Pin the Modern on Old Belief

Consider the image above.

I discovered this image while reading the recent Smithsonian.com article, widely circulated on Twitter and Facebook, about a Russian family that fled deep into the Siberian wilderness in the late-1930's, only to be 'discovered' by Soviet geologists in the 1970's conducting aerial surveys in the remote, Soviet hinterland.  It's a fascinating story, and what especially appealed to me was that the family discussed were Old Believers, a religious group that split off from Russian Orthodoxy in the 17th century over doctrinal and ritual changes made by, then, Patriarch Nikon.  Old Believers are often marked by their sometimes strict adherence to the traditional means, rituals, and accouterments of Orthodox worship.

Yet even that description of Old Belief is rather cursory, as the raskol (translated into English as 'schism') of the Russian Orthodox church was about more than making a three-fingered sign of the cross or changing the religious books used for the services; it was about the changing nature of the state, the increasingly centralized trend of concentrating power under the Tsar and the corresponding decline of local authority that steadily occurred after rule by the Golden Horde had been forcibly cast off by the Grand Princes of Moscow.  Old Belief is a tough subject for many to comprehend, its incarnation in historical and contemporary sources alike often relying on cliched or simplistic understandings in order to convey meaning about this religious group to modern audiences.  The Smithsonian article is no exception, and that's why the image above struck me with such poignancy.

It's not so much that the image, or the caption contained underneath, is wrong or misleading.  If you read the article, you understand that 40 years in the wilderness left this Old Believer family with little more than handmade hemp cloth for use in making clothes.  What is striking about the image is that you, the reader, can choose to 'Pin It', or add it to your Pintrest wall of images.  In a subtle way, the Smithsonian's use of the 'Pin it' button on these images helps reinforce the notion that Old Believers are stuck in time and full of a sort of noble backwardness that both grotesquely fascinates and reinforces the primacy of the modern viewer.  As is so often the case with documentary sources on Old Belief, there is a tendency of the contemporary viewpoint to see these religious practitioners as a sort of distant mirror of the modern, a distance whose measurement soothes the modern psyche in affirmation that the progress of life is truly that- progress.  The very fact these religious practitioners appear to be outside the modern makes them an intense focus of the modern.

For Imperial, and later Soviet, authorities and functionaries, this sort of intense focus is nothing new.  Douglas Rodgers in his excellent book, The Old Faith and the Russian Land: A Historical Ethnography of Ethics in the Urals, describes two groups of Old Believer communities in the town of Sepych that maintained their religious traditions even as they consistently updated their ethics and interpretations of belief in the face of changes brought about through Soviet and post-Soviet rule.  While his in-depth study provides many points that would fit the theme discussed here, I want to focus on one particular historical episode described by Rodgers- that being the emergence of a textual community in the 1960's between the Old Believers of Sepych and Soviet archaeographers (those who study the practice of publishing written sources) seeking out traditional religious books and manuscripts.

While discussion of religion was generally considered taboo for Soviet scholars, archaeographers claimed that analysis of traditional religious texts, often found in Old Believer communities due to their reverence for pre-Nikonian sources, could be used to uncover a "nation-based critique of of the visions of socialist modernity." (166) Rogers notes that,

"Finding these original manuscripts, scholars hypothesized, could revolutionize the study of Russian history, language, and literature in the post-war, post-Stalin years, when it was becoming politically possible to talk about Russian national history and traditions." (166)

Scholars would pour into Old Believer communities like Sepych every spring, looking for and sending back to their home institutions any sufficiently old religious texts or books various families or elders in a community willingly handed over.  Some elders, initially wary of the Soviet scholar invasion into their often private and secluded lives, turned this relationship to their advantage, collecting names, calling cards, and patronage with a zeal equal to that of the book collecting Scholars that sought their texts in the first place.  

