The Routledge International Handbook of Learning 9780415571302, 9780203357385

Citation preview

The Routledge International Handbook of Learning

As our understanding of learning focuses on the whole person, rather than on individual aspects of learning, so the process of learning is beginning to be studied from a wide variety of perspectives and disciplines. This Handbook presents a comprehensive overview of the contemporary research into learning: it brings together a diverse range of specialities, with chapters written by leading scholars from throughout the world and from a broad spectrum of approaches. The Routledge International Handbook of Learning captures the complexities of the learning process in 54 chapters, sub-divided into seven major parts:       

Learning and the person Learning across the lifespan Learning sites Learning and disability Learning across the disciplines Learning and religious and meaning systems Geographic cultural systems – broader perspectives.

Written by international experts, this book is the first comprehensive multi-disciplinary analysis of learning, packing a diverse collection of research into one accessible volume. Peter Jarvis is Professor of Continuing Education at the University of Surrey, Guildford, UK. Mary Watts is Emeritus Professor of Psychology at City University, London, UK.

The Routledge International Handbook of Learning

Peter Jarvis with Mary Watts

First published 2012 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by Routledge 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2012 P. Jarvis The right of the editor to be identified as the author of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data A catalog record for this book has been requested ISBN: 978-0-415-57130-2 (hbk) ISBN: 978-0-203-35738-5 (ebk) Typeset in Bembo by Taylor & Francis Books

Contents

List of illustrations List of contributors Preface Introduction: Human learning Peter Jarvis

x xi xxiii 1

PART 1

Learning and the person

5

1

Learning and the senses Paul Martin and Viv Martin

7

2

Learning and cognition Knud Illeris

18

3

Learning a role: becoming a nurse Michelle Camilleri

28

4

Self-constructed activity, work analysis, and occupational training: an approach to learning objects for adults Marc Durand

37

5

Emotional intelligence Betty Rudd

46

6

Language and learning Bernard Camilleri

56

7

Gender and learning: feminist perspectives Julia Preece

66

v

Contents

8

Learning and identity Lyn Tett

75

9

Thinking styles in student learning and development Li-fang Zhang

84

10 Non-learning Peter Jarvis

94

PART 2

Learning across the lifespan

101

11 Learning in early childhood Christine Stephen

103

12 Crossing boundaries: harnessing funds of knowledge in dialogic inquiry across formal and informal learning environments Kristiina Kumpulainen and Lasse Lipponen

112

13 Young people and learning Rachel Brooks

126

14 Adult learning: andragogy versus pedagogy or from pedagogy to andragogy Peter Jarvis

134

15 Exploring learning in midlife Jo-Anne H. Willment

144

16 The older adult in education Mary Alice Wolf

152

17 Lifelong learning in long-term care settings Alexandra Withnall

160

18 The biographical approach to lifelong learning Peter Alheit

168

19 Learning from our lives John Field

176

20 Psychological development Mark Tennant

184

21 Transformative learning Patricia Cranton and Edward W. Taylor

194

vi

Contents

PART 3

Learning sites

205

22 Informal learning: everyday living Paul Hager

207

23 Self-directed learning Katarina Popovic´

216

24 Learning at the site of work Stephen Billett

228

25 Organisational learning won’t be turned off Bente Elkjaer

237

26 E-learning (m-learning) Susannah Quinsee

246

27 Sleep-dependent learning Daan R. van der Veen and Simon N. Archer

256

28 Learning and violence Shahrzad Mojab and Bethany J. Osborne

265

29 An aesthetic education: an education in aesthetics in the setting of a Danish folk high school through the theatrical arts Lars Ilum

275

PART 4

Learning and disability

287

30 Learning, sensory impairment, and physical disability Joanna Beazley Richards

289

31 Autism spectrum conditions and learning Mary Watts

298

32 Reading disability Julian G. Elliott and Elena L. Grigorenko

309

33 On becoming a person in society: the person with dementia Kay de Vries

319

vii

Contents

PART 5

Learning across the disciplines: human and social sciences

331

34 Human-centric learning and post-human experimentation Richard Edwards

333

35 Piaget’s constructivism and adult learning Etienne Bourgeois

340

36 Psychoanalytic perspectives on learning and the subject called the learner Linden West

348

37 Sociology and learning Martin Dyke and Ian Bryant

357

38 Anthropology and learning Peggy Froerer

367

39 Learning in a complex world Mark Olssen

376

40 Perspectives on geography and learning Johanna L. Waters

393

41 Learning as a microhistorical process Christina Toren

402

42 Evolution Ian Abrahams and Michael Reiss

411

43 The brain and learning John Stein

419

44 Cognitive neurophysiology: promoting neuroergonomics of learning Kiti Müller and Anu Holm

433

45 Pharmacology and learning Roberta Stasyk

442

PART 6

Learning and religious and meaning systems 46 Buddhist theory of education Caroline Brazier and David Brazier viii

455 457

Contents

47 Christianity Jeff Astley

467

48 Confucian learning: learning to become fully human Qi Sun

475

49 Aspects of learning in Hindu philosophy Prem Kumar

486

50 Learning within the context of faith and the intellect: a thinking Islam Naznin Hirji

495

51 Jewish ways of learning Gabriela Ruppin-Shand and Michael Shire

507

PART 7

Geographic cultural systems: broader perspectives

515

52 Remodeling learning on an African cultural heritage of Ubuntu Rebecca Nthogo Lekoko and Oitshepile MmaB Modise

517

53 Indian culture and learning Sunil Behari Mohanty

526

54 The challenges of adult learning in Latin America: from literacy to lifelong learning Timothy Ireland

534

Index

544

ix

Illustrations

Figures I.1 2.1 3.1 10.1 14.1 14.2 14.3 23.1 27.1 29.1 29.2 39.1 49.1 50.1 50.2 50.3 52.1

The transformation of the person through learning The three dimensions of learning The time–confidence–learning trajectory of becoming a nurse The transformation of the person through learning Kolb’s Learning Cycle The Transformation of Sensations: initial and non-reflective learning Learning from secondary experience Formal/non-formal/informal learning in relation to self-directed learning Example of sleep architecture consisting of multiple sleep cycles Communication as form and mode Communication in ‘the pre-context state’ Mechanical illustration of the phenomenon of bifurcation Three-stage process of learning The How of Learning process model – the role of the transcendental in learning The How of Learning process model – the role of the symbol in learning The How of Learning process model – the triad of awareness in learning Axis of relationship of Ubuntu and Botho

2 23 34 96 135 139 141 222 257 279 280 379 489 500 501 502 522

Tables 9.1 20.1 22.1 23.1 37.1 52.1

x

Thinking styles in the theory of mental self-government Stages of human life Types of workplace learning Mocker and Spear’s model of lifelong learning Dualisms about learning Central tenets of culturally sensitive learning

91 188 208 221 363 520

Contributors

Ian Abrahams is a lecturer in Science Education in the Department of Education at the University of York, UK. He studied Physics and Philosophy before moving to King’s College London, UK to undertake an MSc in History and Philosophy of Science and Mathematics. He completed his Postgraduate Certificate in Education (PGCE) Secondary Science (Physics) and then, as a Physics teacher, undertook an MA (Ed.) prior to completing a full-time PhD in Science Education at the University of York. His current research interests are in the areas of practical work, teachers’ attitudes to science education and the use of drama to teach science. Peter Alheit is Chair of General Education at Georg-August-University at Goettingen, Germany and Director of the Institute for Biographical and Lifeworld Research. His main research fields are international comparative educational research, biographical research, cultural sociology and sociology of education. Simon Archer received his BSc in Biological Sciences from the University of Sussex, UK and his PhD in Zoology from the University of Bristol, UK, where he studied photoreceptor visual pigment absorbance spectra and colour vision polymorphisms. As a postdoctoral fellow at Bristol, he cloned some of the first visual pigment opsin genes, before moving to Sardinia on an EU Fellowship to help to set up the International Marine Centre (IMC) at Oristano, where he was Group Leader of Molecular Sensory Ecology. He then joined chronobiology researchers at the University of Surrey, UK, where he is now a Reader in Chronobiology. His current research interests include the molecular aspects of the circadian clock and sleep homeostat systems. He is particularly interested in how polymorphisms in sleep and circadian genes can affect gene expression and function and be associated with inter-individual differences in sleep and circadian-related phenotypes, in both humans and animal models. Jeff Astley is Director of the ecumenical North of England Institute for Christian Education and Honorary Professorial Fellow in Practical Theology and Christian Education at Durham University, UK. He is the author or editor of over 30 books on Christian education, practical theology and Christian faith, including The Philosophy of Christian Religious Education, Theological Perspectives on Christian Formation and The Idea of a Christian University. Stephen Billett is Professor of Adult and Vocational Education in the School of Education and Professional Studies at Griffith University, Brisbane, Australia. Stephen has worked as a vocational educator, educational administrator, teacher educator, professional development practitioner and policy developer within the Australian vocational education system and as a teacher and researcher at Griffith University. Since 1992, he has researched learning through and for work and has published widely in the fields of vocational learning, workplace learning and conceptual accounts of learning for vocational purposes. His sole-authored books include Learning Through Work: Strategies for Effective Practice (Allen and Unwin, 2001), xi

List of Contributors

Work, Change and Workers (Springer, 2006), Vocational Education (Springer, 2011) and edited book Work, Subjectivity and Learning (Springer, 2006), Emerging Perspectives of Work and Learning (Sense, 2008), Learning Through Practice (Springer, 2010) and Promoting Professional Learning (Springer, 2011). He is currently preparing a manuscript entitled the Integration of Practice-based Learning in Higher Education Programs. He is the founding editor and Editor in Chief of Vocations and Learning: Studies in Vocational and Professional Education (Springer) and lead editor of the book series Professional and Practice-based Learning (Springer) and lead editor for the forthcoming International Handbook of Education on Professional and Practice-based Learning with colleagues from Germany. Etienne Bourgeois is Professor of Adult Education at the University of Geneva, Switzerland (Dept of Psychology and Education). He also teaches at the University of Louvain, France and the Conservatoire National des Arts et Métiers in Paris, France. His teaching, research and publications focus mainly on learning and motivation. He recently co-edited the Encyclopedia of Adult Education (published in French) by the Presses Universitiaires de France. Caroline Brazier is a course leader of the Amida psychotherapy training programme in Buddhist psychology, based in Leicester, and travels extensively, lecturing and teaching. She has spent many years as an educator in schools, and with adults in community education, and in further and higher education, in both formal and informal settings. She has also worked as a psychotherapist and psychotherapy trainer for more than 20 years. Caroline is author of six books on Buddhism and psychology, including Buddhist Psychology (Constable Robinson, 2003), and Other-Centred Therapy and Listening to the Other (both O-Books 2009). David Brazier holds, in addition to his doctorate in Buddhist psychology, professional qualifications in social work, psychotherapy and management. He is the head of the Amida Order, an international Pureland Buddhist community, and lives and teaches in a seminary of that order in England. He is author of seven published books including, most recently, Love and Its Disappointment: The Meaning of Life, Therapy and Art, as well as numerous other chapters and articles. He is a proponent of culturally engaged spirituality with extensive involvements in education, the arts, aid and community work. Rachel Brooks is Professor of Education at Brunel University, UK and co-convenor of the British Sociological Association’s Youth Study Group. Her work focuses on young people’s experiences of education and training. Over recent years she has conducted research on: the internationalization of higher education; young graduates and lifelong learning; higher education students with parental responsibilities; and citizenship education and young people’s political participation. Her most recent book is Student Mobilities, Migration and the Internationalization of Higher Education (with Johanna Waters). Ian Bryant is a Visiting Fellow in the School of Education, University of Southampton, UK. He has recently retired from an academic career in Canada and the UK as an adult education teacher and researcher. His main published works include co-authorship of Adult Education as Theory, Practice and Research: The Captive Triangle (Routledge, 1989) and Adult Education and the Postmodern Challenge: Learning Beyond the Limits (Routledge, 1997). His interests are in the areas of philosophy and social theory of learning, professional educational development and qualitative research methodologies. Bernard Camilleri is a senior lecturer at the Department of Language and Communication Science, City University, London, UK. He qualified as a speech and language therapist in 1995. Having practised in a range of community and educational settings in Malta and in the UK, he was awarded a Commonwealth Scholarship and subsequently an Overseas Research Studentship to pursue postgraduate and doctoral studies at City University, specializing in the field of Developmental Speech and Language Disabilities. His research interests include the natural history of speech and language impairments, the early identification xii

