Tony Bennett
In Reassembling the Social, Bruno Latour argues that culture “does not act surreptitiously behind the actor’s back” but rather is “manufactured at specific places and institutions, be it the messy offices of the top floor of Marshal Sahlins’s house on the Chicago campus or the thick Area Files kept in the Pitt Rivers [sic] museum in Oxford” (Latour 2005: 175). He goes on to characterize this close attention to the sites where things are made as a distinguishing trait of work conducted in the tradition of science studies. In doing so, he counterposes these concerns to those of “sociologists of the social” who aim to bring to light hidden structures—of language or of ideologies, for example— in order to account for social actions in ways that social actors themselves are unaware of. This passes over the more mundane and material processes of making culture that Latour highlights. In what follows I explore the implications of Latour’s approach for the analysis of the relations between culture and the social. I suggest that science studies and, more generally, actor–network theory (ANT) provide useful models for the development of forms of cultural analysis—which, analogically, I shall call “culture studies”—capable of illuminating how culture operates as a historically distinctive set of assemblages, the “culture complex” of my title, which act on the social in a variety of ways. I then relate these concerns to those of Foucauldian governmentality theory to suggest how the analysis of culture might best be approached when viewed as part of a field of government. Finally, I consider the implications of these approaches for the development of a properly historical approach to the tasks of cultural analysis. (In addressing these issues, I draw on, modify, and add to discussions in Bennett 2007a, 2007b.)
To look to Latour’s work for guidance in analyzing the relations between culture and the social might seem quixotic given his opposition to the model of the two-house collective dividing the assembly of things (nature) from the assembly of humans (society) that he attributes to early modern science and political thought (Latour 1993). For the concern to distinguish culture from the social as a subdivision within the assembly of humans is a further aspect of the “modern settlement” that Latour has worked assiduously to unsettle. Latour makes this clear in Politics of Nature, where he suggests that we put aside the ideas of culture, nature, and society to focus instead on the processes through which humans and non-humans are assembled into collectives whose constitution is always simultaneously natural, social, cultural, and technical. Yet Latour also qualifies this position by arguing that although the division between nature and society as incommensurable realms has no valid epistemological foundations, it has real historical force if understood as referring not to “domains of reality” but to “a quite specific form of public organization” (Latour 2004a: 53).
Similarly, in Reassembling the Social, Latour is less iconoclastic in relation to the concept of the social than in many of his earlier formulations. The central difficulty, he argues, lies not in the concept of the social if this is thought of as a stabilized bundle of connections between human and non-human actants that might be mobilized to account for some other phenomenon—the connections between the middle classes, works of art, and the organization of class distinctions, for example (Latour 2005: 40). Rather, problems arise when the social is thought of as a specific kind of material—as if there were a distinctive kind of “social stuff”—that can be distinguished from other “non-social” phenomena and then be invoked, in the form of an encompassing social context or social structure, as an explanatory ground in relation to the latter (Latour 2005: 1–4). In place of this conception of the social, that informed the procedures of the sociology of science against which science studies pitted itself, Latour recommends that it be thought of as an assemblage of diverse components brought together via a work of connection on the part of a varied set of agents. John Law’s formulations point in a similar direction, construing the social as the outcome of varied processes of translation through which different “bits and pieces” of the socio-material world are brought into association with one another in the context of relationally configured networks of people and things, a process that involves the deletion of other similarly constituted networks and their being held in place long enough to produce durable effects (Law 1994: 102–05).
Although it is not a move that either Latour or Law makes, the case for seeing culture not as made up of a distinctive kind of “cultural stuff,” (representations, say) but as a provisional assembly of all kinds of “bits and pieces” that are fashioned into durable networks whose interactions produce culture as specific kinds of public organization of people and things, is readily perceptible. So, too, is the possibility of accounting for the historical emergence of culture as a result of the production of new assemblages of human and non-human actors through which its differentiation from the social and the economy was effected. Before pursuing this line of inquiry further, however, I want to consider some of the more general aspects of science studies and actor–network theory to identify the light they throw on the both the work that goes into the making of culture and the distinctive kind of work that it, in turn, performs. I shall focus on three issues here.