Yet, as Rogers notes, "the textual community that grew up between archaeographers and Old Believer elders was laced with inequality and power relations." (169) Some elders told Rogers of their purposeful avoidance of the scholars, hiding in their houses and refusing to answer the door when they knocked.  One woman even produced for Rogers a shrill impersonation of the scholars and their constant demands of 'Give us the book!  Give us the Book!'  Ultimately Rogers concludes,

"…early field archaeography's focus on finding and preserving national tradition- born of a particular moment int eh Soviet academy, crystalized in unexpectedly close relationships with Old Believer elders, and exemplified in the material durability of 'book culture' (knizhnost')- does not capture central aspects of the Old Belief as lived practice in the twentieth century." (172, emphasis mine)

Roy Robson, one of America's top Old Belief scholars, sounds a similar note in his book, Old Believers in Modern Russia:

"Consequently, we can understand the Old Belief as an ongoing relationship between the symbols of pre-Nikonian Orthodoxy and the lives of the old ritualist faithful." (9)

Even though the tendency for outside observers is to see Old Belief as essentially trapped in a bygone era, the real crux of Old Belief is reconciling the needs of the ever-contemporary community with that of the rituals and beliefs that form the core of their religious expression.  Old Belief is constantly adaptive, even as it holds dear those elements that mark it as antiquated and distinctly anti-modern to those looking from the outside in.

Keeping this point in mind, let's return to the Smithsonian article introduced above.

In framing the setting of this tale of rediscovery, the article opens with a depiction of the Siberian forest as "the last and greatest of Earth's wildernesses."  This puts the reader in a mindset to accept that what they will read occurs beyond the frontier of modernity, in a place untouched by roads, factories, and electricity.  When the Soviet geologists initially encounter the 'lost' family, the focus of the narrative centers on their disheveled appearance and clothes made of patches and sacking material.  Here the family in question is revealed to be Old Believers, members "of a fundamentalist Russian Orthodox sect, worshiping in a style unchanged since the 17th century."  Already, the family in question acquires a patina of backwardness not solely dictated by their impoverished homestead.

For entertainment, they would recount for each other their dreams.  Having long ago lost their only metal kettles to rust, the family was forced to utilize birch-bark baskets that could not be placed on a fire thus severely limiting their ability to cook food.  One member of the family, a son named Dmitry, is hailed as the workhorse of the family, possessing "astonishing endurance" and the ability to "hunt barefoot in the Winter, sometimes returning to the hut after several days, having slept in the open in 40 degrees of frost, a young elk across his shoulders."  For American audiences, parallels to the noble savage ideal of Native Americans is easy to grasp and, indeed, the article implicitly makes this connection through its depiction of the primordial forrest and the family that struggled mightily against the forces of nature, all the while maintaining surprising ability to survive and even keep track of complicated phenomena like time despite the lack of modern technology.

This last point is especially important, as the American cultural context heavily pervades the Smithsonian article.  Philip Deloria has a fascinating introduction in his book, Indians in Unexpected Places, about the 'Expectation and Anomaly' photographic depictions of Native Americans possessed in American cultural identity construction.  Opening with a picture of 'Red Cloud Woman in Beauty Shop', Deloria notes, "even in the wake of decades of stereotype busting, a beaded buckskin dress and a pair of braids continues to evoke a broad set of cultural expectations about Indian people." (3)  He later adds, "broad cultural expectations are both the products and tools of domination and…they are an inheritance that haunts each and every one of us." (4)

Indeed, later in the Smithsonian article, the Old Believer family is described as being marveled by modern artifacts such as television and cellophane wrapping.  Yet despite the introduction of the modern into these 'timeless' Old Believer's lives, three of the four children succumb to kidney failure (a consequence of their primitive diet) while Dmitry, having possessed 'astonishing endurance', falls prey to pneumonia "which might have begun as an infection he acquired from his new friends."  The amazing discovery of this lost family ends on a discordant note about the dangers of such anti-modern behavior, and the reader is left with a sense of security in knowing they won't fall prey to such calamity given their safe proximity to modern life.

We could stop here, declaring that this article is simply a 'one-off' occurrence of the American audience being introduced to such a strange and foreign group.  However, my own research into the immigration of Old Believers from Turkey to Oregon in the 1960's suggests this viewing of Old Belief as a distant mirror of the modern possesses a lasting and enduring legacy, albeit one with an interesting twist.

On 3 September 1959, the famous Icon painter Pimen Sofronov sent a letter to Tatiana Alexeevna, then a member of the Tolstoy Foundation, regarding the plight of Old Believers living in Turkey and seeking relocation to the West.  The Tolstoy Foundation was known for it's dedication in helping groups of Russian emigres receive safe passage to Western nations in order to escape the clutches and propaganda efforts then being waged by the Soviet government.  During the late 50's and early 60's, the Soviets put increasing pressure on the Turkish Old Believers (a group that originally immigrated to Turkey during the 17th century) to 'Return to the Homeland' with lavish promises of land and the freedom to worship as they chose.