List of Contributors

and assessment of pre-school children with speech and language difficulties and the interface between language and cognition. Most recently he has carried out innovative research on ‘dynamic assessment’ of children’s language and has presented at international conferences and published on this topic. Michelle Camilleri, after graduating in 1996 with a BSc (Hons) Nursing Studies from the University of Malta, worked for several years as a nurse in Accident & Emergency Departments in Malta, England and New Zealand. During this time her insatiable appetite for learning led her to pursue an MSc in Advanced Nursing Practice at the University of Nottingham, UK and an M.Ed. (Adult Education) at Massey University, New Zealand. In 2001 she started working as a lecturer at Nursing Division at the Institute of Health Care, which in 2010 became the Faculty of Health Sciences. Since becoming a lecturer, she has been involved in the development and implementation of a number of innovative educational programmes, including a continuous practical assessment system for undergraduate nursing students and an interdisciplinary e-learning academic top-up degree progamme. Her interest in how newly qualified nurses learn to survive and function during the first year of practice led her to investigate this phenomenon through a doctoral research study which she completed in 2009 from the University of Surrey, UK. Her current research interests are in practice development, learning in practice and evolving educational technologies. Patricia Cranton is a retired Professor of Adult Education most recently from Penn State University – Harrisburg, USA. She received her PhD from the University of Toronto, Canada. She has been Professor of Adult Education at St. Francis Xavier University, University of New Brunswick and Brock University in Canada. Patricia Cranton’s books include, Planning Instruction for Adult Learners (2000), Understanding and Promoting Transformative Learning (2006), Professional Development as Transformative Learning (1996), Becoming an Authentic Teacher (2001), and Finding our Way: A Guide for Adult Educators (2003). Patricia has also edited five New Directions volumes, including Transformative Learning in Action, Authenticity in Teaching, and Reaching out Across the Border: Canadian Perspectives in Adult Education (with Leona English). She is currently working with Ed Taylor to prepare the Handbook of Transformative Learning. Marc Durand is Professor of Adult Learning and Development at the University of Geneva, Switzerland. He is responsible for a research laboratory, whose aims are analysing human activity in various contexts, and designing environment for education and training for practitioners. His research topics are activity analysis during common practices such as working, high level sport, artistic and creative practices and everyday health activities. As a psychologist and as an educator he is particularly interested in studying long-term activity transformation during practices and designing innovative educational environments oriented towards hic et nunc practices and biographical trajectories. Martin Dyke is a Deputy Head of the School of Education at the University of Southampton, UK with responsibility for Enterprise and External Relations. Research interests include innovations in learning and teaching, the sociology of education, lifelong learning, widening participation and the use of digital technologies to support learning. He has taught in schools and colleges across a range of levels and subjects, mostly in the Learning and Skills Sector of Post-compulsory Education in the UK. In the School of Education he has designed and led the following programmes: Cert Ed. and PGCE in Post-Compulsory Education, Bachelor of Arts in Education (Post-Compulsory Education) and the Master’s in Educational Practice and Innovation. In addition to these roles he has acted as Programme Director for all PostCompulsory Education Programmes, Programme Director for Master’s Programmes in the School and has managed the partnerships programmes with local colleges, employers and overseas universities. Richard Edwards is Professor of Education and Head of the School of Education, University of Stirling, UK. He has researched and written extensively on many aspects of lifelong learning. He is a Co-director of xiii

List of Contributors

the Laboratory for Educational Theory at The Stirling Institute of Education and has participated in a number of Economic and Social Research Council-funded projects on literacy practices in colleges, curriculum-making and semantic technologies in higher education. His most recent books include, with Robin Usher, Lifelong Learning – Signs, Discourses, Practices (2007, Dordrecht: Springer), Globalisation and Pedagogy (2008, London: Routledge, 2nd edition), edited with Gert Biesta and Mary Thorpe, Rethinking the Contexts of Learning and Teaching (2009, London: Routledge), with Roz Ivanic et al., Improving Learning in College: Rethinking Literacies Across the Curriculum, (2009, London: Routledge) and, with Tara Fenwick, Actor-network Theory in Education, (2010, London: Routledge). Bente Elkjaer holds a chair in organizational and workplace learning at the Department of Education, Aarhus University, Denmark. Bente Elkjaer has within her research taken a special interest in developing a theoretical perspective on organizational learning inspired by American Pragmatism (particularly the works by John Dewey), which she has called the ‘third way’. Further, Bente Elkjaer was for five years (2005–10) the Editor-in-Chief of Management Learning; she was also the founder (2004) and, for a number of years, the Head of the Doctoral School of Organizational Learning (DOCSOL) at the university. Julian Elliott is Principal of Collingwood College and Professor of Education at Durham University, UK. Initially a teacher of children with special educational needs, he subsequently practised as an educational psychologist before entering higher education in 1990. He also maintains a limited clinical role with children and works closely with teachers and parents. His major research interests are children’s motivation and behaviour, reading disability and other forms of special educational need, and cognitive assessment and intervention. He is an Academician of the Academy of Social Sciences. John Field is Professor of Lifelong Learning at the University of Stirling, UK, where he researches the social and economic dimensions of adult learning, as well as the history of vocational education and training. His books include Social Capital (Routledge, 2008) and Lifelong Learning and the New Educational Order (Trentham, 2006). He is currently completing a study of work camp systems in Britain and Ireland before the Second World War. Peggy Froerer is a Senior Lecturer at the Department of Anthropology, Brunel University, UK. She is Convenor of the MSc programme in the Anthropology of Childhood, Youth and Education, and Director of the Centre for Child-Focused Anthropological Research. Her current research focuses on childhood, learning and education in central India. Elena L. Grigorenko received her PhD in general psychology from Moscow State University, Russia and her PhD in developmental psychology and genetics from Yale University, USA. Currently, Dr. Grigorenko is Associate Professor of Child Studies, Psychology, and Epidemiology and Public Health at Yale and Adjunct Professor of Psychology at Columbia University, USA and Moscow State University, Russia. Dr. Grigorenko has published more than 300 peer-reviewed articles, book chapters and books. She has received multiple professional awards for her work and received funding for her research from the National Institutes of Health, National Science Foundation, US Department of Energy, US Agency for International Development, Cure Autism Now, the Foundation for Child Development, the American Psychological Foundation and other federal and private sponsoring organizations. Paul Hager is Emeritus Professor of Education at University of Technology, Sydney, Australia. His main scholarly interest is the emerging field of philosophy of adult and vocational education. His work centres on topics such as informal workplace learning, professional practice and the role of generic skills in work. xiv

List of Contributors

Naznin Hirji, an Education Strategist, is Project Executive and Lead of the Early Childhood Development Research Team with Aga Khan Education Services (P) based in London. She holds a PhD in Politics, International Relations and Policy Studies from the University of Surrey and an MSc in Change Agent Skills and Strategies, with specialisation in the Philosophy of Learning, Faith and Human Development. She introduced the notion of the sacred within the context of learning, with emphasis on the creative imagination and conduciveness of the learning environment. She has several years’ experience in the area of latent and ineffable learning and her work focuses on the nexus between the sacred and the secular in the field of education and art and architecture, on which she has published several articles. Naznin’s work also lies within the context of civil society to effect the benefit, at grass-roots level, of the value of learning and education from a faith and human development perspective with emphasis on humanitarian action, poverty reduction and peace, towards solution-based sustainable and equitable development and growth. Anu Holm is Hospital Physicist at Helsinki University Hospital, specializing in clinical neurophysiology. She gained her PhD from Aalto University School of Science and Technology, Finland. She is interested in developing neurophysiological metrics for the assessment of mental workload and the physiological state of the brain. Knud Illeris has been professor of Educational Research at Roskilde University, Denmark, Research Leader at Learning Lab Denmark and professor of Lifelong Learning at the Danish University of Education. He is now a partner in the International Education Consultancy, Simonsen & Illeris (www.simil.dk). His professional fields are mainly learning theory and workplace, adult and youth education, training and learning. He is the author, co-author or editor of more than 100 books and research reports, of which the most recent in English are How We Learn, Contemporary Theories of Learning, International Perspectives on Competence Development and The Fundamentals of Workplace Learning (Routledge 2007, 2009, 2009, 2010). Lars Ilum is Principal and founder of the Danish Folk Højskole Performers House in Silkeborg, Denmark. He has been involved in the cultural field – in artistic, educational and organizational contexts – since 1983. As stage director and artistic director of Theatre Metropole (1991–1997), he specialized in incorporating cinematic elements into theatrical expression. Theatre Metropole was funded by The Theatre Council of Theatrical Arts. He holds a bachelor’s degree in music and dramaturgy from University of Aarhus, Denmark. He has also studied at the Actors Studio and the Lee Strasberg Institute of Theatre, both in New York, USA. He has worked in several positions supported by The Theatre Council of Theatrical Arts, the Art Foundation (Denmark) and private foundations. In recent years, he has been engaged in and committed to the use of artistic processes as an approach to learning and competence development. Timothy Ireland is a senior lecturer on the Postgraduate Programme in Education, at the Federal University of Paraíba, in João Pessoa, in the north-east of Brazil, where he has taught, researched and coordinated university extension projects since 1979. He was also director of the University International Office from 1993 to 2004. Since 2004 he has been seconded, first to the Ministry of Education, where he was national director of adult and youth education from 2004 to 2007, and then from 2008 to UNESCO, where he was focal point and coordinator of the Brazilian organizing committee for CONFINTEA VI in Brazil. He is a member of the Confintea Advisory Group and of the United Nations Literacy Decade Experts Group. He has researched and written widely on adult, youth and popular education. Peter Jarvis has been studying human learning since the mid-1980s and has published many books on the subject. He is currently Emeritus Professor of Continuing Education at the University of Surrey, UK and a visiting professor at a number of universities in the UK and abroad. He has written and edited over xv

