Transrational Peace Research and Elicitive Facilitation : The Self as (Re)Source [1st ed.] 9783030460662, 9783030460679

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Transrational Peace Research and Elicitive Facilitation The Self as (Re)Source Norbert Koppensteiner

Transrational Peace Research and Elicitive Facilitation

Norbert Koppensteiner

Transrational Peace Research and Elicitive Facilitation The Self as (Re)Source

Norbert Koppensteiner Innsbruck, Austria

ISBN 978-3-030-46066-2 ISBN 978-3-030-46067-9 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-46067-9 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, express or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. Cover illustration: Maram_shutterstock.com This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland

For Rosalie May you experience the joys of self-discovery

Acknowledgments

I am grateful to all those who have contributed their wisdom and insights to this book. Through their close and empathic reading, my colleagues and friends Shawn Bryant, Hilary Cremin, Josefina Echavarría, Paula Facci, Jennifer Murphy, and Noah Taylor have provided invaluable suggestions and corrections. My gratitude goes to all of them and particularly to Jennifer Murphy for her meticulous editing work and thoughtful input. I could not have completed this text without the unwavering encouragement and comprehensive feedback of Josefina Echavarría. The publishers at Palgrave Macmillan and particularly my editor Sarah Roughley have been very supportive and I am glad that this text has found its home at Palgrave. The University of Innsbruck has provided an important seedbed for my practice. I am thankful to Wolfgang Dietrich for his support throughout the years. Through his example of wisdom and empathy, Sylvester Walch has shown me the depth of what it means to be a facilitator. My gratitude furthermore goes to the Kroc Institute at the University of Notre Dame where I was hosted during the final editing. The impulse for this text came from years of teaching and facilitation. All those who have given me their trust in countless seminars, trainings, and workshops have been my inspiration. This work stems from lived experience and, I hope, flows there again. I am furthermore grateful to Palgrave Macmillan for allowing the inclusion of material already published in my book chapter “Transrational

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Methods of Peace Research: The Researcher as (Re)Source,” (Koppensteiner, 2018). Parts of that publication have been integrated in an updated manner into the Chapter 1 Introduction, Chapter 2 Methodology and Chapter 3 The Self and Its Modes of Knowing.

Contents

1

Introduction 1.1 Author’s Perspective 1.2 Research Interest and Questions 1.3 Method and Structure 1.4 State of the Art References

Part I

1 2 7 11 15 31

First Wave: Transrational Peace Research

2

Methodology 2.1 Premises 2.2 A Transrational Peace Research Methodology References

41 41 69 81

3

The 3.1 3.2 3.3

91 91 96

Self and Its Modes of Knowing Sources of the Self Modes of Knowing Challenges on the Path: Excess, Deficiencies, Blockages and Shadows References

119 128

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The Rhythms of Research 4.1 Flowing: Call to Research and Initiation 4.2 Staccato: Author’s Perspective and Structure 4.3 Chaos: The Process of Knowing and Working with Data 4.4 Lyrical: Forms of Writing 4.5 Stillness: Evaluation and Letting Go References

135 138 139 143 146 151 155

Part II Second Wave: Peace Studies Facilitation 5

Facilitation 5.1 Premises 5.2 Transrational Facilitation References

161 162 205 210

6

Facilitating Through the Self 6.1 The Self as (Re)Source in Facilitation 6.2 Challenges on the Path of Facilitation: Excess, Deficiencies, Blockages and Shadows References

219 221

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The Rhythms of Facilitation 7.1 On Preparations and Beginnings 7.2 On Embodied Facilitation 7.3 On Resources and Imbalances of Groups 7.4 On the Heart of Elicitive Facilitation 7.5 On Transpersonal Resources References

249 253 257 262 269 270 273

8

Conclusion References

277 280

Index

241 245

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About the Author

Norbert Koppensteiner is a peace researcher and freelance facilitator. He has been a Senior Lecturer at the University of Innsbruck, Austria; Deputy Head of the Unit for Peace and Conflict Studies and the Program Coordinator of the M.A. Program in Peace Studies at the same university. He is the author of The Art of the Transpersonal Self (Atropos Press, 2009) and has co-edited the Palgrave International Handbook of Peace Studies (Palgrave, 2011 & 2014), as well as Transrational Resonances (Palgrave, 2018). His facilitation specializes in breath, voice, and movement, and he frequently works with practices of conscious dance and theater. He is a facilitator in Holotropic Breathwork certified after Sylvester Walch. In summer 2020, he commences a one-year research fellowship at the Kroc Institute for International Peace Studies/Keough School of Global Affairs at the University of Notre Dame, United States.

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CHAPTER 1

Introduction

This text has two main topics at its heart—transrational peace research and elicitive facilitation in Peace Studies. I look at these through the particular lens of the peace researcher or elicitive facilitator, in order to better understand how the self can be a source for and resource during the research and facilitation process as regards topics of peace and conflict. To guide the reader towards this complex terrain, I have structured this introductory chapter in the following manner. The subsequent Author’s Perspective provides the personal background on how I approach these topics. Written in a more free-flowing manner it details the biographical lenses from which I commence my research. The Research Interest and Questions then frames the topics in academic terms. The section on Method and Structure answers the question on how I proceed throughout the research and addresses the (writing) style and structure of the text. In the State of the Art I make explicit on whose shoulders I stand and present those key-authors and fields of study I consider to be the most relevant for my work. By proceeding in this manner, I seek to provide my audience with a systematic introduction that prepares the ground for the discussion of contents that is to follow in the two main parts of the text. All throughout this book I argue that research can be more than just the gathering of cognitive information and can lead to a deeper, more comprehensive

© The Author(s) 2020 N. Koppensteiner, Transrational Peace Research and Elicitive Facilitation, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-46067-9_1

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understanding. I also argue that facilitation can equally be a comprehensive practice that engages facilitators and participants as full human beings. I hope that this is not only conveyed in what is written in this book but also becomes apparent through how it is written and structured. It is with this thought in mind that I now approach the Author’s Perspective and what continues to draw me to this exploration.

1.1

Author’s Perspective

This book has been a long time in the making. As I am starting to write, it has already been with me as a steady companion for quite a few years. During many months of contemplation, research and practice its outlines have taken shape, been reworked and changed, led to many surprising turns and new directions. I am grateful for many insightful conversations and comments that have both challenged and encouraged me on this journey. Accompanying me through what still feels like an intense professional and personal life, parenting, moving to new places, facilitating embodied practices and teaching across the world, repeatedly I wondered whether this project would ever see the light of day. When I first committed to it, my daughter would not be born until several years later. Now Rosalie has entered her last year of kindergarten. I hope to be able to complete this book before she starts school. Throughout all this time and all these changes, the quiet intuition insisting that it is necessary for me to write this text has persisted. Whenever my heart and soul speak in this manner, I tend to follow. Some reasons why this might be so have become clear to me over the years, some are yet to be explored, some likely will remain a mystery. 1.1.1

On Rhythms and Cycles

In between the time since this project has begun and now, the rhythms of my life have changed. In the language of Gabrielle Roth, whose work inspires so much of the following pages, the pulse of my life today feels decidedly Lyrical. I have entered the middle years of adulthood. Perceived through the system of the Medicine Wheel (cf. Foster and Little 1998), I am now moving under a Northern sun, within the shield of Winter. Gone are the Summer of childhood and the Autumn of puberty and youth. I have said a fond farewell to Chaos, my home rhythm for so many years. Not just a son, today I am a father. On the far side of today the wisdom

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of advanced age still appears rather distant on my horizon. I am neither a youngster nor an elder. Gabrielle Roth says that while puberty is the time to find out what you have to give, maturity is the time to give it (Roth 1998a, 124). Within the cyclical turning of the generational wheel, I believe that personally and collectively it now falls on my generation to bear our share of responsibility and contribute with what we have to give. In this text, I choose the topics of research and facilitation to do so. For the past seventeen years, the project of Peace Studies at the University of Innsbruck has been my vocation. During these years, my own rhythms have been joined to those of our semesters at our Master of Arts Program. I helped to shape and then followed the cyclical ebb and flow of students in Innsbruck that corresponds to the seasons. The months of summer and winter of an academic year here coincide with the presence phases, whose intense pulses took up almost all of my waking hours. When the students are in Innsbruck during hot summers and cold winters, it is time to be present, focused and aware. I enjoyed teaching and accompanying students through their particular Hero’s Journey that is a semester in Innsbruck (cf. Campbell 2008; Gilligan and Dilts 2011; Rebillot 1993). The online phases of an academic year, during which students take part in the virtual classroom, coincide with fall and spring. I spent those preparatory seasons teaching internationally and facilitating workshops on embodied practices of transformation. 1.1.2

On Transformation

As a corollary to the above, in recent years I have found increasingly less time to do this systematic type of reflection that leads to research and insights. Yet my practice needs to be self-reflected. Particularly when it comes to such deeply personal and subjective topics like peace and conflict transformation, when it is about accompanying people through their own processes of learning, unfolding and transformation, the deeper questions of who we are as facilitators and teachers also need to be raised from time to time. I find myself compelled to search my soul for what fulfills me, what moves me. I am drawn to the deeper symmetries of my becoming and how they are reflected in my doing. I do not hold this to be navel-gazing, but see it as a necessary inquiry into how the intrapersonal, interpersonal and transpersonal aspects of this particular contact boundary at work that I call my “self” resonate, and how this can be made useful for research and facilitation.

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1.1.3

On Research and Facilitation

Most immediately the two topics of this book are a reflection on what I have been practicing during the past years. They result from teaching Peace Studies at my home university in Innsbruck and internationally and perceiving the need of many of my thesis students for a different research methodology. A methodology that allows them to do research the same way that they are also trained in elicitive facilitation during their studies: not just intellectually but as whole human beings. This corresponds to my own need. As I became particularly aware again during the research for this text, I deeply appreciate it when I can feel connected to what I do and to the people around me, when I can understand through all the means I have available and when I allow myself to be touched by my work. When I, as contact boundary at work, am open and permeable, I believe that I am also at my best when I can do what I do authentically and from the depth of my being. I try to teach, facilitate, work and live according to this, and I do not see why it should not also guide my research. With this book, I hope to be able to open the space for a different way of doing research that caters to a more comprehensive understanding of who we are as researchers and how our being is connected to our doing. What I am looking for is a methodology for peace research that corresponds to the transrational philosophy we developed in Innsbruck and that allows me to understand my topic, research participants and also myself through all the faculties I have at my availability. The second focus on elicitive facilitation in many ways is the corollary of the first. During the past decades, we have cultivated an elicitive style of teaching at the MA program at the University of Innsbruck. This approach seeks to address the students in their full human potential, on all levels of their being. For the teacher, this means that she also must understand herself as engaged in the act of teaching as a full human being, which is present and addressed in all her faculties. This at times puts the act of teaching more in line with facilitation as it is known from applied peace and conflict work. It also means that who the teacher is, her qualities of being and relational skills are crucially important. Teaching has come to mean a relational encounter that is not just intellectually challenging, but addresses both students and teachers in embodied, emotional, psychological and at times spiritual ways. The students from their side have gotten used to such an intense classroom setting and knowledge about it seems to percolate between generations.

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These days, the students of each incoming new group almost naturally come to expect and demand it from their professors. From my side, I feel the time is right for a systematic reflection. I want this text to be useful particularly for all those colleagues within Peace and Conflict Studies who share this understanding of teaching as facilitation and are looking for a way to both conceptualize (think) and implement (live) it. 1.1.4

On Dancing the Rhythms

Sweat Your Prayers could have been my mantra even long before I ever heard of Gabrielle Roth, her book of the same name or of the Five Rhythms dance. The Five Rhythms are a revelation to me. Previously, I had only taken dancing lessons in High School. The approach adopted by the trainers was very much oriented on the classical dances and on “getting it right.” This means that there is a “right” way to move, which derives from following a pre-given sequence of steps, executing the movements as exactly as possible. Deviation is wrong, implying a humiliating fault. A good dance ensues if both partners have learned the moves and executed them flawlessly; not knowing the moves appropriate for the dance implies one simply doesn’t know how to dance. The long shadows of the Viennese Waltz as the penultimate expression of Austrian ball dance and of a standardized education model loom large in this understanding. The Five Rhythms free my mind and body from this pernicious idea of a correct sequence of steps. There is no way to get it right or do it wrong—there is only the dance. Dancing by myself allows me to express what is there in the moment, to give form to my becomingin-motion. Energy poured into an ongoing succession of ever-shifting shapes. Making visible whatever currently moves body, heart, mind, soul and spirit. Dancing with someone turns into resonance-in-motion. I am fascinated by the experience of how danced harmony can emerge in the moment, without premeditation, without the corset of formalized steps and moves. The Five Rhythms bring to glorious life many of the concepts of Peace Studies that my thinking mind is so occupied with during the day. How does an energetic peace feel? How to move with conflict, how to creatively work through feelings of fear, anger, sadness, joy and compassion? I put it in the dance. I offer my resistance to the beat.

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1.1.5

On the Breath of Intuition

Another strand of my research interest emerges out of yet another embodied practice, namely the work with breath. During a Holotropic Breathwork workshop, on a hot, early summer day in June 2011 the facilitator gives us, a small group of participants, the question what to live for? as a task for a short contemplative exercise.1 The assignment seems simple enough, yet turns out to be of profound depth. What do I live for? I close my eyes and allow the question to reverberate inside of me. Become aware of my breath as it flows in and out. Inhale. Then stillness, a brief hovering moment that connects the deepening flow of air inside to its releasing reversal. Exhale. Again. Inhale. ‘I live in order to unfold…’ Stillness. ‘…and to contribute to the unfolding of others…’ Exhale. ‘…because both are two sides of the same coin, two aspects of the same process.’ In the space of a breath it is all there. Emerging, in polished clarity from unfathomed depths. A realization; not pieced together, not constructed out of my doing. Just appearing in my being rather than thought out. I am stunned, struck by its simplicity. It fits. My own unfolding and contributing to the unfolding of others cannot be separated and are, in the end, the same thing. As I later come to realize this is another expression for the Tantric principle of correspondence—“as below, so above” or “as outside, so inside.”2 This insight has stayed with me ever since and continues to guide my searching steps in this wild and uncharted terrain called life. In the larger picture, throughout my life I have followed the calling of intuition, even when I did not rationally grasp where it would lead me. Holotropic Breathwork has taught me to also trust and follow Inner

1 A variation of that exercise is described in Walch (2016, 168–172). 2 The correspondence between inner and outer is an energetic insight that is found in

many different variations: Tat Tvam Asi—‘that is you’ in the Yogic tradition, ‘as above so below’ or ‘as inside so outside’ in Tantra or the Alchemistic tradition (cf. Dietrich 2013, 203; Mookerjee and Khanna 1993; Grof and Bennett 1993, 164). More recently, this features also prominently in the simultaneity of the ascending (the road up, wisdom or Eros) and ‘descending’ (the road down, compassion or Agape) path of Ken Wilber’s integral approach that is inspired by Plato and Plotinus (Wilber 2000b, 329–354).

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Wisdom—Spirit in action. These form the deepest sources of my inspiration and profoundly influence my being and my doing in the world. What characterizes these types of knowing? How can they be understood and what are guidelines towards their flourishing? These are some of the questions that compel me to do the current research work.

1.2

Research Interest and Questions 1.2.1

The Self in Peace Research

In this research, I aim to conceptualize a transrational peace research methodology through the lens of the researcher. In doing so, I commence from the following assumption that is explored more fully in the text itself: while positivist, modern research tries to negate the influence of the researcher on the research topic and is guided by ideals of objectivity and neutrality, postmodern research seeks to problematize the researcher by contextualizing her position in order to make visible unexamined biases and assumptions. Initially following the postmodern approach, I too assume that any research conducted in the field of Peace Studies cannot be separated from the researcher’s particular perspective that frames and shapes the research process. I agree with this assumption, yet think that for a transrational methodology it can only be the starting point. I seek to complement the postmodern critical stance by adding the perspective of the researcher as a (re)source that can be creatively tapped during the research process. I propose that the researcher is not only a source of biases that need to be made visible and contested, but also, in the humanistic and transpersonal tradition, I see the researcher as both source for and resource during the research process. In essence, what I am looking for is an affirmative methodology and practice of research that includes and balances the necessary critical positioning as regards the researcher and her engagement with the topic and research participants. Conceived in this manner, research becomes experiential. It follows therefrom that my research interest is largely concerned with those methods that are qualitative in nature. Quantitative methods, while in general terms also relevant for Peace Studies, fall outside of the scope of my concrete research interest. In exploring my topic, I am carried by the conviction that research can be much more than the dry and distanced gathering of knowledge or the critical examination of one’s own biases and imbalances. I personally

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find research to be at its most inspiring when I allow myself to somatically explore the topics through my body, when the heart is empathically open to the investigation and to research participants, when the mind is engaged and when the intuitive voice of soul speaks. In rare moments of presence, it even becomes possible to witness a fleeting glimpse of a deeper symmetry that constellates in the concrete research. The mysterious larger whole or spirit reveals itself in those moments. Research then turns into a holistic process of transformation that does not just lead to more information but that touches me on all levels of being. Research to me, finally, is most satisfying when I am open to the simple fact that contributing to the unfolding of others and to my own are but two sides of the same coin. I equally perceive the prevalent topics of our discipline—peace, conflict, violence and transformation—to be inadequately captured by methods that only intellectualize. I propose that lived experience with all those topics is of a rather different nature than what is described in most textbooks of our discipline. As lived experience those topics concern body, heart, mind, soul and spirit. They have connotations that are equally intrapersonal, interpersonal as they are transpersonal. I am looking for a methodology that allows the researcher to bring all of these aspects into the research process. Together, they form the nexus from which a deeper understanding of peace and knowledge on any research topic can originate. I believe that it is here that the living heart of our research beats. In its larger context, I see peace research as part of fostering that same Fragile Voice of Love that Adam Curle (2006) nurtured throughout his long life, through his practical peace work, teaching and writing. 1.2.2

The Self in Peace Studies Facilitation

The second part of my research seeks to extend the approach of the self as (re)source that has been elaborated in the first part. I seek to understand teaching in Peace and Conflict Studies through the perspective of the teacher’s self. The transrational approach assumes that peaces and conflicts are relational and always address the whole human being in all her faculties. John Paul Lederach’s (1996) notion of the elicitive furthermore suggests a training model that focuses on the in situ generation of knowledge and emphasizes the participants’ already existing (implicit) knowledge and their participation. On these premises, I commence my research from the understanding that teaching Peace and Conflict Studies

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in a manner that mirrors the comprehensive and relational nature of what we study is a chance to convey aspects of our discipline’s topics more deeply. Furthermore, I hold that teaching Peace Studies is more than just the conveying of academic knowledge. It aspires to prepare both sound academics, yet also reflected practitioners, meaning peace and conflict workers who are able to relationally work with their clients under the difficult, tense and stressful situations of conflict, crisis or disaster. This requires a faculty that is prepared to hold the space for this kind of venture to safely take place. Over the years, I have observed that teaching in such a transrational and elicitive manner seems to require a certain skill-set, basic attitude and qualities on the side of the teacher. On top of being intellectually knowledgeable about the contents and topics it necessitates the willingness and capacities to accompany students through their own deeper explorations of what peaces and conflicts mean for them individually and in their own communal, social, religious or cultural setting. Furthermore, it requires the willingness and capacity to consciously and conscientiously accompany a group of students through their relational processes and group dynamics. This also entails witnessing, accompanying and holding the peaces and conflicts that emerge through the encounter in the classroom and—at times—the deep soul searching that is going on there. It includes the emergence of biographical materials not yet integrated, the shadows, the hesitant and at times painful process of coming to grips with a new personal truth, the relational imbalances and blockages as intrinsic parts of the learning process for future peace and conflict workers. During many conversations with fellow teachers and professors in Peace Studies from all across the world, I have repeatedly encountered a strong hesitation to engage with students on a relational level. The fears seem to be extremely high, very often fueled by a deep-seated belief of not being trained for this type of relational encounter and accompaniment. While I think that this is individually understandable, on a more general level, I also hold this to be a shortcoming in the very way the discipline of Peace and Conflict Studies conceives of itself. It speaks volumes for what we value in our (academic) personnel and hence what often is explicitly taught and implicitly portrayed to be relevant by professors and teachers. The unfortunate consequence of this attitude seems to be a style of teaching that is more comfortable with abstract peaces and conflicts “out there” and elsewhere, but shies away from the real lives of the very

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persons we are supposed to train. I have observed that the outcome often is one that leaves graduates underprepared for the practical aspects of their future work. I hope that this research can help to close this gap. I find that often the most revelatory aspects for my students tend to be those when new conceptual knowledge and their own personal situatedness mutually inspire each other. This is when the process that is taking place in the classroom spills beyond the confines of the theoretical and is not just intellectual but equally embodied, emotional, psychological and spiritual. Teaching Peace and Conflict Studies therefore carries strong overtones of facilitation as it is known from applied peace and conflict work (cf. Mitchell 1993). I want to systematize what this implies for the preparedness and self-understanding of such a teacher-facilitator in a university setting. For this research, I therefore want to propose a shift of perspective and focus on how the facilitator’s self can become a resource in what could be called academic facilitation. In doing so, I am guided by elicitive and transrational assumptions. This concretely means that I am not interested in providing a how-to methods-book, a textbook for research tools, or technical tools for facilitation in the classroom. There are already enough guidebooks of this kind, many of them rather prescriptive. I am not interested in tools and manuals, but I do want to find out about the underlying qualities and attitudes of the researchers’ or facilitators’ self and how they influence, shift and can be brought to bear on our work. I focus on exploring facilitation through the lens of the self and in particular on facilitation in Peace and Conflict Studies in a Higher Education setting. I am therefore involved in the training and learning of adults who study peace and conflict, who want to become future peace workers or are already engaged in this field. 1.2.3

Research Questions

From the above considerations follow the two main questions that guide this research. (1) What are transrational methods of peace research and (2) What does it mean to facilitate transrationally and elicitively in Peace and Conflict Studies ? I seek to elucidate both questions through the lens of the self of the researcher/facilitator as resource in this process of researching and teaching. This investigation into the self as (re)source is the underlying thread that unites both my research questions. As mentioned above, I

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understand that my own unfolding and contributing to the unfolding of others are inextricably part of the same process, two sides of the same coin. Either way, I cannot seek one without also regarding the other. I am carried by the assumption that there is a lot of potential that can be tapped by including ourselves as whole human beings into our doing as peace researchers and Peace Studies facilitators. Furthermore, I assume that those processes of drawing insights from our intuitions, embodied sensations, feelings or spiritual awareness and using those to bolster and advance our intellectual grasp of what we are doing happen in any case. However, they often occur by accident, remain unconscious, or are only allowed into our doing in an implicit and roundabout manner. In the opening lines of The Moral Imagination, John Paul Lederach sums up the quandary that current (post)modern research often finds itself in: When we attempt to eliminate the personal, we lose sight of ourselves, our deeper intuition, and the source of our understanding – who we are and how we are in the world. In so doing we arrive at a paradoxical destination: We believe in the knowledge we generate but not in the inherently messy and personal process by which we acquired it. (Lederach 2005, viii)

I want to bring these intimate and messy processes to the surface and help to systematize them. Not because I think they are fundamentally new, but because I believe that there is a benefit to be gained if we—as researchers and facilitators—dare to chart this risky and exhilarating course that leads to using those resources in an aware, reflected and systematic manner. I hope that many a facilitator and researcher will recognize a part of him/herself and her own doing in the following pages.

1.3

Method and Structure 1.3.1

Method

I take the method to be the answer to the question of how (by which means) a research is conducted and structure as answering how (in which manner, form and order) the findings are presented. In order to be coherent, method and structure need to correspond to the author’s perspective, the topic and the research interest. The latter in my case are of a holistic nature, which has to be reflected in method and structure. This inquiry follows a transrational and holistic approach, which similarly needs to be facilitated through adequate method choices.

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Method is likewise guided by underlying assumptions on ontology (understanding of the world), epistemology (how one can know, what constitutes relevant knowledge) and ethics (how to lead a responsible research) (cf. Ackerly et al. 2006, 6). For most academic works, such aspects do not pose a particular problem as the ontological, epistemological and ethical foundations of modern and postmodern quantitative and qualitative methods have been thoroughly researched and documented. In these cases, the practice of an active and reflected awareness of one’s own methodological assumptions may be said to suffice to conduct good research. The matter is somewhat different here, as transrational research has not yet been widely discussed in respect to its particular ontological, epistemological and ethical premises. Therefore, I devote a separate chapter to this task in order to sketch a transrational methodology. The scope of this current section is limited to the concrete methods adopted and the structure of the text. My way of approaching both my research questions is heavily influenced by my own experiences. This stems from untold hours supervising students in their research processes for their Master theses and, at times, PhDs. During the past ten years, I have dedicated substantial amounts of my time to this task. I have equally been teaching intensively in the field of Peace Studies, both in Innsbruck and in other centers and universities internationally. My teaching does not just involve lectures, but also seminars and workshops of a self-exploratory nature that use embodied practices like theater, breathwork and dance and a strong emphasis on self-exploration through humanistic and transpersonal psychology. It is this stock of experience that I now rely on. This has several consequences. For one, the process of accompanying students so intensely has given me an understanding that I could never have obtained in this manner if I would have had only my own research experience on which to rely. I am deeply grateful for the insights that this has given me. I am equally grateful to those that have given me their trust by choosing to work with me for their research topics or who have chosen to consult with me when the topics raised in their studies have sparked profound personal processes. While the fact of having worked with this particular group of people certainly slants my perspective, it is also this group that I have in mind as one of my primary audiences. I thereby hope to pay the favor forward by providing something that may be helpful for them and also future generations of peace students and researchers.

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This experience has been gathered for a long time and in a rather unsystematic manner. At bottom, it is life—leading this type of life— out of which my research interest has emerged. It is exactly this process of systematization, cross-checking and deepening my understanding that interests me now and where I think my contribution lies. Academic research here seems to be the perfect means. To offset imbalances that emerge through an all too heavy reliance on my own unsystematic experience I have therefore conducted an extensive literature research on my topics. As with any academic inquiry I stand on the shoulders of those researchers and practitioners who have come before me and whose works I gratefully integrate and cite whenever used. The subsequent section on the State of the Art will provide a synopsis of the most important sources consulted. I adopt the author/date system for references and use footnotes for comments of an explicatory nature. 1.3.2

Structure and Style

The overall structure of the text follows a rather conventional format that loosely alludes to the format of a Five Rhythms Dancing session. The most common format for an open, basic Five Rhythms session of about two and half to three hours often consists of a warm up, followed by two dancing units, called “Waves” (Roth 1998b). Each of the Waves forms a distinct unit, yet they are also held together by an overarching topic and loosely parallel structure. What is more, relevant aspects are often carried forth from the first into the second wave, which continues, deepens and expands them, or leads them into new directions. In a similar manner, the current text commences with an introduction that is followed by two parts (waves) that each deal with one of the main research questions. The Self as (Re)Source is the overall thread that holds both of them together. The findings from both parts are drawn together in the conclusion. Each of the parts consists of several chapters, which deal with the contents proper. The first part is dedicated to transrational research methods. The second chapter, rendering peace research methodologies, succeeds the current introduction. Entitled 2. Methodology, it commences from a discussion of key terms such as research, knowing and transformation. This chapter then details energetic, modern and postmodern methodologies and introduces a transrational ontology, epistemology, ethics as well as considerations on method. It elaborates the paradigmatic underpinnings that carry the transrational approach and hence this research. While

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this chapter is still rather general, the subsequent Chapter 3 focuses the discussion on The Self and Its Modes of Knowing that takes the researcher’s self as a crucial source and resource during the research process. In order to do so, it first elaborates on the concept of the self, before detailing five different forms of knowing as sensing, feeling, thinking, intuiting and witnessing. Since researching in such a personal and intimate manner is prone to raise quite a few aspects of a psychodynamic nature, this chapter also elaborates on imbalances that can occur: blockages, excess and deficiencies in any of the five forms of knowing as well as the underlying topics and maybe shadow aspects and further potentials to which they point. Chapter 4 deals with the research process itself. Entitled The Rhythms of Research, it takes the process model of Gabrielle Roth’s Five Rhythms as a blueprint for the unfolding of the research process. It discusses those aspects that are particular to the type of transrational research through the self that is the focus of this book. This part explores the initiation of the research process (Flowing), questions of writing, author’s perspective and structuring research (Staccato), the process of knowing and gathering data (Chaos), forms of writing and presenting findings (Lyrical) and the completion of the research process and criteria for evaluating transrational research work through the self (Stillness). With this last point, some indications are also given as to how transrational researchers (and readers) can know if the research is succeeding. The second part takes the conceptual insights that have been worked out in the first and applies those to the process of facilitating (teaching) Peace Studies transrationally and in an elicitive manner. Chapter 5, Facilitation, retakes the conceptual premises of the self as well as of the energetic, modern and postmodern traditions and investigates them with regard to facilitation. It seeks an approximation to the term facilitation by elaborating on its etymological roots as well as on three central metaphors: facilitation as dance, as holding of space and as container. It then conceptualizes a transrational facilitation and approximates how such a facilitation is used in teaching Peace and Conflict Studies. Chapter 6, Facilitating through the Self , looks to the resources that can become accessible when we understand the facilitator as engaged in the process of teaching as a whole person, with all her (trans)personal potential. Towards this purpose it systematizes those resources as qualities, attitudes, modes and skills. It once again asks about the challenges—imbalances as

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excess, deficiencies, blockages and shadows—that may arise in this particular manner of teaching. Chapter 7, The Rhythms of Facilitation, proposes a process approach to facilitation. It details principles and dynamics of facilitating group (learning) processes in a Peace Studies setting. The Conclusion turns to the underlying topic of The Self as (Re)Source. It brings the different strands of the discussion back together and elaborates on key findings. This structure is not intended to enable answers in the sense of generalized, nomothetic statements. It much rather provides an open exploration on given topics. As regards language and style of writing, I am loosely following a woven layered account—as it is presented in detail in chapter 4.4 on Lyrical: Forms of Writing. In my concrete case this means that, while following a rather standard structure and process of argumentation, I employ metaphor, image and also use my own personal experience in the autoethnographic style whenever appropriate for the argument and flow of the text. I do so, however, without clearly demarcating those alternative styles as separate sections. They are hence “woven” into the overall structure instead of ordered sequentially, as a “patched” layered account would do (Ellingson 2011). As regards a gender-sensitive language, I am aware that many of the older sources I cite exclusively use the male form (he, man, his etc.) for making general points. Other forms of gender thereby are silenced. To counteract this one-sidedness in my own writing, I use either a genderneutral terminology (one’s own, person, human etc.) or the female form (she, her etc.) in the hope that what emerges in the overall text is a more balanced and inclusive approach.

1.4

State of the Art

In many ways, my current research interest and research question flow from my previous research (Koppensteiner 2009b, 2018). In The Art of the Transpersonal Self (Koppensteiner 2009b), I tried to find a passage from a postmodern mind-set into a transrational one. Engaging with, for example, the thinking of Michel Foucault and Friedrich Nietzsche, I explored how far postmodern philosophy could be taken beyond its own premises. Could the twisting (cf. Vattimo 1997) practice that tried to heal the subject from the wounds that modernity inflicted also lead to an integrative stance that conceives of the self in a transpersonal manner? How far does postmodern philosophy enable a positive engagement with

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particularly those embodied practices like Systemic Constellation Work, Holotropic Breathwork and Theatre for Living that once more embed the personal self in a larger whole? And what is that concrete point where the postmodern, nihilistic practice of deconstructive thinking finally needs to give way to an affirmative becoming-present that sees existence for what it is without the need to judge, criticize or analyze? These questions led me to understand the Nietzschean moment of midnight (cf. Koppensteiner 2009a) as the turning point when the negativity and critique of nihilism have completed their work and switch into an affirmative present and presence. This moment heralds a transformation of the self when the hegemony of rational thought ceases, as reason becomes embedded into an embodied, energetic practice. The Art of the Transpersonal Self explored, moreover, an understanding of the self as permanently ongoing process of transformation, rather than conceiving it as stable, as a substance or essence. In my current research, I seek to advance this understanding, now no longer relying on postmodern but on transrational premises. The philosophical insights that have guided my previous research are now furthered with systemic and energetic perspectives that draw particularly on humanistic and transpersonal psychology. 1.4.1

Peace and Conflict Studies

The current text derives inspiration from the works of Wolfgang Dietrich and John Paul Lederach, especially as regards the transrational approach to Peace Studies and elicitive conflict transformation. The principles of the transrational peace philosophy find their expression in Wolfgang Dietrich’s trilogy Variationen über die vielen Frieden (2008, 2011, 2015). Palgrave publishes this trilogy in English under the series title of “Many Peaces” consisting of Interpretations of Peace in History and Culture (2012), Elicitive Conflict Transformation and the Transrational Shift in Peace Politics (2013) and the recently published Elicitive Conflict Mapping (2018). Throughout the current text, I refer to the English publications and only cite the German originals when the corresponding passage does not appear in the English versions. The first volume of Dietrich’s Many Peaces trilogy provides a systematization of different understandings of peace (Dietrich 2012). Therein, Dietrich draws out the many peaces in their myriad historical and cultural variations. The reach of this overview spans continents and times, ranging

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from the thousands of years old energetic understandings of peace expressed in the veneration of the Great Mother to the postmodern peaces of the twentieth century. What emerges is a synopsis of four large families of peaces—energetic, moral, modern and postmodern. A fifth view, the transrational peace philosophy, is the perspective that allows Dietrich to differentiate and integrate those varied peaces. The transrational approach to Peace Studies finds its comprehensive elaboration in this first volume. Once refracted through this prism, peace no longer appears in a uniform color, but the iridescent shades of the many peaces shine in all their difference. In volume two of this trilogy, Dietrich deepens John Paul Lederach’s understanding of elicitive conflict transformation and provides a praxiology of embodied conflict work. The corresponding differentiation between breath-, voice- and movement-oriented approaches to conflict transformation is fundamental for me. From the third volume, I especially refer to the three principles of Elicitive Conflict Mapping: correspondence, resonance and homeostasis. I additionally rely on the texts of more than thirty authors from all over the world edited by the team of the UNESCO Chair for Peace Studies and published as The Palgrave International Handbook of Peace Studies (Dietrich et al. 2011) as well as the recently published Transrational Resonances (Echavarría Alvarez et al. 2018). Both those books provide ample evidence on the topics discussed in the current text. The former shows the multiplicity of peaces through contributions written by authors who stand within the particular tradition they write about. Transrational Resonances provides reflections from facilitators on their own practice, with a strong emphasis on comprehensive, transpersonal and embodied approaches to facilitation. John Paul Lederach is a key influence for me. Lederach is a professor for International Peace Building whose writing reflects the profoundest understanding of Peace Studies as a holistic venture. His decades of experience in applied peace work in various conflicts across the globe have led to a rich understanding of peace and conflict that brings together reflected theory and practice. A leading “pracademic” (Miall 2016, 8) today, he is one of the most prominent voices for a holistic and systemic approach to conflict transformation. Lederach’s work is inspired by that pioneer of Peace Studies Adam Curle. Just like Curle, Lederach also draws upon the findings of humanistic psychology and integrates them into Peace Studies. Particularly, Lederach’s more recent works (1996, 2005) show

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many parallels to the person-centered approach of Carl Rogers (2003) and the Nonviolent Communication of Marshall Rosenberg (2005). From humanistic psychology, it is only a small step to the energetic roots in Taoism, Tantra, Sufism and Zen (cf. Dietrich 2013, 20). Paulo Freire’s (2007, 2017) emancipatory approach is equally relevant for Lederach as it is for Curle. A significant number of Peace Studies’ best-known proponents draw inspiration from their spiritual and, at times, religious belief systems. This is the case for the Quakers Elise and Kenneth Boulding. It equally holds true for the inspiration that springs from Quaker and later on Buddhist sources for Adam Curle and for John Paul Lederach and his Mennonite background. Specifically, when it comes to the latter two, their approach to Peace Studies and to applied peace work seems to be carried by a spirit of love and equal parts of humility and profundity that provide an inspiration for my being, doing and writing. That they have considered the spiritual part of their being influential and relevant for their doing is further highlighted by the fact that they have all reflected intensely on it and also dedicated books to it (Boulding 1986, 1989; Curle 2007; Lederach 1999, 2014). Most recently this finds its expression in the approach towards conflict work and reconciliation taken by the theologian Martin Leiner (Leiner and Schliesser 2018) and his team at the Jena Center for Reconciliation Studies in Germany. The argument that I am advancing throughout the current text is that there is a lot of potential that can be tapped by integrating all aspects of our being into our doing as Peace Studies facilitators and peace researchers. All of these authors exhibit a holistic approach that is radically unafraid to bring one’s own spiritual background into their work as peace builders and researchers. John Paul Lederach’s Preparing for Peace (1996) introduces the distinction between prescriptive and elicitive conflict transformation and the critical tension between those two approaches. Lederach proposes an elicitive frame for building peace and training. Since my question concerns the qualities, attitude, skill and hence self of the Peace Studies facilitator, my particular interest in this book is in the training frame. The elicitive approach is expanded and enriched in the subsequent work on The Moral Imagination (2005). Significant is the shift in content, writing style and structure that finds its expression in this book. While

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previous writings (2003, 20083 ) are comparatively more technical in nature and style, The Moral Imagination speaks to an artistic and aesthetic sensibility that has few precedents in Peace Studies. Hand-drawn images, “doodles” how Lederach (2005, 72) humbly calls them, replace the formatted charts and figures. Poetic images and metaphors abound; the facilitator is called inwards to cultivate the “soul-based disciplines” of stillness, humility and sensuous perception (2005, 102–110). Lederach recommends imagining the “canvas of social change” by adopting a haiku attitude akin to deep listening, allowing one to find “the elegant beauty where complexity meets simplicity” (2005, 65–74). When Blood and Bones Cry Out (Lederach and Lederach 2010) carries this spirit further. John Paul Lederach writes this book together with his daughter Angela Jill. While the doodles of The Moral Imagination visually represent peace building as an artistic and intuitive venture, this latest text in its subtitle already announces the aural exploration of peace and conflict work through the Soundscapes of Healing and Reconciliation. The Lederachs use the image of the Tibetan singing bowl as a metaphor for the iterative journey through the sonics of healing. In these works, peace building gains additional qualities that address all the senses of the human being. Most recently Andreas Oberprantacher carries the term of the elicitive further and into the realm of political theory, by combining it with the work of Hannah Arendt (Oberprantacher 2018). Oberprantacher points to the roots of the concept of the elicitive in humanistic psychology. He conceives Arendt as a political phenomenologist (Oberprantacher 2018, 138). With regard to her seminal work, The Human Condition (Arendt 1985), he shows the net benefit that can be accrued by integrating Arendt’s focus on generative interactions and her political understanding of relationality into the notion of the elicitive. One generation before Lederach, Adam Curle (1972, 1999, 2006) is a crucial antecedent for me within Peace Studies. Adam Curle was a British officer during the Second World War and belongs to the founding figures for European Peace Studies. In 1973, he became the first professor for Peace Studies at the University of Bradford (cf. Woodhouse and Lederach 2016, 30). With his turn towards the inside, Adam Curle stands at the beginning of the emancipation of Peace Studies from International 3 Building Peace, in the quoted version is in the eighth imprint and dates to 2008. The original date of publishing is 1997.

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Relations, which would later be completed by John Paul Lederach (Dietrich 2013, 19). He equally introduced (humanistic) psychology to Peace Studies (Mitchels, 2006, 38–67) and took a spiritually inspired, almost mystic approach to applied peace work. Barbara Mitchels’ Love in Danger (2006) and the collection of Curle’s writings, found in Adam Curle: Radical Peacemaker edited by Tom Woodhouse and John Paul Lederach, are a more recent homage to the life and work of this pioneer of Peace Studies. They show how current Adam Curle’s approach is today. Mitchels combines his emphasis on awareness and mindfulness in peace building with a therapists’ view on trauma and conflict that is particularly influenced by Carl Rogers’ person-centered approach. I did not have the chance to meet Adam Curle before his passing in 2006, yet his writings seem to convey a certain spirit that I find essential for Peace Studies. Just like John Paul Lederach, Adam Curle also emphasizes the creative and artistic aspects of peace building and of (academically) writing about peace and conflicts. For him this is more than just an addendum or ornament to what would be the “proper” work of a researcher or facilitator. Much to the contrary, Curle’s collected work of prose poetry is accurately called Recognition of Reality (1987). Speaking in an artistic voice allows him to access the deeper realms of our inside and outside worlds and how they refract and influence each other. Recognition of Reality is poetic transrationality. To provide just one small example: In his founding text for the transrational peace philosophy Wolfgang Dietrich describes the Net of Indra, the Hindu God of the Atmosphere who carries a net made of a multiplicity of gemstones. In each gemstone, all the others are reflected, symbolizing the unity of inside and outside, the tantric principle of correspondence and transrationality (cf. Dietrich 2012, 50; 2015, 50–52; 2018). In a scant few lines, Adam Curle’s poem “Indra’s Net” poetically furthers this understanding of how the beads (gemstones) of our individual lives refract each other. It culminates in the final paragraph that spans the bridge between spiritual insights and quantum physics: The boundaries between us are hallucinations, we are indeed members of one another, dancing spontaneously together like the hadrons, containing each other like the beads.(Curle 1987, 22)

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I believe that our understanding of peace and conflict and what we do in the world is shifted, enriched and transformed by taking these poetic insights to heart. 1.4.2

Humanistic and Transpersonal Psychology

Carl Gustav Jung is important for my research work as a crucial forerunner to humanistic and transpersonal psychology (cf. Daniels 2005; Vaughan 2015; Washburn 2003), both of which form a key source for the current text. At the beginning of his career, as a psychiatrist in Switzerland, Jung was an assistant to Eugen Bleuler at the Burghölzli psychiatric clinic and soon became a follower of Sigmund Freud (cf. Stevens 1994). For some time considered the heir apparent to Freud, their falling out comes over two key tenets of Freudian psychology that Jung deviates from, namely Freud’s exclusive focus on the notion of sexuality to explain human behavior and his insistence that the unconscious mind is entirely personal (cf. Stevens 1994, 22). All throughout the first half of the twentieth century and until his death in 1961, Jung devised his own version of Analytical Psychology that includes collective aspects of the human psyche. For my understanding of Jungian psychology, the classics by Jolande Jacobi (1973) and June Singer (1994) have been useful. Jung’s Psychological Types (1990) has been a key reference for my elaboration on the four functions of thinking, feeling, sensing and intuiting. I rely on this basic distinction for understanding how the self can make meaning of its world. However, I do not follow the more rigid and purportedly generalizable use that those functions have been made of in, for example, devising standardized personality tests.4 Mary E. Loomis (1991) provides an interesting combination of Jung’s matrix of psychological types with that of the Medicine Wheel. When it comes to the notion of the shadow I refer specifically to the reading provided by Verena Kast (2013). While I take over and discuss many aspects of Jungian psychology, I have a threefold reservation: on the one hand as regards the Jungian understanding of a division between an outward arc of individuation during the first half of life, followed by the inward arc during the second. Elaborated further this argument then leads to the structural-hierarchical 4 C. G. Jung himself mainly used his typology for practical purposes of explanation and was opposed to categorizing people through it (cf. Loomis 1991, 31, 43–45).

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model of Ken Wilber (2000b) and the spiral model of Michael Washburn (2003). To me, this division is too neat and simplifying, as it does not take into consideration the asynchronous, multiple and often non-linear paths human unfolding takes. In my experience, the notion of a permanently ongoing homeostatic balance between the turn outside and the one inside throughout one’s whole life seems to be much more appropriate. It remains possible to distinguish certain moments in one’s life that are determined more by the turn inwards and others where the pendulum swings more towards an outward-orientation. However, this movement remains an oscillation that occurs in a manner less determined by the succession of years in biological age than Jung’s notion would suggest and does therefore not fall into two clear and successive arcs. It equally does not follow a theory of hierarchical stages or a spiral. My second hesitation concerns the Jungian notion of the self. Through concepts like the collective unconscious Jung significantly enlarges this concept of the self, particularly if compared to entirely personal understandings. Still, it cannot completely rid itself of the vestiges of a separated Cartesian subject or individual that, to my opinion, lacks a deeper understanding of the embodied aspects of the self and its relationally embedded qualities. My third reservation concerns the treatment of gendered aspects in C. G. Jung’s work, particularly as regards the notion of anima and animus as contrasexual soul images (Jung 1999, 2008; von Franz 1964, 186– 207). Jungian psychology has come under critique in this regard for its essentializing portrayal of gender and for its androcentrism (Wehr 1987). Judith Simmer-Brown (2002) shows this convincingly on the example of Jungian readings of the Vajray¯ ana Buddhist figure of the d.¯ akin¯ı and their neglect of female subjectivity. An essentializing reading of the term soul additionally exacerbates this bias, most prominently in the work of James Hillman (1997). Postmodern approaches here offer a crucial critique. It is in these aspects that my own understanding of the self does not explicitly follow Jungian terms. A current concept of the self in the second decade of the twenty-first century cannot be complete without taking the findings of neurology and consciousness research into consideration. This is a currently widely discussed field that is also of highest relevance for Peace Studies. I have selected some of the most prominent voices of relevance for this text (Bauer 2005, 2012; Damasio 1999, 2006; Lakoff and Johnson 1999; Rizzolatti and Sinigaglia 2006; Varela et al. 1993). For the embodied

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aspects of the self, the classics of a body-oriented psychology and therapy have been particularly helpful (Fogel 2013; Levine 2010; Rothschild 2000; van der Kolk 2014). Humanistic Psychology coalesces from the late 1950s onwards around a group of US-American psychologists in the Californian Centers of Esalen, Palo Alto and Stanford (cf. Dietrich 2013, 25–44). The initial landmarks include the foundation of the Journal of Humanistic Psychology in 1961 and the American Association for Humanistic Psychology between 1961 and 1963 (Fox 1995, 291). In its creative phase until the end of the 1970s, the Esalen Institute in Big Sur was a veritable hotbed of experimentation and innovation of new methods of therapy, group work and self-discovery (cf. Kripal 2007). Calling itself the third force in psychology, after Behaviorism and Depth Psychology, the term Humanistic Psychology is coined by Tony Sutich and Abraham Maslow (1993, 2011). It indicates a critical distinction to the modern-mechanistic Behaviorism and the anthropological pessimism of Sigmund Freud (cf. Fox 1995, 289). Abraham Maslow aims to change and expand the focus of psychology, from a Freudian psychology of disease towards one of health. He breaks with an understanding of psychology that is exclusively concerned with the treatment of a patient’s deficiencies and pathologies at the hands of an expert. Psychology, Maslow holds, has much more to offer. Unlike the anthropological pessimist Freud, Maslow perceives human nature to be either neutral or good. The task of the facilitator or therapist is thus not to control this often largely unconscious inner nature, but much rather to foster its latent drive towards self-actualization that allows for the full unfolding of one’s potential. The humanistic tradition proposes a psychology of health that seeks to accompany the client in this process of self-actualization, in what Stanislav Grof (1988) so aptly calls The Adventure of Self Discovery. Humanistic Psychology owes much of its initial impetus to the works of Carl Rogers. The shift from patient to client in Client-Centered Therapy (Rogers 2003) and the nondirective approach to counseling and group work (Rogers 1973, 1995b) as well as the relational and dialogic turn in therapeutic contexts (cf. Cissna and Anderson 2002) also introduce key references for elicitive conflict transformation. Rogers strongly criticizes the model of the expert that pretends to be able to prescribe the steps that should cure a patient. He democratizes therapy and counseling by meeting the client at eye-level and seeing her as both capable and

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ultimately self-responsible. Rogers emphasizes the self-understanding and inner attributes of the therapist, which find their expression in the quality of the relation and setting that the therapist establishes with a client. This humanistic approach is crucial for Peace Studies facilitation. Stanislav Grof and Abraham Maslow, together with Tony Sutich, become the first proponents of Transpersonal Psychology as the branch within the humanistic tradition that particularly focuses on the spiritual, mystic and transcendental aspects of self-actualization (Dietrich 2012, 250; Grof 2017). Transpersonal Psychology thereby seeks to expand the boundaries of Humanistic Psychology to also accommodate the significant human experiences that hitherto had been left neglected, namely those that reach beyond the notion of the self as just a skinencapsulated ego (Fox 1995, 291–292). In 1969, not even ten years after the Journal for Humanistic Psychology was founded, the Journal of Transpersonal Psychology followed (Fox 1995, 297). The prolific Ken Wilber (2000a, b) is considered one of the key thinkers of the movement, combining a Transpersonal Psychology with a transrational philosophical underpinning. While I believe many of Wilber’s contributions to be illuminating and inspiring in the breadth of their reach, I consider his overall work to be beholden to a hierarchical model inspired by Georg Friedrich Wilhelm Hegel, Jürgen Habermas and Charles Taylor, a model which I do not follow. Jorge N. Ferrer’s Revisioning Transpersonal Theory (2002) is an insightful overview over the debate in this respect. The best overviews over the history and state of the art in Transpersonal Psychology in my opinion can be found in Michael Daniels (2005) as well as Harris Friedman and Glenn Hartelius (2015). Anodea Judith (2004) succinctly combines modern, particularly Jungian, psychology with a comprehensive understanding of the tantric chakra philosophy. I know of no better introduction to that difficult field. Sylvester Walch’s teaching of Inner Wisdom (Walch 2003, 2011, 2018) has been immensely helpful for me on many levels. Conceptually, it follows some of the basic humanistic principles such as self-actualization (Maslow 1993), actualizing tendency (Rogers 1995a) or inner healing intelligence (Grof and Bennett 1993) and combines psychological and spiritual aspects. What is more, from Sylvester Walch’s teaching I have learned how to recognize it in practice and trust and follow its manifestations in my life.

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INTRODUCTION

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Five Rhythms Dance

At its most literal level I understand dancing as “creat[ing] and becom[ing] patterns of sensation and response” (LaMothe 2015, 4). Looking beyond the immediacy of this literal definition, dance is the central metaphor I use in this text. Movement patterns are also those of thinking, feeling and acting (LaMothe 2015, 11) that guide, for example, research and facilitation. Kimerer LaMothe offers a convincing argument for embodied becoming and knowing through dance (LaMothe 2006, 2015). The Five Rhythms dance provides a crucial conceptual frame. Literature on the Five Rhythms is still scarce and, except for the shorter treatment in Dietrich (2013), nothing published seems to exist on this topic within the realm of Peace Studies. The three books by Gabrielle Roth Maps to Ecstasy (1998a), Sweat Your Prayers (1998b) and Connections (2004) are fundamental for an engagement with the Five Rhythms. I draw on the wisdom contained therein and often use the music of Gabrielle Roth & The Mirrors when facilitating workshops. Gabrielle Roth’s music is influenced by her encounters with the Nigerian drummer Babatunde Olatunji (Vargas-Gibson et al. 2017, 718). Her books beautifully convey the system of the Five Rhythms in the form of stories. Her narrations inspire and inform, yet do not preach. Her texts achieve their effects through an artist and dancer’s aesthetic sensibility for style and innovation, combined with a healer’s abiding compassion. They are brought home by the spiritual depth of a shaman who travels different worlds on the beats of her drum like a rider on the back of her horse. Gabrielle Roth never considered herself an academic writer, yet an attempt to conceptualize the foundations of the Five Rhythms has been made in form of a doctoral dissertation by one of her closest collaborators, Andrea Juhan (2003). Gabrielle Roth provides a complex model of human transformation and unfolding through dance. On the one hand Gabrielle Roth draws on many twentieth-century sources, like Oscar Ichazo’s Arica Yoga, Jungian insights, and Gregory Bateson’s approach to system theory (cf. Dietrich 2013, 112–114). She combines those with Shamanic insights and gives a process-oriented rendering of individual and group dynamics that is borrowed from the Medicine Wheel. She joins these with the five phases of human contact following Fritz Perls (Dietrich 2013, 35; Perls 1992, 75–77). On this basis, she elaborates on the form of the Five Rhythms

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of Flowing, Staccato, Chaos, Lyrical and Stillness, which are associated with the five primary feelings of fear, anger, sadness, joy and compassion. Drawing on the Medicine Wheel, she also associates these rhythms with different phases of human life: birth, childhood, puberty, maturity and finally old age and death. For the purposes of my research the most important association is the one with different aspects of the self: body, heart, mind, soul and spirit. What is remarkable about her oeuvre is that it provides both a well thought-out and complex conceptualization and an immediate way of applying it and working with it in an elaborate and penetrating embodied practice. 1.4.4

Research Methodologies

It might appear far-fetched to begin a discussion on research methodologies with Friedrich Nietzsche. Yet in his work several of the tracks that I follow in this book come to cross. Nietzsche’s short productive life has left the world with an incomplete yet marvelous oeuvre in whose depths the careful reader can find many a gem of untimely wisdom. Nietzsche deliberately breaks with the traditions of academic writing and chooses to present some of his texts in different and unconventional formats. He frequently blurs the lines to prose poetry, most clearly when he adopts an aphoristic writing style (cf. Nietzsche 1974, 1996). Thus Spoke Zarathustra (1982) probably carries the experiment the furthest, presenting a text that freely draws upon poetic and novelistic aspects and is written in a style deliberately reminiscent of the prophetic voices of the Old Testament, the morality of whose messages Nietzsche’s Zarathustra can be seen to redraw and counteract more than two thousand years later. Nietzsche’s irony is not lost: Zarathustra, the probable inventor of dualistic morality, later on returns to correct his earlier mistake. Trained as a philologist and often described as a philosopher, Nietzsche refuses to let himself be pigeonholed by the conventions of academic disciplines. His artistic approach to science crystallizes and culminates in The Gay Science (Nietzsche 1974). As Walter Kaufmann suggests in the translator’s introduction to this book, Nietzsche calls for a science of light feet, laughter and dancing (Kaufmann 1974, 7), a science that is not heavy and ponderous in its rational musings, but is inspired by a Dionysian spirit and an embodied practice. Apollo and Dionysus, for Nietzsche, must never be separated—and neither can the form and content of writing, which

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ought to mutually inspire each other instead of form (Apollo) rigidly determining content (Dionysus). Nietzsche’s unconventional and—in the context of the nineteenth century—certainly untimely work here provides an early lesson to twenty-first-century peace research methodologies. The literature on modern and postmodern research methodologies spans whole libraries, even if the impenetrability of the writing sometimes inhibits the accessibility of the methods proposed. A notable exception that guides the reader in postmodern methodologies is Ackerly, Stern and True’s Feminist Methodologies for International Relations (2006) and similarly helpful is the online book on Qualitative Research Methods (Mack et al. 2005). The autobiographical approach to International Relations adopted by Naeem Inayatullah (2011) appears to be useful also for any postmodern-minded student of Peace Studies who is struggling with writing a personal perspective. Indigenous methodologies have become more prominent in recent years and at first sight seem to provide interesting energetic alternatives to modern epistemologies (Denzin et al. 2008; de Sousa Santos 2014; Kovach 2009; Wilson 2008). However, they at times remain beholden to a postmodern model of resistance to modern approaches and I understand them as primarily postcolonial or decolonizing in their intent. Without denying that quantitative methods provide a legitimate way of conducting peace research, I hold them to be of little use for the current project. As regards qualitative methods, the Sage Handbook of Qualitative Research by Norman K. Denzin and Yvonna S. Linclon offers an excellent overview over the current state of the art. For background research, I have extensively used both the fourth (2011) and the fifth edition (2018). One of the few texts available that particularly addresses qualitative research within Peace Studies is the edited collection by Robin Cooper and Laura Finley (2014). Particularly insightful for a deeper understanding of how the shifting boundary of what is considered scientific knowledge is constantly (re)produced in academic discourse is the volume edited by Dirk Rupnow et al. (2008). Autoethnographic approaches share a lot of commonalities with my own undertaking of conceptualizing research through the lens of the researcher. Carolyn Ellis (2004), Laurel Richardson (1997) and Ruth Behar (1996) all argue for including the researcher’s inner aspects, motivations and biography into the research process. I have taken cues from their lead. Ruth Behar’s notion of research that breaks your heart has become an almost iconic guidepost for my attempts to introduce a transrational methodology. Peace research can be deeply exhilarating and

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joyful. It is equally prone to break one’s heart. It also draws a fair number of people whose broken heart is their (at times unconscious) reason for being interested in this field in the first place. It is high time that we, as a discipline, find a productive way of dealing with this heartbreak. Shame, disavowal and hiding behind an impersonal third-person perspective simply no longer are satisfactory options. A lot of initial background investigation has been done on phenomenology, an approach that is equally relevant for research as it is for Peace Studies facilitation. I find important connections in the tradition that philosophically begins with Maurice Merleau-Ponty (1968, 2012), particularly in his consideration of embodiment, his incomplete attempt to overcome the modern Cartesian split between body and mind, in the consideration of the Gestalt approach and in the integration of first-person perspectives. Max van Manen’s (2014) clarification of terms and extrapolation of (Edmund Husserl’s) key concepts such as experience (erfahren) and living-through (erleben), the distinction between knowing and understanding that goes back to Wilhelm Dilthey and further phenomenological notions have been highly useful for trying to establish the corresponding categories within transrationality. An interesting step in the direction of a further distinction that also is a pleasure to read is David Abram’s ecologically inspired text The Spell of the Sensuous (1997). The work of Eugene Gendlin provides a crucial link that manages to bridge the different traditions. Gendlin was a humanistic therapist, student and later on collaborator of Carl Rogers as well as a philosopher inspired by phenomenology at the same time. His interests lie in exploring the edge between what can be felt, embodied and what can be thought and said (Gendlin 1991, 1997). In the productive interplay between these two, understanding and integration are carried forward. By providing both the philosophical and psychological basis and also a practical method called Focusing, Gendlin (2007) develops an approach that is equally relevant for the gathering of knowledge in research and Peace Studies facilitation. Finally, Rosemarie Anderson and William Braud (Anderson 2001; Anderson and Braud 1998, 2011) have done a great deal to prepare what might be called a transrational turn in methodology. Their distinctive focus lies on Transpersonal Psychology, yet their findings can be applied directly to a transrational peace research. They offer a veritable treasure trove of embodied practices and insights on method from which

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I gladly draw. This similarly holds for Les Todres’ Embodied Enquiry (2007), which combines a phenomenologically inspired philosophy and Gendlin’s approach to knowing with transpersonal psychology in order to integrate the body into both research and facilitation. To me it appears as if psychology in general and humanistic and transpersonal psychology in particular have carried the methodological State of the Art further than many other disciplines. Peace Studies can profit from those advances. As an overview, I find particularly useful the edited collection Five Ways of Doing Qualitative Research (Wertz et al. 2011), which compares the approaches of phenomenological psychology, grounded theory, discourse analysis, narrative research and intuitive inquiry. The endeavor to integrate spiritual and transpersonal aspects into research recently culminated in the highly insightful call for a spiritual research paradigm issued by Jin Ling, Rebecca L. Oxford and Tom Culham (Lin et al. 2016a). They suggest the following premises for such a paradigm: A spiritual research paradigm requires an ontology that considers all reality to be multidimensional, interconnected and interdependent. It requires an epistemology that integrates knowing from outer sources as well as inner contemplation, acknowledging our integration of soul and spirit with the body and mind. (Lin et al. 2016b, ix)

To these stipulations they add questions of methodology, axiology (ethics) and teleology. I take these considerations as expression of the current state of the art and relevant starting ground for this research. 1.4.5

Facilitation

As regards the second research question and the part on Peace Studies facilitation, while critical (Freire 2007, 2017; Illich 1970) and postmodern (Keating 2007, 2013) approaches continue to provide necessary mirrors to the practice of teaching, in theoretical terms, I take the postmodern debate to be largely concluded. For exploring the borderlands between a critical, postmodern pedagogy and a transrational teaching style, I have found Jennifer Murphy’s (2018) rendering to be particularly helpful and have gratefully integrated some of the feminist insights that came to me from there.

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The spirit of what I am trying to convey in the second part of the book on teaching and facilitation was theoretically introduced to me via the works of Parker J. Palmer (1993, 2008). His notion of teaching from within provides crucial pointers for the facilitation approach to teaching that I am proposing here. Agostini et al. (2019) emphasize embodied aspects of teaching situations in their phenomenological research. They also include a corresponding practice that is based on Forum Theatre towards a pedagogy of embodiment (Agostini et al. 2019). A groundbreaking contribution to the research and practice on embodied facilitation in higher education is the collected volume edited by Lin et al. (2013). Bringing together both conceptual innovation and practical experience this book shows a multiplicity of different manners in which embodied pathways can contribute to education. It takes both inner and outer transformation into account, is committed to an emancipatory social practice and champions a multiplicity of forms of wisdom rather than the simple production and transmission of knowledge. Also in this second part I rely extensively on the approaches to transformation and facilitation that arise from the study of peace building, conflict work and self-discovery (Lederach 1996, 2005; Heron 2010). When it comes to the practice of my own facilitation, I have probably learned the most from the writings and particularly the teachings of Sylvester Walch (2003, 2011), a psychotherapist and facilitator for the breath-oriented transformation method of Holotropic Breathwork (cf. Walch 2018; Dietrich 2013, 54–63). Walch is one of the key proponents of German Transpersonal Psychology. I have had the great fortune to study and co-facilitate with him for more than ten years. He follows an approach to facilitation that is radically phenomenological, that aims to abstain from judgments and comparisons and seeks to meet each client with the same balanced empathy and unconditional positive regard (cf. Rogers 1995b, 283–284). In a manner reminiscent of the Taoist sages (cf. Cooper 2010), Sylvester Walch is a master of that difficult art of minimal intervention and Kairos , the unobtrusive intervention at the opportune moment. Observing him at work has brought to life for me John Paul Lederach’s notion of serendipity in peace building as the aware and conscious capacity “to see and move with the unexpected” (Lederach 2005, 118). “Trust and follow intuition,” Lederach says in a key passage of the Moral Imagination (2005, 74). In the facilitation practice of Sylvester Walch, I have learned how this unfolds in practice and, through

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this research, I want to make these insights available not only for applied peace work, but also for Peace Studies facilitation.