(1) The first concerns what Law characterizes as the “semiotics of materiality” of ANT, in which, given its focus on the “relational materiality” constituted by different assemblages of human and non-human actors, what matters is how the elements of such assemblages work together to order and perform the social (Law 1999: 4). Such practices of social ordering are, as Laws puts it elsewhere, “materially heterogeneous,” made up of bits and pieces of talk, architecture, bodies, texts, machines, etc., all of which interact to construct and perform the social. This relational materialism has much in common with the accounts of discursive or ideological articulation which have played such a significant role in cultural studies. In both cases, the identity and effectivity of elements derive not from their intrinsic properties but from the networks of relations in which they are installed. Yet, there is an important difference between these two positions, one of which, in my view, should be counted in ANT’s favor. It concerns the expanded, and more convincingly materialist, field of analysis that results from ANT’s incorporation of non-human actors into the networks that go to make up and perform the social. This has several advantages over the view associated with the “cultural turn”—that social relations are essentially cultural in form because they are informed by linguistic or meta-linguistic articulations of social meanings, positions, and identities. For it makes possible a non-tautological account of the constitution of culture, understood as a distinctive public organization of things and people, that is distinguished from the social rather than merged with it. When those whom Latour characterizes as “sociologists of the social” try to account for the durability of social ties, Latour argues, they typically appeal to the role of social norms and values, thus engaging in the “tautology of social ties made out of social ties” (Latour 2005: 70). A good deal of work in cultural studies proceeds similarly by defining culture’seffects in terms of its properties: culture as a meaning-making system that makes meanings, for example. This is avoidable in an approach which focuses on culture as an assemblage of heterogeneous elements whose “culturalness” derives from, rather than precedes, their assembly.
(2) I take my second point from Andrew Pickering’s characterization of the adjacent field of practice studies as amounting to a “social theory of the visible” (Pickering 2001: 164) that does not look for any deeper or hidden structures beneath the “the visible and specific intertwinings of the human and the nonhuman” (Pickering 2001: 167). This commitment to the analysis of natural/cultural/social/technical networks and assemblages as consisting only of visible surfaces, a single-planed set of wholly observable events, actions, and processes with no hidden, deep, or invisible structures or levels, stands in contradistinction to the dualistic ontologies of the social that still characterize those versions of the cultural turn that have most influenced the development of cultural sociology. Such ontologies provide the basis for ANT’s opposition to the language of “cultural constructivism” since the very notion that culture constructs the social is at odds with ANT’s focus on the complex entanglements of people and things in the intersecting networks through which the social is performed without any prior distinction between what might be allocated to culture and what to society. By locating intellectual work on a single-planed reality, this position also questions intellectual practices that aim to organize their own authority and distinctive forms of political intervention by claiming insight into another set of hidden or invisible processes and realities held to take place behind the backs of other actors. It construes intellectuals not as seers but as mobilizers and transformers, reshaping relations between things and people by the production of new entities and their mobilization in the context of the material-semiotic networks through which the social is made and performed.
(3) There is a strong focus in science and practice studies on the specific settings—most notably laboratories—in which scientific work is conducted, and on the transformations (purifications, reductions, translations, etc.) to which scientific practice subjects the materials it works with so as to produce new entities in the field of knowledge. This comprises an exemplary materialism in the attention it pays to the material settings and instruments through which such entities are made and mobilized. There is, as Law notes, a good deal of common ground here between ANT and those readings of Foucault’s concept of discourse which—somewhat against the authority of Foucault’s own texts— stress its material and institutional properties (Sawyer 2002). But there is also a difference to the extent that ANT places a greater emphasis on analyzing the processes through which things are put together to comprise those ordering strategies that Foucauldian analysis calls discursive but whose formation—the processes of their making and remaking—it tends to occlude (Law 1994: 18–26). This opens up the space for a productive interchange between ANT and Foucauldian theory in its potential to add a denser materiality to Foucault’s insistence on the need for an “ascending analysis of power” that would “begin with its infinitesimal mechanisms, which have their own history, their own trajectory, their own techniques and tactics, and then look at how these mechanisms of power, which have their solidity and, in a sense, their own technology, have been and are invested, colonized, used, infected, transformed, displaced, extended, and so on by increasingly general mechanisms and forms of overall domination” (Foucault 2003: 30). In a similar vein, Latour argues that “power, like society, is the final result of a process and not a reservoir, a stock or a capital that will automatically provide an explanation. Power and domination have to be made up, composed” (Latour 2005: 64). The task that this enjoins analytically is one of tracing the networks of associations through which particular forms of power are assembled, aiming for as dense a description as possible of the capacities that are folded into and accumulate within them.
