The term “contextual reference” is so loaded I had to save 80% of my word count to address this. There is no such thing as non-contextual reference, because to be referential an object or argument must contain a referent. That referent is contextualized by its juxtaposition. Also, there’s no form of argument that is not referential, if at least to the actant(s) of that argument.
So, not only can visual arguments not be made without contextual reference, nothing can be made without contextual reference. Not a verbal argument, not a written one, not a bicycle. Not a banana (P.S. any object which could be argued to have a Platonic ideal–whether you buy into the Platonic ideal or not–is a contextualized argument).
As is so often the problem with rhetoric, the question isn’t category, but scope of inquiry. If we instead ask “can visual argument be done without immediate or direct contextual reference?” then the answer is still “yep.”
My Artifact – “A kind of intellectual catastrophe” (The Witness)
“A cage awaits you – this is it, this is the enlightenment you were promised. You lock yourself in the cage. But The Witness played you for a fool. – you were wrong. You were the one snared in the net of panels and wires. There is no enlightenment here. The cage slowly returns you to the very beginning of your long journey, as the island resets. The puzzles un-solve themselves. Where you started is no different from where you ended up, because the experience has left you unchanged. You have achieved nothing. You have learned nothing.”
“The key motif of The Witness is the circle and line, but it has seeped out of the panels into the fabric of the island. You see the motif everywhere–the path of a stream, the patterns in the ivy, it can even be found in the weather. A player who spends too much time with Tetris can be infected with it–they see the shapes everywhere, and have to resist the urge to plot fictional trajectories. It feels like The Witness wants to do this with you. Soon enough, you start to notice the same motif in the real world. Finally, you have the thought: ‘wouldn’t it be funny,’ you think, If I could just click the–‘”
As always, I’ll be looking at The Witness – this time in terms of an analysis on the YouTube channel Electron Dance. Connecting the visuality and designed structure of The Witness to the concepts of mindfulness, enlightenment, and rebirth through sacred texts and public intellectuals, the video questions what the role of the self is within The Witness.
More on that later, but for now, I would encourage folks (who have NO INTEREST in playing the game) to watch the video (massive spoilers, all the spoilers).
Based on some of the initial coding from my subject testing, I decided to look at Zettl and aesthetics for this component, and found it… wanting in its abbreviated form in the Handbook. So I went and got an instructor edition of Zettl’s Sight, Sound, Motion (6th ed. – it’s in 8th now). And I found that perhaps the most useful analytic mechanism in Zettl is the pedagogical framework he lays out for building a curriculum around aesthetics, including a quite nice little week-by-week breakdown of teaching from the text (Fig 1).
So, the thing I find most fascinating here is that Zettl views aesthetics not only as component-based, but also iterative, building upon first principles towards broad aesthetic narratives. Zettl argues, effectively, that you can teach aesthetics, teach with aesthetics, and teach through aesthetics, and this structure works across all three forms of pedagogy.
In the end, what Zettl is talking about in “Aesthetics Theory” is visualizing aesthetics through cinematographic lens–no surprise based on what his interests are–and this is what drove me to go more afield in his work to explore how spatial rhetorics, sound, motion, and light build towards an aesthetic syntax. I’m also going to be doing a lot with Gilles Deleuze here, but for this assignment I had to choose one of these readings, so Zettl it is.
So, here’s a question – the video artifact I posted is not a montage, but as an edited narrative of play and philosophy, it is certainly montage, and it contains montage(s). Is gameplay itself, even in continuity and without montage, montage? Is it an assemblage of actions, a juxtaposition of “various seemingly unrelated events” into a broader narrative, a “specific meta-message” of “induced meaning”?
The Electron Dance video is fascinating because it makes a parallel argument to that of The Witness itself – namely, that participating with it will draw the user/viewer/player towards a comprehension of philosophy and a narrativized “truth” about the self. That is to say, that it moves from noise to sound, from light to form, from abstract to concrete. It builds a narrative syntax through editing of aesthetic continuities.
These aesthetic continuities are reflected in the philosophical narrative syntaxes the game itself explores, and the video interpolates. Content and aesthetics are, effectively, one and the same.
What did it reveal?
“The flight simulator is now the only way to visit Meiggs’ Field. Technology empowers us to visit places that do not exist. Places that cannot exist. But we do not celebrate this enough. Critics and players often denigrate virtual environments with demands for purpose. The developer-god must corrupt places with mechanics, poison them with meaning–proof of intelligent design must be demonstrated through challenges and collectibles.
It revealed that the viewer is the open, empty, luminous presence of awareness.
For Zettl, the space of visuality is delineated and limited by aesthetic forms and choices. And this limited frame is useful for what it manages to isolate in scope. The Electron Dance video touches on each component of Zettl’s cinematography: light, color, form, field, area, contrast, contained forces, depth, volume, sound, motion, and effect. It uses these components to build on the narrative structures which are drawn from this; however, it also isolates the experience of the viewer-participant (“audience” is absolutely a falsehood here, but it’s hard to articulate why). It assumes that the space is given to the viewer-participant, and the viewer-participant simply occupies it.
I enjoy this conflict. It’s unresolvable, and that is the curse of cinematic language. It gives us tools and terms of production and distribution, but even at its best (Deleuze?), it misapprehends the mindfulness of reception. Aesthetics are mediated, but they are unilateral. Visual rhetoric makes arguments, but those arguments are always resolved by another party who either sees or does not see. Who pursues truth, but cannot apprehend it.
What did it miss that you think might be important?
The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far. The sciences, each straining in its own direction, have hitherto harmed us little; but some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the deadly light into the peace and safety of a new dark age.
Zettl offers us a cinematographic language and palette which we can use to understand how visuality constructs tonality and argument. What is fascinating is to consider how it fails to do the things necessary to address the narrative choice which exists outside of the cinematographic form–the narrative selection of the viewer, whom Zettl’s aesthetics is inflicted upon.
I’ve more than exceeded the length I planned to dedicate to this at this point, so for now… Part Three?
Lemay, P. (2007). Developing a pattern language for flow experiences in video games. In Situated Play, Proceedings of DiGRA 2007 Conference (pp. 449-455). University of Tokyo, Tokyo.
Lemay’s “Developing a Pattern Language for Flow Experiences in Video Games” (2007) explores the structure of play experience surrounding designed pattern languages in order to create a tool for gamespace designers to create efficiently structured and paced play experiences which encourage and maintain flow. From this, Lemay attempts to create a dimensional model of play experience.