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Dietrich, Wolfgang, Josefina Echavarría Alvarez, Gustavo Esteva, Daniela Ingruber, and Norbert Koppensteiner, eds. 2011. The Palgrave International Handbook of Peace Studies: A Cultural Perspective. Houndmills: Palgrave Macmillan. Echavarría Alvarez, Josefina, Daniela Ingruber, and Norbert Koppensteiner. 2018. Transrational Resonances: Echoes to the Many Peaces. Houndmills: Palgrave Macmillan. Ellingson, Laura L. 2011. ‘Analysis and Representation Across the Continuum.’ In The Sage Handbook of Qualitative Research, edited by Norman K. Denzin and Yvonna S. Lincoln, 4th ed., 595–610, London: Sage. Ellis, Carolyn. 2004. The Ethnographic I: A Methodological Novel About Authnoethnography. Walnut Creek: Altamira Press. Ferrer, Jorge N. 2002. Revisioning Transpersonal Theory: A Participatory Vision of Human Spirituality. New York: State University of New York Press. Fogel, Alan. 2013. Body Sense: The Science and Practice of Embodied SelfAwareness. New York: W. W. Norton. Foster, Steven, and Meredith Little. 1998. The Four Shields: The Initiatory Seasons of Human Nature. Big Pine: Lost Borders Press. Fox, Warwick. 1995. Toward a Transpersonal Ecology: Developing New Foundations for Environmentalism. Dartington: Green Books. Freire, Paulo. 2007. Pedagogy of the Oppressed. London: Continuum. Freire, Paulo. 2017. Pedagogy of Hope. London: Bloomsbury. Friedman, Harris L., and Glenn Hartelius, eds. 2015. The Wiley Blackwell Handbook of Transpersonal Psychology. Chichester: Wiley Blackwell. Gendlin, Eugene T. 1991. Thinking Beyond Patterns: Body, Language and Situations. Spring Valley: The Focusing Institute. Gendlin, Eugene T. 1997. Experiencing and the Creation of Meaning: A Philosophical and Psychological Approach to the Subjective. Evanston: Northwestern University Press. Gendlin, Eugene T. 2007. Focusing. New York: Bantam Books. Gilligan, Stephen, and Robert Dilts. 2011. The Hero’s Journey: A Voyage of SelfDiscovery. Carmarthen: Crown House Publishing. Grof, Stanislav. 1988. The Adventure of Self-Discovery: Dimensions of Consciousness and New Perspectives in Psychotherapy and Inner Exploration. Albany: State University of New York Press. Grof, Stanislav. 2017. A Brief History of Transpersonal Psychology. Accessed September 12 2017. http://www.stanislavgrof.com/wp-content/uploads/ pdf/A_Brief_History_of_Transpersonal_Psychology_Grof.pdf. Grof, Stanislav, and Hal Zina Bennett. 1993. The Holotropic Mind: The Three Levels of Human Consciousness and How They Shape Our Lives. San Francisco: HarperCollins Publishers. Heron, John. 2010. The Complete Facilitator’s Handbook. London: Kogan Page.

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Hillman, James. 1997. The Soul’s Code: In Search for Character and Calling. New York: Grand Central Publishing. Illich, Ivan. 1970. Deschooling Society. London: Marion Boyers. Inayatullah, Naeem, ed. 2011. Autobiographical International Relations. London: Routledge. Jacobi, Jolande. 1973. The Psychology of C.G. Jung. New Haven: Yale University Press. Judith, Anodea. 2004: Eastern Body, Western Mind: Psychology and the Chakra System as a Path to the Self . Berkeley: Celestial Arts. Juhan, Andrea. 2003. Open Floor: Dance, Therapy, and Transformation Through the Five Rhythms, Doctoral Dissertation. http://openfloor.org/downloads/ Andrea%20Juhan%20Open%20Floor%20PDE.pdf. Jung, C. G. 1990. Psychological Types. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Jung, C. G. 1999. Two Essays in Analytical Psychology, 2nd ed. London: Routledge. Jung, C. G. 2008. The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious, 2nd ed. London: Routledge. Kast, Verena. 2013. Der Schatten in uns. Die subversive Lebenskraft. Munich: Deutscher Taschenbuch Verlag. Kaufmann, Walter. 1974. ‘Translator’s Introduction.’ In The Gay Science: With a Prelude in Rhymes and an Appendix in Songs, edited by Friedrich Nietzsche, 1–26. New York: Random House. Keating, Anna Louise. 2007. Teaching Transformation: Transcultural Classroom Dialogues. Houndmills: Palgrave Macmillan. Keating, Anna Louise. 2013. Transformation Now! Toward a Post-Oppositional Politics of Change. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Koppensteiner, Norbert. 2009a. ‘Beyond Postmodernity: Living and Thinking. A Nietzschean Journey.’ University of Innsbruck. The UNESCO Chair’s Virtual Peace Library. https://www.uibk.ac.at/peacestudies/downloads/pea celibrary/beyondpostmodernity.pdf. Koppensteiner, Norbert. 2009b. The Art of the Transpersonal Self: Transformation as Aesthetic and Energetic Practice. New York: Atropos. Koppensteiner, Norbert. 2018. ‘Transrational Methods of Peace Research: The Researcher as (Re)Source.’ In Transrational Resonances: Echoes to the Many Peaces, edited by Josefina Echavarría Alvarez, Daniela Ingruber, and Norbert Koppensteiner, 59–81. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Kovach, Margaret. 2009. Indigenous Methodologies: Characteristics, Conversations and Contexts. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Kripal, J. Jeffrey. 2007. Esalen: America and the Religion of No Religion. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Lakoff, George, and Mark Johnson. 1999. Philosophy in the Flesh: The Embodied Mind and Its Challenge to Western Thought. New York: Basic Books.

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PART I

First Wave: Transrational Peace Research

CHAPTER 2

Methodology

In this chapter, I consider the conceptual premises and methodological aspects that guide my research. In order to understand what a transrational peace research methodology could look like, it is first of all necessary to ask the preliminary questions of what is to be understood by the key terms of research and knowing. Transformation, furthermore, is an important concept for elicitive and transrational approaches and I want to understand its relevance and meaning for peace research. Transrational research can only be conceived against the background of energetic, modern and postmodern methodologies from which it emerges. Hence, in order to understand transrational methodologies, this ground needs to be covered first. The first section of this chapter, therefore, is dedicated to the premises, which subsequently allow an engagement with a transrational ontology, epistemology and ethics as well as methods. These form the content of the second section.

2.1 2.1.1

Premises What Is Research?

The question that implicitly or explicitly needs to be decided upon at the beginning of any exploration of research methodology is the one posed above: What is to be understood as research? As my topic concerns

© The Author(s) 2020 N. Koppensteiner, Transrational Peace Research and Elicitive Facilitation, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-46067-9_2

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research in Peace and Conflict Studies, I understand the following elaborations to concern that field. It is my conjecture that they might be applicable also in other realms in the Humanities and Social Sciences, yet my immediate area of interest remains peace and conflict research. As a minimum, I propose understanding peace and conflict research as the (1) systematic and (2) creative (3) inquiry into a (4) concrete topic in order to (5) gain knowledge.1 This definition might be contested. Researchers who base themselves in one or the other particular form of research (episteme, paradigm) might argue for additional necessary qualifications, for example restrictions with regard to what is admissible in how research is conducted, what qualities a researcher needs to possess, which kind of topics are researchable, what relation there is between the researcher and the world and in what ways findings may be presented to the audience.2 Against such delimitation, I find the above broad definition useful as a starting point. By adopting an open view, one that is itself interested in finding out about different perspectives on how the topics of Peace Studies can be known rather than making too narrow claims of legitimacy, I hope to be able to draw on a wide range of possible forms of conceiving research. The first aspect that defines a thus-understood research is systematicity. Zora Neale Hurston has famously defined research as “formalized curiosity” and “poking and prying with a purpose” (cf. Anderson and Braud 2011, 90). Research often begins with a curiosity, with a desire to find out. The way researchers then go about it is purposeful and systematic. Research follows a design and plan that can be understood by others and that is made explicit in the research. The notion of systematicity aims to make research internally coherent and intersubjectively communicable. The second part of the above definition turns research into a creative venture. Research brings something new into the world in a distinct form. A researcher ventures into unknown waters and charts the journey. As such, it carries similarities to the creative process as it is known from the

1 This definition is taken over in adapted form from the Frascati Manual dealing with surveys on research and experimental development published by the OECD (2012, 30). 2 For a more conventional and restricted definition of research see Kumar (2011, 1–16). Denzin and Lincoln (2011a, 3–4) provide a broad definition of qualitative research. For a comparison of conventional and expanded views of research, see Anderson and Braud (1998, 3–26).

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arts (cf. McNiff 1998). A strict separation between art and research can thus not be upheld. Research, furthermore, is an inquiry. As such it is a seeking, an exploration. On an emotional and affective level, research can emerge out of those questions that compel, vex or puzzle us, those questions that for better or worse we just cannot let lie but have to look—inquire—into. This inquiry might be tentative and vague at first, but eventually leads to the formulation of a concrete topic, the next hallmark of research. An inquiry needs a topic, a theme to be explored, which is usually stated in form of a question or hypothesis. Such a topic also is delimited; it has contours that make it distinct in form and scope. Since in principle everything is related and connected to everything else, an investigation into any topic could lead to an extrapolation about the whole universe and all facets of existence. In order to be researchable, a topic needs to be concrete. Concrete, however, does not mean definitive from the outset. It may be open-ended in the duration of its exploration and flexible in content as well as form throughout the course of the research. As such, research is open to moments of serendipity. Well-defined research questions or hypotheses give a topic its extent and limits; they define the what of the research. Research finally has knowledge or informational gain at its heart. Since research also is a communicative act this knowledge is not just intended for the single benefit of the researcher, but is intended to serve a wider audience and community. In this manner, a certain ethical consideration also enters the above definition of research. Following Anderson and Braud, I suggest that transrational (or transpersonal) research additionally offers opportunities for transformation of the researcher, research participants (if applicable) and audience (cf. Anderson and Braud 2011, xv–xx). As I have already stated earlier, the practice of such a systematic inquiry also contains assumptions about ontology, epistemology and ethics, plus a considered choice of methods. From the wide perspective adopted here, research contains these aspects, but does not discriminate with regard to how they are concretely conceived and what their content is—which ontology, epistemology and ethics one must adopt. This is particularly important for transrational Peace Studies, as it expands the range of research beyond the confines of modern and postmodern academic settings. Peaces are many and take historically, linguistically, culturally or spiritually distinct forms all across the globe. In their own contexts,

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they often have been and continue to be investigated in a manner that is equally systematic, creative and concrete and has led to discernable ways of knowing. On such premises, Buddhist or Shamanic traditions (cf. Walsh 2010; Cajete 2000; Loy 2003) have also produced coherent ontologies, epistemologies and ethics on the basis of which methods are defined that lead to knowledge about peaces and conflicts. In turn, this knowledge helps people in their respective context to orient themselves, understand their relation to the world and place therein, thus making meaning out of one’s own life. From the perspective adopted here, the knowledge gained in energetic traditions cannot a priori be excluded as legitimate research just because it has not been produced within the formal structures of modern institutions and procedures. That the ontological and epistemological assumptions might be radically different is already part of the debate but not grounds for wholesale dismissal. After those preliminaries, we are now in a position to delve into the topic proper and approach one of the perennial questions of research: If research is about gaining knowledge, then what does it mean to know? Out of the particular research interest of this book another crucial question arises: What does knowing look like if perceived through the lens of the researcher? These questions will continuously be advanced all throughout the first part. In the following, I want to take a first look. 2.1.2

What Does It Mean to Know?

Research, as we have said above, often begins with a curiosity, with a desire to find out. I believe that in the best of all cases it is about the questions that puzzle us as researchers, that intrigue, inspire or enrage us, the questions and topics that we are passionate about—and want to find out more. If perceived through the lens of the researcher, research begins with the admission that we do not know but want to, maybe feel that we need to know. In other words, not knowing is the place where research is born. This is the basis for any creative venture, as Lise Oelrich points out: The starting point of all creative activity is not knowing. (…) It lies in the very nature of creativity that we do NOT know the answer. (…) This is the exciting thing, the challenge, and besides being the foundation of all artistry and creative thinking it also is the ground of all true research. (…) It is about standing on the edge and literally not knowing what comes next and being willing to stay there and keep on breathing and listening

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to what comes out of the nothingness, the darkness, the space. (Oelrich 2015, 81–82)

Being able to stand the openness, the creative uncertainty and productive nothingness is the place from which knowing eventually can emerge. The poet John Keats has defined this quality as “negative capability,” meaning the capacity to be and remain “in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason” (quoted in Rome 2014, 13). Couched in positive terms this implies the capacity to remain in wonder and astonishment about one’s own topic, without succumbing to the desire to immediately close the books on the world by prematurely finding supposed answers. The phenomenological tradition takes this unknowing to its depth in the notion of the phenomenological reduction. The term can be misleading, for it has to be understood in its meaning of re-ducere (to lead back) rather than as Cartesian reductionism. What is meant is such a sense of openness and wonder towards the world (van Manen 2014, 215–216; Merleau-Ponty 2012, lxxvii). More than a strategy and technique, it is a basic way of being in the world and being with one’s own research.3 Of Maurice Merleau-Ponty it has been said that his approach to research was looking for the enigmas and mysteries, rather than defining research problems or questions. “Problems,” Taylor Carman points out apropos of Merleau-Ponty, “can be stated, (…), whereas mysteries can only be named, gestured at, pondered” (Carman 2008, 7). In its foundations, the phenomenological project after Merleau-Ponty (2012, lxxxv) is “to reveal the mystery of the world.” I hold this approach to be highly relevant for Peace Studies. At their profoundest level, the topics around peace and conflict touch the deepest parts of what it means to be human. These questions beg for resonances, often for very concrete and pressing reasons, but do not ask for final answers. As peace and conflict researchers it remains our task to illuminate the concrete contexts and experiences out of which peaces and conflicts

3 Andreas Oberprantacher (2018) and Rebecca Gulowski (2018) are the first to explicitly link the elicitive approach with phenomenology. Oberprantacher does so on the example of the unconventional thought of Hannah Arendt and the political sphere, while Gulowski shows how the combination of the elicitive and phenomenology can be useful for a deeper understanding of violence.

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emerge, flourish and pass, while also understanding that the mystery will thereby be revealed, but fortunately not solved. To stay with the disposition of the researcher for a little while longer: out of Keats’ negative capability also the so-called writer’s blocks that so often plague students and accomplished scholars alike becomes understandable in a new light. The moments when the words do not come need then no longer be decried as personal shortcomings, lack of knowledge, failures or unfortunate conditions that we, as researchers, have to get rid of as fast as possible. Doing as Keats suggests, and not succumbing to irritation and the immediate reaching after facts and answers, we can then understand those moments as necessary and eventually productive instants of emptiness that form part of any research process. Just like in winter, the soil is prepared and therefore only appears fallow, the winter of research is also a necessary part of the process, so that in spring knowing can emerge out of the openness and softened ground of unknowing. Clark Moustakas (1990) gives this period a different name with a similar meaning by calling it “incubation.” In my experience, it is not in fighting this condition but in letting go of the fear, anxiety and judgment that surrounds it, accepting instead of just wanting it to “go away,” that the researcher prepares herself for the subsequent flourishing. When it now comes to knowing, one possible way to conceive such flourishing-out-of-unknowing is to simply equate it with cognition. Knowing is then defined by the capacity to explain. The Latin root word ex-planare means to make something plain or clear or, literally, to make level and flatten (Online Etymology Dictionary 2017b). It corresponds to the German erklären. Something is known when it is intellectually clear or has been comprehended, once one has completely (com-) gotten hold of it (-prehendere) (Online Etymology Dictionary 2017a). This corresponds to the German term begreifen. The very terms already allude to a dissecting and analyzing. From the perspective of the researcher this means that the part of the self that is engaged in research is exclusively the mind. Knowing then is an activity of the mind. Knowledge is gathered through intellectual activity to which all other forms of human perception are auxiliary. Already the nineteenth-century theologian and philosopher Wilhelm Dilthey protested against the hegemony of knowing as explaining. With the famous dictum that “we explain nature, but human life we must understand” (quoted in van Manen 2014, 4), he introduced both the distinction between the natural sciences and humanities, and also a useful

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second concept of knowing as understanding (German verstehen) that has become prominent within qualitative research (cf. Wertz et al. 2011, 80– 83; Cooper and Rice 2014, 25). Once more, the etymology of the terms is revealing. Understanding, just like the German term verstehen, means to be close to, to be in the proximity of, ultimately to be in the presence and midst of (Hart 2014, 40; Online Etymology Dictionary 2017c; Rome 2014, 114). What is indicated is a form of knowing that is relational, that defines knower and known out of the position they have for each other. Knowing is what goes on between them, through them. To know something and someone, a knower can therefore not be a distant observer but must be close, must take the risk of opening up and entering into relationality. Knowing becomes personal, empathic and intimate. In fact, it is the degree of relational openness that determines the depth of the knowing as understanding. Furthermore, it becomes a venture in which the researcher is no longer engaged just with the mind. Understanding in this relational sense is a holistic term. The researcher is engaged as a whole human being. Understanding emerges out of the systemic feedback between the different aspects of the self (including the embodied and emotional constitution) in its relational context. Seen from the perspective of the researcher, knowing as understanding is therefore a much deeper process than the intellectual knowing as cognition, yet it is also much more limited in scope. Knowing as cognition supposes that the world can be penetrated by the mind in its entirety; its reach is potentially all-encompassing. This approach does not recognize that there is something that the mind cannot know at least in principle. Since everything can be known it sooner or later also must and will be known. The attitude of unknowing that has been mentioned above always smacks a bit of ignorance. Understanding, in contrast is relational, it is an embedded form of perception. Who is embedded can never see the whole. From the position of understanding, the researcher hence is aware that the world and the manifestations therein can never be perceived in their entirety. Understanding respects the mystery, rather than seeing it as a riddle that has to be solved. It is the respect for this kind of holistic understanding that lets Nietzsche exclaim, “wisdom sets limits to knowledge too” (Nietzsche 1982, 467). Taoism reveals the self-serving need to know as just clever erudition for its own sake, to which a respectful understanding sets limits: “In knowledge we get more and more, in Tao we get less and less” (Cooper 2010, 61).

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Perceived again from the perspective of the researcher, understanding also reaches much deeper than knowing. While knowing means the intellectual grasping with which one is occupied, relational understanding asks for an integration on all levels of being. This turns research potentially into a transformative venture that requires much more in terms of qualities and skills than just intellectual capacity. The current book speaks of this type of knowing and understanding. From this perspective, if the knowledge only touches my mind and has not been integrated further, it remains shallow—I know and yet do not understand. Therefore, understanding in this deep sense of the term also includes the likelihood that the researcher will be changed or transformed through her knowing. As transformation also is a key term in transrational Peace Studies and elicitive conflict work, this requires some further elaboration. 2.1.3

What Is Transformation?

I want to begin this clarification with the general notion of change. I understand change in Heraclites’ sense as basic principle of existence. All of life is change. The humanistic tradition after Carl Rogers also perceives the human condition in procedural manner, as a play of shifting patterns. To be “whole” in this sense is not a contradiction to change, but rather means the opposite. Wholeness means to consciously live one’s life as an “integrated process of changingness” (Rogers 1995, 158). Blockages and imbalances are often the result if, for whichever reason, embracing this process of change appears too risky, dangerous or frightening in its consequences. Unfolding peaces and working with conflicts implies asking the question of how this change can be consciously shaped. Peace research can become an opportunity for such a conscious process. What is more, knowing as understanding requires a relational openness towards work and world that rather frequently will lead the researcher into a deeper process of change. This brings us to the notion of transformation. Transformation, in the first instance, means the creative process of consciously engaging with life’s changes in order to foster unfolding or to reduce blockages and imbalances. Conflict transformation, one specific variation of transformation, is known in elicitive peace work as “the search for new perspectives and options in relation to the problem” (Dietrich 2013, 9). I follow Wolfgang Dietrich in his distinction between transposition and transformation. Transposition means taking one repetitive

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pattern (conflictive or otherwise) occurring in one’s life and shifting its location, so that its observable (conflictive) manifestation on the surface— the episode or symptom—disappears. As a manner of engaging with change, transposition allows the situation to be managed, without the underlying patterns being changed in any significant way. Ralph Metzner (2010, 34) distinguishes further by elaborating on transcendence. Transcendence is understood as dealing with one episode or symptom by the attempt to rise above it: (…) we may transcend a state of fear or anxiety by moving into an attitude of love or trust, or we may transcend a sense of separateness by meditating on the perception of oneness. (Metzner 2010, 34)

Transcendence is one version of transposition. It makes a symptom disappear, without addressing the underlying pattern that fuels it. The energy is simply sublimated, channeled into a seemingly “higher” expression— from anxiety and separation into love and oneness in Metzner’s example. Thereby, however, “the thought patterns of fear and separateness remain in our minds and may be reactivated at a later time” (Metzner 2010, 34). Different from transposition and transcendence, transformation implies a change in the underlying patterns themselves, not just the material surface or episode. Transformation, therefore, implies not only conscious but also holistic change that influences all parts of the self. To research through the self as resource and be guided by a notion of knowing as understanding means opening oneself up to the possibility of change and attempting to work with it as transformation. In a next step, I want to distinguish energetic, modern and postmodern ontologies, epistemologies and ethics, using the previously established distinction between knowing and understanding as the basic premise. Modern and postmodern traditions have produced methodologies in the stricter sense of the word that have been and are being applied to peace research. Under the expanded view of research, I am proposing that energetic ways of knowing become relevant as well. They also provide a crucial source for the transrational methodologies I aim to elaborate subsequently. Since modern and postmodern methodologies are the standard fare of the established research canon, my treatment of them will be comparatively shorter than that of the energetic traditions.

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2.1.4

Energetic Methodologies

2.1.4.1 Energetic Ontologies Energetic interpretations of peace can be found on all continents and at all times. Dietrich traces them back to the rites of the Great Mother in various parts of the world and tentatively suggests a timespan that goes back until around 7000 BCE (Dietrich 2012, 21–22). Historically, this would make the energetic the oldest images of peace of which we know. Today energetic cosmovisions find their current expression in, for example, the teachings of Taoism, in variations of Buddhism, but also in many of the Shamanic traditions all across the world, from Siberia to the Americas. In an energetic understanding, the physical, material world and the universe are nothing but temporary, fleeting manifestations of an eternal, unchanging All-One or originary energy. All that exists is an expression of primal energy. All forms and shapes out of which this world is composed are suffused by this energy, from which nothing would be separate or stand apart. Even the godheads, gods and goddesses who sometimes are venerated in these traditions are but manifestations and visualizations of energy. Instead of a personalized creator god who is an acting agent and gives the laws for humans to follow, as it is known in the monotheistic traditions, one often finds the image of an impersonal energy that can take the form of diverse godheads and divinities (cf. Smith and Novak 2003, 53). This can, for example, be understood as cosmic breath in the Cantonese term for peace He Ping (cf. Kam-Por 2011), divine energy as in the old Aramaic Alaha (cf. Douglas-Klotz 1999) or sound as in the Hindu concept of Nada Brahma and the eternal Om, the unstruck chord (cf. Berendt 1991; Paul 2004). In the following I want to briefly highlight the above-mentioned examples of Taoism, Buddhism and Shamanism for their ontological basis.4 Taoism—The Great Triad, Yin Yang In Taoism, Tao is understood as energy that gives birth to “All That Exists” (Lin 2013, 27–28). The Taoist conceptualization of the Great Triad encompasses all of existence in its three aspects of human being, nature and cosmos. In it, peace is expressed through harmony, a balanced 4 For a more extensive rendering, I refer the reader to Wolfgang Dietrich’s in-depth description (Dietrich 2012, 16–64).

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relation between each of the points in the triad. As such, it never only or exclusively is an affair between human beings. Peace equally concerns the relations to earth, the very nature in which the human remains embedded as well as the relations to heaven, be that divinities, spirits or ancestors. As a middle being in between heaven and earth, the task of the human is to maintain the balance in the Great Triad. The teachings of the Tao—the Way—provide the clearest example for such an ontological oneness within the Great Triad (cf. Cooper 2010; Wong 1997; McGoey 2013). As it reads in the Book of Rites, one of the preeminent Taoist texts: “Heaven, Earth and Man are the basis of all creation. Heaven produces them, Earth nourishes them and Man completes them” (quoted in Cooper 2010, 67). In the phenomenal world, the spirit of heaven and the substance of earth are held together in the human body, in which both unite. In Taoism, to be human and to live peacefully means to be the auspicious “third,” to be the meeting place for heaven and earth and to refine and balance both qualities in oneself (cf. Cooper 2010, 67). As regards the Oneness of existence, probably nothing expresses this in a clearer and more illustrative fashion than the famous Yin Yang, the deep-cultural symbol for Taoism. The image itself on first glance is made up of two opposites—darkness (Yin) and light (Yang ). The teardrop shaped form in which they are usually paired already suggests movement—a dynamic balance. The black dot in the white and white dot in the black lead to the realization that this is not a dualistic or dialectic understanding that we are dealing with here. Much to the contrary, Yang contains Yin, and Yang always also is Yin. The contradiction between the two is only apparent. Philosophically this implies a nonduality that aims at the fruitful unification of seeming opposites. In the Taoist paradoxical logic, it thus not only holds true that “light is light, and darkness is darkness” but equally that “darkness is light and light darkness.” The Tao Te Ching that is accredited to the Taoist sage Lao Tzu poetically captures this perspective. Verse two of the Tao Te Ching in the translation by Jonathan Star reads: Life and Death are born together Difficult and easy Long and short High and low – All these exist together Sound and silence blend as one Before and after arrive as one.(Lao 2008, 3)

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Such an ontological basis has direct implications for living: the human being, for example, always contains all of existence in her/himself, including both the male and female potentialities, both heaven and earth. To be human means to not be either male or female. Rather than being, thinking, acting according to such an either/or, the accomplished human being thus realizes and embodies both aspects. That the Taoist Yin Yang symbol is rendered as a circle finally completes the image: all is contained within the circle, all is One. Each concrete form is a dynamic expression of the underlying unity, the pathless path of Tao. Buddhism—An¯atman, Shunyata The central tenets of the Buddha’s teaching5 are built on an insight into the fundamental nature of existence that derive from his own experiments and practice with meditation. Out of his own practice, the Buddha reaches the conclusion that all of existence is without an independent nature and is thus impermanent and transient. The human being is a bundle of sensations, thoughts and feelings without a stable ground. In a rejection of ¯ the Hindu understanding of self and cosmos (Atman/Brahman), the Buddhist doctrine of An¯ atman (an¯ ata, no-self) implies there is no self, soul, essence or the identity of an “I” that would remain self-same over time (cf. Smith and Novak 2003, 57–62). The human being is perceived as process, a flow of activities, without a stable core that would hold it all together. Thich Nhat Hanh, one of the foremost current proponents of an engaged form of Zen Buddhism, captures this reality of an¯ atman in form of a gatha, a small practice poem: There is only the breathing, there is only the walking. There is no breather, there is no walker.(Thich 2008, 7) 5 Just like the other energetic cosmovisions presented here, Buddhism also knows an untold variety of traditions and strands, which to even just comprehensively list would far surpass the total space of this book. Therefore, I will not engage in this type of listing and restrict myself to pointing out that I take the Four Noble Truths and the Eightfold Path that derive therefrom to be at the core of the Buddha’s teaching (cf. Dietrich 2012, 78– 84; Smith and Novak 2003; Trungpa 2002, 151–164). Furthermore, I am of the opinion that out of the main strands of Buddhism the Mah¯ay¯ana and especially the Vajray¯ana or tantric tradition fall within the energetic family of peaces and ontologies. The following rendering mainly refers to these two traditions, even if at times I also include the voices of some of the proponents of the current Therav¯ada like Jack Kornfield.

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Being is empty and dissolves into a flow of moment-to-moment becoming. Furthermore, all of existence is similarly devoid of a permanent self or stable nature that would remain the same from moment to moment (Needleman 2009, 27). The practice of meditation leads to insights into Shunyata—the ontological emptiness or void of existence. But this emptiness cannot be understood in the negative, for example, in modern-psychoanalytic terms as “lack” or “absence,” but rather is the productive void from which all manifestations arise and into which they return (All-One). The nothingness of Shunyata actually is a no-thingness (Perls 1992, 77) in which all forms are empty of an independent existence: Emptiness does not mean that things don’t exist, nor does ‘no self’ mean that we don’t exist. Emptiness refers to the underlying nonseparation of life and the fertile ground of energy that gives rise to all forms of life. Our world and sense of self is a play of patterns. (Kornfield 2002, 200)

The ontological emptiness of Shunyata therefore is one that leads to the mutually interdependent co-arising of all forms. In a non-dual understanding, all that exists is just as empty of an independent self as it is full of everything else. Looking deeply into the nature of things, one does not find their stable essence, but much rather everything, the entire cosmos (cf. Thich 2005, 51–53; 2006b).6 In an ontological sense, Buddhism denies the existence of an independent, individual self. It, however, still recognizes the appearance of an individual sense of self. Through the notion of skandhas , usually translated as conditioned states or aggregates (Loy 2003, 21–23; Thich 2006b, 44–45), Buddhism reckons with the fact that as human beings we nevertheless usually experience our existence as independent entities. This sense of self is made up of five different aspects that are translated as form (body), sensation, perception, mental 6 Thich Nhat Hanh portrays this understanding through a story taken from the Avatamsaka Sutra (Thich 2005, 52). He does so by pointing to a simple sheet of paper and explaining all the non-paper elements that it contains, from the trees in the forest to the sun that nourishes them, from the clouds that give the water for the trees, to the logger that cuts the forest and so on. He reaches the conclusion that the sheet of paper actually is empty of a separate self: “It has been made by all the non-self elements, non-paper elements, and if all these non-paper elements are taken out, it is truly empty, empty of an independent self. Empty, in this sense, means that the paper is full of everything, the entire cosmos. The presence of this tiny sheet of paper proves the presence of the whole cosmos” (Thich 2005, 52).

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formations and consciousness (Thich 2006b, 44–45). None of these are fundamental or stable, but a permanent play of patterns (cf. Macy 1991). Shamanism—Three Worlds, Medicine Wheel While the Taoist, Hindu and Buddhist ontologies discussed previously have their geographical origin in China and on the Indian subcontinent, Shamanism is not so easily localized as it is a worldwide phenomenon. In its origins, it has, for example, influenced the emergence of Taoism in China and still today there are Taoist strands that are Shamanic (cf. McGoey 2013), but Shamanism can equally be found in the Americas, Africa, Siberia, Central Asia or Australia. As such, Shamanic practices are variegated and diverse. Since the question of what/who can be considered a shaman is also subject to quite different interpretations, before approaching Shamanic ontologies, a short conceptualization is in order here. Mostly the term shaman is taken to have its root in the word šaman that is of either Siberian or Indian Sanskrit origin and stands for somebody who is excited, moved, raised, who practices austerities or is a sage (cf. Eliade 2004, 4; Walsh 2010, 13; Dietrich 2013, 47). Alternatively, the term might also derive from the Siberian Tungus’ verb for “to know” (Walsh 2010, 13). This latter interpretation provides at least an interesting perspective in the frame of my methodological purpose, relating the shaman to somebody who is habitually engaged in the activity of knowing. In academic literature, one of the older yet still widely quoted definitions is that by the Romanian scholar Mircea Eliade, who calls the shaman the “great master of ecstasy” and shamanism the “technique of ecstasy” (Eliade 2004, 4). For him, shamans are those members of a community who, through volitionally entering into ecstatic trance, can let their soul travel and ascend to the sky or descend to the earth (underworld). They have a special relationship with spirits, in the sense of being able to communicate and interact with them, usually without becoming dominated by them (possession). At the beginning of the shamanic journey, there often stands what Eliade calls the “religious crisis,” the hierophany or breaking in of the sacred into the future shaman’s life (Eliade 2004, 3–13). Crucial for Eliade’s definition are the elements of the volitional and skillful use of trance; the term “technique” is thus only consequent to describe shamanic practices.

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Michael Harner, one of the main proponents of a syncretistic strand that is called Neo- or Core Shamanism, builds on Eliade’s work and simply defines a shaman as a man or a woman who enters an altered state of consciousness – at will – to contact and utilize an ordinarily hidden reality in order to acquire knowledge, power and to help other persons. The shaman has at least one, and usually more, “spirits” in his service. (Harner 1990, 20)

Harner goes on to emphasize the importance of healing in shamanic practice and the role of the shaman as healer. He avoids Eliade’s notions of ecstasy and trance in favor of the more current psychological terms of “altered states of consciousness,” which is also prevalent in transpersonal literature (cf. Tart 2000), and coins his own term “Shamanic State of Consciousness” (SSC) for the particular alterations that Shamanism entails.7 It is important for Harner to distinguish that the SSC is not simply a reduction of consciousness or even a nonconscious state as the term “trance” might mistakenly imply. Rather, he sees the SSC as a valid cognitive condition in its own right (Harner 1990, 21, 40–56). The altered perspective during SSC allows access to different insights than those that can be gained during the ordinary state of consciousness. The two states of consciousness thus correspond to two different yet complementary forms of knowing. The aspects of altered states of consciousness, travels and spirits are comparatively less important for Wolfgang Dietrich, who focuses on the relational qualities of healing that shamans often take care of in their function as balancing agents within their respective communities. Dietrich approaches Shamanism through the lens of Peace Studies: Shamans are men or women, healers, teachers, narrators, singers, or poets who address the great themes of fertility and death as well as healing of

7 Largely in agreement, the transpersonal psychologist Roger Walsh (2010, 15–16) echoes Harner in his definition of Shamanism, yet is somewhat more cautious by not wanting to make any claim on what actually happens during Shamanic travels. Walsh restricts himself to pointing out how Shamans experience themselves during their practices, without himself either corroborating or denying their ontological assumptions. Walsh confirms Harner’s emphasis on altered states of consciousness and equally highlights the aspect of service to the community.

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illnesses and social relationships. People often tend to become shamans after so-called shamanic or spiritual crises (…). (Dietrich 2013, 46)

According to their function within their communities, shamans work as relational healers, with the task of identifying and helping transform imbalances or blockages so that individuals and community can once more live in harmony within themselves and with the whole. Dietrich here appears in agreement with Marie-Lu Lörler who sees shamanism as uniting the two etymologically related terms of “holy” and “healing,” understood as a “making whole” (Lörler 1998, 32). Shamanism proceeds from the assumption that human beings do not rule over nature, but always are part of and embedded into the larger whole. David Abram (1997), finally, emphasizes what might be called the ecological and sensuous aspects of Shamanism. Shamans to him are the intermediaries between the community and their surrounding nature, the translators and balancing agents between the human and the more than human natural world. Shamanic skill is that of close and keen observation and sensuous and enfleshed perception of nature, as if from the inside, in order to gain an altered perspective that allows an approximation to that Other with which humans live in conviviality. In his estimation, a Shaman is defined by: the ability to readily slip out of the perceptual boundaries that demarcate his or her particular culture (…) in order to make contact with, and learn from, the other powers in the land. (…) [The shaman] acts as an intermediary between the human community and the larger ecological field. (…) By his constant rituals, trances, ecstasies and “journeys,” he ensures that the relation between human society and the larger society of beings is balanced and reciprocal (…). (Abram 1997, 7–9)

After this conceptual elaboration on the shaman and her function and role in one’s own community it is now possible to approach Shamanism in its ontological assumptions, to embed shamans into the corresponding cosmovision. Shamanic ontologies usually perceive the human being as embedded in natural and cosmological cycles. The entire universe is alive and imbued with spirit and often related by kinship. All that exists is related; all that exists lives (Halifax 1982, 9, 11). Not only the animals and plants that surround us are alive, but also the rivers of the land, the

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mountains and hills, the rocks and winds, the meadows and forests, the air and sky, the very earth itself. As energetic cosmologies, shamanic understandings frequently provide examples for the Great Triad by ordering the cosmos into an “overworld” (sky, heaven or realm of the gods) and “underworld” (earth, realm of the dead or ancestors, souls, but also spirits of plants and animals). Between the two of them, the human world resides as middle world (Lörler 1998, 29–30; Halifax 1982). All three worlds frequently are held together by an axis mundi, a world axis (Walsh 2010, 125), for example, in the form of a world tree whose crown and branches symbolize heaven, the roots earth. Like in other energetic traditions this tripartite cosmos is not made up of sharply separated realms but forms one coherent and interrelated whole. The three worlds frequently are seen as reflections of each other, and actions in any one of them also profoundly affects the other two (Halifax 1982, 11). The North American Lakota ritual expression Mitakuye Oyasin (“for all my relations” but also “we are all related”) exemplifies this understanding (Hampson 2010, 19). Peace is the result of harmonious relations between the worlds; imbalances are perceived as peacelessness that is in need of rebalancing and healing. Such a shamanic cosmovision probably finds its best-known expression in the variations of the North- and Central American Medicine Wheels. This highly interesting device actually serves several purposes. It is at once a symbolic representation of an energetic ontology, while also being a practical tool for gaining knowledge (cf. Dietrich 2013, 50–53). In its symbolism, the Medicine Wheel actually is a circle, whose cardinal directions and sub-directions stand for the different aspects of existence in both its inner and outer qualities. They stand for the human, natural and cosmological cycles. Like the Taoist Yin Yang the Medicine Wheel’s circular form represents the oneness of existence that knows no beginning, no end and no outside. In this sense, the circle is the basis of creation (Storm 1997, 174) in which everything is contained, hosted and embedded; nothing stands apart or is separated. In their ontological bases, energetic cosmovisions assume an underlying oneness of all of existence. All manifestations in the physical world are impermanent and transient expressions of the (energetic) All-One. The ontological ground is non-dual and, usually, no transcendent (spiritual) sphere is recognized. Since all is one, the divine is also not of a different order or category. Energetic peaces are radically immanent. To approach research from an ontologically energetic perspective

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means to base oneself in one of the many, culturally diverse, cosmovisions that assume the underlying oneness, relationality or at times also correspondence of all of existence. 2.1.4.2 Energetic Epistemologies Epistemologically, this means that it is ontologically impossible for the knower or the one engaged in research to take an outside position in which the researcher stands apart from the researched. If the Buddhist An¯ atman implies that there is no self and if Shunyata, emptiness, is perceived as the ontological ground for all that is, then a separation between subject and object, knower and known cannot be upheld epistemologically. To know is to take part: While we are fully aware of and observing deeply an object, the boundary between the subject who observes and the object being observed gradually dissolves, and the subject and object become one. (…) Only when we penetrate an object and become one with it can we understand. It is not enough to stand outside and observe an object. (Thich 2006a, 10)

The process of knowing here implies dissolving the boundaries between knower and known. In a less strongly expressed form, a similar notion can be found in shamanic traditions and in Taoism. If the human being ontologically is defined by its being relationally embedded in the greater whole of existence, as is expressed in the variations of the Great Triad, then any form of knowing will also have to take account of this relationality of which it is an intrinsic part. To know, as taking part, means that there can be no knowledge independent of relationality. It is only through the relations and through their exploration that the human being can come to know. In Taoism, the seemingly inward turn towards noetic knowledge simultaneously places and connects the knower within the context of community and universe (cf. Culham and Lin 2016, 187). The Lakota confirmation Mitakuye Oyasin—we are all related—thus epistemologically is a statement on the conditions of knowing. Such knowing is empathic rather than distanced. Knowing is also “ecological” in every sense of the word. It emerges not internally within the researcher but through the larger context for which the researcher is just a focal point for a concrete expression. What may surprise the modern researcher in all of the above is that, in energetic traditions, to know does not mean to adopt the purposefully detached stance of

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the objective observer, but rather necessitates the opposite move: to take away what is perceived as an only artificial distance between knower and known. Knowing as taking part, therefore, quite literally means to become intimate with the known. 2.1.4.3 Energetic Ethics Energetic ethics of knowing derive out of the position of the knower and process of knowing as relational and empathic. To once more refer to the Lakota proverb of Mitakuye Oyasin in an exemplary manner, it not only contains the factual statement that all of existence is related, but also the affirmation that all the actions of the one who utters these words are intended to benefit these relations—all of existence. As such, it is also an ethical principle, a guideline for action. The activity of knowing is not separated from the rest of life and equally falls under its scope. The relations of kinship that shamanic traditions suppose the human being has with all of existence are also relations of responsibility and care. A researcher, therefore, does not just need to consider the effect her research has on human beings, but also on the land on which she treads, the animals on it, the wind that blows, stars that shine above, the heaven, ancestors, future generations and spirits. The basic premise of Taoist ethics is peace as harmony, to live in relational balance with all aspects of existence. The Taoist universe is a transient one, whose basic principle is flow and change. Balancing relations implies to work with this change, not against it. Taoist virtue, Te (cf. Cooper 2010, 12–18), encourages the practitioner to follow the energetic flow of the present moment. Te provides little in terms of norms, no fixed recipes for actions, moral dogmas or creeds. The central virtue, Wu Wei, describes the Taoist motion of letting-happen or effortless action (cf. Culham 2013, 44), which assumes that harmony arises when the human being disturbs the flow of the natural as little as possible (cf. Dietrich 2013, 49f.). Wu Wei does not imply passivity, but rather a minimalist intervention. Taoist ethics rigorously prepare the practitioner to react consistent with the given situation, in the moment and according to the Kairos revealed in the presenting phenomena. They sharpen the eye for the relationality of all that exists and the connectivity that holds even the most violently opposed social forces together (cf. Koppensteiner 2016). Taoist wisdom also sets constraints for the unbridled will to know and recommends moderation, joy and an attitude of facilitation (cf. Simpkins and Simpkins 1999, 77), rather than strong moral commandments

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The central Buddhist virtues of generosity (dan¯ a), non-violence (ahim a ) and compassion (karun¯ a ) (cf. Keown 2005, 20) also guide . s¯ the practitioners’ process of knowing. Compassion is the central ethical trait particularly in Mah¯ ay¯ ana Buddhism, yet it also finds its expression in the other Buddhist variations. Coming from a Tantric perspective, Chögyam Trungpa (2002, 91) describes it as “environmental generosity.” A generosity that simply radiates outwards and inwards is implied. Thus understood, karun¯ a turns into a quality of being that is no longer personalized or tied to expectations of reciprocity. Tantra, furthermore, adds an emphasis on skillfully using all of experience as means for transformation. Tantric practice arises out of a radically nondualist perspective that does not reject any parts of the world or of experience. It is interested in using all energies for a transformation of the whole person—body mind and spirit (cf. Vessantara 2008, 5–17). The corresponding ethical stance is particularly interesting for Peace Studies and for the current approach to research. It addresses the whole person and is strictly oriented on acceptance and transformation, instead of neutrality, moral judgment or resistance. It is pragmatic in its approach and sees the world in terms of energy. A researcher basing herself on such an approach will not shy away from the strongest emotions like passion, love, fear or hate. She will refrain from constructing enemy images and exclusive identities of “us” and “them” and will abstain from rejecting any part of experience or any part of the world. In addition, the difficult questions around tragedy, war and violence are seen from a perspective of transformation and not only from one of judgment or evaluation. Such a radically inclusive stance provides a lesson for both elicitive conflict transformation and a transrational peace research that emphasizes the self as resource. 2.1.5

Modern and Postmodern Methodologies

Most research carried out within Peace Studies follows either a modern or postmodern methodology. In the following, I briefly explain the ontological, epistemological and ethical assumptions of modern and postmodern research and shortly address the approach with regard to methods that follow from such assumptions.

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Modern8 methodologies, for example, positivism (Comte 1908)9 and postpositivsm (Kuhn 1970; Popper 2002), model their ontological understanding after the findings of Newtonian physics. They are premised on the fundamental reality of matter (atomism), the rational explicability of the world along laws of cause and effect, the existence of an objective, pre-given external world that can be described. The basic units of analysis—whether atoms, individual subjects, nation states, or societies—are supposed to be stable or at least coherent enough to be describable as separate entities that subsequently enter into relations with each other.10 Fritjof Capra has termed this ontology the “Newtonian World Machine” (cf. Capra 1988, 53–73). Wolfgang Dietrich describes it as the state of mind (perception of the world) that underlies a modern cosmovision (Dietrich 2012, 116–160). Anthropologically, modern methodologies are premised on the notion of the Cartesian subject (Descartes 2006, 2017). The subject as res cogitans is a thing (substance) that thinks and looks out on to all the other things in the world—the objects, res extensa (Capra 1988, 59–60). Descartes hoped to reach stability by splitting the mind from the world of objects and equating mind with subject.11 This first split between subject and world is enforced by a second, intrapersonal split that follows from it—between the body (which also is object) and mind (cf. Ellingson 2017, 5; Taylor 1989, 145). This gap between the subject and the world of objects allows conceiving the subject as a self-contained entity with clear

8 On modern cosmovisions and understandings of peace see Dietrich (2012, 65–115). 9 Auguste Comte is often credited as the founder of positivism. His text A General

View of Positivism quoted here in the English version from 1908 was first published in French in 1848. 10 Also beyond the realm of Peace Studies this modern ontological assumption can be observed in the sciences. An example would be the (rather arbitrary) focus on species and individual specimens as basic units of evolution that has prevailed for a long time in biology until it was challenged by systemic assumptions that focus on ecologies and relational contexts as jointly evolving (cf. Bateson 2000, 155, 456f.). In most modern legal traditions, the fiction of the “individual subject” as a stable entity to which rights and responsibilities can be attached is still predominant. Similarly, this applies to modern economics that posit the notion of markets where individual subjects make their rational choices. 11 The very term “subject” implies what is at stake: subiectum—the fundamental, the ground.

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borders and aligns it with a modern ontology. However, it also hermetically seals the subject in the mind, separates it from the body and the sensual world and locks it into existential loneliness. What results is an “utter separation of mind from a mechanistic universe of matter which is most empathically not a medium of thought or meaning, which is expressively dead” (Taylor 1989, 148). The anthropological assumptions of foundational figures for modern ontologies—for example Sigmund Freud or Thomas Hobbes—often are pessimistic, perceiving the human being as ruled by antisocial impulses, uncanny drives and violent desires. Sigmund Freud concisely summarizes this assumption: It seems more probable that every civilization must be built on coercion and instinctual renunciation (…) One has, I think, to reckon with the fact that there are present with all men destructive, and therefore anti-social and anti-cultural trends and that in a great number of people these are strong enough to determine their behavior in human society. (Freud 2010, loc. 98)

In an act of civilizing coercion, the human being thus needs to be normalized and made fit to live in society. For the sake of the common good, civilization often must act repressively (cf. Dietrich 2012, 132–134; Thurschwell 2009, 101–109).12 Epistemologically speaking, modern methodologies validate expert knowledge that is gathered through the neutral and unbiased observation of this pre-given and external world. Valid knowledge represents this world and can be confirmed or disproven against it. Data is derived from observation, consensually validated, and expressed via logically sound mathematical and linguistic formalisms (Anderson and Braud 1998, 5). From its ontologically universalist assumptions, it also follows that the world can, at least in principle, be known in its entirety. Objectivity is possible in a world of a clear subject-object separation (Brantmeier and Brantmeier 2016, 234). Seen from the perspective of the researcher, knowing is strictly an intellectual activity that is conducted along the

12 For the optimistic variation of modern anthropologies, see Dietrich (2012, 135–144).

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lines of reason. Hence, the purpose of research is knowing as explanation, which enables accurate predictions and eventually allows mastery or control over the phenomena known.13 The ethically correct stance of the researcher vis-à-vis the research object is thus one of objectivity, neutrality and distance; any bias would contaminate the research and is to be avoided (Anderson and Braud 1998, 5). Much effort is invested in devising methods that eliminate the human factor from research. A research topic in which the researcher takes too much of a personal interest is to be avoided as it might compromise neutrality. If the researcher’s biography or, even worse, feelings, intuitions or bodily sensations are allowed any influence, they lead to a contamination of the research. Who the researcher is must not matter for the research. A good researcher must be prepared to efface herself. “I,” the first person singular, is considered a dirty word that has no place in real research. Method choices consequently tend to favor quantitative research (cf. Kuhn 1970, 185) that is nomothetic (Anderson and Braud 1998, 13). Research often is framed in terms of hypotheses that ideally aim for general validity and can be disproven. Qualitative methods are considered auxiliary tools where proper quantification is not possible and are seen to have less scientific validity. A current example for modern research is the so-called evidence-based research movement. Gaining track during the first decade of the twentyfirst century, it aims for a restrictive understanding of research that would exclude most qualitative research altogether (cf. Denzin 2011, 2016; Feuer et al. 2002). As part of an increasingly global audit culture it seeks to develop standardized objective criteria of evaluation and fixed formats (Denzin 2011, 645, 654–655) that allow for an evaluation of (social) science across the board. Against a postmodern multiplicity of qualitative research, it upholds a version of research in the singular that can be measured against a unified “gold standard” (Denzin 2011, 653). In this undertaking, it takes its cue from quantitative understandings oriented on a pre-given empirical world that is obdurate and “talks back” to the researcher (Denzin and Lincoln 2011b, 10). Going together with quantitative performance indicators for staff at university to measure academic

13 This is an adapted version of the continuum model of description—explanation— prediction—control provided by William Braud (2011, 99–100).

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output—and hence professional merit and chances for tenure—it propagates a homogenizing and self-disciplining approach to research as well as a market-oriented logic of managerialism in university settings (cf. Spooner 2018). Postmodern14 research that is directly relevant for Peace Studies is often found under the names of postconventionalism, poststructuralism (Deleuze and Guattari 2005; Derrida 1978; Foucault 1980; Kristeva 1991), postcolonialism (Bhabha 1990; Spivak 1996; Ng˜ ug˜ı 1986; Said 1979), third wave feminism (Butler 1999; Haraway 1991; hooks 2015; Walker 2017) or in the closely related form of critical methodologies (Denzin et al. 2008; Sandoval 2000). Ontologically, it inverts the modern logic and assumes that existence is an irreducible plurality that cannot be subsumed in a common ground. In the final analysis, there is not one world but there are many worlds, whose ontological assumptions also differ and resist homogenization. Postmodern methodologies break the hermetic seal of the Cartesian subject. Their anthropological understanding is a decentered and anti-essentialist one that perceives the human being as constantly made and unmade through the changing situational contexts and constructed through the discourses that hail it into place (Hall 2000, 19). The Nietzschean (Nietzsche 1968, 268) battle cry that “there is no doer behind the deed” is taken here as the condition for anthropological freedom: if identity is a performance and nothing essential or stable, this means that who I am is equally neither fate nor necessity. Identity as performance means that it can be performed differently (Butler 1999). The very question of how a concrete human being is constituted or might be constituted differently becomes a relevant topic for postmodern research. Epistemologically, this also implies that what knowledge is and how it can be gathered cannot be conclusively described. Instead of aiming to establish a definitive canon of knowledge and complete rules for its gathering, postmodern epistemologies launch an open investigation into the conditions of possibility for knowledge, particularly to include hitherto marginalized, subjugated or silenced forms of knowing. All knowledge is situated, contextualized and hence partial (Haraway 1988); it is formed within power relations (cf. Foucault 2000); the modern epistemological aim for “true” or “universal” knowledge is contested (cf. 14 On postmodern cosmovisions and understandings of peace see Dietrich (2012, 161– 209).

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Koppensteiner 2011). Rather than prediction and control, the purpose of postmodern research is often critique and resistance that reduces (epistemological) violence and has an emancipatory effect. Postmodern epistemologies are built on doubt and skepticism, incredulity towards (modern) metanarratives (cf. Lyotard 1984, xxiv). Ethically, this implies that the modern stance of the neutral and objective observer is considered to be untenable. Since all positions are situated and contextualized, a neutral outside vantage point is not thinkable. Adopting such an imagined position of neutrality in practice means nothing else but hiding one’s own subtle biases and assumptions behind a mask of objectivity, thereby removing them from contestation and debate. From a postmodern perspective, the claim to objectivity also turns into an ethically problematic stance. Biases are unavoidable. The ethically correct form, vis-à-vis research subjects, is one of critical self-reflexivity that continuously encourages the researcher to re-interrogate her own scholarship (Ackerly et al. 2006, 5; Weber 2005). Postmodern method choices consequently privilege qualitative methods that are idiographic. Rather than forming general hypotheses, postmodern research tends to pose research questions that allow for research as concrete, localized and contextualized inquiry (cf. Cooper and Rice 2014). In recent years, energetic insights have also found their way into postmodern research via the attempts to establish Indigenous Research Methodologies (cf. Denzin et al. 2008; de Sousa Santos 2014; Kovach 2009; Wilson 2008; Smith 2008). Many of the key epistemological principles for Indigenous Research echo the energetic epistemologies rendered previously. Shawn Wilson (2008), for example, points to the centrality of embedded forms of knowing for indigenous research. These are not individualized (Wilson 2008, 38), but derive from the underlying assumption that all things are related and that knowing therefore equally is relational and holistic (Wilson 2008, 70; Kovach 2009, 58). The groundbreaking work of Linda Tuhiwai Smith (2008) explicitly links Indigenous Research to decolonization. Norman Denzin and Yvonna Lincoln, in turn, simply define Indigenous Research Methodologies as “research by and for indigenous peoples, using techniques and methods drawn from the traditions and knowledges of those people” (Denzin and Lincoln 2008, x). The postmodern call for locating one’s own research and scholarship achieves its concrete positionality by tying the indigenous research project to identity markers of indigeneity. Linda

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Tuhiwai Smith caustically remarks that, because of its history in colonialism, research probably is “one of the dirtiest words in the indigenous world’s vocabulary” (Smith 2008, 1). Yet, this stance also brings with it the question of reproducing exclusive identity markers that reinvigorate the very marginalization they try to fight. This is possibly best exemplified by the proposal by Boaventura de Sousa Santos (2014) who attempts to syncretize the different strands towards Epistemologies of the South. De Sousa Santos is guided by the postmodern insight that the ontologically pluralistic world cannot be subsumed under a common epistemological ground but needs different forms of knowing. He renders these as ecologies of knowledges (de Sousa Santos 2014, 188–211). Within the Epistemologies of the South, no single knowledge should be privileged in an absolute sense, but de Sousa Santos favors context-specific hierarchies that can be measured by the concrete outcomes intended and achieved (de Sousa Santos 2014, 205). “Intercultural translation” (de Sousa Santos 2014, 213–235) is the task of communicating between different forms of knowing. From an energetic position of relationality, cooperation would have been more logical than de Sousa Santos’ rather competitive frame, but this is at odds with de Sousa Santos’ further proposal. What should unite the epistemologies of the South is that they all commit to solidarity and cognitive justice as well as to resistance to hegemonic forms of knowing. With this, de Sousa Santos aligns his project with earlier critical and postmodern traditions of resistance (cf. Sandoval 2000; Nandy 1990). It is then only consequent that this solidarity is supposed to unite the oppressed and marginalized and is geared against the oppressing modern epistemologies. De Sousa Santos is clear about the fact that the form of solidarity he espouses requires enemies, a foe to fight against: “Without enemies there is no need for friends. If there are no friends, there is no purpose in exercising solidarity” (de Sousa Santos 2014, 160). Championing the principles of justice and solidarity, de Sousa Santos sacrifices the energetic insights that all things are related and, in the end, are equally contained in the All-One, in favor of the struggle against an enemy. Rather than an energetic holistic and non-dualistic cosmovision that aims at a relational cosmic balance, de Sousa Santos arrives at a secular, (post)structuralist and Marxist-inspired methodology of resistance.

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Much more promising to me seem to be recent feminist approaches (cf. Murphy 2018) that re-work core postmodern assumptions via the integration of energetic perspectives. Gloria Anzaldúa’s work brings together different writing styles and languages with a feminist-inspired critical stance, an affirmative re-telling and reworking of shamanic traditions and a sensually enfleshed and affirmative spirituality. Drawing on Central American Shamanism, Gloria Anzaldúa paves the way for a whole strand of feminism. She moves into the borderlands of expanded forms of knowing when she remarks that “spirit and mind, soul and body, are one, and together they perceive a reality greater than the vision experienced in the ordinary world” (Anzaldúa 2015, 24). It is by bringing them together that a different form of knowing—conocimimiento—can take place, which, to her, simultaneously is a form of healing from the many wounds that modernity has inflicted individually and collectively. The liminal, imaginal realm of nepantla that she renders as a continuation of her earlier work (Anzaldúa 1999) can equally be understood as the space in between postmodernity and transrationality. Coming out of a Ghanaian African American perspective, Cynthia Dillard also traces a careful shift from a resisting epistemological stance towards one that has healing as its central tenet (Dillard 2006, 2008). The shift is significant. While still recognizing the wounds and hurt that colonialism has caused and the subsequent need for resisting and “letting go” (Dillard 2008, 286), many of the vestiges of hegemonic thinking, Dillard places her healing methodology in the cultural soil of her African ancestry, carefully avoiding overt enemy images. Akin to Anzaldúa, Cynthia Dillard (2008, 287–289) also acknowledges the spiritual component as central to her healing methodology. She proposes five principles that carry this spirit. “Love” is the first one as the deepest way of understanding those with whom we engage in a research endeavor. “Embracing compassion,” the second principle, introduces the ethical core as the “intention and capacity to relieve and transform suffering through our research work.” “Seeking reciprocity,” the third principle for Dillard implies seeing “human beings as equal” and “removing the boundaries between ourselves and others.” With “ritual,” the fourth principle, we are approaching the spiritual proper. Ritual is understood as the intention and capacity to “transcend the boundaries of space and time and the practice of unifying the human and the divine.” The fifth and final principle, “gratitude,” reconfirms the other four. Gratitude means “being aware and present to the deep and abiding love of

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Spirit, whether called God, Goddess, Allah, Buddha or Divine Energy.” Seen from the research interest of my current text, what is remarkable is the emphasis that Dillard places on the attitude and way of being of the researcher. Rather than just describing tools to apply, she focuses on these underlying qualities that lead to action and research practice. Instead of only informing the reader, she aims to write in a manner that invites transformation (Dillard 2006, xv). Going in a similar direction is the proposal of a Native Science by Gregory Cajete (2000). Coming from a Native American perspective, Cajete suggests a combination of Native and (post)modern scientific perspectives. Integrating energetic ontological premises about relational balance and a peace out of harmony into his approach to research, he stipulates that the “maintenance of dynamic balance and harmony with all relationships to nature is the foundational paradigm for Native Science” (Cajete 2000, 73). In a combination of twentieth-century physics with Native wisdom, he suggests that all research is participation in an animate world, a world in which everything is alive and imbued with spirit (cf. Cajete 2000, 75). All parts of the world are related and thus nothing can be considered individually or in isolation. Experience is the basis for a knowing in which knower and known emerge together: “As we experience the world, so we are also experienced by the world” (Cajete 2000, 20). It is this direct experience, rather than the abstract standards of an exclusively intellectual cognition that forms the basis for knowing: As co-creators with nature, everything we do and experience has importance for the rest of the world. We cannot mis-experience, we can only mis-interpret what we experience. (Cajete 2000, 76)

This turns a holistic form of understanding into the epistemological basis for Native Science. For the systematization of this form of knowing he turns to the Medicine Wheel. Native Science is oriented on the balance between wholeness (North), participation (East), empathy (South) and responsibility (West). In yet another version of the principle of “as above, so below,” he brings together the outward and inward qualities of the researcher: courage, wisdom, sharing and generosity (outwards) as well as orientation on reality, experience, knowledge and insight (inwards) (Cajete 2000, 274). What this science is supposed to enable has a clearly defined purpose. It is neither resistance and critique, nor control and prediction. It is, rather, a deeply spiritual quest that holistically aims

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for “thinking the highest thought,” approaching the Great Mystery as knowledge of “the spirit that moves us” (Cajete 2000, 261–279).