List of Contributors

40 books and written over 200 papers and chapters, including editing a companion volume to this one – The Routledge Handbook of Lifelong Learning. Routledge has also recently published a book of his selected writings: Teaching, Learning and Education – The Selected Writings of Peter Jarvis. He is founding editor of The International Journal of Lifelong Education, which he has edited for over 30 years, and he serves on a number of other editorial boards. He is a frequent speaker and lecturer at conferences and universities around the world. He is an academician of the Academy of Social Sciences. Prem Kumar is currently Assistant Dean (Curriculum-Community Leadership Development) with the National Community Leadership Institute, Singapore. Prem is a capacity-builder, educator and consultant and has written and edited articles and books on organizational and adult learning. He received his doctoral degree from the University of Surrey, UK and master’s degrees in Tertiary, Adult & Continuing Education from the University of Hull, UK and in International Relations from The Fletcher School, Tufts University, USA and holds a Certificate in International Organisation and Systems Development: A Gestalt Approach from the Gestalt Institute of Cleveland, Ohio, USA and the Institute for Gestalt Organisational Consulting, Germany. His recent publications include a co-edited book on Learning and Performance Matter (World Scientific, 2008). Kristiina Kumpulainen is the Director of the Information and Evaluation Services at the Finnish National Board of Education. Previously she was a professor at the University of Helsinki, Finland, where she directed the national interdisciplinary network on learning, CICERO learning. She holds adjunct professorships at the Universities of Helsinki and Turku, Finland. Dr Kumpulainen specializes in informal learning, learning environments, innovative pedagogies and teacher professional development. In her publications she is particularly interested in sociocultural theories of learning as well as methodological questions surrounding research on social interaction and learning processes in diverse settings. Rebecca Nthogo Lekoko is a senior lecturer in the Faculty of Education, Department of Adult Education of the University of Botswana. She holds a Doctor of Education (D.Ed.) from Pennsylvania State University, USA. The focus of her teaching, research and community services is programme/curriculum development, focusing on diverse areas such as community development or empowerment and the economic empowerment curriculum. She has published extensively around these areas, and some of her major works are with publishers such as Pearson, South Africa; Heinemann, Botswana; and Macmillan, South Africa. Her journals articles also spread across continents. Lasse Lipponen is professor of education in the Department of Teacher Education, University of Helsinki, Finland. His main research areas are: children’s learning at the intersection of formal and informal situations; the development of children’s agency; and collaborative and technology-mediated practices of learning and working. He has been involved in several European Union and nationally funded research projects. He is a well-liked and esteemed lecturer and recipient of the 2008 Helsinki University ‘Good Teacher’ Award. He has authored a number of articles on teaching and learning and has served as a referee in several conferences and journals. Paul Martin was academic manager for the Centre of Excellence in Teaching and Learning in Creativity at Brighton University, UK providing academic leadership in supporting and researching creative activities within the Centre. He has worked in the field of adult learning for many years. He has managed several Adult and Continuing Education Centres, developing access routes into higher education, co-authored and led a degree in fine art and taught management development. Paul worked for the Higher Education Funding Council England supporting the development of national learning and teaching xvi

List of Contributors

projects and was a Senior Advisor for the Higher Education Academy. He is a practising artist and a founder member of the Brighton and Worthing Open House movement, where he shows his work regularly. Vivien Martin’s background is in art teaching, adult learning, training and development. She was an Area Principal in Adult Education for ten years and moved into developing government training schemes in Further Education, followed by management development in Higher Education. She became a Director of Management Education in the National Health Service through the 1990s and moved to the Open University (OU) to lead a joint Department of Health and OU project to revise open learning materials for management development. After five years in the OU Business School she moved into the National Health Service Leadership Centre to work with a number of national development programmes. She returned to Higher Education to develop partnership programmes and currently works part-time in the University of Brighton, UK and continues to practise as an artist and printmaker, showing her work regularly. Sunil Behari Mohanty has worked for 33 years in Orissa Education Service, Govt. of Orissa, India. He has written 18 books and a large number of papers. He is the founder editor of the Journal of All India Association for Educational Research. For further details, see www.sunilmohanty.com. Oitshepile Modise is Senior Lecturer in the Department of Adult Education, University of Botswana. She holds a Doctor of Philosophy in Adult Education with a major specialization in human resource development and management from the Florida State University, USA. Dr Modise has more than 24 years’ experience as an educator and more than a decade as a trainer/educator at university level and in on-the-job training, and as a manager and researcher. Shahrzad Mojab is a professor who is an academic-activist teaching in the Department of Adult Education and Counselling Psychology, Ontario Institute for Studies in Education of the University of Toronto, Canada. She specializes in educational policy studies; Marxist-feminism, gender, state and diaspora; women, war and learning; and feminism and anti-racism pedagogy. She is the editor of Women, War, Violence and Learning (Routledge, 2010) and co-editor of Educating from Marx: Race, Gender and Learning (Palgrave, 2011). Kiti Müller is a neurologist who heads the working brain research at the Finnish Institute of Occupational Health. She has a PhD in neuroimmunology and an MD. Her main research area has been in neuroergonomics, combined with neurocognitive brain and human factors at work. She is also an adjunct professor in neurology at the University of Helsinki, Finland and in neurocognitive ergonomics at Aalto University, Finland in the Department of Biomedical Engineering and Computational Sciences. Mark Olssen is Professor of Political Theory and Education Policy in the Department of Politics at the University of Surrey, UK. His most recent books are Liberalism, Neoliberalism, Social Democracy: Thin Communitarian Perspectives on Political Philosophy and Education (New York and London: Routledge, 2010); and Toward A Global Thin Community: Nietzsche, Foucault and the Cosmopolitan Commitment (Boulder and London: Paradigm Press, 2009). He is also co-author (with John Codd and Anne-Marie O’Neill) of Education Policy: Globalisation, Citizenship, Democracy (London: Sage, 2004). Recently, he was a coeditor of Govermentality Studies in Education (Rotterdam: Sense Publishers, 2010), and of Re-Reading Education Policies (Rotterdam: Sense Publishers, 2010). He has also published many book chapters and articles in academic journals in Britain, America and in Australasia. xvii

List of Contributors

Bethany Osborne is a PhD student in the Department of Adult Education and Community Development, Ontario Institute for Studies in Education of the University of Toronto, Canada. Her research focuses on violence and learning; memory, trauma, identity and resistance; and arts and resistance. She facilitates art workshops for individual and community empowerment and teaches at Seneca College, Toronto in the Social Service Work programme specializing in Immigrant and Refugee Work. Katarina Popovic´ is assistant professor at the Department for Andragogy, Faculty of Philosophy, University of Belgrade, Serbia. She studied adult education in Belgrade and completed her PhD degree in Aachen, Germany. Besides teaching at Belgrade University, she is also visiting professor at universities in Germany, Austria and several countries in south-eastern Europe and researcher in the Belgrade Institute for Pedagogy and Andragogy. She is vice president of the European Association for the Education of Adults, president of the Serbian Adult Education Society and coordinator of the Belgrade office of the German institute for international cooperation in adult education, dvv international. She is also a member of the International Adult and Continuing Education (IACE) Hall of Fame, several relevant European and international organizations and editor-in-chief of the journal Andragogical studies. She is experienced as adult teacher and trainer and has participated in numerous national, regional and international projects in adult education. Julia Preece is professor of adult education at the University of Kwa-Zulu Natal, South Africa. She has held a number of posts in UK and African universities, including director of the Centre for Research and Development in Adult and Lifelong Learning at the University of Glasgow, UK, Senior Lecturer at the University of Botswana and Professor of Adult Education at the National University of Lesotho. Her research interests focus on adult and lifelong learning, gender, poverty, non-formal education and citizenship issues. Her most recent publication is Lifelong Learning and Development: A Southern Perspective (Continuum). She has managed a number of Africa-based research projects and is currently coordinator for a pan-African project on universities and their third mission of community service. Qi Sun is an associate professor of the Adult and Post Secondary Education Program in the Department of Professional Studies at the University of Wyoming, USA. Her research and teaching focus on adult learning and transformative learning, Eastern philosophical perspectives on education, lifelong learning, and learning society, and international and comparative (adult) education. Confucian education philosophy and its influence on learning and education have been one of her favorite research topics and on which she has published articles, chapters, and a book recently. She has served eight years as the Book Review Editor for Convergence, the official journal of ICAE. She is the co-editor of two Special Issues of China Adult Education, published by Convergence; editorial review board member of Vitae Scholasticae; consulting review member of Comparative Education Review; and guest reviewer of Adult Education Quarterly. She has designed graduate and undergraduate courses that help infuse global vision and international perspectives through comparative lenses that review and apply Eastern educational philosophy and practice for cross-culture teaching and transformative learning. Dr. Sun conducts lectures and workshops, presents papers, and gives speeches on both East and West perspectives to her colleagues internationally, adding efforts to bridge the merits of both and to help inform effective cross-culture teaching and learning. Susannah Quinsee is Professor of Learning and Teaching Development and Director of Learning Development at City University London, UK. She was Chair of the Heads of E-Learning Forum (HeLF) Steering Group from 2007–2010. She leads the Learning Development Centre (LDC), which encompasses educational development and technology-enhanced learning activity for the University. The LDC is a central-service, academic department and a research-active centre. Previously, Susannah was Head of E-Learning and Associate Director of Information Services and Libraries also at City University London. In this role she managed the implementation of e-learning at the University. Susannah has worked as a lecturer and in academic support roles at a xviii