In order to accomplish this model, the author performs a metacritical survey of existing pattern languages in the understanding of play, and attempts to create a supplement or synthesis for these approaches which might offer an “extended corpus” which includes “all facets and dimension of the flow model” for play (454).
Examining Bjork and Holopainen’s (2005) component framework (Figure 1), Lemay considers the categories of play and game systems (Boundary, Holistic, Structural, and Temporal) and finds a lack in the experiential elements of play and interaction–and argues that while the pattern “encompasses the wide variety of games found today,” it requires a “complementary language” in order to create a more coherent structure(449-50).
From this, the author moves on to Csikszentmihalyi’s model of “flow” and optimal experience (1988), which Lemay argues offers sensory and cognitive structures for understanding how individuals interact with spaces and media through a locus of experienced challenge and expressed competence (Figure 2). Extending this argument into interactive spaces, Csikszentmihalyi’s conditions for flow demand expressed or clearly-presented goals, instant or immediate feedback, and an elevated degree of challenge matched to a specific degree of expressed competency (451).
From these two frames of understanding game mechanic experiences, Lemay then attempts to structure a pattern language of experiential flow (Figure 3) and the experiential/design relationship (Figure 4) in concordance with previous scholars who applied flow experience to game spaces. In doing so, Lemay is able to further articulate the research questions at the core of the investigation, including:
What elements may help generate or maintain flow experiences?
What elements would hinder the emergence of flow experiences?
In so doing, Lemay also establishes the notion of an “anti-pattern” language, one which functions against or subverts flow experiences. (452) At this point, the author creates a multifaceted structural metric for coding play experience according to five core categories (sensation, emotion, cognition, behavior, and social) and offers three different pattern examples which might fit various flow experiences and medium types (453-54).
In his conclusion, Lemay argues that these comprehensive flow patterns might be viewed as a guiding set of consequences of design for games which function effectively and communicate flow-capable mechanics.
However, I want to push back, briefly, and argue that I don’t think these metrics will inherently create flow experiences or encourage the maintenance of preexisting flow behaviors. This is to say that the design process is inherently too individualized and specific to theme or project purposes to allow for a heuristic understanding of flow within design procedures. However, this pattern language may allow for studying flow experiences under coding protocols which attempt to locate flow by examining the emotional and performative dimensions examined here.
I’ll return to this more with the methodology and coding sections of my current study at a later point in the semester. However, for now I will note that–while Lemay may not be generally useful for the study of visual rhetoric–this work offers very viable tools for exploring the experiential nature of visuality in interactive spaces.
I’m always very intrigued by the concept of systemic affordances, especially those so macroscopic in nature as to be rendered invisible by sheer scale. To this effect, I have selected to look at the Jefferson Grid for this week’s artifact.
The Jefferson Grid is, effectively, invisible. You’ll probably never see it in your life. And yet it comprises approximately 60% of the continental United States. And it has shaped our entire logistical environment: roads, farms, utilities, public services, ownership of land… which in turn creates a cascade of other, resultant systemic features (the parceling system for subdivisions, the difference in scale and fairway composition between American and European golf courses, even the most popular length of segmented boom arm scaffolds for center pivot irrigation systems).
Developed by Thomas Jefferson in the 18th century as an effecient and accurate method for surveying newly acquired or unmapped federal lands, it has since divided everything west of the Mississippi, and much of the territory east until the original thirteen colonies, into a series of perfectly aligned, one-mile-square spaces.
It’s the shape of our world, both perfectly regimented and completely arbitrary. For some reason, this strikes me as particularly fitting in the New American Century.
Norman argues that we should understand affordances in part through a felt sense of wrongness, “the queasy or knotted feelings in your gut” (12) which tell you about the lack of affordance present in objects without intentional design.
My childhood farm, pictured center, in grid with other farms on the Jefferson Grid (Google Maps, 2017)
Non-grid farms, shown on the same scale of distance (Google Maps, 2017)
I grew up on a grid farm, in a grid town, in the heavily gridded western Ohio region of the Black Swamp. For me, the existence of this grid defined my life and childhood. It was how I understood (and saw) the world–and yet to define this space to others as formative or essential to my knowledge of space is challenging (perhaps impossible).
To live here, in Virginia, where spaces do not adhere to a logic of place (even when not limited by prevailing topography or natural features) is to exist in a constant state of unease.
For me, The Witness is a natural object of study for the visual rhetoric and visually linguistic forms of composition and communication within it. A game that exists almost entirely without language or instruction, the game nonetheless encourages players to develop deep knowledge of an arcane ruleset through trial and error, exemplification, and (and here will be the primary focus of my investigation) designed environmental contexts.
This Pinterest collection, composed of screenshots, response videos from players and critics, materials from the game’s development phase, interviews with Blow, and conference presentation videos by Blow about game design, are all part of a larger effort to built a broad understanding of how the game’s forms extend from a design process–and how that design process might have been informed by rhetorical intents or desires.
As the semester moves forward, the content of the game will be largely “spoiled” in my posts. However, since I’m still going to try to recruit a fellow student to actually play the game for feedback, I’ll avoid saying more than that for now.
In general, the process of building this collection was straightforward and unsurprising – having followed the game from near the beginning of development, many of these resources are ones I’d already consumed or been aware of. Moving forward, I plan to supplement this collection with additional scholarship from game studies, instructional design theory, linguistics and philosophy (this part will make sense later), etc. in order to expand the scope of this collection and begin to hone in on a final research question.
My thesis will be structured by testing, so it is weak right now. Essentially, I’m guessing that I’ll be discussing the roles that doubt, exposure, and epiphany play in the development of knowledge in visual media – connecting pattern recognition practices and cognitive science to the visual design of play spaces. I’m especially interested in how visual design encourages or inhibits flow experiences in interactive spaces. Beyond that, I am interested in how visual spatial designs can communicate philosophy, both of design and interactive intent, but also humanist practices within technologies.
Theoretical perspective or methodology
I am using think-aloud protocols during live-play sessions with a single subject playing the video game The Witness (2016) with no prior knowledge of the title or its content. This testing is currently underway. I am maintaining separate A/V archives of the playspace and the player in-session, as well as notes and A/V content on inter-session Q&A periods. These testing sessions will progress until a natural stopping point to be determined by the subject. The theoretical foundations of the research structure are based in Mannell et al. (1988), Squire (2008), and Ulrich et al. (2014), especially as these sources pertain to inciting flow within interactive spaces.