2.2 A Transrational Peace Research Methodology 2.2.1

Transrational Ontologies

Passing through the modern and postmodern debate, transrationality recognizes that existence cannot be subsumed under a unified ontological ground. It, therefore, shares the postmodern ontological pluralism. For transrationality, this pluralism, however, means more than the simple acknowledgment and respect of difference. It is also more than the, albeit necessary, ongoing attempt to communicate between potentially incommensurable ontological frames. Transrationality actively re-engages mainly with the energetic cosmovisions that are not built upon (post)modern reason. Wolfgang Dietrich has described the ontological basis for energetic cosmovisions across different cultures (Dietrich 2012, 16–64). They frequently, even if not always, perceive existence as a temporary and fleeting manifestation of an all-encompassing ground, an impersonal divine energy. All that exists is equally an expression of this All-One. To exist means to partake; everything is hosted and included; nothing stands apart. Transrational ontologies are enriched by the energetic insights that perceive the human being as embedded and relational. Relationality here does not always restrict itself to relations between human beings. It can equally include relations to the surrounding Mitwelt or the Great Triad consisting of supernature, nature and society, as this would be called in Taoism (Cooper 2010, 67–78). Transrational ontologies include relatedness to the natural world and perceive spirituality and religion as expressions of a vital human need for connection to the larger whole (Koppensteiner 2018), which are integrated via transpersonal psychology or systemic approaches. Such ontologies, therefore, are no longer anthropocentric, yet they necessarily entail anthropological assumptions. They see the modern Freudian and Hobbesian anthropological pessimism and the postmodern critical perspectives as valid only in so far as they point to the shadow aspects, imbalances and propensities for pathologies that are also inherent to the human potential. It is a fact that the human condition enables us

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to commit acts of violence and atrocities of all kinds. However, from a transrational perspective it would be an inadmissible reduction to emphasize exclusively the negative and antisocial tendencies or turn those into the anthropological basis, as modern perspectives sometimes are prone to do. To the necessarily critical and differentiating postmodern view, transrationality adds the proposal of humanistic psychology and the human potential movement that rather assumes a positive drive towards selfactualization (Maslow 2011) inherent to all human beings. Carl Rogers calls this a “directional tendency” at the core of the human condition that is positively oriented toward wholeness, towards actualizing one’s own potential (Rogers 1995, 120). In the terminology of Sylvester Walch, this is simply and poignantly called “Inner Wisdom” (Walch 2011, 2018), the expression of the larger transpersonal whole that shines through the person. While also recognizing the potential for violence, this amounts to an inversion of the modern logic of taming and educating the human animal. Inverting the logic of Sigmund Freud, Abraham Maslow sums up this shift: Man is ultimately not molded or shaped into humanness, or taught to be human. The role of the environment is ultimately to permit him or help him actualize his own potentials, not its potentials. The environment does not give him potentialities or capacities, he has them in inchoate or embryonic form, just exactly as he has arms and legs. (Maslow 2011, 123)

Love, authenticity, selfhood, spontaneity, caring according to Maslow do not need to be trained into a person, they are her human birthright seeking to unfold. Violence occurs when this drive towards self-actualization is blocked and mutilated, when the unfolding self is forced into a pre-given mold. This anthropological shift has radical consequences. Rather than a need for correction, training, curbing or normalizing human impulses in order to supposedly make the person adequate for society, the approach here is one that aims to discover, encourage and foster human expression. The human condition, furthermore, cannot solely be understood by reference to the outer world and context, by the interpersonal aspects of material conditions, family system, community and society. The intrapersonal aspects that refer to the inner world—somatic, sexual, socioemotional, mental and spiritual aspects by themselves alone are equally

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insufficient. It is only in the coming together and contact between those intrapersonal and interpersonal aspects that the human being can be understood. The transrational approach here combines Gestalt Psychology and the Chakra blueprint of the energetic Yogic tradition for a transrational understanding. Transrationality thus perceives the human being as a permanently oscillating meeting point, a contact boundary at work that emerges in the resonance, correspondence and homeostatic balance between interpersonal and intrapersonal layers. It derives its energy from the larger ground of the transpersonal All-One that imbues it with a tendency towards self-actualization. Based on those ontological premises a transrational Peace Studies is one that, as Adam Curle so succinctly says, concerns itself with human unfolding and fulfillment and the impediments thereto (Curle 1987, 1). Following a similar line of thought, Cremin and Bevington (2017, 7) define the temporary state of dynamic balance between interpersonal and intrapersonal aspects simply as “wellbeing.” 2.2.2

Transrational Epistemologies

The transrational epistemological position initially follows the postmodern proposal of multiple forms of knowing and knowledges. Through this epistemological premise, postmodernism aims to facilitate the emergence of different, new or hitherto subjugated forms of knowing. From a transrational perspective, this might be called an epistemology of pluralism or differentiation. Its aim to expand the range of ways of knowing and of different knowledges is one that transrationality shares. To this moment of differentiation transrationality, however, adds that of integration. Integrating different knowledges and ways of knowing allows for a synoptic and systemic view. Besides seeing the difference, this view also seeks to perceive the overall shape (of the inquiry), the properties of the whole and larger symmetries. Transrationality understands the pursuit of knowledge as a permanently ongoing, open and dynamic process that balances between moments of differentiation and integration—or positive and negative feedback loops as this might be called in systems theory (cf. Macy 1991, 94–101). Knowing turns into a process of homeostatic movement between those two poles, defined by the nature of the inquiry and research question. This also helps to distinguish transrational approaches from related epistemologies. The pole of integration sets them apart from postmodern

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epistemologies that emphasize differentiation. Particularly, poststructuralist epistemologies of doubt and resistance remain wary of wholes and integrating movements. Transrationality embraces integration, but does not view it as an end in itself. Integration is just one part of the process of knowing. Sooner or later the pendulum of homeostatic movement invariably swings back. It returns to differentiation. A previously held synoptic view once more transforms in order to accommodate new forms of knowing and knowledges. It does not lead to higher knowledges or better forms of knowing as a conclusive outcome. Transrational epistemologies follow Gödel’s incompleteness theorem (Dietrich 2012, 261), which postulates that any sufficiently powerful formal system cannot be consistent and complete at the same time, but always balances between consistent incompleteness and incomplete consistence. A Theory of Everything as Ken Wilber (2001) proposes becomes epistemologically impossible; no final—complete and consistent—understanding of the world is humanely conceivable. A transrational epistemological position acknowledges that knowing necessarily has an intellectual component to it. Research implies the exertion of mind and reason. Mind and reason, however, cannot be separated from our embodied and embedded human condition in all its interpersonal, intrapersonal and transpersonal aspects. To know in a transrational manner therefore assumes a conception of knowing as understanding that takes the researcher’s full humanity as epistemologically relevant, not just her capacity for reasoning. The transpersonal researcher Jorge N. Ferrer classifies transpersonal knowing as participatory knowing (Ferrer 2002, 121–124). The qualities of transpersonal knowing that he mentions for this type of participatory knowing are also relevant for transrational epistemologies. Participatory knowing, says Ferrer, is a type of knowing that does not take place inside a Cartesian subject. Rather, it is an event in which the researcher, topic and world all take part. It is enactive and, I would argue, emergent as it does not aim at the mental representation of a pre-given world but is the “bringing forth of a world (…) co-created by the different elements involved in the participatory event” (Ferrer 2002, 123). Such knowing, therefore, always implies change for all parts involved and can be highly transformative (Ferrer 2002, 123). The bringing together of the different parts involved in the knowing, finally, implies that this is not “knowledge of something by someone,” but rather is presential , understood as emerging out of the joint presence of all elements participating

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(Ferrer 2002, 122). All of these qualities together point towards a relational type of knowing that, in a transrational sense, is equally relevant epistemologically as it is ethically. 2.2.3

Transrational Ethics

Following the above considerations, it is clear that the person of the researcher and her own perspective and approach need to be situated and contextualized for transrational research. To this postmodern premise, transrationality adds a keen emphasis on the aspect that knowing always is relational and participatory. This turns particularly relevant whenever others are directly involved in the research process. Jacob Levy Moreno coins the wonderful term of con-scientia, meaning “what people know together” (cf. Wilber 2001, 49; Dietrich 2013, 31). Research subjects then turn into research participants between whom knowing communally takes place and shape. Research becomes a relational activity that in an elicitive and process-oriented manner implies the aware integration of the in situ knowledge generated. This entails openness on the side of the researcher towards revisioning conceptual elaborations according to empirical data gathered. It also entails perceiving the researcher firstly as facilitator, whose task it is to hold an open space for the participants’ voices and insights to emerge, and secondly, the aware and respectful treatment of those voices in the elaboration of the research findings. Many of the ethical questions that arise are particular to the relation between researcher and participants, which changes throughout the research process. Trust is built or dwindles as the research progresses; an interview takes an unexpected turn; aspects of vulnerability, depth and exposure arise when working on questions of peace and conflict. Care and potentially after-care need to be ensured in order for a safe space to be maintained. While it is necessary to initially establish an agreement between researcher and participants at the outset of the research (informed consent), in this type of relational research, ethical principles cannot be established once and for all. They need to be continually revisited and adapted to the dynamic process (cf. Ellingson 2017, 47–48). The researcher takes responsibility for a careful and sensitive facilitation of ongoing, living relationships that, at times, also can stretch beyond participants to families and communities (Wertz et al. 2011, 399). In this, participants are never just means to an end. “Process consent,” therefore, is added to the initial informed consent. Process consent is

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the continuous checking in with participants during each stage of the research process to ensure their continued aware and willing participation (Adams et al. 2015, 57). What is required, however, in ethical terms is more than consent. It requires a set of skills and qualities that are distinct from the modern and postmodern approaches to peace research. Modern ethics are premised on the position of neutrality and incorruptible objectivity of the researcher as observer. Postmodern ethics ask for the ongoing, critical positioning and re-interrogation of one’s own scholarship and put research at the service of resistance and critique. Transrational research, in turn, necessitates a way of being or an “ethical attitude” (cf. Chase 2011, 424)15 that consists of self-reflexivity and selective authenticity as regards one’s own position, process and scholarship. I understand self-reflexivity here in distinction from the postmodern notion of a critical re-interrogation of one’s own scholarship. Transrational scholarship understands the necessity of (postmodern) moments of critique. However, rather than turning critique itself into a virtue, the limiting and debilitating aspects of a position that entrenches itself in (self-) critique are also understood. Marshall Rosenberg has masterfully worked out the negative consequences of what he calls the “wolf language” of criticism (Rosenberg 2005). In addition, in research, an overly critical attitude, either towards others or also towards self, is detrimental to a climate that enables knowing as understanding. It is likely to reproduce antagonisms and can turn self-debilitating for the researcher. A critical look at oneself, at one’s positionality and biases is a necessary component of a transrational research ethics, but cannot be its guiding principle. Instead, I propose (self)-reflexivity as the basic ethical premise for transrational peace research, together with selective authenticity. Christoph Weller (2017) argues similarly and suggests that the motivation for engaging in a self-reflective practice is particularly strong for a discipline that already has peace and conflict as its topics of investigation and that aims to combine scientific methodology with an orientation on practice. Self-reflexivity entails the conscious and sustained effort to be aware and understand who I am as researcher in a given context, who is 15 Ruthellen Josselson expresses this even stronger when she suggests that an ethical attitude is “not just ‘knowing the rules,’ but making ethics a part of you” (Josselson 2013, 13).

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with me and what our concrete relations are. Virginia Satir has simply termed this “congruence” as the awareness of self, other and context in a given moment (Satir et al. 1991, 65–84). Such awareness, together with understanding, makes self-reflexivity a good starting point for ethically considerate research. It becomes effective in the world through selective authenticity. Ruth Cohn’s notion of selective authenticity (2009, 125) is premised on reflected awareness and refers to the conscious decision on which parts of one’s own awareness are to be communicated. Not everything that one is aware of needs to be shared, but what is should be authentic. Applied to research selective authenticity means to maintain the necessary relational balance between honesty and confidentiality that is part of any research process. It means the disclosure of that information that is likely to benefit research participants, research environments and audiences or that keeps them from harm, while also maintaining the spirit and boundaries of confidentiality and, in some cases, anonymity. For a facilitation approach to research, Carl R. Rogers’ (1995) four person-centered principles are also key: empathy, congruence, acceptance and presence.16 The second part of this book engages in more depth with these aspects. Underlying it all is the basic attitude that seeks to foster unfolding and remove blockages, which I would simply summarize as a spirit of love. The paradox is that research is often considered purely as a doing, an activity. That is correct to some extent. What this activity is grounded in, however, is an ethical stance, a certain relational attitude and quality of being in the world. This is a demanding approach. There are topics at the core of Peace Studies that make such an approach of empathy, respect and love extremely difficult. It cannot be forgotten that the study of peace also includes the study of humanity’s individual and collective shadow sides—phenomena of violence, war, armed conflict, oppression, torture and abuse. To study those with empathy and respect means to open one’s being and dare look into the abyss, which always looks back into the one looking (Nietzsche 1989, 89).

16 Mostly Rogers mentions the first three as core principles, with presence often added as a closely related fourth concept. In literature, it is likened to “being completely in the moment” and “bringing one’s whole self into an encounter” (Mearns and Cooper 2016, 54; cf. Cissna and Anderson 2002, 80–81).

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Modernity tries to ward off those demons and to keep them at arm’s length by establishing a distance between researcher and topic. Transrationality, however, understands that the researcher is always implicated in her topic. Research reflects back onto us. Try as we might to negate that, the demon looking out of the abyss finds its resonance inside of us, just as the saint walking by on the street or the ideal we might admire also lives inside. The energetic principle of correspondence also applies here. My own, maybe radical, proposal is to make use of this implicatedness as a resource for a deeper understanding of ourselves, the topics that have chosen us and of the people we work with. Including the researcher into the research implies embracing the fact that she might undergo a transformation process herself. It entails perceiving this transformation not as an unfortunate or accidental sidetrack, but as an intrinsic and valuable part of the research that is to be cherished for its potential and approached systematically. The researcher thus adopts the same attitude of facilitation described above towards herself as well. This might sound easy, but in practice is a great challenge. Nowhere is the inner critic and judge more relentless than with oneself. In order to fruitfully work through one’s own blockages, shadows and difficulties, self-compassion is indispensable. Having a support network in place and a couple of trusted sources that can provide empathic resonance with regard to the personal aspects of research is highly recommended. With respect to the purpose of research, transrational methodologies differ from modern and postmodern ones. While modern research aims at prediction and control and postmodern research at critique and resistance, transrational research has understanding and transformation at its heart. This also implies that the distinction between researcher and practitioner (peace worker) cannot be strictly upheld. Michael Daniels (2005, 277–278) suggests the notion of researcher-practitioner for this type of research that also aims for personal and social transformation. Hugh Miall (2016, 8) simply suggests “pracademic.” Since the term facilitator has already been introduced to Peace Studies, I propose the term researcherfacilitator for our discipline. It seems to me that this term very well captures what transrational research entails in both the practical terms of skills and qualities as well as the underlying ethical assumptions about what we do as researchers, who ought to benefit from our work and what its potentials and challenges are.

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Transrational Methods

In line with the general definition of research provided above, transrational research can also be conceived of as the systematic and creative inquiry into a concrete topic in order to gain knowledge. The starting point for a (transrational) choice of method is the research question as it is in turn informed by and based on the author’s perspective. It is the research question that provides the engine that drives the inquiry and defines the scope, extent and limits of the research project. From the research question the “what” and implicitly also the “how” of the inquiry can be deduced. The research then unfolds in a process-oriented and often elicitive manner. The researcher at the beginning does not know where the research will lead her. Unknowing is the start of an inquiry and knowing—or believing to know—would belie the whole research at this point. Since researcher, topic and research participants are related, the research to some extent is also unknowable in advance. It only emerges through the very act of knowing. Any form and method for the research must therefore be both structured enough to allow for a systematic inquiry, but also flexible enough to not stifle the enactive and emergent quality of research and knowing. For the researcher herself engaging on such a journey means mustering the discipline for a sustained inquiry, but also accepting serendipity,17 abductive logic,18 intuition and transpersonal forms of knowing as potential venues for new understandings. Those in turn can lead to modifications in the direction of the research. All of this has consequences for how methods are conceived. Method choices derive from the research question: method serves question. How the concrete methods are designed follows from what is perceived necessary in order to explore the research question. However, 17 John Paul Lederach defines serendipity as “accidental sagacity” or, following

Theodore Remer a “gift for discovery by accident and sagacity while in the pursuit of something else” (Lederach 2005, 114). It implies an attitude that is also relevant for research, namely the willingness to complement the goal-oriented forward-looking vision with a “peripheral vision” that allows also to see those things that were not originally in the focus of one’s sight. It highlights the process-oriented nature of this type of research through the researcher’s willingness to “move with the flow of the unexpected” (Lederach 2005, 115). 18 Abductive logic defines a third type of logic that complements the inductive and deductive models in research. It happens when a researcher “observes a surprising event and then tries to determine what might have caused it” (Teddlie and Tashakkori 2011, 297) thereby introducing a new and hitherto unplanned venue into the research.

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transrational research of the kind envisioned here calls for flexibility and adaptability all throughout the research. Initial method choices therefore matter, yet are not set in stone. Furthermore, considering the transrational assumption about the holistic nature of peace, answering a concrete question may well necessitate a combination of different methods and approaches from the very outset. The nature and requirements of the inquiry then take precedence over adherence to the modern/postmodern distinction between quantitative and qualitative, but equally between deductive and inductive methods or emic and etic perspectives. The epistemological principle of integration/differentiation and the ongoing feedback loops allow combining different methods within the same inquiry and provide flexibility throughout the research process.19 This opens the door for innovative method choices beyond the methodological divides that still separate much modern and postmodern research even within the same discipline. Yet it also asks the researcher for carefully considered and responsible choices, because Gödel’s incompleteness theorem is still relevant here: the broader and more varied the method choices, the more a research can lean towards a complete and holistic understanding. However, since different methods might well also have distinct ontological and epistemological assumptions, the emergence of inconsistencies between the methods and findings is then to be expected. Single-method approaches have the advantage of being more consistent within themselves, yet thereby are often less comprehensive. Designing methods for a transrational inquiry necessitates a careful balance between the integrative aspects that make sure that the inquiry does not become too inconsistent through too many different methods and the differentiating aspects that ensure that it is not too incomplete by leaving important aspects unconsidered through a narrow and strict method choice. 2.2.5

Transrational Peace Studies as Transdisciplinary

Peace Studies is the discipline that concerns itself with the academic investigation of peace and the aspects related to it, like conflict, transformation, violence, security, and development, among others. Transrational Peace Studies understands that peace always addresses the whole person, who 19 Qualitative research knows this as a Mixed Methods approach (cf. Teddlie and Tashakkori 2011).

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in turn can never be separated from her context. For understanding peace, intrapersonal aspects are just as important as interpersonal and transpersonal ones. Researching peace in such a manner thus calls for a methodology that goes beyond the confines of a single discipline. Adam Curle defined Peace Studies as the synthesis of anthropology, psychology and development theory (Woodhouse 2010).20 Particularly a transrational approach needs a methodology that not only combines different disciplines in interdisciplinary or multidisciplinary manner, but also allows for their simultaneous differentiation and integration. What is required is a methodology for Peace Studies that allows for an integrated and shifting perspective following the necessities and demands of the inquiry, rather than disciplinary boundaries. As a transrational researcher, I seek to elicitively follow the topic in the complex and subtle ways it reveals itself in correspondence with and resonance to my own unfolding understanding. This implies staying close to the presenting phenomena and following the often felt and nuanced changes and shifts in both details and overall shape of the research—of which I am a part. The anchor that grounds the research then is formed by the personal perspective, research interest and research question, rather than disciplinary boundaries. Disciplinary boundaries impose a limit that impedes a deeper understanding and often truncates both the research process and the potential insights gained. I therefore propose approaching this kind of transrational research that takes the researcher as resource from a transdisciplinary perspective. Jean Piaget first introduced the term transdisciplinary in the particular connotation intended here. I use it following Basarab Nicolescu’s (2008, 2010) approach that, unlike Piaget’s, is explicitly non-hierarchical. Understood in this way, transdisciplinarity possesses a double meaning. In distinction to interdisciplinarity and multidisciplinarity, transdisciplinarity implies an approach that moves across, through and beyond the stable boundaries

20 It might equally be argued that, for example, political science, sociology, economics, cultural studies, history all are relevant for the study of peace. But peace equally cannot be dissociated from its embodied, biological substratum, its ecological context or the religious and spiritual context that is so crucially important for billions of people across the globe. Hence, medicine or the study of healing traditions, biology, religious studies and contemplative inquiries can equally not be excluded. And the argument can be extended almost indefinitely from there.

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of disciplines.21 Martin Leiner and Susan Flämig (2012, 13) deepen this understanding by rendering transdisciplinarity as a process of “continuous cooperation” across disciplines. Towards this purpose, they define a fourfold orientation for peace research practice. This stance consists of the (1) willingness to learn from different disciplines, (2) the ongoing endeavor to gain competence in different disciplinary approaches, the (3) capacity to reformulate one’s own approach in view of this competence and (4) the formulation of a unified text that is more than just an aggregation of the findings of different disciplines (Leiner and Flämig 2012, 13). It thereby becomes clear that transdisciplinarity requires and simultaneously also fosters a more comprehensive view than a disciplinary approach. Based on these assumptions, the resulting methodological approach is one that is well suited to dynamically balance between differentiation of disciplinary lenses and their integration. The second use that Nicolescu gives the term is the understanding that transdisciplinarity implies that “knowledge is neither exterior [to the human being ] nor interior; it is simultaneously exterior and interior” (Nicolescu 2010, 27). This captures the crux of what the current book tries to investigate. Transdisciplinarity understood in this manner does away with the clear separation between (researching) “subject” and (researched) “object.” It establishes in its stead a relationship of correspondence and mutual transformation, for which the faculties of the researcher and her means of expression are just as relevant for the concrete knowledge garnered as the research topic/participant. Transdisciplinarity is about connection (Johnston 2008, 255) and allows for an approach that seems to be uniquely suited to integrate the interpersonal, intrapersonal and transpersonal aspects of research.

21 Following the established terminology as for example rendered in Nicolescu (2008, 2–3) and Ferrer (2017, 122), I suggest that disciplinary approaches seek new insights from within the confines of a single discipline. Multidisciplinary approaches aim for a comparative view by approaching a topic from multiple disciplinary perspectives. Interdisciplinary approaches transfer the principles of one or several disciplines to another one. Transdisciplinary approaches, by contrast, are those approaches that apply “any relevant perspective across disciplines” and are “inquiry driven” and “problem-centered” (Ferrer 2017, 122).

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Oberprantacher, Andreas. 2018. ‘Inter-Actions That Matter: An Arendtian Approach to Elicitive Conflict Transformation.’ In Transrational Resonances: Echoes to the Many Peaces, edited by Josefina Echavarría Alvarez, Daniela Ingruber, and Norbert Koppensteiner, 135–150. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. OECD. 2012. Frascati Manual 2002: Proposed Standard Practice for Surveys on Research and Experimental Studies Development, OECD Publishing. http:// www.oecd-ilibrary.org/science-and-technology/frascati-manual-2002_9789 264199040-en. Oelrich, Lise Inger. 2015. The New Story: Storytelling as a Path to Peace. Padstow: Troubador Publishing. Online Etymology Dictionary. 2017a. Explain. Accessed September 13. http:// etymonline.com/index.php?allowed_in_frame=0&search=explain. Online Etymology Dictionary. 2017b. Facilitate. Accessed October 18. http:// www.etymonline.com/word/facilitate. Online Etymology Dictionary. 2017c. Comprehend. Accessed September 13. http://etymonline.com/index.php?allowed_in_frame=0&search=compre hend. Paul, Russill. 2004. The Yoga of Sound: Tapping the Hidden Power of Music and Chant. Novato: New World Library. Perls, Frederick S. 1992. Gestalt Therapy Verbatim. Gouldsboro: The Gestalt Journal Press. Popper, Karl. 2002. The Logic of Scientific Discovery. London: Routledge. Rogers, Carl R. 1995. On Becoming a Person: A Therapist’s View of Psychotherapy. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company. Rome, David I. 2014. Your Body Knows the Answer: Using Your Felt Sense to Solve Problems, Effect Change & Liberate Creativity. Boston: Shambhala. Rosenberg, Marshall. 2005. Nonviolent Communication: A Language of Life. Encinitas: Puddle Dancer Press. Said, Edward W. 1979. Orientalism. New York. Vintage Books. Sandoval, Chela. 2000. Methodology of the Oppressed. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Satir, Virginia, John Banmen, Jane Gerber, and Maria Gomori. 1991. The Satir Model: Family Therapy and Beyond. Palo Alto: Science and Behavior Books. Simpkins, C. Alexander and Annellen Simpkins. 1999. Simple Taoism. A Guide to Living in Balance. North Clarendon: Tuttle Publishing. Smith, Huston, and Philip Novak. 2003. Buddhism: A Concise Introduction. New York: HarperCollins. Smith, Tuhiwai Linda. 2008. Decolonizing Methodologies: Research and Indigenous Peoples. London: Zed Books.

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Spivak, Gayatri Chakravorti. 1996. ‘Subaltern Studies: Deconstructing Historiography.’ In The Spivak Reader: Selected Works of Gayatri Chakravorti Spivak, edited by Donna Landry and Gerald Maclean, 203–236. London: Routledge. Spooner, Mark. 2018. ‘Qualitative Research and Global Audit Culture: The Politics of Productivity, Accountability and Possibility.’ In The Sage Handbook of Qualitative Research, edited by Norman K. Denzin and Yvonna S. Lincoln, 5th ed., 894–914. London: Sage. Storm, Hyemeyohsts. 1997. Lightningbolt. Die Weisheit der Medizinräder. Geschichte einer Einweihung. München: Hugendubel. Tart, Charles T. 2000. States of Consciousness. Lincoln: Backinprint.com. Taylor, Charles. 1989. Sources of the Self: The Making of Modern Identity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Teddlie, Charles, and Abbas Tashakkori. 2011. ‘Mixed Methods Research: Contemporary Issues in an Emerging Field.’ In The Sage Handbook of Qualitative Research, edited by Norman K. Denzin and Yvonna S. Lincoln, 4th ed., 285–300. London: Sage. Thich, Nhat Hanh. 2005. Being Peace. Berkeley: Parallax Press. Thich, Nhat Hanh. 2006a. Transformation and Healing: Sutra on the Four Establishments of Mindfulness. Berkeley: Parallax Press. Thich, Nhat Hanh. 2006b. True Love: A Practice for Awakening the Heart. Boston: Shambhala. Thich, Nhat Hanh. 2008. Breathe, You Are Alive! Sutra on the Full Awareness of Breathing. Berkeley: Parallax Press. Thurschwell, Pamela. 2009. Sigmund Freud. London: Routledge. Trungpa, Chögyam. 2002. Cutting Through Spiritual Materialism. Boston: Shambala. van Manen, Max. 2014. Phenomenology of Practice: Meaning-Giving Methods in Phenomenological Research and Writing. Walnut Creek: Left Coast Press. Vessantara. 2008. A Guide to the Deities of the Tantra. Cambridge: Windhorse Publications. Walch, Sylvester. 2011. Vom Ego zum Selbst. Grundlinien eines spirituellen Menschenbildes. Munich: O.W. Barth. Walch, Sylvester. 2018. ‘Self-Exploration Through Holotropic Breathwork.’ In Transrational Resonances: Echoes to the Many Peaces, edited by Josefina Echavarría Alvarez, Daniela Ingruber, and Norbert Koppensteiner, 235–262. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Walker, Rebecca. 2017. ‘Becoming the Third Wave.’ Ms. Magazine. Accessed September 14. http://www.msmagazine.com/spring2002/Becomi ngThirdWaveRebeccaWalker.pdf. Walsh, Roger. 2010. The World of Shamanism: New Views on Ancient Traditions. Woodbury: Llewellyn Publications.

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Weber, Cynthia. 2005. International Relations Theory: A Critical Introduction. London: Routledge. Weller, Christoph. 2017. ‘Friedensforschung als reflexive Wissenschaft. Lothar Brock zum Geburtstag.’ S&F Sicherheit und Frieden 35 (4): 174–178. Wertz, Frederick J., Kathy Charmaz, Linda M. McMullen, Ruthellen Josselson, Rosemarie Anderson, and Emalinda McSpadden. 2011. Five Ways of Doing Qualitative Analysis: Phenomenological Psychology, Grounded Theory, Discourse Analysis, Narrative Research and Intuitive Inquiry. New York: The Guilford Press. Wilber, Ken. 2001. A Theory of Everything: An Integral Vision for Business, Politics, Science and Spirituality. Boston: Shambhala. Wilson, Shawn. 2008. Research Is Ceremony: Indigenous Research Methods. Halifax: Fernwood Publishing. Wong, Eva. 1997. Teachings of the Tao. Boston: Shambhala. Woodhouse, Tom. 2010. ‘Adam Curle: Radical Peacemaker and Pioneer of Peace Studies.’ Journal of Conflictology 1 (1): 1–8. https://doi.org/10.7238/joc. v1i1.999.

CHAPTER 3

The Self and Its Modes of Knowing

The integration of the researcher into the research process along the lines drawn above entails an epistemological shift away from modern cognicentrism. It takes on and deepens the insight stipulated for qualitative research that “the researcher is the instrument” (Hofvander Trulsson and Burnard 2016, 115). Knowing is no longer just an intellectual endeavor, not just cognition. Knowing integrates the larger connotation of understanding that involves the whole person. Such knowing is experiential and includes all the means through which we are humanly capable of perceiving. The personal and human qualities of the researcher, her whole self, become resources for the research process. Towards this purpose it first of all is necessary to understand what this “self” is and the distinct features it possesses. Furthermore, it requires a systematization of these different forms of knowing (understanding) that become available through the prism of the researcher’s human qualities. In the following chapter, I want to engage these two questions.

3.1

Sources of the Self

For my understanding of the self, I commence from the ontological and anthropological discussion that has been rendered above for transrational peace research methodologies. There, I largely followed the proposal that has been worked out at the Unit for Peace and Conflict Studies © The Author(s) 2020 N. Koppensteiner, Transrational Peace Research and Elicitive Facilitation, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-46067-9_3

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in Innsbruck, which in turn draws upon humanistic and transpersonal psychology, system theory and different strands of Eastern philosophies, particularly Tantra, Taoism, Zen and the Yogic Chakra philosophy. The concept of the self plays a crucial role in the psychology of CG Jung (1978, 1990) and the subsequent development of transpersonal psychology (cf. Daniels 2005). For Jung, the self is a multifaceted archetypical image. It stands for the totality of the human psyche in both its conscious and unconscious aspects (cf. Bernstein 2005, 15). It, therefore, has both a personal and, via the collective unconscious, a transpersonal side to it. The self is not only personal but stretches beyond our individual, biographically determined conditioning. The full realization of the self, the complete union between the unconscious and the conscious aspects is the purpose of all individuation (cf. Daniels 2005, 182). This collective aspect also distinguishes individuation from individualism (Jung 1999, 173). Becoming whole, after CG Jung, means nothing else but the full realization of the self. It is only consequent that Jung at times simply calls individuation self-realization (Jacobi 1973, 127; Jung 1999, 173). However, for Jung this remains a theoretical goal that can never be fully attained. Since the contents of the unconscious can never fully be brought to light, the self can also only be partially known and remains, to some extent, enigmatic: As an empirical concept, the self designates the whole range of the psychic phenomena in man. It expresses the unity of the personality as a whole. But in so far as the total personality, on account of its unconscious component, can be only in part conscious, the concept of the self is, in part, only potentially empirical and is to that extent a postulate. In other words, it encompasses both the experiencable and the inexperiencable (or the not yet experienced). (Jung 1990, 460)

While it can never be fully known, the self can be felt by the human being. It is experienced as an inner guiding principle, an influence inside of us that “seeks union and balance within the psyche” (Daniels 2005, 182) and functions akin to the Inner Wisdom that Sylvester Walch describes or Carl Rogers’ directional tendency.

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(The Self) is strange to us, and yet so near, wholly ourselves and yet unknowable, a virtual center of mysterious constitution. (…) The beginnings of our whole psychic life seem to be inextricably rooted in this point, and all our highest and ultimate purposes seem to be striving towards it. (Jung 1999, 237–238)

Sylvester Walch (2018) concretizes the two different aspects further by pointing out that the personal side of the self is nothing else but the sumtotal of all self-representations, everything that a human being perceives as belonging to itself. Through its activities of integration, the personal self provides the stability that allows a person to recognize herself as the same throughout time. At its core, its innermost part, however, this personal self opens up to a force that surpasses the person and provides a connection to the Larger Whole or All-One as it is known from energetic traditions. CG Jung has called this the “God within us” (Jung 1999, 238; cf. Loomis 1991, 18). In this transpersonal self, the personal self is both hosted and sublated (Walch 2018, 248). Distilling the above discussion, it can be said that the Jungian self is first the totality of the psyche and, as such, has a personal and a transpersonal aspect. Secondly, it has a certain teleological quality to it; it is the mysterious goal of all individuation (cf. Singer 1994, 137). This second aspect is highlighted and emphasized by the third aspect. The self actively seeks realization in the human being and manifests as inner guidance and organizing principle aiming for balance. While Jung gives the self an essential(ized) quality, with this last aspect it also becomes possible to understand it in systemic terms, as the homeostatic quality of any open system. With Sylvester Walch, we follow the assumption that the self manifests as a guiding principle—Inner Wisdom—interested in our positive unfolding. It remains the lasting merit of CG Jung to have freed the understanding of the human condition from the individualized and mechanistic concepts they often acquire in Freudian depth psychology or Behaviorism. With Jung’s notion of the self, the door is wide open for transpersonal psychology and also for ecological renderings of the self. However, from the perspective of the twenty-first century, it needs to be pointed out that the Jungian concept of the self also remains partial. It remains an essentialist concept and does not have a place for or deeper understanding of the influence our embodied physical condition has on the psyche.

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Particularly in light of the recent findings of neuroscience and consciousness research (cf. Bauer 2005; Damasio 2006; Johnson 2008; Lakoff and Johnson 1999), no account of the self can be considered complete that leaves the body quite disregarded. In light of this, I find the fivefold rendering of the self that Gabrielle Roth provides particularly helpful. Wolfgang Dietrich has pointed out the influence of the Five Rhythms movement practice developed by Roth for elicitive conflict work (Dietrich 2013, 113–114). I have practiced the Five Rhythms for many years myself and have used aspects of it for both my embodied facilitation and in the classroom. What is more, I have found the conceptual tools that Roth provides immensely useful for understanding personal, group-dynamic (interpersonal) and transpersonal processes. Gabrielle Roth has never called herself a scientist or a researcher. She was a dancer, theatre director, facilitator and, in her own words, an urban shaman. Her writings also teach in shamanic forms—through story and anecdote. A deep understanding of the human condition in both its potential for unfolding and its deepest shadows carries them. Holding her writing and her teaching together is an intricate and elaborate conceptual system—Maps to Ecstasy (Roth 1998a) as she lovingly calls them. The map of the self is one of them. I take from her writing the basic idea of a fivefold self that is made up of the interplay between body, mind, heart, soul and spirit that will be developed further in the second part of this chapter. This form of rendering the self is not new.1 A similar version of the self can, for example, also be found in Frances Vaughan (2000, 9–24). In contrast to Roth, however, Vaughan follows Ken Wilber’s hierarchical lead and integrates the different aspects of the self in the form of concentric circles. Each circle integrates and transcends the previous one. What Roth calls “soul” Vaughan terms the “existential” circle. In Vaughan this leads to an ascending unfolding of the self from the physical (body) to the emotional (heart) to the mental (mind) to the existential (soul) and finally spiritual (spirit) (cf. Vaughan 2000, 22).

1 Gabrielle Roth does not state from where she herself derived this particular fivefold. The conceptual similarities would suggest a root in Gestalt psychology and the Chakra blueprint. Even if this remains speculative it is supported by the fact that Roth mentions the influence of Fritz Perls in her books.

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The difference is an important one. Instead of an open system of differentiation and integration as has been stipulated for transrational epistemologies, Frances Vaughan and Ken Wilber suggest integration and transcendence. The postmodern moment of ongoing differentiation is thus lost. Instead of seeing the different aspects of the self—body, mind, heart, soul and spirit as mutually influencing each other through feedback loops, Frances Vaughan posits a unidirectional teleology from the lower body to the higher spirit. As regards the question of how the self can know itself and its world, Carl Gustav Jung adds an important insight. After Jung the human being in principle has four different functions available to perceive and make meaning: sensing, feeling, thinking and intuiting. In his own words: Under sensation I include all perceptions by means of the sense organs; by thinking I mean the function of intellectual cognition and the forming of logical conclusions; feeling is a function of subjective valuation; intuition I take as perception by way of the unconscious, or perception of unconscious contents. (Jung 1990, 518)

Jung stipulates that during the early years of childhood and adolescence a proclivity for one of them usually develops. For example, we might have an inclination for understanding our world through our thinking, or predominantly follow the sensual impressions that we receive through the body or see it through the emotional world of our feelings.2 Jung calls this the superior function. Opposite the superior function is the inferior one, which is often fully unconscious. Adjacent to the superior one is the auxiliary function that we use to buffer and support the dominant one. In the grey zone between conscious and unconscious finally lies a tertiary function, waiting to be discovered (cf. Jacobi 1973, 10–18). Individuation, the process of realizing the self also implies increasingly discovering and making use of the other three functions that to varying degrees, lie dormant and unconscious. The relatively undifferentiated functions that are still unconscious, fused with one another or in disorder thereby are transformed—differentiated from each other and 2 I digress from the Jungian rendering here. The function of feeling, for example, for Jung is not related to perceiving and interpreting the world through the tonalities of joy, anger, sadness, etc. For him, feeling is related to judgment along the lines of likes and dislikes—agreeable or disagreeable, but also good or bad (cf. Jung 1964, 49). More on this distinction follows.

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integrated into a dynamic whole (cf. Jung 1990, 424; Metzner 2010, 30). Jorge N. Ferrer seems to be thinking in a similar direction when he calls for a type of knowing that (…) refers to a multidimensional access to reality that includes not only the intellectual knowing of the mind, but also the empathic knowing of the heart, the sensual and somatic knowing of the body, the visionary and intuitive knowing of the soul, as well as any other way of knowing available to human beings. (Ferrer 2002, 121)

Ferrer does not elaborate further with regard to the roots or consequences of his proposal. Drawing upon the above considerations and based on the insights of Carl Gustav Jung and Gabrielle Roth, I want to propose a fivefold conceptualization of the self and its corresponding modes of knowing: 1. Somatic knowing through the body—sensing ; 2. Empathic and affective knowing through the heart—feeling; 3. Intellectual knowing through the mind—thinking; 4. Intuitive knowing through the soul—intuiting ; 5. Transpersonal knowing through spirit—witnessing . I understand this systematization as open rather than concluded or exhaustive. The above systematic combines the fivefold of the self— body, heart, mind, soul, spirit—with the Jungian four functions of sensing, feeling, thinking and intuiting (Jung 1964). To the latter, I add witnessing as a fifth function. Witnessing has no correspondence in Jungian terminology and I take it to be the function that matches transpersonal knowing through spirit.

3.2 3.2.1

Modes of Knowing Knowing Through Body: Sensing

The body provides the first home for our existence. Long before the thinking mind makes its appearance on the scene of the unfolding self, and even longer before intuition and witnessing can lead us into transpersonal realms, our body, our very physicality already shapes our human condition. The body’s means of perceiving the world making sense of

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those perceptions and its means of expression provide the first grammar we learn—even if at times our upbringing does not nourish us to learn it very well. When it comes to knowing, we often are academically trained in a manner that makes us believe that our bodies are not important for our ability to know (cf. LaMothe 2015, 70). Yet our self is embodied. In the language of the Five Rhythms, Flowing is the first rhythm, the rhythm of the body. Learning its language is the basic practice for any dancer—and is a means of self-exploration. “Follow the body like a map into a deeper sense of self” (Roth 1998a, 17) points out. In times when it is more common to wear one’s body like a garment or at best ornament—“feed it, clothe it, send it to Harvard” (Roth 1998a, 30)—this is an insight bearing significant practical and experiential relevance. Deepening our awareness of the body deepens our self-awareness. As a corollary, when our body becomes distant or problematic to us, it is an important part of our self that becomes estranged, imbalanced or partially blocked. Wanting to understand how it is possible to know through our bodies, it is crucial to also recognize and explore this aspect. I want to do so a little further down. It is commonplace that as human beings we are born with bodies. Those bodies, however, are not closed, encapsulated units. While it is true that a body always has a concrete and discernible shape that allows me to recognize myself in the mirror, system theory also teaches that living systems are open systems (von Bertalanffy 1969). They are not just in constant contact and exchange with their environment, but are also embedded in it and cannot be extracted from it. Air passes through our lungs and becomes part of our internal system, providing our blood with oxygen. When does the breath I inhale cease to be environment and become a part of me? At which point exactly is the breath I exhale no longer mine? “Breath,” says Gabrielle Roth, “is a promiscuous lover. The breath you just took was in someone else moments ago, and when you let go, it’ll move on and become part of someone else” (Roth 1998b, 30). The seemingly definite boundaries of our skin equally take in the surrounding air and exude sweat. The skin is rather a contact boundary than a limit. Our electromagnetic field stretches into the surroundings. In sexual contact, we become intimate, our bodies entwine. Body and world, in the final instance, are not separate entities, but, rather are interweaving sensual parts of a common flesh, following Merleau-Ponty’s imagery (cf. Carman 2008, 79). The technical language of systems theory describes

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how through a continuous process of homeostatic balance via feedback loops an open system maintains its overall shape and form, while renewing its component parts through an exchange with its milieu (cf. Macy 1991, 72–74). “A living body,” Eugene Gendlin points out, directly “knows its environment by being it” (Gendlin, quoted in Todres 2007, 20–21). When it comes to knowing, the somatic3 knowing of the body is explained by the findings of consciousness research (Lakoff and Johnson 1999) that assumes that all of our experiencing is mediated through the body. Unlike what Descartes assumed, there is no thinking mind that would somehow be free from its enfleshed physicality. Much to the contrary, Peter Levine suggests that it seems that in the process of cognition the bodily, physiological reaction actually precedes the conscious awareness of thought and decision making in the mind (cf. Levine 2010, 313–321). The neurons in our brain signaling a conscious decision to act only fire after the corresponding neurons that prepare the action in the body have already been activated. Our body decides to act before our mind does. Unlike what is assumed in the Cartesian cogito, thinking here emerges out of its embodied ground. To perceive the world also through the body implies adding a different form of attunement than the one that is championed by exclusively focusing on the mind. The activity (function) that corresponds to somatic understanding is sensing. Deviating slightly from Jung’s definition, I call sensing the embodied experiencing of the current moment (Dychtwald 1986; Marrone 1990; cf. Keogh and Davis 2017). Rosemarie Anderson (2011b, 24) and Laura L. Ellingson (2017, 14) identify the five commonly known senses of hearing, seeing, touching, tasting, smelling and additionally add the kinesthetic sense of motion, proprioceptive sense of orientation in space, vestibular sense of balance and the visceral sense arising from the sense receptors of inner organs, bones and body tissue. To approach a certain topic or aspect of research through the body is to get to know it via the subtle sensed shifts of its nuanced aspects as they are perceived through and reflected in our very enfleshed physicality (cf. Pink 2015). As Celeste Snowber (2005, 216) points out, “knowledge is

3 The term somatics has been introduced to a larger audience by Thomas Hanna. The

term derives from Greek and implies the study of the soma, that is the human body as it is perceived from within, namely through a first-person perspective and through the senses (Hanna 1995, 341; cf. Hartley 2004). Hanna distinguishes between the third-person view of a “body” and the first-person proprioceptive view of the soma. This largely corresponds to the German distinction between Körper and Leib as it is used also by Edmund Husserl.

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released through every sinew and gesture, posture and glance.” In this manner, “all the parts of our body can become a space of inquiry and wisdom” (Snowber 2016, 35). This implies paying close attention to the body’s signals. A seemingly paradoxical situation arises: As we deepen our understanding of our bodies, we become more aware of our self. This is a very personal and intimate process. At the same time, we learn about the world. The road inside and the road outside once more are in correspondence. Just as in dancing one can have the sense of flowing balance or imbalance, in research, there can also be an embodied sense of dynamic balance in one’s own inquiry, or one of imbalance in need of adjustment.4 What is more, embodied knowing opens up registers of reality that can only be known in this manner. The mind has no access to them because part of the body’s experiencing cannot be signified in language. Being embedded in and part of the world, the body always perceives more than words can portray (cf. Gendlin 1997). Bringing this “more” into language automatically implies a transformation, an alteration. What is “languaged“ is no longer the experience and knowing of the body. Yet, as Eugene Gendlin points out, this is not a loss because in combining body (sensing) and mind (thinking) our overall understanding is deepened. It is carried forward: There is no way to say “all” of it, no sentence that will be simply equal, no sentence which will simply “represent” what is sensed. But what can happen is better than a perfect copy. One strand emerges from the bodily sense, and then another and another. What needs to be said expands! What we say doesn’t represent the bodily sense. It carries the body forward. (Gendlin 2004)

Embodied inquiries and embodied research (cf. Todres 2007; Miller 2016) make use of these insights and assume that working through the human body allows accessing a non-linguistic register of experiencing that in a subsequent step can be languaged and brought into the realm of the discursively expressible (cf. Todres 2007). As two parts of our self, body and mind are not separated units, but engaged in constant feedback loops. In languaging, the body’s sensed signals are combined with the thinking

4 Cf. Judi Marshall (2016, 71) who uses the image of Tai Chi practice instead of dancing to convey this point about the embodied sensation in research.

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mind (cf. Ellingson 2017, 20). They are thereby opened up and carried further through cognitive insights. “Embodying language” means that in the reverse part of the feedback loop our thought patterns also directly shape and influence our body. The mental images we have of a given situation influence our body-chemistry, our posture, our muscle tension. Just thinking about a frightful image or experience has a corresponding effect in our body. The breath might shorten, the muscles tense slightly, the stomach clench a little. Also the more long-standing habits and thought patterns trickle down into our body and become chronic muscular armoring, changed posture, reduced or expanded range of motion. At the limit point, psychological trauma can freeze entire regions of the body. Our mental language becomes embodied, experiences are stored in the body—and the body remembers (cf. Bauer 2012; Rothschild 2000). All of this is important, for the somatic sensing through the body never takes place on an empty slate. Embodied knowing occurs based on the current condition of the body and based on what it already knows. Through bodily carrying forward a question, our understanding of it deepens. This very often feels like “thinking at the edge” as Eugene Gendlin says. It means approaching a deeper understanding that exceeds the mental patterns of forms, concepts definitions, categories and rules (cf. Johnson 2008, 80). The nature of this venture is not determined by rationality alone. It implies trust in the non-rational, non-linear processes of our embodied constitution. It requires a lot of what has been mentioned previously: the capacity to remain on what must be the edge of our very possibilities to think, the point where our mind reaches the end of its tether—and to remain there in the emptiness, listening and sensing into the embodied inner/outer space, without the irritable reaching after fact and reason. 3.2.2

Knowing Through Heart: Feeling

As a physical organ the heart is vitally important for maintaining life. Yet recent findings in neuroscience also show that the heart is more than just the organ that mechanically pumps blood through the veins, but is also intrinsically connected to our overall well-being or distress in their mental and emotional aspects (Childre et al. 2016). What is more, as a symbol and metaphor, the heart is of great importance for many of the world’s cultures and spiritual traditions. Dating back in time as far as the

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Gilgamesh Epos and later ancient Egypt, the symbol of the heart has played a central role for humans understanding their inner world and its relation to the interpersonal and transpersonal (cf. Hoystad 2007; Kemp 2012, 81–113). The heart is vitally important in the Sufism of Islam and its mystical revelation of the divine that is grounded in experiential practice. The Sufi tradition is not so much interested in the physical function of the heart, but gives it a symbolic meaning, which is rooted in direct experience. The twelfth-century mystic and poet Ibn ‘Arabi emphasizes the heart (qalb) as a locus for understanding one’s own feelings and, spiritually, for encountering the divine. This type of understanding through the heart is bolstered by embodied practice through music, song and dance in the Mewlew¯ı order founded after Rumi (Hoystad 2007, 82–94). Via the Iberian Peninsula and its Islamic heritage this understanding also enters Europe in the form of the sophia tradition that explicitly understands knowledge as mediated through the heart (cf. Hoystad 2007, 90). The European notion of the heart of the Middle Ages is also influenced by Sufi insights, yet undergoes significant changes in meaning. In the chivalrous system of the Troubadours spreading from Occitaine in Southern France, the metaphor of the heart is integrated into a moral code of conduct that links passion and suffering, forming the basis for the romantic ideal of love (cf. Hoystad 2007, 111–114). Rather than a source of insight and understanding, as in the Sufi tradition, the heart and feelings are perceived as irrational aberrations pulling people as if against their will. Only a little later, from the sixteenth century onwards, does the heart also appear in Christian symbolism such as the Sacred Heart of Jesus or the Immaculate Heart of Mary (Kemp 2012, 99–100). The shift of metaphor towards modern understandings occurs with the anatomical studies of William Harvey in the seventeenth century who understands the heart in mechanical terms and likens it to a pump (Hoystad 2007, 169–170). Feelings, finally, have a bad reputation in modernity, particularly when it comes to research. For modern approaches, they are an anathema to good research, at best purged entirely or, at the minimum, hidden and locked away so that they do not sully and besmirch the work. In life outside of academia, following one’s feelings always smacks of being “emotional,” hence not being reasonable enough to see things properly through our faculty of thinking. People who follow feelings, stereotypically females, are not strong thinkers—are soft in the head. Not even Carl

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Gustav Jung dares to go there. He posits feeling as one of the four functions for perceiving the world and understanding it. Against the dominant modern trend, it is his remarkable insight to realize that not just thinking but also all of the four functions are valid and legitimate ways of understanding the world. And then, at the crucial juncture, he makes a turn by taking the sentiment out of feeling and defining it as a subjective judgment or opinion that, while irrational, still makes it closer to a mental process (cf. Jung 1964, 49; Loomis 1991). Transrational research work of the kind envisioned here asks for a radical inversion: not merely to acknowledge feelings but, what is more, to see them as a valid function, a concrete manner of perceiving the world and legitimate way of knowing. First, it is essential to understand our affective world and feelings as an intrinsic part of our self. In the language of the Five Rhythms, feelings are symbolically associated with the heart (Roth 1998a, 55–83), which is also considered to be the symbol for intimacy and relational openness. These aspects are relevant for knowing through the heart. Belying the above understanding of being soft in the head, in the Five Rhythms, feelings are connected with the rhythm of staccato, which is also the rhythm of clarity, order and structure. Gabrielle Roth defines the five basic feeling states of fear, anger, sadness, joy and compassion (1998a, 60). I take this list as indicative rather than exclusive.5 Paralleling the definition of sensing, I understand feeling as experiencing the affective quality of the current moment. Via the aspect of presentiality (experiencing the current moment), I distinguish the process of feeling from emotions. Emotions are the felt tonalities that are not related to the present moment, but come from the activation of a mental pattern. An image, memory or fantasy is underpinned with a felt tonality or triggers such. Remembering a long lost relative, actualizing his face in my mind, I become sad. The sadness then is an emotion. The process of feeling relates to the present moment and perceiving its affective quality, while emotions relate us to mental patterns that derive from the past or are geared towards the future. As such, emotions are shaped by the “accumulated experiences of our personal history” (Brach 2003, 166). Approaching feelings is first of all a work of self-discovery. Getting in contact, differentiating and integrating the world of feelings is an 5 For an alternative rendering compare for example the well-known systematization on basic emotions by Paul Ekman (1999).

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ongoing process. As the practice deepens, one becomes more familiar with one’s own felt tonalities and their nuanced and subtle differences. Marshall Rosenberg (2005, 37–48; cf. Goleman 1996) has pointed to the importance of a feelings-literacy for peace and conflict work. Congruent communication relies on being able to accurately perceive the flow of one’s own feelings and the ability to communicate them authentically. That you cannot heal what you cannot feel equally is a common proverb in many therapeutic and spiritual traditions (cf. Judith 2004, 150). Recent research on consciousness shows that the process of knowing is also never free from feelings. Antonio Damasio (2006) convincingly renders how feelings always play a role in human reason. He demonstrates how in cases of neurological injury that inhibit the capacity to feel but not the one to reason, the capacity to make decisions is also radically impaired. Without feelings, it seems, we make decisions that often are to the damage and disadvantage of the decision maker and her surroundings (Damasio 2006, 53–79, 165–201). This flies in the face of modern assumptions. The modern premise of the superiority of pure reason and the thinking mind supposes the more reasonable a decision, the better it would be. The opposite seems to be the case. Damasio stipulates that “feelings may not be intruders in the bastion of reason at all: they may be enmeshed in its networks, for worse and better” (Damasio 2006, xxii). He concludes that feelings are just as important to the process of knowing as reasoned thinking. They equally are a part of any decision-making process. It is also through feeling that we get to know our world.6 Knowing via relational feeling could also be called empathy. The English term empathy was originally coined at the beginning of the twentieth century by Vernon Lee; it later on came to be used as a translation for the German Einfühlung or “feeling into” (Heron 2010, 23). The English term finds its roots in the Greek empatheia, which carries the same meaning of feeling (Goleman 1996, 112). Carl Rogers (1995a, 142) defines empathy as the process of entering the private perceptual world of another person and temporarily understanding the other’s life as

6 Robert Romanyshyn (2007, 287) calls this process “cardiognosis” as knowing through

feeling. This understanding is an echo of energetic traditions. In the Yogic Chakra philosophy An¯ ahata—the fourth chakra or Heart Chakra—is both the seat of feelings and the seat of knowing. The same goes for the Chinese term xin (Hart 2014, 37; Miller 2016, 134), which can equally be translated to mean both mind and heart. All of these renderings relate feeling and heart to knowing.

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if from the inside without making judgments (without one’s own thought processes interfering), while being sensitive to the changing felt meanings that flow in the other and particularly also perceiving those meanings of which the other might scarcely be aware. Empathy, in other words, implies being open to a deep relational encounter. Following the path-breaking insights of the research team around Giacomo Rizzolatti (Rizzolatti and Sinigaglia 2006), neuropsychology today can provide the physiological basis for empathy. Mirror neurons allow a relational feeling of what flows in the “other.” These special types of neurons are activated not when we act ourselves, but when we perceive others (cf. Bauer 2005). The activity perceived is mirrored by the neurons in the brain, allowing a felt perception as if we were acting ourselves. This provides an intrapersonal physiological basis and confirmation for Rogers’ interpersonal explanation of empathy. Also in terms of our heart and feelings we human beings are not closed and encapsulated entities, but open systems in intrinsic and intimate contact with our surroundings. Feelings do not exclusively happen inside of us but the process of feeling brings together intrapersonal and interpersonal aspects. The neuropsychologist Joachim Bauer goes even further: Die Aufdeckung der neurobiologischen Aspekte des Spiegelungsgeschehens bestätigt, was zuvor bereits aus philosophischer Sicht erkannt worden war: Im Antlitz des anderen Menschen begegnet uns unser eigenes Menschsein. Erst nachdem wir uns gegenseitig als Menschen erkennen und anerkennen, werden wir zum Mitmenschen, und erst dadurch erleben wir uns als Menschen. (Bauer 2005, 115)7

Bauer confirms Buber’s (2010, 11) philosophical insight that all real living is meeting. He corroborates the physiological basis for the qualities of the heart: feeling, empathy, intimacy and ultimately love. Mirror neurons form the neuronal frame for a supra-individual, intuitively accessible shared room of understanding (Bauer 2005, 106). Affective and empathic knowing make use of such premises that corroborate the notion that the human being is a contact boundary at 7 “The discovery of the neurobiological aspects of the mirroring activities confirms what had already previously been recognized from a philosophical perspective: In the countenance of another human we encounter our own humanity. It is only after we perceive and recognize each other as human that we become fellow beings, and only through that do we experience ourselves as human.” Translated by the author.

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work with interpersonal, intrapersonal and transpersonal aspects. Knowing through the heart works from the assumption that the basic human condition is connectedness. It deploys this quality for the research process. Already, Bauer confirms that our natural proclivity for empathy also makes the human being predisposed towards love. If a researcher follows this venue of researching through the heart, this implies that the heart first of all needs to be open. However, it also means, as Ruth Behar has pointed out, accepting the likelihood that in the course of the research the researcher’s heart also might be broken a couple of times. Researching through the heart is risky, open and vulnerable. However, it also allows for a different understanding of that heartbreak. On the one hand, there is the type of breaking that leaves shattered pieces. On the other hand, there is also the image of the heart “breaking open into new capacity” (Palmer 2008, 178). Empathic knowing through the heart could be defined as the intimate (open, vulnerable) relational feeling of self, research participants and topic as if from the inside. Approaches to research like deep empathy (Hart 2000a) work with the feeling quality of openness towards the research topic and participants. They assume that the researcher, research topic and research participants cannot be separated and use this connection for a felt form of understanding. Refined further, it means not pretending to see the world objectively or exclusively from a vantage point different than one’s own, but from multiple perspectives at the same time (Hart 2000a, 261). Knowing emerges in the sense of con-scientia between the knower and the known. Its requirement is risking openness and embracing research as a real encounter, a contact of knower and known that leaves neither side untouched and untransformed. This seems to be particularly relevant for a discipline that concerns itself with peace and the transformation of conflicts. A most poignant example for empathy in research is the one of Nobel Prize Laureate Barbara McClintock (cf. Hart 2014, 40) who maintained that her research on maize chromosomes was guided by a process of empathy—knowing through feeling and being empathic with the plants she studied, understanding them as if from the inside.8 This example highlights how empathic knowing is not just a process between humans. 8 Clark Moustakas’ (1990) method of “Heuristic Research” goes even further. He suggests full identification with the focus of inquiry (Moustakas 1990, 15) in order to attain an inverted perspective that does not just look from the outside-in.

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It echoes the energetic epistemologies of Shamanic traditions and also Buddhism discussed earlier. Shamanic knowing emerges from the relational, affective and embedded perception of the human being; the human being that in many ways is part and parcel of the land, wind, air and water, plants and animals that it inhabits. In Shamanic traditions all that lives is imbued with spirit. David Abram famously calls this the “animate earth” in a more-than-human world. When we learn how to listen, that animate earth speaks not only to researcher or practitioner, but it speaks through her: “It is the animate earth that speaks, human speech is but a part of that vaster discourse” (Abram 1997, 178). To humanely know this discourse, the researcher must look to different faculties than those of the mind. The earth does not speak the language of reason. To understand its meaning, we must firstly feel and sense, rather than think. In a particularly compelling and poetic passage Abram points out: Whenever I quiet the persistent chatter of words within my head, I find this silent or wordless dance always already going on – this improvised duet between my animal body and the fluid, breathing landscape that it inhabits. (Abram 1997, 53)

In the ongoing feedback loops between the embodied and somatic knowing through sensing and the affective and emotional knowing of the heart, a type of understanding emerges that can then be transformed by languaging it. What emerges is a complex dance of knowing, the ongoing process of differentiating and integrating what is felt, sensed and thought—through body, heart and mind. Eugene Gendlin’s (2007) practice of “Focusing” provides a wonderful tool that allows practicing this triad. Gendlin focuses on the “felt sense”— the coming together of embodied sensing and feeling. In a simple six-step practice, he shows how to become aware of what it is that we feel and sense and how this can be languaged by transforming it through the mind, leading to a process of knowing that includes body and heart. The practice begins with the first movement, which he calls clearing an inner space. Clearing an inner space, the practitioner simply quiets down in order to listen. Out of this inner openness the second movement emerges: contacting the felt sense inside. The felt sense is the overall shape of what is there. It is how we feel and what we sense in total about a given concrete situation or problem, without getting stuck in the details. Experience shows that this overall sense is both conceptually

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vague and at the same time highly specific as an experience. The third movement he calls “finding a handle,” means finding an initial word or image for this felt sense. The fourth and crucial movement of resonating felt sense and handle consists of a back and forth between the two, until there is the feeling of a fit. During this process both handle and also the felt sense change. Thinking mind and feeling/sensing mutually lead each other forward. This conscious process is transformation. The fifth step involves asking a question about the felt sense. This is where we are approaching the realm of new understandings in the more immediate sense of the word. The final and sixth movement is simply called “receiving,” which entails an open and attentive listening for an answer (Gendlin 2007, 58–80). Author and researcher John Welwood, one of Eugene Gendlin’s former students, describes how the overall felt sense of what he wants to say leads him onwards in his own research and writing. This process unfolds as a back and forth between articulating meaning and listening to the overall felt sense: In writing this chapter, for instance, I started with a diffuse felt sense of what I wanted to say, which I have to keep referring back to along the way. I can’t know exactly what I want to say except by letting it unfold word by word, sentence by sentence. Each sentence leads to the next, which in turn builds on what has previously unfolded. At the end of this chapter I should have discovered the full range of my intent (although there is always more). (Welwood 2002, 93)

Focusing has received popularity worldwide. This seemingly simple and incongruous practice is carried by an approach to knowing as understanding that makes it an extremely useful tool for a research practice that aims to work with the body, heart and mind. Les Todres’ Embodied Enquiry (Todres 2007) takes up this strand. It combines Gendlin’s Focusing with insights from phenomenology and transpersonal psychology and leads the way into a comprehensive practice that addresses research, facilitation and spirituality. 3.2.3

Knowing Through Mind: Thinking

The intellectual and cognitive knowing of the mind—thinking—is the standard fare of all modern and postmodern methodologies. However, the role of the thinking mind changes once it is no longer perceived in

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Cartesian fashion as the fundamental ground (subiectum), the stable entity from which everything else proceeds. First of all, our subjectivity and selfhood are no longer exclusively grounded in it. As we have seen previously, CG Jung simply defined thinking as the “function of intellectual cognition and the forming of logical conclusions” (Jung 1990, 518). Mind, the way it is understood here, is much rather an ongoing process of transforming information in intricate interrelation with other embodied and felt processes. The terms can be a bit misleading. Mind, heart and body are all nouns, which the English language posits as stabilities. The rendering of sensing body, feeling heart, thinking mind, intuiting soul and witnessing of spirit is therefore prone to a misconception. However, similar to the body and heart, the mind also does not actually describe a closed entity or individual substance but a process. Also, the mind is understood as a pattern, not an essence. Everything else is a “grammatical custom” that adds a doer to every deed (Nietzsche 1968, 268). In Gabrielle Roth’s Five Rhythms, the mind is associated with the third rhythm, which is called Chaos. That Chaos and the mind go hand in hand might appear surprising at first glance. On closer inspection the connections become apparent. Roth traces the etymology of Chaos back to its Greek origin and translates it as empty space and abyss (Roth 1998b, 114). She understands this emptiness, however, not in negative terms as absence or lack—the gaping maw of nothingness. Her reading of chaos and emptiness is rather an affirmative one. Picking up on energetic insights, she recognizes this emptiness as a positive space that is loaded with potential, a space in which transformation and integration can take place. Chaos is the rhythm in which the different energies of flowing (body, sensing) and staccato (heart, feeling) are brought together and transformed through consciousness. This corresponds to both the understanding of transformation and also the function of the mind as transformation through languaging that I have already discussed previously. Chaos, just like the mind, is transforming. Thinking, in this sense, is understood as the conscious reflection on experience. Yet in light of the above discussion, a second quality of thinking should not be overlooked: Thinking also is experience. To think, says Gilles Deleuze the philosopher of nomadism, is to voyage (Deleuze and Guattari 2005, 482; cf. Koppensteiner 2009, 2011). The movement of thought spells change, alteration and a crucial step towards transformation. Understood transrationally, knowing through thinking combines these aspects and is thus enactive.