The implication is that we should consider how distinctive kinds of cultural power are organized via the production of distinctive cultural assemblages—in museums, libraries, broadcasting, art galleries, heritage sites—which, as closely interacting components of the “culture complex,” bring together persons, things, techniques, texts as parts of distinctive public organizations which, in turn, can be mobilized in distinctive ways to act on the social with a view to bringing about changes in conduct.
I turn now to the implications of setting these concerns within the perspective of governmentality theory. Yet here, too, we need to probe whether there is any place in Foucault’s account of governmentality for a set of concerns focused specifically on culture. The term is not one Foucault used except casually: it does not form a part of the system of concepts he used to lay out the field of governmental practices or of the techniques he proposed for their analysis. And a number of governmentality theorists have been wary of the concept. Nikolas Rose has expressed his doubts as to whether what he calls “the amorphous domain of culture” has any specific analytical purchase (Rose 1998: 24), while Mitchell Dean has also lodged his reservations concerning the thesis of “culture governance” associated with the role attributed to self-reflexive forms of individualization in relation to the agendas of neo-liberalism (Dean 2007). Both cautions are justified: Rose’s because the logic of the cultural turn in construing culture, understood as meaning-making, as a component of all practices extends its reach at the price of depriving it of an analytical domain of its own; and Dean’s because such accounts of individualization fail to identify the historically specific mechanisms through which its effects are produced.
Yet there is now a considerable body of work that explores the implications of the analytics of government for a wide range of cultural practices and institutions. In referring to the “analytics of government” here, I draw on the terms proposed by Mitchell Dean in summarizing the perspective of governmentality:
Government is any more or less calculated and rational activity, undertaken by a multiplicity of authorities and agencies, employing a variety of techniques and forms of knowledge, that seeks to shape conduct by working through our desires, aspirations, interests, and beliefs, for definite but shifting ends and with a diverse set of relatively unpredictable consequences, effects, and outcomes.
(Dean 1999: 11)
Interpreted in this light, there is no shortage of studies examining how cultural practices and institutions are implicated in the processes through which this governmental concern with “the conduct of conduct” is organized. There is now a good deal of historical work focused on the roles played by the development of a new complex of cultural institutions—public libraries, exhibitions, museums, archives, art galleries, etc.— in the context of eighteenth- and nineteenth-century programs of liberal government (Bennett 1998, 2004; Joyce 2003). This, as Foucault elaborates it, refers to arts of governing which make the freedom and autonomy of individuals aspects of the very mechanisms of government—making them the means by and through which government works—by, for example, cultivating specific practices of the self through which they become responsible for managing their own conduct (Foucault 2007: 353). The relations between the development of literary education and popular schooling, and indeed the development of popular schooling more generally, have been examined from a similar perspective (Hunter 1988; Donald 1992). There is also a growing literature concerned with the role of broadcasting—and of its varied genres, from soap operas, through lifestyle programs, and reality TV—as a cultural technology of liberal government (Miller 1998; Ouellete and Hay 2008), with a number of collections addressing a range of popular media and cultural practices (Bratich et al. 2003; Dillon and Valentine 2002). And there is, finally, a considerable literature on the role of culture in colonial forms of governmentality (Mitchell 1989; Stoler 2002).1
What is less clear is how these different concerns might add up to a distinctive account of culture. I shall broach this question from two angles. The first derives from Foucault’s account of governmental power as the result of a process which, in the West, “has led to the development of a series of specific governmental apparatuses (appareils) on the one hand, [and, on the other] to the development of a series of knowledges (savoirs)” (Foucault 2007: 108). I take two things from this definition. The first concerns the relations between culture and adjacent fields of government. If culture is to occupy a distinctive place within an analytics of government, it is necessary to identify it in terms of a distinctive set of knowledges connected to a set of governmental apparatuses, with these working together in ways that establish distinctive techniques of intervention into the conduct of conduct. The second is that these ensembles of knowledges and apparatuses should bring together persons, things, and techniques—ways of doing and making—that give rise to historically distinctive forms of power and modes of its exercise.