Significance of project
This project lies at the nexus of multiple interesting conversations happening in the areas of game studies, digital pedagogy, technical communication, instructional design, visual rhetoric, and UI/UX. I am hoping that a successful approach to synthesizing these various approaches to interactivity can help to illuminate the core learning practices of visuality as separated from traditional literacy foundations used previously to study flow and pattern recognition in skills acquisition and competency.
I have a lot more than 2-3 at this point, but I’ll be tuning downwards as I move forward. I’m still looking for the “killer” source in VisRhet for addressing epiphany, doubt, learning, and interactivity (though Burbules “Aporias” and “Rethinking the Virtual” combined are very close to what I need).
Burbules, N. C. (2000). Aporias, webs, and passages: Doubt as an opportunity to learn. Curriculum Inquiry, 30(2), 171-187.
Burbules, N. C. (2006). Rethinking the virtual. In The international handbook of virtual learning environments (pp. 37-58). Springer Netherlands.
Calleja, G. (2010). Digital games and escapism. Games and Culture, 5(4), 335-353.
Carnegie, T. A. (2009). Interface as exordium: The rhetoric of interactivity. Computers and Composition, 26(3), 164-173.
Cogburn, J., & Silcox, M. (2009). Philosophy through video games. Routledge.
El-Nasr, M. S., & Yan, S. (2006, June). Visual attention in 3D video games. In Proceedings of the 2006 ACM SIGCHI international conference on Advances in computer entertainment technology (p. 22). ACM.
Jones, P. C. (2014). The Receiver is the Message?. Semiotics and Visual Communication: Concepts and Practices, 269.
Kang, H., Lee, C. W., & Jung, K. (2004). Recognition-based gesture spotting in video games. Pattern Recognition Letters, 25(15), 1701-1714.
Klimmt, C., & Hartmann, T. (2006). Effectance, self-efficacy, and the motivation to play video games. Playing video games: Motives, responses, and consequences, 133-145.
Kline, S., Dyer-Witheford, N., & De Peuter, G. (2003). Digital play: The interaction of technology, culture, and marketing. McGill-Queen’s Press-MQUP.
Lemay, P. (2007). Developing a pattern language for flow experiences in video games. In Situated Play, Proceedings of DiGRA 2007 Conference (pp. 449-455). University of Tokyo, Tokyo.
Mannell, R. C., Zuzanek, J., & Larson, R. (1988). Leisure states and” flow” experiences: Testing perceived freedom and intrinsic motivation hypotheses. Journal of Leisure Research, 20(4), 289.
Myers, D. (2006). Signs, symbols, games, and play. Games and Culture, 1(1), 47-51.
Squire, K. (2008). Educating the fighter: buttonmashing, seeing, being. Beyond Fun, 27-42.
Squire, K. (2008). Video-game literacy: A literacy of expertise. Handbook of research on new literacies, 635-670.
Ulrich, M., Keller, J., Hoenig, K., Waller, C., & Grön, G. (2014). Neural correlates of experimentally induced flow experiences. Neuroimage, 86, 194-202.
Wolf, M. J. (2003). Abstraction in the video game. The video game theory reader, 1, 47-65.
Visual Media Included:
The final project will include copies of sample play session footage, as well as illustrative content from the game space, documentation of the design process from the developers of The Witness, and other A/V content as appropriate to illustrate concepts of cognitive science and so on (E.G. Lemay’s (2007) illustrations of pattern language.
Today we will be recording an extended testing session for a visual rhetoric analysis of The Witness, a 2016 puzzle-centric video game produced by Thekla, Inc. and game designer Jonathan Blow. The session will take the form of five consecutive 30 minute play sessions, each followed by a brief break during which there will be resets for the testing hardware and questions about the play experience for the previous session. These sessions will be played consecutively, with no restart of game progress or changing of play situations. All sessions will resume where the previous session ended. The participant is free to request a break from play and/or questioning at any point, and may choose to end the testing session for any reason and at any time.
Testing will follow a think aloud protocol, during which the participant will be asked to vocalize thoughts on the game, game space, mechanics, inputs, design, and themes as well as actively comment on their decision-making and learning processes as they play. In order to assure accurate coding and successful recording, the participant is asked to project loudly, clearly, and with strong enunciation whenever speaking aloud. During active play, the tester will not interrupt, provide guidance, or otherwise interfere with play. However, the participant is welcome to ask non-directive questions for troubleshooting or other purposes.
This testing will address components of input and user interface experiences; however, this is not a usability test. The participant is asked to focus primarily on the thematic, experiential, mechanical, and intellectual engagement they have with the game, with special focus on what the puzzles in the game communicate to them, how they understand the puzzles, and why they make specific decisions in solving the puzzles.
The subject’s participation will be recorded in three ways during the process. All recordings will be available for the participant upon request.
Gameplay will be recorded directly from the play device (Sony Playstation 4) to a secure cloud storage (hosted on Twitch.tv), from which gameplay videos will be downloaded to the tester’s personal computer. These files will not be available for public consumption after recording, and will contain only on-screen play recordings. No in-room audio, video, or other data will be stored in this form. All play footage will be anonymized, and will not include any identifying information about the participant. All play footage will be removed from the cloud immediately after downloading.
The participant’s play session will be recorded in the room via video camera for each session, including both audio and visual recordings. These recordings will also be stored on the tester’s personal computer, and will be deleted after the research period is complete. This content will be held in the strictest confidence, and any coding resulting from this recording will be anonymized prior to release.
The tester will take notes on participant behaviors and actions throughout the play process, as well as notes on the participant’s responses during the pre-, inter-, and post-play segments. These notes will serve as a supplement to the previous two recordings, which will be synchronized for coding.
Before we begin, please let me know if you have any questions about this testing protocol, or any concerns or proposed amendments.
“One day a college student in Canada asked me to define reality for her, for a paper she was writing for her philosophy class. She wanted a one-sentence answer. I thought about it and finally said, ‘Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn’t go away.’ That’s all I could come up with. That was back in 1972. Since then I haven’t been able to define reality any more lucidly.
But the problem is a real one, not a mere intellectual game. Because today we live in a society in which spurious realities are manufactured by the media, governments, by big corporations, by religious groups, political groups—and the electronic hardware exists by which to deliver these pseudo-worlds right into heads of the reader, the viewer, the listener” (Philip K. Dick, “I Hope I Shall Arrive Soon”).