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Elizabeth Adams St. Pierre turns itinerant thought into a research method that is operationalized through writing as method (Richardson and Adams St. Pierre 2005). She calls this research work “nomadic inquiry” that traces the transformative journey of thought through writing. Taking writing as thinking, as analysis and as a “tangled method of discovery,” she uses writing to track the thoughts that only happen in the writing (Richardson and Adams St. Pierre 2005, 967, 970). From a poststructuralist epistemology, she understands thinking through writing in a Foucauldian manner as producing difference: freeing thought from what it silently thinks in order to think differently (cf. Foucault 1990, 9). In this manner, the experiential notion of thinking is highlighted and enacted. A crucial difference to (post)modern approaches consists of the fact that thinking, understood transrationally, is no longer separated from sensing and feeling. Thinking also does not—and neurophysiologically cannot—transcend feeling or sensing but all three are connected through constant feedback loops. Recent consciousness research shows that the modern belief in the superiority and purity of reason is an erroneous assumption (Bauer 2005; Damasio 2006). The mind’s central importance for research is by no means denied, yet is balanced by integrating also the other factors that make up a person. The process of knowing here is one that dynamically balances between understanding the personal sources of knowing—the body, heart, mind—and the knowledges gained through them by recognizing their difference and their simultaneous integration into a coherent whole. The metaphoric name for that balancing function is soul. 3.2.4

Knowing Through Soul: Intuiting

The term “soul” is one that is as powerful as it is complex and loaded. In moral traditions, it denotes the core of being, the divine spark that lives inside of us, that will endure after death to migrate into another life or await final judgment. Soul then is a religious concept. James Hillman’s (1997) archetypical psychology invigorates the term by giving it a more secular slant. He picks up on the old Platonic idea that each human being is born with a concrete and definite imprint. At birth, we are not a blank slate, but already imprinted by a potential form that is concrete, unique and awaits manifestation. Hillman’s Acorn Theory posits the soul as this seed that contains each human being’s unique shape in latent form. Just

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like the acorn determines the oak, the soul, as seed of the person, is the form and mold that she, ideally, strives to fulfill. Even if the surrounding soil and nourishment still play a role, the acorn/soul prescribes what the human being can grow into throughout her life. It is the defining image that we are born with and that strives towards manifestation. While it has our best interest at heart, it also does “not tolerate too much straying” (Hillman 1997, 11–12). To me, this reading seems equally essentialist as the religious and moral understanding of the soul, and probably even more deterministic. I do not follow this understanding.9 For a different understanding of soul that is in line with a transrational way of knowing, Gabrielle Roth once more shows the road. Soul, in her shamanic dancing path, is seen in conjunction with Lyrical, the fourth rhythm. Lyrical is what happens once fixed and stable identities have been dissolved. Lyrical means the celebration of the human condition as an ever-shifting play of patterns. Having passed through Flowing, Staccato and Chaos, Lyrical is the uplifting moment of joy that comes from realizing the world as an ongoing process of differentiation and integration. Following Gabrielle Roth, soul is nothing else but the intrinsically dynamic quality that integrates the different patterns into ever-new forms. In his insightful rendering of the soul, Joseph Grange equally posits soul as an activity, rather than a substance, an activity that involves the creative integration of always changing forms of togetherness. Soul, Grange points out, is an “organic process” whose “reality resides in its power to integrate the various dimensions of human existence” (Grange 2011, 6). Following these leads, I define soul as the integrative aspect that balances the body, heart and mind (cf. Lawrence 2012). It is the meaningful whole or Gestalt-quality of the person. Fritz Perls defines a Gestalt as “a pattern, a configuration, the particular form of organization of the individual parts that go into its make up” (Perls 1973, 5). As such, soul indeed is process, rather than stability or fixity. A different, equally accurate description would be the systemic properties of the personal self, or

9 Compare the earlier discussion on the tendency towards self-actualization in humanistic

and transpersonal psychology, for example, Carl Rogers’ directional tendency and Sylvester Walch’s Inner Wisdom. In contrast to the Acorn Theory, all of the above are nonessentialist and process-oriented. They postulate a positive drive towards self-actualization or dynamic balancing function, but do not prescribe a specific content and goal of either individual or collective human development.

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just the personal self in the sense of Sylvester Walch, as it has already been discussed above. I use the two terms personal self and soul interchangeably. The term “personal self” might be easier for readers for whom the term soul cannot be dissociated from its moral origins. I clearly do so. The reasons why I choose to maintain the term soul as well are twofold: for one its poetic quality. This is more than just a question of ornament. Aesthetics, poetry, metaphor, image, a different way of perceiving and expressing very much correspond to the soul’s way of knowing, as we shall see shortly. Lederach (2005, 74) also recommends “watching metaphor”; he understands peace building like a painter’s canvas of social change. Lederach (2005, 74) calls the disciplines of the self that a peace builder is asked to cultivate “soul disciplines.” Peace Building itself is about “finding the soul of place.” Secondly, the term soul carries spiritual connotations that, if interpreted energetically instead of morally, are also intended in a transrational understanding. Soul defined in this way is related, not coincidentally, to aesthetics. John Paul Lederach defines aesthetics as a form of clarity, of being sharp in the senses (2005, 69). Gregory Bateson (2002, 8), in turn, points out that aesthetic means “responsive to the pattern that connects.” Aesthetic, after Bateson, is the perception of a pattern that connects other patterns. The soul is such a meta-pattern, a pattern that connects other patterns— those of body, heart and mind. Its way of knowing is aesthetic—perceiving things in their overall shapes and patterns. The way of knowing that corresponds to the soul is intuiting. Carl Gustav Jung defines intuition as follows: The peculiarity of intuition is that it is neither sense perception, nor feeling, nor intellectual inference, although it may also appear in these forms. In intuition a content presents itself whole and complete, without our being able to explain or discover how this content came into existence. (…) As with sensation, its contents have the character of being “given,” in contrast to the “derived” or “produced” character of thinking and feeling contents. Intuitive knowledge possesses an intrinsic certainty and conviction (…). (Jung 1990, 453)

Simplifying the above definition, John Paul Lederach (2005, 69) points out that intuition “sees and experiences things as a whole, not as pieces.” It is direct and unmediated knowledge (cf. Hillman 1997, 97–98). Intuitive insights emerge immediately in great clarity. They are not pieced

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together; they do not derive from a logical train of thought (cf. Childre et al. 2016, 42). Intuition emerges from an understanding of the overall form, the aesthetics, symmetry and trajectory that shapes the person and research process at each concrete instant. Joachim Bauer furnishes intuiting with a neuropsychological underpinning and relates it to the brain’s unconscious capacity to complete patterns that are only partially given (cf. Bauer 2005, 31–32) and, hence, not (yet) consciously recognized as such. Intuition means direct knowing, the immediate perception of wholes.10 It perceives aesthetically in finding “the elegant beauty where complexity meets simplicity” (Lederach 2005, 74). Thomas Kuhn provides an impressive rendering of intuition’s role in the birth of new scientific paradigms: Scientists often speak of “the scales falling from their eyes” or of the “lighting flash” that “inundates” a previously obscure puzzle, enabling its components to be seen in a new way that for the first time permits its solution. (…) No ordinary sense of the term “interpretation” or logic fits these flashes of intuition through which a new paradigm is born. (Kuhn 1970, 122–123)

Intuitive knowing comes with great clarity and often with a feeling of rightness—or certainty and conviction as Jung has pointed out in the above quote. At times, it heralds breakthroughs, when all of the sudden there is a pattern emerging. Elegant order where a moment earlier there was only a disorganized and chaotic sea of information. An insight that suddenly brings clarity, where before there was confusion. However, this feeling of rightness and certainty is not, as such, failsafe. Like all types of knowing, the intuitive knowing also has its propensities for derailment. In research, it wants to be checked and cross-referenced, just like all other forms of knowing. In the type of research I am proposing, intuiting is valued as a legitimate source of knowing. That means it is neither discarded out of hand (as modernity does), nor exalted as a higher form of truth that would somehow be immune from misconception or misinterpretation. Soul is related to aesthetics, and so is intuiting as its form of knowing. Soul relays itself through metaphor and poetry rather than through purely 10 Following Michael Polanyi (2009), it could also be called the process or the bridge (cf. Moustakas 1990, 23) that makes implicit knowledge explicit.

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rational argument. Therefore, it also asks for a different form of expression—more on this will follow later. Poetry corresponds to intuitive knowing. A poem is an organized whole that is more than the sum of its parts. It derives its qualities from the overall shape. A poem cannot be summarized. That which makes a poem resides in the overall pattern and shape that emerge out of its whole. In this manner, a poetics of research corresponds to knowing through soul as intuition: A poetics of the research process, then, is a way of welcoming and hosting within our work the images of the soul, a way of attending to more than just the ideas and facts, and it requires a different style, a different way of being present. (Romanyshyn 2007, 12)

A further important quality of knowing as intuiting is that it cannot be willed. The wanting and willing mind forms only part of soul’s processes. Intuition’s emergence can only be facilitated by the conscious attempt to balance the body, mind and heart. It can be fostered by the disciplined effort to remain equally aware of the flow of difference and simultaneous integration of the personal forms of knowing. It is through this overall personal shape that the quiet voice of intuition is prone to speak. When expressed through soul, words ring authentic and resonant, because they come from a moment of balance, an instant when the body, heart and mind are aligned. Rosemarie Anderson’s “Intuitive Inquiry” (2011b) points to how intuition can become relevant for research. Anderson posits the intuitive process in three steps of preparation. These do not mechanistically produce intuition, but rather invite its emergence as a fourth step (Anderson 2011a, 246): 1. The first step is described as slowing down, letting go and interior self-collection; 2. Followed by connection with a person, object, problem or situation; 3. Listening with the senses; awareness open and attentive; 4. Towards the emergence of intuition itself: direct, immediate knowing. The first step of interior self-collection corresponds to a preparation of the mind. It means calming the world of thinking to create a clear mental space. The second step emphasizes connection and thus implies the relational openness and intimacy that are the hallmark of the heart. The third

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step attunes the embodied senses for the possible emergence of intuitive insights (soul) in the fourth and final step. By introducing the quality of aesthetics into the research process, soul fosters a propensity for depth, for a deeper and larger form of understanding. It emerges out of the authenticity of one’s own voice, yet ultimately reaches beyond the intrapersonal and interpersonal and touches the transpersonal. This, finally, is the realm of spirit. Soul here is the gateway, that which stands at the completion of the personal and reaches into the transpersonal. 3.2.5

Knowing Through Spirit: Witnessing

With spirit, the discussion once more reverts back to the initial approximation of the self through Carl Gustav Jung and Sylvester Walch. The latter clarified the concept of the personal self, which we now have come to understand as synonymous with soul. The second side of the self, the transpersonal self, corresponds to spirit. In the terminology of the Five Rhythms, spirit relates to the final rhythm, Stillness, as the moment of dissolution of the ego boundaries. It signifies the integration of the pattern of the individual dancer into the larger aesthetics of the dance. Stillness connects us to the Larger Whole. Breath, the great connector, here becomes relevant yet again. Breath does not just sustain our body, heart and mind with life, touch soul, connect the interpersonal and intrapersonal, it also inspires us. To be inspired, literally means to be infused with spirit, breathed into by the Larger Whole (cf. Hart 2000b, 32). Breath is the continuous loop of our lives. With each inhale we draw in inspiration, with each exhale we empty ourselves and cast ourselves forth into the world and spirit. In their deeper sense, exhale becomes the manifestation of self and inhale inspiration. Inspiration metaphorically is that moment of the deep breath when the universe streams through the personal form. Spirit is a different name for the transpersonal self, for the whole that is larger than the human being, yet flows through it, equally sublates and hosts it and is, in turn, a different name for the All-One of the energetic traditions. Jill Hayes has remarked apropos of the trans personal self: Poetically and metaphorically the prefix ‘trans’ brings with it an image of energy passing through, like a wind of change, creating a pivotal moment

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of potential for something else. Transpersonal experience therefore is the experience of (…) spirit passing through the body. (Hayes 2013, 41)

The enigmatic character of spirit or the transpersonal self emerges out of the fact that, as Jung has already remarked, it is wholly ourselves and yet so much more, unknowable in its full extent. It is strange and intimate at the same time. It cannot be rationally grasped as it surpasses the individual mind, yet it opens up in experience. In knowing through spirit, understanding reaches its deepest expression. Knowing as understanding here emerges through the experiential recognition of cosmos and the human being as enfolded in each other. This knowing takes the form of the experiential recognition of larger patterns, archetypical formations, deeper symmetries that are carried by the pervasive ground of the All-One. It speaks to the larger forms of unconscious and consciousness that have been posited by Jung (2008) and transpersonal psychology (cf. Daniels 2005; Grof 1985; Walch 2003). In the Yogic Chakra philosophy, this is the domain of Ajna and Sahasrara, the sixth and seventh chakra that concern the knowing of and merging into the larger (cf. Dietrich 2012, 239–241; Judith 2004). As such, this type of knowing is often also called visionary or spiritual.11

11 This understanding of spirit, however, needs to be differentiated from the respective strong notions, most prominently that of Georg Friedrich Wilhelm Hegel. In a hierarchical and linear-teleological manner Hegel’s knowing culminates in Absolute Spirit as its highest synthesis (Hegel 1977). More recently Ken Wilber (2000, 2001) also follows such a Hegelian approach. Absolute Spirit then turns into the culmination point in a unidirectional ascendency that draws upon the Great Chain of Being (Wilber 2000, 14– 30) or the Perennial Philosophy (Huxley 2004). Such understandings of Spirit jettison the postmodern insights of ongoing differentiation in favor of what is perceived to be ever-higher integrations (cf. Koppensteiner 2009). Those universalistic and hierarchical renderings that encompass all of existence in a singular, invariant and absolute notion of spirit are incompatible with the transrational ontology and epistemology proposed here. In contrast to these notions, I understand spirit just as well as the energetic All-One to be open umbrella terms that signify a polymorphous plurality rather than a single reality. If spirit is taken as synonymous with the transpersonal self then it does not allude to a single ultimate reality but to a sublation of the personal in larger frames of reference. Different (religious or spiritual) traditions enact these larger perspectives differently (cf. Ferrer 2002, 144–151). Unlike Wilber and Hegel, I see nothing to suggest that they all culminate in one unified point of convergence. Loosely following John Heron (2006) and Jorge N. Ferrer (2002), I much rather understand spirit as an enactive event that is not independent of the personal self (or selves) that participate(s) in it.

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Stillness, after Gabrielle Roth, also signifies an attitude of the dancer, in which all movement arises from and is an expression of one’s own still center. In R¯um¯ı’s poetry, it equally is the “disciplined silence” that helps to open the “way between voice and presence, where information flows” (quoted in Barks 2004, 32). The disclosing of spirit can only be witnessed by an aware and open attitude. Only then can this “first, last outer, inner, (…) breath breathing human being” (R¯um¯ı quoted in Barks 2004, 32) really be known if the spirit flowing through it is equally taken into consideration. I would argue that this is crucial for understanding peace and conflict. Also modern research knows a form of disciplined silence in the activity of the mind, which should be distracted as little as possible by other activities and forms of perception. What is meant here is something different. R¯um¯ı’s disciplined silence, just as well as Roth’s Stillness, refers to a calm and open abiding that is a present stillness of the mind, not stillness for the mind. Stillness, Lederach adds, is a “prerequisite to see what exists” and constitutes a “way of approaching and being in a universe made up of intricate connections that must be seen before steps are taken” (Lederach 2005, 104, 106). I want to call this type of seeing out of stillness witnessing. Using some poetic license, I would define witnessing as soul seeing spirit. This shift from soul to spirit, from intuiting to witnessing, is subtle and nuanced but also decisive. Both share the ground of an open, non-interfering awareness and the preparation through creating an inner clearing. However, there are important distinctions that help understand the difference. Conceptually, intuiting emerges out of the balancing moments of the body, heart and mind in the interplay and correspondence of their interpersonal and intrapersonal aspects. In practice, this means that, as the knower, one can still localize intuition as belonging to the personal self. Intuiting can feel familiar within the known categories of normal conscious perception. Knowing through intuiting locates the process of knowing in the resonance between interpersonal and intrapersonal aspects. With witnessing spirit, the localization of knowing shifts. It is now neither inside nor outside, nor relationally in between but arises, as Tobin Hart suggests, without a localized origin (Hart 2000b, 37). I want to provide a short, personal example from a facilitation setting. Sometimes, in the middle of the process of working with groups through dance or breath, I get a glimpse of a larger symmetry that reveals itself and constellates through the dancing, breathing and working group.

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Suddenly, there is an inherent sense of a shifting and dynamic order that cannot be localized in simple interpersonal (group dynamical) and intrapersonal (myself) terms, although it encompasses both of them. The knowing that emerges is not intellectual in any sense of the word, but rather an encompassing perception that touches all parts of being. In those moments, a sort of glimpse ahead or an understanding of what maybe is still implicit in the current dynamic emerges. It shows what the next step just might look like, which way the situation might sway. When I then manage to put my own wanting aside and surrender my own plans and concepts as facilitator, I become part of that understanding of where I might next need to be, where and how to place myself to be of assistance for unfolding or transformation. I get a pointer on how to be able to intelligently cooperate with this emergent dynamic. A great calm then enters, often like a confirmation that I am on the right track, and things just happen by themselves. In those moments, I understand that it is not my doing and also not my intuition that is at work here and equally not just the group dynamics, but a much larger and deeper pattern that surfaces for an instant through my witnessing eyes. Spirit has been treated with hostility, cast as backward superstition and pathology by modern and postmodern methodologies. Modern approaches are not willing to accept anything that cannot be known through the mind. Postmodern methodologies remain suspicious of the homogenizing potential this type of knowing might carry, if it is integrated into formal structures and religious hierarchies. However, it cannot be neglected either how partial, limited and Eurocentric such perspectives themselves are. Spirit poses a valid source of knowing for energetic traditions all across the world. From a transrational perspective, it is therefore recognized as part of our human potential and its unfolding is seen as a vital human need. It cannot epistemologically be excluded altogether and a priori. Cutting this aspect off implies an impoverishment of our understanding of the topics we deal with in Peace Studies. It implies belittling our understanding of ourselves as human beings and of the world we live in. Paraphrasing William James (1985, 388), I would say that no account of the universe can be complete that leaves this aspect altogether disregarded. Spirit has the potential to make any research design more complete. Following Gödel’s incompleteness theorem, the emergence of inconsistencies is only to be expected. Spirit to some extent remains ineffable. Such inconsistencies then have to be dealt with in an open and conscious manner.

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I opt for integrating spirit as a profound resource in research, while also being aware of the need for a meticulous and careful differentiation and discernment in order to avoid metaphysical speculation and esotericism without foundations. Particularly transpersonal research methods (Anderson and Braud 2011; Hart et al. 2000; Heron 1998; Romanyshyn 2007; cf. Lin et al. 2016) have paved the way in that direction. Researchers here can equally take cues from energetic traditions. Taoist ethics and aesthetics, for example, show a keen awareness of the elegant beauty of emerging patterns and their embeddedness in the larger whole. Taoism offers both a profound practice of attunement to spirit and a poetic quality of expression that any researcher interested in integrating the larger picture into her research work can endlessly learn from.12 Tobin Hart’s (2000b) notion of “inspirational knowing” is a step in that direction. Deriving from transpersonal psychology, Hart specifically investigates the spiritual moments of being filled and suffused by a larger force as epistemic events. He distinguishes three sets of characteristics that define this elusive type of knowing. Contact and connection refer to the sudden or gradual falling away of notions of separation between self and other. Separateness is replaced by an expansive intimacy of contact. In its most extensive form, it includes a connection with everything and “an experience and awareness of the unity of all of existence” (Hart 2000b, 34). Openness and receiving relate to the etymological meaning of inspiration as being filled with an understanding that, while not having a localizable origin, also is not foreign and often corresponds to the enlarged sense of connection: “if our openness and connection go deep enough, our ‘inside’ (i.e., consciousness, body, etc.) no longer exists distinct from the ‘outside’” (Hart 2000b, 37). What Hart describes here seems to be a transpersonal deepening and expansion of the processes of resonance and correspondence that determine the personal self as a contact boundary at work. Finally, clarity and vibrancy relate to the type of understanding that emerges as a non-linear flowering of information in the sense of “unexpected connections” or hitherto “hidden layers” (Hart 2000b, 39).

12 The classical text that encompasses this spirit probably is the Tao Te Ching accredited to Lao Tzu (2008). For a current application of Taoism to peace work see McGoey (2013), for a Taoist-inspired way of researching and writing about world politics and International Relations see Ling (2014). For a Taoist perspective on research see Culham and Lin (2016).

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The type of epistemic event characterized by those three qualities coalesces into a fourth quality, namely its manifestation as form and/or being. Often, this type of knowing leads to concrete answers or an insight to a problem or question. However, Tobin Hart insists that this is not always the case or exclusively so. Sometimes what is shifted is a quality of being, greater or smaller, towards a stance that includes an expanded, energized or clearer outlook on life. It provides a sort of “spiritual sustenance” (Hart 2000b, 41) that bolsters life’s vicissitudes. This interplay of form/being shows both the informative quality of this type of knowing and also its transformative potential. The elaboration of spirit concludes this rendering of the self and its ways of knowing. As already mentioned, to do research in this manner is equally as risky as it can be rewarding. It opens ways of understanding the research topic in modes of which modernity and postmodernity know only little. If research is supposed to lead to informational gain, then I would propose that such a methodology is apt to produce that. Furthermore, it offers opportunities for transformation for all involved. Such research demands a lot of psycho-spiritual maturity from the researcher. I have already briefly addressed the difficulties that might stem from a particular topic above in the frame of transrational ethics. I want to elaborate on that point now. The researcher will need to be the facilitator of one’s own processes of transformation and additionally follow the requirements of research that rightly are the hallmark of good academic work. The process of transformation is one of continued unfolding, yet it is to be expected that personal and collective shadow aspects will emerge as well. In order to not derail the research process and plumb its potential, both will have to be facilitated and worked through in a conscious and careful manner. In the next section, I therefore want to look at some of the potential challenges on the path, suggest where they could particularly arise during the process and how they might also become a resource.

3.3 Challenges on the Path: Excess, Deficiencies, Blockages and Shadows 3.3.1

Excess, Deficiencies and Blockages in the Fivefold Self

A research process that is more likely to yield satisfying informational and transformational gain is one that manages to dynamically balance the distinct ways of knowing. It is one that skillfully navigates—differentiates and integrates—the insights gained through working with the body,

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heart, mind, soul and spirit. Just like any other practice, sensing, feeling, thinking, intuiting and witnessing also need to be learned and trained in order to be consciously deployed. With CG Jung, I have already pointed to the process of individuation as a gradual unfolding of each function. Education, particularly schooling and professional training, can emphasize or hamper this trend. Modern schooling systems are geared towards the mind, almost to the exclusion of the other forms. From a holistic perspective, this exclusivity is seen as a form of systematic imbalance that counters the human being’s natural inclination towards balancing and unfolding. Individual experiences, long-standing stress, particularly difficult or overwhelming situations or even traumas can equally stifle this natural balancing function. If, for example, injury turns the body into a site of chronic hurt, a person might respond by either increasing energy to sensing or withdrawing from it. If this response turns habitual, the result is a coping strategy that leads to either excess, deficiency or, at the limit point, blockages. Anodea Judith has systematically worked out such imbalances for the Chakra system (Judith 2004). Her description is equally relevant for the self and its five functions as they are rendered here. Excess means nothing else but a chronic increase of energy and attention on any particular point, leading to an overcompensation that leaves the rest of the system deprived of energy (Judith 2004, 18–20). A response by withdrawal, to the contrary, leaves the imbalanced aspect chronically lacking in energy. Therefore, it becomes deficient, underfocused. Since all the aspects of the self are related, an excess on one point often corresponds to a deficiency at another. At the limit point, a blockage occurs. This happens when the deficiency leads to dissociation, meaning that the current perception of a specific aspect is so severely hampered or impaired that it almost appears deadened. It conversely also happens when an aspect is so charged with energy and attention that it ceases to properly fulfill its function. In a dynamically balanced system, by contrast, all the different aspects are available in principle. While at certain moments one of them may be focused and in the foreground, the shift between them is smooth and fluid, the individual aspects can both be differentiated and flow together in integration. In writing these lines, for example, my thinking mind is most prominent and takes the lead in my awareness. As I take a breath and relax my hands on the keyboard also the sensual world rushes in and

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I feel content about what I have just written. In a balanced system, energy and awareness flow fluidly and can follow the current situation. When applied to how the five functions operate in the research process, a couple of significant insights can be gained from understanding excess, deficiency and blockage. I want to describe them in the following, beginning on the surface with the presenting symptoms. Cognicentrism, for example, is a good illustration of an imbalance that occurs when the aspect of the mind becomes excessive to the degree of negating the importance of other aspects, overshadowing them or even blocking awareness about them as valid sources. Excessive energy on any one aspect in the long run impoverishes the others. This has consequences for the research process, for what can be found through it, and it might equally have consequences for the life of the researcher. The cognicentric imbalance pushes the other aspects to the margin, so that certainly our research, but perhaps also our lives, ends up being the poorer for it. Cognicentrism might be termed, somewhat flippantly, the symptom of the “modern disease”—and many more such symptoms could be named. Some of the rather well-known excesses include rationalism, but equally the derailment in abstract speculations, ego aspects, projections or also the excessive tendency for criticism that is sometimes found in academia. At the other end of the spectrum, when the mind is underfocused and deficient in terms of energy and attention devoted to it throughout the research process, we find the telltale signs of confusion, lack of clarity, lack of structure and conceptual weakness that are considered the signs of careless intellectual work. The symptoms that often arise with an underfocused, deficient or blocked body are so common that most researchers probably do not even recognize them as problems, or rather consider them personal matters that are irrelevant for their thinking. Yet, to perceive the researcher as resource in the research process also implies paying heed to the signals of the flesh; even when they come in the form of muscular blockages or tensions, lack of tonus, lack of vital energy or, at the limit point, disease or dissociation from the body. Since all the different faculties are related, sometimes an excessive mind also is linked to a deficiency in awareness of and attention to the body. Working with the one can also release the other and set a stalled research process back into flow. At the other end of the spectrum stands the excessive identification with the body and with sensations, going together with a lack of capacity for abstraction or mental concentration.

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The heart’s ways of knowing are through our feelings and empathy. When the heart is open, we are able to perceive what flows in our research participants or experience our topics as if from the inside. This can pose challenges of its own. However, it can become imbalanced on the excessive side through the emotional identification that is known in Gestalt Psychology as sympathy or confluence (Perls 1973, 38–40). When the as if character of empathy is lost, the shift from one’s own perspective towards taking on those of others has been made. As researchers, we then identify with our topic and participants; our heart is not just open but literally goes out to them. The capacity to see things from different perspectives, one of the great advantages of empathic knowing, is lost as we identify with another perspective. The reverse is an imbalance too—projection—the imputing of one’s own qualities or concepts on to research participants and topics (Perls 1973, 35–38). Projection has a strong element of mind to it as well, but it ultimately belongs to the realm of the heart because it is a deficiency that comes from a lack of real contact. In both of these cases, the ethical principles of self-reflexivity and authenticity can help to re-establish balance and grounding in one’s own contextualized position. In its balanced form, the soul stands for the wholeness and integrity of the personal self. It provides the integrative equilibrium between the body, heart and mind and is the gateway to the transpersonal. To speak or write from the soul lends authenticity to one’s own voice, because it arises from a place of balance between integrating and differentiating the partial voices of the body, mind and heart. An imbalance on the excessive side means overly focusing the integrative aspect. Rather than elicitively following the nature of the inquiry, while paying close attention to the body mind and heart, the process instead revolves around myself in an egocentric fashion. Expression becomes self-serving and narcissistic, sanctimonious or lost in one’s own inner world. The intrapersonal aspects gain prominence and the interpersonal ones are neglected. Rather than including the voice of the researcher as one resource among others, the whole research only gyrates around the self. At the limit point the “I” then is the topic, method, content and only audience. This is maybe fine for self-exploration but problematic for research. All research aims to benefit a larger audience or (scientific) community. Particularly when working with the researcher as resource, it is important to take heed that one’s own research remain “generous” (Clements 2011, 151) in the sense of offering others the benefit of one’s own process and information

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gained and that it is not driven by a self-serving need to be understood. Emphasizing the interpersonal and communicative aspect then is crucial. The opposite imbalance, deficiency of soul, is what arises from an overly strong differentiation that can no longer integrate the voices of the body, heart and mind. To paraphrase a quip by Gabrielle Roth (1998a, 19), this might colloquially be called “trizophrenia”—when the heart feels one thing, the mind thinks another and the body acts out a third. If it lacks the integrating function of the soul, the research process becomes fragmented, scattered and missing the aesthetics and coherence that come from a well-designed structure. Witnessing spirit means to perceive the deeper ground from which all phenomena arise and into which they return. It means a panoramic vision of pattern recognition that also perceives the play of archetypes and synchronicities. In the poetic words of John Paul Lederach’s Moral Imagination, it might simply imply “listening for the core” or “seeing picture better” (Lederach 2005, 74). Deficiency and blockage express themselves in overbearing secularism and materialism, but also in the individualism and atomism that is incapable of perceiving the larger whole. Excess is found in (spiritual) dogmatism, lack of grounding in the personal aspects of the body, heart and mind, esotericism, metaphysical speculation or spiritualized illusion, fantasy and escapism. Each of the aspects and their corresponding functions have a shadow side that manifests as excess, deficiency or, at the limit point, blockage. Shifting the imbalance is theoretically simple, as Judith (2004, 20) points out. It implies restoring the free dynamism to the system. What is deficient can receive awareness and energy, what is excessive can shed some of its energy and awareness can be divided more evenly. What is blocked can gently be opened and filled with life. All of this takes place on the surface, working with the presenting phenomena as they have been described above. It is a useful approach for providing a temporary relief in order to keep a research process flowing and on track and to avoid any of the obvious pitfalls. From the viewpoint proposed here, this amounts to a management approach or a transposition by shifting energy and awareness (cf. Dietrich 2013, 7–10). A transformative approach to research begins with the surface imbalances, yet looks deeper and also into the shadows.

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3.3.2

Shadows as Resources for Research

In a dynamic system, imbalances are nothing to be feared but a naturally occurring phenomenon. Imbalances point to a still hidden potential, an insight waiting to be gained. They lead the way to the next step in the process and hint at where energy is still tied up in deeper topics. Freeing that energy and addressing those topics can provide resources that become available for the research process, guided by the human being’s potential for self-actualization or Inner Wisdom. Shifting the balance between the different aspects of the self is usually only the initial step. Very often this process is accompanied by the emergence of the deeper topics of our own biography that have led us to this particular type of research and inquiry in the first place. Shadow aspects, wounds, uncomfortable truths just as well as deep passions, long-standing commitments and the larger trajectories of one’s own life can suddenly appear in the middle of a research process. From the perspective advocated here, those are not a sidetrack but are intrinsic to the research. They show the way towards what is at the core of our choice of inquiry, why we chose a certain field of research in the first place, and where it might still lead us. For those who dare to confront them, they can become insights for academic work. They allow us to see ourselves and our research in a new and more authentic light. To include the researcher in this process implies having an additional resource available. Jean Paul Sartre argues that no individual case is ever just that. Each person bears the traces of the larger setting. The individual is “summed up and for this reason universalized by his epoch, he in turn resumes it by reproducing himself in it as a singularity” (Sartre quoted in Denzin and Lincoln 2011, 245). This means that to study the particular also is, at least to some extent, to study the larger. Carl Rogers adds that what appears to be the most intimate and personal also is the most general (1995b, 26). These insights are not new; they form the basis of qualitative research—and they also apply for the researcher using herself as resource. Carl Rogers provides a vivid rendering: There have been times when (…) in my writing I have expressed myself in ways so personal that I have felt I was expressing an attitude which it was probable no one else could understand, because it was so uniquely my own. (…) In those instances I have almost invariably found that the very feeling, which has seemed to me most private, most personal and hence most incomprehensible by others, has turned out to be an expression for

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which there is a resonance in many people. It has led me to believe that what is most personal and unique in each one of us is probably the very element which would, if shared or expressed, speak most deeply to others. (Rogers 1995b, 26)

This interplay between single case and general setting can be further illustrated with CG Jung’s concept of the shadow—which possesses a personal and a transpersonal aspect. Jung explains the notion of the shadow via the metaphor of light and darkness. In the simplest terms, the personal side of a shadow consists of the aspects of a person that are not illuminated by the light of consciousness. It is made up of all the traits that belong to a person, but that she deems unacceptable and that remain unacknowledged. In the words of Michael Daniels, they are formed by “the shadow thrown when the light of the persona (our consciously expressed public personality) meets the reality of our total being” (Daniels 2005, 72). The shadow thus is the twin of the persona. It is unconscious, repressed, denied or projected. It can be made of, for example, the anger, fear, hate, lust, greed that we possess, yet do not want to see and repress, or what we project into the world, where it comes grinning back at us as an uncannily familiar “other.” Additionally, the unaccepted positive traits, submerged goodness and creative potentials form part of the shadow (Daniels 2005, 73). This second aspect at times is also colloquially called the golden shadow. Part of the journey of individuation, following Jung, is to contact, bring to light and integrate shadow aspects. Since each light casts a new shadow, shadow integration is a lifelong process (cf. Kast 2013, 11). A research topic that deeply touches the researcher is likely to also bring her shadow aspects to the forefront. Bringing them to light has the potential to benefit the research and researcher, as we have already said. Verena Kast (2013) specifically points to the life-enhancing aspects of shadow work and the energy that can be freed by working through the shadow’s subversive power. However, a shadow also is an archetype and as such never just an individual figure, but is rooted in the larger collective (cf. Jung 2008). It finds its roots in the cultural soil. Reaching even deeper, it also taps into the memory traces of millennia of human history that are stored in the collective unconscious. In this sense, shadow work always also is work on collective aspects as well. In the manner that personal shadows constellate, transpersonal larger topics also reveal themselves.

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As researchers, our choices of topics speak more about us than we at times are willing to admit or are conscious about. The topic and researcher call each other. The particular knowing that takes place in research co-emerges in the relation between the two. In the coming together of the personal and the transpersonal (or collective) aspects lies a further resource for the path. I believe that our human condition is such that this is unavoidable. The only question is to which extent we are willing to become conscious about it, see it and, to use a tantric precept, and take it as grist for the mill of transformation and understanding. Imbalances and shadows therefore can become useful resources on the road. Learning to discern them and differentiate them from the balanced forms in which the different ways of knowing express themselves is crucial. A question that often arises in practice goes as follows: How do I know if what I currently perceive is the voice of my embodied sensing or intuition and when is it spiritual illusion, fantasy, ego-projection or resistance? Both can be useful, albeit in different ways. Learning to distinguish the subtle and very idiosyncratic nuances of one’s own knowing and the particular forms of delusion one is prone to is part of the process of working through the self. Hence, there can be no generalized or fail-proof checklist for how to perceive the differences. Still, some indications are possible. John Prendergast (2015) provides pointers that I would like to suggest as useful hints for the occurrence of a balanced process of knowing through the self’s different modalities. A balanced process of knowing that is attuned to the different aspects of the self is often accompanied by a shift in the current overall sense of being. Prendergast describes it as characterized by the four aspects of relaxed groundedness, inner alignment, openheartedness and spaciousness (Prendergast 2015, 99). When we recognize a relaxed feeling of rootedness in our own awareness in the process of knowing through the self’s different modalities, a sense of alignment of the different parts of our self (wholeness), an opening of the heart and chest area and a perception of inner expansion, then these can be good indicators for a balanced process. A second step for this, as for any other kind of research, consists of corroborating one’s own knowing through cross-checking and through different means and comparing it to other sources. Building on Prendergast, I would suggest out of my own experience that the inversion of the above case is also a strong indication. If there is a sense of an overall tightening, a perception of being driven or pushed towards or away from something, a narrowing of awareness and

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cognition that is perceived like a tunnel, and, particularly, an aversion to having one’s own findings cross-checked, then these are good indications to probe one’s own knowing deeper for hidden topics, projections, shadows or imbalances. It is particularly when we believe in a dogmatic manner that our findings have to be right that a second and closer look is warranted. Also, this is a standard indication for any good research. Yet it becomes especially important when working through the self, because here one frequently works with strong experience and evocative material. I believe that it is here, in the engagement with the deeper, personal and intimate aspects of our topic that the heart of the proposal of the researcher as resource beats. If we dare to engage it, this is the profound source from which our being, doing and living in the world gains its impetus and energy. Peaces and conflicts are often about the deeper motivations that lie below the surface. To understand them means to understand the topics of our discipline. What better way than to plumb those depths ourselves? To the extent that we understand ourselves deeper and allow this depth to influence our research process and to show in our presentation of it, our audience also gains a more complete picture. It deserves mention that this resource of course is relevant not only when addressing the difficult aspects in form of shadows and imbalances, but also when it equally concerns our inspirations, joys and drives towards unfolding. Since topics of our discipline concern conflicts and peaces equally, a deeper understanding of our sources of strength and light can lead to profound and relevant insights. Adam Curle reaches a similar conclusion in his formulation of the “black cloud” as collective shadow aspects that constellate in the personal “cloudy self.” Primary to the black cloud, he stipulates, is the “mind of the universe” that expresses our human condition and manifests as awareness of relationality and love (Curle 2006). The author and prose-poet Annie Dillard, in turn, is prompted by a similar understanding when she writes: In the deeps are the violence and terror of which psychology has warned us. But if you ride these monsters deeper down, if you drop with them farther over the world’s rim, you find what our sciences cannot locate or name, the substrate, the ocean or matrix or ether which buoys the rest, which gives goodness its power for good and evil its power for evil, the unified field: our complex and inexplicable caring for each other, and for our life together here. This is given. It is not learned. (Dillard 1982, 19)

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Dillard’s compelling words echo those of Curle and, in turn, the anthropological and ontological assumptions of humanistic and transpersonal psychology that inspire the transrational methodologies proposed here. With CG Jung and Annie Dillard we understand that the path to wholeness leads through the shadow, leads through riding the monsters, dropping with them over the edge of the known world into unknown territory. This drop is not into the abyss of annihilation, but rather leads to the fertile space where new understanding can flourish. Curle, Dillard, Jung and the humanistic and transpersonal psychologists all assume that the monsters do not have the final word about the human condition, but the substrate that is beneath and carries it is the “unified field,” the “mind of the universe,” “Inner Wisdom” or just simply “love.” I agree with Dillard insofar as that modern science cannot locate or name either the field or the journey. However, I also hold that for Peace Studies it is crucial that we do. It is my proposal that a transrational research methodology might help on this venture. In order to understand our world, a turn inside is necessary and useful. Beginning the journey with the personal self and the resources our human condition has to offer, not shying away from the symptoms of imbalance, tracing the shadow aspects one might, ultimately, also encounter love.

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Heron, John. 1998. Sacred Science: Person-centered Inquiry into the Spiritual and the Subtle. Ross-on-Wye: PCCS Books. Heron, John. 2006. Participatory Spirituality: A Farewell to Authoritarian Religion. Morrisville: Lulu Press. Heron, John. 2010. The Complete Facilitator’s Handbook. London: Kogan Page. Hillman, James. 1997. The Soul’s Code: In Search for Character and Calling. New York: Grand Central Publishing. Hofvander Trulsson, Ylva, and Pamela Burnard. 2016. ‘Insider, Outsider or Cultures In-Between: Ethical and Methodological Considerations in Intercultural Arts Research.’ In The Routledge International Handbook of International Arts Research, edited by Pamela Burnard, Elizabeth Mackinlay, and Kimberly Powell, 115–125. London: Routledge. Hoystad, Ole. 2007. A History of the Heart. London: Reaktion Books. Huxley, Aldous. 2004. The Perennial Philosophy. New York: HarperCollins. Jacobi, Jolande. 1973. The Psychology of C.G. Jung. New Haven: Yale University Press. James, William. 1985. The Varieties of Religious Experience: A Study in Human Nature. New York: Penguin Books. Johnson, Mark. 2008. The Meaning of the Body: Aesthetics of Human Understanding. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Judith, Anodea. 2004. Eastern Body, Western Mind: Psychology and the Chakra System as a Path to the Self . Berkeley: Celestial Arts. Jung, C. G., ed. 1964. Man and His Symbols. New York: Dell Publishing. Jung, C. G. 1978. Aion: Researches into the Phenomenology of the Self . Princeton: Princeton University Press. Jung, C. G. 1990. Psychological Types. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Jung, C. G. 1999. Two Essays in Analytical Psychology. 2nd ed. London: Routledge. Jung, C. G. 2008. The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious. 2nd ed. London: Routledge. Kast, Verena. 2013. Der Schatten in uns. Die subversive Lebenskraft. Munich: Deutscher Taschenbuch Verlag. Keogh, Anna Fiona, and Joan Davis. 2017. ‘Cultivating the Felt Sense of Wellbeing: How We Know We Are Well.’ In The Oxford Handbook of Dance and Wellbeing, edited by Vicky Karkou, Sue Oliver, and Sophia Lycouris, 535–546. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Kemp, Martin. 2012. Christ to Coke: How Image Becomes Icon. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Koppensteiner, Norbert. 2009. ‘Beyond Postmodernity: Living and Thinking. A Nietzschean Journey.’ University of Innsbruck. The UNESCO Chair’s Virtual Peace Library. https://www.uibk.ac.at/peacestudies/downloads/pea celibrary/beyondpostmodernity.pdf.

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Koppensteiner, Norbert. 2011. ‘Pagans and Nomads: The Postmodern Peaces of Jean Francois Lyotard and Gilles Deleuze.’ In The Palgrave International Handbook of Peace Studies: A Cultural Perspective, edited by Wolfgang Dietrich, Josefina Echavarría Alvarez, Gustavo Esteva, Daniela Ingruber, and Norbert Koppensteiner, 525–547. Houndmills: Palgrave Macmillan. Kuhn, Thomas S. 1970. The Structure of Scientific Revolutions. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Lakoff, George, and Mark Johnson. 1999. Philosophy in the Flesh: The Embodied Mind and Its Challenge to Western Thought. New York: Basic Books. LaMothe, Kimerer L. 2015. Why We Dance: A Philosophy of Bodily Becoming. New York: Columbia University Press. Lao Tzu. 2008. Tao Te Ching. Translated by Jonathan Star. New York: Jeremy P. Tarcher/Penguin. Lawrence, Randee Lipson. 2012. ‘Intuitive Knowing and Embodied Consciousness.’ New Directions for Adult and Continuing Education 134: 5–13. Lederach, John Paul. 2005. The Moral Imagination: The Art and Soul of Building Peace. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Levine, Peter A. 2010. In an Unspoken Voice: How the Body Releases Trauma and Restores Goodness. Berkeley: North Atlantic Books. Lin, Jing, Rebecca L. Oxford, and Tom Culham, eds. 2016. Toward a Spiritual Research Paradigm: Exploring New Ways of Knowing, Researching and Being. Charlotte: Information Age Publishing. Ling, L. H. M. 2014. Imagining World Politics: Sihar & Shenya. A Fable for Our Times. London: Routledge. Loomis, Mary E. 1991. Dancing the Wheel of Psychological Types. Wilmette: Chiron Publications. Macy, Joanna. 1991. Mutual Causality in Buddhism and General Systems Theory: The Dharma of Natural Systems. New York: State University of New York Press. Marrone, Robert. 1990. Body of Knowledge: An Introduction to Body/Mind Psychology. New York: SUNY Press. Marshall, Judi. 2016. First Person Action Research: Living Life as Inquiry. London: Sage. McGoey, Kathleen. 2013. Harmonizing Heavens and Earth: A Daoist Shamanic Approach to Peacework. Masters of Peace Volume 9. Vienna: LIT. Metzner, Ralph. 2010. The Unfolding Self: Varieties of Transformative Experience. Ross: Pioneer Imprints. Miller, John P. 2016. ‘The Embodied Researcher: Meditation’s Role in Spirituality Research.’ In Toward a Spiritual Research Paradigm: Exploring New Ways of Knowing, Researching and Being, edited by Jing Lin, Rebecca L. Oxford, and Tom Culham, 127–140. Charlotte: Information Age Publishing.

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Moustakas, Clark. 1990. Heuristic Research: Design: Methodology and Applications. London: Sage. Nietzsche, Friedrich. 1968. The Will to Power. New York: Vintage Books. Palmer, Parker J. 2008. A Hidden Wholeness: The Journey Towards an Undivided Life: Welcoming the Soul and Weaving Community in a Wounded World. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. Perls, Fritz. 1973. The Gestalt Approach & Eye Witness to Therapy. Palo Alto, CA: Science & Behavior Books. Pink, Sarah. 2015. Doing Sensory Ethnography. 2nd ed. London: Sage. Polanyi, Michael. 2009. The Tacit Dimension. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Prendergast, John J. 2015. In Touch: How to TUNE in to the Inner Guidance of Your Body and Trust Yourself . Boulder: Sounds True. Richardson, Laurel, and Elizabeth Adams St. Pierre. 2005. ‘Writing: A Method of Inquiry.’ In The Sage Handbook of Qualitative Research, 3rd ed., edited by Norman K. Denzin and Yvonna S. Lincoln, 959–978. London: Sage. Rizzolatti, Giacomo, and Corrado Sinigaglia. 2006. Mirrors in the Brain: How Our Minds Share Actions and Emotions. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Rogers, Carl R. 1995a. A Way of Being. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company. Rogers, Carl R. 1995b. On Becoming a Person: A Therapist’s View of Psychotherapy. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company. Romanyshyn, Robert D. 2007. The Wounded Researcher: Research with Soul in Mind. New Orleans: Spring Journal Books. Rosenberg, Marshall. 2005. Nonviolent Communication: A Language of Life. Encinitas: PuddleDancer Press. Roth, Gabrielle. 1998a. Maps to Ecstasy: A Healing Journey for the Untamed Spirit. Novato: New World Library. Roth, Gabrielle. 1998b. Sweat Your Prayers: The Five Rhythms of the Soul: Movement as Spiritual Practice. New York: Jeremy P. Tarcher/Penguin. Rothschild, Babette. 2000. The Body Remembers: The Psychophysiology of Trauma and Trauma Treatment. New York: W.W. Norton. Singer, June. 1994. Boundaries of the Soul: The Practice of Jung’s Psychology. New York: Anchor Books. Snowber, Celeste. 2005. ‘The Eros of Teaching.’ In Holistic Learning and Spirituality in Education: Breaking New Ground, edited by John P. Miller, Selia Karsten, Diana Denton, Deborah Orr, and Isabella Colalillo Kates, 215–222. Albany: State University of New York Press. Snowber, Celeste. 2016. Embodied Inquiry: Writing, Living and Being Through the Body. Rotterdam: Sense Publishers. Todres, Les. 2007. Embodied Enquiry: Phenomenological Touchstones for Research, Psychotherapy and Spirituality. Houndmills: Palgrave Macmillan.

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Vaughan, Frances. 2000. The Inward Arc: Healing in Psychotherapy and Spirituality. Lincoln: Backinprint.com. von Bertalanffy, Ludwig. 1969. General System Theory: Foundations, Development, Applications. New York: George Braziller. Walch, Sylvester. 2003. Dimensionen der menschlichen Seele. Transpersonale Psychologie und Holotropes Atmen. Düsseldorf: Patmos Verlag. Walch, Sylvester. 2018. ‘Self-Exploration Through Holotropic Breathwork.’ In Transrational Resonances: Echoes to the Many Peaces, edited by Josefina Echavarría Alvarez, Daniela Ingruber, and Norbert Koppensteiner, 235–262. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Welwood, John. 2002. Toward a Psychology of Awakening: Buddhism, Psychotherapy, and the Path of Personal and Spiritual Transformation. Boston: Shambhala. Wilber, Ken. 2000. Sex, Ecology, Spirituality: The Spirit of Evolution, Boston: Shambhala. Wilber, Ken. 2001. A Theory of Everything: An Integral Vision for Business, Politics, Science and Spirituality. Boston: Shambhala.

CHAPTER 4

The Rhythms of Research

In the previous chapters, I discussed the methodological premises of a transrational peace research with particular emphasis on the self. I have conceptualized different modes of knowing; I have explored the potential of this type of research; and I have highlighted some of the productive challenges that could be encountered along the way. As a next step, I want to turn to the research process itself and propose a systematization. This is intended as an orientation for peace researchers. It is not intended as a prescription of how a research process (transrational or otherwise) should unfold, nor is it a factual statement claiming that research always unfolds in this manner. This is not my intention. The map is not the territory. Any map hides at least as much as it reveals. Still, a map can provide pointers, can give orientation and be useful on the journey. Towards this purpose, I once more refer to the maps that Gabrielle Roth has provided with the Five Rhythms.1 The terminology and structure of these maps speak to both the functional/structural aspects of the research process; they also address the underlying state of being and energy of the researcher that often accompanies them.

1 For related approaches, see Janesick (1998) or Moustakas (1990). Janesick also uses dance as a metaphor for describing the process of qualitative research, while Moustakas divides the process into the six phases of initial engagement, immersion, incubation, illumination, explication and creative synthesis.

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Applying the Five Rhythms to research means commencing once again with Flowing. This corresponds to the early phase of research, the initial calling to this type of work, the initiation of the process and tentative approximation of a topic. In this stage, we do not know the exact outline and details of what calls us yet. Flowing asks the researcher for trust and surrender, the tentative engagement with the new and as of yet unknown. It implies the careful listening for the topic calling and the researcher’s resonances to that call. It is, in every sense of the word, an initiation that, if accepted, engages the researcher on the heroine’s journey (cf. Campbell 2008; Gilligan and Dilts 2011; Rebillot 1993) that is any peace research, and particularly one that works through the self. Having accepted the task of research, Staccato is the rhythm of preparation for the tasks ahead. Things are getting concrete and practical. Staccato corresponds to the organizing tasks of structuring, devising a research plan, a timeline, outline and writing the introductory chapter that forms the frame for the process. Questions of feasibility, management of time and (financial) resources want to be addressed. If applicable, research participants need to be found. If possible, an accompaniment for the journey is also advisable if not required. These days, this often takes the frame of a research community or university, maybe also a supervisor2 who ideally can take the function of a trusted (academic) elder. Perhaps funding needs to be secured and grant applications written. If flowing into the research asks for trust and surrender, organizing it in Staccato necessitates clarity and structure. Whether or not the research process is devised in a linear or nonlinear manner, the frame that holds it needs to be matched by the researcher’s preparedness. Clarity and order can be helpful friends on this journey. During Chaos, the research is engaged full upon. Bibliographical references are plumbed for their depths, concepts developed, data gathered. The interaction with research participants takes place. Staccato devises methods and structures; Chaos applies them. The research mushrooms 2 In her work on reflexive research, Kim Etherington (2004) emphasizes the importance of the relational aspects of supervision for MA and PhD students when researching their theses or dissertations. Often overlooked, studies show the quality of the relation to be important for the completion rates particularly of PhD students within the Social Sciences (Etherington 2004, 165). Particularly for students using the self as resource, this requires a supervisor who is willing and able to also accompany the personal processes involved in the research. Such supervision, hence, is also part of academic facilitation as described in the second part of this text.

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into new understandings and insights. Initial assumptions are bolstered, altered or discarded. Chaos is the rhythm when the research expands and deepens. This is also the rhythm when the shadow sides of confusion and anxiety most often rear their head. Time frames turn out to have been too optimistic; unexpected turns and twists seem to stall the process; or the amount of information just seems to be too much (or too little) to manage. These moments require an attitude that can bring together the trust in the process and surrender of flowing with the clarity of staccato, allowing grounding and orientation even as the researcher swims in the vast sea of uncertainties. Lyrical heralds the rhythm of writing the text. During lyrical the work ever more achieves a visible manifestation, the shape and form that staccato and chaos prepared, while still allowing it to flow with the tide of the unexpected and surprising. Lyrical is the creative process and play with patterns that seek expression. If Lyrical and Flowing can be combined, the process often comes with the joy of new understanding, even if the topics dealt with are of a difficult and problem-laden nature. A writing style and language have to be found that match and foster what is to be expressed. Academic writing is not only representation, but also a part of the process during which new insights and meaning are still generated. Finally, stillness calls the researcher to equally attend to the overall shape and bigger picture as well as to the small details of the text that need to be polished. Finishing touches are added and the conclusion is drawn up. The process leads to that exhale which lets the text go out into the world. Whatever they may be concretely, the completion of this heroine’s journey brings the fruits of new insights and contributions to the (academic) community and puts new proposals to discussion. For the researcher, stillness also implies letting go and looking with a compassionate eye towards the process, an eye that appreciates the journey and findings for what they are, without flattery or judgment. While the form presented here might appear to be linear, Gabrielle Roth intended it to be much closer to cyclical and holographic. Inside each of the rhythms, all of the other rhythms can be found as well. For example, there are the Flowing moments of surrender within the Staccato of organizing, just as well as the moments of Stillness within the Chaos of data gathering and interpretation. The rhythms of research presented here are also understood to be flexible and often iterative, instead of dogmatically sequential. There is often a certain back and forth, overlap or also a circling through the different rhythms several times. Personal preferences

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also play a role. Some people work and live in a more Flowing manner; for others the basic rhythm tends to be Staccato or any of the other three. Each has its qualities and pitfalls, yet knowing where we stand and who we are is advantageous. In the following, I want to engage more deeply with the aspects that are particular to the work through the self. For Flowing, this is particularly the initial moment of call and response, when the research is initiated. For Staccato, I want to elaborate further on the question of writing an author’s perspective and finding an initial structure for the research. For Chaos, I will ask the question of how transrationality relates to modern and postmodern research methods. For the part of Lyrical, the question of writing looms large. Hence, I will explore which styles of writing might be available for researching through the self. Stillness means making the work available for others. My question here is which standards of evaluation correspond to a transrational understanding that works through the self.

4.1

Flowing: Call to Research and Initiation

Flowing is the entrance to the research process. Gabrielle Roth’s dancing path draws on Shamanic origins (cf. Dietrich 2013, 113–114). In the logic of the Medicine Wheel, Flowing corresponds to the direction of East or the Shield of Spring (cf. Foster and Little 1998, 79–91). It is the land where the sun rises, a new seasonal cycle starts and where research is born. There are many ways of doing research and many reasons for doing so. For researching through the self, however, there needs to be a call to research. What is it that calls one to this journey? On the one hand, there are of course the author’s interest, curiosity, passion and biography that call intrapersonally from the inside-out. Yet, if there is to be research of the kind proposed here, this call from the inside needs to find its resonance in the topic calling back. Researching through the self is always researching with the topic. It is in this sense that Robert Romanyshyn points out that the topic also wants something from the researcher. The topic also chooses the researcher, not just the other way around (Romanyshyn 2007, 80–101, 105; cf. London 2016, 109). There is something that calls from the outside-in, something that wants to be said and has not found its proper idiom, an unfinished business or story, a pressing need, an imbalanced situation that wants to be addressed, an open Gestalt. In more academic terms, this is the lacuna in the state of the art. Topics around

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peace and conflict, I believe, are particularly amenable to this type of call or pull. If it meets an open ear, heart and mind, then research follows. Flowing into this type of research hence balances the call inside-out and outside-in. If, however, it is only a call from the outside, if there is no resonance from the inside, if we research without being personally touched or feeling involved, then a research through the self will most likely be difficult. It will then often lack in strength. Weak contact does not make a good conduit for transrational insights. A different, less engaged form of research might then be advisable and more fruitful and productive. Conversely, if the call is only from the inside, it might be better served with a practice of self-exploration or therapy than research. The inner fire might be burning, but what is then lacking is the connection to a larger topic of Peace and Conflict Studies. If the call inside-out is met by resonance outside-in, something else happens. A contact boundary emerges. In the mutual call, both the self as researcher and the research topic are established and co-emerge. The process is then under way. Flowing begins with surrender and allowing that contact boundary to be born. Even if the resonance is there, there are hundreds of reasons not to follow a call, to refuse to surrender and engage with the research process. Some of these reasons are good ones, others not so much. Over the years, I have heard many of the latter and have told some of them to myself. I have too much to do, I do not have the knowledge, right now is not the time, I am not good enough, I am not inspired, it will take too long, it will ask too much, I am afraid, it is too personal, not personal enough, tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow… Yet, if there is to be a research process at all, at some point the decision needs to be made to follow the call, surrender and engage with the research. As with dancing, it begins with placing one foot in front of the other, starting to move and letting the dance take you along. Flowing prepares the deeper ground which then manifests in the structuring of Staccato.

4.2

Staccato: Author’s Perspective and Structure

In Staccato, researcher and research project gain their initial form and structure. Staccato is the moment when it becomes time to ask the question of how to concretely structure the investigation. In terms of the Medicine Wheel, this corresponds to South or the heat of the Summer Shield (Foster and Little 1998, 29–41). Passion and fire for the topic

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ideally turn into clarity of who the researcher is on this research journey and what shape it might take. Staccato also is the moment of definitions and decisions. Transrational peace research here asks the author to give an account of herself, that is, formulate an author’s perspective. In this, it differs from modern research. Modern research presupposes a neutral and objective observer. Who the author is does not matter for what she writes. An author’s perspective is thus irrelevant for modern approaches, since the author is supposed to have no perspective. Postmodern research today usually expects an author’s perspective in which the author provides a critical account of one’s own position. Intersectionality (Crenshaw 1991; Davis 2014), for example, would presuppose disclosure at least along the axes of race, class and gender. Still, fairly recently, the deep ambiguity that Naeem Inayatullah mentions of some of the authors contacted for his wonderful edited volume Autobiographical International Relations (Inayatullah 2011, 2–5) shows some of the hesitations that continue to exist. Transrationality, in turn, asks of the researcher to properly start where she is. This means asking the question of who the researcher is in relation to her topic, which aspects of self and life have shaped one’s own approach and are relevant enough that they ask for disclosure and sharing? In the author’s perspective, the reciprocal call between researcher and topic finds its visible expression and grounding. An author’s perspective, furthermore, is a relational act of communication that allows a reader to understand who is doing the research. Often, this implies narrating the experiences that literally turn the researcher inside-out. It begins with the “thoughts, feelings, identities and experiences that make us uncertain” and in turn make us “question, reconsider and reorder our understanding of ourselves, others and our worlds” (Adams et al. 2015, 47). Each researcher is unique in her relational being in the world. Once we allow the depth of the own existence to flow into the formulation of the perspective, this uniqueness invariably surfaces through the perspective. After having read literally hundreds of perspectives for research proposals in Peace and Conflict Studies, I have yet to find two that are alike. Also, in terms of style, many different forms are thinkable for how an author’s perspective can be written. I find the classification that Robert Atkinson (1995) provides useful. He distinguishes three different styles, or layers, of telling a story: the autobiographical style, a life-story approach and an archetypical story. The latter can also be called a story of connectivity. To highlight possible styles, I take over Atkinson’s general terminology,

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yet adapt and alter the content to the particular purposes of writing an author’s perspective. An “autobiographical” style of writing an author’s perspective is one that is oriented on the facts and figures of one’s own life in relation to the topic. Written in a style that is often rather dry and matter of fact, it recounts the factual aspects of one’s own background that are relevant for the research. This style most closely corresponds to the bare bones demands of a positioning along the lines of race, class, gender, but also religion, upbringing, language, etc. While it provides a perspective, in practice it often ends up being a more informational style of writing, providing insights that could also be obtained from an extended topical CV or biography. Writing an author’s perspective along the lines of a “life-story” approach is oriented on experiences. It looks more towards the defining experiences and moments that led the author to the research and that shape her perspective in relation to the topic. Atkinson calls it looking for “the essence of what happened to us” (Atkinson 1995, xiv). The writing style often turns more personal, also rendering experiences and journeys that shape the deeper trajectories that led to this particular juncture from which the researcher now approaches the topic. Peak experiences3 and nadir experiences4 can find their way into the perspective (cf. Palmer and Hastings 2015; White 1998) just as well as plateau experiences5 (cf. Maslow 1994, xiv) or longer standing, repeated experiences. The open Gestalten whose resonance inspires the research can find their first, personal expression. With this approach, it is about telling the story that wants or needs to be told, in order for the author to understand herself and her topic and be understood by her audience in turn. A shift from a cognitive approach to one that looks for the holistic insights of understanding takes place. As such, the narrative can take on a more comprehensive coloration that might speak about the passions, pains and

3 For example, healing experiences, moments of bliss, great insight or revelation, experiences of peace. 4 For example, experiences of desolation, hurt, trauma or violence. 5 The more serene and calm experiences that do not provide such an emotional high or

low as peak or nadir experiences and, therefore, always have a cognitive or noetic quality according to Maslow (1994, xiv).