My contention, then, is that a distinctive field of cultural government has been shaped into being as an historically distinctive public ordering of things and people via the deployment of the modern cultural disciplines (literature, aesthetics, art history, folk studies, drama, heritage studies, cultural sociology, cultural and media studies) in the apparatuses of the culture complex (museums, libraries, cinema, broadcasting, universities, and schools, heritage sites, etc.) as distinctive technologies that connect particular ways of doing and making—particular regimes of cultural practice—to regularized ways of acting on the social to bring about calculated changes in conduct related to particular rationalities of government. This is not to suggest an absolute separation between cultural and other fields of government. We can, for example, see how the culture complex and the psy-complex overlap in the use of psychology alongside program-making expertise in the forms of cultural governance associated with reality TV (Ouellete and Hay 2008). Nor is it to suggest that the culture complex operates on one side of a historical dyke that separates it entirely from earlier forms of power. The scripts of many museums are clearly a mix of sovereign and governmental forms of power, while many contemporary cultural disciplines and apparatuses are still marked by their relations to earlier forms of pastoral power. However, these qualifications do not affect our capacity to distinguish the relations between the culture complex and the cultural disciplines as a distinctive ensemble of power relations and practices any more than the continuation of sovereign power alongside discipline and governmental power invalidates Foucault’s identification of these as different modalities of power which, as he frequently emphasized, were often complexly mingled.
Analysis of the culture complex involves paying close attention to the assembly, to paraphrase Law, of those “materially heterogeneous” networks, made up of bits and pieces of talk, architecture, bodies, texts, machines, etc., which interact to construct and perform “culture” and to organize its relations to “the economy,”“the social,” and “the political.” The issues at stake here can be illustrated by briefly reviewing the history of Bildung. Reinhart Koselleck has identified three main ways in which Bildung, as a practice of self formation, was connected to social and political programs through: first, its role in training the new corpus of experts, administrators, scientists, etc. who formed the nucleus of the bureaucratic state; second, its role in the internal forms of socialization through which the bourgeoisie—in marriage, in social life, in clubs, and at home—secured a specific identity for itself; and, third, its political mobilization in programs of public education (Koselleck 2002: 172–73). However, Koselleck offers little sense of what this work of connecting Bildung to public pedagogy amounted to or of the densely material processes that it involved. Yet it is clear that it entailed both the deletion of earlier networks and the organization of new ones, work in which new cultural knowledges (of art history and archaeology, for example) were centrally implicated (Marchand 1996). The articulation of Bildung as a program of public education thus involved a new ensemble of institutions (public libraries, concert halls, museums and art galleries, and exhibitions) that organized new networks of relations between human and non-human actors through the new publics they brought together with new assemblages of things, texts, and instruments in specially contrived architectural spaces. And, as Patrick Joyce (2003) shows, these spaces were themselves parts of new forms of socio-spatial ordering associated with the moral economy of the liberal city in which Bildung was hard-wired into the material environment. These new cultural assemblages were produced through the (partial) deletion of earlier networks in which particular configurations of the relations between people and things, between human and non-human actors, had organized differently structured networks. The material economy of the nineteenth-century city of culture thus depended not only on a new partitioning of urban space but on the severance of the nexus of the relations between people and things that had been inscribed in the quite different institutional nexus of the spa city and its practices (Borsay 1989).
This material economy of culture depended equally on the relocation of varied objects from their previous location in private settings (aristocratic and royal households) and, in thus being detached from earlier purely decorative functions or from their role in the spectacularization of power, on their acquisition of new properties that enabled them to be refunctioned for new purposes. The deployment of aesthetic discourses in art museums transformed works of art into resources for developing a new in-depth interiority on the part of the subject. This opened up an inner space within which a developmental relationship of the kind required by Bildung could be constructed (see, for example, Belting 2001; Bennett 2005). But, as Maiken Umbach (forthcoming) shows, the relationship between new forms of design and the restructuring of the bourgeois household also proved critical in reassembling the home as a space for the fashioning of new forms of interiority.
Here, then, are the rudiments of an account of the processes of assembling culture as a distinctive historical formation that is made up of specific networks of relations between human and non-human actors and which, through the distinctive assemblages that it effects, organizes and works on the social to bring about changes of conduct or new forms of social interaction. Its modes of engagement with the social, however, are not with a set of realities and processes that are somehow prior to those through which culture is assembled, or which in some way underlie these. They are rather forms of engagement with realities and processes of similar kinds, made up of similar kinds of stuff, whose differentiation from one another (the economy, the social, culture) is sectoral rather than substantive. For the materials from which they are assembled are all of a piece ontologically speaking: they are made up of the same kind of heterogeneous elements. Where they differ is in the form of the public organization into which they have been assembled, and it is this that “culture studies” should concern itself with.