To be frank: the challenge of this synthesis is that – by virtue of how I progressed/functionally stumbled through Case Studies #1, #2, and #3, along with some significant over-theorizing in my Reading Connections (for example, see CHAT, Spinuzzi, Latour, Ecology of Mind, Castells, or Ambient Rhetoric) – much of the argument and theoretical process of this assignment chain has already been completed at this point. I’m interested in reiterating these arguments through a broader context, sure. But in the interests of the sandbox form of this course, I hope you’ll all permit me to be open about some of my intent, here.
I feel like I’ve beat a lot of this into the ground at this point, and I don’t think returning to the case studies en masse will prove productive – not to mention that I have already written perhaps 20,000 words more than was actually required/expected on the specifics of these theories throughout my Reading connections, which frequently exceeded 2500-3000 words each week.
If the goal of this course was to create a viable Frankentheory, I’ve done that already – or at least come close – a couple of times. To be honest, I’m not sure I have 3500-5000 more words left in me (at this point) on my specific object of study.
This isn’t to to argue that I feel I needn’t put a real effort into this synthesis – but rather to argue that if I’m going to synthesize the theories of this course in application towards a specific Object of Study, my tendency is going to be to ignore the presumed standards of the assignment genre, and instead go completely overboard (yet again.)
So, let’s do that. Let’s declare a new Object of Study at the eleventh hour. Our new Object of Study will be – Network Theory.
I am expected to connect “2-4 theories in order to describe what [my] OoS is and how it functions in a way that is useful/meaningful to English Scholars.”
I’m supposed to note “where each theory has a gap or misses a critical part of the OoS as [I] see it, and [justify] why these theories can be made to work well with each other.”
Let’s instead argue that almost any two (or more)theories can be combined in this way, and in so doing interrogate the virtues – and pitfalls – of Frankentheory as an exercise within Network Theory.
After all, if I have another 3000-5000 words left to contribute in this course, they might as well make a splash.
WHAT IT MEANS TO “DO” FRANKENTHEORY
Let’s begin here: what does it mean to “do” Frankentheory as an epistemological process?
I’m obviously a fan of bizarre philosophical syntheses. I’ve used a lot of rhetorical, philosophical, and epistemological… deployments over the course of this year in order to problematize the ways in which we understand the rhetorical concept of the network. I’ve spoken about Diogenean Cynicism as a form of interrogation for theory and practice. I’ve discussed Jurgen Habermas in significant depth in terms of the role of functional/formal pragmatics in the establishment of theories of meaning. I’ve all but dragged the concept of Whig Historicism kicking and screaming into the 21st century in order to provide a novel context for understanding how Network Rhetorics tend to embrace technoscientism in their opposition to technoscientism. I’ve quoted Slavoj Žižek more than was probably necessary.
I think all of these processes are viable and necessary contributions to my personal (and hopefully my classmates’) understanding of the role of networks in rhetorical theory. And I hope God isn’t too mad at me.
However, none of these seemed as useful to my classmates as the production of the group activity pre-theory-tree-theory-tree, which was a bit of an epiphany moment for several students (myself included).
Dan Cox coined this tree as the “Complexity Model of Epistemologic Ecology,” based on Laurie Stankavich‘s note that – regardless of the scope of study or tree of theory applied – the system always tended directionally towards a lensing into more intrinsic ecologies of network theory.
The thing I found most fascinating, however, was Dan Cox and Megan Boeshart‘s contribution (located on the right-hand side of the diagram) of a parallel model to theoretical complexity – which studies the ways in which identity and meaning are mediated and explored in the network context (exploration from within – microscopic, exploration from without – mesoscopic, and mediation of meaning/identity – macroscopic). It is critical to note that such mediation moves linearly, as well.
Essentially, what Dan and Meg demonstrated – through Laurie’s interpretation of the theory tree as an examination of laminae of varying complexities – is that the selection, designation, and deployment of theory works in tandem with identities and ideologies which develop in kind.
That is to say, if a theory can be rendered linearly across levels of meaning (or laminae, ecologies, scopes, etc.) the interpretation of that theory can also be processed linearly along the same “axis” of meaning. What changes is the directive scope, according to both object of study and originating “lens” or site of initial observation.
The epiphany I had was this – if such theories can be rendered linearly, and if the scholar can determine the directive level of scope by changing the site of observation – any two linear theories (or more) can be aligned along similar (or the same) “axes of meaning.”
Is this a good thing? Does this actually generate knowledge?
ALL THINGS BEING EQUAL
There is a Latin term which I always find fun and informative to apply when thinking about theory: ceteris paribus. Colloquially translated as “all things being equal,” ceteris paribus is one of those great cynical tests which the anti-technoscientist practitioners of technopositivism loathe. Remove all of the assumptions necessary to create viability in a theory. Remove all the backgrounding theory, all the referentialism of other contexts, all the prestige of schools of thought, the metaphors of brains and mirrors and inward-looking prisons – ignore anything which might be viewed as a confounding factor for meaning – reduce the practical input and output of a theoretical application to two features: what is changed, and what changes given that change.
Now, all things being equal, does the theory produce new knowledge? This question is loathsome to those who reject logical positivism and empirical models of knowledge – and that’s fine. Ideology functions in social and epistemolical contexts, beyond any doubt. But it’s an intriguing starting point for critiquing theory.
Ceteris paribus is dreadfully positivist, but danged if it isn’t fun.
By example: as Fred Alford notes (125), the center and the margins of society functionally appear in discipline as one and the same. Foucault’s entire notion of power rests upon the is-ness of a dichotomy which functionally is not outside of a very specifically post-Enlightenment French society. If the center is simply the undisciplined margin, then, all things being equal, is what Foucault tells us true? Without a foundation in post-structuralism which is not poststructural, and postmodernism which shall not be named, what does Foucault tell us that Plato does not – that knowledge, truth, and meaning are all mediated by power and the ability to functionally convince others?
Ignore the history of Castells’ Rise of the Network Society, the compulsive countenance of the Iron Curtain within models of technological progress – models which predict almost nothing that actually happened in the decade following Castells’ work. Do not permit the equivocation of consumer culture and capitalism as ideological equals. All things being equal, do we actually live at the beginning of an age of Network Society? All things being equal, don’t Castells’ definitions apply equally well at the advent of stone tools, of fire, of agriculture, animal husbandry, or transatlantic sea voyages?