List of Contributors

number of other higher education institutions in the UK. Susannah has considerable experience in the areas of online learning, student support, implementing learning and teaching strategies and project management in relation to higher education. Susannah’s current research focuses on leadership and change management in relation to learning development, developing communities of practice in higher education and engaging staff in new learning and teaching methodologies, particularly using technology. Michael Reiss is Pro-Director: Research and Development and Professor of Science Education at the Institute of Education, University of London, UK, Chief Executive of Science Learning Centre London, Vice President and Honorary Fellow of the British Science Association, Honorary Visiting Professor at the Universities of Birmingham and York, UK, Honorary Fellow of the College of Teachers, Docent at the University of Helsinki, Finland, Director of the Salters-Nuffield Advanced Biology Project, a member of the Farm Animal Welfare Council and an Academician of the Academy of Social Sciences. For further information, see www.reiss.tc. Joanna Beazley Richards is a Chartered Psychologist, HPC registered Clinical Psychologist United Kingdom Council for Psychotherapy-registered psychotherapist and holds a specialist Diploma in teaching people with learning disabilities. She researched the lives of people with disabilities for a number of years at Glasgow University, UK. Her mother worked in special schools, with children who had differences. This, combined with a close, almost brother–sister relationship with a cousin of much the same age, who had multiple intellectual and physical impairments, meant that she found being with people who were finding out how to learn things alongside having a disability fascinating. During her time at Art College she did voluntary work with people who had a range of disabilities, and her first paid work was with people with multiple disabilities, in an NHS setting. For the next 20 years she worked with people who had disabilities, helping them to learn everything from how to get dressed to how to present well at interview. During the 1970s she was responsible for introducing people with multiple disabilities into Further and Higher Colleges of Education. In 1986, she joined the National Bureau for Handicapped Students (now called SKILL) as their Staff Development Officer. In 1990 she had an accident and lost two of her senses and had to learn many new things. Now, as Principal of Wealden Psychology Institute, she works alongside people with disabilities as colleagues and students. Betty Rudd was born in Cyprus and educated in England, now working in both countries. Her work has ranged from pre-schoolers to senior citizens; from drug addiction issues and inner-city street-gangs, to teaching trainee teachers, training counsellors and psychologists, and running workshops for actors. Currently, she works as a Chartered Counselling Psychologist, Doctoral Supervisor and Examiner, Freelance Author and Inventor (of child and adult games for facilitating mental wellness). Her ability to facilitate excellent, powerful workshops is widely acknowledged. She contributed to the government-endorsed document ‘Every Child Matters’ and is named by the British Psychological Society as an expert in Emotional Intelligence and non-verbal communication. Who’s Who in Research, Who’s Who in Health and Who’s Who in the World list Dr Betty Rudd for her outstanding contributions in her field of endeavour. Betty says that her scars are greater than her qualifications, but believes that being a wounded healer is not a bad thing. She welcomes comments on her chapter and can be contacted via her website: www.emotional literacy.eu. Gabriela Ruppin-Shand is the Course Leader for the MA in Jewish Education at Leo Baeck College, London, UK, where she also teaches on the Advanced Diploma in Jewish Education. As the Consultant in Adult Learning, she has been involved in redefining the policy for adult education for the College. Prior to her work in the UK she directed programmes at the Martin Buber Center for Adult Education at the xix

List of Contributors

Hebrew University of Jerusalem, Israel. Gaby has an MSc in Applied Professional Studies in Education and Training from the University of Surrey, UK. Michael Shire is Vice Principal of the Leo Baeck College, London, UK, with rabbinic ordination from the Leo Baeck College. His PhD is in Religious Education from the Hebrew Union College, Los Angeles, USA. His current research interests are in the theology of childhood. Roberta Stasyk holds a Bachelor of Science in Pharmacy from the University of Alberta (Edmonton, Alberta), Canada and a Master of Education with a Specialty in Workplace and Adult Learning from the University of Calgary (Calgary, Alberta), Canada. She is a registered pharmacist in the province of Alberta, Canada. For the past ten years she has held the position of Competence Director with the Alberta College of Pharmacists, where she is responsible for developing and implementing programmes that support and assess the professional competence of pharmacists at entry to practice and throughout their professional careers. She is a guest lecturer for the Faculty of Pharmacy and Pharmaceutical Sciences at the University of Alberta and has made numerous presentations at provincial, national and international conferences on the topic of continuing competence. Her dual degrees have piqued her interest in how learning affects the practice of pharmacy at the level of the individual pharmacist and how pharmacology affects learning in adults. John Stein (John Stein FRCP) is Emeritus Professor of Neuroscience, Dept. of Physiology, Anatomy and Genetics, at Magdalen College, Oxford, UK. After preclinical studies at New College, Oxford, John Stein trained as a clinical neurologist at St Thomas’s Hospital, London, Leicester and Oxford, UK. Since 1970 he has been a Fellow at Magdalen College. Although ‘retired’ he still teaches neuroscience to medical and psychology students and his research focuses on the role of vision and nutrition in the control of movement and behaviour in neurological patients, dyslexics and young offenders. John doesn’t cook fish; his brother, TV celebrity chef Rick Stein, doesn’t do neuroscience! Christine Stephen is a researcher in the School of Education, University of Stirling, UK. She is interested in how young children learn at home and in early years’ settings. Exploring pedagogy combines her interest in children’s learning and development with studying practitioners and their roles in the playroom. Edward W. Taylor is Professor of Adult Education at Penn State University-Harrisburg, USA. He received his Ed.D. in Adult Education from the University of Georgia, USA. Research interests include adult cognition and learning (transformative learning), non-formal education and medical education. His work has appeared in Adult Education Quarterly, International Journal of Lifelong Education, Studies in the Education of Adults and other scholarly journals. He recently published an edited book, Teaching For Change: Fostering Transformative Learning in the Classroom. He has been a co-editor of the Adult Education Quarterly since 2006 and an active member of the planning committee for several International Transformative Learning Conferences. Prior to joining the faculty at Penn State, Ed was a Core Faculty member at Antioch University, USA for six years. Before his venture into higher education he worked for Eckerd Family Youth Alternatives as a training specialist in Clearwater, Florida, USA. Mark Tennant is Emeritus Professor of Education and has held the positions of Dean of the University Graduate School and Dean of the Faculty of Education at the University of Technology, Sydney, Australia. His academic focus has been on developing a critical understanding of psychology in its application to pedagogy, with an emphasis on post-school contexts. His recent work adopts new concepts emerging in critical psychology to better understand the interface of pedagogy, self and work. Mark has published widely and was the recipient of the Cyril O. Houle Award for Literature in Adult Education for his book Psychology and Adult Learning. He has had a number of appointments as a Visiting Professor in universities in Japan, the UK, Canada and the USA. xx

List of Contributors

Lyn Tett is Professor of Community Education and Lifelong Learning at the University of Edinburgh, UK. Her research interests lie within the broad area of community education and lifelong learning and have involved an investigation of the factors such as class, gender and disability that lead to the exclusion of adults from post-compulsory education and of the action that might be taken to promote social inclusion. Her most recent book is Community Education, Learning and Development (Dunedin Academic Press, 2010). Christina Toren is Professor of Anthropology and Director of the Centre for Pacific Studies at the University of St Andrews, UK. She gained her first degree in Psychology from University College London, UK in 1979 and her PhD in Anthropology from the London School of Economics, UK in 1986. She is the author of Making Sense of Hierarchy. Cognition as Social Process in Fiji (1990), Mind, Materiality and History. Explorations in Fijian Ethnography (1999) and (with João de Pina-Cabral) What is Happening to Epistemology?, a special issue of Social Analysis Volume 53, Issue 2, 2009. Daan van der Veen was trained in Behavioural Biology and Neuroscience at the University of Groningen, Netherlands. Daan received his PhD in one of the world-leading laboratories on Biological Timing and Sleep under the supervision of Professors Serge Daan and Menno Gerkema (University of Groningen). For his PhD, Daan focused on behavioural chronobiology and the neural substrate of biological timing in rodents. Daan then moved to the University of Surrey, Guidlford, UK, in the groups of Dr Simon Archer and Prof. Derk-Jan Dijk, to work on mouse models for Sleep and Chronobiology. Daan’s interests include Molecular Genetics and Neuroscience with an emphasis on Physiology and Behaviour to elucidate the role of genetics in biological timing of sleep and physiology. Daan recently moved to the University of Notre Dame, South Band, IN, USA to continue his work within this field as a Research Associate. Kay de Vries is a senior lecturer for the Association for Dementia Studies at the University of Worcester, UK. She has worked as a senior lecturer and research fellow in the field of palliative care for the last ten years, with a special interest in end-of-life issues for people with dementia. She has extensive experience in supervision of post-graduate and commissioned research projects and in developing and evaluating education programmes aimed at raising the awareness of the experiences of people with dementia and their intimate carers within hospice and care homes. These projects and programmes place particular emphasis on: breaking bad news; dealing with difficult ethical decisions when caring for people with advanced dementia; and using attachment theory to improve the care of people with dementia. Johanna Waters is a Senior Lecturer in the School of Geography, Earth and Environmental Sciences at the University of Birmingham, UK. Prior to that, she worked for over six years as a lecturer at the University of Liverpool, UK. Her research interests include geographies of international education, migration and transnationalism. She is currently completing a project on the internationalization of higher education in Hong Kong with Maggi Leung (Uttrecht, Netherlands) and has a number of completed and ongoing research projects working alongside Rachel Brooks (Brunel University, UK) on aspects of education and student mobility. Mary Watts is Emeritus Professor of Psychology at City University, London, UK and formerly held the roles of Pro-Vice-Chancellor for Teaching and Learning and Dean of the School of Community and Health Sciences at City. She is a Chartered Psychologist specializing in counselling, health and coaching psychology and a Senior Accredited Psychotherapist with the British Psychological Society. She has many years’ experience of developing and teaching university-based counselling and health-related courses, and her research and practice reflects a particular interest in professional education. She is a former Chair of the British Psychological Society’s Division of Counselling Psychology and also of the Society’s Psychotherapy Implementation Group, which led the development of standards for psychologists specializing as xxi

List of Contributors

psychotherapists. Her current work relates to the application of coaching psychology to the development and learning of individuals and teams and also autism spectrum conditions and learning. Linden West (Professor Linden West, PhD, FRSA) is Director of Research Development in the Faculty of Education at Canterbury Christ Church University, Kent, UK. His books include the highly acclaimed Beyond Fragments (Taylor and Francis), Doctors on the Edge (Free Association Books) and Using Life History and Biographical Approaches in the Study of Adult and Lifelong Learning (Peter Lang). He is co-author of the recently published Using Biographical Methods in Social Research (Sage). He is the author of diverse articles and chapters in many publications on themes such as managing change and transitions, learning in families and communities, learning in professional contexts and psychosocial perspectives and how these can inform understanding of the construction and experiences of selfhood. He has also written widely on the use of auto/biographical methods in research. His writing is translated into many languages, including French, Italian, Spanish, Chinese and Polish. Linden coordinates a European Life History and Biographical Research Network and is a qualified psychoanalytical psychotherapist. He has also worked in schools, in adult basic education, for the Workers Educational Association in the United Kingdom, as well as for the Open University and in broadcasting. He is a Fellow of the Royal Society of Arts, Manufactures and Commerce. Jo-Anne H. Willment is Associate Professor in the Counselling Psychology Program, Faculty of Education, University of Calgary in Alberta, Canada. She teaches in the online Master of Counselling Program preparing students who seek to become Registered Psychologists, while her research focuses on adult midlife development and career counselling. Jo-Anne is accredited and remains active within the Canadian Counselling and Psychotherapy Association of Canada. Alexandra Withnall began her career teaching in further education, but her interest in later-life learning developed over 30 years ago when she was a researcher at the National Institute of Adult Continuing Education (NIACE) in Leicester, UK. She went on to work at the Universities of Lancaster and Keele, UK where she was instrumental in setting up the first master’s degree in geriatric medicine in the UK. She moved to the University of Warwick, UK in 2000 and was Chair of the Association for Education and Ageing from 1999 to 2005. Alex has published extensively in the field of later-life learning; her most recent book is Improving Learning in Later Life, based on research carried out under the Economic and Social Research Council’s Growing Older, and Teaching and Learning Research Programmes. Now formally retired, she holds honorary posts in lifelong learning at the Universities of Warwick and Leicester and continues to research and write about issues concerning ageing and later life. Mary Alice Wolf is Professor of Gerontology and Director of the Institute in Gerontology at Saint Joseph College in West Hartford, Connecticut, USA. She is the author of over 100 journal articles and chapters on ageing and learning and of several books, including, Connecting with Older Adults: Educational Responses and Approaches, Adults in Transition, Using Learning to Meet the Challenges of Older Adulthood, and Adulthood: New Terrain. She is the book editor of Educational Gerontology: An International Journal and enjoys studying adult transitions, older adult learners and educational gerontology. Li-fang Zhang is Associate Professor in the Faculty of Education at the University of Hong Kong, where she served as Associate Dean between 2007 and 2010. She is the author of over 100 peer-reviewed articles, book chapters and books. Two of her recent books (with Dr. Robert J. Sternberg) are entitled The Nature of Intellectual Styles and Perspectives on the Nature of Intellectual Styles. She serves on the editorial boards of Educational Psychology, Educational Psychology Review, and Journal of Cognitive Education and Psychology. Her main areas of research include intellectual styles, giftedness, personality and student development in higher education.