There is no question in all of this of looking to develop an account of culture as an anthropological constant that operates in the same way in all kinds of societies. The remit of the program outlined above is limited to the forms of cultural assemblage that are associated with the development of secular forms of cultural knowledge, the institutions in which these are set to work, and the ways in which their operations—viewed in the light of the parallel development of the social and economic sciences—are related to the parallel emergence of the social and the economy as different public organizations of people and things. This is not to suggest a distinction of a fundamental kind between modern and pre-modern knowledge formations and the manner of their functioning. Similar principles of analysis can be used to study the makeup and operation of other knowledge systems and their implications for regulating social conduct. David Turnbull has thus interpreted medieval cathedrals as knowledge spaces which, like laboratories, brought together specific resources, skills, and labor in operating as “powerful loci of social transformation” (Turnbull 2000: 67), and he makes the same case for the knowledge assemblies of indigenous peoples. The distinctiveness of the ways of interrogating the relations between culture and the social that I am proposing thus consists in the focus on the operations of, and the interactions between, historically new forms of cultural and social knowledge in the context of the public differentiation of culture, the social, and the economy that is both their outcome and—so long as these differentiations remain durable—their condition.
Foucault comments usefully on these issues in his lecture series on The Birth of Biopolitics, a series which he begins with a methodological reflection on the status of so-called universals in the social and historical sciences. His method, he says, is not to start from the supposition that there are universals—the state, society, sovereign, subjects, and madness are the examples he gives—and to then put these “through the grinder of history” (Foucault 2008: 3) to examine the varied forms in which they are inflected. Rather, starting out from the opposite assumption that these universals do not exist, the task of historical analysis then becomes one of showing how, in the case of madness, for example, the conjunction of a set of practices and its coordination with a regime of truth could make something that did not exist before become something—a something that is made by the “set of practices, real practices, which established it and thus imperiously marks it out in reality” (Foucault 2008: 19).
And, in his earlier series of lectures on Security, Territory, Population, Foucault provides a clue regarding the implications of this move for a non-universalist approach to culture in his comments on the changing orientation to population associated with the historical transition from sovereignty to security. In the former, it is primarily the size of the population that matters, as a source and symbol of sovereign power, and of troops, and as a means of populating the towns and keeping their markets going. The primary aim of government in this context is to ensure that the population is obedient and animated by zeal in service of the sovereign. This requires an apparatus that will ensure that the population will work properly (labor laws), in the right place (immigration), and on the right objects. The transition to a regime based on the principle of security brings along a new conception of population according to which government is no longer primarily concerned with the formal or juridical adjudication of the rights and wills of subjects of the sovereign. Instead it is informed by the more general connections between security and liberalism according to which government seeks to direct things by allowing them to go their own way. Population then appears in a new form, as something that is to be managed on the basis of its immanent properties. There are, Foucault argues, two different ways in which these immanent properties of population are constituted as new surfaces for the exercise of governmental power. The first, as a transformation connected to the development of the biological sciences, links the notion of population to that of species as something that is shaped by the conditions of life provided by a distinctive milieu. The second points toward the public: that is, “the population seen under the aspect of its opinions, ways of doing things, forms of behavior, customs, fears, prejudices, and requirements; it is what one gets a hold on through education, campaigns, and convictions.” Putting these two together, Foucault continues:
The population is therefore everything that extends from biological rootedness through the species up to the surface that gives one a hold provided by the public. From the species to the public; we have here a whole field of new realities in the sense that they are the pertinent elements for mechanisms of power, the pertinent space within which and regarding which one must act.
(Foucault 2007: 75)
And it is in relation to this space that culture, understood as a set of new knowledges and technologies, is progressively assembled, producing its own new realities as a means of intervening in and acting on conduct.
1 It is worth noting, in the light of the renewed interest in the work of Howard Becker occasioned by the republication of his Art Worlds (2008), the differences between Becker’s concerns and those associated with this governmentality literature. Although Becker’s approach shares with ANT a concern with the collective and institutional processes through which art works are produced, per-formed, and distributed as parts of specific art worlds, he does not offer an account of the ways in which such art worlds act on the social as itself a historically specific set of surfaces produced by, and for, governmental action of varied kinds.
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