The Turkish Old Believers reached out to Sofronov mainly because the pressure to return to Soviet Russia was compounded by their need for additional marriage partners.  With their numbers dwindling, the Turkish Old Believers could no longer find suitable candidates for marriage, their beliefs having severe restrictions on the blood relation of potential couples.  In his letter, Sofronov states, "They are the oldest emigrants. …Their "stanitsa" is like a small island of ancient Russia which remained unchanged since the days preceding the era of Peter the Great.  Nothing similar to this group of people can be found anywhere else, neither in Russia, nor abroad."

He ends his letter with a curious statement regarding the gullibility of the Old Believers: [They] are completely unaware of the Soviet reality and therefore can be deceived more easily than others."  Quite literally, they are so distant from the modern forces embodied in Soviet propaganda that they will easily fall prey to their machinations.  It is no longer a question of measuring modernity through the distant presence of Old Belief- it is now a battle between two nations in the assertion of the modern on this "small island of ancient Russia."

Made aware of this situation, the Tolstoy Foundation began petitioning US authorities for a special allowance to let these Turkish Old Believers immigrate to the United States, despite the fact their total numbers exceeded the, then, established quotas of allowable immigrants from Turkey.  In a 21 March 1963 memo to Abba Schwartz, senior administrator for the Bureau of Security and Consular Affairs in the State Department, the Tolstoy Foundation framed the Old Believers as "an ideologically strong and firm group of 250 persons in their rejection of any Communist offers and promises continued to await assistance from the West," before ending with a 'throwing down of the gauntlet' to American authorities:

"It seems in the U.S. interest- if only in counteracting Soviet propaganda and one of the USSR strong cold war weapons that 'the West does nothing to help effectively human beings in distress'- to authorize the admission of this group of 250 persons…"

Photo of Document taken by Me, found at the Tolstoy Foundation Archive

Here we have a subtle twisting of the 'distant mirror' portrayal found in both the Smithsonian article and Soviet archaeographers quest for Old Believer religious texts.  The Turkish Old Believers are definitely 'pre-modern' in their way of life, even to the point of being incapable of seeing through Soviet deceptions targeted towards them, yet the West can act as a modernizing force for this timeless group through demonstrating their willingness to assist them in immigration and placement into the 'correct' modern setting.  In the face of impending Soviet repatriation, on 12 April 1963 Attorney General Robert Kennedy authorized the admission of the Turkish Old Believers into the United States under 'parolee' status.

Photo taken by Me, found at the Tolstoy Foundation Archive

The New York Times ran a front page story on 27 April 1966 about the Old Believers with a focus on their adjustment to American life in New Jersey.  (While the Turkish Old Believers were initially settled in New Jersey, later that year most of the group would immigrate to the Woodburn area of Oregon in order to live a more secluded life, away from the Westernizing influence of the heavily populated East Coast)  Compared to the images found in the Smithsonian article above, these Old Believers look to be well-adjusted to the modern lifestyle, even as they still possess beards 'in accordance with Old Believers' tradition.'  With the subtitle 'Old Believers Leaning to New Ways', one can tell that the acculturation process is far from complete, even as the article would have the reader believe that the modern influence of America is pulling this distant group from the past and into the present.

Whereas the Smithsonian 'Pin it' photo acts as an assuaging force depicting the modern lifestyle as truly progressive, the New York Times photos represent the other end, or result of this assuagement, depicting the distant Old Belief as catching up, even though their distinctive qualities remain.  Despite these differences, both sets of photos present the same 'Expectation and Anomaly' discussed by Deloria with his 'Red Cloud Woman in Beauty Shop'.  We see the Old Believer as modernizing, yet the expectation of their backwardness makes their acculturation process all the more strange, all the more anomalous.  Even with the distance removed, the Old Believer still acts as a measuring stick by which the modern can judge itself.  The gaze may soften in a modern setting, but the intense focus remains.

Obviously, the depiction of Old Belief through outsider accounts is a complicated matter that could take up far more space than afforded here.  Yet it is worth noting that American cultural attitudes, despite their seeming modernity, possess powerful influence over our conception of the other in relation to ourselves.

Ephemerality is a Snap...

Photo by Steve Bailey

…but the truth certainly is not.