xxii

Preface

This book is a direct continuation of the study that Stella Parker and I conducted when we published Human Learning: An Holistic Approach in 2005. In that book we began to explore how different academic disciplines interpreted human learning. Since that book I have written quite a lot about learning, including a trilogy on lifelong learning and the learning society, Learning to be a Person in Society and the Handbook of Lifelong Learning. In this study I wanted to expand that original work to investigate human learning as both a lifewide and lifelong process. While I think that this book has begun to do this, I consider that the original aim was still too ambitious. Nevertheless, it does provide an entry into a multitude of different ways of studying the human learning process. Not every chapter has the same format: some of the chapters are theoretical, while others are case studies – in this sense we present a theory and practice of human learning. In the first instance I thought that each chapter should be theoretical, but in the end I decided that a mixture is more realistic, although both approaches open the door to further studies in their specific area. In the first section we examine different aspects of learning and the person, but each of the chapters is no more than an introduction to the study of one aspect of learning. The second part examines lifelong learning, that is, learning through different stages of life. However, I am immediately aware that there are problems with this: we could have divided learning in early childhood into two separate chapters, since there are many transition points during the process of human living, and learning and the school years could be placed both in the section of lifelong learning, but it could also be inserted in the following section on life-wide learning. The third section contains some completely different perspectives on learning, such as learning and sleep and learning in violent situations: both are very common to everyday life, but not frequently studied from a learning perspective. Learning and disability is another common area of everyday life that does not always get included when we study learning, although there is a considerable parallel between the chapter on the fourth age (the very old) and the one on dementia in this book. However, this fourth section could have been extended, as there are so many disabilities that affect human learning, but I thought that it was wiser to include only some of the most common ones. The original book that was edited by Stella Parker and me examined the academic disciplines, and I did not want this fifth section to be a replication of that original study and so I asked many different authors and also included some different disciplines. The section includes perspectives from the human and social sciences and some from the natural sciences. However, it becomes obvious that more disciplines could have been included and, in fact, more were in the original proposal, but due to the force of circumstances they had to be omitted. Indeed, some of the research in the natural sciences is producing so much new knowledge that our understanding of human learning is expanding all the time. Learning is clearly more than a physical process, however, and so the sixth section contains studies of learning from a cultural perspective, either religious/ideological or geographic: each of these is a case study that could constitute a foundation for a specialist book. The preparation of a book of this size has been a huge undertaking, and some of the authors whom I invited have had to drop out because of personal circumstances, such as the death of a spouse or illness, and xxiii

Preface

others who were very willing had to withdraw because they were over-committed. In the end, the whole book was ready, except for one chapter because the last chapter to be submitted had to be recommissioned and this added a further few weeks to the preparation time. I am grateful to all the authors who have spent so much time preparing their chapters in order to make this enterprise possible. However, my thanks also must be extended to Mary Watts, who has acted as second reader for each of the chapters: she has provided clear insights and a different perspective on each chapter. Not only has she undertaken this task, but she has also introduced me to a number of chapter authors in areas in which I knew few scholars. Additionally, Philip Mudd from Routledge has not only supported this enterprise from the outset, it was he who suggested that I prepared this second Handbook, given the success of the one on lifelong learning. I am extremely grateful to him for his support throughout the production. And with the publication of this book, I can only hope that it throws fresh light on the process and provides new perspectives for students of human learning, but, having completed this enterprise, I remain convinced that learning is intrinsic to human living and that we will never completely understand the process until we understand life itself – our approach to learning has, therefore, to be inclusive. Peter Jarvis Thatcham Berks March 2011

xxiv

Introduction Human learning Peter Jarvis

Ultimately, learning is intrinsic to human living and if we could fully understand human learning we would understand human life itself. Moreover, the fact that learning is intrinsic to human life also means that unless humanity destroys itself or is destroyed by some natural disaster, then humans will continue to learn for as long as humanity exists, and significantly, humanity and human society are continually developing. In other words, as Simpson (1995) has argued, humanity is an unfinished project. (Jarvis, 2006: 199–200)

It was with these words that I concluded my 2006 book on Human Learning, which was the first volume of a trilogy on lifelong learning and the learning society, and these sentiments also reflected the conclusions that Parker and I (Jarvis and Parker, 2005) reached in a slightly earlier volume on learning. However, the fact that humanity is an unfinished project does not mean that, as it develops, it progresses and gets better: in the following two volumes of the trilogy (Jarvis, 2007, 2008) I tried to show that human society is still far from perfect and that the hope for a future utopia is deferred indefinitely. The human project is a procession through time with the potentiality of progression but, as Mary Midgley (2002: 7–8) has argued, evolution is not a linear escalator to a perfect humanity; it is merely adaptation to a changing environment. However, learning is more than evolution and so the potentiality of progress as well as process exists and this might reflect one of the fundamental differences between learning and evolution – for, from within the bounds of learning lies the potentiality of humanity. Immediately this asks the question: is the same claim valid for animal learning? Perhaps the only rational response is that, since animal learning is more than unconscious adaptation to the external environment, this possibility must also exist and that the creation project is more than merely a project about humanity. However, neither of the two books cited above included animal learning, although we are beginning to know much more about it (see MacIntyre, 1999; Tomasello, 1999, inter alia). Although Pavlov’s work was crucial to early studies of behaviourism and, ultimately, to our understanding of some aspects of human learning, I have not included animal learning in this book either, although I appreciate that animal learning is an important and developing branch of the study of learning per se from which we will also continue to learn much about human learning. However, our understanding of human learning has advanced considerably since that early behaviourist definition which suggested that learning is a change in behaviour as a result of experience and more recently I have defined it as: 1

Peter Jarvis

The combination of processes throughout a lifetime whereby the whole person – body (genetic, physical and biological) and mind (knowledge, skills, attitudes, values, emotions, meaning, beliefs and senses) – experiences social situations, the content of which is then transformed cognitively, emotively or practically (or through any combination) and integrated into the individual person’s biography resulting in a continually changing (or more experienced) person. (Jarvis, 2009: 25) It is this definition of learning that underlies this book. In that study (p. 28) I also depicted learning in the following manner:

The Whole Person-Body /Mind/Self Life History (11) Life world

I------------I.~

\

Time

Experiences occurring as a result of disjuncture (2)

Thought! Reflection (3)

Emotion (4)

Action (5)

Person learns - resolves disjuncture/gives meaning /new meaning to experience /new knowledge /emotions /skills, etc. or fails to resolve and lives with disjuncture (6)

The Person in the world (Body/Mind/Self) changed The changes memorised Person more experienced

The Changed Whole Person Body/Mind/Self Life History

(7)

(1 2 )

(Next learning cycle)

The life-world

Figure I.1 The transformation of the person through learning 2

Introduction

There is a sense, however, in which this diagram is perhaps over-simple in a number of ways: for instance, the complex relationship between the self that either reacts to or creates the experiences is not drawn out because disjuncture is not fully discussed; it emphasises the cognitive by placing cognition (see box 3) in between emotion and action and slightly above them, but all three domains play significant roles in most kinds of learning and ‘learning to do’ is as fundamental as ‘learning to know’, and perhaps ‘learning to feel’ is still an underplayed dimension in our understanding of human learning (Damasio, 1999). Once we acknowledge this, however, any study of learning that does not recognise the significance of the whole person must necessarily be an incomplete study of this human process. The aim of this book, therefore, is to demonstrate just how complex learning is and studying it must necessarily be multi-disciplinary since it must involve all aspects of persons who live both in society and in the natural world. The aim of this book, therefore, is to lay the foundations for multi-disciplinary studies of human learning and to show just how complex is the learning process. At the same time, a second aim is to demonstrate that the complexity of learning can be studied from many different disciplines, and each chapter provides an opening into the study of learning from a different disciplinary perspective. Consequently, we are faced with the paradox of depth versus breadth. The fact that learning is innate suggests that it is in some way intimately related to life itself, especially conscious life, and so the more we understand about the forces of life, the more we are likely to understand about the processes of learning. But the reverse is also true: the more that we understand learning, the more we will understand human life, and this book is intended to assist in this process. The book itself is divided into sections: the first is about personhood; the second about learning throughout the lifespan; the third about learning across the breadth of human experience; the fourth recognises that unfortunately not all human beings are born and develop ‘normally’ and so it examines some learning disabilities – understanding these may actually help us to learn more about human learning; the fifth section contains a number of studies of learning from the perspective of the academic disciplines – both the human sciences and the pure sciences; the sixth section shows how some major religious and social philosophies view learning; and the final section contains a few examples of the way in which culture and the environment affect our learning. It must be emphasised, however, that each part does not exhaust the possibilities for that section. It would, for instance, have been quite possible to have included other aspects of personhood than those that I examined in Learning to be a Person in Society (Jarvis, 2009) in the first section. Likewise, there are more learning disabilities, more academic disciplines, more religions and ideologies and a phenomenal number of cultural studies that can enrich our understanding of human learning. For instance, The Chinese Learner (Watkins and Biggs, 1996) was not discussed here because we have a chapter on Confucianism in the book and there is not the space for too much duplication. Moreover, each chapter constitutes something of a ‘case study’ of learning from the authors’ perspective and major studies could be, or have been, conducted about human learning from each of the perspectives contained in the book. In a sense this book seeks to build upon the foundations for multi-disciplinary studies of human learning that were laid in the book Human Learning (Jarvis and Parker, 2005) when Stella Parker and I began this quest across the disciplines in order to study learning. The chapters in this present book complement those of the earlier book, but in no way displace them. They all demonstrate approaches to the study of human learning and illustrate just how they contribute to and enrich our understanding. These chapters, like those in the previous book, only present the authors’ own perspectives on learning and so each constitutes an example of how scholars from the different disciplines would and do examine this complex human process.

References Damasio, A. (1999) The Feeling of What Happens. London: Vintage Books. Jarvis, P. (2006) Towards a Comprehensive Theory of Human Learning. London: Routledge. 3

Peter Jarvis

——(2007) Globalisation, Lifelong Learning and the Learning Society: Sociological Perspectives. London: Routledge. ——(2008) Democracy, Lifelong Learning and the Learning Society: Active Citizenship in a Late Modern Age. London: Routledge. ——(2009) Learning to be a Person in Society. London: Routledge. Jarvis, P. and Parker, S. (2005) (eds) Human Learning: An Holistic Approach. London: Routledge. MacIntyre, A. (1999) Dependent Rational Animals. London: Duckworth. Midgley, M. (2002) Evolution as a Religion. London: Routledge (revised edition). Simpson, L. (1995) Technology, Time and the Conversations of Modernity. London: Routledge. Tomasello, M. (1999) The Cultural Origins of Human Cognition. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Watkins, D. and Biggs, J. (1996) (eds) The Chinese Learner: Cultural, Psychological and Contextual Influences. Hong Kong: The University Comparative Education Research Centre and Victoria: The Australian Council for Educational Research.