Even if the answer is “this is not correct,” all is not lost; but we must then explore the virtues of knowing untrue things. That is to say, there’s a reason I attempted to demonstrate that God is Dead and Rhetoric isn’t Real – all things being equal…
Use big-theory words over and over without tying them to anything that we can see or touch.
Carefully compose a pastiche of sources, meanings, and ideas, leaving it somewhat up to the audience to put the pieces together, resulting in a lot of meanings that are all in the same key, even if no one self-composed exactly the same mental song.
Corollary to 2: This may result in not so much confusion as pleasure” (2015)
Dr. Stedman is using this axiomatic guide to what I would capital-C Cynically label “obfuscational theory” as a counterpoint to a broader narrative he’s been crafting on the humanistic necessity for theory to “be part of the making” – be it the making of meaning, or materials, or knowledge, or even making apparent the truths of human existence – within the context of Jeff Rice’s presentation on Jamesonian cognitive mapping at CCCC 2015.
To Stedman, Rice’s deployment of Jameson functioned because it was woven into the human fabric of narratives and experience; “Jameson was a node in a network of ideas” [emphasis added], leading to theory achieving equal footing “with beer flights, with pictures of children, with Stuart Hall’s coding/decoding, with William Least Heat Moon and Wendell Berry.” For Stedman, to view theory as a node within a “network of ideas” (And here we might ask: in opposition to what? A network of facts? Of truths? Of knowledges? What is the default network if we agree that the default network integration of theory is not in ideation? Ideology?) is to see it as equal in footing with experience, with narrative, with practice, with pedagogy, with making… and with the act of sharing all those things. If theory does not illuminate, it cannot change anything.
Stedman offers this tweet as something of an inevitable conclusion of his theoretical, material, and philosophical explorations of the CCCC panels, and notes that “this was actually me wondering all the things that it says I’m wondering, not telling-by-pretending-to-wonder” – wondering when we need theory, when theory gets in the way, when the self-evident is obfuscated by unnecessary complexity, whether that obfuscation might be fulfilling, or foolhardy, or fun.
Considering Stedman’s position as a scholar of the rhetoric of music as well as a compositionalist makes this all much more intriguing and complicated. Dr. Stedman’s focus is on the confluence of musicality, of material manipulation, of art and making and theorizing; while my work here builds on that conceptualization of theory as a potential node within a greater “network of ideas,” mine will be precisely the opposite, to the same end. That is to say, I don’t have a musical bone in my body. But I think he’s on to something really here in terms of the humanistic impulse to understand theory through the act of “making” – as illustrated in the 3d tchotchke project in this sequence.
Is the obfuscation of theory an inherent facet of the “genre” of theory itself? In the network of ideas, are theories actually nodes, or are they doing something else entirely? How can we make artifacts of networks which tell us more than the theories themselves? What is illustrative about that act of making?
WHAT IS UNEQUAL?
This may prove impossibly difficult to demonstrate without illustration. To this end, let’s return to my actual object of study – the visual implicature of authority and compliance within the UI/UX of Blackboard Learn. Let us make – in Stedman’s ideation of “networks of ideas,” a narrative and personal network of representations, for which theory functions as only a facet.
This illustration above may be said to function as the “nodes” of my network of meaning in Blackboard Learn’s UI environment. We might consider the left column to be agents-as-nodes, the central column activities-as-nodes, and the right column meaning-as-nodes.
This is, for all intents and purposes, a network diagram of the Blackboard Learn ecology – linear relations between rows or columns maintain a continuity of purpose, in which network edges are implicit, and the flow of information within the network is clearly related by the proximal nature of the nodes in each column.
We can see that information from Blackboard, Inc. must travel through designers, universities, departments, and instructors in order to reach students.
We can see that the activity of representation can only reach student applications of the software environment through practices of production, integration, adoption, and implementation.
Finally, we can see that rhetorical meaning moves through “functional” meaning into the practical meaning of the interface as understood by end users. This column may be a little unclear, but can be clarified by adding some more overt edges to the model.
However, what this network mapping is not is narrative or personal. It fails to tell the story of how users inside the network understand their place within it, and it fails to give a situated idea of the observer’s place in understanding the network.
What we might do, then, is to apply theories as edges, rather than as nodes per Stedman’s suggestion. From here, we can see our understanding of the network as lensed by observational perspective – a personal perspective for incomplete understanding of the object. We are effectively building a determinant narrative of doors closed and decisions rendered.
For instance, as a scholar studying network ecology, I have rejected Object-Oriented Ontology as a foundation of knowledge – as such, the lens of Spinuzzian practice (applied here based on deployments in Case Study #1) considers as layers the authority of actor-agents (not technologies), and any material facets of the network would necessarily be ordinated along these scopes of study via a human factor (e.g. classroom level agents – Micro, institutional level agents – Meso, corporate agents – Macro).
What we reveal in this application is our own biases – introduced into the map by the application of a single theory. The theory demarcates the outer bounds of our scope in a way that the simple map does not. It is not simply that there is nothing displayed above the classroom or below the corporate interest – there is no scope of study which could internalize those categories under Spinuzzi.
In attempting to understand a network as genre, we are now strictly attached to this scope with no possibility of Spinuzzian expansion beyond the “genre” of the object. The theory is handcuffs.
As an alternate single application, we might consider Guattarian ecosophy, as discussed in Case Study #3, and view each of the vertical columns not according to level of Spinuzzian scope, but rather according to ecology. Again, theory serves not as Stedman’s node, but rather as a set of edges which delimit and bound further study.
Under such a model, we might delineate the space according to agents, activities, and meanings. This, again, simply reveals that the issue of such mapping is one of lensing and situated observer influence. There are not three ecologies. There are dozens, hundreds, likely an infinite number of ecologies that might be applied to any single object. The theoretical model is absurdly restrictive.
In attempting to understand a network as ecology, we can now no longer consider technologies as agentive – or truly consider technologies at all. The theory is a straight-jacket.
And so, in order to reclaim agency in processes we might consider CHAT, as discussed in Case Study #2, and view each of the vertical columns not according to ecology, but rather the lenses of rhetorical canons – “the territory of rhetorical activity” (18) within the network. The edges function to delineate the laminae of these territories, to segregate activity, systems, and rhetorical sites and chronotopes.
This implies several problems. Firstly, the “activity” of practice under Spinuzzi and Guattari has shifted quite literally onto the agents of rhetorical practice, who engage in “literate activity.” As such, we have an ideological conflict regarding who or what maintains agency in the network. Suddenly, traditional activities have become systems of activity, which denude our previous attempts to “blame” organizational systems at the Spinuzzian Meso- and Macro-scopic levels for the restricted agency of microscopic actors.