Preparation for my upcoming Theorizing the Web presentation on data serfdom has me reading about notions of truth and comparing those notions to how various data platforms guide users in constructing their data selves.  While I have a good handle (at least, in my own mind) on how Facebook, Twitter, and their ilk create conditions favorable for the development of data serfdom, novel services/platforms like Snapchat introduce a new variable in the data self equation that, I believe, has interesting implications on both the development of the data self and the 'lived reality', or verisimilitude, the data self supposedly projects and provides.  That factor is ephemerality, and it's implementation forces us to consider how 'Snaps' alter the role of truth in the social media landscape.

In the post 'Why does Snapchat Matter?', Sam Ladner addresses a central issue the picture-sharing platform obviates through its service, that being the existence persistence of photos, likes, and comments shared on the Internet.  "Snapchat allows you to turn the Web back into regular conversation, shared with only those “present,” and not recorded for anyone else to hear," Ladner argues, as she frames the function, or affordance, of disappearing content as enabling a return to pre-Web discursive practices.  Instead of deciding 'Should I take a picture of this?', Ladner states that Snapchat allows one to make the perfectly acceptable choice that something is of little archival value, hence the desirability of ephemerality, and that this lack of 'documentary pressure' (what Nathan Jurgenson has termed the Facebook Eye) reduces the cognitive load associated with other platforms and their existence persistence stance on shared content.

Granted, the disappearing nature of Snaps (the term used by Snapchat for the photos you take and share) certainly reduces cognitive load- but it also has additional, far-reaching effects regarding the ability of the user to engage in parresia, or truth-telling.  This is something I would like to explore in greater detail below.

To begin, what is parresia?  Here I am utilizing discussions crafted by Foucault for his 1982-1983 lecture series on 'The Government of Self and Others', in which he both elaborates the meaning of parresia and charts its evolution of use through antiquity and up to the modern era.  Paressia  is actually a Greek word which describes the quality of free-spokeness, although it means much more than having a glib tongue.  It denotes that the one with free-spokeness speaks the truth, even to the point where utterance of such truth means possible mortal danger to the speaker.  Foucault states that parresia is "a truth-telling, an irruptive truth-telling which creates a fracture and opens up the risk; a possibility, a field of dangers, or at any rate, an undefined eventuality." (63) Those who engage in parresia form truth on two levels; the statement itself is true, but the one uttering parresia thinks, judges, and considers that the truth expressed is genuinely true.  It is not rhetoric, whereby one arranges facts to persuade another to accept a position- it is an expression of pure, believed truth, which is beyond rhetoric and situated more properly in the realm of philosophy.

Another characteristic of parresia is that one does not come equipped, naturally, with the ability to use such a discourse.  It has to be proven, fought over, so that the utterer of parresia is assured that others will listen to them and heed the truth they bravely proclaim.  Yet, parresia is not so above reproach that it cannot be subverted, cannot be twisted to suit needs that are less than altruistic.  Plato, himself, questioned how Democracy could co-exist in harmony with parresia, given that such pure truth-telling might not be accepted by the representative bodies summoned to debate the pressing issues of the polis.  It is entirely possible to have bad parresia, he concludes, false truth-telling that borders on flattery.

Foucault stipulated that bad parresia contained three elements.  First, it allowed anyone to speak.  Ascendency, the process of jousting with others for recognition, no longer matters in those places where bad parresia reigns.  While this was a necessary precondition for those who utter good parresia (one needs to be heeded, after all, for the truth to have any effect), in the converse situation ascendency is moot because anyone can speak.  This leads to the second element of bad parresia, that being the situation where speakers won't give their 'true' opinion but, rather, they sustain the prevailing opinion.  Foucault notes that, "the bad ascendency of anybody is achieved through conformity to what anybody may say and think." (183)  The third, and final, characteristic of bad parresia extends from the conformity found in the previous characteristic; by pleasing others, the utterer of bad parresia ensures their own safety and success, thus circumventing any potential danger.

"Such is the mechanism of bad parresia, which is the elimination the of distinctive difference of truth-telling in the game of democracy." (183)  Foucault states that this is the real danger of bad parresia before elaborating what Plato saw as the main consequence of democratic man lacking a logos alethes, or discourse of truth:

"In the anarchy of his desires he will want always to satisfy greater desires.  He will seek to exercise power over others, power which is desirable in itself and which will give him access to the satisfaction of all his desires." (201)

While there is quite a bit more to the analysis by Foucault on the notion of parresia, (highly recommend you check-out the entire lecture series) there is enough here to begin asking questions about how parresia, or rather how bad parresia, operates on a social media platform where ephemerality is the central feature.  Let's return to the analysis of Ladner, described above.