4

Part 1

Learning and the person

1 Learning and the senses Paul Martin and Viv Martin

Introduction Are you sitting comfortably? No, really, are you sitting comfortably? At this moment are you at all aware of your body and the state of relaxation or tension within its various parts? Are you gripping this book more tightly than is really necessary to hold it up? Is your sitting position such that extra strain is being put on your neck and shoulders in order to hold your head upright? Are you frowning unnecessarily? How do you know any of this? The information about our bodies and the outside world comes through what we loosely call our senses. It is difficult, however, to separate the working of our senses from our cognitive functioning and interpretations. Early references to the senses appear in the Katha Upanishad, written between 400 and 800 BC. It likens the senses to ‘horses’ that draw the ‘chariot’ of the body, with the mind as ‘reins’ and the ‘charioteer’ as the potentially controlling reason. It describes the purpose of the senses as, ‘this by which we perceive colours and sounds, perfumes and kisses of love; by which alone we attain knowledge; by which verily we can be conscious of anything’ (Mascaro, 1965: 62). This Upanishad identifies the five senses that Western society sees as the main senses, namely sight, sound, smell, touch and taste. However, these are only the senses of which we are most aware. Barbara Stafford (in Elkins, 2008) sees our consciousness as, ‘borne aloft on an ocean of “automatic life regulators”’, which are estimated to be approximately 90% of our bodies’ sensory systems including balance, temperature regulation, heart rate, breathing, gland secretions, pain, kinaesthetic sense and many others. As well as the core physical senses, there are other senses such as telepathy and extra sensory perception that Sheldrake (2003) calls aspects of ‘the extended mind’, which appear in human experience but which, as yet, have little scientific evidence to support their existence. He has also proposed a hypothesis of ‘Morphic Resonance’ (Sheldrake, 2009), where past forms and behaviours of organisms can affect organisms in the present across time and space.

The senses Of the five main senses, Laird (1985) quotes research that found that 75% of adult learning was through sight, followed by 13% for hearing and with touch, smell and taste accounting for the remaining 12%. Humans arguably developed acuity in their senses related to their particular environment, whether it is being ‘street 7

Paul Martin and Viv Martin

wise’ in a city or understanding the very different signs in the African bush. Although the following section deals with the qualities of the individual senses, it should be noted that the senses seldom work in isolation, but mostly interact to create a holistic sense picture for the brain. For example, in eating, the senses of vision, smell, taste, touch and hearing all contribute to our experience.

Smell Although, today, the sense of smell is less valued in Western culture than sight, Goleman (1996) says that it is ‘the most ancient root of our emotional life’ and that it was, ‘from the olfactory lobe [in the primitive brain that] the ancient centres for emotion began to evolve, eventually growing large enough to encircle the top of the brainstem’ (Goleman, 1996: 10). As the brain structure grew, the limbic system developed learning and memory, giving mammals greater chances of choice and survival. Finally, humans developed a large neocortex which is the ‘seat of thought’ and which, ‘ … contains the centres that put together and comprehend what the senses perceive’ (Goleman, 1996: 11). He observes that, as the emotions were the root from which the brain grew, it is not surprising that emotions have such sway over thought processes. Like all the senses, the sense of smell was developed as a way of gathering information about the environment surrounding the living organism. Although humans do not have a particularly well-developed sense of smell compared with many animals, it does have many practical uses. These include: the safety of potential food; the detection of particular trees or plants nearby; the detection of prey, or types of animals in the vicinity; and the detection of potential dangers from lions or other species or from fire. It also plays a large role in the sense of taste and the appreciation of food. Smells can trigger strong memories from the past or create desires (as do the smells of coffee or bread, which are used in many supermarkets to encourage their purchase).

Sight In Western culture, sight is considered to be the most important of the senses, and the word ‘seeing’ not only implies ocular vision but has also come to represent a deeper sense of understanding. People with reasonable sight, in most cultures of the world, gain the majority of their knowledge of the external world by gathering visual information. With binocular vision, humans have a three-dimensional view of the world that helps them to judge distance, speed, relative speeds and sizes, which in turn helps us navigate past other pedestrians on pavements, across roads and drive safely, as well as hunt wild animals or play football. Although seeing, as Berger observes, ‘establishes our place in the surrounding world’, he notes that we use words to explain our visual understanding, yet that ‘explanation never quite fits the sight’ (Berger, 1972: 7) and is consequently inadequate. Sight plays a central role in communication through the use of signs and written language which open up access to a vast wealth of information and knowledge via written and diagrammatic languages stored in visual form. It also adds an important dimension to interpersonal communications through the ability to observe body language, which can often show what a person is feeling and be contrary to their spoken words. Cultures across the world and throughout human history have also developed visual languages in a variety of art forms and for a variety of reasons, ranging from prehistoric cave painting, through Renaissance art, to modern conceptual art. For visual artists and their audiences sight also allows dialogue with the visual world to explore and make shared meanings. As people grow and develop as individuals within a multilayered culture, much of the information they receive about their environment or world stage comes to them from a discipline, cultural group, family, peer group or organisation, all of which have their own constructs, values and philosophical base. This process of socialisation which helps to transmit social norms and which as members of a culture/ 8

Learning and the senses

community we all undergo, helps to structure our thought systems, informs our value systems and predisposes us towards certain ways of seeing, thinking, behaving and understanding. With the sense of sight, the data-collection and sorting processes of the human brain relating to visual stimuli rely heavily on patterning and pattern recognition, relating new information to existing constructs/ patterns or concept maps and evaluating the data against them. Though formed through actual physical experience, visual understanding is also heavily affected by an individual’s existing knowledge, values, beliefs and their societal norms and constructs. These pattern-forming processes of the brain are at a practical level of human activity very beneficial, especially for survival. Our visual perception of the world that we inhabit and through which we move is, over time, codified into a series of constructs or symbols that aid our recognition and help us to live more effectively and safely in it. Moving through a daily landscape, it is useful to recognise objects such as doors, chairs, tables, etc. so that, from a multitude of design possibilities, we have little difficulty and waste little time in their recognition. We become adept at judging the type, speed, direction and distance of cars, a skill upon which our continued survival depends. The negative side of this pattern/mapping process arises from the way in which the brain filters new information from external sources through its existing visual and mental constructs and accepts or rejects it on the basis of its match with those existing constructs. If the visual construct-forming and -matching process becomes automatic, unconscious and uncritical of itself, it can lead ultimately to the reinforcing of existing beliefs and values and the rejection of anything that does not fit with them visually or otherwise. We may see that an object is a cup, but absorb nothing about its specific nature. Many people think that vision is an unproblematic form of information gathering relating to the external world and have never questioned the extent to which their perceptions of the world have been stereotyped by the brain’s object-identifying process and their inherent socialised beliefs and values.

Hearing We have the ability to hear sound through our ears, but we are also aware of sound through our sense of touch by means of our ability to feel vibrations. We also communicate by making sounds through our voices as words or song, or by playing instruments, from the basic drum and flutes (found in ancient civilisations), to violins, pianos and electronic synthesisers. Hearing is fundamental to communication through our origination of sound and through our ability to hear and interpret sound, though people who lose their hearing often learn to receive communications through their senses of sight or touch. Although, in Westernised cultures, sound is perhaps mostly related to interpersonal communication through spoken language, it is also important in interpreting our environment, from the direction and speed of a car, to the approach of a dangerous animal through the rustling of grass. Sound in the form of music can also have a powerful influence on human feelings and behaviour. Greenfield notes how ‘collective chanting, singing and moving in synchrony’, can create a ‘blurring of waking/dreaming boundaries and a heightened emotional salience’ (Greenfield, 2008: 239–40). Such states are about the meaning that they embody, which can range from meditation to support for an extreme religious or political belief. She also cites research that indicates that music can ‘improve attention and aid memory’ and that ‘listening to music can cause neural activation in regions of the brain strongly related to emotional processing’ (Greenfield, 2008: 243).

Taste Interestingly, the sense of taste is fairly limited and ‘only four kinds of taste can be distinguished, namely sweet, sour, salt and bitter’ with other ‘flavours detected by the olfactory mucous membrane’ (Glenister and Ross, 1974: 297). The sense of taste is mostly related to the identification of types of food and its safety, in 9

Paul Martin and Viv Martin

tandem with sense of smell. However, it is also involved in sensual enjoyment. The word ‘taste’ is also used to mean quality of choice from the refinement of palate, to art, clothes or interior decor.

Touch From a simple viewpoint, the sense of touch is how we learn about the nature of objects through interaction with their surfaces and feeling their textures, hardness, softness, etc. Yet the sense of touch is extremely complex, as it is linked through the nervous system to other sensory systems that can detect temperature or react to pain. Touch is also linked to the emotions – disgust at slimy or viscous surfaces, delight at feeling soft sand with your toes, shock at feeling hot or cold sensations. The development of complex co-ordination skills needed for walking involves sight, balance, muscle control, sense of weight distribution via touch, but also a sense of the surface being traversed. Allied with this is a more internal awareness of breathing, physical states of tension or pain. These functions are normally accepted as part of our day-to-day experience, but processes such as yoga or meditation can heighten awareness of the autonomic nervous system to the conscious state. Many skilled activities, such as carving wood or drawing, need good hand–eye co-ordination and acute sensory motor skills, using a range of senses including sight, touch and balance to control tools and to receive constant feedback from their contact with the material in order to take both reflective and non-reflective action. ‘Are you sitting comfortably?’ is no idle question. Many people lose touch with a sense of how their body feels unless they stub their toes on a stone. Having taught yoga students how to stretch, we find it interesting how many, at first, have little concept or inner feel for the difference between stretching and relaxation of any part of the body. Few, at first, can focus on their right foot whilst being aware of the rest of their body’s position and state. Natural ways of being in our bodies as children are often lost in adulthood, especially in Westernised cultures which increasingly split body and mind.