In attempting to understand a network as activity, we can no longer interpellate meaning according to ideology unless we enforce the rhetorical nature of that ideology. The theory is a shoehorn. So is our original mapping exercise.
The theories can be interpolated (and interpellated) within the physical “space” of the network map, and in this act of “making” under the Stedman model, we might reveal the artfulness, which is to say the intentionality, of the design.
What is revealed in the Frankentheory map above, then, is not the viability of a multi-partate theoretical approach. Nor is it, precisely, the revelation of a “gap” – the missing of critical elements under specific theories.
Rather, what is revealed is that the map functions as an ideological screen, upon which we might project theories. In truth, any linear theory (and they are all, almost, linear theories) might be projected at any layer.
This, unfortunately, was my epiphany. Theories lack a value of specificicity in networks, because networks are infinitely regressive – “turtles all the way down,” in the memetic argument of Dan Cox and others in the course.
All things being equal, one could apply almost any theory of network practice or interpretation to this mapping model, either vertically or laterally. Because, all things being equal, all maps imply either spatiality or directionality , and all theories function in one of those two contexts. We have already seen this with the class activity for the “Complexity Model” above (Figure 1) – what changes is not degrees of complexity, nor epistemological ecologies, but rather simply a theoretical lens.
Seen along the bottom of the illustration for the Complexity Model are a list of theories which students managed to apply in this way. It is, quite literally, every theory of networks offered in the course.
In the end, the best theory, and the best art, enacts/incites/leads to change for the better. It allows audiences to, in the words of Kyle Stedman, “make meanings that [are] both scholarly and non-scholarly (whatever that means)” and interpolate the two in order to see what is wrong not only with the world, but with the models we traditionally use to interpret the world. For the academy, that means, for better or worse, theory. The many-headed beast of contingent meaning.
Philip K. Dick tells us that reality is found in those things which, when we elect not to believe in them, obstinately remain in spite of our best efforts.
In spite of my best efforts, I can’t seem to make theory go away. God knows I’ve tried. So maybe it’s real.
But I would also argue that it is deeply unreal: that every time we don’t apply a theory, it suddenly no longer matters to the model. There is not a theory void or gap to the original model of BBL provided above. Not really. There’s a purposeful map. The whole time I made it, I never thought of Michel Foucault, of Don Norman, of Bruno Latour.
Obviously, those men are “real” in that they exist(ed) “in reality,” but their contexts for knowledge, design, and practice are certainly not.
Frankentheory, then, is the reification of legitimacy in the practice of theory. Theory is like a goldfish – it will grow to inhabit any container you give it. When you’re done, the question “what size is a goldfish” relates directly to the bowl you place it in, and little else (assuming you feed it, to extend the metaphor a step too far).
I’ll not speak to whether that’s bad or good, but that’s what’s real.
I keep thinking about how none of this works for me – and that’s fine. I’m not, I’ll be the first to admit, a rhetorician. I care about operationalization. I’m a pragmatist, and a moderate expressivist, and a compositionalist, and a technician, and hardly a theorist at all. I got into all of this to be a better teacher of making for my students. This work just isn’t for me. But it’s fun! I’d just rather be making things – and I’d rather my students were, too.
But I’m supposed to argue in this paper for the validity of my object of study, so here it is: people with the chops to believe that studying networks changes the structure of reality (or our understanding of it) are welcome to do so, and if they do, I really hope they’ll look at Blackboard Learn, too – because it is really problematic for Network Theories.
In speaking to the realities of networks, we so often ignore that these networks are intentionally designed – and that many of the presumptions of ecology, of genre, of activity, of agency, of meaning are embedded within that network by choice. Blackboard Learn is a network we can understand in terms of representational choices. It is a network which is omnipresent in our – and our students’ – daily lives. It is a network that is digital, personal, global, capitalistic, agonistic, antagonistic, social, corporate, pedagogical, purposeful, dangerous, and imminent.
I know this isn’t the conclusion I was expected to write. I know it was hoped that I would come to the conclusion that Frankentheories give us a novel lens for practice and interpretation, and allow us to locate hidden meanings and what-have-you. All things being equal, I can’t write that conclusion – at least certainly not about my original BBL Object of Study.
I wish I could. I could take credit for an integrative “Theory of Everything,” blaze trails, what-have-you. But I don’t believe in it, and poof, it’s gone.
Alford, C. F. (2000). What would it matter if everything Foucault said about prison were wrong? Discipline and Punish after twenty years. Theory and society, 29(1), 125-146.
Castells, M. (2011). The rise of the network society: The information age: Economy, society, and culture (Vol. 1). John Wiley & Sons.
Guattari, F. (2000). The Three Ecologies, trans. Paul Sutton. London: Athlone.
Prior, P., Solberg, J., Berry, P., Bellwoar, H., Chewning, B., Lunsford, K. J., … & Van Ittersum, D. (2007). Re-situating and re-mediating the canons: A cultural-historical remapping of rhetorical activity. Kairos, 11(3), 1-29.
Spinuzzi, C. (2003). Tracing genres through organizations: A sociocultural approach to information design (Vol. 1). Mit Press.
Stedman, K.D. (2015, Mar 25) CCCC 2015: A Story through Tweets [Web log post]. Retrieved from transmediame.wordpress.com/2015/03/25/cccc-2015-a-story-through-tweets/
In terms of discovering viable tools for understanding my selected Object of Study – namely, the rhetorical/pedagogical (visual) implicature of Blackboard Learn’s UI/UX design – Case Study #1’s vision of Spinuzzian genre-tracing proved an operationalization failure, which I resolved (as noted in Case Study #2) by arguing that:
“[w]hat this means, finally, is that Genre Theory and genre-tracing make for interesting holistic views of the process of meaning making within the Blackboard network, but only within the highly-idealized context of the best-possible model of navigation – one in which the user has the power to subvert and habituate, and experience is designed non-agonistically. However, Blackboard is designed agonistically, if not antagonistically; a platform cannot be designed and implemented primarily to provide authoritative knowledge and assess users’ incorporation of that knowledge in a prescriptively-graded environment and not be hostile to independent agency of meaning.”