Without complicating this post with the particulars of data serfdom on non-ephemeral platforms (NEP's), like Facebook or Twitter, one essential point must be made regarding the nature of data self verisimilitude promised by these platforms; they trap users in unchanging expressions that promote stasis and formation of the ossified self, so as to make marketing easier and more accurate (even as this ossification creates asynchronicity between the data self and the lived self).  Conflict arises when users question the veracity of their data selves, because we have reached the point where shareable information can be accessed and indexed to such a degree that the resulting amalgamation alienates users from the platforms they dutifully toil upon.

Photo via Mark Smith

This is what Ladner means when she discusses the lessening of 'cognitive load' associated with NEP's, the fact that persistent existence routinely exposes users to embarrassment and even greater liability.  There is no longer the question of 'should I document this?' or 'what is the best moment to document?', questions inherent to actualization of the 'Facebook Eye', but rather a general freeing of the self to engage in frivolity, to rest assured that the ridiculous (or not) Snap just sent won't be around for others to critique tomorrow, or the whole sequencing of tomorrows that will inevitably follow.  The benefits are immediate for Ladner:  

"Snapchat came and took out the garbage that you put in a particular pile.  You don't even have to think of that pile.  It is simply gone.  How liberating!"

Yet, I ask, what are the implications?  It's fine that Ladner sees Snapchat, and ephemerality in general, as a sort of automated trash pickup service, but this begs the question: if you liken it to garbage, what does that say about the content and its purpose to begin with?  Granted- this is the larger point Ladner is trying to make.  But I also think this garbage analogy hints at a general condition on the type of information ephemerality will promote.  

The genius of Snapchat, and ephemerality in general, is that it frees the lived self from the constraints of the data self.  Whereas NEP's continually have users conflate the truth of their utterances encoded in likes and retweets to that of their lived reality, producing disruptive asynchronicity, platforms that embrace ephemerality tell users, "Don't worry about the conflation of your data and yourself- the data will disappear, leaving only your true self behind."  However, while ephemeral platforms may claim to solve the data self conundrum, in reality they provide only a more ameliorating experience for the user to engage in bad parresia.

As it stands now, most uses of social media don't promote the practice of parresia- they promote forms of communication that claim legitimacy in the name of parresia.  In actuality, social media promotes bad parresia because marketers, who pay the bills for many social platforms, demand flattery over truth.  But the linkage of legitimacy to what parresia stands for, the unabashed, total belief in what someone is uttering, is what all social media platforms will claim to exercise.  For NEP's, this linkage comes from their claim that the data self is symphonic with the lived self, that the data will reveal a truth of your existence that was once completely unknown.  Ephemeral platforms point out the flaw in this reasoning, as persistence existence of data will continually pose as a liability, and suggest that the way to actual parresia is through elimination of the data itself.

Thus, when Ladner claims that Snapchat allows users to "turn the Web back into regular conversation" one can see the sort of validity these ephemeral platforms derive from linking themselves to notions of parresia.  But I would counter Ladner here, and suggest that ephemeral platforms only feel like a more authentic, digital version of ourselves because they present a novel way for us to engage in bad parresia.  Snapchat doesn't encourage one to send photos of value, only photos of frivolous value.  There is no ascendency involved with Snapchat.  Sure, you might be selective in who you decide to send or receive Snaps- but there is no preferring one over another, no quality meaningfully marking one as anything more than an equal of another.  It's all so frivolous, so YOLO, that anybody can speak, anybody can take a snap and send it to anyone without a care for anything more.  

Of course this ephemerality, while very liberating in practice, also means that there are no consequences tied to the data shared.  This is how Snapchat directly contributes to the formation of bad parresia.  The data you send melts away after mere seconds, leaving only a vague notion that any data was shared at all.  Recall what Foucault, quoted above, said was one of the central characteristics of parresia, that is "a truth-telling, an irruptive truth-telling which creates a fracture and opens up the risk; a possibility, a field of dangers, or at any rate, an undefined eventuality."  Ephemerality eliminates this fracture, or at least seals it far, far quicker than NEP's.  There is no danger, no undefined eventuality in sending a Snap.  