Experiential learning Learning from our embodied experience is a fundamental human (and animal) process. In experiential learning our senses collect much of the data from which we interpret and learn about our surroundings. The pedigree of this approach can be found in the ancient Greek philosophers, where Aristotle, the teacher of Alexander the Great, believed that ‘human curiosity was infinite’ and, contrary to other philosophers such as Plato and Socrates, he ‘placed less reliance on discussion … than on research and inductive logic. In Aristotle’s approach, each inquiry began with the exhaustive compilation of existing evidence, both physical … and written’ (McLeish, 1998: 5). Aristotle founded a Lyceum in Athens in 335 BC based on his methodology – which lasted 860 years, demonstrating that experiential learning was consistently valued. Socrates, like Aristotle, inhabited ‘a world of uncertainty about the truth’ but, instead of being based on physical research, it was one of ‘continual argument’. ‘His method of teaching was one of questioning, of attempting to formulate a definition of something and then trying to test its accuracy by a careful analysis of its meaning’ (Brownhill in Jarvis, 2002: 70). Both these approaches were based around a process of critical thinking that challenged existing knowledge and cultural beliefs and concepts, but in many ways the wordbased Socratic form of establishing knowledge has become more valued than the use of the senses and experience. Much of our initial learning as small children is informed by our senses. Although the impact of an impaired sense may limit some forms of information, other senses may be heightened to compensate. The developmental psychologist Jean Piaget (1962) observed that, by 6 months of age, most people have developed a simple set of what he called ‘action schemes’. These actions, such as rolling a ball and watching it move, are basically cause and effect observations and experiences which are practised and gradually joined together to create more complex actions. 10

Learning and the senses

Dewey commented on the importance of environment in learning, saying that people live ‘in the concrete, that they live in a series of situations’, in which, inevitably, ‘interaction is going on between an individual and objects and other persons’ (Dewey, 1997: 43). He defines an ‘experience’ as a ‘transaction’ that takes place between an individual and their environment and sees that environment as, ‘ … whatever conditions interact with personal needs, desires, purposes, and capacities to create the experience which is had’ (Dewey, 1997: 44). Our awareness of something new in our environment may involve several stages. In Ehrenzweig’s (1984) model he suggests three stages. In his first state, of ‘fragmentation’, the person must put themselves in a state of ‘de-differentiation’ by overriding their existing models of understanding and tolerating opposing possibilities and potentials and the anxieties that this may cause. In the second state, the person must initiate unconscious scanning, allowing new possibilities to emerge and gradually integrating new structures through countless cross-ties and connections. Finally in the third state, of ‘re-introjection’, or integration, re-differentiation takes place, in which conscious awareness of the new whole emerges as a new entity. However, seeing anew or understanding things differently can be difficult to achieve. Our backgrounds and experience as children and adults have a profound effect on how we interpret the evidence collected by our senses. As Eisner observes: The impact of different frames of reference upon the ‘same’ phenomenon is well illustrated by the comments made by a minister, real estate broker, and a cowboy, each of whom stood on a cliff overlooking the Grand Canyon. After several moments of gazing, the minister pondered, ‘What a great gift of God’, the real estate broker mused, ‘What a fantastic place to build motels’, the cowboy exclaimed ‘What a hell of a place to lose a cow!’ (Eisner, 1972: 69) Kolb’s four-stage ‘experiential learning cycle’ (Kolb and Fry, 1975), although rather simple in comparison with the complexity of the actual learning experience, is, however, a useful way of considering the various elements of experiential learning and the extent to which the senses contribute to experiential learning.

Concrete experience and awareness The first stage of Kolb’s experiential cycle, concrete experience, is usually described as being aware of an incident, a phenomenon or something unusual that stimulates an interest in further investigation. In this first stage there may be data collection, an awareness of links and emerging relationships and the identification of questions, all of which involve more than just sensory input. Gaining information about this initial experience may involve all the main senses, including seeing, hearing, touching, smelling and tasting, but also aspects such as pain, balance and temperature. Real awareness of this information and its range requires a conscious effort of the brain if the default response settings are not to preclude the potential of a new experience. This is reminiscent of our original question – are you sitting comfortably? How do you know the answer to this question? And even if we consciously engage the relevant senses, how do we know that we can trust the brain’s conclusions? If the brain is, as Stafford suggests, ‘ … a set of self-sustaining and selfreflexive functions [that] performs largely unconsciously and autonomously, even when it adapts to changing surroundings’, (Stafford in Elkins, 2008: 32), then what does that mean for learning, given the 10 per cent for which we can be conscious? How can we actually be open to an experience and not engage the constraints of existing filters with pre-knowledge and beliefs? 11

Paul Martin and Viv Martin

Observations and reflections In this second stage, the learner reflects on their concrete experience, focusing on the event, mapping relationships and formulating questions, a process of exploration and development of ideas. The new experience is compared with the learner’s existing knowledge, values and beliefs. Much of this activity takes place in the brain without the use of the senses. The learner may decide to collect additional information, in which case any or all of the senses may be employed. Structuring an investigation, however, requires input from the brain if the data collection is to be anything other than random.

Formulation of abstract concepts In this third stage of the experiential learning cycle, the learner begins forming new or revised ideas and generalisations from their reflections and interpretations. Tentative answers may emerge, which may be checked out with a community in context. Mental maps may be redrawn and new plans created to test out the new hypotheses. The senses may be involved in some of these activities, but analysis and interpretation requires more, specifically the critical capacities of the reasoning brain.

Testing implications and concepts In this final stage the learner takes action to test out their new ideas by applying them in practice. Testing may require the use of all or many of the senses in question formation, but will also include structuring of the investigation process, analysis and interpretation. It will also include the forming of conclusions or possible answers, identification of additional questions and consideration (awareness) of the relationship of this new learning to the context. This may lead to a further cycle. Learning is not necessarily cyclical and linear in nature. It may not be recognisable as clear episodes, but is often perceived in retrospect as having emerged from a series of incidents that may only be related by having occurred at a similar time, suggesting broken circles or spirals, with the four stages happening in any combination or order. As can be seen from this brief review of the use of senses in the Kolb cycle, they play a key role in all the stages, but are only effective when fully engaged with a critical reasoning capacity.

The senses in formal education Traditional ideas of the primacy of visual and auditory senses in receiving text and speech (Classen, 1997) and manifesting in what McWilliam (2007) calls the ‘sage on the stage’, have, almost unquestioningly, been the backbone of education delivery in Western culture. In spite of the prevalence of a knowledge transmission model of teaching and learning, Barr and Tagg (1995) recognise a shift from an ‘instructional’ to a ‘learning’ paradigm that is changing the role of higher education from a ‘place of instruction’ to a place to ‘produce learning’, favouring a more experiential approach. Academic disciplines in formal education use the senses in learning in different ways. The use of senses is often associated with the teaching of practical and applied subjects. Some examples include:  In art and design, the development of hand–eye co-ordination in drawing links sight with touch, balance and muscle control of the hand and arm, in a continuous feedback process.  Singing involves correct posture (whole body) as a foundation for the awareness and control of breathing, which is the basis for voice production.  An orchestral musician has to listen to the sound their instrument is making whilst being aware of how their sounds fit into the overall body of sound and must do this whilst physically playing the instrument, which itself requires great bodily co-ordination. 12

Learning and the senses

 In pharmacy, interpersonal skills and empathy are taught through role play. Students have to learn to interpret and respond to customer needs by dealing with the whole person through voice (hearing) and body language (sight).  Like an artist, a surgeon has to develop good hand–eye co-ordination and physical sensitivity and dexterity and may also use the senses of sound and smell.  Dance involves total bodily co-ordination in movement, control of breathing and balance, sight and hearing to relate to space, other dancers and any music being played. The experience of the University of Brighton Creativity Centre, part of ‘InQbate’, the Centre for Excellence in Teaching and Learning in Creativity, supports a broader and more conscious use of the senses in learning and teaching. The Centre, a flexible, technology-enhanced space, has seven ceiling-mounted projectors, a 5-metre, curved, back projection screen, a sound system, coloured lighting, temperature controls, moveable ‘write-onable’ walls and bean bags, and can even pump scents into the space. Research on the Centre (Martin, 2010) found that, although its different elements were to varying degrees useful, those that were the most successful in enhancing learning were the moveable ‘write-onable’ walls, which allowed learners to make their ideas visually manifest to others and thus share their ideas. A significant barrier to learning for mature students is the extent to which established perceptions, values and beliefs can filter and block their ability to transform their understanding of the world in which they live. This is particularly true when learning to be a fine artist. If transformative learning is seen as the process of continually transforming perceptions through reflection, then challenging existing frameworks, or at least suspending them, becomes a necessary part of the learning process if new meaning is to be made. Therefore, it is necessary to unlearn in order to learn, that is, unlearning in the sense that you have to critically examine your constructs and be prepared to set them aside and look at things afresh (Martin, 2002). The philosopher Krishnamurti said that if he was a teacher he would be, ‘greatly concerned how to bring about this unconditioning in myself and in the student’ (Krishnamurti, 1978: 196).

Embodied learning An education system that separates theoretical thinking from an awareness of learning from experience raises a number of concerns. Burwood observes that we like to think about education as being mostly about the life of the mind, but that this has little meaning in reality outside the ‘life of the body’. He points out that ‘our bodies themselves are active participants in all our knowing’ (Burwood, 2006: 130) and that embodied engagement in learning is essential if we are to be changed, transformed, by that learning: An education by precept, with its focus on the attempted codification of core elements of disciplinary culture and the externalization of knowledge, appears to assume that it is the mind that learns and that this is a disembodied, detached mind. A phenomenology of education suggests otherwise. Meaning is not something given in codified maxims but something achieved by immersion in a practice and one’s active participation as an embodied agent in a process of self-transformation. (Burwood, 2006: 132) O’Loughlin expands on the observation that we inhabit the world as ‘sentient perceptual bodies’ (O’Loughlin, 2006: 76). She describes the creatural dimensions of human beings as, ‘a set of multisensorial powers knowing a world which, while it limits and sometimes firmly resists, is nevertheless shaped and altered in the service of human ends. Embodied human experience thus consists of the interaction with its environment’ (O’Loughlin, 2006: 82). She sees two crucial features of the creatural. The first, that ‘a human being is its senses’. ‘This is the source of our multisensoriality, each embodied individual being is a set of sensory powers, knowing the world of which it is indisputably a part and yet which, through its 13

Paul Martin and Viv Martin

collective practices, it continually creates’ (O’Loughlin, 2006: 58). The second, arising from the first, relates to the manner in which humans are located within the environment and their relationships to other humans, species and objects. She suggests that this is best described by an ‘ecological model of subjectivity which relies particularly on the phenomenological sense of place, the notion of bodily intentionality and the relationships between and among all kinds of bodies which constitute specific sites for action’ (O’Loughlin, 2006: 59). This is the antithesis of the mind/body dualism endemic in the education system, and she acknowledges that this idea of the ‘ecological embodied self’ is derived from Merlot-Ponty’s (1968) work on the theory of perception and idea of ‘the flesh of the world’. The five senses are often commonly aligned to a simplistic Newtonian view of the world of cause and effect, where the person seeing or otherwise sensing their external environment thinks that they are receiving direct and unbiased information. However, as Stafford states: We now know that it is totally erroneous to believe that an image of the world is passively ‘impressed’ on the retina and transferred to be ‘received’ by a ‘seeing’ cortex, there to be decoded and analyzed. Vision, as many artists past and present have intuited and shown in their works, is a dynamic process in which the brain, largely automatically, filters, discards, and selects information, and compares it to an individual’s stored record. (Stafford in Elkins, 2008: 32) Our interaction with the external world is not Cartesian, but more like the quantum realm of physics where, as demonstrated by the wave/particle duality, how you look determines what you find. Thus, our research through our senses is a holistic and phenomenological process. Quantum physics differs radically from Newtonian physics in accepting a universe of multiple realities and possibilities and acknowledging that the enquirer and the method of enquiry are part of that which is enquired into, and both directly affect the outcome of any research. Reality is not fixed, to be discovered, but is instead an infinite array of ‘patterns of shifting, responsive potential’ (Zohar and Marshall, 1993: 24). As Berger observes, ‘The relationship between what we see and what we know is never settled’ (Berger, 1972: 7). Zohar and Marshall (2000) even propose that human consciousness may be created as a quantum structure within the brain. Gregory suggests that: The seeing of objects involves many sources of information beyond those meeting the eye when we look at an object. It generally involves knowledge of the object derived from previous experience, and this experience is not limited to vision but may include other senses: touch, taste, smell, hearing and perhaps also temperature or pain. (Gregory, 1966 (1972 edn): 8) Like Gregory, the artist and educationalist Eisner (1991) refers to the dangers of ‘antecedent knowledge’ in training the eye to see, and both the physicist Bohm (1994) and the philosopher Krishnamurti (1991) see the process of thought based on existing constructs as fundamentally problematic to the perception of reality, whether visual or otherwise.