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joys of the heart around the topic, the sensing of the body and intuition of the soul or influence of spirit. Language often becomes narrative, evocative or closer to prose. Writing the author’s perspective as “archetypical story” or “story of connectivity” takes the life-story approach one step further. It seeks to explicitly connect the call inside-out to the one outside-in by linking one’s own story and perspective to the larger and collective topics—be they social, cultural, political, religious or also metaphorical or archetypical. How does the author’s individual story resonate with the larger questions of Peace and Conflict Studies that have led her to this topic? When this aspect shifts to the foreground, the writing style often turns poetic and metaphorical, speaking through soul and looking for spirit or addressing the resonance and correspondence between the occurrences above and below. Archetypical stories seek to understand the larger macrocosmic topics around peace and conflict through their relation to the rarefied expression in the microcosm of the single story. Depending on the author’s intent, there are several layers to writing a perspective. While an autobiographical approach is oriented on the facts and often drier and more informational in language, life-story perspectives render an experiential image that at times is written in narrative and prose. Writing a perspective as a story of connectivity or archetypical story traces the resonance, connection or correspondence between one’s own story and the larger stories of the collective. Writing often takes on a metaphorical or poetic quality. I do not understand this classification as normative or exhaustive. Syncretism and overlap are frequent; different styles are possible. In one way or another, all forms of writing an author’s perspective express and manifest the contact boundary between researcher and topic. The researcher’s task during Staccato is structuring, clarifying and ordering. Towards this purpose, the author’s perspective anchors the research, provides a first shape. The research interest leads to the first formulation of the broader topic and its concrete contours. Still, working with the contact boundary that has received its first expression in the author’s perspective, the gaze is now inverted. The author’s perspective is written from the view insideout. Now the focus is turned on what calls in the topic. What is the concrete problem or puzzle, the unfinished Gestalt, lacuna in research or the novel aspect that wants to be investigated? The research interest gives a first definition to the shape and limits of the research, what is part of the topic and what is not. Staccato here calls for taking a stance,

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for clarity and decision. The research interest then crystallizes further in the research question(s) that provide the engine that drives the research further. Conceiving possible methods to investigate the research question is also still part of Staccato, as is gaining an initial overview and systematization of relevant sources. Following this approach to research, Staccato provides the introductory chapter containing the (1) author’s perspective, (2) research interest, (3) research question, (4) method and structure and (5) state of the art. When it comes to the structure of the subsequent content, a whole range of different options is available. This reaches from the more classical and linear structures that, for example, my current text also follows, to the aphoristic, poetic structure that Friedrich Nietzsche came to espouse (Nietzsche 1974), to the nonlinear rhizomatic writings of Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari’s A Thousand Plateaus (Deleuze and Guattari 2005). One way or the other, an initial structure, chapter outline and sequence for the research process emerges. Based on these premises, it then becomes possible to delve into the depth of the research, which is the task during Chaos. In the research process, a well-defined structure allows the flexibility that is necessary when fully engaging self and topic.

4.3 Chaos: The Process of Knowing and Working with Data At one point, the Staccato of preparation structuring and ordering leads to the Chaos of engaging in depth. In the terminology of the Medicine Wheel, this corresponds to the direction of West or the Fall Shield— the time when the ripening of summer turns into the harvest season of autumn (Foster and Little 1998, 43–59). In terms of research, this is called the process of knowing or equally just “encountering and collecting data” (cf. Anderson and Braud 1998, 151–155). The two terms can be, and often are, used synonymously and have to be understood in the relational, enactive, emergent, presential, transformative and participatory manner of transrational epistemologies. They describe the process of how the researcher comes by the information that is relevant for the research. Chaos means diving below the surface, into the depth of the topic. Using the self as resource this is the rhythm of the greatest attunement for the resonances between the interpersonal, intrapersonal and transpersonal aspects that echo in the research. The research now wants to be navigated

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in the interplay between the informational gain of new input and the transformational aspects that arise when the gateways of the body, heart, mind, soul and spirit are open, receptive and engaged. In terms of the research process, the methods that have been devised during Staccato now come to application. Chaos also means that more often than not, the form that was developed during Staccato also needs to be adapted, modified and changed to some extent. The modes of knowing discussed during the previous chapters come to their full application here as well. Employing the fivefold distinction of the self and its modes of knowing is compatible with a wide range of tools (methods) for gathering information. An in-depth interview, for example, can be led relationally and through the heart, with a special emphasis on the empathically felt nuances (cf. Josselson 2013). It can equally be led in an embodied manner, including movement or visual representations as part of the interview process (cf. Fisher 1998). A focus group can contain the type of imaginal or poetic expression through which soul is more likely to speak. Finally, research can involve the type of ceremony and ritual that prepares the space for spirit (cf. Clements 2011). Even the simultaneously most common and most crucial type of research “tool”— researching literature—can include sensitivity to the subtle nuances of the body, mind, soul and influx of spirit. In line with the transrational epistemological principle of integration, a vast array of potential methods can therefore be included when researching through the self. Following the elicitive principle, no complete canon of transrational methods can be described, but each method choice needs to correspond to the nature of the inquiry. In the end, there may be as many methods in the world as there are researchers and research questions (cf. Moustakas 1990, 43–44). Transrational research does not aim to replace or supersede the established modern and postmodern methods, but rather seeks to creatively expand and add to them. However, when also taking the complementary epistemological principle of differentiation into consideration, there emerges a further important point. Methods are never neutral tools, but are based on ontological, epistemological and ethical assumptions. These in turn co-determine what can be found through deploying them. Asking a question through a method that is based on modern assumptions is most likely to yield a modern answer. A quantitative questionnaire, for example, is based on Cartesian assumptions. It strictly separates the researcher from those who answer the questionnaire. While the researcher is supposed to be the

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knowing subject, the respondents turn into the objects from which information is to be gleaned. The tool of the quantitative questionnaire is geared towards negating the type of relational understanding that is the hallmark of transrational epistemologies. Findings, therefore, are more likely to only speak to the aspects that can be studied by working from the assumption of an atomistic subject. Such an assumption is problematic when working in a transrational manner, but also might be inappropriate when studying energetic aspects of peace. Energetic cosmovisions are often based on rather different assumptions, as the corresponding discussion on energetic ontologies and epistemologies has shown. To study these through modern or postmodern lenses raises questions of adequacy and respect. Using a secular and rational approach to study aspects that by their very nature defy an exclusive description through such means will lead to results that might fail to understand what they pretend to capture. Any method operationalizes the underlying assumptions that it is built upon. These assumptions have to be taken into consideration when designing a research project. Working with a method in a transrational manner is therefore more than simply adding another dimension to modern and postmodern methods. It implies understanding and reworking their ontological and epistemological premises, thereby changing the methods themselves. However, it does not follow that information that has been gathered through modern and postmodern methods turns irrelevant or inappropriate for the transrational researcher. Also, a transrational researcher may wish to study or rely on the aspects that can be gained through a modern and rational tool or may rely on data that has been gathered in this manner. Furthermore, the lenses of the different aspects of the self can equally be brought to bear during the second step of knowing, which is working with the data that is gathered (interpretation). Also, the findings of a quantitative questionnaire can be understood and interpreted holistically through all the researcher’s modes of knowing, thereby reworking its (modern) premises. Chaos can often turn out to be the longest rhythm of a research process time-wise. It is also advisable to stay with it, allow the research process to lead one into the depth of the self, participant and topic. If the work is really done here, understanding is reached, deepened on all levels of being

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until a point of saturation.6 The subsequent phase of Lyrical—the actual writing—is also well prepared. Out of the Chaos, one then gives birth, as Nietzsche (1982, 129) says, to a dancing star. This is Lyrical.

4.4

Lyrical: Forms of Writing

In the rhythms of research, the phase of Lyrical is one of creative output, when understanding coalesces into form, thereby receiving a visible shape. Lyrical implies more than just the simple writing down of a research report, but rather is a creative act, during which something hitherto unexpressed attains form. Using the researcher as resource, it is the moment in which understanding is increasingly languaged. In this languaging, the overall understanding of self, participants and topics are carried forward. In the logic of the Medicine Wheel, it corresponds to the direction of North, and the Winter Shield (Foster and Little 1998, 61–78). Applied to research, this means the maturity of expression and understanding that has come out of the path already traveled. While it is also possible to include other forms of expression like images, audio and video, for the following discussion I want to focus on the different forms of writing through the self. Academic writing has seen a multiplication in form in recent decades (cf. Denzin and Lincoln 2011, 2018). Norman Denzin, one of the leading voices in the field of qualitative research, sums up the current state of the art quite well: A mature social science embraces all writing forms, from the experimental literary text to the traditional realist article. There is no attempt to silence one writing form in favor of another. (Denzin 2016, 44)

Laura L. Ellingson (2011) provides a systematization for different styles of academic writing, by proposing a continuum approach. On one side of the continuum, she posits approaches that perceive the researcher to be irrelevant to the results. For the corresponding writing, she suggests the 6 Saturation does not mean completion or exhaustion. In principle, it is always possible

to go deeper still, do yet another interview, add yet another source and hence deepen or broaden one’s own understanding. For most topics, just the literature that is already available spans libraries. Saturation therefore does not mean exhaustive depth, but sufficient depth. It can be defined as the moment when a topic has been researched thoroughly, so that “researching further yields only repeated patterning and themes” (Marshall 2016, 6).

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“use of passive voice, view from nowhere (…), claim single authoritative interpretation, meaning summarized in tables and charts, objectivity and minimization of bias highlighted” (Ellingson 2011, 597). This way of writing largely corresponds to a modern approach to peace research. In the middle of Ellingson’s continuum are the approaches that focus on the research subjects, yet also take the researcher’s positionality into consideration. The corresponding writing style, Ellingson suggests, is one that uses the first-person voice in form of “brief narratives in research reports” and includes “snippets of participants’ words” (Ellingson 2011, 597). It highlights a single interpretation while emphasizing its partiality and positionality, with “some consideration of the researcher’s standpoint(s)” (Ellingson 2011, 597). Such a perspective and writing in turn can be recognized as a postmodern approach to peace research. On the other end of the continuum, we find approaches that take the researcher as the main focus, or see her as at least of equal importance as the research participants. For the corresponding types of writing, Ellingson suggests the “use of first person voice, literary techniques, stories, poetry (…), multivocal, multigenre texts, layered accounts, experiential forms, personal reflections” (Ellingson 2011, 597). This last approach that corresponds most closely to the type to research that I am suggesting. Ellingson (2011, 596) points out that the characteristics of a continuum approach are the bridging of binary divides that stem from an often dichotomist either/or rendering. To blend the different writing styles and formats, she suggests two different forms of what she calls “layered accounts.” These correspond to ways of researching that can be found particularly also in postmodern and transrational approaches: Layered accounts move back and forth between academic prose and narrative, poetry or other art, revealing their constructed nature through the juxtaposition of social science and artistic ways of knowing. (Ellingson 2011, 600)

Layered accounts often draw upon (personal) experience and academic sources and represent a blend of different manners of knowing. In socalled patched layered accounts, smaller pieces of different genres are juxtaposed to each other, with each of the sections clearly demarcated and sequential (Ellingson 2011, 605). Sections of personal narrative, for

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example, marked in italics, can be integrated in between sections of standard academic prose. The different voices of the body, heart, mind or soul are discerned by each being given its own writing style and position, while also maintaining the overall coherence of the structure, red thread and content. In “woven” layered accounts, the different voices are blended together into a complex mix that seeks to integrate the differences without sequential ordering and demarcation (Ellingson 2011, 605). Writing that tries to capture, foster and further the different modes of knowing of the self could take on one of the following forms7 in either a patched or woven manner. Embodied and performative writing is attentive to the subtle nuances of sensed meaning and is written inside-out, experiential and from within the living flesh (Anderson 2001). It aims to elicit a sensory resonance in the reader by letting the body speak: providing vivid and nuanced descriptions of the sensory aspects of experiences and the meaning that can flow from them. Rather close to embodied forms of writing are the styles that are affective and evocative. They pay close attention to the felt qualities and meanings. They often equally aim to facilitate an affective resonance and empathy in the reader (cf. Behar 1996; Pelias 2004). In the supervision of students and also in facilitating workshops of self-discovery, I have often found how crucially important it is to first learn to differentiate sensations from feelings and then also learn to recognize how they influence and shape one another. Writing in an affective and/or embodied manner gains its depth from paying close attention to that interplay. Storytelling and narrative forms proceed from the assumption that as human beings we make meaning of our experiences through stories (cf. Josselson 2011). These styles try to understand their topic of study in a storied manner. This can take the form of thinking about a story, that is, being told a story and analyzing it (i.e. analysis of narration) (cf. Hiller and Chaitin 2014). Or, alternatively, it can take the form of thinking with story, that is, presenting the findings of one’s own research in the form of a story (i.e. narrative analysis) (Ellis 2004, 197). Narrative approaches often highlight how the whole (plot) shapes and holds in place each of the parts, which in turn influence the whole (Josselson 2013, 6–8). Often 7 The following overview renders different writing styles. Of course, a more functional classification along the lines of descriptive, interpretive, structural, categorical, predictive, explanatory, etc. would also be possible (cf. Wertz et al. 2011, 93).

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hermeneutic in their approach, they can emphasize the knowing through mind, as well as the moments when the organized wholes of soul and spirit find their voice. Poetic and metaphorical ways of writing (Faulkner 2009) serve to highlight the multifaceted, contextualized emergence of meaning in the non-rational, transpersonal or archetypical qualities of an inquiry. They lend themselves to the immediate grasping of something that is characteristic for intuitive types of knowing (cf. van Manen 2014, 261). John Paul Lederach’s (2005) writing in The Moral Imagination is an excellent example for such a style. The same goes for the use of writing through images: Image enriches the sense of a text with the depth of meaning that invokes ineffable quality of lived experience. Thus, when a text images (becomes image), it acquires (in)audibility, (in)visibility, and the (in)sensitivity of touch. (van Manen 2014, 262)

The openness and ambiguity of poetic and metaphoric language and its richness in image help to portray nonlinear insights and speak to the often-ineffable character of experiences by defying singular interpretations. Finally, the better-known autobiographical forms reflect on a larger topic through the prism of one’s own life story (Inayatullah 2011). The list is open ended. In the expressivity of Lyrical, content looks for form and is thereby transformed. Knowing and understanding are fostered through writing. A knowing that cannot find its proper idiom has to remain implicit. We then “know more than we can tell” (Polanyi 2009, 4, cf. Moustakas 1990, 20–22). In the open Gestalt of this knowing, something asks to be put into words (Gulowski 2018). This is a struggle that is shared, albeit in very different ways, by Mystics and survivors of violence. In both cases, an experience looks for words in order to surface, to be recognized and maybe become meaningfully integrated. Until that occurs, in both cases, only the absence and blind spot—what Jean Francois Lyotard (2002) called the differend—points to that potential site of emergence. For Peace and Conflict Studies, I think it is imperative that we admit and validate a wide range of possible forms of expression for our research. It is crucial that we do not prematurely close the book on what are the valid forms of scientific expression. Adopting a too restrictive view

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on what admissible formats are would be counterproductive to our own knowing. Trying to gain scientific legitimacy by exclusively holding to a positivist natural scientific standard of the early twentieth-century mutilates our understanding of our discipline, limits its transformative effect in the world and stifles the continuing exploration of the many peaces in all their potentials as of yet untold. It is also for these reasons that I hold the question of the form of academic writing to be one where the limitations should only be placed with care and much consideration. Still, in my opinion, we err too often on the dogmatic side today. In the dancing path of the Five Rhythms, Lyrical is also the moment of authentic self-expression. This is significant for the aspect of writing through the self in research. Authenticity takes on the qualities of writing transformative and vulnerably (cf. Brantmeier 2013; Ellis 2004, 130–155,). Here, transformative means writing in a manner that takes conscious and reflected consideration of life’s changing nature and is geared towards its unfolding and healing. When it comes to writing vulnerably, this is probably one of the most profound, inspiring and difficult aspects of this type of conducting research. It requires leaving the researcher’s cloak of anonymity behind and becoming visible and naked through one’s own text. As Ruth Behar points out, it takes not less but probably more skill than writing in an impersonal manner, for it (…) requires a keen understanding of what aspects of the self are the most important filters through which one perceives the world, and, more particularly, the topic being studied. (Behar 1996, 13)

Writing vulnerably is the corollary of what has been mentioned in the previous chapter when I discuss the moments when deeper aspects emerge during the research process, including the imbalances and shadows. Sensory, affective, intuitive or spiritually inspired research findings can only be understood if the corresponding processes are also allowed to come to light. This requires courage. It means walking the fine line of authenticity and vulnerability, without the text becoming self-serving, narcissistic or the self-disclosure turning into simple ornament. If done well, as Ruth Behar comments, it takes the reader places she would otherwise not get to go (Behar 1996, 14). The informational and particularly transformational potential of this type of research can find its expression. In my opinion, this is the high art of Peace and Conflict Studies. It shows how our own stories and the topics we study as well as the larger concerns

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within our discipline are woven from the same cloth. It ultimately brings to light that energetic insight of the non-separateness of existence. Even if our experiences and personal situated contingencies are different, what heals you can maybe turn into a tonic for me; and my unfolding can inspire yours.

4.5

Stillness: Evaluation and Letting Go

Stillness is the final rhythm of the research cycle. It signals the moment when it is necessary to add the finishing touches and let the research work go. The contact boundary between researcher and topic softens and eventually dissolves as the call has been sufficiently answered and the Open Gestalten are beginning to close. But maybe they do not close entirely, even though at times they might. This is to be expected particularly for some of the deeper and longer standing aspects that concern self and world. The topics that touch us deeply at times do not achieve closure within one cycle of engagement. What is attained is one step of transformation and integration that leads onto a new cycle. In this sense, stillness is not an ending point, not a stop. This is shown very well via the analogy to the Medicine Wheel. In the logic of the Medicine Wheel, Stillness corresponds to the Spring Shield and the direction of East, from where the journey also began. We have arrived not where we started, but at a new spring. The sun again rising in the east heralds the ending of one cycle and simultaneously already is the opening of a new one. In the practice of the Five Rhythms, Stillness and Flowing touch base. In the rhythms of research, the conclusion spans the bridge back to the initial chapter and the research question, to show what has been found out along the way. It leads the way into the next steps, whether that is a conference circuit, applied work or further lines of investigation. The image of a published report, written down and bound in pages only appears definite. It is also just a snapshot, a momentary expression of an ongoing flow of life. Letting go and moving on is the task of Stillness that leads to a new Flowing. However, before arriving at the question of letting go, there is still the question of stock-taking and attempting a synoptic view of the journey. In terms of academia, this implies the writing of the conclusion and criteria for assessment, which can rightly be asked of any academic work. What qualifies a successful research project that proceeds transrationally and

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takes the self as resource? A look back to the methodological premises of transrational research helps to answer this question. The epistemological premise for a transrational peace studies is that knowing is relational and happens in the interplay between interpersonal, intrapersonal and transpersonal aspects. From here, it follows that knower and known can never be separated from each other and from the process of knowing. Because transrational knowing is relational and contextual, it can never simply be repeated or re-tested in a laboratory setting. The modern standards of evaluation for good science along the lines of repeatability, testability, let alone objectivity, cannot be upheld for this type of research. This goes even more so for any type of research that wants to research, for example, energetic or transpersonal aspects, which by their very nature are elusive, unstable and ineffable. It also goes particularly for transrational approaches that want to research in a holistic manner and take the self as source and resource. Out of these premises and in order for a reader and an academic audience to still be able to understand and appraise (evaluate) the research findings, what is necessary is a radical reconceptualization and strengthening of the position of the researcher in the research. What goes on inside the knower, one’s own approach, background and experiential aspects must be made explicit for the results to be fully understood also by others. Putting the often personal and intimate processes by which we arrive at our findings entirely off stage means hiding crucial information without which the research cannot be understood. As Ruth Behar (1996, 6) says, quoting George Devereux “what happens within the observer must be made known (…) if the nature of what has been observed is to be understood.” Disclosure of one’s own self and processes of knowing is, indeed, an opportunity for transformation for the reader and audience. However, what is more, we can now also recognize the question of the treatment of the self as one of the crucial linchpins for understanding and evaluating the quality of the research. Based on these premises, we can now address the question of validation itself. Laurel Richardson (Richardson and Adams St. Pierre 2005,

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964; cf. Denzin 2014, 69–84)8 has suggested four criteria for evaluation in autoethnography, which I want to propose for the current type of research, albeit in slightly adapted form9 : 1. Does the research provide a substantive contribution to the current state of the art? In different words, does it add to our knowing and understanding of the topic? Is there informational gain? In line with the definition of research that I suggested in Chapter 1, I think this can be asked of any research. If all research is a creative inquiry in order to know, then of course informational gain is also relevant for the question of whether it succeeds. What has the audience learned, in the larger sense, about peace and conflict through this research? 2. Is it plausible and congruent ? Many of the forms of knowing that occur through the self cannot be checked directly against another source. For this type of research, the standard cannot be one of truth, facticity or also repeatability. Furthermore, Max van Manen argues that for such an investigation, it does not matter whether events really took place in exactly the manner described: (…) it does not really matter whether the experience actually happened or whether it is fictional. If it is a plausible experiential event then that means that the events may have happened more or less like this; yet it may be imagined and purely fictional” (van Manen, 2014, 245)

Plausibility and congruence of the argument and presentation therefore turn into relevant criteria for evaluation. 3. Does it have aesthetic merit ? The question of whether the research succeeds aesthetically turns relevant particularly for the forms of research that are expressed through story, poetry, image, metaphor or the similar. The question of whether the point is well made and can be understood (criteria one and two) also depends on

8 This essay by Laurel Richardson and Elizabeth Adams St. Pierre has recently been republished in the fifth edition of The Sage Handbook of Qualitative Research (Denzin and Lincoln 2018). The four criteria suggested in the original essay remain unchanged. 9 As suggested by Laurel Richardson, the four criteria are: substantive contribution, aesthetic merit, reflexivity and impact. To this, I have added plausibility and congruence as a separate fifth criterion, which Richardson includes under substantive contribution.

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the aesthetic qualities of the text. This asks for different skills and qualities than particularly modern research, which only aims for information gain. 4. Impact and resonance: Does the research affect and move? Is it engaging, evocative and does it invite transformation? If the research is intended to be holistic, addressing the researcher in all her faculties, does the same also go for the audience, and how is this achieved in the text? From a transrational perspective, the commitment to social justice that is often stipulated as a requirement for research in the social sciences (Denzin 2016, 48–50) is recognized as partial. It mainly corresponds to a moral perspective. From a transrational viewpoint, the aim of social justice can be a part of any individual peace research, but cannot be a general criterion for evaluation. Peace research of the transrational kind much rather aims for transformation—of which social justice is only one particular possible expression. This, in turn, leads to the final point. 5. Self -reflexivity and ethics: Is there “adequate self-awareness and selfexposure” (Richardson and Adams St. Pierre 2005, 964) for the reader to understand the point of view? Is it honest and authentic? As we have seen above, putting the processes of the self on stage is not just an added benefit for the reader, but is a crucial requirement for the research to be understood and appraised. This goes hand in hand with the question of ethics. Is the treatment of others and topic ethically viable, along the lines stipulated in the beginning for a transrational ethics? Does the author also hold herself accountable to her own standards of knowing and those of the communities with whom she works? Researching through the self therefore is more than just adding one or several additional dimensions to research; it emerges from certain ontological and epistemological assumptions and has consequences and effects all the way through the research—right up until the question of the evaluation and validation of findings. The final task of Stillness then is letting go. In the logic of the Five Rhythms, Stillness is also the rhythm of old age and finally death. Die and become is an old adage. It means that in order for something new to blossom, something has to be let go. At some point, this particular contact boundary between topic and researcher needs to die for the research to actually be completed and disseminated. The Gestalt of this

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particular project thereby is closed, even if not all the Gestalten in terms of content could be closed. Gabrielle Roth links Stillness to breath. Writing the conclusion, finishing the text, assessment and evaluation are all part of the long exhale and letting go. Eventually, it leads to death, to that pause and moment of fulfilled emptiness in between the complete exhale and the next inhale. In this completed void, integration blossoms. In practical terms, it implies consciously resisting the temptation to immediately fill up the space again within new projects and rather allow this last rhythm of research its time of unfolding. Being able to stand that moment of Stillness in all its imperfect perfection, allowing the pause to flower and fill the self with its insights is the last challenge and gift on this path. From the mystery of the beginning, in Flowing, the journey has led all the way to the mystery of letting go in stillness—and in between lies that savage and beautiful country of research (cf. Ackerman 1990, 309).

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PART II

Second Wave: Peace Studies Facilitation

My research project has now arrived at a moment of transition. The considerations of the previous chapter on the Rhythms of Research complete the first part. Out of the Stillness with which the last chapter ended, we are now moving into a new Flowing—that of the second wave or second part. Many of the aspects covered during the first part will also be relevant here, as I now pose my second research question: What does it mean to facilitate transrationally and elicitively in Peace and Conflict Studies ? In the first part, I have provided a conceptual rendering of the self that is based on transrational assumptions. I have elaborated on a procedural understanding of the self in a fivefold manner that emerges in the resonance, correspondence, and homeostatic balance between interpersonal, intrapersonal, and transpersonal aspects. The question that follows is how can learning be facilitated for students based on those anthropological and ontological premises? Furthermore, the central question of my research interest is what does this mean for the one who does the teaching, that is, the facilitator? In starting my second wave, I am guided by the insight of that master teacher Parker J. Palmer when he suggests: good teaching cannot be reduced to technique; good teaching comes from the identity and integrity of the teacher. (…) Good teachers join self and subject and students in the fabric of life. (Palmer 2007, 11)

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SECOND WAVE: PEACE STUDIES FACILITATION

Following this trail, the teacher’s self plays the central role in my exploration. Towards this purpose, I will enlarge the conceptual frame of the self by that of the persona in the part following this one. The process of knowing and the distinction between knowing as intellectual cognition and knowing in the holistic sense of understanding will equally be pertinent from here on out. In the first part, I have conceived knowing as relational, enactive, emergent, transformative, and presential. In the sense of Jacob Levy Moreno’s con-scientia, knowing has been rendered as what people do together. Parker Palmer sums up these two premises on the self and on knowing for the classroom setting: “To know is a profoundly communal act. Nothing could possibly be known by the solitary self, since the self is inherently communal in nature” (Palmer 1993, xv). This allows a first approximation to one of the key terms for this second part, namely learning. I approach this second part of my research project from the premise that learning in a transrational sense does not simply mean cognition, but rather aims for the holistic form of understanding. Such a learning also has an aspect of (self-)discovery and transformation. In the first part, I have asked how a holistic form of knowing as understanding can be operationalized for peace research. I now want to do the same for teaching. As a starting point, I assume that teaching of an elicitive and transrational kind is close to the process of facilitation, as it is known among others from elicitive peace and conflict work. I hence posit teaching and learning in Peace and Conflict Studies as a holistic process that is aimed at understanding, that takes the aspect of transformation into consideration and so is a comprehensive and collaborative adventure of (self-)discovery.

References Palmer, Parker J. 1993. To Know as We Are Known: Education as a Spiritual Journey. New York: HarperCollins. Palmer, Parker J. 2007. The Courage to Teach: Exploring the Inner Landscape of a Teacher’s Life. San Francisco: Jon Wiley & Sons.

CHAPTER 5

Facilitation

This initial chapter of the second part is devoted to some of the premises that guide the investigation on the self and its role in transrational and elicitive facilitation. In the beginning, I deepen the conceptual work on the self that has been done in the first part. Towards this purpose, I add the notion of the persona. From there, I proceed to explore facilitation in metaphorical and etymological terms. Metaphors and etymology shed a broader light than simple definitions do. Their ambiguity and multifaceted character, rooted in everyday life, invites different interpretations and novel perspectives. I commence my exploration of the term facilitation from this vantage point and subsequently also take a close look at particular energetic roots of facilitation. They equally provide a rich source of insights for a holistic understanding, yet one that is all too often neglected. Also, the humanistic, modern and postmodern roots of facilitation are addressed in this chapter, yet in a comparatively shorter manner than the energetic ones. After those initial explorations, I finally seek to provide a conceptual definition of transrational facilitation that can then provide the background for the whole second part.

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5.1 5.1.1

Premises

The Self and Its Persona

The initial conceptual exploration around the self yielded a fivefold understanding in the dynamic interplay between the body, heart, mind, soul and spirit. The personal aspect of the self emerges out of the interaction between the interpersonal and intrapersonal aspects. As such, the human being is a contact boundary at work. The personal self, furthermore, is hosted and sublated within the transpersonal self or spirit. To this rendering, I want to now add the psychological notion of the persona. Etymologically, the term persona can be traced back via the Latin personare (to sound through a mask) to its Greek or Etruscan origin as prosôpon or phersu, both of which mean mask (Dietrich 2012, 227). In the psychology of Carl Gustav Jung, the persona turns into one of the archetypes and emerges out of the collective unconscious (cf. Jung 1999). As a social archetype or a conformity archetype (Stevens 1994, 63), it indicates the side of ourselves that we present to the world, the public face that we wear. It is also charged with the (often idealized) notion of how we see ourselves and want to be seen by others (Kast 2013, 12). Jung himself derives the term from the masks that actors wore in Mediterranean antiquity (Jung 1990, 465; 1999, 157). The persona regulates our relations to the outside world. In the notion of the human being as a contact boundary at work, it is formed on the most surface level, in the immediate contact between the interpersonal and intrapersonal. The other side of the persona is the shadow, consisting of our hidden and repressed side. The persona is the face we show to the world and is illuminated by the light others shine on us and by our own light of consciousness. The shadow is the hidden other to this light. The persona delineates the field of acceptable and appropriate behavior. It inadvertently also reveals the outline of the shadow as its opposite figure. Knowing a persona usually also gives a good indication of what the shadow looks like (cf. Kast 2013; Singer 1994, 158–177). During childhood the family is the first place that we learn to practice different personae—the acceptable behavior that forms the persona of, for example, somebody as son or daughter, brother or sister. Later on personae are formed and belonging is regulated through schooling, education, friends as well as social groups. This process continues in adult life, through, for example, partnership and professional life. Almost any profession also has its own variety of personae—the range of usual,

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normally competent and acceptable behavior expected of somebody in a given type of job. Society needs a vast range of differentiated roles in order to function (Loomis 1991, 17). In the course of our lives, we build up our own repertoire of personae to navigate the different settings in which we find ourselves. Problems can occur if we, for example, mix the personae we wear or if we use them inappropriately—the lover instead of the teacher, the father instead of the co-worker. Rigidly held masks equally can lead to problems, if the play of shifting personae is inhibited through imbalance, whether excess, deficits or blockages. A well-fitting and dynamic persona also has a regulative function as regards the fivefold self. It balances which parts of one’s own emotional, intellectual, embodied or spiritual life to show and, thus, can also be protective of both oneself and others. If the corresponding adjustment is not successful, the surroundings notice. Whoever shows too little of the self appears cold and distant, whoever shows too much overwhelms others with one’s own self-revelation (cf. Kast 2013, 16). This is the case because the persona is a partial view on to the self that highlights certain aspects while it hides others. When the different parts of the self are aligned, we intrapersonally experience ourselves as congruent. Additionally, when self and persona correspond, chances are higher to also be experienced as congruent by others. While it is therefore true that we can hide behind the mask of the persona, it is also through the persona that the self can appear on the outside world and gain manifest form. The face we wear no longer is just a mask, but it comes alive. The resonance between self and persona is crucial for this second part of my research project. This is the case because facilitation implies to not just be in contact with the different parts of the self and use them to investigate a topic, but to turn the self into a viable source of strength and insight in the relational encounter that is teaching. The persona points to the surface aspects of a professional role, such as the skills and competences of a facilitator. The personal self leads to the deeper aspects of being and opens out on to the transpersonal aspect. A type of facilitation that wants to draw from the sources of the self needs to also pay attention to the congruence between persona and self. It cannot just be content with a technically correct application of one’s own tools of trade and the professional persona, even if those are important too. A technically skilled and knowledgeable facilitator that is perceived as cold, incongruent or, to the contrary, as overwhelmingly open, will have difficulties establishing a warm relational contact, a safe setting or a trustful climate.

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I am, therefore, suggesting that this particular type of transrational and elicitive facilitation implies investing the persona with the strength of the self. Interpersonal freedom, furthermore, emerges from the possibility to choose between different personae. In the concrete context, this freedom depends, among others, on how cultural, social, political, socioeconomic contexts and gender norms form an interwoven net that defines and thus limits the roles that are concretely available (cf. Crenshaw 1991). Imbalances and blockages occur to the extent to which these contexts are exclusionary or prescribe fixed and unchanging categories. This happens when, for example, the role of facilitator is so charged with cultural and gendered norms that it only becomes available as persona to (heterosexual, white) men. Seen from a holistic perspective, these aspects need to be taken into consideration too, as holistic cannot be taken to mean universal or de-contextualized. 5.1.2

Etymology and Metaphors of Facilitation

The current chapter is dedicated to deepening the exploration of the meaning of facilitation. I want to commence this journey by first giving a brief etymological description of the term facilitation. I then explore facilitation in light of three prevailing metaphors, one artistic and two spatial: facilitation as dance, facilitation as container and as holding space. In this manner, I hope to shed some light on the imagery of facilitation, before exploring different concepts of facilitation in the subsequent sections of this chapter. In their groundbreaking work, Metaphors We Live, George Lakoff and Mark Johnson (2003) explore how metaphors structure human lives and render meaning to it. They contend that the central feature of metaphors is to allow us to understand and experience “one kind of thing in terms of another” (Lakoff and Johnson 2003, 5). Far from being random, metaphors have a basis in physical and cultural experience (Lakoff and Johnson 2003, 14). Lakoff and Johnson point out that all metaphors are rooted in experience, independently of which no metaphor can achieve its function, that is, be “comprehended or even adequately represented” (Lakoff and Johnson 2003, 20). Metaphors give depth and shape to our understanding. In doing so, they are selective. Each metaphor highlights and makes visible certain aspects, while others may be defocused

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or turned invisible.1 Shifting between different metaphors allows highlighting different perspectives of a topic or concept, therefore rendering distinct aspects intelligible. An important first hint to understand facilitation derives from the term’s etymological root. The noun facilitation comes from the verb to facilitate. In this guise, it first of all denotes a form of doing and practice—an activity. It is defined in the following way: “to make easy and render less difficult” and has its origin in the Latin facilis as “easy to do” (Online Etymology Dictionary 2017; Hogan 2009, 10). A facilitator, in this sense, is somebody who is an enabler, somebody who is engaged in the activity of making things easier and helping them along. This root already contains several aspects of relevance. First of all, as an enabler, a facilitator is somebody who works with and helps other people, rather than fixing things. Facilitation as enabling and making things easy is different from prescribing or mandating them; a facilitator is distinct from somebody who stipulates correct steps of treatment towards a cure or desired outcome. A facilitator, in this sense, has elements of a “process guide” (Hunter et al. 2007, 1). Yet, from the etymological root, a facilitator can also be somebody who provides contents. The Latin root does not distinguish between process and content, but rather indicates the facilitator as somebody who does not impose, mandate or prescribe. The root, furthermore, emphasizes the positive and productive side of facilitation. This is particularly important for peace and conflict work and for academic settings, which in their (post)modern variations often focus on virtues of critique and problematization. A facilitator, in contrast, is somebody who fosters and nurtures, who enables processes to come to unfolding and fruition. This points to a certain trust in the procedural nature of existence that a facilitator might have. As such, it is congruent with the principles of homeostatic balance and the directional tendencies earlier postulated as premises of a transrational approach. What is more, the term suggests a certain lightness and levity. A facilitator then could be somebody who intervenes with a light touch rather than a heavy hand.

1 To give an example: “Time is money” is a well-known metaphor in modern, capitalist societies that tries to explain time in monetary terms. Time can therefore be “well spent” but should not be wasted. It can be accumulated by “making time” or, yet if squandered then just is “lost time” (cf. Lakoff and Johnson 2003, 3–9). In this manner, metaphors structure perception and daily, lived existence.

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Who nudges and suggests rather than enforces. Maybe it is not too farfetched to even imagine a certain lightness of character. A facilitator then would be somebody who is grounded but does not easily get towed under or overwhelmed by challenging or difficult situations. This last aspect is emphasized also by the metaphor of facilitation as dance that is portrayed by Hunter, Bailey and Taylor: Effective group facilitation is an artful dance requiring rigorous discipline. The role of the facilitator offers an opportunity to dance with life on the edge of a sword – to be present and aware – to be with and for people in a way that cuts through to what enhances and fulfills life. A facilitator is a peaceful warrior. (Hunter et al. 2017, x)

This metaphor sees facilitation as a dance and, therefore, as an art, rather than simply being a skill or technical procedure. To follow this metaphor further, it could be suggested that dancing requires light feet, the capacity to flow with the tune of the music and in relational resonance with a partner or fellow dancers. Dance is deeply intimate and unpredictable. Facilitation as a dance means flowing with that unpredictability and dancing with it in a manner that aims to enhance and fulfill life. Embracing life’s unpredictability, rather than safeguarding against it, turns the journey of the facilitator into the one of the peaceful warrior—the journey of she who simultaneously has a light touch and the discipline to be a free spirit (Roth 1998, 4). Discipline and lightness are no contradiction, neither in dance nor in facilitation. Like a dancer, a facilitator needs to be present and aware in order to understand what moves around her and in her. Facilitation in this metaphor is primarily an act of service—it means being with and for other people. In my opinion, this is a crucial feature. Last but not least, it offers new opportunity. Being with other people in dance continuously opens up options, changes the patterns of the dance, just as facilitation introduces new dynamics in the relational dance of conflict, of learning, of transformation or of problem-solving. Now I turn to the first of the spatial metaphors. In their rendering of the sonic aspects of healing and reconciliation, Lederach and Lederach (2010, 89–102) explore the metaphor of the Tibetan singing bowl. Understanding facilitation through this metaphor introduces an aural but also a spatial component. The singing bowl first is a vessel, a container

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for sound. Facilitation is a container for experience. A bowl is simultaneously open and bounded. Sound is produced with a singing bowl by striking its rim with a felt-tipped drumstick. The sound then reaches into the depth of the bowl’s open space and echoes from its walls, leading to resonance. Openness enables the emergence of sound; its boundaries enable the stability necessary for echo and resonance. As a metaphor for facilitation, the singing bowls indicates the provision of a space that is equally open as it is bounded. A safe container in which the voices of participants can emerge, reach depth and receive resonance. The interplay of openness and boundedness thereby is key. Being with others in a facilitative manner means creating an open space in which the participants’ voices can be heard and receive resonance. It means clearly delimiting that space, so that it has sturdy walls and is simultaneously open and also bounded (safe). The bowl begins to sing when a continuous sound is created through the iterative circling of the bowl’s rim with a felt-tipped stick. In this manner, a vibrating hum is created that is of surprising strength and durability. The movement that creates the sound is circular and iterative. Facilitation, equally, is not a linear process, but requires constant iteration and circling “up and down as if on a staircase that rises from lived experience” (Lederach and Lederach 2010, 98). This is counterintuitive to the modern mind. The vectoral linearity of progress is a key modern metaphor. All too often, it is perceived as a sign of a stalled process if we do not proceed in a line from point A to point B within a certain amount of time and effort. From a modern perspective, the iteration of circling is seen as unproductive repetition (cf. Lederach and Lederach 2010, 44–72). A holistic process that touches all parts of the self, however, does not proceed in linear fashion. It moves rather in feedback loops between the body, heart, mind and soul, embedded in spirit as the deeper ground of non-separateness. The journey is one in which the seemingly same aspect (topic, problem, experience, etc.) is frequently circled over and over again until a saturation point is reached, at which it can meaningfully be integrated. Iteration here points us to the very human fact that we are simply not done with some topics after having gone over them just once. Specifically, the questions that touch us deeply, or the conflicts that are of a protracted nature, need to be circled again and again in a conscious and aware manner, as we listen for the sound that the friction of the iterative movement creates. With each re-iteration something changes, even if it cannot immediately be perceived on the

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surface. Allowing this circularity and iteration to take its path deepens and expands understanding. In this manner, our topics finally can sing to us in an intelligible manner. The metaphor of the singing bowl calls us to the virtues of patience, persistence and dedication within facilitation. Transformation does not always take place in the revelatory moments of a breakthrough. Facilitation means accompanying transformation as the encouragement to patient and dedicated work that does not shy away from circling and iteration. The final metaphor I would like to explore is the one of facilitation as holding space (cf. Floyd 2016). Similar to the metaphor of the container, a space that is held also indicates the simultaneity of openness and boundedness. Such a space is inviting, but equally is safe and nurturing of trust. In a space that is held, participants can feel vulnerable but are not exposed. They can feel uncomfortable, but are not threatened. They are invited to look beyond the masks of their personae, but are not forcefully de-masked. Differences can be voiced and examined, but participants are not judged for the opinions they hold or the aspects they reveal. A space that is held is one in which both differentiation and integration can take place, without fear of retribution or retaliation. Harrison Owen, the founder of Open Space Technology simply, suggests “caring” as synonymous with holding a space in that manner (Owen 2008, 107). A space that is held requires somebody to hold it. This particular metaphor thereby emphasizes the facilitator and her relational qualities, her being-there more than the skills of her active doing. Holding a space indicates stepping back and figuratively opening one’s arms. It requires not just do something, but standing there (Lederach 2005, 104; Rosenberg 2005, 91). This standing there needs the facilitator’s full presence, empathy and attention in order to capture the unique qualities of this moment and the relational encounters that take place in this space. Marshall Rosenberg (2005, 91–92) cites a particularly compelling passage of Martin Buber’s Between Man and Man at this point: In spite of all similarities, every living situation has, like a newborn child, a new face, that has never been before and will never come again. It demands of you a reaction that cannot be prepared beforehand. It demands nothing of what is past. It demands presence, responsibility; it demands you. (Buber 2002, 135)

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The quality of the holding depends also on the personal and relational qualities of the facilitator. It demands a being in addition to merely a doing (Floyd 2016, 58). The interpersonal and intrapersonal depth with which a facilitator is comfortable is also indicative for the depth to which she can safely accompany participants. Facilitation as holding space asks the facilitator to constantly be aware of those limits and continuously check how large the remaining margin is within which the work can still unfold. Working with the metaphor of the facilitator as a spaceholder moves facilitation close to the art of directing in theater or danced choreography. It is the former from which Augusto Boal’s notion of the facilitator as Joker draws (cf. Boal 1985, 167–179; Staffler 2009, 125–128). As regards the qualities of space, John Heron distinguishes between a physical, outer space and an inner, experiential space during facilitation (cf. Heron 2010, 220–224). The physical space is defined by its material properties. Facilitation always takes place in a concrete setting, with definite spatial properties and surroundings that influence how the concrete dynamics unfold. This outer space is distinct—yet not separate—from the participants’ inner experience of that space. “Experiential space” is the first-person perspective on space, which arises from the view as it is lived from the inside-out: Experiential space is known by indwelling in it, by feeling it from within and as a whole, simultaneously in all its parts. (…) Experiential space complements physical space, interpenetrating with it and enhancing it with a four-dimensional all-at-once grasp of its three dimensions. (Heron 2010, 222)

Experiential space is made up from the participants’ and facilitators’ experiences. It correlates to the soma, the first-person perspective from within the lived body. The space that is held in facilitation is so jointly made up of the interrelation between the outer physical space and the participants’ inner experiential space. Through the experiential space, the overall setting is charged with its atmosphere. It is experienced, for example, as an open and inviting space, one of trust, or also one that is fraught with tension, one that is inhospitable, closed, foreign, etc. Together experiential space and physical space form a lived space (cf. Ellingson 2017, 22).

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In the images of space, we encounter a difference between the two spatial metaphors. The metaphor of the singing bowl suggests a solid space of fixed proportions. A singing bowl does not change its shape. The metaphor of holding a space emphasizes the experiential element. A space that is held is equally made by the facilitator’s skills and qualities—her doing and being—as it is by the participants’ experience. Furthermore, a space that is being held is not an invariant or static feature. Emphasizing the experiential aspect allows seeing it as shifting and dynamic. In the course of a facilitation process, the contours of that space dynamically change. When a facilitator holds a space, this also means that she carefully tends to its proportions, that she is aware of its joined inner-outer quality and its changing character. Bringing the different aspects together, a facilitator takes the overall lived space into consideration. Facilitation as “making easier” and as “enabling” carries the connotation of relationally working with other people and assisting them in their own explorations, rather than making decisions, providing solutions or fixing problems for them. A certain lightness of touch and lightness of character are implied both in the Latin root and in the dance metaphor. This lightness, however, should not be confused with a lack of grounding. Much to the contrary, all the metaphors emphasize the aspects of presence and awareness, grounding and the ability for resonance and responsibility. The dance metaphor combines this lightness and presence with the discipline required to also artfully dance with those topics that cut like the edge of a sword. In this manner, facilitation becomes the enabling of new opportunities that enhance and fulfill life. Ultimately, facilitation means being with and for other people. The spatial metaphor of the Tibetan singing bowl adds the notion of facilitation as allowing the voices of participants to emerge and receive an echo. While the metaphor of dance emphasizes the notion of risk and unpredictability of life, the two spatial metaphors stress the notion of a facilitative space that is safe. These two are not in contradiction. The facilitative space is safe because it is equally open as it is bounded. In a safe container, it becomes possible to explore life’s unpredictability and to take risks without fear of injury or judgment. It can be a space for peace building and conflict transformation. The singing bowl metaphor brings the notion of the nonlinearity and iterative quality of facilitative processes as well as pointing to the patience and perseverance that are required. The metaphor suggests that facilitative processes gain depth in asynchronous and multidimensional manner, rather than through linear

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progress. The metaphor of the space-holder emphasizes the personal and relational qualities of the facilitator and de-emphasizes—but does not necessarily eliminate—active intervention. In this sense, the metaphor of the container seems to emphasize the boundedness of the space more strongly than the space-holder metaphor does. A space that is held, furthermore, is dynamic and changing. Having now approached facilitation through the lenses of etymology and metaphor, the subsequent sections aim to deepen that initial understanding. I will proceed by looking at examples from within different energetic traditions and their relevance for facilitation. 5.1.3

Energetic Facilitation

The art of facilitation is not a modern or postmodern invention, but is rooted deeply in energetic practices all across the world. Even if the term facilitation is not used, the above three metaphors and etymology allow an approximation. In this section, I trace the energetic roots of facilitation within the particular settings of Shamanism, Taoism and Tantric Buddhism. The Religious Society of Friends, whose members are also known as the Quakers, has furthermore had an abiding influence on peace work in general and facilitation in particular. I want to address this root as well. Building on the initial definitions of the previous chapter, these sources are meant to enable a broader and more comprehensive perspective on what it might mean to facilitate in Peace and Conflict Studies. 5.1.3.1 Go, Ask the Squirrels: Shamanic Facilitation The purpose and practice of energetic facilitation has to be seen in the context of the respective cosmovision, which I have rendered in the first part as regards the ontological and epistemological basis. Energetic traditions frequently proceed from the assumption that all of existence is related and that peace implies a dynamic balance—harmony—between the different aspects of nature, society and supernature or divinities. This raises the question of how to proceed when imbalances arise and existence is perceived as falling out of harmony. In shamanic contexts, this is what “illness” is taken to be: a disturbance of the natural balance of the cosmos (Bernstein 2005, 127). Healing implies holistic re-balancing. This is a task for all members of the community. Shamans are those who

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have turned this maintaining balance or re-balancing into their vocation. In the meaning given to it so far, shamans are facilitators. Practices enabling such a re-balancing are those that allow the practitioners relational orientation within one’s own life and lead to new understandings of one’s own place in the concrete setting and of the steps ahead. An enabling learning in a shamanic context can be found through the so-called coyote teaching (cf. Brown 1993; Dietrich 2013, 48–49), as that type of teaching that does not propose ready-made solutions, but teaches by example, question and riddle. Coyote teaching does not give answers but aims to capacitate learners to find the answers by themselves. It encourages proceeding experientially in a self-directed manner and by experiment, trial and error. “Go, ask the squirrels,” might be a typical answer by a coyote teacher to the question of “how do we build a shelter?” (Brown 1981). It is by observing nature, by going to the edges of the comfort zones and then stepping into the unknown that learning occurs. Towards this purpose, coyote teaching requires that the teacher get to know her learners so well that she may assist in, “edge by edge,” enlarging their comfort zone into “ever-expanding orbits” (Young et al. 2010, 12). The metaphors of holding space and container are found in practices like circles processes or the Medicine Wheel. The basic form of a talking circle to address problems in the community follows a simple yet powerful system. The following excerpt provides a short rendering from the North American Mi’Kmaw: Everyone sits in a circle, generally with men to the North and women to the South. The conductor of the circle will generally sit in the East. A token, such as a feather or a special talking stick, is passed clockwise around the circle. As each person receives the token, they may speak for as long as they wish, including addressing a topic brought up by another in the circle. When they have finished, they pass the token along. If someone does not wish to speak, they simply pass the token. The token may go around several times; when everyone has had the opportunity to speak as many times as they wish, the conductor ends the circle. (Mi’Kmaw Spirituality 2017)

It is customary to introduce oneself before speaking and only one persona speaks at a time. What is said comes from the heart, while everybody else listens with respect. Finally, nothing of what is said leaves the circle but remains there (cf. Mi’Kmaw Spirituality 2017). In this manner, a

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container and safe space is created. The rules for such a circle are set in advance and deal with the aspects of relationality—how the participants encounter each other in the circle. The structure and rules of a circle of this kind are rather simple. Its strength lies in the quality and depth of the relational encounter it enables. This is expressed through the notions that are emphasized most: listening and speaking from the heart (cf. Rosenberg 2005), being respectful with one another. In an energetic context, this is more than lip service or a symbolic ornament; it is the spiritual core of the practice. What is facilitated in such a circle is the increasing depth and authenticity of the encounter between participants. Balance and imbalance (illness) both are relational phenomena that arise from the human being’s embeddedness in all of existence. Deepening our relational bonds, therefore, is not a prelude to transformation, but is transformative. In this manner, problems can be addressed, healing take place, new venues for action found and the overall system be brought (back) into harmony. The geometry of the circle is telling. A circle is defined by its rim. It is through the rim that the space inside attains its contours. The very form of the circle enables a manner of holding. It creates a space that is bounded, yet one in which everybody is included. It invites relationality through seeing and facing each other. It symbolically flattens out hierarchies, enabling relationality while containing within a larger whole. A circle neither has corners nor positions of prominence. Just like in the metaphor of the container, the circle processes do not prescribe linear steps, but proceed in cycles—through iterations. Circle processes find their root in Shamanic traditions that are practiced all across the world. They form the energetic basis for many current tools of facilitation and transformation (cf. Pranis 2005; MacDougall and Baldwin 2007).2 Kay Pranis suggests a whole range of different circles for the purposes of “talking, understanding, healing, sentencing, support, community-building, conflict, reintegration, celebration” (Pranis 2005, 14). Most likely, the best-known Shamanic circle form is the alreadymentioned Medicine Wheel (cf. Dietrich 2013, 50–54; Foster and Little 1998; Lörler 1998; Storm 1997). The cyclical turning of the Medicine Wheel follows the cycles of the seasons of human and natural life as well 2 For a combination of restorative justice circles with elements of group therapy in a school setting, see also Procter and Dunlevy (2015).

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as the journey of the sun across the horizon. The sun rises gloriously in the East, as in the spring new life makes its appearance. The human cycle begins anew with birth, as the infant enters from the dark passage of the womb (winter) into the light of a new existence (spring). The sun then continues to rise to the direction of the South, just as spring blooms into summer. The corresponding cycle of human life is childhood, the land of emotions, in the best of cases the “pleasure garden” of vibrancy, warmth and sensations, innocently erotic (cf. Foster and Little 1998, 4). Fall casts a first shadow, the sun wanes and eventually sets as it moves to the West. In human terms, adolescence brings the questions of introspection, body and, finally, initiation into the community. Winter, north, spells the responsibility of adulthood and maturity, emphasizing mind’s reason and eventually wisdom. Those that come out of the night of winter alive finally emerge in a new spring, when the sun rises again gloriously and a new cycle begins. This new spring is the realm of Spirit, the great mystery—Wakan—from which we all came and to which we return (Lörler 1998, 69; Kirschner, n.d., 116–125). The term medicine suggests healing as becoming whole. While the modern term curing refers to the removal of (physical, psychological) illness, healing is aimed at balance. While curing often is done to a person, healing is done by her (Upledger 1989, 67). It allows a momentary rebalancing of one’s own existence but does not lead to static or final outcomes. Like other Shamanic practices, the Medicine Wheel is also not a simple tool for fixing a problem, but a comprehensive expression of a cosmovision that includes and relates to all aspects of existence. Working with the Medicine Wheel implies a comprehensive look at the concrete situation we find ourselves in, with all the material and spiritual components of a question, conflict or problem. It implies looking at the intrapersonal aspects just as well as the relational and interpersonal ones. It includes ancestors just as well as future generations and asks for a balancing according to the cyclical turning of the wheel that finds its correspondence between the outer and inner cycles of existence. The circle indicates the Oneness of existence, from which nothing is excluded. The function of the container is fulfilled through the Medicine Wheel’s ritualistic use. Ritualistic or ceremonial practice creates a space that is sacred and as such equally open to the larger whole and all of existence as it is bounded by the rules and formalized acts of tradition:

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Ritual occurs in a unique social space, set aside from everyday life. (…) ritual communicates through symbols, senses, and heightened emotions rather than relying heavily on the use of words. In rituals humans learn by doing. There is a preference for nonverbal communication using bodies, senses and emotions rather than words or rational thought. (Schirch 2005, 2)

The Medicine Wheel provides a lesson for contemporary practices that use ritual and symbol in peace building (cf. Schirch 2005). The Medicine Wheel also provides the original blueprint for the practice of the Five Rhythms on whose terminology much of my own approach in turn is built. It informs such disparate practices as multi-track diplomacy (Dietrich 2013, 163) and Jungian psychology (Loomis 1991). It is by understanding one’s own life in both its intimately personal aspects and as part of the greater whole that Shamanic traditions engage in the continuous, iterative and cyclical re-balancing. There are no better or worse positions in the circle of the Medicine Wheel, none that would be more advanced than the others. The very structure and use of the Medicine Wheel forbid such linear thinking of progress, and instead, it enables an ongoing practice of transformation. Such a practice is intrinsically relational and oriented towards all of existence. It implies a continuous dynamic of balancing, falling out of balance and re-balancing. 5.1.3.2 Doing Not-Doing: Taoist Facilitation The universe, in the Taoist assumption, is by its very nature sacred. If left in its natural state, if no confusion is created, things just flow and peace reigns (Dietrich 2012, 48; Kam-Por 2011). Trying to change, hold or even worse, fix and attempt to improve on the natural flow of things leads to disaster. Pre-established knowledge and learnedness is helpful only to a very limited extent. It often leads to holding on to plans, recipes and ideas of how things should be instead of perceiving them as they are. That, in turn, causes arbitrary interventions that miss the current moment and increase blockages and disturbances. Even and particularly the best of intentions often produces their opposite effect. Interference is perceived as frequently meddling and disturbing, rather than helping and enabling. The very notions that a mechanistic, improvement-oriented modernity prices so much, and the very basic attitude that inspires a lot of action, not just in the Idealist School of Peace Studies, are rendered problematic

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from a Taoist perspective.3 Taoism provides a salutary shock to modern and equally to postmodern mind-sets. Yet this does not imply that Taoism favors passivity, apathetic neglect or cynicism. Taoism, to the contrary, calls for one to first become aware of what really is and then align oneself “with the tendencies already built into the situation” (Simpkins and Simpkins 1999, 70) and the latent potential waiting to manifest. It is only by the careful and aware attunement to the current moment that effortless action succeeds. By understanding where one is, what the situation is, and what potential is waiting to unfold, an action succeeds not because it is driven by will or ego, but rather by the necessities and requirements of the current moment. Such action becomes simple and without strain. Aware non-doing, stillness and restraint from outward action are seen as crucial in this journey. The Taoist precept of Wu Wei prepares practitioners for the art of least intervention, of Kairos, of the right nudge at the opportune moment. At the limit point, when working with others, the Taoist practitioner herself becomes nearly invisible. She “leaves no trace” as it says in the Tao Te Ching (Lao 2008, 21) because she simply enables people to act according to their own resources and in accordance with Tao—the harmonious flow of the current moment. Qi is the name that Taoism gives to that subtle energy that is the root of all life. As a living system, the human being is “embodied and embedded, extended and enacted in its world” (Wagner 2015b, 30). The flow of Qi is the manifest energetic expression of this relational human condition. It is perceived interpersonally in the relationships “between a subject and the world” as well as “between people” (Wagner 2015b, 31). It equally has an intrapersonal component that is identical with one’s own “thoughts, feelings and mood” (Wagner 2015b, 31). It often is rendered like a system of waterways that traverses the human being and connects it to its surroundings. The flow of Qi in any given moment therefore is a measure of the harmony and balance or disharmony, imbalance and blockage in the concrete situation (Kohn 2008, 32–33). As a phenomenological concept, it becomes perceptible, that is “sense-able” as a “vague feeling or tensional shift within the body or between bodies, 3 In this respect, Taoism also has to be seen in its context and in the permanent critical interplay with its counterpart Confucianism. While there is a lot of syncretism and overlap between the two, many Taoist positions are also a critical alternative to the hierarchical, authority- and rule-oriented Confucian tradition (cf. Dietrich 2012, 85).

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or as a holistic sense of the atmosphere” (Wagner 2015b, 31). As such, it becomes a crucial indicator for the Taoist practitioner. Being able to correctly discern the mood and atmosphere of a given situation is equally important for a facilitator. Whether it is in conflict work or in a classroom setting, or when working with other people during a research project, in each case a lot depends on understanding and acting according to subtle nuances. These often do not appear in the corresponding training manuals for teachers, researchers or conflict workers, yet can be understood in their holistic meaning through Taoist practice. Taoist practice supposedly appears effortless and easy. However, it requires high situational awareness and sensitivity, ethical maturity and quite a different set of qualities than modern peace work and facilitation would propose. It is based on thorough training of all the modes of perception the self has available. Effortless action succeeds by attuning all parts of the personal self; it succeeds by being open to the larger transpersonal self (spirit) and by perceiving the connection between the interpersonal, the intrapersonal and the transpersonal. It calls for “a somatic, emotional and mental extension and widening of the self so that it may act flexibly and fluently” (Wagner 2015b, 32). In embodied methods like Qi Gong (cf. McGoey 2013, 156–169) or also in the Japanese tradition of Aikido 4 (cf. Dietrich 2013, 118– 124; Wagner 1999, 2015a), the practitioner learns to understand and transform the flow of Qi. Such practices once more require the particular combination of stability and flexibility that we have already touched upon previously. They require the practitioner to simultaneously become attuned to the flow of life and its web of relationality, while also remaining centered and grounded in the personal self or soul. In the practice of Aikido, this grounding in the self is represented through the coming together of the trinity of the centers of belly (hara, or also center of vitality and embodiment) with the center of the heart and that of the mind (Wagner 2015b, 40–43). It sensitizes towards the subtle energetic currents of the present moment and provides concrete venues for transformative work.

4 Aikido is not a Taoist practice in the strict sense of the word, as its founder Morihei Ueshiba has built it on principles of Shingon Buddhism and the Omoto sect of his native Japan (cf. Dietrich 2013, 118–125; Haroun 2015). The underlying terminology and energetic roots, however, are similar enough to warrant inclusion here next to Qi Gong .