Recipients of Snaps may, if they are quick enough, take a screenshot, but here Snapchat upholds its ephemeral teleology and informs you that your picture has been kidnapped from the palace of forgetting and locked away in the dungeon of existence persistence.  This reinforces Snapchat's linkage to notions of good parresia, as the ephemeral platform tells those whose Snap's have been captured, "There is a traitor in your midst, one who would violate the true expression of yourself in order to possess a shadowy, asynchronous piece of your data self."  And since ephemeral platforms hold claims to veridiction through opposition to the data selves created by NEP's, this 'informer' aspect of having Snap's captured completes the false-loop of presumed good parresia.

As an evolving feature, we will have to wait and see how Snapchat (and the inevitable emergence of cloned services) continues to play with notions of verisimilitude tied to the larger issue of truth-telling.  Given that ephemeral data has a low value to marketers, one wonders how Snapchat will monetize its service given the demands of profitability in the marketplace.  It's not entirely out of the question that Snapchat is using ephemerality to lure in droves of potential data serfs, and once the demesne has reached suitable size who knows what gates will be shut and what data will take on a less than ephemeral existence.  Regardless, ephemerality represents a new take on the social media question.  We should be careful to not overlook its impact on how we see social media integrated into the notion of parresia.

2012 Retrospective

Photo by .:Camilo:.

As 2012 draws to a close, it's time for a Peasant Muse (and personal writing) retrospective.  Below you'll find my top posts of the year, with a brief explanation on what that post (or series of posts) meant to me.

Between Reality & Cyberspace - This post was a response to Mr. Teacup's assessment of PJ Rey's 'There is No Cyberspace'.  In it, I tried to elaborate the frictional points that existed between the web and reality in an augmented reality conception.  This was one of my first attempts to discuss concepts of asynchronicity and 'textual dualism', concepts that would feature prominently in my Future Internet article discussed below.

The Data Serf Series - One of the two trends to evolve in my thinking this year dealt with what I've termed 'data serfdom'.  In two posts, From Data Self to Data Serf and Creating A Modern Feudal Order, I discuss the larger implications of both the quest for verified data by owners of data platforms and the increasing vassalization these data platforms pursue in siloing their services for users.  This is a topic I plan on investigating further in the coming year.

Games and the Word - The first part of a longer, three-part series, Games and the Word begins with 'The Epistemic Reservoir' and a look at how board games went from dualist (in which the ludic reality depicted contained no direct linkages to real world situations) to de jure (as opposed to de facto) augmented constructions beginning in the 16th century with Christoph Weickmann's 'The Great King's Game'.  This is another piece that probes dualist versus augmented realities, but it also highlights the other trend in my thinking this year- how board games differ from their digital cousins.

Dark Definition - This is a post where I call for a more ethnographic approach in studying linking behavior in both online and offline settings.

Meanwhile, on the Boardwalk - This was a personal favorite of mine this year.  I felt that this third season of Boardwalk Empire was the best yet, and the episode I discuss here was definitely a highlight.  I've never done this sort of 'television critique' before, but it was very fun to write and I might try more of this next year.

Coding Mystique vs. Banality of Cardboard - Even though I just posted this, it has become one of my most popular essays on the site.  In light of the recent MoMa acquisition of video games for their exhibit space, I ask why board games were left out.  This is a continuation of my thinking regarding the differences between board games and video games, and, surprisingly, I'm finding the metaphysical aspect of board games to be their defining quality.

Yet beyond posts I've written here, 2012 was a great year in that I had two articles published in peer-reviewed journals.  A post that I originally debuted here, Going Beyond the Textual in History, made it's way to the Journal of Digital Humanities for their special 'Gaming' section in the second issue.  Also, my 'Theorizing the Web' presentation on textual dualist reality in Russian history was published in the special Future Internet journal issued dedicated to the conference.  Textual Dualism and Augmented Reality in the Russian Empire is probably the piece I'm most proud of, professionally, as it manages to blend my love of Russian history with current thinking on digital trends.  It also put my concepts of mobility and asynchronicity at the fore, and I'm excited to hear what people think as they read my article.

Last, but certainly not least, I also had an essay published on The New Inquiry website- No Accidents, Comrade.  Here I examine the Cold War board game Twilight Struggle and ask how this game contributes to the dominant 'chance' narratives embodied in popular understandings of that period.  I was extremely happy to work with such a talented group over at The New Inquiry (consider subscribing), and the resulting essay came out far better than I had ever hoped.  Next to my Future Internet article, this essay is dear to my heart.

Everyone have a great rest of 2012!

Coding Mystique vs. Banality of Cardboard

Photo via Bjorn Hermans

To paraphrase that self-deprecating comedian, Rodney Dangerfield: board games can't get no respect.

