large part of the archaeological picture. At West Stow, only 2% of the pottery is decorated, in contrast to 98% undecorated ceramics, out of a sample size of 50,000. Undecorated ceramics, according to Blinkhorn, can tell us a lot about social identity, as a manufacturing process can be subject to strict internally consistent regulation. To add to this, we can also look at poorer cremations and how they are reflective of an individuals’ status. We cannot simply dismiss any ceramic as merely ‘functional’.

The second seminar of the module looked at buildings archaeology. In particular, I read about the different forms of measurement available for mapping out buildings. They range from hand surveying to using technology to help. With regards to the latter, a Computer-aided Design (CAD) programs and Geographic Information Systems (GIS) can be used to present and manipulate data. Electronic forms of capturing information can include a theodolite (a surveying instrument with a telescope) and using a laser scanner which sends out pulses to detect coordinates. Photogrammetry is also another technique and involves using photos to make a measurement. Aside from learning about the measurement and presentation of data, I also learned about how buildings archaeology can illuminate the social use of space. For example, some buildings may have entrances directed in certain ways, showing its function and the status and purpose of entrance.

My case studies for buildings archaeology were Anglo-Saxon, I looked at Yeavering in Northumbria and Higham Ferrers in Northamptonshire. One important point I encountered while looking at these is that we should not see see different forms of archaeology as separate from each other. At Yeavering, it is possible to work out that one building was used for feasting because of the presence of decayed bone in the sockets of the roof-posts and the horn of a sheep or goat in another socket. Other forms of archaeology organic or artefactual can inform us about the function of a building. I also looked at the debate surrounding Sunken Featured Buildings (SFBs), while looking at Higham Ferrers. It is now unpopular to say they are habitations for poor Saxons. Instead, the debate surrounds whether they were an air-space for ventilation or insulation or alternatively a space for storage.

The final seminar of the mini-module looked at landscape archaeology. A landscape, according to Julian Thomas, is ‘network of related places, which have gradually been revealed through people’s habitual activities and interactions, through the closeness and affinity they have developed for some locations. For me, this emphasised even further the view that we cannot seem different forms of archaeology as operating distinctly from each other. Interaction between them is necessary. How can one understand landscape archaeology without understanding the buildings that are part of an environment? Looking at artefacts could also possibly reveal the networks of production and importation that impinge on and affect an environment.

For my case studies on this topic, I looked at castles and monasteries. How do these affect a landscape. Castles may have certain features that affect the landscape connected to them , such as gardens or reserved hunting grounds. Furthermore, a castle may take advantage of certain features of the environment to restrict or enable access. James Bond suggests from a modern perspective monasteries can look introspective and that generally the impact they hand on the landscape has been underestimated. For example, monasteries were involved in a number of economic activities, such as the improvement of agricultural production, the management and clearance of woodland and the drainage and reclamation of marshland. They therefore had a large impact on the landscape. Using these examples, it is also my belief that landscape archaeology unsettles the human/nature binary because of the way both elements can interact with each other to create a landscape. This is one of the main conclusions I drew from this seminar.

So far, I have discussed my experience of a mini-module called ‘Using Archaeology’, however last term I also encountered archaeology through a module titled ‘Vikings in Northumbria’. We first looked at the archaeology of the so-called Greaty Army. In particular, we looked at their winter camps. Firstly, at Torksey in Lindsey from 872-873. It was fascinating to find out about some of the activities the Great Army were involved in while wintering. The presence of items such as gaming pieces, bullion and coins, suggest we should perhaps abandon the simplistic dichotomy of Vikings either being warriors or merchants, when in fact they could be both at the same time.

We also looked at some of the winter camps beyond Torksey, such as at Aldwark and Cottam. These were identified by looking for the signature pieces of the assemblage found at Torksey. The camps at these locations may represent ‘off-shoots’ of the larger Great Army, some of these may have been associated with the split of the army that went to Northumbria with Halfdan in 874-875. The location of Cottam B appears to have underwent two phases of Scandinavian settlement. Firstly, a short lived one associated with the activities of possibly an off-shoot of the great army and secondly a later Anglo-Scandinavian farmstead. The warriors involved in the first phase, may have been those associated with the second. The archaelogical evidence therefore again suggests we should not treat the Vikings through a simple debate about whether they were raiders, settlers or merchants, when in fact they were all of them.

This post has discussed my experience of learning about the discipline of archaeology. I hope it gives a clear picture of some of the ideas that I read about and came to my own conclusion about, while studying it. This upcoming term I will be taking a module on Viking burial archaeology, so the knowledge I have acquired so far should be helpful. I have enjoyed exploring a new discipline and I eagely anticipate continuing this in my new module.

Bibliography:

Blinkhorn, Paul W. “Habitus, Social Identity and Anglo-Saxon Pottery.” In Not So Much a Pot, More A Way of Life, edited by Paul W. Blinkhorn and Christopher G. Cumberpatch, 113-24. Oxford: Oxbow, 1997.

Bond, James. “Landscape of Monasticism.” In Landscape: The Richest Historical Record, edited by Della Hooke, 63-74. Liverpool: The Society for Landscape Studies, 2000.

Creighton, Oliver H. and Robert H. Higham. “Castle Studies and the ‘Landscape’ Agenda.” Landscape History 26 (01/01 2004): 5-18.

Fairclough, Graham. “Meaningful Constructions– Spatial and Functional Analysis of Medieval Buildings.” Antiquity 66 (1992): 348-66.

Hadley, Dawn and Julian D. Richards. “In Search of the Viking Great Army: Beyond the Winter Camps.” Medieval Settlement Research 33 (2018): 1-17.

———. “The Winter Camp of the Viking Great Army, AD 872-3, Torksey, Lincolnshire.” The Antiquaries Journal (2016): 23-67.

Haldenby, Dave and Julian D. Richards. “The Viking Great Army and its Legacy: Plotting Settlement Shift Using Metal-Detected Finds.” Internet Archaeology 42(2016). doi:https://doi.org/10.11141/ia.42.3.

Hardy, Alan, Bethan M Charles, and Robert J Williams. Death and Taxes: The Archaeology of a Middle Saxon Estate Centre at Higham Ferrers, Northamptonshire. Oxford: Oxford Archaeology, 2007.

Henderson, Julian. The Science and Archaeology of Materials: An Investigation of Inorganic Materials. London: Routledge, 2000.

Hope-Taylor, Brian. Yeavering: An Anglo-British Centre of Early Northumbria. Swindon: English Heritage, 1977.

Swallow, Peter, Ross Dallas, Sophie Jackson, and David Watt. Measurement and Recording of Historic Buildings. Shaftesbury: Dorhead Publishing, 2008.

Thomas, Julian. “Archaeologies of Place and Landscape.” In Archaeological Theory Today, edited by Ian Hodder, 165-86. Cambridge: Polity Press, 2001.