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Likewise, artistic processes are seen under a similar light. Art, in the Taoist understanding is not a profession, but a way of living “in accord with the rhythms and harmonies of life” (Cooper 2010, 79) that finds its vehicle and visible expression in works like painting, calligraphy or also poetry. From a Taoist point of view, there is no clear separation between the artistic process and that art of the everyday life that is the realization of Tao. Taoist teaching, similarly, is more than just a passing on of intellectual knowledge; it includes the whole (energetic) presence of the teacher (Culham and Lin 2016, 193). In light of the topic of facilitation, it now might be tempting to see these methods from a solely utilitarian perspective. They then would become primarily forms of training, acts of preparation for facilitation and for applied peace and conflict work or tools for teaching. And indeed, as anybody who has practiced Aikido, for example, might testify, there is a lot of training in the sense of refinement of technique and preparation that is involved. Yet, a purely mechanistic and goal-oriented interpretation misses the deeper point. In an understanding of correspondence between inner and outer, the act of bringing oneself in harmony is not just preparation, but already is transformation of the outer and inner world. The Taoist story of the rainmaker (cf. Walch 2018, 236; Jäger 1999) teaches that aspect. In this story, a professional rainmaker is called to a town. People are distressed because the town has been struck with a draught and no rain is forthcoming. The villagers want the rainmaker to change that. When the rainmaker agrees to help them, they expect ceremonies and elaborate work in order to make the rain come again. But rather than doing any of these, the rainmaker simple requests a hut and sustenance for some time. He then retreats to the hut, and he focuses on getting himself in order (Walch 2018, 236). As the rainmaker brings himself in order, nature comes in order and the people of the village come in order too—and it begins to rain. Correspondence means that as the inner world comes into alignment, the outer one shifts as well. Only by taking this aspect into consideration does the Taoist ethics of Wu Wei, as non-doing, reach its fuller meaning. Stillness becomes a powerful venue of transformation if carried by inner presence and a balanced and aware self. In this manner, Taoism, for example, influences the work of Carl Rogers and his

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active but nondirective stance in counseling and therapy (cf. Cissna and Anderson 2002, 75).5 Barbara Mitchels (2006, 36–37) further renders a practical example from the applied peace work she had done as a student and collaborator of Adam Curle in the former Yugoslavia after the war of the 1990s. When substituting for Adam Curle at a local peace center during a particularly stressful and busy moment, the director of the center asked if she could also do what Adam Curle would do for them in such a tense situation. The request, it turned out, was not for help with the workload or useful advice. The director asked if she could go down to the river and meditate for them. According to Mitchels, Curle approached his profession with the simple suggestion that what is important is “to be rather than to do” (Mitchels 2006, 129). A similar point can be found in John Paul Lederach’s three soul disciplines of humility, sensuous perception and stillness (Lederach 2005, 102–110). Lederach perceives the soul disciplines to be at the core of a peacemaker’s efforts. They are formed in the coming together of an inward aware presence without an outward movement (stillness), an attitude that sees the current moment because one’s own ego and one’s own wanting do not get in the way (humility). Perception occurs not only through the mind’s eye and remains focused not only on the spoken words but perceives with all the means we have humanely available (sensuous perception). Together they echo Taoist insights and the stance that Wu Wei recommends. A final example comes from within the realm of transpersonal psychology, particularly the training of facilitators for Holotropic Breathwork. Such training involves the practice of active awareness in the accompaniment of clients as well as the training of certain practical skills and qualities, yet crucially also the art of “doing not doing” (Sparks 2016, 182). This requires continuous and ongoing work of the facilitator on herself in order to remain aligned and open to perceive the necessities of the concrete situation. Sylvester Walch suggests the inner work of “healing the soul, freeing the mind, and opening the heart” as well as “access to intuitive knowledge” as necessary tasks that any facilitator continuously has to engage in herself. Together, these form the “guiding 5 Cissna and Anderson (2002, 75) recount that Rogers visited China early in his career and was fascinated by the philosophical tenets of Taoism. They show the many parallels between Rogers’ subsequently evolving work and Taoist insights.

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preconditions for the catalytic strength” of a facilitator that enable a transparent resonance with “the subtle vibrations” of the corresponding field (Walch 2018, 237). Taoist facilitation becomes an application of the lightness of touch and lightness of character as discussed earlier with the metaphor of the dance. Just like in the dance, Taoist facilitation stresses the changing and insecure nature of existence and prepares the practitioner to be equally grounded, as ready to flow with the energetic current of the unexpected. Facilitationas-dance requires an attunement to the music and relational flow with a partner and context. Taoism similarly emphasizes the embeddedness of the human being into its context and into the larger whole as manifested in the subtle flows and aesthetics of Qi. The minimalist approach to intervention that Taoism proposes is mirrored in the metaphor of facilitation as the holding of space in a manner that the one holding the space in the end becomes almost unnoticeable. 5.1.3.3 Inner Listening: Quaker Facilitation Unlike the two previously mentioned traditions of Shamanism and Taoism, I have so far not introduced the Religious Society of Friends, whose members are also known as the Quakers. I want to do so now before addressing the question of Quaker facilitation. Unlike Taoism and Shamanism, the Quakers cannot be seen as an energetic tradition, even though their views share many commonalities with them. As a strand of Christianity, the Quakers much rather form one of the energetic currents within a moral tradition that emerge from time to time as dissenting views or reform movements. The Quakers strongly de-emphasize religious dogma and largely reject institutional clerical authority in matters of belief. They discard the interlocution through a special caste of priests in favor of a spiritual equality and the “priesthood of all believers” (Dandelion 2008, 2). In energetic tradition, they focus on a direct relation with god that manifests as the experience of Inward Light6 shining on the believer during prayer. It is one’s own direct experience, rather than scripture or institution that provides the authority on spiritual questions. In its early form, such an experience was accompanied by ecstatic or enthusiastic embodied expressions. This is also the root of the name Quakers, which

6 Alternatively also Inner Light or Interior Light.

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originally was a nickname due to the practice of shaking during ceremony (Dandelion 2008, 2). George Fox (1624–1691) is generally credited as the founder of Quakerism. Fox grew up in England during the seventeenth century and, later, extensively traveled in North America. As of today, these locations form the two areas with the largest Quaker communities. Living during the time of the struggle between English parliament and monarchy, the ensuing civil war and the rise of Oliver Cromwell’s Puritan Commonwealth, Fox turned away from the Protestant preaching of his time. This turn is often accredited to his own “experimental” experience of God (Dandelion 2008, 4) in opposition to clerical authority. This experiential turn that perceives direct experience as the highest guideline was to become fundamental for Quaker practice. The emphasis on personal revelation implies shifting the locus of authority away from outside sources and into the experiencer herself.7 The early Quaker movement correspondingly emphasized the importance of transformative experience through the “in-breaking” of God’s power into the individual life and the conversion that resulted from it (Dandelion 2008, 6). Adam Curle, himself a Quaker, gives a contemporary rendering of the experience of the Inner Light in the Quaker tradition: It is something we must feel, but perhaps we do not always recognize that we are feeling it. It may come with a dramatic and unmistakable intensity. Or it may come as a slow widening of consciousness of which we are as little aware as we were, when young, of growing taller, but this widening may suffuse our whole lives with new conviction and purpose. (Curle 1987, 23)

Adam Curle follows the established Quaker understanding insofar as he sees the Inner Light and “that of God” inside all human beings (Curle 1987, 21–31). He equates “that” with the universal mind (cf. Curle 2006), the deeper substratum of the self that is shared by all of humanity.8 Therefore, in his understanding of the Quaker experience of the Inner light, we

7 This stance is exemplified through the iconic statement of early Quaker Margaret Fell: “You will say Christ saith this and the Apostles say this, but what can’st Thou say?” (quoted after K. Boulding 1986, 5). 8 For explicitly nontheistic renderings of Quakerism, see Boulton (2006).

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glimpse a universality in which we all merge and the you-me distinction is dissolved. The mysterious paradox is that we see ourselves both as distinct and as part of a whole from which we came, to which we shall return, and in which we have our being. (Curle 1987, 30)

Today, there is also a specific strand within the Society of Friends, the Quaker Universalist Fellowship (2019), which explicitly espouses religiously pluralistic principles. In Curle’s above description, one could equally recognize the experience of the transpersonal self or spirit rather than a creator God, as moral traditions would have it. From those experiential, egalitarian and inclusive premises, George Fox already derived a stance that radically rejects war and violence. In a declaration from 1661 to the English King, Charles the Second, he famously writes: “we utterly deny all outwards strife and fightings with outward weapons, for any end or under any pretence whatsoever” (Fox quoted in Curle 1987, 53). Even though some of its members have taken part in wars throughout history, this pacifism forms the basis for the Quaker’s engagement in war relief efforts, reconstruction and conflict transformation (cf. Dandelion 2008, 14). The rejection of war and violence is unequivocal. It is based on the understanding of “that of God” in everyone (Heron 1998, 51) and the notion that one “can never deliberately destroy a person without at the same time destroying a part of God” (Fisher 2004, 11). The list of peacemakers, conflict workers and scholars coming from a Quaker background includes—besides Adam Curle—prominent names such as Elise and Kenneth Boulding (cf. K. Boulding 1986, E. Boulding 1989) and Parker J. Palmer (cf. 1993, 2007). From the very beginning, the Quaker movement is crucially influenced by the active participation of women. About half of the early movement is made of women and, given the notion of spiritual equality; female ministry is equally accepted from the outset (Dandelion 2008, 11). Correspondingly, noteworthy are the Quaker communal decision-making processes that positively allow for the presence of conflict and difference, while at the same time also refusing the use of all voting procedures or majority rule (cf. E. Boulding 2000, 99). The so-called testimonies are an important part of Quaker faith through until today. This means an action that testifies to one’s own faith by bringing it into one’s own life. One of the most well-known testimonies is the peace testimony, which is derived from the Quakers’ pacifist stance. It implies the conscientious objection to military service and is decisive for the Quakers activities against wars and to end wars.

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In recognition of those efforts, one of the most prominent Quaker organizations, the American Friends Service Committee, has been awarded the Nobel Peace Prize after the Second World War in 1947 (AFSC 2017). Quaker practice strongly emphasizes inward listening and silence as forms of worship and experience (Dandelion 2008, 10). Already in the eighteenth century, the ecstatic practices that had given them the name of Quakers dwindle in favor of the quieter forms. Silence gains central importance as medium for a deeper experience of revelation. Ecstatic practices continue some time further with the Shakers or Shaking Quakers. The type of silence favored by the Quakers requires an outward and inward stillness that allows for a deep listening and has meditative qualities. Adam Curle and Parker Palmer have shown the importance of this type of Quaker listening and stillness for their own practices of facilitation. Adam Curle renders an image of this influence in the opening lines of his poem, “Quakers”: Of all the groups I know, the Quakers, With whom I unworthily associate, Can most be relied on for wise Compassion, common sense and Serious commitment to issues Affecting spiritual And physical well-being Of virtually anyone, anywhere In the world.(Curle 1987, 24)

Adam Curle has been called a “Radical Peacemaker” by Tom Woodhouse and John Paul Lederach (2016). That radicalness also stems from an unlikely source—the Quakers. Part of what makes Adam Curle a radical peacemaker is the practice of “befriending” (Curle 1986, 27–29) those with whom he worked. This means nothing else but to treat all people with respect and genuine liking. It also means to truly listen to them. Befriending is radical insofar as it is unconditional; that is, it is not tied to a judgment of the other’s character or (past) behavior. It is akin to Carl Rogers’ (2003) person-centered approach. It is carried by the assumption that trust in a facilitation setting is built upon our clients’ tested conviction that they are appreciated as human beings and that the facilitator genuinely wishes them well. In order to be genuine, befriending cannot be a purely instrumental strategy. If it is turned into a strategy, it will not be authentic. Befriending asks of the facilitator to see the humanness of

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the persons with whom she works. In a Quaker context, this also has a spiritual component as it means to see the Inner Light or “that of God” shining in the other. The art of facilitation around questions of peace and conflict finds an important source in Quaker practices of decision making and deliberation. A prominent example is that of the so-called Clearness Committee (Palmer 2008, 129–150). Such a committee can be called by anybody who is wrestling with an important decision or issue relating to one’s own life. The committee is made up of four to six trusted persons responding to the invitation. The person who called the meeting is also known as the focus person, since the committee revolves around her (cf. Hogan 2009, 36). As I have already previously discussed, a Clearness Committee is another form of a circle process. Sitting in a circle, the committee will listen in silence to the focus person rendering her problem or question. During the whole course of the meeting, which can last several hours, the committee responds to the focus person only by asking honest and open questions about what the focus person has said (Palmer 2008, 129–150). There are several things that are remarkable about this practice. Arising from early Quaker tenets, it is built on the double principle that “guidance comes not from external authority but from an inner teacher” and that, secondly, community is needed to “clarify and amplify the inner teacher’s voice” (Palmer 2008, 134). These two aspects are central. The point of the Clearness Committee is to allow the focus person to get in contact with her own authentic inner voice. The assumption is that the resources for dealing with one’s own questions can be found inside and can be elicited from there. And yet, for this process, a community is helpful. The community provides a space and resonance circle for this inner voice to emerge. In different words, the purpose is to offer a space for the emergence of soul—that is, the place of authenticity and congruence when the personal self is aligned and in touch with the larger whole. The goal of the Clearness Committee is to allow the focus person to “communicate with true self, not with other people” (Palmer 2008, 140). It is a form for enabling (facilitating) the unfolding of the self. The task of the Committee in this circle is not to give well-meaning advice, suggestion or counsel. In fact, those are explicitly discouraged. It is equally not a feedback session or an interpersonal exchange, neither discussion nor debate. The Committee contributes through the climate they create via the quality of their listening and questioning, carried by an attentive and loving presence. As such, it becomes the deep exploration

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of an important question that is guided from the inside by the self and nourished from the outside by the circle. The space that the Clearness Committee holds and protects receives an open characteristic through the quality of listening.9 It is maintained through the importance that is given to silence. The potential that silence carries is an intrinsic part of the process. When words cease, the Committee does not immediately rush into fill the space. On the contrary, Palmer points out that to be silent with somebody can be immensely helpful to compassionately connect with that person. It facilitates the ability to “touch and be touched by truths that evade all words” (Palmer 2008, 155). In line with the overall practices of Quakerism, the Clearness Committee holds the silence and allows it to unfold. This amounts to a powerful inversion of the incitement and urge to speak that is so common in modern settings: “do not speak, unless you can improve upon the silence” (Palmer 2008, 151). From the point of view of the members of the committee, success is not measured by whether the focus person has answered her question at the end of the session. In fact, steering the focus person towards a particular answer would belie the point of the process. An answer can only be elicited from inside the focus person through one’s own honest and open questions. The Clearness Committee has done its job well if they have “held the focus person, safely (…) in our open hands” (Palmer 2008, 147). Facilitating unfolding does not merely mean answering the given question. Contact with the self is seen as success in and of itself. In a larger context, such a Clearness Committee is also part of the focus person’s journey towards wholeness. The careful listening of all involved allows the focus person to get in contact with all of the aspects of the self. It allows a discernment of the different voices inside, of how the body, heart, mind and soul speak. It facilitates listening to the spirit—or Inner Light. It finally fosters integration of those different voices towards a momentary wholeness, experiencing oneself as an integrated process of changingness. Living an undivided life (Palmer 2007) means the ongoing practice of integrating the self and recognizing it as a source and resource that fuels our actions on the material surface. This leads to the heart of the research interests guiding this book. Expressed in terms of facilitation, 9 An atmosphere of trust and rules of confidentiality provide the boundedness that makes this space also safe and contained (cf. Palmer 2008, 145).

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it implies that the expression of the persona (role, mask or face) on the surface gains its strength from its alignment with the self. For a facilitator working with others, it is then not as easy as slipping into a professional persona. It implies more than just donning the mask of the expert. This persona needs to be connected to the self. It is only from that source that the mask of the persona is filled with the voice of authenticity. This exploration of the self is a lifelong task that is unceasing. It is, furthermore, not a linear process that just reaches ever deeper and becomes progressively more expansive. Life does not unfold in straight lines. Moments of integration and enlargement at times will be followed by differentiations and contractions. And yet, any depth once reached, any expansion once experienced, also leaves its traces, creates its groove that can more easily be remembered and reactivated. The example of the Religious Society of Friends provides crucial insights. Their practice emphasizes the inner authority of the self in both its personal and transpersonal dimensions. They highlight a type of facilitation that aims to provide a communal setting that enables the inner teacher to emerge. Towards this end, Quakerism champions notions of non-coercion and non-prescription that are exemplified by the careful and meticulous attention given to silence and listening. Both have an inward, intrapersonal and an outward, interpersonal component. The inner silence and listening finds its concurrent outward practice in, for example, the circles of the Clearness Committees. In their roots, as trembling Quakers they also show an appreciation of the embodied qualities and sensory aspects of insight. Even if this particular notion seems to have become toned back and more subdued over the centuries, in the US-American context it still provided an antecedent for the countercultural movement of the 1960s from which humanistic and transpersonal psychology eventually emerged (cf. Chinen 1996, 17). The aspect of embodiment, together with a radical orientation on experience, can also be found in the final energetic root that I want to discuss in this next chapter, which is Tantric practice. 5.1.3.4 Sam . s¯ara Is Nirv¯an.a: Tantric Facilitation The term Tantra is an umbrella term that includes both Buddhist (Vessantara 2008) and Hindu (Feuerstein 1998) variations. I want to focus on the Tantric aspects that are relevant for facilitation. Towards this purpose, I rely mainly on Tantric Buddhism, also known as Vajray¯ ana. Out of the three traditions or vehicles of Buddhism, H¯ınay¯ ana (or Therav¯ ada),

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Mah¯ ay¯ ana and Vajray¯ ana, the latter is by far the youngest. The roots of Tantra trace back to India during at least the third century BCE (Uhlig 1998, 29) and probably spread to China and Japan from the fourth century CE onwards (Tsomo 2011, 231). Tantric Buddhism really flourished much later when Buddhist traditions were introduced to Tibet during the seventh and eighth century CE, when they mingled with the native Bon religion, many of whose deities are integrated into Buddhist practice (cf. Simpkins and Simpkins 2001, 13; Smith and Novak 2003, 106). Tantric Buddhism is influenced by the Mah¯ ay¯ ana tradition of Yog¯ ac¯ ara, that is, the strand that combines Buddhist practice with yoga in order to expand consciousness (cf. Simpkins and Simpkins 2001, 7). Tantric Buddhism aims to address the whole person; it includes embodied practice and seeks to skillfully use the strongest human experiences and their energies as vehicles for transformation (cf. Vessantara 2008, 1–18). Its symbolism is telling. The Sanskrit root of Vajra means diamond or also thunderbolt—Vajray¯ ana is also known as the Diamond Path (cf. Vessantara 2001). The image of the diamond indicates durability, strength and a kind of clarity that cuts through any illusion and ignorance. The thunderbolt stands for the force and strength of the energy that is used, leading to “the direct, naked experience of reality” (Vessantara 2001, 15). This, possibly boastful, self-description is actually also a warning for the aspiring practitioner. Tantric Buddhism is often considered the swift path to enlightenment. Towards this purpose, it invokes and works with the most powerful human experiences and their energies—from sexuality to death (cf. Vessantara 2008). While certain forms of Tantra—often called right-handed Tantra—work with these energies in a symbolic manner, the so-called left-handed Tantra is oriented on a more literal and experiential engagement (Uhlig 1998, 266–269). The skillful use of such energies requires hard work, preparation and maturity. They want to be approached in a systematic and guided manner to avoid the many potential pitfalls, derailments and dangers of ego-inflation. The swift path is also known as the dangerous path (Tsomo 2011, 237). The term Tantra indicates “web” or “woof” and in a larger sense also the expansive, all-encompassing reality as the “seamless whole” that comprises “both being and becoming” (Feuerstein 1998, 1–2). Tantra emphasizes the overall fabric and pattern of existence and its all-connectivity rather than the individual threads. “Threads” or sutras

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(Vessantara 2008, 4) are also a collection of the teachings that are accredited to the Buddha. They proceed in logical—thread-like—continuity. The view of Tantra, in contrast, is an expansive one. In fact, the very term Tantra can also alternatively be translated as that which expands awareness (cf. Dietrich 2012, 34). Tantra is characterized by its nondualism. It understands the manifest world, sam ara, and the enlightened world of liberation, nirv¯ an.a, to be . s¯ of the same cloth (cf. Vessantara 2008, 15). Nirv¯ an.a is sam ara trans. s¯ formed. Tantra is radically immanent and oriented in this world. Such a strictly immanent stance implies that the (swift) road to enlightenment proceeds through the acceptance, embracing and transformation of this world with all its phenomenal aspects. No aspect of experience is rejected and everything is perceived as an opportunity for transformation. The stronger the experience, the stronger is the potential for transformation. Tantric approaches, therefore, equally abstain from ideal images of how the situation should be as they refrain from moral judgments along the lines of good or bad. Desire, anger, hatred, greed and lust are not there to be rejected, but rather seen in their potential and used for transformation. Tantra is holistic in the sense that it uses all the means available for transformation. This implies learning to understand the body and emotions as intricately connected to the mind (cf. Simpkins and Simpkins 2001, 45). The Yogic influence has provided Vajray¯ ana with a set of practices that focus on breath, voice and movement as the crucial basis for attuning the vehicle body to the material and subtle aspects of existence. Anne C. Klein points to the importance of the body and physicality as vessels for transformation within Tantric Buddhism: physical grounding facilitates emotional grounding – the strength to hold ground and fill space; in other words, to be present with all our being. With such presence we move past the sense that mind and body function independently of each other. Freed from this bifurcation we can begin to experience the body as the actual locus of enlightenment. (Klein 1997, 146)

Embodied grounding is a necessary precondition for holding (one’s own and another persons’) experience. This vital insight is relevant for any kind of holistic facilitation. Holding space means building up one’s own inner embodied, mental and emotional strength and capacities to contain one’s own experience. It also implies the capacity to empathically be with

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others and to a certain extent hold their experience as well and to do so in an aware and conscious manner. Somatic awareness (of self and others) provides a necessary ground towards this purpose. To provide this ground is not an easy feat. Under the best of circumstances, somatic awareness is a thrilling adventure of discovery that leads into the depth of one’s own existence. However, the body can also be the site of chronic or acute pain, illness, violence and trauma. These can also surface in the unfolding of this journey. In pain, the body can turn into the site of suffering, the “body of knots” (Sutherland 1997, 7) or the absent and inaccessible body of dissociation. For a facilitator doing somatic work oneself, untangling some of one’s own knots is crucial before working with others. Tantric Buddhism starts from these premises, yet integrates the practical embodied awareness and work into its larger understanding as regards the coincidence of nirv¯ an.a and sam ara. This change of perspec. s¯ tive implies that the pained body of knots is not something to be overcome as fast as possible, but radically accepted as equally being the “radiant body”—the holy body or Buddha-body (Sutherland 1997). Joan Iten Sutherland suggests a tantric combination of the two as the “radiant body of knots” that affirms the non-dualistic simultaneity of both. In practice, this implies that the knots of bodily pain, but also shadows and conflicts, are embraced and seen as helpful allies that allow an understanding of the underlying need they express (cf. Allione 2008). Addressing that need frees the latent potentialities tied up in the knot. Engaging with this knotted existence can turn into a transformative journey that can be as equally grounding as opening. It can be healing even if it might not always be curing. In the final instance, the complex and multifaceted process of grounding, of going deep inside each breath, muscle, bone tissue, can also give way to the experience of an inner opening and sense of expansiveness: This can be imagined as going inside so deeply that one opens into a vast space that is neither internal nor external, or as a kind of holographic expansion in all directions. (Klein 1997, 146)

As grounding and spaciousness go hand in hand, the clear demarcations between inside and outside fall away. The body becomes a vehicle and vessel in order to experientially sense and eventually understand that the “groundedness of the earth and openness of the sky are qualities that

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move through us, not objects to gaze at “out there” (Klein 1997, 146). What has been described above as the basic tenet of Tantric nondualism draws from experiential sources. Tantric practice leads to the realization of the oneness of existence (Mookerjee and Khanna 1993, 21). At the same time, it is an inner grounding, a centering in one’s own physicality. As earth and sky moving through the practitioner, it also introduces a form of opening that brings microcosm and macrocosm together. What Merleau-Ponty (1968) in his philosophical language has called the chiasmic flesh of self and world here is corroborated and deepened in embodied practice. Applying the above considerations to the topic of facilitation, points to the correspondence between the outer spaces and the inner ones. This also echoes the notion of the interrelation between the physical and the experiential space as we have explored it in the metaphor of holding space and in the story of the Taoist rainmaker. One’s own inner expansiveness and ground finds its resonance in the spaciousness and boundedness of the outer space that a facilitator holds. In addition, the Tantric stance of radical inclusiveness is highly relevant and insightful. The acceptance of all-that-is, in the Tantric perspective, does not lead to passivity but enables a transformative engagement. A facilitator that bases herself in such a perspective has to give up on normative ideals of how things should be or which direction the setting ought to move in favor of understanding what currently is as the best possible situation. To use the above image of the radiant body of knots: The current situation with all its human entanglements and knots also, at the same time, is the radiant situation of enlightenment. Such a practice is, on the one hand, deeply guided by the spiritual roots and understanding of the human embeddedness in existence while, at the same time, also understanding the practicalities of the concrete situation and the necessities of a direct engagement. Towards the latter purpose, Tantra points to an embodied practice that makes use of all of the means we have humanly available. This concludes the current section on examples from within the energetic traditions. While the term facilitation itself is not used in energetic settings, the roots of its practice can be found in the different cultural and spiritual practices all across the world. As such, they provide the comprehensive soil from which a transrational and elicitive facilitation draws. Before proceeding further to the modern and postmodern notions of facilitation, I want to take an intermediate step and look at some of the origins of facilitation in psychology, education, group dynamics and peace building.

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Teaching, Training and Peace Building

Modern, postmodern and transrational approaches to facilitation owe a lot to the early pioneers in psychology and education during the twentieth century. They often pick up on energetic traditions and add further strands. A first strand from within the realm of education finds an early forerunner in the US philosopher John Dewey. Writing during the first half of the twentieth century, Dewey proposes a progressive form of education, by linking it to democracy (2008). His central insight is that principles of democracy have to be trained already in the educative setting. Towards this purpose, he propagates a facilitative style of teaching in an interactive process between teachers and students. Dewey highlights principles of cooperation rather than direction (2008) and insists on the importance of integrating the whole personality (cf. Cremin and Bevington 2017, 42). Creating the conditions for experience and practical problem-solving forms a central part for his facilitative approach to education. The reform pedagogue Maria Montessori, another early pioneer, echoes this. A little younger than John Dewey, the Italian Montessori proposed a child-centered form of education that, in the climate of her time, amounted to a radical inversion of established practice. She suggested an enabling education aimed at facilitating learning rather than imposing it (cf. Hogan 2009, 25). A second related strand emerges out of psychological research around the innovative psychologist Kurt Lewin. Originally of German Jewish background and associated with the Frankfurt School and Max Wertheimer’s Gestalt Psychology, Kurt Lewin emigrated to the United States during the 1930s. There, he also came in contact with John Dewey’s progressive ideas on education and experiential learning (cf. Heron 1998, 234). Working towards increasing productivity in factories, he realized that productivity and morale increased if workers participated in the planning and devising of the tasks (cf. Adelman 1993). These insights later coalesced into the notion of three different leadership styles for managing groups—democratic, autocratic and laissez-faire (Lewin 1947). Applying these notions to research leads to the development of Action Research with which Lewin’s name is associated (Adelman 1993, 7). Lewin continues to influence facilitation practices in different settings. His interest in decision making within groups and increasing their efficiency leads him to look deeper into the inner workings of groups and

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their processes. Rather than emphasizing the task orientation in decisionmaking processes, Lewin focused on the human relations within groups (Hogan 2009, 18). He is generally credited with coining the term “group dynamics” for this new field of investigation (Luft 1970, 1–2). He is one of the first to transfer the term “feedback” from the field of engineering to group settings in order to describe “how others’ responses to group members serve as corrective guides for subsequent action” (Forsyth 2014, 557). Lewin is crucial for setting up a first center for the study of group dynamics with the Research Center for Group Dynamics in 1945 at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (Hogan 2009, 19). Shortly after, he became involved in the founding of the National Training Laboratories in Bethel, USA, which was the birthplace of the famous sensitivity trainings known as T-Groups (Hogan 2009, 20). Kurt Lewin died in 1947, just before the first trainings of this kind took place. T-groups quickly became widespread practices in the United States. In the manner envisioned by Lewin, they focus on skill training by having members interact in small and relatively unstructured groups that often lead to intense experiential encounters, followed by an analysis of this interaction (Forsyth 2014, 558). T-groups played a significant role in the early development of humanistic psychology, particularly in the form of Encounter Groups popularized through Carl Rogers (cf. Rogers 1973). While early T- and Encounter Groups focused on the training of human relationality as a skill, they soon broadened their scope (Rogers 1973, 12). A climate of relational warmth and safety allowed a direct engagement between participants. Participants were encouraged to examine and express the parts of themselves that were normally hidden behind the masks of the persona. Dropping the masks of what was deemed socially acceptable and being honest and authentic with oneself and one another fostered a genuine relational encounter, rather than an exchange of niceties and social conventions. The often-unfamiliar feeling of being accepted for who one is also helped to reduce those fears and anxieties arising from the belief of having to hide a part of oneself as fundamentally unacceptable (Rogers 1973). From Lewin and the US East Coast on, the practice first traveled westward towards the University of Chicago where Carl Rogers developed it further. From there, it moved to Esalen via William Schutz, one of Carl Rogers’ collaborators. As an Open Encounter, Schutz radicalized the practice via acting the encounters out in the form of role-plays, exercises

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of emotional catharsis and the confrontative aspects of mutual truthtelling in the group (Kripal 2007, 166–169). In practice, the results for the early form of Open Encounter were rather mixed, despite or probably because of its popularity. Part of this has to do with the question of how the sessions were led. The seemingly simple and open format invited a lot of experimentation; however, the facilitation of an encounter group is a difficult practice that requires skill and sensitivity. It is in this context of the work of Carl Rogers that the term facilitation also gained prominence. Rogers turned against prescriptive approaches. This is underscored in his own writing: It is possible to explain a person to himself, to prescribe steps which should lead him forward, to train him in knowledge about a more satisfying mode of life. But such methods are, in my experience, futile and inconsequential. The most they can accomplish is some temporary change, which soon disappears, leaving the individual more than ever convinced of his inadequacy. (Rogers 1995, 33)

In the group-dynamic setting of an encounter session, Rogers asserts that the task of a facilitative person is not to direct the individual or the group, but rather to provide a climate in which the learners can get in contact with their own inner resources (Rogers 1995, 286–289). This is done through the quality of one’s own listening, which validates another human being’s experience, acceptance of the group and its members as well as fosters an empathic understanding. Being in contact with one’s own feelings and being open to expressing them are hallmarks of a facilitative person, as are skills in providing feedback and even confrontation whenever appropriate and necessary (Rogers 1973, 52–53). Such a form of facilitation is challenging because it requires the slow and meticulous unfolding of one’s own self, rather than just the practice of certain skills. A second area in which Carl Rogers’ approach becomes influential is teaching and education, where he champions a facilitative type of learning. Turning against conventional notions of teaching as instructing, guiding or directing, he points out that “we cannot teach another person directly; we can only facilitate his learning” (Rogers 2003, 389). With this, the notion of facilitation is introduced to the classroom setting. In line with his relational and person-centered approach, Rogers places the emphasis for learning on the quality of the relational encounter within

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the group and with the facilitator. “The facilitation of significant learning” he remarks, “rests upon certain attitudinal qualities which exist in the personal relationship between the facilitator and the learner” (Rogers 1983, 121). Ultimately, this type of facilitation finds its source in the directional tendency, Inner Wisdom or transpersonal aspects of the human being. One of the most important hallmarks of facilitative teaching is that it fosters academic unfolding, but does not exclusively focus on academic content. Success is not only measured by how much information learners retain. Facilitative teaching aims for a style of teaching that is also personally meaningful for the learners. It fosters personal unfolding just as well as academic unfolding (Wittmer and Myrick 1989). In my opinion, this aspect sets a genuinely human-centered and relational approach apart and makes it relevant for Peace and Conflict Studies. The current trend towards standardized testing advocated at the beginning of the twentyfirst century (cf. Hart 2014, xiii–xvi) under the headings of fairness and comparability might also be seen as a backlash de-humanizing (higher) education. David A. Kolb (1983) introduces a different model for learning via his proposal of experiential learning. Kolb suggests that learning is fostered when direct experience is combined with a subsequent conceptual reflection. Next to action and doing, he also suggests observation (of others’ doing) as highly relevant for learning. From this emerges a learning cycle that proceeds from an initial orientation, to experience discussion, analysis and application (Forsyth 2014, 550). Kolb emphasizes active engagement and full involvement by the learners. While this approach is comparatively more structured than those discussed so far, to me, it is a helpful addition, particularly for a field like Peace and Conflict Studies where experiences with the subject can be had in every classroom. At around the same time that the National Training Laboratories were founded in the US, an emphasis on human relations also spread to Europe. There it coalesced in the landmark establishment of the Tavistock Institute of Human Relations in 1947 in London (TIHR 2017). Founded in the spirit of Kurt Lewin, its early focus was on the civil resettlement of British soldiers who had been prisoners of war during the Second World War as well as on industrial action research (Trist and Murray 2017). Early pioneers of the Tavistock Institute, like Wilfred Bion, extended psychoanalytic approaches to the understanding of groups and

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group dynamics by treating the group as an entity in itself that is in interdependent interaction with its individual members (Bion 1989). Since its foundation, the Tavistock Institute has remained one of the hotbeds of research and practice on group dynamics. It is the intellectual home of the journal Human Relations. Through today, the Tavistock Institute offers consultancy, research and evaluation in the educational and business sector (TIHR 2017). Its influence has been lasting, particularly for the development of a modern form of facilitation. It is as part of the soldiers’ resettlement effort that Adam Curle also worked at the Tavistock Institute between 1947 and 1950 (Woodhouse and Lederach 2016, 24). Curle later picked up on the Rogerian notion in education and learning. Without using the term facilitation, he shares Carl Rogers’ critique of teaching. Curle equally emphasizes the personal, relational aspect of learning. Furthermore, he suggests that it should contain an intellectual component and, equally, an emotional or “affective” one (Curle 2016, 94–102). For both Carl Rogers and Adam Curle, this type of facilitation in the classroom is about unfolding potentials. Additionally, Curle follows the tradition of humanistic psychology and points to the human being’s “sublime potentialities” (Curle 2016, 97). The task of teaching is “to supply first the conditions in which these potentialities can develop and, second, the stimulus for them to do so” (Curle 2016, 97). This approach is bolstered by his deep conviction about the non-separateness of all of existence (cf. Curle 1990, 154–165). Following Curle, one can stipulate that facilitation would imply fostering awareness of relationality, healing the wounds caused by the illusion of separation and fostering the students’ innate potentialities. For Rogers, just as for Curle, the classroom setting is just one special case within a broader range of facilitative settings that are based on a certain way of being and of perceiving the world. Both provide key insights for what this means in terms of the facilitator’s self-understanding, qualities and resources. I will return to them in Chapter 6. With his elicitive approach to training John Paul Lederach, in turn, follows Adam Curle and Carl Rogers. Just like Curle and Rogers, Lederach also adopts a wide approach to facilitation that is equally applicable to peace work as it is to the training setting. Facilitation, in Lederach’s understanding, implies “providing (the) opportunity for discovery and creation through an educative process that is highly participatory in nature” (Lederach 1996, 56). As a facilitator, the teacher then turns into a catalyst. She helps to manifest implicitly-held knowledge

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and fosters creativity. Rather than emphasizing teaching as a transfer of knowledge from expert to student, elicitive training facilitates learning instead. A final strand of relevance for the current text emerges from applied peace building and conflict transformation. Chris Mitchell (1993) defines the term facilitator in such a setting. He views a facilitator as largely synonymous with a moderator, namely as a person who fulfills a “range of functions during proximity or face-to-face talks between adversaries (e.g. chairing meetings, interpreting positions and responses etc.)” (Mitchell 1993, 147). In agreement with Mitchell, Ramsbotham, Woodhouse and Miall follow this line in their standard reference work Contemporary Conflict Resolution (2016). Therein, they define facilitation or conciliation as “close in meaning to pure mediation.” They see it as referring to “intermediary efforts to encourage the parties to move towards negotiations” (Ramsbotham et al. 2016, 35). These two definitions speak to the facilitator as a practitioner in the field, who must address conflict topics. The facilitator attempts to bring the parties to the table for further negotiations and mediates between them. As an example, the image of Adam Curle (1990) and his description of his own mediation efforts in different conflicts springs to mind. A definition that deviates slightly from those of Mitchell as well as Ramsbotham, Woodhouse and Miall is the one provided by Kenneth Cloke (2001). Cloke assumes that facilitation is part of an approach of conflict resolution that seeks to overcome conflict. While trusting in the clients’ capacities to solve their own problems, the facilitator in Cloke’s understanding is a “largely inactive supporter of the process, who empathetically models and facilitates their [the clients’ ] interaction” (Cloke 2001, 11). Cloke furthermore distinguishes between a facilitative or conciliatory model of conflict resolution and an elicitive model of conflict transformation that is close to Lederach’s approach. 5.1.5

Modern, Critical and Postmodern Facilitation

5.1.5.1 Modern Facilitation At first glance, modern facilitation might appear like a contradiction in terms. From what has been discussed until this point, it is increasingly clear that facilitation is closely related to elicitive approaches. Yet it is the prescriptive model that fits much more closely with the modern assumptions about the world-machine and how it can be improved as well as the

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modern belief in human progress and how it is supposed to be reached. From modern anthropological assumptions, it often follows that human beings need to be directed in order for them to be made fit for society. In the field of the (natural) sciences, just as in the field of human relations, modernity relies on experts who steer and direct the process of progress. Despite such premises, the topic of facilitation at least to some extent has found its way into modern approaches. Today, the literature and the toolkit of change methodologies and facilitation approaches is a growing sector.10 It is particularly in the field of business management (corporate) decision making, problem-solving and consulting that facilitative aspects have been integrated. Historically, this is largely due to the growing recognition of the limitations of the “control and command” management paradigms and the necessity for a more relational style of management and education in the second half of the twentieth century (cf. Hogan 2009, 18). The relational and human-centered approach of the early pioneers like Kurt Lewin focuses on questions of how to increase productivity and tap into people’s creative resources via group dynamics and facilitative approaches that enable rather than direct. This goes hand in hand with the rise of professional external consultancies that offer those services unencumbered by the internal hierarchies of their corporate clients. Many of the current definitions for a particularly modern strand of facilitation come from the corporate sector and professional business management. The one given by Ingrid Bens (2017), a consultant with a long list of corporate clients, serves as an example. She defines a facilitator as somebody who contributes structure and process to interactions so groups are able to function effectively and make high-quality decisions. A helper and enabler whose goal is to support others as they pursue their objectives. (Bens 2012, viii)

10 A good overview of some of the most prominent methods is provided in The Change Handbook by Holman et al. (2007).

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This particular definition11 delimits the field of facilitation as decision making within group contexts. The echo of the Latin root is very visible in its rendering of the facilitator as an enabler. The focus on efficiency and the purported high quality of decisions underpin the corporate background of its approach. Like many other current trends in modern facilitation, it is inspired by systemic approaches (cf. Holman et al. 2007). Its goal-oriented logic is also noteworthy. This and other modern definitions stay close to Lewin’s original interest and integrate it into a modern logic, without thereby taking over the broader goals of the humanistic approach that is oriented on human unfolding. Modern facilitation frequently proceeds from the stipulation of concrete problems that are in need of solution (cf. Brown and Isaacs 2005; Owen 2008; Scharmer 2016; Senge et al. 2004). Based on the premise that facilitation tools are in certain respects superior to conventional problem-solving and decision-making processes, facilitation practices are deployed to tackle them. Modern approaches to facilitation superficially democratize the group process by exchanging a dominating expert for a more unobtrusive facilitator. Currently en vogue practices like Open Space Technology (Owen 2008), the World Café (Brown and Isaacs 2005) or the conceptually more comprehensive Theory U (Scharmer 2016) no longer follow a classical prescriptive logic. They aim to free participants to think creatively and tap into the shared intelligence of groups. As had been suggested earlier by the Tavistock Institute, they draw on the notion of moving towards “desirable” or “preferred” futures (Hogan 2009, 21). They often legitimate themselves through the purported quality and speed of their decision making and problem-solving (Owen 2008, 16). Modern tools of facilitation present hybrids. They move away from the prescriptive approaches of their more traditional modern cousins. Yet they remain modern in their progress- and goal-orientation. They are about the improvement of decision making and problem-solving towards an imagined future. Their attention remains surface-bound and episodic as they mainly focus on the material aspects of the problem or question and the personae of facilitator and clients. Their approach is one of problemsolving, rather than transformation. In the realm of human resources, they 11 In agreement is for example Christine Hogan (2009, 53) who defines basic facilitation as “when a group uses a facilitator to temporarily improve its process in order to solve a substantive problem.”

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exalt creativity and supposed new thinking and acting, the power of which is to be harnessed for innovative solutions. They cherish the interpersonal and group dynamic component as a form of new collective intelligence, yet their integration of intrapersonal and transpersonal aspects is goaloriented and linear. While purportedly more holistic, they frequently end up with rather de-contextualized and reductionist interventions. What is often lacking is the ability to place one’s own (facilitative) doing in a larger historical, social or political context beyond the solving of the problem or task at hand. It is this neglected aspect that critical and postmodern facilitation provides. 5.1.5.2 Critical and Postmodern Facilitation Critical pedagogies define themselves by their normative stance in opposition to modernity’s continuing heritage and re-enactment of colonialism, capitalism (neoliberalism), individualism or heteronormative sexism. As such they are committed to social justice (cf. Kincheloe 2008) and aim to speak to the oppressed and colonized persons living in situations of social injustice (cf. Denzin and Lincoln 2008, x). While modern approaches to facilitation seek to increase the efficiency of problem-solving, decision making or learning through facilitative techniques, critical approaches question their very assumptions and effects. They aim to raise consciousness about the side effects and hidden biases of modern approaches and alternatives. Epistemologically, this means the continued critique and contestation of the influence of positivism and an exclusionary hyperrationalism on education (Kincheloe 2008, 27–30, 34; Giroux 2011, 19–47). Key inspirations for many critical approaches are the structuralist models of Paulo Freire and Ivan Illich as they were developed during the early 1970s as well as the previous foundations in the Frankfurt School around Theodor Adorno, Max Horkheimer, Walter Benjamin and Herbert Marcuse. In his famous Marxist-inspired Pedagogy of the Oppressed, Paulo Freire (2007) rejects the modern “banking” system of education for its oppressive tendencies. An approach to education and training that only follows an instrumental rationality turns those that are subjected to it into “cheerful robots” (Giroux 2011, 3) and the teaching space into a site where the capitalist logic of utility is ingrained and cultural aspects of domination are reproduced. Following in the footsteps of Freire, the task of a critical education is, therefore, not to fill students’ heads with knowledge, as one would do with an empty vessel. The aim

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of critical education is to raise consciousness—conscientization—as the dialogic practice of freedom, empowerment and solidarity. Critical pedagogies see teaching as intrinsically linked to questions of (political) power, justice, ethics, democracy and the inevitable social struggles around them. Ivan Illich’s even more radical call towards de-institutionalized learning webs equally emerges out of the critique of capitalist, industrialized society and the corresponding schooling system that defines its mind-set (Illich 1970). Following Freire’s line of critical pedagogy, authors Henry Giroux and Susan Searls Giroux assert: pedagogy as a critical practice should provide the classroom conditions that provide the knowledge, skills, and culture of questioning necessary for students to engage in critical dialogue with the past, question authority and its effects, struggle with ongoing relations of power and prepare themselves for what it means to be critical, active citizens in the interrelated local, national and global public spheres. (Giroux and Searls Giroux 2008, 187)

It is also in this sense that the early Augusto Boal understands the role of the Joker in his Theatre of the Oppressed (Boal 1985). In the Theatre of the Oppressed, the facilitator also needs to be a “difficultator” at times. As such, the facilitator makes sure that things do not get too easy in the sense of becoming superficial and provides the appropriate and necessary challenges for participants (cf. Staffler 2009, 126). The early work of Boal and the initial phase of Theatre of the Oppressed is an expression of a critical approach to facilitation.12 In applied peace and conflict work, critical approaches highlight the intersectional lines of gender, race and class that any attempt at conflict work or peace building might silently entail. Domination and the antagonism between oppressors and oppressed remain central aspects for critical pedagogies. Chela Sandoval’s Methodology of the Oppressed (2000) radicalizes the critical approach. From the position of a US Third World Feminism, she provides a critical topography of four different forms of oppositional consciousness—those she calls the “equal rights,” “revolutionary,” “supremacist” and “separatist” forms (Sandoval 2000, 54–57). Sandoval criticizes all four of the forms for their ideological entrenchment and intransigence. She suggests 12 It can be argued that the Rainbow of Desire (2006) marks Boal’s beginning engagement with poststructuralist practice. In the work of David Diamond and his Theatre for Living , this tradition takes a systemic (Diamond 2007) and then transrational (Diamond 2018) turn.

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a fifth form “differential consciousness” (Sandoval 2000, 58–64). The latter is characterized by a mobile subjectivity that can shift between the other four, thereby breaking them out of their hegemonic positioning and deploying them as tactics of resistance against oppression. While Sandoval’s approach allows for an ongoing differentiation within practices of resistance she—at the same time—also shores up and entrenches the structuralist division between oppressors and oppressed. Postmodern approaches dissolve the structuralist binary of their critical brethren. Owing to their pluralistic ontology and open epistemology, postmodern approaches aim to raise consciousness about each life’s concrete situatedness, rather than presupposing a division between oppressor and oppressed and prescribing a corresponding subjectivity. However, postmodern approaches share the underlying assumption about the necessity and virtue of critique: A critique is not a matter of saying that things are not right as they are. It is a matter of pointing out on what kinds of assumptions, what kinds of familiar, unchallenged, unconsidered modes of thought the practices that we accept rest (…) Criticism is a matter of flushing out that thought and trying to change it: to show that things are not as self-evident as one believed, to see what is accepted as self-evident will no longer be accepted as such. Practicing criticism is a matter of making facile gestures difficult. (Foucault 1990, 154–155)

Both critical and postmodern facilitation aim to raise consciousness and problematize unthinking action and habitual thoughts through becoming aware of the situatedness and/or larger context of any learning, doing and being. For the most innovative and insightful postmodern approaches around teaching and facilitation, I once again turn to feminism (cf. hooks 2003). The feminist work of M. Jacqui Alexander in her seminal Pedagogies of Crossing (2005) gives the postmodern approach a new turn. The “crossing” suggested in the title, on the one hand, signifies the forced journey over the Atlantic that had been the fate of millions of Africans during the slave trade. Jacqui Alexander is herself situated as a woman of color in the United States. She points out that the continued presence of the (European) colonial past makes Freire’s critical formulation of pedagogy a necessity still today. On the other hand, Alexander recognizes how

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blunted the transformative edge of critical opposition has become at the beginning of the twenty-first century and what is lacking in it: What we have devised as an oppositional politic has been necessary, but it will never sustain us, for while it may give us some temporary gains (…) it can never ultimately feed that deep place within us: that space of the erotic, that space of the Soul, that space of the Divine. (Alexander 2005, 282)

It is towards those deeper spaces that Alexander’s pedagogical proposal journeys. The recognition of the classroom as “sacred space” in which the learning community comes together “as openly and transparently as they can” also bestows the term “crossing,” the meaning of convergence and endless possibility (Alexander 2005, 8). Without negating the necessity of critique, an affirmative space of transformation thereby opens up. Without using that name, Alexander draws upon energetic traditions towards this purpose when she brings in African-based cosmologies. What the Mexican (Aztec) spiritual traditions are for Anzaldúa’s nepantlerism, Vodou and the Santería are for Alexander’s feminism. For both authors, they seem to be lived realities rather than just a symbolic trope or intellectual argument. While Alexander herself draws strength and understanding from that particular tradition, she is at the same time careful to remain in a facilitative stance that does not prescribe a certain form of religious belief or dogma for others. Breaking the (post)modern taboo against spirituality, Alexander suggests a form of pedagogy that is understood as the “knitting together of mind, body and Spirit” (Alexander 2005, 320). AnaLouise Keating (2007, 2013) takes up this strand and develops it further. Combining it with the later works of Gloria Anzaldúa (2015; Anzaldúa and Keating 2002) and Paula Gunn Allen (1992), Keating proposes an invitational pedagogy: Critical pedagogy (…) often relies on negative difference – an antagonistic, dichotomous worldview and an (unintentionally) essentializing epistemological framework. Invitational pedagogies facilitate movement through and beyond these oppositional modes, enabling us to replace critique with relational, connectionist thinking. (Keating 2013, 183)

Such an approach is defined by three distinct elements: (1) the interrelatedness of all human and non-human existence, (2) transformation as an always open possibility that to some extent exceeds conscious efforts

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and doings, as well as (3) the insight that transformation is fostered by facilitators that remain flexible, open-minded and willing to themselves be transformed by the teaching engagement (Keating 2013, 183). This pedagogy is invitational because it carries Keating’s recognition that she can invite transformation into her own thinking but “can’t accurately pinpoint what this transformation will look like or entail” (Keating 2013, 185). Invitational Pedagogy adds an inclusive stance of interconnectivity that moves beyond the critical approach and aims to invite and evoke transformation through relational teaching, rather than imposing change on students. Jennifer Murphy (2018) reconfigures the different (postmodern) feminist strands by adding a transrational twist to her own teaching. Similar to the other feminist authors mentioned here, Murphy (2018, 279) also realizes the necessity for a postmodern intersectional differentiation in order to avoid becoming color-blind, gender-blind or class-blind. At the same time, she is aware of the need for a balancing move of integration so that the learning community is not prevented from equally recognizing its radical interrelatedness. Towards this purpose, Murphy shifts the binary epistemology of an oppositional either/or consciousness to a both/and awareness that is able to hold “tensions, contradictions, paradoxes and competing ideas” (Murphy 2018, 281). Consciously moving through reason, Murphy invites other modes of perception into her classroom: Transrational peace philosophy (and practice) allows me as facilitator to stretch and expand academic space and content. (…) The pedagogical process involves both aesthetic multi-dimensionality and cosmic interconnectedness. As with any crossing, but particularly a pedagogical one, this movement facilitates a shift of perspective to ‘see’ learning more broadly, spatially, energetically and spiritually as well as cognitively and materially. (Murphy 2018, 265)

Teaching spaces of this kind are multidimensional and messy. They are at once spaces of belonging and wholeness where the first person singular—I —is related to the Larger; spaces of self-determination and spirit where decolonization processes spill over into an affirmative sensing of the presence of soul; and finally, they are spaces of beauty where the physical arrangement of the classroom and its aesthetics can invite transformation as that difficult and invigorating process of getting to know oneself.

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The recent trends in feminism straddle the border between postmodernism and transrationality. Moving away from earlier secularist positions, they espouse a reconnection with the sacred or divine as it is known from energetic traditions and include different modes of knowing in teaching and learning. Authors like Anzaldúa, Alexander, Keating and Murphy seek to safeguard the salient postmodern insights, while no longer considering themselves beholden to a paradigm that entrenches itself in opposition. The very terms prominently deployed by many of those authors—borderlands, bridge, crossing—indicate a transition. The work of Hilary Cremin (Cremin and Archer 2018; Cremin and Bevington 2017) carries the multiplicity of the many peaces over into an educational context. Cremin and Archer (2018) critique an exclusive focus on modern peaces as can be found, for example, in the universalist, market-oriented and technocratic approaches of the neoliberal education with its focus on “utility, output, value for money” (Cremin and Archer 2018, 288–289). Without jettisoning all the insights of modernity, they argue for a more comprehensive view: The modern perspective brings particular benefits when combined in a more holistic way with other perspectives. It brings rationality, security and reason to the table in ways that are ultimately valuable for the project of peace education. (…) Modernity, although not complete and despite facing unprecedented challenges from globalized postmodernity and global warming, has a part to play in peace education when it addresses structural, cultural and symbolic violence in educational settings, wider society and global institutions. (Cremin and Archer 2018, 290)

The iPEACE approach developed by Hilary Cremin together with Terence Bevington (Cremin and Bevington 2017) provides a model for applied peace work in the classroom. In their foundations, Cremin and Bevington draw from Galtung’s tripartite definition of violence and the corresponding emphasis on positive peace as well as on peace-keeping, peace-making and peace building. They suggest that the terminology is applicable in peace education and for understanding schools. They thereby adopt a definition of Peace Studies that sees the discipline as not only a variation of International Relations but as having a much wider field of applicability. They furthermore enrich their approach with key

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insights of postmodernity, particularly via understanding the role hegemony and power play in any relational encounter and skepticism towards modern utopian educational ideals. On those foundational premises, Cremin and Bevington elaborate their own model via a twofold understanding of its acronym iPEACE. In the responsive mode of peace-keeping and peace-making, iPeace stands for identifying conflicts in education settings, picking appropriate strategies, enabling the different voices to be heard, attacking problems but not people and acknowledging feelings, creating options and evaluation (Cremin and Bevington 2017, 57). In the proactive mode of peacemaking, the meaning of the acronym changes to more fully correspond to an understanding of positive peace. It then reads as “identify what peace means for the school, plan for peace building, enable multiple and holistic perspectives, accept complexity and diversity, embrace creativity, evaluate and grow” (Cremin and Bevington 2017, 65). From this vantage point, Hilary Cremin brings in insights from energetic, moral and postmodern peaces towards a transformative learning. Such an approach focuses on the lifelong process of learning rather than on institutional change in schools or universities. Particularly relevant for a transrational facilitation, it also emphasizes an inclusion of artistic aspects, vulnerability, embodiment as well as care, eco-systemic thinking and spirituality (Cremin and Kester 2020). Most recently, Josefina Echavarría and Hilary Cremin (2019) combine the iPeace model with transrational and elicitive approaches towards a proposal for peace education in Colombia. On these premises, I want to return to the notion of the facilitator proper in the next section and provide a definition of facilitation from such a transrational and elicitive perspective.

5.2

Transrational Facilitation

The transrational peace philosophy aims to differentiate and integrate the notions of peace as they arise from the energetic, moral, modern and postmodern families. A transrational approach to facilitation equally does not just discard the insights of other approaches or definitions. It understands the necessity for efficiency and creativity that modern approaches propose, yet no longer perceives them as ends in themselves. Those aspects are balanced and embedded in a perspective that integrates the larger contexts as well as a non-instrumental view of the human being and its unfolding

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that particularly energetic facilitation champions. Such aspects are reintroduced through humanistic and transpersonal approaches. Critical and postmodern facilitation, finally, adds a crucial critical element that also understands facilitation in the context of its social, cultural and political implications. Transrational approaches, however, enlarge the critical and postmodern commitment to social justice towards the wider term of transformation. In order to include the energetic, modern and postmodern traditions as a first step, I therefore choose a wide definition and suggest that a facilitator is a person who has the role of fostering human unfolding.13 On the basis of this definition, I add six further qualifications for the particular case of transrational facilitation through the self as it is relevant here: facilitation as role (1) and as form of fostering (2) the unfolding of human beings (3), process and content orientation in facilitation (4), decision making (5) and, finally, setting (6). Those six are intended to provide additional depth and clarification to the definition given above and make a specifically transrational understanding of facilitation operable. In doing so, I take as a given the ontological and epistemological premises, as they have been worked out in the first part. 1. Facilitation as role: Facilitation on the first glance has the quality of an occupational and functional designation that a person takes on under certain circumstances and towards certain purposes. Understood in this way, facilitation is a professional role we adopt due to the function that we are called to perform for others. Like any other occupational function, it requires certain skills and knowledge. A facilitator needs to know her tools of the trade and how to implement them in a concrete setting. In psychological terms, the role of the facilitator corresponds to the facilitator’s persona. Modern and postmodern approaches to facilitation almost exclusively emphasize this aspect of the professional persona and role. Prescriptive training as well as modern facilitation means playing the role of the expert. Postmodern facilitation means problematizing the

13 In agreement is John Heron who provides a concurrent definition of a facilitator as a “person who has the role of empowering participants to learn in an experiential group” (Heron 2010, 1). By “experiential,” he means a group in which “learning takes place through an active and aware involvement of the whole person” (Heron 2010, 1).

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socially constructed roles in their respective contexts, thereby raising consciousness. This is the case for transrational facilitation as well. Also, a transrational facilitator needs to be skillful in the use of her tools, cognizant of her context and aware of the larger social setting. Yet, unlike in a (post)modern setting, the role and the persona here are only the starting point, the material surface. Transrational facilitation asks the facilitator to inquire into how the persona interacts with the self. It equally requires the facilitator to create settings for clients that allow them to look beyond their personae towards hitherto unexplored aspects of the self. Transrational facilitation aims to be comprehensive in this sense. A central premise of the current text follows from this, namely the frequently mentioned insight that what we do in the world (persona, facilitation) cannot be dissociated from who we are in the world. The latter leads to the self. The type of transrational facilitation emphasized here works from the assumption that it takes both skill and persona to more fully manifest the self from which the best teaching comes (cf. Palmer 2007, 25). Therefore, transrationality assumes that in order to function well in the role, both persona and self are necessary. 2. Facilitation as fostering : I understand fostering as enabling. A transrational facilitator is hence not a director or a prescriber, but somebody who teases out the concrete situation, somebody who nourishes her clients’ potential. A facilitator provides a frame and the requisite input for this potential to more easily manifest. A facilitative approach therefore is elicitive and, as such, distinct from prescriptive approaches. 3. Human unfolding: Martin Buber (1965) distinguishes between the terms unfolding and imposing as two different ways of affecting others. Imposing implies the strategic attempt to foist one’s own thoughts, beliefs or values onto another person. Unfolding, by contrast, is aimed at a form of showing and inviting that helps to “open the potentialities of the other” (Cissna and Anderson 2002, 54) and, hence, implies a relational encounter. Furthermore, I take over John Heron’s understanding from his seminal text on facilitation, in which he points out that facilitation can, in principle, apply to two fields: (a) engagement with a certain topic and/or (b) becoming whole (cf. Heron 2010, 38). I suggest that both are relevant for unfolding.

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To clarify the above definition further, I add three additional points on facilitation that are often found in literature and help define the scope of facilitation in practice. 4. Process and content orientation: Many authors restrict the term facilitator to that of a process-guide (cf. Cloke 2001; Bens 2012; Hunter et al. 2007; Owen 2008; Ramsbotham et al. 2016). A facilitator is somebody who simply provides a frame for unfolding. She may—for example—structure activities or set an agenda but aims to not interfere at all with content or decision making. Hunter et al. (2007, 4) point out that a facilitator “does not get involved in the content of group deliberations.” Such an understanding often corresponds to modern approaches that reduce facilitation to problem-solving. It is also applied to learning contexts where students are simply enabled to reach their own conclusions and learn in the manner that is uniquely suited to them. As such, it emphasizes the emancipatory value and empowering aspects of working out one’s own conclusions, reaching decisions or transforming conflicts. This delimitation of facilitation as process-only, however, a priori rules out all of the settings that do require a more active role of the facilitator or the engagement with content. While there certainly are settings in which the role of the facilitator can indeed be described as that of a pure process-guide, other settings necessitate more than just an attentive holding of space (cf. Hogan 2009, 53). In terms of a comprehensive approach to unfolding, it is also understood that shadows, imbalances and blockages can lead to the deeper resources of the self and also shed new lights on the topic. This also requires a facilitator willing to accompany clients in these explorations, is ready to engage in contents, intervene and at times even confront. The restriction to process-only, furthermore, is limiting for a setting of formal education, which frequently requires intellectual and conceptual input. While it is true that intervening too much smothers the participants’ learning and inhibits the empowering insights of arriving at one’s own conclusions, it is also true that providing too little input robs participants of valuable insights and can equally have adverse effects. Therefore, I suggest that it depends on the setting whether a facilitator is a pure process-guide or engages with the contents and materials that emerge. In practice,

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this often implies striking a shifting between content-interventions and process-guidance. 5. Decision making : Related to the question of process and content orientation is the question of how decisions are reached in a facilitation setting. On one side of the continuum stand, the approaches that restrict facilitation to the settings in which decisions are reached (consensually) within the group (cf. Hunter et al. 2007). This coincides with the role of the facilitator as a pure process-guide or inactive supporter. John Heron calls this the “autonomy” model of facilitation (Heron 2010, 7–10). He suggests two further modes, “cooperation,” in which decisions are reached jointly between facilitator and clients and, “hierarchy,” in which the facilitator (also) makes decisions unilaterally.14 I follow Heron when he points out that certain settings and certain groups require a more structured and hierarchical decision making, while others function better in cooperative or autonomous modes (Heron 2010, 9). Rather than delimiting the field to only one mode, I agree that the art of facilitation rests in achieving an appropriate blend and balance between authority, participation and autonomy in a situation, plus the awareness to reflect one’s own choices (cf. Marshall 2016, 9). 6. Setting: As regards the setting, facilitation can be practiced in both groups and with the individual in one-on-one settings. In the former case, group dynamics become an important factor. Facilitation techniques and practices can also be distinguished as regards their fields of application. Facilitative approaches are deployed in settings like organizational management in the corporate sector, peace building and conflict transformation, education, teaching and training, therapy, counseling and self-discovery as well as academic research. The above definition of facilitation as fostering human unfolding covers all the different settings mentioned in this last point. Understanding the human being as a contact boundary at work, transrational facilitation not only assumes that persona and self are linked intrapersonally, but that the space that a facilitator will be able to open

14 Compare the older model of Kurt Lewin (1947) that distinguishes between democratic, autocratic and laissez-faire styles of decision making.