At least, that's what the recent MoMa announcement on acquiring video games for its collection would lead you believe.

On the 29th of November, the MoMa 'Inside/Out' blog announced that 14 video games, the likes of which included Pac-Man, Myst, Tetris, Portal, and EVE Online, were acquired as a seedbed for a "new category of artworks…that we hope will grow in the future."  As of March 2013, visitors to the Philip Johnson Galleries will be able to view, and in some cases actually play, the acquired games and, hopefully, marvel at their construction as exemplars of 'interaction design'.

Paola Antonelli, senior curator in the Department of Architecture and Design, told the Wall Street Journal's 'Speakeasy' blog that, "…interaction design is a discipline that was born in the 1980s...and it has to do with our interaction and our experience of digital artifacts. So, it is the screens of ATM machines. It is the screens of computers. And it’s also video games."

Photo via ajmexico

And here we get to the heart of the matter. MoMa didn't acquire these video games as 'works of art', although the 'Inside/Out' blog and Ms. Antonelli clearly feel they could be huddled under this category.  They, instead, fall under the category of 'interaction design', standing alongside other MoMa stalwarts ranging from, "posters to chairs to cars to fonts."  It's not so much the form that is exciting to MoMa- it's the 'experience' these video games evoke, the way they pair technological constraints and programing code to create a ludic range of emotion through play.

Yet, while I applaud MoMa's decision to incorporate these important cultural artifacts into their museum space and exploration, I cannot help but ask: Where are the board games?  Looking over the criteria highlighted by both the 'Inside/Out' blog and Ms. Antonelli's comments, there would appear to be generous room for allowing video game's analog brethren a space in MoMa's hallowed halls.  Take this quote, again from Ms. Antonelli: 

"Video games are really full-formed examples of behavioral design, experiential design.  You need to have a sense of space and a knowledge of architecture, whether it's instinctive or really formed.  It's about aesthetics, of course.  It's about all of these different categories that come together in a design artifact."

Or, from another angle, look at the four 'central interaction design traits' highlighted at the 'Inside/Out' blog; Behavior, Aesthetics, Space, and Time.  Nothing about these four traits would appear to disqualify board games from being included.  In fact, one of my own essays over at The New Inquiry, 'No Accidents, Comrade', specifically addressed both Antonelli's comments and the four traits mentioned above with regards to the popular Cold War board game Twilight Struggle.  No, it's not that board games aren't capable of meeting the rigorous standards of MoMa exhibits- they clearly can- but, rather, the conspicuous absence of board games hints towards a larger issue at stake.

From my perspective, what we have here is a clear antagonism between the coding mystique and the banality of cardboard.

Photo via Amys Old School

What do I mean by 'the coding mystique'?  It's simple- coding is one specialized skill that few of us can claim to have mastered, yet our lives are dependent on the operation of code increasingly found in everyday objects.  It's invisible, moving behind the scenes of our favorite apps or devices that bring us news, or connections, or opportunities to expand our horizons, yet few of us actually understand how code works or how deeply it has already imbedded itself into our daily lives.  Code radiates power (when properly compiled) that is awesome in both senses of the word.  We are literally struck with wonderment in the presence of superb code (like iOS on the iPad), but also a sense of dread at the implications code projects (like the algorithms powering Facebook, or the use of cookies to track your online behavior for marketers).

Video games are another example of the 'coding mystique'.  In completed form, players never see the presence of code in video games, they only 'experience' the effects generated by that code.  I still remember the first time I played 'Grand Theft Auto 3'- it was an incredible open-world experience few games, up to that point, could achieve.  However, I never saw a single line of code while playing.  I never engaged in 'modding' or other activities that might have exposed the underbelly of the game's internal workings embedded in code.  The 'black box' encapsulating the code of GTA 3 never once surfaced during play and, thus, the 'coding mystique' held total control of my gaming experience without ever once revealing its tendril-like grip on my brain and my body.

Compare this to the banality of cardboard.

Manual games have no 'black boxing', the code underlying their operation located in plain sight with regards to the printed rules.  Anyone who can read can reasonably play a board game.  Beyond this, anyone who can read and write can *modify* a board game with relative ease.  Without obfuscation, there simply cannot be any 'mystique' associated with board games.  Hence, the banality of cardboard.