Were that I had at that point elected to restructure my Object of Study rather than double down on this significance of visual implicature. However, I elected not to revise my position or OoS, arguing that the issue of Spinuzzi is not that victimhood narratives are not frequently accurate representations of the UI/UX environment, but rather that focusing on ameliorating such victimhood is rarely productive, stating that: “various researchers’ findings have established that Blackboard does victimize users. While Spinuzzi may be correct that the researcher is not a hero-in-waiting for the victimized user, the user may still be well and truly beset upon” (Nielsen, “Case Study #2”). It is in this argument that I finally find issue with Spinnuzi, as well as CHAT and many other theories of analysis and practice from within the field of Network rhetoric; it is in the pursuit of a theoretical body of meaning functioning through networks—whether those networks be physical, digital, or genre-defined theoretical—that we fail to recognize the ideological drive of network practice.
I’ve spoken about ideology to a significant degree in most of my reading connections this semester; memetic jokery about the Capitalist Machinery of Death notwithstanding, ideology generally connects to technological adaptation, and technological adaptation (especially within the modern academy) defines the scope of networks.
The problem with Spinuzzi and with CHAT, then, is that such ideological purposes as serve as theoretical foundations for practice—as I had previously established in reading connections and case studies—are subsumed within the paratextual trappings of the theory itself. To view Spinuzzian genre as an ecology of meaning is to argue against the virtue of a genre-based pedagogical canon, for instance. To argue, as Paul Prior does, that rhetoric before CHAT is “too centered on the producer rather than the system” (2007) is to make an implicit evaluation of both the rhetor and the rhetorical situation as non-viable sites of meaning in the digital, post-network ecology of post-modernity.
I have called this many things. I’ve called it “technopositivism,” “Technoscientism,” “The Latourian Leviathan,” “Whiggish,” and “Whig Historicism.” The assumption, implicit in almost all network theory, is that “onward” equals “progress.” At the core of all the theories of practice observed in this course has been the presumption of progress through forward movement or network development and added complexities of form – and this (I’ll not say false, but I will consider its falsity) dangerous and damning presumption remains unresolved in both Spinuzzi and CHAT.
I would like to resolve this through the introduction of a third theory of practice (and not only because that is what is expected within this particular assignment) in the form of Guattarian ecosophical theory. When initially applying CHAT in Case Study 2, I argued that “we can reclaim [objective] contexts by re-ordination of the space itself;” however, “first we must delimit the authority of [the object], and remove the limits of practice under the [object’s] model.” I would argue that this is precisely the power Guattarian practice might offer – except that Guattarian practice is precisely as bogged down in the practices of ideological progression through neo-scientism. In effect, Guattari gives us an anti-authoritarian strain of systemic opposition which functionally adopts the ecological benefits of technological and epistemological progress (“society” as ecology) without acknowledging the practical origins of such “progress” within the psychological, psycho-social, and economic contexts he rejects. Socio-anarchism as rhetorical theory. Daddy’s money activism in psychotherapeutic contexts.
One might optimistically label this practice as “a reclamation” of the technopositivist space, but it would be challenging to claim that it is not in some way an extension of the pro-luddite visions of ecological theories of practice which views technology as a tool to subvert the selfsame technology—ideological peace through superior firepower. When Guattari paraphrases Bateson (15) in noting that “for too long humanity has adopted ‘survival of the fittest’ as its maxim,” it is tempting to interrogate of Guattari precisely what point in human history he is studying; it is only through the lens of pure ideological representation that any modern (Western) culture of recognizable scale has – in the last century, at the very least – believed in (or executed social programs according to) this “maxim of humanity” on any cultural scale.
Let’s be overt, here. Capitalism sucks. Its influences on the “network society” are profound, and the inequality that it engenders into society is severely uncool. Its influence is both perverse and pervasive to the point of becoming something akin to a toxicity of thought; as Slavoj Žižek (2005) notes “it’s much easier to imagine the end of all life on earth than a much more modest radical change in capitalism.”
For Guattari’s dependence on Whig progressive ideals of practice, here is a truth his text rejects: under capitalism, we also live in a time of unparalleled quality, perhaps the finest era of humanity not only in terms of the social, but the personal. In history, the mean of humanity has never leaned so nearly towards absolute prosperity, security, and healthfulness. The human polis has never experienced such wealth, been so well fed, so free of disease, so near-universally free by almost every metric of knowledge, of human bondage, of political franchise and representation. Our public waters are cleaner, in urban centers around the world, than they have been since the onset of urbanization. Our air is cleaner than it has been since the onset of industrialization. And surprisingly few of our children have smallpox.
Is this a result of capital, and of the ideological and economic practices of capitalism? Of course not – if anything, it is almost certainly because of the regulation of capitalist drives that humanity moves forward through this progress. And yet the truth of the matter is that, while we could have less overfishing, we could have more renewable energy, and we could definitely stand to have less (or no) global warming, we did not live under capitalist systems when the disaster of human dominionism was born, and the resolution of capitalism would not reveal utopia, but the naked human desires which drive progress (and reveal equally that progress is not inherently productive).
We do not live in Leibniz’ “best of all possible worlds” (link), but we do live in the best of all possible times… to date.
So, how is this argument on my part not the Leviathan? How am I, in declaring the best of all possible times, not engaging in technoscientism? Well, in part, Guattari’s argument is inherently tied to the conceptual inexorability of sociological and environmental outcomes; that is to say, if social culture is toxic, that cultural toxicity influences the mind/self and the ecology of the environment similarly. This has not, in practice, proven true – it is, however, a typical shorthand of specific Marxian predictive models of capitalism. Technoscientism, the Leviathan—these concepts thrive upon a correlative feature of technology/science/knowledge and progress. However, such a correlation does not exist. Systems and the improvement of those systems and around those systems need not be directly (or even indirectly) entangled.
When analyzing my object of study, I recall my criticism of Spinuzzi during my first reading connections work on his Tracing Genres in week 4: “much of the intellectual enterprise of Spinuzzi’s work is ethically directive – to the point where it makes me question the veracity of motions towards objectivity” (link). In other words, never trust a politician’s unemployment numbers while he is running for office, a barfly’s history of volunteering while he’s vying for a date, or an academic’s definition of genre while he’s formulating a theory.
That is to say, I address this issue with Guattari because it should be clear at the outset what Guattarian ecosophy cannot do – represent or comment upon reality. Guattarian theory exists to comment upon the felt sense of a rhetorical or ecological space; this is, of its own right, useful. If the Three Ecologies can demonstrate that environment, mind, and society are connected, then the ways in which mind and society might apprehend ecology still matters very much, because it is capable of modifying user behaviors (in this case, users being society) functionally in spite of realities which demonstrably negate the rhetorical claims of the rhetor/actor.