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and hold gains its contours from the larger interpersonal resonances between selves and through their transpersonal embeddedness. Taking the cue from postmodern and critical approaches means that this unfolding can never be dissociated from its (cultural, social, political, economic, historical) context. Having now defined transrational facilitation, the next chapter will discuss how such a facilitation proceeds if viewed through the lens of the facilitator’s self.

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Sutherland, Joan Iten. 1997. ‘Body of Radiant Knots.’ In Being Bodies: Buddhist Women on the Paradox of Embodiment, edited by Lenore Friedman and Susan Moon, 3–10. Boston: Shambhala. TIHR. 2017. Tavistock Institute of Human Relations. Accessed December 5. http://www.tavinstitute.org/. Trist, Eric, and Hugh Murray. 2017. ‘Historical Overview: The Foundation and Development of the Tavistock Institute.’ In The Tavistock Anthologies: The Social Engagement of Social Science, edited by Eric Trist and Hugh Murray. Accessed December 6. http://moderntimesworkplace.com/archives/archives. html. Tsomo, Karma Lekhse. 2011. ‘Shi Wa: A Vajrayana Buddhist Perspective.’ In The Palgrave International Handbook of Peace Studies: A Cultural Perspective, edited by Wolfgang Dietrich, Josefina Echavarría Alvarez, Gustavo Esteva, Daniela Ingruber, and Norbert Koppensteiner, 229–243. Houndmills: Palgrave Macmillan. Uhlig, Helmut. 1998. Das Leben als kosmisches Fest. Magische Welt des Tantrismus. Bergisch Gladbach: Gustav Lübbe Verlag. Upledger, John E. 1989. ‘Self-Discovery and Self-Healing.’ In Healers on Healing, edited by Richard Carlson and Benjamin Shield, 67–72. Los Angeles: Jeremy P. Tarcher. Vessantara. 2001. The Vajra and the Bell. Birmingham: Windhorse Publications. Vessantara. 2008. A Guide to the Deities of the Tantra. Cambridge: Windhorse Publications. Wagner, Winfried. 1999. Aiki-Do und wir: Atem, Bewegung und spirituelle Entwicklung. Petersberg: Vianova. Wagner, Winfried, ed. 2015a. AiKiDô: The Trinity of Conflict Transformation. Wiesbaden: Springer. Wagner, Winfried, ed. 2015b. ‘AiKiDô: The Trinity of Conflict Transformation.’ In AiKiDô: The Trinity of Conflict Transformation, edited by Winfried Wagner, 17–62. Wiesbaden: Springer. Walch, Sylvester. 2018. ‘Self-Exploration Through Holotropic Breathwork.’ In Transrational Resonances: Echoes to the Many Peaces, edited by Josefina Echavarría Alvarez, Daniela Ingruber, and Norbert Koppensteiner, 235–262. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Wittmer, Joe, and Robert D. Myrick. 1989. The Teacher as Facilitator. Minneapolis: Educational Media Corporation. Woodhouse, Tom, and John Paul Lederach. 2016. Adam Curle: Radical Peacemaker. Stroud: Hawthorne Press. Young, Jon, Ellen Haas, and Evan McGown. 2010. Coyote’s Guide to Connecting with Nature. Santa Cruz: OWLink Media.

CHAPTER 6

Facilitating Through the Self

In the following chapter, I want to systematize the resources for facilitation as seen through the lens of the fivefold self. In order to do so, some further conceptual definitions are necessary. I define resources of the self as qualities, attitudes, modes of knowing and skills. Based on these premises it becomes possible to further systematize those resources in terms of the fivefold self. This is the first topic of the current chapter. Subsequently, I will look at the self as (re)source in facilitation through the prism of the body, heart, mind, soul and spirit, before once more addressing potential pitfalls in terms of excesses, deficiencies, blockages and shadows that might arise when facilitating in such a manner. As regards qualities, the terminology in this case might be prone to misunderstanding. In line with what has already been established previously, I do not understand the self as a substance, which then could acquire and possess specific qualities. Owing to the dynamic nature of the self and seen from a systemic perspective, I recognize qualities as processtraits that characterize moments or parts of our becoming (cf. Grange 2011, 6). In certain constellations of the body, heart, mind, soul and spirit, this dancing self exhibits specific qualities that can be useful for facilitation. Qualities are capacities that can carry and foster attitudes, modes of knowing as well as skills and competencies. It is through the latter attitudes, modes and skills that qualities in turn can become effective in

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the world. Later in this chapter I show what these qualities, attitudes and skills concretely could be and apply the modes of knowing to facilitation. CG Jung defines an attitude as the “readiness of the psyche to act or react in a certain way” (Jung 1990, 414). According to Jung, an attitude is an “a priori orientation to a definite thing” (Jung 1990, 414). As such, attitudes are constructs based on present and past behavior. They are the overall inner disposition with which we approach a concrete setting. In our case, the setting is that of facilitation and all the participants therein, in their concrete relationality. Mindfulness, for example, can be an attitude with which to approach facilitation. An alternative definition that emphasizes the non-instrumental and non-technical character of attitudes is to call them ways of being after Carl Rogers (1995a). CG Jung (1990, 425) stipulates that there are both conscious and unconscious attitudes. The task of individuation is also the ongoing process of making unconscious attitudes conscious. Following Jung, one could specify that biases and stereotypes are nothing else but unconscious attitudes, that is, attitudes that are not recognized as such, that are not seen in their self-constructed character and are, therefore, mistaken for reality. Furthermore, attitudes are also rooted in the larger (cultural, social, political, professional, spiritual) context that informs them.1 Applying these insights to the topics of facilitation of Peace and Conflict Studies, modern approaches to facilitation, for instance, base themselves in a claim to neutrality, thereby trying to circumnavigate the question of attitudes altogether. A modern expert is supposed to be skillful in the implementation of her tools of trade, but otherwise objective and neutral. She must be competent, but not have a distinct attitude towards the facilitation setting, as knowledge is supposed to be factual, objective and value-free (Giroux 2011, 26). Standardized testing helps to eliminate the personal factor (biases) from the learning and assessment. Critical and postmodern approaches, in contrast, devote themselves to unearthing unconscious and hidden attitudes, making biases and stereotypes visible and known. Transrational approaches additionally emphasize the potential of conscious attitudes and how they can be fruitful in a setting of elicitive facilitation. 1 In Jungian psychology, attitudes are mainly used in conjunction with psychological types, as for example introversion and extroversion. I do not follow this particular strand, but rather restrict myself to the basic rendering of attitudes as given above and ask about attitudes in facilitation from there.

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Sensing, feeling, thinking, intuiting and witnessing provide the signals that furnish the facilitator with information. In the process of understanding, they can come together in a meaningful and comprehensive manner. Attitudes and qualities are blind without the corresponding modes of knowing. Modes of knowing, in turn, are mute without the facilitator’s skills that allow them to become effective in the performance of the tasks on the outside. Following Christine Hogan, I define skills as the ability to “perform tasks correctly with ease and precision” (Hogan 2009, 150). Skills are technical competencies. They are what most immediately appear on the material surface through the facilitator’s action. Being able to devise and structure a lesson plan, effective communication, didactical expertise, having a firm grasp of any intervention she intends to use and more all belong to the realm of skills. Skills are primarily related to the professional persona. In the systematization proposed here, they are fueled by the underlying qualities, attitudes and modes of the self. Qualities, attitudes, modes and skills build upon each other. However, they each also feedback into all the others. While it is the case that, say, skills are infused by the underlying qualities, attributes and modes, the execution of certain skills influences and transforms them in turn.

6.1

The Self as (Re)Source in Facilitation 6.1.1

Body

Gabrielle Roth refers to the gifts of the body as “instinct” (cf. Roth 2004, 9–38). Instinct implies the givenness and immediacy of the body’s signals that form the basis for our enfleshed, sensual existence. Translated into resources for facilitation, this implies the qualities of grounding and embodied presence that a facilitator can bring to one’s own practice. The quality of grounding signifies the level of at-homeness in one’s own embodied existence. Just as our feet need to be grounded on the floor in order to ascertain the terrain and take our next steps, the quality of consciously inhabiting one’s own somatic self allows the facilitator to feel comfortable enough in her body to show up with it in front of the group and work with it as an attuned instrument for resonance. “The body is the shore on the ocean of being” (Levine 2010, 271) is an old Sufi saying. Grounding oneself in one’s own body means establishing a

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firm shore from which to venture out into the ocean of being for ourselves and our participants. John Prendergast (2015, 110–122) differentiates four distinct qualities of groundedness. “No ground” signifies the dissociated or numbed state of perceiving oneself as not or barely inhabiting one’s own body. Among others (early) trauma, severe illness, accident or abrupt loss can cause a state of no ground in which one barely inhabit one’s own body consciously or literally only lives in the head. “Foreground” shifts and enlarges embodied awareness from the head to include the torso and core of the body that are now equally inhabited. It corresponds to the normal, everyday perception of “I am in my body” (Prendergast 2015, 110). The corresponding sensation includes a certain extent of lightness, energy or what Daniel Stern (2010) calls “vitality.” The sophisticated “background” stage entails the startling realization that “my body is in me” (Prendergast 2015, 112–114). It emerges from an expanding, open, somatic awareness that encompasses the bodily aspects rather than being located in them. “Homeground,” finally, is the somatic realization of the body and world as corresponding, when the separation between the outside (world) and inside (body) dissolves. Prendergast (2015, 115) suggests that most people tend to live most of their lives in the foreground, with occasional moments of the other states. I take these four aspects to be indicative of different qualities of grounding, rather than clearly demarcated states. Grounding or at-homeness hence is not a fixed or invariant given but a shifting and nuanced field. Grounding goes hand in hand with a second quality, that of embodied presence. Embodied presence is the quality of “being here now” that is, the stable, durable, anchoring in the current moment (cf. Ergas 2013, 212; Heron 2010, 264–265). John Heron goes so far as to suggest that all effective facilitation arises from the facilitator’s embodied presence (Heron 2010, 264–265). This quality of intrapersonally being here now corresponds to the effective “being there now” (Heron 2010, 265), that is the facilitator’s interpersonal presence with her participants: [to] be here now is very much to be there now. When you are attuned to your own center, you are already very open to the reality of others. Within the ‘I’ is found the ‘Thou.’ (…) When you are here now, you have abundant free attention that is not enslaved by past, present or future content, and which can dwell with and energize your group. (Heron 2010, 265)

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Grounding and presence enable an embodied, somatic openness towards the reality of others that can be further fostered by a corresponding embodied attitude. John Prendergast (2015, 160–161) describes such an attitude with the somewhat cumbersome term of “open-bodiedness.” This term is chosen in analogy to the more familiar notion of openmindedness. It signals the inner disposition of being receptive to noticing the sensed inputs coming from inside us and around us. Prendergast refers to it as an openness for perceiving the concrete extent and shape of the inner and outer spaciousness. As an attitude, it emphasizes the willingness to be open to bodily sensing. As regards the mode of knowing, I have defined sensing as the somatic experiencing of the current moment.2 In facilitation, sensing more concretely refers to the intra- and interpersonal aspects of the shared physical and experiential space formed by facilitator, participants and setting. “Sensuous perception,” writes John Paul Lederach (2005, 108), “intersects the world via all the means we are humanly capable of experiencing.” We can look beneath the words in order to get to a deeper sense of our learning, teaching, training and being. Using one’s own body as a receptacle and sounding board for meaning deepens the resonance with participants. Sensuous perception is an exercise in proximity. We need to stay close to our own experiencing and that of our participants to catch its fragrance. While the mind can take the lead for the long-term strategic planning, the body guides us to the quality of the present moment. If the body is the shore on the ocean of being, then the senses are the surf, that liminal zone where the tide breaks and where land and water mingle. The senses provide the human being’s most immediate contact boundary. Through immersing ourselves into the surf and learning to swim in it, facilitators get to understand the waves of the ocean and their relation to the land. Just as in swimming in the surf, embodied awareness and sensuous perception can be mild and pleasant, but also quite a rocky ride in which we are in danger of getting tossed about in the waves and do well to keep our heads above the water. Being in the surf makes us sensitive not just to the visible waves on the surface, but also to the undercurrents, the unspoken undertow of the current situation in our classroom. The things that are present in the classroom, yet are not

2 See Sect. 3.2.1 “Knowing Through Body: Sensing”.

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said can often be sensed, felt and intuited like the undercurrents below the surface of the ocean. The body’s gifts to facilitation manifest on the surface in the skills of embodied communication. Breath, tonality of voice, gesture, posture, movement, muscle tonus, facial expression and sometimes touch are all aspects of direct and relational communication and facilitation (cf. Heron 2010, 265; Satir et al. 1991, 69). Based on a grounded, embodied presence, coupled with an open attitude towards receiving and following the sensed signals of embodied knowing, such skills can be used efficiently and effectively. In my own facilitation, my embodied sensing and presence provides a crucial indicator for me. Sensing gives me cues for what goes on within myself as I teach, where the group process might be and which aspects might be alive that my mind has not yet registered. I often teach intensive formats that last the whole day, morning and afternoon, sometimes including an evening session as well. Standing in front of my students, my stiff muscles, agitated movement, hot skin and flushed face, for example, tell me that I am tired, running hot and in danger of overheating. Previous experience tells me that I tend to speed up in these situations. I then try to push my content through and make it to the finish line after a long day of teaching, thereby turning the last meters into a sprint. While this might be useful when running a marathon, it is counterproductive in my current situation in the classroom. So, instead, I take a breath and consciously slow down. I reduce my gestures and stop the unconscious pacing. By breaking the charge of my rhythm, my perception widens. I now notice how narrow my vision has become over the past half hour, how much of my awareness resided in my head, on the words and on getting them out correctly. I know that tiredness has that effect on me. When I am alert and awake, the words just flow and the inside sensation is one of grounded spaciousness. When I get tired, I need to concentrate on my words, not to lose my train of thought. Eventually, there is too much strained staccato, too little flow. I become spellbound and captivated by words. When I now consciously take the time to look around, I see a round of tired faces looking back at me and body postures that signal hanging on by a thread, rather than primed attention. We have covered a lot of ground already today. The air in the room has become hot and spent. A charged and slightly off-center atmosphere can be good for deeper work, and I briefly consider bringing up a point that might facilitate a move towards more depth. However, the moment for this

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type of work has already passed. We are over the peak. It is time for a final round of reflections, for allowing my students to settle back into themselves before the class ends. Following these cues, I change trajectory, letting go of the plan that I still had in my mind a couple of seconds ago. As I observe myself opening up the floor and inviting reflections, I sense my body relaxing and softening. The tension in my muscles recedes slightly and my chest opens. A weight I had not felt previously now lifts. I am still tired, but no longer have the feeling that I am racing. By the time the clock signals the end of the session, I feel we have arrived at a good intermediate ending point from where we can pick up again tomorrow. 6.1.2

Heart

While the body provides grounding and establishes the contact boundary in its immediate physical tangibility, symbolically the heart is the organ of subtle contact. In order for this contact to reach depth, a facilitator needs the capacity for intimacy. Gabrielle Roth (2004, 47) defines intimacy as the conscious, careful and caring “transitory dissolution of boundaries.” The idea that teaching involves intimacy might sound like a radical proposition, yet it is this transformative contact that will allow the resources of the heart to blossom. A facilitator capable of enabling intimacy needs to be affectively accessible, cognizant of the feeling perceived and herself settled enough to contain what is perceived. Expressed metaphorically, a heart capable of intimacy is one that is open, literate and stable. An open heart is one that is receptive to the ebb and flow of affective and felt meaning in its interpersonal and intrapersonal qualities. Openness indicates the capacity to allow the feelings that come to us in a given situation. Allowing does not mean evaluating; it entails an attitude of intrapersonal and interpersonal permeability. An open heart could hence similarly be described as one that is soft and receptive but not reactive (cf. Siegel 2010, 102). The heart’s openness can be bolstered by the embodied qualities discussed in the last section. When we are grounded and present in our body, it becomes easier to follow the heart’s inclination towards openness. The capacity to consciously perceive and adequately interpret and name the feelings that arise turns openness into literacy. Feeling-literacy implies the capacity to understand—differentiate and integrate—the distinct feelings that arise intrapersonally and interpersonally (cf. Goleman 1996; Rosenberg 2005). A heart that is open but cannot differentiate the

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nuances of what it perceives cannot guide a facilitator. Towards this purpose, the openness of the heart needs to be supported by the discernment of the mind. Feeling-literacy does not make one omniscient, nor does it make one always correct. It implies a basic sensitivity towards the shades of feelings coupled with an understanding that also comes from having done some work on oneself in this area. Finally, the third quality, stability, indicates the capacity to hold and safely contain (cf. Josselson 2013, 84, 97) the feelings that arise as well as let them go or work with them without being overwhelmed. As facilitation implies the holding and skillful accompaniment of others’ unfolding as transformation and learning, it needs the facilitator’s stable heart that is unthreatened by the emotional charge of one’s own or the participants’ experiences. It requires a certain capacity for distress tolerance (Gilbert and Choden 2014, 112–113) or emotional resilience on the side of the facilitator. Intimacy is composed of the three aspects of openness, literacy and stability. A related notion that differs from it in nuances is vulnerability (cf. Brantmeier 2013; Brantmeier and McKenna 2020). Vulnerability arises from the recognition that human beings in the final instance do not have control over their lives. To be vulnerable means to be in direct contact with this reality (cf. Welwood 1990, 79). Facilitating intimately can equally imply a facilitator who is not threatened by others’ or her own vulnerability. Such a facilitator can invite, be with and safely hold the moments when vulnerability emerges and provide a climate of cherishment and respect for participants during those moments. Edward J. Brantmeier (2013; Brantmeier and McKenna 2020) develops a Pedagogy of Vulnerability based on these premises and suggests vulnerability as a resource. It is in the moments when participants feel vulnerable with their own hearts and when facilitators are not shy to reveal themselves too that the potential for deep learning and an unfolding of both personal and professional kind can occur. When openness, literacy and stability of the heart come together, they enable a contact that does not shy away from the intimacy and depth of feelings. This may sound conceptually simple, yet is a challenging task that requires a lot of training. Intimacy and vulnerability mean practicing the art of the heart (cf. Roth1998a, 111). They foster an attitude of acceptance. Carl Rogers points out that acceptance in facilitation consists of the facilitator’s “unconditional positive regard” towards one’s own clients

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(Rogers 1983, 1995b, 283–284). Acceptance defines a basic relational attitude. It is characterized by a facilitator’s genuine care for the participants, a care that is not possessive and does not demand personal gratification (Rogers 1983, 124). It is a prizing of the other person as a unique self: The facilitator who has a significant degree of this attitude can be fully acceptant of the fear and hesitation of the student as she approaches a new problem as well as acceptant of a pupil’s satisfaction in achievement. Such a teacher can accept the student’s occasional apathy, her erratic desires to explore byroads of knowledge, as well as her disciplined effort to achieve major goals. (…) What we are describing is a prizing of the learner as an imperfect human being with many feelings, many potentialities. The facilitator’s prizing or acceptance of the learner is an operational expression of her essential confidence and trust in the capacity of the human organism. (Rogers 1983, 124)

Such a positive regard is unconditional in the sense that it is not tied to the other’s concrete actions and, thus, free of demands for reciprocity. In order to emphasize the active side of this relational attitude, it is also called “affirmation” (cf. Mearns and Cooper 2016, 53–54). Unconditional positive regard does not mean to condone or justify all the other person’s actions, behaviors, attitudes or thoughts, but it aims to provide a climate of relational warmth and understanding in which the other person feels safe and respected as a human being. In the understanding of Carl Rogers (1995b, 284), significant learning is fostered through this relational quality. The corresponding mode of knowing that helps to affectively understand self and others is feeling or empathy. I have already discussed empathy from the perspective of a researcher’s process of knowing.3 Practicing empathy is equally important when it comes to facilitative teaching and learning. Just like research, teaching and education are also directly concerned with the different forms of knowing. Another conceptual distinction that is necessary at this point is that between empathy and compassion. To summarize, I have previously defined empathy as being with another person and what she is currently experiencing. As such, empathy does not discriminate as regards the

3 See Sect. 3.2.2 “Knowing Through Heart: Feeling”.

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content of the experienced. A facilitator can be equally empathic towards joy or sadness, with a participant’s most revelatory and exultant insights as well as painful experiences. Compassion is a related process, but differs in important aspects. Following Gilbert and Choden (2014, 98), compassion can be defined as “sensitivity to suffering in ourselves and others with a deep motivation and commitment to alleviate and prevent it.”4 Understood thusly, compassion is akin to the Christian concept of agape and the (Mah¯ay¯ana) Buddhist notion of karun.¯ a.5 Whereas empathy relates to all types of experiences, compassion only relates to suffering. Buddhism further distinguishes between the necessary and inevitable pain that is part of all living and the individual and collective suffering that is created around it: Pain is an unavoidable aspect of the natural world. It is physical, biological, and social, woven into our existence (…). Inhabiting our human body, we experience a continuous ebb and flow of pleasure and pain (…). Suffering is different from pain. Suffering is our reaction to the inevitable pain of life. (Kornfield 2009, 242)

Suffering is created by avoiding the pain of life or by identifying with it. On the collective level, it is fueled by structural and cultural violence that, in turn, creates more direct violence. While a compassionate facilitator understands well that pain is an inevitable part of life that cannot always be prevented, she actively is committed to the alleviation of suffering as the additional and, in this sense, unnecessary hurt that is created around pain. The corresponding skill is an affective communication that conveys and responds to the subtle nuances of what is felt. Bolstered by the quality of intimacy and an attitude of acceptance, it is the proficiency at establishing a warm and caring relation or general climate and atmosphere. Finding the situational appropriate means to convey insights, presenting contents in an affectively rich manner, or indicating opportunities for learning and 4 In agreement, see also Kristin Neff (2011, 10) who adds the recognition of our shared, precarious and fragile, human condition as source for compassion. 5 Thich Nhat Hanh (2006b), for example, understands karun¯ . a in a manner similar to the definition given above, yet additionally also stresses actual capacity. Compassion, to him, is not just the perception of somebody else’s suffering and the desire to relieve it, but the actual “ability to do so” (Thich 2006b, 3).

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transformation in the midst of heated debate or emotional turmoil are skills that are part of a transrational facilitator’s art. These skills serve to counteract an exaggerated modern professionalism. They can deepen relations and can help foster a safe and trustworthy space of exploration for participants. By necessity, such a space cannot be unlimited. In order to really function as a safe space, it needs to be a container, that is, have boundaries. It needs to be a place with a clear structure, reliable and transparent rules and with an open communication that can also make implicit individual behavior and implicit group norms explicit. While the corresponding interventions arise through the heart, the clarity to make decisions depends on the discriminating skills of the mind. 6.1.3

Mind

That a facilitator needs to be knowledgeable on her topic is a basic prerequisite for teaching in any education or training setting. It is equally the premise for elicitive and prescriptive approaches as it is for energetic, modern, postmodern and transrational ones. Towards this purpose modern academia has defined a whole system of formal qualifications and requirements. They form part of the legal frame within which teaching in formal education and training today takes place. They frequently also become part of the facilitator’s professional persona. While this system of professional experts defined by their degrees and (job) titles can and has been criticized, such a critique is not the focus of the current chapter. Here, I ask which further insights can be gleaned when looking beyond the persona towards the mind as an aspect of the self. A transrational approach sees the mind and thinking as intricately embedded and interrelated with the other forms of knowing. The mind forms part of the self and is also an open system. Unlike in the Cartesian cogito, thinking does not take place in the closed capsule of a subject, but always has both intrapersonal and interpersonal aspects to it. It is from such an embedded mind that the quality of intention (Roth 2004, 71–98) can arise. In phenomenology, intentionality refers to the mind’s propensity to be geared towards something concrete: conceptual awareness is awareness of something (cf. van Manen, 2014, 62; Fogel 2013, 43).6 6 Both van Manen and Fogel distinguish between the intentional structure or conceptual awareness of the mind and an (embodied, self-) awareness, which in the first instance is

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For the purposes of this book, I define awareness as the basic capacity to behold the contents, processes and contexts of consciousness (cf. Vaughan 2000, 59–61). Attention is focused awareness, the capacity to stay with an aspect in our awareness for a certain duration. To use an image, one could say that while awareness beholds the whole forest, attention zooms in on the single tree (cf. Roth 1998b, 29). The quality of a facilitator’s intention to foster participants’ unfolding is the basic capacity that holds the mind’s resources in facilitation. The matching attitude is mindfulness. As a concept, mindfulness has been introduced to a larger audience in Europe and North America through the spread of Buddhist teachings and particularly the practice of vipassan¯ a meditation7 (cf. Hart 2009; Kornfield 2002; Thich 2006a). In the meantime, it has extended beyond the immediate context of Buddhist practice. Mindfulness can be defined as “moment-to-moment non-judgmental awareness” (Kabat-Zinn 2013, xlix). As an aspect of the thinking mind, it requires an open attitude, that is, one that avoids a premature closing of possibilities and filtering perceptions by categorizing contents of awareness into concepts (Siegel 2010, xiv). In this aspect, it corresponds to the phenomenological attitude of epoché or bracketing as discussed for academic research. While the phenomenological attitude in research can be called one of wonder towards the world, in comparison, mindfulness means the present awareness that wants to see everything with fresh eyes, or with a “beginner’s mind,” shoshin, as it is known in Zen Buddhism (Suzuki 2011). Rather than an activity or skill, mindfulness, in its deeper meaning, turns into an attitude and way of being in the world (KabatZinn 2013). In facilitation, an open space is realized to the extent of our ability to also refrain from mentally closing it with our diagnoses and concepts. In academia particularly, the danger is high for facilitators to succumb to filling the space to the brim with our own thoughts and inputs. If participants are to find the intellectual space to breathe out their own concepts, then a certain amount of phenomenological bracketing or mindfulness is necessary for transrational and elicitive facilitation.

nonintentional (van Manen 2014, 64) and prior to language (Fogel 2013, 32), thus only subsequently languaged. 7 The Pali term vipassan¯ a itself is indicative of what is meant. Translated literally, it means diving deeply into an object to observe it (Thich 2006a, 10).

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Mindfulness does not imply that there would be no space for analytical thought or for evaluation. It is part of the very definition and function of mind that it enables the human being to differentiate, categorize and evaluate a given situation, contact and context. Mindfulness is no contradiction to that. It serves to further accentuate and hone the capacities of the mind by seeking to reduce pre-fabricated stereotypes, unfounded beliefs, unconsciously held convictions and biases that do not correspond to the actual situation. When we succeed in facilitating in a manner that holds our intention towards fostering the participants’ unfolding in dynamic balance with an attitude of mindfulness, our thinking can also turn into a deeper resource in facilitation. Thinking as the process of cognitive discernment—differentiation and integration—provides the gateway to intellectually grasp concepts, follow a train of thought or argument, discuss with the group, read texts and write papers, form an opinion, compare approaches and many more. As thinking is part of any process of reflection and understanding, there is no classroom that does not also prominently involve thought. A skillful use of mind first of all implies proficiency with didactics, conveying of content and group dynamics. It also refers to care and precision in the use of words and language (cf. Avstreih 2017, 173). Particularly when participants are trying to find the right words to express what they want to say, it is the facilitator’s clear and concise use of concepts that can foster this process. In the interplay with the resources of the heart, the mind also entails the skill of setting boundaries and intervening with analytical clarity, without thereby becoming authoritarian or manipulative. While the heart can lead towards an unconditional acceptance of the persons we are working with, the mind adds the necessary differentiation of actions, attitudes, behaviors, evaluation of learnings and assessment of transformation. Real contact also includes friction. In classrooms, it is necessary for participants to at times rub against the boundaries of the space. Rules are questioned, authority is challenged, trust is put to the test and wants to be re-established, and relations become strained or tense. When boundaries are overstepped, rules and commitments broken, imbalances, blockages or shadow aspects arise during the process, they need to be assessed and addressed. Unconditional positive regard and empathy by themselves might then not be sufficient. Abraham Maslow laconically remarks that the facilitator at various times needs to be both a “therapist” and a

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“policeman” (Maslow 2011, 98). Both are aspects of holding a space. Holding a space implies being a skillful guardian of the established explicit rules and seeing that they are followed to the benefit of the communal learning. Openness and containment, therapist and policemen cease to be contradictions if they are carried by the qualities of the heart and joined with the discernment of the mind. The premises of unconditional positive regard and non-judgment, together with a clear mind, foster a relational basis that can also endure the stormy phases of chaos and questioning within a group process. For the facilitator to know when to give way and when to hold strong is part of the elicitive skill of facilitation. A final, rather specific, topic concerns the question of performance evaluation. This becomes important, for example, in the context of formal (higher) education, in which the legal framework often necessitates that participants be evaluated or graded for successful completion. Critical and postmodern approaches have consistently pointed to the pitfalls of evaluation and the capitalist, disciplining, normalizing and standardizing logic that undergirds it (Illich 1970; Giroux 2011; Kincheloe 2008). Under the heading of quality assessment, evaluation of teachers and facilitators has in the meantime similarly become standard at universities and higher education settings, often with career implications. From a perspective of peace education Werner Wintersteiner (2015), however, argues that while there is a critical tension between evaluation and peace education, he suggests distinguishing between “controlling” and “empowering” evaluation. Controlling evaluation is exclusively output-oriented and follows narrow standards of efficiency. Empowering evaluation takes transformative processes into consideration. Following this argument further, an empowering evaluation cannot be standardized but proceeds from the concrete situatedness of the learners and is responsive to, for example, aspects of culture, gender and ethnicity (cf. Hopson and Stokes 2015). Balancing and integrating all the different aspects covered so far leads to the contributions of soul to the process of facilitation, which I address next. 6.1.4

Soul

In facilitation, the soul represents the principle that calls us to the deeper aspects and questions around peace and conflict, bubbling below the surface of modern classrooms and mind-sets. In the first part of this book, I defined the soul as the integrative aspect that balances the body, heart

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and mind. It is the meaningful whole or Gestalt function of the self. When this function is allowed to surface—when the soul emerges—it is experienced intrapersonally and interpersonally as authenticity, congruence or coherence (cf. Mahr 2016, 142). Roth (2004, 99–138) calls the quality simply “integrity.” She points out that integrity does not correspond to the moral categories of being “right” or “good,” but rather means being “real” (Roth 2004, 105). Following the logic of what has been established so far, integrity arises out of the groundedness and presence of the body (instinct); the openness, stability and literacy of the heart (intimacy), and the awareness and attention of the mind (intention). In the words of Carl Rogers (1995b, 282), it is the result when experience and awareness match. In facilitation, integrity also manifests as authority. John Heron (2010, 19–35) differentiates among three types of authority in facilitation. A first type is almost automatically bestowed on the facilitator by the functional position she adopts in a system of (formal) education, teaching and training. In a higher education setting, it derives from the institutional and legal frame within which the classroom is located. This frame bestows certain rights and responsibilities to the teacher and hence a certain kind of authority. A second type derives from the knowledge, skill and professional competence of the facilitator. When a facilitator, for example, knows her topic and has the corresponding didactical skills and tools available to present it, she knows how to structure a class and the ability to convey a certain form of authority. The third type of authority is the one that is most relevant here. It derives from a different source. It does not stem from the institutional, legal and political frame nor the acquired skills and knowledge. Although related to them, it properly derives from the facilitator’s self, more concretely her congruence and authenticity. This type of authority is usually granted to those “we perceive as ‘authoring’ their own words and actions,” rather than just following a script or pre-programmed pattern (Palmer 2008, 77). It comes from the inner alignment of a personal self that manifests as congruent and authentic communication. In a facilitative setting, Heron links it to “the ability to be empowered by one’s own inner resources, the wellspring within, and the ability thereby to elicit empowerment in others” (Heron 2010, 216).8 While the first two types 8 John Heron calls these three types of authority political, tutelary and charismatic. I find the term charismatic authority unsuitable in its connotations of the exceptional,

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of authority belong to the surface realm of the persona, this third one needs to be authored by the personal self. A further distinction can be gleaned from this. The topic of authority is often perceived as difficult in teaching and generally in facilitation. This is particularly so in a type of Peace and Conflict Studies that aims for a collaborative approach to learning and wants to ensure that hierarchies do not become too rigid and teaching too overbearing and prescriptive. An empowering authority therefore needs to be distinguished from stifling authoritarianism: Oppressive authority is rigid authoritarianism and proceeds from people who are denying some of their basic inner resources and only use a model of restrictive control in trying to educate others. It manifests at best as a benign and blinkered compulsion to do too much in a limiting way for students, at worst as a manipulative urge to dominate and intimidate them. (Heron 2010, 20)

When only the facilitator’s persona is dominant, bolstered by the first two forms of authority, an enabling authority more easily degenerates into authoritarianism. A professional understanding of one’s own role, strong commitment and engagement are useful starting points, yet principled good intentions can also serve to hide unconscious needs, drives and desires. When the empowering and elicitive aspects of authority in the above definition are lost and the connection to the inner (re)source is not there, authority can easily turn into authoritarianism. If, however, the body, heart and mind are aligned, the facilitator might experience herself as authentic and congruent. Empowered within, chances are larger for the facilitator to also be empowering without (cf. Heron 2010, 235). The corresponding attitudinal aspect might be termed a disposition towards wholeness. As John Paul Lederach points out, it is this attitude that is interested in “finding soul” in both the participants and the group, that looks for the “patterns beneath the presenting symptoms” and seeks the rhythms that “mark steady pace in spite of the cacophony” (Lederach 2005, 103). Accepting oneself as an integrated process of changingness, it also seeks to facilitate the aspects in the participants that are geared towards wholeness:

religious and cultic. I therefore take over the content of Heron’s classification, but not his terminology.

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As teachers, we know that what most distinguishes our work is being as present as possible to the hidden wholeness in our students, through moments of listening, recognition and connection. What makes such presence possible is some momentary awareness of our own hidden wholeness. It is what attunes us. (Wood 2005, 12)

Finding soul exhorts us to perceive the aesthetics and geometry of what we are dealing with, to recognize the inner voice of intuition, pay attention to symbol and metaphor and to the meanings that hover in the poetic and liminal space around the spoken words. Finally, it also means pacing our speed to match the rhythm and pulse of the group, rather than doggedly following our own lesson plan. The mode of knowing that mirrors soul’s emergence is intuiting. Trusting and following intuition helps to reveal the aspects and meanings that are not immediately apparent to the rationally thinking mind and that do not follow a cause-and-effect logic. Intuition sees in wholes, rather than pieces. Intuiting is equally relevant in the facilitation process as it is in research, even if it proceeds in a slightly different manner and journeys towards different horizons. I want to suggest that the skill that helps to elicit the soul’s resources in teaching is the capacity for listening. This once more is antithetical to the modern mind. As teachers, we are used to speaking ourselves, contributing to learning through sharing our knowledge. We often tend to be uncomfortable with listening for too long and, even more so, with the silence that sometimes arises in between the sentences. And yet, the discipline of listening may be required if one wants to gain a glimpse of the larger geographies in which we move so that the present moment may be understood in depth. In the course of this research, we have previously encountered this type of listening in the traditions of the Quakers. Coming from a personcentered approach, Carl Rogers simply calls it “active listening,” as the practice of listening for “total meaning” (Rogers and Farson 2007, 3). Active listening encourages a look behind the persona towards the beating pulse of our becoming. The mechanics of active listening appear deceptively simple. The task of the listener just consists of listening from a quiet, active and receptive stillness. It entails for the listener to be there for the speaking person with all her faculties and whole being, without outward intervention, comment or spoken response. It requires a grounded presence that is not easily distracted, a heart that is empathically open,

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stable and literate and a mind that is aware and attentive without judgment. What this practice seeks to establish and deepen is contact. More concretely, it is a contact boundary through which the dynamic patterns of both partners receive their momentary definition and out of which new understandings can blossom. Listening implies exposing oneself to the unknown (Josselson 2013, 80) and is a practice that is equally crucial for facilitators as it is for researchers. Holding a facilitative space in teaching requires mustering the discipline to be with others, to “listen them into speech” (Markowa 2005, 63). But also, mutual silence or group silence does not always signify a lack, an empty space where there should be words or sign of faltering attention, but silence can also be one that is filled with its own meaning. It carries a quality that words cannot convey: A silence is a longer pause pregnant with intention and awareness, entirely free of all urgency or tension, and allows both the sound and meaning of what has been said to resonate fully within the listeners. (Heron 2010, 233)

Even if lasting only for the span of a few brief breaths, such a silence can strengthen what has been said. It thereby serves to let “unstated implications unfurl” and “honor the reality of the listeners” (Heron 2010, 235). Of course, not every silence carries these connotations. The capacity to distinguish a hostile silence, an exhausted, confused, stagnant or bored one from one that is inviting and pregnant with meaning derives from the facilitator’s attunement to the current situation and its atmosphere. For myself, I recognize that when I speak from the alignment of soul, the quality, content and rhythm of what I say changes. My language turns less concerned with technical details. I become more engaged with tracing the bigger picture and speaking from the point where my own story intersects the current issues and trajectory present in the group. I feel that this occurs when I succeed in putting my own being and authenticity at service to the common learning of the group. It manifests in a concurrent feeling of aliveness, encompassing presence and contact with those around me. When I have reached an authentic place or moment in myself, I get the impression of a reciprocal interpersonal resonance. I truly cherish these moments and would agree with Carl Rogers (1995a, 19) when he suggests that “such a deep and mutual personal encounter

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does not happen very often, but I am convinced that unless it happens occasionally, we are not living as human beings.” While facilitating through the soul adds a subtle depth and fluidity to the process of teaching, it also remains within the realms of the personal self in its interpersonal and intrapersonal qualities. With spirit, we are now approaching an explicitly transpersonal aspect. Rather than being an additional component that is just added to the personal self, the transpersonal quality permeates, suffuses and transforms its constituent parts. 6.1.5

Spirit

The notion of spirit introduces the questions about the Larger Whole or transpersonal self into the debate on facilitative teaching. Having completed our rendering of the personal self in facilitation in the last section, the pertinent question now becomes, how can the transpersonal self possibly provide resources for the facilitator in teaching? The well-known writings by and about Parker Palmer (1993, 2007, 2008; Intrator 2005) provide pointers on what this journey entails and where it might take the practitioner. In his seminal work, The Courage to Teach, Palmer (2007) suggests that teaching consists in connecting the teacher’s heart and mind to spirit (cf. Palmer 2007, 5) as well as joining the self, subject and students in “the fabric of life” (Palmer 2007, 11). The art of holding a space involves the exploration of the teacher’s inner just as well as outer life. Importantly for this section here, teaching is a practice of relatedness that is more than just interpersonal and intrapersonal, but also looks for how the wholeness of life manifests in the classroom (cf. Palmer 1993, 11). Teaching turns into a spiritual journey just as much as it is one that is oriented on content and didactics and empathic relationality. This opinion is echoed by recent literature on teaching and (higher) education under names like wisdom education (Lin 2013), holistic learning (Miller 2005), integral education (Esbjörn-Hargens et al. 2010; Ferrer 2017) or from within transpersonal approaches (Bache 2008; Hart 2014). Despite the conceptual differences between these approaches, they all share the understanding that teaching is fundamentally incomplete if it does not, in one way or other, foster sensitivity and lived experience with our shared “wholeness with All That Exists” (Lin 2013, 25). Adam Curle (1990, 163) sums it up when suggesting that teaching and

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education are supposed to foster health as wholeness and as a comprehensive understanding of the complete interdependence between all beings. In the terminology developed in the current book, it is spirit that completes the self through the transpersonal dimension. In the realm of facilitation, spirit translates into inspiration, which is the capacity to let oneself be infused by the larger whole. Inspiration cannot be made or mechanically produced, yet it can be invited. I find stillness to be a wonderfully apt term that expresses this quality. What witnessing describes as a way of perception and mode of knowing, stillness suggests as a quality of being. Stillness does not imply inertia or passivity, but is an awake presence that surrenders one’s own wanting and ego in service of the task at hand. The gesture is one of figuratively stepping out of the way, in order to let the Inner Wisdom of the situation emerge. It is a quality that is crucial for peace building because it enables a keen understanding and more comprehensive view of what is going on inside of us and around us: Stillness engages the question “where am I?” as a twofold inquiry in quest of meaning. The journey is inward, for in stillness I seek to understand my location within the broad geography of space and time, especially this place where I am now. The journey is outward, for in stillness I wish to truly see the place where my feet are set. (Lederach 2005, 105)

Stillness allows us to locate ourselves in the moving geography of the inner and outer space. To be in stillness allows the facilitator to derive meaning out of the encompassing awareness—witnessing—of what is. Stillness and witnessing deepen the spaces we hold as facilitators through the potential for recognizing the transpersonal dimension. Parker Palmer (1993, 11) renders it in more active terms by pointing out that “as I reach out for that connecting center, the center is reaching out for me.” What Palmer calls the center and energetic traditions term the All-One or Larger Whole, I have, in slightly distinct fashion, called the transpersonal self or spirit in this book. Adam Curle (2006, 28) calls it love and sees the whole Universe as the emanation of love on a gigantic scale. Parker Palmer (1993, 8) applies this to teaching and reaches the radical conclusion that “the origin of knowledge is love.” Con-scientia then turns into love-in-action. While the attitude corresponding to soul is one of (personal) wholeness, spirit calls us to adopt a stance of (transpersonal) connectedness.

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This implies a perspective that takes the All-Oneness of existence into consideration. In its energetic roots, the notion of spirit calls attention to the inherent value of all that exists and the understanding that all of existence is an end in itself and never just a means. The corresponding facilitation emerges from the intention and attitude of wanting to benefit all being, as I have discussed it previously with Buddhist, Shamanic or Taoist perspectives. As regards the process of knowing, I have described the corresponding function as witnessing. Applied to teaching and facilitation, witnessing seeks that subtle unfolding in which the transpersonal manifests through the interpersonal and intrapersonal in our classrooms. Following a systemic logic, the transpersonal becomes manifest through the overall aesthetics and patterns that configure, shape and resonate with the interpersonal and intrapersonal aspects. In practical terms, witnessing implies sensitivity to the overall picture and its dynamics. It means seeing the aesthetic dimension of the current situation. Facilitating through spirit turns into the art of intelligently cooperating with these transpersonal dynamics as they unfold. Bringing spirit skillfully into one’s own doing can be likened to the practice of Wu Wei within Taoism. The Taoist perception of the subtle energy of Qi that likens it to a system of waterways becomes a helpful image to trace the ebb and flow of energy and attention in the classroom.9 It is not about pushing the river to make it go faster or differently, but rather follow its flow and foster its natural propensity to lead towards the ocean. What the Wu Wei analogy indicates is also that the insights gleaned from the Larger Whole cannot simply be produced or willed. The attunement to spirit may open the moment of Kairos, the right and hence effortless action at the opportune moment. When, for example, synchronicities occur, they appear in a manner that defies a linear understanding along the lines of cause and effect. To first of all perceive them and, secondly, to give them consideration and possibly follow their hints requires a frame of perception that is attentive to nonlinear connections. This is operationalized in “peripheral vision” as the “capacity to situate oneself in a changing environment with a sense of direction and purpose and at the same time develop an ability to see and move with the unexpected” (Lederach 2005, 118). Having peripheral

9 See Sect. 5.1.3.2 “Doing Not-Doing: Taoist Facilitation”.

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vision implies seeing that which comes up surprisingly and unmediated. It implies being open to take a turn and follow the flow of what shows itself even if that seems to lead away from one’s own goals. What the Taoist sages probably might have called luck that emerges from such an open attitude and presence, Lederach (2005, 114) names “serendipity” as the propensity for “accidental sagacity.” Sylvester Walch gives it a more pronounced transpersonal rendering, by positing Inner Wisdom as the guiding principle arising from the Larger-Whole-in-manifestation (cf. Walch 2018, 246–249). One could just as well call it the balancing functions of the system seeking equilibrium. Being part and embedded in the system or Larger Whole, it is impossible for the human mind to comprehend this function in its fullness, yet that does not mean that we cannot allow ourselves to be guided by it. With the rendering of spirit, I conclude this approximation to the fivefold self in facilitation. In Table 6.1, I summarize the main resources that the self could provide for the process of facilitation. What emerges is a matrix of resources. I want to emphasize that the above needs to be read as indicative or elicitive rather than prescriptive. The concrete interplay between the different aspects of the self and the emphasis on qualities, attitudes, modes and skills will vary from person to person and situation to situation. Each facilitator might develop her own style and preferences. After having looked at the potentials of a balanced form of facilitating through the self, I will now address the challenges that might arise from imbalances. Table 6.1 Matrix of Resources Qualities

Attitudes

Modes of knowing

Skills

Body

Instinct

Open-Bodiedness

Sensing

Heart

Intimacy

Acceptance

Feeling

Mind

Intention

Mindfulness

Thinking

Soul Spirit

Integrity Inspiration

Wholeness Connectedness

Intuiting Witnessing

Embodied Communication Affective Communication Didactics, Content, Group Dynamics, Boundary Setting Listening Effortless Action, Peripheral Vision, Serendipity

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6.2 Challenges on the Path of Facilitation: Excess, Deficiencies, Blockages and Shadows A facilitator who is capable of integrating the different qualities of the self and of differentiating them when necessary sets the ground for a container to hold the participants’ learning and experiences. By honing the respective qualities, attitudes, modes and skills, such a facilitator aims to tap the resources of the self and put them into the service of unfolding. Facilitating through the self, however, is also not without its dangers and hazards. When the facilitator is imbalanced herself, the facilitation process will also be affected. This bears the very real possibility of an adverse effect on the group and process. Unconsciously acting out, for example, an excessive mind, can lead to rigid intellectual dogmatism. If it is paired with a deficient heart, the facilitator will also appear to the participants as cold and distant. A further deficiency in the embodied aspects might lead to a monotone and lifeless engagement. Rather than being an enabling presence and a catalyst for unfolding, a facilitator caught in imbalance adds to complications and entanglements. Recognizing these imbalances, however, has the potential to turn them yet again into resources in the facilitation process. The intrapersonal trigger points and resonances can lead the way to a deeper understanding of—maybe— overlooked aspects of the group process. They also indicate where some further work on one’s own self might be necessary in order to tap into a hitherto unused potential. In the following, I will address the challenges on the path as they might arise from excess and deficiencies, blockages and shadows. A facilitator out of touch with one’s own embodied self is lacking somatic grounding and presence—the embodied at-homeness. On the one hand, an imbalance can manifest as a deficiency, which withdraws awareness from the body. Disembodiment turns the somatic home into no-ground, into a strange land that is the “sensory wilderness of the body” (Pallant 2006, 29) full of forbidden, strange processes and dark corners. The legacy of Cartesianism and of a modern cosmovision often leaves people uncomfortable about their own bodies—and facilitators are no exception. Modern alienation, a sedentary lifestyle, lack of sustained care and particularly cultural and moral inhibitions at times imply that by the time we reach adulthood the body has become an unknown or even forbidding territory. Shame, false modesty, idealized unrealistic body

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images and internalized gender stereotypes are further (mental) entanglements that estrange rather than ground in the body. These can be exacerbated by one’s own conflict-history, which also inscribes itself into the body and adds further complicated knots to its radiance. Deficiency as disembodiment leads to a body locked away in stasis during facilitation: Many facilitators are crouching unawarely, forgetful and half asleep in their experiential bodies and their physical posture shows unmistakable signs of this. The head and jaw are too far forward, stature is reduced, the anterior thorax too concave and withdrawn, the pelvis and thighs posturally negated. Such a person is about to talk too much, exhibits anxious overcontrol and is missing what is going on in the group energy field around. (Heron 2010, 222)

On the other hand, an imbalance can lead to overcompensation with excess. The embodied aspects receive too much energy and attention during facilitation. An excessive attitude of open-bodiedness that is not anchored in embodied grounding and presence can become impulsedriven and lead to behavior that seeks satisfaction for the facilitator’s own unmet bodily needs. Acting out physical attraction, the need for human touch or sexuality produces entanglements and disturbances that can compromise the teaching and learning. Facilitation, as working towards the unfolding of the group, then shifts according to the facilitator’s misguided attempt at healing one’s own embodied wounds or satisfying needs. An excessive need for grounding can equally lead to inertia, resistance and inflexibility. Somatically, when we are rooted to the spot, unwilling to move our feet or change position, our body reacts by putting on additional pounds. A facilitator whose heart is closed has difficulties accessing feelings intrapersonally and experiencing relationality interpersonally. A deficiency here aims to protect by keeping the facilitator from experiencing vulnerability, both one’s own and that of the participants. If vulnerability is disallowed, intimacy also becomes impossible. At the limit point, a blockage cuts her off from the affective source of aliveness in herself and others (cf. Koppensteiner 2020). When empathy then dwindles for lack of connection, it is very often the mind that compensates by providing guidelines and orientation for one’s own behavior through excessive analysis, rationalization and judgment. Rather than warm and empathic, the facilitator might then be perceived as cold, distant or aloof—while maybe internally craving contact. An attitude of acceptance then might

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be perceived as hollow or phony. Excess, on the other hand, means a heart that is perpetually open and has problems establishing the stable boundaries that turn it into a safe conduit for feelings (cf. Judith 2004, 146–148). Unclear boundaries and too much energy and attention mean the facilitator has difficulties separating one’s own feelings from those of the participants, easily leading to sympathy. A facilitator then is easily overwhelmed by feelings and might be perceived as emotionally insecure or overly emotional. Without an open, stable and literate heart, the facilitator might be seen as needy of the participants’ acceptance, confirmation and emotional support. The excesses of the mind are frequent in academic settings. A university education celebrates attention and energy given to thought. On the excessive side, it can manifest as intellectual rigidity, proceeding in a normative or dogmatic manner, diagnosing and rationalistic evaluation. Virginia Satir (1988, 88–89) has characterized the corresponding communication style as computing that proceeds by being ultra-reasonable. Being knowledgeable on one’s own topic turns into the conviction of being right—or at least “more right” than the participants. When intention turns into rigidity, an excessive mind is prone to teaching normative truth. The boundaries and rules that are meant to establish a safe setting become stifling, rigid and overbearing. On the deficient side stands the mind that is unable to clarify, structure and order. When intention is lacking, unclear and implicit rules are the result. Ambiguity around one’s own teaching contents or goals and how to convey them lead to didactic confusion. When the soul becomes excessive, we go from teaching through the self to teaching egoistically. When the interpersonal is lost, authenticity turns into narcissist teaching, into conceitedness and the infatuation with hearing oneself talk. Overtly or subtly, the setting then is turned to serve the facilitator and her aggrandizement rather than the participants’ unfolding and learning. Supportive authority turns into attachment to power that is domineering, repressive or manipulative. The soul then fails to fill the persona with enabling life but uses its professional and institutional authority towards ego-inflation. Deficiency, to the contrary, means a weak integration of the body, heart and mind that often manifests as insecurity. When the different voices of the self are lacking the integrating function, then the result is existential confusion, uncertainty about one’s own position, lack of trust in one’s own capacities, secondguessing one’s own choices, interventions and facilitation skills. With too

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much differentiation and too little integration, in practice this can turn highly self-debilitating. A deficiency in spirit manifests in the facilitator’s inability to perceive the deeper meaning inherent to one’s own being and doing in the world. With such a deficiency, a facilitator will also be challenged when these aspects arise for the participants or might fail to notice them altogether. Secularism and dogmatic materialism are the hallmarks of this deficiency. On such premises, a facilitator might be able to accommodate the intrapersonal and interpersonal aspects, yet turns an increasingly disparaging or blind eye towards the transpersonal ones. When facilitation becomes unmoored from a connection to the larger and is unable to experientially perceive the larger symmetries, our doing loses sight of the larger questions that provide meaning for existence. Cut off from our own source, we fail to see it in others. The focus of facilitation then narrows to the material aspects in their rational immediacy and technical manageability. Excessive spirit, to the contrary, leads to an esoteric over-determination and rigidity that is disorienting because it is lacking grounding in the material world and personal self (cf. Judith 2004, 416–420). A facilitator lost in spirit is out of touch with the lived reality of her participants. She flees to the excesses of either spiritual dogmatism or misreads the All-One as an unbounded openness of anything-goes. Further, excesses and deficiencies can also arise from imbalances in qualities, attitudes, modes and skills. The former two will remain implicit and cannot achieve their potential without modes of knowing and skills to operationalize them. Skills and modes of knowing, on the other hand, will remain superficial if they are not grounded consistently in the corresponding qualities and attitudes. A skillful use of one’s own imbalances implies accepting and releasing the corresponding aspects while recognizing that the fact of their appearance at a particular juncture also contains relevant information about the concrete interpersonal situation in which a facilitator finds herself. Being able to recognize and work on both of these levels at the same time means the mastery of the art of facilitation. From such a perspective, imbalances are also part of the homeostatic process of changingness that is the human being and, as such, nothing to be judged or decried for they can be turned into resources. Ultimately, this implies that facilitation also depends on the ongoing work on oneself:

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The more you, the facilitator, have done personal development work – both in healing the memories through deep regression and catharsis, and in opening up to transpersonal energies and domains – the more flexibility you have within yourself for facilitating these and other processes within your group. (Heron 2010, 337)

The stability of the space that a facilitator is able to provide on the outside in the interpersonal field corresponds to the inner intrapersonal stability and the work that she has already done on herself. As there is no end to this process of balancing and integration, the persistent and ongoing work on oneself is a prerequisite for all types of facilitation in peace and conflict work as well as for teaching Peace Studies in a facilitative manner. In the last chapter that is still to come, I now want to shift the focus from the facilitator to the process of facilitation.

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Levine, Peter A. 2010. In An Unspoken Voice: How the Body Releases Trauma and Restores Goodness. Berkeley: North Atlantic Books. Lin, Jing. 2013. ‘Education for Transformation and an Expanded Self: Paradigm Shift for Wisdom Education.’ In Re-Envisioning Higher Education: Embodied Pathways to Wisdom and Social Transformation, edited by Jing Lin, Rebecca L. Oxford, and Edward J. Brantmeier, 23–32. Charlotte: Information Age Publishing. Mahr, Albrecht. 2016. Von den Illusionen einer unbeschwerten Kindheit und dem Glück erwachsen zu sein. München: Scorpio Verlag. Markowa. Dawna. 2005. ‘Thinking Ourselves Home: The Cultivation of Wisdom.’ In Living the Questions: Essays Inspired by the Work and Life of Parker J. Palmer, edited by Sam M. Intrator, 60–72. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. Maslow, Abraham H. 2011. Toward a Psychology of Being. Blacksburg: Wilder Publications. Mearns, Dave, and Mick Cooper. 2016. Working at Relational Depth in Counselling & Psychotherapy. 2nd ed. London: Sage. Miller, John P. 2005. ‘Introduction: Holistic Learning.’ In Holistic Learning: Breaking New Ground, edited by John P. Miller, Selia Karsten, Diana Denton, Deborah Orr, and Isabella Colalillo Kates, 1–9. New York: State University of New York Press. Neff, Kristin. 2011. Self-Compassion: The Proven Power of Being Kind to Yourself . New York: William Morrow. Pallant, Cheryl. 2006. Contact Improvisation: An Introduction to a Vitalizing Dance Form. Jefferson: McFarland & Company. Palmer, Parker J. 1993. To Know as We are Known: Education as a Spiritual Journey. New York: HarperCollins. Palmer, Parker J. 2007. The Courage to Teach: Exploring the Inner Landscape of a Teacher’s Life. San Francisco: Wiley. Palmer, Parker J. 2008. A Hidden Wholeness: The Journey Towards an Undivided Life—Welcoming the Soul and Weaving Community in a Wounded World. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. Prendergast, John J. 2015. In Touch: How to Tune into the Inner Guidance of Your Body and Trust Yourself . Boulder: Sounds True. Rogers, Carl R. 1983. Freedom to Learn for the 80s. New York: Merrill. Rogers, Carl R. 1995a. A Way of Being. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company. Rogers, Carl R. 1995b. On Becoming a Person: A Therapist’s View of Psychotherapy. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company. Rogers, Carl R., and Richard E. Farson. 2007. ‘Active Listening.’ Gordon Training International. http://www.gordontraining.com/wp-content/upl oads/Rogers%20Farson%20A-L%20Article.pdf.

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Rosenberg, Marshall. 2005. Nonviolent Communication: A Language of Life. Encinitas: Puddle Dancer Press. Roth, Gabrielle. 1998a. Maps to Ecstasy: A Healing Journey for the Untamed Spirit. Novato: New World Library. Roth, Gabrielle. 1998b. Sweat Your Prayers: The Five Rhythms of the Soul—Movement as Spiritual Practice. New York: Jeremy P. Tarcher/Penguin. Roth, Gabrielle. 2004. Connections: The Five Threads of Intuitive Wisdom. New York: Jeremy P. Tarcher/Penguin. Satir, Virginia. 1988. The New Peoplemaking. Mountain View: Science and Behavior Books. Satir, Virginia, John Banmen, Jane Gerber, and Maria Gomori. 1991. The Satir Model: Family Therapy and Beyond. Palo Alto: Science and Behavior Books. Siegel, Daniel J. 2010. The Mindful Therapist: A Clinican’s Guide to Mindsight and Neural Integration. New York: W. W. Norton. Stern, Daniel N. 2010. Forms of Vitality: Exploring Dynamic Presence in Psychology, the Arts, Psychotherapy and Development. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Suzuki, Shunryu. 2011. Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind: Informal Talks on Zen Meditation and Practice. Boston: Shambhala Press. Thich, Nhat Hanh. 2006a. Transformation and Healing: Sutra on the Four Establishments of Mindfulness. Berkeley: Parallax Press. Thich, Nhat Hanh. 2006b. True Love: A Practice for Awakening the Heart. Boston: Shambhala. van Manen, Max. 2014. Phenomenology of Practice: Meaning-Giving Methods in Phenomenological Research and Writing. Walnut Creek: Left Coast Press. Vaughan, Frances. 2000. The Inward Arc: Healing in Psychotherapy and Spirituality. Lincoln: Backinprint.com. Walch, Sylvester. 2018. ‘Self-Exploration Through Holotropic Breathwork.’ In Transrational Resonances: Echoes to the Many Peaces, edited by Josefina Echavarría Alvarez, Daniela Ingruber, and Norbert Koppensteiner, 235–262. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Welwood, John. 1990. Journey of the Heart: The Path of Conscious Love. New York: Harper. Wintersteiner, Werner. 2015. ‘Towards a More Complex Evaluation for Peace Education: Peace Education, the Evaluation Business, and the Need for Empowering Evaluation.’ In Peace Education Evaluation: Learning from Experience and Exploring Prospects, edited by Celina Dl Felice, Aaron Karako, and Andria Wisler, 19–38. Charlotte: Information Age Publishing. Wood, Chip. 2005. ‘Notions of Presence.’ In Living the Questions: Essays Inspired by the Work and Life of Parker J. Palmer, edited by Sam M. Intrator, 8–20. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass.