Despite this banality, board games still possess all the qualities listed above by Ms. Antonelli and the 'Inside/Out' blog.  Board games are, at their core, experiential designs.  They create a ludic space, just like video games, based on a designed architecture that plays with both space and time through the use of mechanics and aesthetics.  One difference board games possess is that the imagery created is wholly dependent on the player.  They create the narrative through play (especially in solitaire games), even if this narrative is guided through design.  Video games, in contrast, force narrative interpretation upon the player.  Sequencing of displayed imagery, while tied to player interaction via controller, is nonetheless fait accompli.  The code already contains every potentiality, every possible outcome that the player could force.  You can't 'cheat', unless the code says you can, meaning that there is no way to metaphysically break the boundaries of the video game universe.  And even if the game does allow cheats, these are still bound to the rules circumscribed by code's operation.

Board games, despite their banality, can actually survive cheating (either on purpose, or by mistake) undertaken by the player.  The entire narrative assemblage process escapes pre-deterministic outcomes because the player creates the meaning- a process limited only by imagination and not the boundaries of code.  Cardboard appears banal because we give the cardboard meaning through play.  Video games have mystique because the code gives meaning to us through play.

There are other issues too, like the nature of the museum space.  Here again is Ms. Antonelli:

"We’re not going to have the arcade cabinets. We are going to acquire the hardware, because it’s important to have it, but at least at first, we’re not going to show it. We’re going to have screens that are as close as possible in size to the original screens, and of course, we’re going to have the controllers. The controllers are very important, but my dream, and I don’t know yet if I’ll be able to do it, is to have controllers that are all made with the same plastic in the same color. Of course, they have whatever joysticks or buttons they need to have. It’s important to have those. But I would like to kind of make everything that has to do with the hardware as abstract as possible, so that people can concentrate on the interaction. I want to create that distance, so that people can really understand what we mean by these games being masterpieces of interaction design."

While MoMa is keen on the act of preservation, the goal being to fully document not just the code and materials of video games but also the process involved in making the code, Antonelli's quote above details the type of exhibit MoMa wants to create.  Hardware is absent.  Controllers, if able, would be all alike, indistinguishable from one another so as not to interfere with concentration on 'interaction'.  In short, the player would be presented only with the 'experience' as enabled by the code.

Photo via cype_applejuice

Board games could never submit to such a configuration in an exhibit.  MoMa can easily package and present video games to fit a particular point of view.  Board games, however, are not so easily molded.  If the goal is to have the viewer focus on the 'interaction' and achieve 'experience', then the only way to do this with a board game is to actually play it.  One has to shuffle the cards, or distribute the tokens and chits, to get a sense of the 'experience'.  Video games can be put on 'demo' mode, and even a 'static' like presentation will still contain vibrant, moving imagery.  Not so with board games.   As a display, they would appear inert and without life.  As an exhibit designed to foster interaction and experience, board games would require hands-on interaction with other humans, other players, for the 'experience' and 'interaction' to take hold.  The 'distance' that Ms. Antonelli wants to foster with the video game exhibit would become compromised in a board game setting, as interaction with the game and other opponents provides player agency in determining meaning that, by necessity, obviates the 'space' needed for a traditional museum exhibit.

While discussing this topic on Twitter, Felan Parker (@Felantron) made another good point worth mentioning; while (some) video games pursue "art status or alignment with established art forms," board games have largely eschewed this goal.  There are some notable exceptions, Brenda Romero's 'Train' being a particularly good example.  And it should also be noted that MoMa isn't classifying their video games as 'art', but rather as objects of superb design.  Still, the fact that video games aspire to art status is wholly indicative of the 'coding mystique' they possess.  Cardboard, a product of more humble intent, cloaks itself in a banality that betrays its larger purpose and meaning.

Board games might get no respect, but they certainly should.

Russian History at Future Internet

Russian Ruble from 1899 - via Fotopedia

It's been a while since I've updated the 'ole blog, but today I received some news that I thought was worth sharing.  A paper I wrote, based on my Theorizing the Web 2012 conference presentation, has finally been published over at the journal Future Internet.

Titled 'Textual Dualism and Augmented Reality in the Russian Empire', my essay suggests that if we are to better understand how 'digital dualism' works (discussed here by Nathan Jurgenson) in our present day then we need to look to the past and chart how 'textual dualism' clashed with, then, 'augmented' oral claims to reality.

So if you're down to read a little 19th/20th century Russian history, check out the link above and download my paper.  It's open access, and if you have any comments please feel free to let me know either here, at Peasant Muse, or on my Twitter feed, handle = @jsantley.