This is useful. This, strangely enough, can be used to comment directly upon Blackboard Learn in ways CHAT and Spinuzzian genre theory cannot.
If it is easier to imagine the end of all social life than a minor change in the “interfacing” of capital with society, it is also easier to imagine the end of all learning on Blackboard than it is to imagine a change in the literal and rhetorical interfaces of Blackboard with the student-user or instructor-user.
Let’s get to the actual requirements of the case study assignment, and flesh out the relationship between the broader context and this specific object of study.
So, the question of Guattarian ecosophy—in the face of the pre-existing case studies of CHAT and Spinuzzian genre tracing—is how Blackboard functions as an ideological and rhetorical ecology, a confluence of mind/self, society/culture, and environment.
Let’s begin by moving back to Spinuzzi and the most rudimentary of UI/UX design principles. At the core of assumptions of good design is a practice which meets the needs of users, and an interface which is developed in tandem with the user, either through feedback or other models of design, so that the core understanding of practice within the UI/UX environment is as naturalistic as possible. What Spinuzzi shows us is that when UI/UX fails in this most basic expectation, users modify the work environment themselves, creating derivative genres of document and/or practice which function as either supplement or replacement to the non-naturalistic form.
Meanwhile, Prior et al. might be applied to the same UI/UX environment from the interpretive side of the (re?)design process – if Spinuzzi tells us about user behaviors in the face of design implicature, CHAT tells us about how designers might integrate such implicature by virtue of their point-of-entry into the aesthetic design process of UX. For Prior et al., this demonstrates that “people, institutions, and artifacts are made in history” (2007), demanding a view of design which happens “in the world” as rhetorical “activity-in-the-world” and as only an initial step (“production”) in the multi-process “literate activities” of deployment and reception.
I have argued previously for entry into CHAT from the central point – “Functional Systems” – in a rejection of the linearity of Priorian process. Prior advocates for entry at the most procedural level, “literate activity,” while a Spinuzzian, genre-oriented interpretation of the CHAT space of an object would expect theoretical entry at the ordinal layer of the “laminated chronotpes,” the most abstracted layer of integral practice or design.
It’s worth noting, then, that Guattarian ecosophy also encourages the understanding of functional systems as a point of entry into systemic analysis of an object – after all, both ethical and political “articulations” are inherently protocols of functionality, and unquestionably systemic (28). When Guattari argues for a connectivity between the three, it is inherently systemic, ideological, spiritual, communal… social. That is to say, we might argue that politics and ethics are inherently capable of being literacies, but they are not inherently literacies. They are certainly not chronotopes, the laminae of ordination; which functionally provides a space for Guattari’s ecologies at the social-ordinal, global-environmental, and human-subjective scale only within the systemic layer. Indeed, we see a place for them clearly demarcated within CHAT’s second layer quite clearly (people, artifacts, practices, institutions, communities, and ecologies).
So, what is the theory configuration of the “network” of Blackboard Learn in the rhetorical space – according to Guattarian ecosophy? It’s hard to say. In many ways, the notion that BBL is already factually a network problematizes projecting its entire “ecology” as a separate network of meaning. However, we might presume it looks something like this:
Let us take a moment, one last time, with Genre vis-à-vis Spinuzzi in the above illustration: if we are to view the “micro”scopic level as accounting for “social-psychological stability, identity and [comforting] predictability [within] organizations” (45), then certainly the Guattarian ecological view of CHAT rhetorical practice makes sense if we view microscopy of the classroom environ not as ecology but rather as layer of rhetorical purpose (that is to say, the embodied layer of the laminae). Meanwhile, the institutional/organizational context similarly holds to the expectations of Spinuzzian mesoscopy, which views genre as the “maintenance of activity systems,” which are intrinsic to “the construction of motives” within that genre. Certainly, we can view this as an embedded rhetoric of maintenance-based (i.e. “status quo”) practice. By final extension, the macroscopic level is systemic and ideological, generalizing according to systemic practices of design, execution, and representation: a truly represented rhetoric of ideological practice and form which through the implicature of design enforces the dominant cultural ideological practices of the corporate interest (Blackboard Learn).
That is to say, the practical application of Guattari functions in parallel with the laminae and ordinations of Spinuzzian and Priorian theory, if–and only if—we view the environmental ecology as purely rhetorical (as we should, Cynically, based on its un-truth in representing “reality” as rhetorically unreal – as discussed previously), and if we view systems (under CHAT, “Functional Systems”) as inherently socially relative.
To recap, and prepare the theoretical orientation of this case study for the final synthesis:
How does the theory define BBL?
This theory views the visual/rhetorical implicature of BBL as a coherently-designed, authoritative product (either intentional or not, likely not) of the macroscopic ideological practices of social-relative production – which can be demonstrated by the human-subjective lens and demonstrated by the environmental-rhetorical lamina as compared against other laminae.
What and/or who is a network node?
The nodes of this network functionally may be understood in many ways. However, for the sake of this illustrative model, we can safely consider both literate activities and functional systems as nodes.
What types of agency are articulated for specific nodes?
This is dependent upon laminal stratification. The move towards the macroscopic level of design implies a greater productive/authoritative agency. Agency at the mesoscopic level must be negotiated communally, and at the microscopic level must be negotiated subversively.
How are different types of nodes situated?
As illustrated, each node is situated according to three interrelated strata – scope of genre inquiry (Spinuzzi), revised category of canon (CHAT), and ecosopic ecology (Guattari).
What are the types and directions of relationship between nodes?
The network is multidirectional; that said, specific features of the network, such as authority, likely flow from the macro through the meso and into the microscopic. Other facets, such as knowledge, might flow differently in specific contexts and from different originating nodes. Standards likely flow from the meso outward into both the micro and macroscopic levels. Meanwhile, if practices move “vertically” within the diagram, mediation and meaning likely are negotiated “laterally” between ecologies.
What moves within the network?
Everything: that said, most likely Objects of Study for the current research direction would be visual implicature, ideology, rhetorical meaning, authority, and standardized practices.
What happens to content or meaning as it travels through the network?
This would be entirely dependent upon content type, originating scope, ecology, canon, and lamina, or nature of practice. Effectively, the system (as designed) changes transformative articulations dramatically according to the originating site of both content and observation.
How do BBL networks emerge, grow, and/or dissolve?
Capitalism. Guattari is a little bit right, after all.