CHAPTER 7

The Rhythms of Facilitation

This chapter provides a process model for facilitation by bringing together the corresponding maps that have been drawn by Fritz Perls (1992), Gabrielle Roth (1998), Sylvester Walch (2003), Romana Tripolt (2016) and Bruce Tuckman (1965; Tuckman and Jensen 1977). In exemplary manner, I subsequently seek to highlight certain crucial moments in the facilitation process, like preparations, beginnings and endings. I render resources and imbalances that might arise through the process and group dynamics and particularly address transpersonal resources and embodied facilitation. When held lightly and conditionally, maps can be useful for guidance on the journey of facilitation. The fivefold process model of Gabrielle Roth is only one in a whole series of different maps that proceed in a fivefold manner. I have already pointed to the roots of Roth’s model in the Medicine Wheel. Although the Medicine Wheel only has four directions, some traditions also include the center as an additional position (cf. Loomis 1991, 3–4), which would turn it into a fivefold wheel. In other interpretations, Spring (east) stands for birth and the sunrise. As we move around the wheel clockwise, the cycle is completed only when arriving once more in the east for a new sunrise or rebirth (cf. Foster and Little 1998). This also makes five out of the four and shows the seamlessness of cycles, as the end of one cycle simultaneously is the beginning of a new one. © The Author(s) 2020 N. Koppensteiner, Transrational Peace Research and Elicitive Facilitation, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-46067-9_7

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Many current interpretations of individual and group processes draw upon the five steps of the (therapeutic) encounter developed by Fritz Perls (1992). In Perls, this encounter takes the form of a deepening sequence. It symbolically commences with the superficiality of a first meeting: “Hi, how are you,” handshake. He calls this the “cliché” that is just the token of a meeting. The cliché is followed by the slightly more encompassing “role” as an encounter of the social function we play for each other (Perls 1992, 75). The first two belong to the realm of the manifest surface of the persona. Working through the first two layers, one encounters the “impasse,” that is the stuckness of anti-existence (Perls 1992, 76). Stripped of the niceties of the cliché and the social roles, the old patterns and habitual responses that we usually fall back onto no longer work, yet new ones are not readily available. The impasse leaves us in a painful constriction, akin to Jung’s tight passage and the narrow door of the shadow that “no one is spared who goes down the deep well” (Jung 2008, 21). If the impasse is not avoided but accepted, it leads to “implosion,” which is the ceasing of the struggle and the falling-inwards towards ego-death. It is implosion that also clears the space for the new to emerge. This manifests finally as “explosion”. Explosion is the visible expression of that creative urge toward new aliveness, leading into a renewed and fuller experience of one’s own self and authenticity in expression (Perls 1992, 76). With explosion, the cycle or Gestalt is closed, yet this closing also is the opening of a new cycle as a further Gestalt arises from the background. Perls (1992, 85) famously argues that integration is never a completed state but an ongoing and unceasing process of responsibility (freedom) and response-ability (the capacity to respond authentically and creatively to a new situation). In order to contrast this understanding with a modern variation of a fivefold process, I refer to the well-known sequence proposed by psychologist Bruce Tuckman. He first developed his model in the 1960s as the fourfold process of forming-norming-storming-performing (Tuckman 1965). In his later work, Tuckman completed the sequence by adding a fifth aspect termed adjourning (Tuckman and Jensen 1977). Tuckman explicitly addresses group processes. Despite the apparent similarities to the models mentioned above, there are marked differences. Tuckman leads his model as a sequence of stages from the initial stage of orientation in the beginning of a new group (forming), to the conflictive experience of difference (storming), to the development of group cohesion and structure (norming), getting the work done (performing) and

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finally dissolution (adjourning) (cf. Forsyth 2014, 146–151). His model proceeds in a linear fashion along outcome-oriented parameters that ideally are supposed to culminate in the fourth stage of performing. The goal for a good group is to reach the performing stage that fulfills the purpose of its existence. The model thereby reduces the other stages to either preparations or final denouement that are themselves of rather limited intrinsic value. Taken as a map for learning, transformation or generally for unfolding this model functionally prescribes the objectives and desired outcomes and sees deviation as an obstacle to be overcome. It addresses the surface of the persona through questions of efficiency, without moving to the deeper layers of the self. Two other process-oriented models much more suited for a transrational and elicitive approach are those proposed by Sylvester Walch (2003) and Romana Tripolt (2016). Sylvester Walch develops a systematization for the process of Holotropic Breathwork that is based on the work of Stanislav Grof. As originally envisaged by Grof, it is a system for the use of music in a holotropic breathing session. It largely follows the shape of an arch through three distinct phases (Grof 1988, 184–194; Grof and Grof 2010, 32–37). It came to be a model used for the overall orientation of the facilitator within the session. Walch (2003) differentiates this model further into the five well-known phases. In Walch’s terminology, they are called initiation, intensification, breakthrough, opening and integration (Walch 2003, 105–108). Translated into a facilitation context, they provide an open frame that is intended to enable and hold the individual and group experience, without imposing its content. In an elicitive manner, the facilitator provides inputs that evoke and catalyze experience, without judgment as to whether what is elicited is correct or appropriate. The authority on those questions lies with the participants, who are also the final arbiters on meaning and interpretation. The facilitator proceeds in a similar manner to what is known from phenomenological or person-centered approaches. This implies that subjective individual and group experience takes precedence over where the group should be according to the model. Seeming deviations are not wrong and are to be followed rather than corrected. The setting places the participants and their experience in the center and bolsters this in the humanistic and transpersonal assumption about an inner healing intelligence or inner wisdom. It is from them that the facilitator takes her cues.

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In an inversion of the roles as they are known in more traditionally hierarchical settings, the facilitator is explicitly perceived as being an assistant to those manifesting forces in participants, group and larger whole. The Austrian psychotherapist and dance-practitioner Romana Tripolt (2016), in turn, draws her own map out of a combination of the Five Rhythms and movement practices with insights from trauma therapy and body therapies. The corresponding sequence is stabilizationactualization-transformation-reprocessing-integration. Her pragmatic approach particularly emphasizes a process- and resource-orientation, the equal importance and interplay between embodied and verbal expression, the correspondence between interpersonal and intrapersonal aspects as well as the relation between body and mind in the processing of trauma (Tripolt 2016, 66–68). She highlights the importance of embodied practices, movement and dance in the work with difficult and traumatic experiences. Integrating neuropsychological insights, what emerges is a holistic process-oriented model that is able to address, work on and balance the different aspects of the self and provides a timely adaptation and recombination of Gabrielle Roth’ blueprint with an emphasis on therapeutic aspects. Before proceeding further, I emphasize once more the basic shift required when moving from a prescriptive and modern model to an elicitive and transrational one. This shift has been highlighted above in an exemplary manner with the model of Bruce Tuckman. Prescriptive approaches adjust the process to the model. Elicitive approaches use the model as a map for orientation, planning and structuring, yet take their cues on how to proceed directly from the process and participants.1 In light of the above, I understand facilitation as a rhythmic and cyclical practice, rather than a linear one. The individual sequences—gathered in a fivefold manner or otherwise—do not form a teleology but relate to one another like the rhyming lines in a poem or beats in a song. The different lines in a poem do not just all culminate in the last line and a song does not achieve an ultimate goal or final resolution with the last beat. Both are made in the process, by the resonance between the different lines or beats; by the stillness in between them; and by their correspondence to the overarching whole. Similarly, this goes for the rhythms of facilitation. I do not hold to the linearity of progress but much rather to the iterative 1 For an overview on how such an elicitive approach can be deployed for curriculum development, see the insightful text by Echavarría et al. (2019).

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and deepening process of learning, transformation and unfolding. This process might seem to have its redundancies when it gives the appearance of going around in circles. However, that is only the image on the surface, as below the deeper currents continue to exert their tug and pull. Based on the premises of these different models, I now want to emphasize key aspects of the process of facilitation from a transrational and elicitive point of view. In doing so, I will loosely follow the process arc as it can be distilled out of the different variations of the fivefold sequences. They provide points of structure and orientation that might be helpful, as long as we do not insist that processes have to unfold in such a manner.

7.1

On Preparations and Beginnings

A course begins before it begins. A group starts to form already before the participants meet during the initial session. In his facilitation I heard Sylvester Walch emphasize that a group actually has several beginnings. On the one hand, there is the subtle start when the topic as such emerges for the first time and the idea to have a certain frame for working with it is conceived. There is the organizational start when the frame is developed, preparations begin and participants are invited. There is that extended period of time during which the course begins to take form for the participants, in between them hearing about it for the first time and the decision to take part. There also is the slowly intensifying time right before the first session, when the field of participants, topic and frame coalesce, while also undergoing further changes and shifts. And then, there is the manifest start with the first (and sometimes only) session and meeting. All of this time between the first thought and the manifest beginning already belongs to the life of the setting and group. This is important, because although the active facilitation begins with the first session, the relations frequently are already established earlier on. The trust (or mistrust) that forms the relational basis for further engagement between the facilitator and participants is already prepared in the first contact. When it comes to questions of whether to sign up for a course, work on a topic or even on a conflict within a certain setting, or when deciding whether to study a certain topic, there is an open window of indeterminacy for the participants’ engagement. In the first contacts, potential participants often are sensitive towards what is subtly or manifestly conveyed by the organizers and facilitators. How reliable and fast

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responses are, how much openness there is for questions and uncertainties, how much an interested party is pushed in one direction or the other when it comes to deciding whether to participate all form part of the emerging contact boundary. At this stage, the mutual engagement can still be expected to take the form of the surface dance of the persona or cliché, and yet participants and facilitator are already sounding out for the first time who they become for each other. The time before the first session is also the time for the necessary preparation in terms of content, organizational aspects and didactics. Jennifer Murphy (2018, 267–272) emphasizes the importance of the setting of the physical place when preparing for the (first) session. A classroom that has been arranged with care to detail conveys a certain quality of attention that sets the tone for the subsequent learning. Murphy (2018) lovingly describes the different props she brings to her class when facilitating, from candle to the giraffe and wolf puppets that Marshall Rosenberg also uses to explain Non-Violent Communication. She perceives her classroom as equally “sacred” and “messy” space, that is, a space where light and shadow can be held together (Murphy 2018, 267), where spirit, wholeness, beauty and belonging equally find their place as do conflict, challenge, struggle and fissures. The outside setting invites an inner attitude and, together, they foster and hold the learning. Entering a well-prepared space, a certain threshold is crossed. We move from the hustle-bustle of the everyday world to the space of learning. Such a space invites awareness and focus. Lisa Schirch (2005, 65–77) renders the material aspects of ritual spaces as they are often used in peacebuilding. For my own academic facilitation, particularly when working with aspects of self-exploration, I often choose a special set of decoration, lighting and music to prepare the setting. Working with the space before the participants arrive, for example, in rituals of smudging, helps to equally prepare and attune the mind-set of the facilitator as it does the actual physical setting. A symbolic middle in form of a small arrangement of flowers, item of decoration or candle helps to center and ground the atmosphere in the room. I always carry a cymbal or a singing bowl with me, to announce different activities, breaks or raise attention whenever required. As the outer space is cleared for the session to come, the inner one is equally cleared and put in a mood of service to the learning. The physical space cannot be separated from the comprehensive experiential space (Heron 2010, 220–224) as it is subjectively perceived by

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the participants. The quality of experiential space is determined by the physical setting and context as well as by the disposition of the individual group members, the facilitator and the group as a whole. As such, it is larger than what the facilitator can create alone, yet the facilitator’s preparation is a crucial ingredient. The structure of the room provides the vessel for the learning of the group. As the initial session commences, participants meet for the first time in this particular constellation. Whatever the particular mood of participants and group might be, Fritz Perls (1992) points us to the notion that beginnings often are still carried by the dance of the personae, the politeness of the cliché. A welcoming and inviting space is also one that allows this necessary first step to unfold. Even when the atmosphere is one of excitement and interest, John Heron (2010, 59) points out that “existential anxieties” nevertheless are also part of those beginnings. He names three of them that (maybe invisibly) are in the room whenever facilitation begins. They are anxieties around acceptance (‘will I be liked?’), orientation (‘will I be able to understand?’) and performance (‘will I be able to keep up with the proceedings?’). These anxieties and questions are a normal part of an initial group setting, and their emergence can mark the transition from the flowing cliché to the functionality of the social role or persona. When raised explicitly, they can be productive when they turn into con-scientia. The shift from an individual “I” to the dynamic balance between “I” and “we” and “theme” (cf. Cohn 2009) then frees those additional resources that can be gained from relational engagement between participants, the common effort to understand and from a structured process. While the politeness of the cliché dominates on the surface, on a deeper level, the questions of vulnerability and surrender versus guardedness and resistance are negotiated intrapersonally and interpersonally. Surrender is a difficult term that has to be understood in its concrete meaning in order to be useful. In its etymological root, sur-rendere indicates a “giving over” (Online Etymology Dictionary 2018b) that in the context of facilitation means a conscious and self-determined act of engagement with the unknown of the process and decision to trust the (inner and outer) resources available on this journey. In the context of facilitation, it is the ongoing and active yes to the process that has to, at each moment, also include the possibility for a no. Struggle, ambiguity, doubt and resistance are an authentic part of the process too. Understood in this manner, it is not the abrogation of one’s own right to make decisions, but one

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particular form of exercising it. Surrender has to be distinguished from submission. The etymology of sub-mittere, in contrast, indicates not a giving over but a “putting under” (Online Etymology Dictionary 2018a), a lowering or effacing of self as in a hierarchical context. Submission includes, at least to some extent, the rejection of the right to revoke it. The distinction here is decisive. Surrender is active, ongoing and always includes the possibility to also do otherwise (that is, to say “no”); submission, in contrast, is passive, static and disempowering because it is self-negating. A facilitative context is one that provides the possibility for surrender and openness to safely take place, but never demands submission to process, group, facilitator or content. A context where surrender is said but submission demanded turns manipulative and coercive. The openness to the process that is surrender cannot be forced or imposed, only invited. Therefore, what is surrendered is not the capacity to make decisions, but rather the old and well-worn personae and habitual responses. Surrender remains risky business. It implies an opening that always carries the danger of hurt. It also carries the potential for unfolding. Learning only takes place beyond the boundary of the known. The classroom turns into a practice space. What individually might feel like the disorienting fall into the limitless blue of an open sky is still bounded, contained and held by the facilitative space. The task of the facilitator in this flowing is to provide (trust in) the stable container in which this falling can safely take place. Tripolt (2016, 125–146) concurrently emphasizes the importance of supporting the group field early in the process by providing a frame that is dependable and stable, clear and explicit in its structure and rules. In order to initiate the flow of the process, I frequently provide more content input of my own at this point, while keeping the facilitation affirmative and encouraging with only a light touch as regards personal aspects. Relational depth takes time to establish. The group field here provides additional resources. Already in the very first opening round, a more personal exposure by any of the participants can be a gift for all the others. Somebody taking the risk of stepping out and becoming visible beneath the persona opens the space for further participants to follow suit. Deep calls to deep, and the vulnerability one participant risks subsequently becomes more easily available for all. In turn, the witnessing resonance of the group provides energy and amplifies the strength of individual expression. This is not a linear process, yet at

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times these spiraling dynamics can already be observed from the very first moment onwards. It is also in this sense that the whole of the group forms a field that is more than the sum of its parts. What makes a group is this overall field or system, the process of joint conscientization (Freire 2007) that draws on interpersonal, intrapersonal and transpersonal aspects and reconfigures them in turn. This process gains additional strength if what are explicitly invited are not just intellectual resources but equally those of feelings, intuitions, body and spirituality.

7.2

On Embodied Facilitation

As the process starts to pick up speed, the different functional personae begin to form and participants accordingly find their places in the group. Who we are for each other and together becomes ever more concrete and gains manifest definition. The shift from cliché to the role corresponds to the shift into the working mood that the different personae functionally aim to enable. Whether this process is called intensification, actualization or staccato, it implies the successive stabilization of the working atmosphere and the notion of getting down to business and performing the functions for which the setting manifestly calls. Existential anxieties can be laid to rest in this process if they turn out to be just figments of one’s own imagination or are constructively dealt with. However, they can also be heightened. Imbalances arise if the topic of belonging (“will I be liked?”) reveals early fissures in the group, if orientation is drastically uneven (“will I be able to understand?”) due to differences in previous knowledge and information or if performance (“will I be able to keep up?”) does not meet (one’s own) expectations and requirements. In the latter case, the task of an elicitive facilitator is not to fix things or manage the process for the group, but to provide the necessary frame and input that group and process can balance themselves. What is thereby brought to light is often an indication of deeper topics and concerns for participants and group that might require further work. Topics around peaces and conflicts are particularly prone to bring up not only intellectual questions, but also equally personal and relational aspects. Together, they form the field in which learning takes place. This holistic process can be deepened by didactically including further aspects of the self into learning. In exemplary manner, I want to detail what I mean by embodied facilitation in the classroom. Embodied facilitation here refers to working with and through the body as a gateway

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and resource for learning. My own teaching frequently contains aspects of theater, dance and breathwork. The larger field of humanistic and transpersonal psychology has developed a vast range of methods for those purposes, most of them drawing on older energetic practices from the field of Shamanism, Taoism, Tantra or (Zen) Buddhism. An exemplary list might include practices like Five Rhythms Dance or expressive dance (Juhan 2003; Facci 2011), Authentic Movement (Adler 2002; Pallaro 2009), Contact Improvisation (Pallant 2006) just as well as forms of (improvization) theater (Boal 1985; Diamond 2007, 2018; Johnstone 2015), Aikido (Wagner 1999, 2015), Butoh (Fraleigh and Nakamura 2006), Holotropic Breathwork (Grof and Grof 2010; Walch 2003), work with the energetic aspects of the voice (Hasib and Amin 2018) and many more that can easily be adjusted to fit a specific classroom setting and topic. Embodied facilitation and learning of this type can serve several functions and purposes. It can be a form of training of sensuous awareness (perception) and embodied expression that corresponds to the intrapersonal aspect of self-exploration. All types of somatic knowing in the first instance are built on sensuous perception, containment and sensuous literacy: understanding our senses and what they tell us, learning to contain one’s own embodied experiencing and interpreting sensation. Augusto Boal’s Theatre of the Oppressed, for example, contains a vast spectrum of exercise and techniques designed to awaken and dynamize the senses (Boal 2002). Working in such a manner in the classroom frequently brings up the participants’ personal topics, the biographical aspects that continue to shape a unique life and the open Gestalten that still await closure. All those are inscribed in the body. Through embodied work, they can be made aware, expressed, if necessary languaged and, eventually transformed and maybe integrated. Embodied facilitation turns into a practice of selfdiscovery. Working in a context of Peace and Conflict Studies, this is a fruitful step. Understanding the personal aspects that move us deeply is crucial for everybody who wants to relationally work with others and guide clients in their own process of transforming conflicts and unfolding peaces. A purely verbal expression of personal aspects, by comparison, can easily become distant and rationalized. In a classroom of academics, there often is a propensity towards abstraction and distancing through conceptual language.

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Imbalances and blockages also have an embodied component, as I have tried to show throughout this text. In so far as they inhibit a deeper connection to one’s own body, they also inhibit self-awareness. At the limit point, the present, flexible, sensuous and alive body turns into the shaken, objectified, absent or frozen body as a site of trauma and violence (cf. Behnke 2003). Rather than somatically knowing through our body, we go through life feeling rather like “some-body else” or like “no-body” (Van der Kolk 2014, 249). Embodied learning means facilitating contact to the range of the participants’ sensory potentials so that they can turn into sites of somatic knowing and sensuous perception. This necessarily means starting from where they currently are, their concrete range of bodily awareness, and eliciting the next step from there. Secondly, embodied facilitation fosters a different type of learning about relationality and community and group dynamics. This corresponds to the interpersonal aspect of self-exploration. In a compelling poem, Virginia Satir describes the act of seeing, hearing, understanding and touching another human being as the greatest gift one can give or receive (cf. Intrator and Scribner 2003, 123). I have already mentioned Adam Curle’s view, who sees connectivity and relation as the most important questions for peace. Curle considers the lack of understanding our connectivity to be the greatest contributing factor to the occurrence of violence. When connectivity withers, the quality of our lives drains away. Working in an embodied manner exemplifies many of the aspects of connection. It raises questions of self-image and perception of others, questions of openness and protection, vulnerability, trust and intimacy. An embodied expression allows participants to explore and communally negotiate questions of relationality as they arise in the group and do so often without the mediation through words. Boundaries and limits can be tested, newly established or renegotiated without having to defend or explain choices. It becomes possible to address topics without having to name them with words. Embodied facilitation, thirdly, can lead to a somatic knowing of the topics under discussion. This occurs in the interplay between embodying concepts and languaging the body as it has been described in the first part of this text.2 “Teaching,” claims Celeste Snowber (2005, 216), “is the art of word becoming flesh.” To this I would add the reciprocal claim,

2 Compare Sect. 3.2. “Modes of Knowing”.

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that it equally means for flesh to become word. On the example of a class working with dance, I want to give a short rendering in order to highlight the practice. 7.2.1

On Dancing the Topics

Soft music is playing in the background; candles line the walls of the big seminar room. One half of the space is empty. I have stripped that side of the room of all chairs and tables. On the other side, some tables and chairs stand together in small islands. Small candles are also burning there. The shades are half-closed, casting the whole room into a slightly dimmed atmosphere. Today’s class is about to begin. Slowly people are starting to drift in, barefoot and dressed in loose clothing fit for movement, just like myself. In this particular research seminar, students have been struggling all throughout the week to define their topics, distill their concrete research problem and question out of the vast sea of information and possible approaches that any topic could take. We have discussed the outlines of Peace Studies as a discipline, debated different methodological approaches. The participants have organized their initial research on their individual topics, introduced their ideas to each other and received feedback. They have refined their initial approaches and formulated a first draft for an author’s perspective. Contact boundaries are in formation as topics and researchers start taking shape for each other. Before preceding any further, it is now time to engage the topics on other levels, shift from a mainly intellectual exploration and form of knowing to include other parts of the self. I invite the group into an opening circle, welcome them and explain what we are going to do today. They knew that this was coming and the atmosphere in the room is a mixture of excitement and anxiety. I gently remind them that this is not a dance competition but a free form of expression and exploration. There is nothing to get right or do wrong here. They have brought their research journals and I ask them to spread out, take a moment by themselves, gather themselves, and once more actualize their topics, the way it now appears in their mind’s eye. The atmosphere becomes still and contemplative as many close their eyes or take a look at their notes and the questions they have prepared for our exploration. From there, we proceed to a short grounding exercise, following the flow of breath through one’s own body, from head to heel. Breathing out the topics and breathing into the physical, embodied inner

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world they get into motion, first walking slowly, then faster, and then, as the music increases and begins to fill the room, there is a guided shift into dancing. The first half hour is a free dance with minimal instruction. After a tentative beginning, the group soon starts to warm up, getting used to the music and movement, themselves and each other. Initially, the dance is still somewhat self-conscious, highlighting the different personae. When it is the personae dancing, there is an element of performance to the expression. People are then not only moving with themselves, their topics and each other, but for them. From there, some then take to expressive motions rather quickly; partner dances are forming and dissolving. Others initially dance by themselves, keep their eyes closed or stay to the sides of the room. As the dance proceeds at one point, I have the impression of a first wave of release washing through the center of the room, while on the sides anxiety is also rising. I increase the rhythm of the music, clear beats of staccato inviting further expressivity. As the intensity increases some of the clear forms and shapes of the individual dances begin to dissolve. The pace increases again, feet slapping, sweat pouring, inhibitions loosening, control becoming harder to maintain. But, I do not want to go too far with this first dance as we have further work to do. On the peak of the wave, I stop the music. Moving quickly, I invite everybody into a circle for a brief check of temperature. What are people in the room engaged with? Breathing heavily, eyes glistening, they express a whole range of different aspects. With just a few words, we gather an understanding of the overall emotional, physical and mental landscape. For some, different feelings are in the foreground, some feel centered and grounded, even elated, others stuck or frustrated. Most have been dancing with their topics, while for some it receded into the background as other matters took center stage. All expressions are welcome. After the round of statements has run its course, the circle is dissolved. Somebody asks for a break to cool off, but I demur, explaining that I want to make use of the aliveness and energy that now is in the room after the dance. The group heads for the tables on the other side of the room and begins their own individual reflections. Journals and notes are taken out as participants now cast a renewed look at their topics and begin the intellectual, conceptual work again. After some time of concentrated work on this side of the room, I start the music anew, softly beckoning at first, then with growing intensity. The space for experiential embodiment is opened up once more, and

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both sides of the room now are available for the students in their explorations. Topics can be reflected and expressed in the written form, and they can also be danced, put in motion. At their own pace, participants begin to drift back and forth between the different spaces. Some spend the majority of the time sitting at the tables writing, some stay mostly in motion, some keep crossing the spaces, cycling between them. Soon, the creative process spills over into other forms of expression. Drawing materials and large sheets of paper are taken out as some begin drawing their topics, connecting words, symbols, images and colors on paper. Underneath it all, the music pulses, invites, calls, challenges. As the facilitator, I have my hands full now, guiding the music and being available for individual consultations and support when people feel stuck in their process or have the need for resonance. At times, I also dip into the embodied dancing space to get an understanding of how it feels from the inside or to encourage an individual expression. This is a careful balancing act, being visible and supportive without too much interference and without having the process gravitate towards me. I remind myself that participants should feel seen and supported, yet not observed or judged. Participants navigate through the session at their own individual pace. Therefore, the endings also come at different moments. When they are done, people begin packing their materials and make their way into lunch break. Some keep working until the very last moment and a few stay on into the break or want to return to class early in order to finish. In the afternoon, we will meet again in the plenary for a group reflection and discussion on the morning session before taking the next steps on this seminar’s journey.

7.3

On Resources and Imbalances of Groups

“ There is a crack, a crack in everything – that’s how the light gets in” (Cohen 1992). Leonard Cohen might have drawn inspiration for this line taken out of his song Anthem from the Sufi poet R¯um¯ı (cf. Barks 2004, 139). R¯um¯ı sees “the bandaged place,” the wound, as the site where the light enters (cf. Koppensteiner 2020). When the group process is such that a certain depth is reached, when the intellectual contents and topics that are discussed also are understood in a personal and relational manner, when the intrapersonal and interpersonal can resonate and correspond to the topic, facilitation moves beyond the surface of the persona, cliché and

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mask. This can be a liberating process leading into new openness, yet often simultaneously also is perceived as an impasse, as confusion and as the shadow side of chaos. While letting go of the exclusivity of the persona, the human drive towards wholeness runs up against the emotion of a double fear—one that is geared towards the future and one that derives from the past. The first derives from the anxiety about getting hurt when opening up. When the fear of future hurt gets too strong, it freezes us in the present. The latter consists in the challenge of potentially having to face up to past hurt. This entails recognition that all of us at one point have been wounded and that, at the fundamental level, human existence is transient and insecure. “Archaic anxieties” may raise their head in the form of previously repressed fear, grief or anger (Heron 2010, 60–61); shadows constellate and blockages or projections become manifest. Sometimes this can be experienced as a slow and gentle process, a softening that allows more of who we are to shine through. At times, however, it can also be perceived as quite sudden and dramatic, as a breaking. When a crack appears in the persona, the crack really runs through the whole field of the visible. Through it something that had hitherto been hidden can come to light, if one also dares to keep looking, as R¯um¯ı (quoted in Barks 2004, 139) says, at the bandaged place, the site of past hurt. This, R¯um¯ı intimates, is better not done alone but in community. The classroom space then becomes one of communal liminality: liminality can be a space of time where we can be what we are, where we can relate to each other as persons in our brokenness in communitas, where status is irrelevant and through this experience we can grow. Perhaps this is one of the most profound learnings from our often painful and fearful times of transition, if we choose to be aware. Liminality is a space where we can gain some view of who we are and where we might be in the cosmos, to reflect where we have come from an what we might be in the pattern of social relations and who we are person to person in open relationships, in communitas. (Clark, quoted after Mitchels 2006, 246)

The more permeable facilitators and participants can be for this process and the experiences that flow through them, the better the chances for a smooth transformation through this crucial phase (cf. Tripolt 2016, 174). Furthermore, the facilitator has to let go of the illusion of control at this

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point if the process is to be elicitive. After acting in a stabilizing manner at the beginning and then catalyzing the existing topics, the fact of the matter now is that the facilitator cannot know in advance what the next step will look like. It is the dance of unfolding that takes over the choreography (cf. Tripolt 2016, 178–179). The attitudes detailed in the last chapter are in high demand for the facilitator. Working with groups has particular resources to offer. That a group supports the deepening of individual and group topics and that deep calls to deep has already been mentioned previously. A further resource groups have at their availability is a certain commonality of topics. The Rogerian (Rogers 1995, 26) assumption that what is most intimate is most generally shared here comes back in a new guise, as a useful ally for group work. This type of representative experiencing is sometimes also called universality of topics within group-dynamic theory (Forsyth 2014, 555). It implies that what one person works through in regard to a topic can also be helpful for others in the classroom who are similarly struggling. If this process of working through is made explicit and shared in the group, it turns into a resource that becomes collectively available. Furthermore, this process goes both ways, as the empathic witnessing and resonance offered by the group, in turn, supports the first person in her working through the topic. I have had the experience that participants often perceive it as simultaneously difficult and liberating to share the aspects that they are struggling with, particularly if they relate to the topic in a personal way. When it comes to our own blind, unknown or hidden areas—the shadows that are repressed or projected, the resistances that are acted out unconsciously—the relational diversity of groups provides a further resource. Chances are that what is one person’s blind spot might be noticed by somebody else in the group, who can then provide resonance and feedback. Particularly in intercultural and multilinguistic groups of different backgrounds, this resource is especially prominent. This is conceptualized in the so-called Johari window (Luft 1970), a heuristic device that indicates the movement whereby ever more areas that before were left in the blind, unknown or hidden can appear in the open. This process is facilitated by collaboration and feedback within the group. One further powerful resource of a group comes from its potential to include, which can be particularly important for participants for whom belonging is a topic. The experience of empathy and acceptance has both interpersonal and intrapersonal effects and is a relational act in which

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each giving also is a receiving. While it is the task of the facilitator to model such aspects, it is the group that can imbue them with strength and energy. That the group field also has cognitive benefits already is inherent in Paulo Freire’s term of conscientization; the raising of consciousness that always is a dialogic communal practice, one that is done in togetherness. For Freire (2007, 88), dialogue is not just simply a didactic technique but much rather an “existential necessity” for human beings. Groups, however, do not just introduce available resources, but also can bring their own types of imbalances and complications. Specifically, approaches of competitive learning introduce a logic of betterthan/worse-than that is detrimental to facilitation. Yet, any group setting is prone to individual comparisons and hierarchies based on judgments that are frequently related to existential and archaic anxieties. Groups, furthermore, have a tendency to form implicit, unspoken, group norms and taboos. These limit the areas that can be openly discussed and that can become available for learning and transformation. While groups have the potential to include and provide an experience of acceptance, they can also exclude and stigmatize. If implicit rules, judgments, anxieties and exclusion remain unaddressed, they can lead to individual withdrawal from the group. If participants feel that there is no place for them in the group, they might respond by retreating. This can take the manifest form of terminating the setting early and just leaving the group. Much more difficult to spot in practice, however, is inner withdrawal. The input of participants who have withdrawn is no longer available for the group. What is worse, it may also exacerbate feelings of loneliness, inadequacy or (self-)judgment. On the other side of the spectrum stands over-activism, the acting out of individual anxieties and need to gain attention by attempting to dominate the group process. A final imbalance that is frequently observable in the field of Peace and Conflict Studies is overhelping (Forsyth 2014, 566). Acting out one’s own desire to assist others in their unfolding or to lessen their distress can have the opposite effect. Particularly if the intended help or proposed solution to a problem is uninvited, too insistent or premature, it can smother and short-circuit a necessary process of working through a topic. The same goes for the provision of comfort. Here, the underlying intention that is subtly conveyed is decisively important. A hug, for example, can be beneficial if an atmosphere of supporting a fuller and deeper expression carries it and if it can be received as such. The manifestly same action of giving a hug can become stifling and limiting if it is carried

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by the intention of making the experience go away or recede, or if it is again inappropriate to the situation. Help, furthermore, becomes disempowering for individual participants if the benefits and successes gained through the learning process are attributed only to the group. Rather than unfolding, this can foster individual dependency on the group (Forsyth 2014, 566). In all of these aspects, the facilitator can act as a catalyst for balance, by bolstering an open and empathic climate in which imbalanced or blocked aspects can come to light and be dissolved. Withdrawal can be balanced by attention and an inviting space to participate. When this is not sufficient, stronger forms of interventions at times are also necessary as in, for example, making implicit rules and taboos explicit, addressing exclusions or dysfunctional behavior. All the while, the facilitator needs to pay close attention to how one’s own behavior might be complicit in imbalanced dynamics. Particularly in moments of impasse analytical tools like Elicitive Conflict Mapping (Dietrich 2018; Echavarría Alvarez 2014) can help unearth the potential hidden in imbalanced or blocked dynamics. 7.3.1

On Resonance Circles

At the MA Program for Peace Studies in the University of Innsbruck, we have developed a special format for group dynamic aspects. The official title is “Integrative Seminar,” yet I have always preferred to call it a “Resonance Circle.” All throughout the semester students and faculty meet, usually on Wednesday evenings, right in the middle of each teaching week. All the students of the semester are present for this circle, as are all of the faculty members who are currently teaching, plus the program administration and director. Depending on the semester, this is between 30 and 45 persons in total. All participants of the evening sit in a circle; usually, the space is co-facilitated. A candle and flowers in the middle center the circle. Technically, the procedures and rules are very simple. The evening proceeds in three rounds. The first round is about the group of students. It is a space where students can express and speak about the topics that currently concern them and their relations with each other. The facilitators pass the word, listen and hold the space. The second round addresses all aspects that want to be communicated from the group to the facilitators and administration of the program. Again, the facilitators only pass the word and listen. The third round inverts the logic and facilitators and

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administration have the opportunity to speak and provide resonance and, in case required, also respond to particular points that need an answer. Only one person speaks at a time. The format is open-ended; sometimes it lasts for thirty minutes, sometimes for hours. Sometimes all of the rounds last an equal amount of time; usually, it is the first two rounds where the greatest time is used. We work until we are done, until everything that wants to be expressed has been expressed. The openness of the frame permits all different types of topics to emerge. Often, more administrative and technical details are addressed first. One student wants to organize an event and is looking for helpers. Another one would like to offer yoga classes in the morning and is wondering who might be interested. Someone else is concerned with the state of the classroom and the amount of disorder left at the end of a teaching day. Frequently the topics then shift to a deepened form of selfrevelation and relational engagement. As it begins to get dark outside, we work on the contact boundary where interpersonal and intrapersonal meet below the surface of the persona. The topics participants carry are expressed and witnessed. One student is struggling with a cancer in the family, and what this entails for the lives of all her relatives at home and for her engagement here in class. A topic discussed earlier in class has triggered somebody else and struck a painful chord. Over dinner, there has been time to think about it further and tears now flow in the circle as personal revelation and academic content meet. Sometimes the mood can be one of giddy joy, sometimes one of apathy after a long day of class. Tonight, everybody is tired and just wants to get on with it. Yet, at times, the space is also charged with anger and frustration when conflicts have emerged and imbalances want to be addressed. Vulnerable moments can emerge. Visibility is always negotiated in this space: Do I raise my hand and, if so, how much of myself do I allow to be seen? How much space am I allowed, and can I allow myself to take it? How much is too much, makes me feels over-exposed? How little is too little, I dare not raise my hand and feel small and unseen? Often, as the process deepens, so do the moments of silence in between individual expressions. The last words spoken still echo, participants are listening to see if resonance emerges, if a further topic wants to be addressed or if the time is right to proceed to the next round. Remaining on that edge of indeterminacy, breathing into the space of the uncertain

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without knowing what will emerge comes natural to some; in others, it causes deep discomfort and agitation. As we are sitting in a circle with participants from all over the world, our backgrounds and biographies are sitting in the circle too. Family norms, gender aspects, communal, societal, cultural and religious aspects trace relational differences about what can be said in such a space and how it is addressed. As those differences become increasingly visible, they require a conscious decision: Do I want to adhere to them for the safety and familiarity they provide or try out something different? Self-disclosure and vulnerability are negotiated in those aspects too. The task of the facilitators is to maintain the structure, yet the contours, depth and atmosphere of the space are created and shared by the whole group. The experiential space sometimes feels open and inviting, sometimes also tense, charged or stuck. Some statements ask for a resonance or response. Others are just witnessed and draw their strength from having been spoken out loud and received in an open and empathic manner. While the factual information that is exchanged certainly plays a role and is important for the functionality of the overall semester, this circle primarily is a relational space where, without getting up from the chairs, it becomes possible to see, hear, understand and touch other human beings and be similarly seen, heard, touched and understood by them. In conceptual terms, this setting echoes many of the points discussed previously with energetic facilitation, the Shamanic talking circles and Quaker listening practice. At times, it also carries the connotations of the Encounter groups developed by Carl Rogers, talking circles or the deep listening of the Quakers.3 They show the difference between a transrational and elicitive facilitation and a modern one. There is no fixed outcome that the resonance circle has to produce and it is also not intended as a tool for increasing decision-making efficiency. It shows the point where we have arrived together in the frame of a semester—be that balanced, imbalanced or blocked. It serves as an open frame for unfolding, learning and transformation. As a facilitator, some of the topics I can see coming; others are surprising. It is the qualities and attitudes of facilitation that are in high demand during these moments, much more so than the skills. In many ways, this setting addresses the heart of elicitive facilitation.

3 See Sect. 5.1 “Premises”.

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On the Heart of Elicitive Facilitation

What Fritz Perls (1992) describes in dramatic terms as implosion and egodeath can equally be perceived with Sylvester Walch (2003) as opening and widening. Other terms, like reprocessing (Tripolt 2016) or lyrical (Roth 1998), emphasize the creative aspect that emerges when old patterns no longer have to be strictly adhered to but can be seen in a new light. These perspectives emphasize different aspects of the same process in which, at times, the implosion of the old might be in the foreground and, at other times, the opening into the new. Frequently, in my experience, both can be there at the same time within the group but also within single participants. This process can be equally joyful and liberating as it can bring up further imbalances and anxieties as well. The anxieties that often correspond to this phase are those of a widened frame of reference. “Planetary anxieties” (cf. Heron 2010, 67) concern the question of one’s own position in light of larger political, social and cultural issues. Questions of (social) justice, equitable and ecological living, power and its abuses, war and violence and many others that are at the core of Peace and Conflict Studies arise in a manner that is both directly personal and collective, grounded in the immediacy of direct personal experience and conceptualization as well. If those questions are raised now, in the second half of the process, they can often be understood in a more comprehensive form, as they link the personal to the larger topics. Earlier in the process, however, an exclusive focus on the larger and abstract topics at times serves as a distraction that hides personal motivations and issues. In academia particularly, they easily lead to abstract generalizations that might be intellectually stimulating, but are devoid of direct personal and relational implications. However, if they emerge after the personal is given space or in a conjoined manner, they take on a fuller and more comprehensive meaning. Balancing the orientation on both process and content or between individual participant, group and theme is the permanently shifting dance of facilitation. The art of accompanying such processes also leads to the heart of elicitive facilitation. For the facilitator, the practices of soul and spirit, as they have been described in the previous chapter, can be particularly helpful. Integrity and inspiration, an attitude of wholeness and connectedness, knowing through intuition and witnessing, and

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finally deep listening, effortless action, serendipity and peripheral vision all support the free dance of experimentation and practice. The doing not-doing of Taoist facilitation and art of minimal intervention practically can be translated into doing as much as necessary, yet as little as possible. More often than not, this requires patience and the awareness to make use of Kairos, the art of intervening at the right moment in line with the momentum of the process and what is ready to unfold, not against it. A phenomenological disposition that brackets one’s own assumptions and diagnoses might be particularly useful if something new is to emerge. If one’s own interventions are offered instead of insisted upon, one’s own need to be right can also be relaxed, as the participant is enabled to more easily say “no” to what is offered. In this sense, an intervention, suggestion or content offered (only) becomes wrong through the facilitator’s insistence on being right. What a facilitator says or does in the context of a group, furthermore, always takes place on the concrete relational basis, as it is there on any given moment. This is a changing dynamic. What is appropriate and right today might no longer be so tomorrow. Before taking an action, it always bears to check whether the concrete action is appropriate to the relational basis that the facilitator currently has with the participants. The resource-orientation that is one of the hallmarks of elicitive processes becomes particularly relevant when it is about stepping out of the zone of the unknown that marked the first parts of the process and into the practice of the new and the beginning systematization of what is being learned. For the facilitator, this also manifests into a basic trust in the process (cf. Tripolt 2016, 67) and participants (cf. Rogers 2003, 427). It is this trust that is empowering for participants because it understands the learning and transformation that occurs as a result of their capacities, their effort and their engagement. On this journey, a final type of resource that is available in groups is transpersonal resources.

7.5

On Transpersonal Resources

A group provides interpersonal and intrapersonal resources as they have been detailed in the third section of this chapter. Already in a modern context, social learning theories have long supposed that learning takes place by experience and that it is enhanced by social settings like groups (cf. Forsyth 2014, 556), a finding that is also supported by neuropsychology (Bauer 2005; Damasio 2006). However, even earlier, at the

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beginning of the twentieth century, William James stipulated shared roots of consciousness: We with our lives are like islands in the sea, or like trees in the forest. The maple and the pine may whisper to each other with their leaves (…) but the trees also commingle their roots in the darkness underground, and the islands also hang together through the ocean’s bottom. Just so there is a continuum of cosmic consciousness, against which our individuality builds but accidental fences, and into which several minds plunge as into a mother-sea or reservoir. (James, quoted after Mearns and Cooper 2016, 3)

The islands and trees refer to the visible manifestations: persons in a group and the individual manifestation of consciousness. However, akin to the collective unconscious stipulated by CG Jung James suggests a common bedrock of consciousness out of which the individual manifestations emerge. Wolfgang Dietrich equally describes the larger meaning given to the term con-scientia by Jacob Levy Moreno: [Moreno] understands [conscientia] not as individual consciousness, but as shared knowledge wherein bodily, cognitive and spiritual aspects cannot be separated from one another. Individual and subjective consciousness does not exist in the private space of individual brains surrounded by a void: rather, it forms itself in the process of continual interaction.

A group, in this sense, is not only an amalgamation of individuals but also a constellation of this interaction. The very term con-scientia that is phonetically so similar to Freire’s conscientization points to another resource that is available within group processes. The group energy builds and catalyzes a transpersonal field that is more than just its combined interpersonal and intrapersonal aspects. Just as the personal self is embedded in the transpersonal self, a group is also a visible manifestation of the larger aspects of consciousness. At the minimum, a transrational approach wards against a “premature closing of our accounts with reality” (James 1985, 388). At the other end of the spectrum stand those, myself included, who are inclined to take—with checks and balances–insights from constellating inner wisdom and the type of knowing that passes through in moments of witnessing as relevant for the occurrences in the classroom.

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Coming to the last phase, endings are just as important as beginnings. At one point, the workshop finally draws to a close, the course ends and the group dissolves. This last phase brings up a whole new range of aspects. While some participants might already get ready to say goodbye and are looking to the time ahead and new projects, others might still be busy with the final steps of integration. For some, the unconscious drive to close all possible open Gestalten or do all the work that has been left unfinished previously leads them into feverish activities at the end. On a deeper level, transcendental anxieties (Heron 2010, 67) can also arise. In general terms, they relate to the bigger questions of meaning in life— “what is relevant?”, “where am I headed?”, “what does it all mean?” They can be experienced in representative fashion by some participants towards the end of the course and provide an opportunity for one further aspect of learning. For the facilitator, this entails the challenge of maintaining the frame until the very end and not to succumb to the temptation of a premature loss of concentration. Rather than opening new topics, the task here is to foster integration and the closing of still open Gestalten and prepare the participants for the next steps. In this process, we do well to remember that while the group dissolves and the setting ends, the individual processes will continue. If facilitators and participants expect all topics to be closed and settled, they will often be disappointed. Integration is an ongoing process. In the logic of the Medicine Wheel, once we have arrived at Spring from where we started, the process has not ended, but just enters a new cycle. The closing of one Gestalt naturally leads to the arising of a new one. Towards this purpose, a joined reflection on the common work is useful, as is the clear establishment of common points ahead, in case there are any. A ritual closing, dissolution of the frame and handing back the task of facilitation helps on this journey. Just like the establishment of the space in preparations and beginnings asked for care and attention, so does its disbanding. What Fritz Perls has termed explosion means carrying what has been learned into one’s own life with renewed responsibility and response-ability. It stands for the simultaneity of endings and beginnings. In a very similar vein, the time now also has come to bring this current text and research project to a conclusion.

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Online Etymology Dictionary. 2018b. Surrender. Accessed July 13. https:// www.etymonline.com/word/surrender?ref=etymonline_crossreference. Pallant, Cheryl. 2006. Contact Improvisation: An Introduction to a Vitalizing Dance Form. Jefferson: McFarland & Company. Pallaro, Patrizia, ed. 2009. Authentic Movement: Essays by Mary Starks Whitehouse, Janet Adler and Joan Chodorow. London: Jessica Kingsley Publishers. Perls, Frederick S. 1992. Gestalt Therapy Verbatim. Gouldsboro: The Gestalt Journal Press. Rogers, Carl R. 1995. On Becoming a Person: A Therapist’s View of Psychotherapy. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company. Rogers, Carl R. 2003. Client-Centered Therapy: Its Current Practice, Implications and Theory. London: Constable. Roth, Gabrielle. 1998. Sweat Your Prayers: The Five Rhythms of the Soul—Movement as Spiritual Practice. New York: Jeremy P. Tarcher/Penguin. Schirch, Lisa. 2005. Ritual and Symbol in Peacebuilding. Bloomfield: Kumarian Press. Snowber, Celeste. 2005. ‘The Eros of Teaching.’ In Holistic Learning and Spirituality in Education: Breaking New Ground, edited by John P. Miller, Selia Karsten, Diana Denton, Deborah Orr, and Isabella Colalillo Kates, 215–222. Albany: State University of New York Press. Tripolt, Romana. 2016. Bewegung als Ressource in der Traumabehandlung. Praxishandbuch IBT – Integrative Bewegte Traumatherapie. Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta. Tuckman, Bruce W. 1965. ‘Developmental Sequence in Small Groups.’ Psychological Bulletin 63 (6): 384–399. http://dennislearningcenter.osu.edu/files/ 2014/08/GROUP-DEV-ARTICLE.pdf. Tuckman, Bruce W., and Mary Ann C. Jensen. 1977. ‘Stages of SmallGroup Development Re-visited.’ Group & Organization Studies 2 (4): 419–427. http://faculty.wiu.edu/P-Schlag/articles/Stages_of_Small_Group_ Development.pdf. Van der Kolk, Bessel. 2014. The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind and Body in the Healing of Trauma. New York: Penguin. Wagner, Winfried. 1999. Aiki-Do und wir. Atem, Bewegung und spirituelle Entwicklung. Petersberg: Vianova. Wagner, Winfried, ed. 2015. AiKiDô: The Trinity of Conflict Transformation. Wiesbaden: Springer. Walch, Sylvester. 2003. Dimensionen der menschlichen Seele. Transpersonale Psychologie und Holotropes Atmen. Düsseldorf: Patmos Verlag.

Musical References Cohen, Leonard. 1992. ‘Anthem’ in The Future. New York: Columbia Records.

CHAPTER 8

Conclusion

The two guiding questions for my research project have been “what are transrational methods of peace research?” and “what does it mean to facilitate transrationally and elicitively in Peace and Conflict Studies?” The interest that united the two questions is in the self of the researcher/facilitator as resource in the process of researching and teaching. Towards answering the first research question I defined peace and conflict research as the (1) systematic and (2) creative (3) inquiry into a (4) concrete topic in order to (5) gain knowledge. Following a differentiation that dates back to Wilhelm Dilthey, I conceptualized knowing in critical distinction from cognition. While cognition sees knowing as an intellectual process akin to explanation (German erklären), understanding (German verstehen) indicates a comprehensive and relational form of knowing in which knower, knowing and known cannot strictly be separated. A key term, transformation, means the creative process of consciously engaging with life’s changes. It corresponds to understanding in so far as both are comprehensive processes that involve the whole self. A knowing of this type does not just produce informational gain, but also invites transformation. I started my inquiry into research methodologies with a rendering of energetic, modern and postmodern methodologies. Transrational ontologies and anthropologies perceive the human being as a permanently © The Author(s) 2020 N. Koppensteiner, Transrational Peace Research and Elicitive Facilitation, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-46067-9_8

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oscillating meeting point (contact boundary at work) that emerges in the resonance, correspondence and homeostatic balance between the interpersonal and intrapersonal layers and that derives its energy from the larger ground of the transpersonal All-One, which imbues it with a tendency towards self-actualization. Epistemologically, knowing is perceived as permanently ongoing, an open and dynamic process that balances between moments of differentiation and integration. Transrational knowing is relational (con-scientia) and perceives knowing as understanding. It entails an ethics that approaches research with the attitude of a facilitator, who holds an open space for the resonant voices of researcher and research participants to emerge. Transrational research methodologies do not just lead to new knowledge, but aim to be transformative for researcher, research participants and audiences. Methods are chosen according to the requirements of the research question and do not necessarily adhere to the classical distinctions upheld by modern and postmodern research and science. A peace research that proceeds in such a manner therefore is transdisciplinary in a double sense. It recognizes the necessity of synoptically bringing together different disciplinary perspectives in order to understand peace and conflict, while also validating a research that at least potentially can proceed through all the means of the self we have humanely available. On these premises, I rendered a process model of the self in research and facilitation, following CG Jung, Gabrielle Roth and Sylvester Walch. Defined through modes of perception, I understand the self as patterns of sensing (embodied experiencing of the current moment), feeling (experiencing the affective quality of the current moment), thinking (conscious reflection), intuiting (directly perceiving patterns) and witnessing (transpersonal perceiving). Expressed metaphorically, they could be called the ways of knowing of the body, heart, mind, soul and spirit. This project identified the corresponding means to include all of the aspects of the self into research, while also elaborating on the dangers and pitfalls of such a process in the form of shadows, imbalances (excess or deficiencies) as well as blockages. However, I suggested that if treated with careful consideration, these difficulties could also turn into resources in the research process. In an exemplary and non-conclusive manner, I sketched the outlines of a potential form such a research process could take, loosely following Gabrielle Roth’s Five Rhythms of flowing, staccato, chaos, lyrical and stillness.

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The second part, or second wave, took up the conceptual basis of the first part and was concerned with the question of facilitation. I expanded upon the notion of the self by introducing the distinction between self and persona, the latter being that part of us that shows on the manifest surface and corresponds to the (often idealized) image of how we see ourselves in the world and want to be seen by others. A transrational and elicitive facilitation, I suggested, necessitates a professional persona as a facilitator in order to be effective, yet draws its strength and aliveness from the underlying sources of the self. In a first attempt to approximate the terms facilitation, I looked to its etymological roots as well as to the exploration of three key metaphors: facilitation as dance, as holding space and as container. I detailed the antecedents for my own approach in teaching, training and peace building, as well as energetic, modern and postmodern forms of facilitation. Taking these bases into consideration, I elaborated on transrational facilitation, defining a facilitator as somebody who has the role of fostering human unfolding. Looking again to the self as a (re)source in the process of facilitation, I devised a matrix that combines the notion of the fivefold self with a systematization of qualities, attitudes, modes of knowing and skills in order to work out the corresponding resources of the self during facilitation. A renewed look at the shadows, imbalances and blockages, this time in facilitation, completed this rendering. For the final process model of facilitation, I combined the corresponding approaches of Fritz Perls (1992), Sylvester Walch (2003), Gabrielle Roth (1998), and Romana Tripolt (2016) to give an exemplary description of an arc of facilitation. Overall, I aimed to show how, on a transrational and elicitive basis, the self can turn into a source for and resource during the processes of research and facilitation within Peace and Conflict Studies. Such a methodology complements the modern and postmodern approaches and expands them through systematized energetic insights. The shift heralded by the transrational peace philosophy and elicitive conflict transformation thereby extends into peace research methodologies and deepens the already existing basis in teaching Peace and Conflict Studies. I began the introduction to this book with a reflection on how long it has been in the making. Since then, more than two years have again passed. Looking back to these beginnings, I recognize how intense the journey in between has been. Researching and writing this text has been an inspiring, at times enlightening and fulfilling, but also a difficult and

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arduous process. I have deeply enjoyed staying on the edge of my own knowing and breathing into the open space, curious about what will come forth. Other times have been more challenging, during the winter of research when the creative ground lies seemingly fallow and no new words are forthcoming. The latter has required all my self-confidence and trust in order stay with the process and not succumb to that irritable reaching after fact and reason. Throughout this project, I recognize a new quality in my writing, an expressivity I enjoy; the pleasure that comes from at least in part having found the right idiom. The words that fit my experiencing and reflections. The rightness that ensues in the matching of sensed, felt, thought, intuited and witnessed contents. And yet, this is not a perfect process. Some aspects inevitably remain ajar, some questions open. Fortunately enough, they appear to be minor ones. I have not reached an exhaustive depth, but am confident about the text having sufficient depth to release it into the world. Overall, I have experienced this lyrical phase of writing as highly creative, maybe among the most creative things I have done so far. Conducting this research certainly has transformed me. My own relationality, my being-in-the-world has changed. Particularly during this last phase of research, I have become somewhat reclusive and withdrawn in my relational interactions and less in contact with the world around me. I already know this from previous research experiences, yet possibly due to the scope of this text, I perceived it particularly stronger and somewhat deeper this time. At this juncture, I find myself increasingly ready to emerge out of winter’s stillness, hungry for the warmth of new contact. Conversely, the particular Gestalt this research project and I formed is now beginning to close; the contact boundary is dissolving. I am ending this text in the hope that it may provide a meaningful contribution to our discipline and that it will be useful for researchers and facilitators alike. For now, stillness beckons. Through it, a new cycle, a new spring, may emerge.

References Perls, Frederick S. 1992. Gestalt Therapy Verbatim. Gouldsboro: The Gestalt Journal Press. Roth, Gabrielle. 1998. Sweat Your Prayers: The Five Rhythms of the Soul-Movement as Spiritual Practice. New York: Jeremy P. Tarcher/Penguin.

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Tripolt, Romana. 2016. Bewegung als Ressource in der Traumabehandlung. Praxishandbuch IBT – Integrative Bewegte Traumatherapie. Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta. Walch, Sylvester. 2003. Dimensionen der menschlichen Seele. Transpersonale Psychologie und Holotropes Atmen. Düsseldorf: Patmos Verlag.

Index

A Abductive logic, 77 Absolute Spirit, 115 Acceptance, 75 Acorn Theory, 109 Active listening, 235 Actualization, 252 Adjourning, 250 Affective communication, 228, 240 Agape, 228 Aikido, 177 Ajna, 115 Alaha, 50 All-One energy, 50, 57 American Friends Service Committee, 183 An¯ atman, 52 Anima, 22 Animate earth, 106 Animus , 22 Anthropology, 79 Apollo, 27 Archaic anxieties, 263

Archetype, 125 Archetypical story/story of connectivity, 142 Arica Yoga, 25 ¯ Atman, 52 Attitudes, 219 Authentic Movement, 258 Authority, 233 Autobiographical style, 141 Autocratic styles, 209 Autoethnographic approaches, 27 Avatamsaka Sutra, 53 Awareness, 230

B Begreifen, 46 Behaviorism, 23 Black cloud, 127 Blockages, 119 Body-oriented psychology, 23 Boundary Setting, 240 Boundedness, 190

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 N. Koppensteiner, Transrational Peace Research and Elicitive Facilitation, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-46067-9

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284

INDEX

Brahman, 52 Breakthrough, 251 Breath-oriented transformation method, 30 Breathwork, 12, 258 Buddha, 52 Buddhism, 50 Butoh, 258

C Capitalism, 199 Cardiognosis, 103 Cartesian, 72 Chakra system, 120 Chaos, 14 Chiasmic flesh, 190 Circle processes, 173 Clearness Committee, 184 Cliché, 250 Cognicentrism, 121 Cognition, 98 Coherence, 233 Collective shadow, 75 Colonialism, 199 Compassion (karun¯ a ), 60 Conflict, 8 Conflict transformation, 16 Congruence, 75 Congruent communication, 103 Connectedness, 240 Conocimimiento, 67 Con-scientia, 73 Conscientization, 200 Contact Improvisation, 258 Content orientation, 208 Contrasexual soul images, 22 Correspondence, 17 Cosmovision, 50 Coyote teaching, 172 Critique, 65

D d.¯ akin¯ı, 22 Dance, 12 Decision making, 209 Deductive models, 77 Deep empathy, 105 Deficiency, 119 Democratic styles, 209 Depth Psychology, 23 Development theory, 79 Differend, 149 Differentiation, 244 Difficultator, 200 Dionysus, 26 Directional tendency, 92 Dissociation, 120 Doing Not-Doing, 175

E Effortless action, 240 Einfühlung , 103 Elicitive assumption, 10 Elicitive Conflict Mapping, 17 Emancipatory effect, 65 Embeddedness, 210 Embodied at-homeness, 241 Embodied communication, 240 Embodied conflict work, 17 Embodied Enquiry, 107 Embodied facilitation, 30, 257 Embodied presence, 222 Embodying language, 100 Empathic knowing, 105 Empathy, 75 Encounter Groups, 192 Energetic practice, 16 Epistemologies of the South, 66 Epistemology, 41 Erfahren, 28 Erklären, 46 Erleben, 28

INDEX

Esalen, 23 Ethics, 41 Evidence-based research, 63 Excess, 119 Existential anxieties, 255 Explosion, 250

F Facilis , 165 Feeling-literacy, 225 Feminism, 67 Feminist, 67 Fivefold Self, 119 Five Rhythms, 5 Flowing, 14 Forming-norming-stormingperforming process, 250 Fostering, 207

G Gatha, 52 Gestalt Psychology, 71 Great Chain of Being, 115 Great Mother, 50 Great Triad, 50 Groundedness, 126 Grounding, 222 Group dynamics, 240

H Hara, 177 He Ping , 50 Heroine’s journey, 136 Heteronormative sexism, 199 Higher Education, 10 H¯ınay¯ ana, 186 Holistic venture, 17 Holotropic Breathwork, 6, 16, 258 Homeostasis, 17

285

Humanistic psychology, 17 Humanistic tradition, 7 Human potential movement, 70 Hypothesis, 43

I Identity, 64 Impasse, 250 Implosion, 250 Incompleteness theorem, 78 Incubation, 46 Indigenous Research Methodologies, 65 Individualism, 199 Individuation, 220 Inductive models, 77 Initiation, 251 Inner healing intelligence, 24 Inner Light, 181 Inner Wisdom, 7 Inspiration, 240 Inspirational knowing, 118 Instinct, 221 Integrated process of changingness, 48 Integration, 244, 251 Integrity, 233, 240 Intensification, 251 Intention, 233 Interdisciplinarity, 79 International Relations, 20 Interpersonal, 79 Intersectionality, 140 Intimacy, 225 Intrapersonal, 79 Intuiting, 96 Intuitive Inquiry, 113 iPEACE, 204 Islam, 101

286

INDEX

J Johari window, 264

K Kairos , 30 Körper, 98

L Laissez-faire styles, 209 Languaged, 99 Larger Whole, 114 Leib, 98 Life-story approach, 141 Liminality, 263 Listening, 235 Literate, 225 Lived space, 169 Lyrical, 14

M Mah¯ay¯ana, 52 Massachusetts Institute of Technology, 192 Medicine Wheel, 21 Metanarratives, 65 Methodology, 28 Methodology of the Oppressed, 200 Mewlew¯ı, 101 Mi’Kmaw, 172 Mindfulness, 230 Mind of the universe, 127 Mitakuye Oyasin, 57 Mitwelt , 69 Modernity, 76 Modern research, 27 Modes of knowing, 219 Multidisciplinarity, 79 Mystic approach, 20

N Nada Brahma, 50 National Training Laboratories , 192 Native Science, 68 Neoliberalism, 199 Nepantla, 67 Nepantlerism, 202 Net of Indra, 20 Newtonian physics, 61 Nirv¯ an.a, 186 Nomadic inquiry, 109 Nomothetic statements, 15 Nondualism, 190 O Ontology, 41 Open-bodiedness, 223 Open Encounter, 192 Open heart, 225 Opening, 251 Open Space Technology, 168 P Patched layered account, 15 Peace and Conflict Studies, 8 Peaces, 17 Peace Studies, 9 Performative writing, 148 Peripheral vision, 239 Persona, 162 Personal self, 111 Per-sonare, 162 Phenomenological project, 45 Phenomenology, 28 Positivism, 61 Postcolonial/decolonizing/ postcolonialism, 27, 64 Postconventionalism, 64 Postmodern research, 27 Postpositivsm, 61 Poststructuralism, 64

INDEX

Pracademic, 76 Prescriptive conflict transformation, 18 Presence, 72, 75, 102 Problem-solving, 199 Process-guide, 165, 208 Psychodynamic nature, 14 Psychology, 23

Q Qalb, 101 Qi, 176 Qi Gong , 177 Quaker, 180 Qualitative research, 42 Qualities, 219 Quantitative methods, 7

R Reductionism, 45 Religious Society of Friends, 171 Reprocessing, 252 Res cogitans , 61 Research Center for Group Dynamics , 192 Research questions, 65 Res extensa, 61 Resonance, 17 Resource-orientation, 252 Rhizomatic writings, 143 Role, 250

S Sahasrara, 115 šaman, 54 Saturation, 146 Self-actualization, 24 Self-discovery, 102 Self-reflexivity, 65, 154 Sensing, 96 Sensual existence, 221

Sensuous perception, 223 Serendipity, 30 Shadow, 14 Shamanic traditions, 50 Shamanism, 54 Shingon, 177 Shunyata, 52 Skandhas , 53 Skills, 219 Social justice, 199 Soma, 98 Somatic knowing, 96 Sophia, 101 Soul disciplines, 111 Stability, 226 Stabilization, 252 Staccato, 14 Stillness, 14 Storytelling, 148 Structuralist, 199 Subiectum, 108 Submission, 256 Suffering, 228 Sufi, 101 Sufism, 18 Surrender, 255 Systemic Constellation Work, 16

T Tantra, 6 Tao, 47 Taoism, 50 Tao Te Ching , 51 Tavistock Institute of Human Relations , 194 Te, 59 T-Groups, 192 Theater, 12 Theatre for Living , 200 Theatre of the Oppressed, 200 Theory U, 198

287

288

INDEX

Therav¯ada, 52 Third wave feminism, 64 Tibetan singing bowl, 166 Transcendence, 49 Transdisciplinary, 78 Transformation, 43 Transpersonal psychology, 21 Transpersonal self, 114 Transpersonal tradition, 7 Transposition, 49 Transrational approach, 16, 17 Transrationality, 76 Trauma, 20, 252 U Unconditional positive regard, 226 Unfolding, 48, 117 V Vajray¯ ana, 22 Violence, 8, 45

Vipassan¯ a , 230 Vulnerability, 226

W Wakan, 174 Ways of being, 220 Wholeness, 240 Witnessing, 96 Wolf language, 74 World Café, 198 Woven, 15 Writer’s blocks, 46 Wu Wei, 59

Y Yin Yang, 50

Z Zen, 18