Senses and learning in a social context Heron acknowledges that a learner brings their whole person to the learning situation and that, for experiential learning to take place, it does so, ‘ … through an active and aware involvement of the whole person – as a spiritual, thinking, feeling, choosing, energetically and physically embodied being’ (Heron, 1989: 11). This person, however, also exists as part of a society with its communal norms and values. As 14

Learning and the senses

Mezirow observed, ‘ … approved ways of seeing and understanding, shaped by our language, culture, and personal experience, collaborate to set limits to our future learning’ (Mezirow, 1991: 1). An anthropology of the senses emerged as a focus for cultural studies in the early 1990s and there arose a realisation that Western culture had developed a primacy of the visual and auditory senses. European philosophers of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries thought of sight (and hearing) as the ‘higher’ senses (associated with study of texts and collections of objects) and of smell, taste and touch as ‘lower’ senses, associated with primitive societies. Commenting that the senses are constructed and lived differently in different societies, Classen argued that: When we examine the meanings associated with various sensory faculties and sensations in different cultures we find a cornucopia of potent sensory symbolism. Sight may be linked to reason or to witchcraft, taste may be used as a metaphor for aesthetic discrimination or for sexual experience, an odour may signify sanctity or sin, political power or social exclusion. Together, these meanings and values form the sensory model espoused by a society, according to which the members of that society ‘make sense’ of the world, or translate sensory perceptions and concepts into a particular ‘worldview’. There will likely be challenges to this model from within the society, persons and groups who differ on certain sensory values, yet this model will provide the basic perceptual paradigm to be followed or resisted. (Classen, 1997: 402) As Classen (1997) agues, the senses are not value-free and neither are rationales for learning or the formal systems in which learning takes place. The purpose behind education and learning can therefore be seen to partly determine both how senses are chosen and used and how their information is interpreted. If, as Jarvis states, education is ‘frequently regarded as a humanistic process’, then this is in conflict when ‘ … the very nature of society in which education occurs emphasises the “having” mode and expects repetitive action and non-reflective learning so that it can produce people who can rehearse what they have acquired’ (Jarvis, 1992: 153–54). This view is reflected in Feinberg’s (cited by Carr in Wellington, 1993: 225) two paradigms of the social function of education. In the first, he sees education as mainly economic and vocational and concerned mainly with ‘ … the transmission of technically exploitable knowledge’. This relates to modern ideas of ‘knowledge transfer’ and concepts of teaching and learning that revolve around the telling mode in which the passive learner absorbs disembodied information through sight and sound. This is learning in the ‘having’ mode, with the learner/consumer acquiring knowledge as a detached object that reinforces their cultural position, values and beliefs. In the second model, he sees education as mainly political and cultural and intended to ‘ … further social participation … through the development of interpretive understanding [and that participants are] active partners engaged in a process of self-formation’. This is similar to Freire’s (1972) concept of ‘emancipatory learning’, which Apps calls learning, ‘which frees people from personal, institutional, or environmental forces that prevent them from seeing new directions, from gaining control of their lives, their society and their world’ (Apps cited in Brookfield, 1987: 12). This type of learning, which Seneca, nearly 2,000 years ago, said is one in which a person is free because ‘they can call their minds their own’ (cited by Nussbaum, 1997), requires the learner to engage critically with the learning process and question their experiences and sensory input, whatever its source.

Making new meaning The physicist David Bohm says, ‘ … the being of ourselves is meaning; the being of society is meaning … [therefore] a change of meaning is a change of being’ (Bohm in Pylkkanen, 1989: 23). The ability to learn 15

Paul Martin and Viv Martin

and to accept that learning leads to change is central to living our lives, it is the natural state of the universe – so why do so many of us find change such a challenge? Many artists have realised that the nature of external reality can manifest itself in many different visual interpretations and can be ambiguous. They adopt, in effect, different glasses through which to view the world and interpret what they see, whether Impressionist, Fauvist, Cubist or Constructivist. Their visual perception is a conscious and critical process, rather than unconscious and accepting of the known. Art can therefore be seen as a creative or re-creative process which is explorative by nature and is ultimately a meaning-making process. Arnheim (1969) argues that this perception is not a separate function to thought, but that the whole process is one of ‘Visual Thinking’ which is image based, though may relate to intellectually expressible ideas or emotions. John Briggs and Frank McCluskey observe that artists have ‘grounded themselves in the ambivalence of meanings and have worked to reveal to us the nuances and uncertainties that infiltrate our apparently absolute perceptions and truths about life’. They call this ‘omnivalence’, and define it as, ‘a mental state in which many meanings converge in so many ways that one feels the immensity of meaning without being able to pin down any absolute meaning specifically’ (Briggs and McCluskey in Pylkkanen ed. 1989: 279). The neuroscientist Susan Greenfield argues that a key trait of the ‘ … individual human brain is its dynamism, its ability to respond to individual experiences and in so doing to generate a personalized brain, a mind’ (Greenfield, 2008: 228–29). Yet, this openness to change can mean that one’s identity is ‘quite precarious’, and she sees the adoption of belief systems as a defence against ‘being all things to all people’ and helping us to ‘navigate the world’ without having to resort to ‘reason’ at every turn. She argues that these beliefs, like all human knowledge, are forged through ‘personalized neural connections’ and, just as psychological filters may predetermine perception, so repeated reinforcement of particular thinking patterns can build synapses and reinforce particular neural pathways making certain perceptions physically more likely. Greenfield identifies three ways of thinking about the mind, the concepts of: ‘someone’, where, at its extreme, there is the cult of the individual but without ultimate fulfilment; ‘anyone’, where there may be fulfilment through abandoning individuality for the security of a group’s beliefs, such as in a religion; and, finally, ‘nobody’, where the individual is at the mercy of sense gratification, rather as the Katha Upanishad describes the charioteer, ‘ … whose mind is never steady is not the ruler of his life. Like a bad driver with wild horses [the senses]’ (Mascaro, 1965: 62). None of these models offers a satisfactory way forward, but Greenfield like Zohar and Marshall (1993) begs the question, how can we balance the self-actualising needs of the self, individual, particle, with those of the community, wider society or wave? This is especially pertinent in such a rapidly changing, technologically imbued environment, impelled by a globalised market economy with consumerism as its driving force, in which our senses are assailed with such a cornucopia of possibilities that it becomes difficult for our charioteer not to drop the reins and let the horses run wild.

References Arnheim, R. (1969) Visual Thinking. London: University of California Press. Barr, R. and Tagg, J. (1995) ‘A New Paradigm for Undergraduate Education from Teaching to Learning’. Change, November: 13–25. Berger, J. (1972) Ways of Seeing. London: BBC and Penguin Books. Bohm, D. (1994) Thought as a System. London: Routledge. Briggs, J. and McCluskey, F. (1989) ‘Ultimate Questioners: The Search for “Omnivalent” Meaning’ in Pylkkanen, P. (ed.) The Search for Meaning: The New Spirit of Science and Philosophy. Wellingborough. Crucible: The Aquarian Press, pp. 279–94. Brookfield, S. (1987) Developing Critical Thinkers. Milton Keynes: Open University Press. 16

Learning and the senses

Burwood, S. (2006) ‘Imitation, Indwelling and the Embodied Self’. In journal compilation, Educational Philosophy and Theory, Philosophy of Education Society of Australia. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, pp. 118–34. Classen, C. (1997) ‘Foundations for an Anthropology of the Senses’. International Social Sciences Journal, 153: 401–12. Dewey, J. (1997, originally published 1938) Experience and Education. New York: Touchstone. Ehrenzweig, A. (1984) (ed.) The Hidden Order of Art. California: University of California Press. Eisner, E. (1972) Educating Artistic Vision. New York: Macmillan. ——(1991) The Enlightened Eye. New York: Macmillan. Elkins, J. (ed.) (2008) Visual Literacy. Chapter 2 – ‘The Remaining 10 Percent’. Abingdon: Routledge, pp. 31–58. Freire, P. (1972) Pedagogy of the Oppressed. London: Penguin. Glenister, T. and Ross, R. (1974) Anatomy and Physiology for Nurses. London: Heinemann. Goleman, D. (1996) Emotional Intellegence. London: Bloomsbury. Greenfield, S. (2008) ID: The Quest for Identity in the 21st Century. London: Sceptre. Gregory, R. (1966 – 1972 ed.) Eye and Brain. London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson. Heron, J. (1989) The Facilitator’s Handbook. London: Kogan Page. Jarvis, P. (1992) Paradoxes of Learning; On Becoming an Individual in Society. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Jarvis, P. (ed.) (2002) The Theory and Practice of Teaching. Chapter 7 – ‘The Socratic Method’. London: Kogan Page, pp. 70–78. Kolb, D. and Fry, R. (1975) ‘Towards an Applied Theory of Experiential Learning’, in Cooper (ed.) Theories of Group Processes. London: John Wiley & Sons. Krishnamurti (1991) (first published in 1969) Freedom from the Known. London: Victor Gallancz Ltd. ——(1978) Beginnings of Learning. London: Penguin Books. Laird, D. (1985) Approaches to Training and Development. Reading, MA: Addison-Wesley. McLeish, K. (1998) Aristotle. London: Phoenix. McWilliam, E. (2007) Unlearning How to Teach: Creativity or Conformity? Building Cultures of Creativity in Higher Education. The Higher Education Academy Conference. Martin, P. (2002) ‘Challenging the Perceptions of Adult Learners in Fine Art’. Art, Design & Communication in Higher Education Journal, Volume 1, Number 2: 96–107. Martin, P. (ed.) (2010) Making Space for Creativity. e-book – www.brighton.ac.uk/creativity. Brighton. University of Brighton. Mascaro, J. (1965) The Upanishads. Harmondsworth: Penguin Books. Merlot-Ponty, M. (translation by Smith, C.) (1968) The Phenomenology of Perception. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Mezirow, J. (1991) Transformative Dimensions of Adult Learning. Oxford: Jossey-Bass. Nussbaum, M. (1997) Cultivating Humanity. London: Harvard University Press. O’Loughlin, M. (2006) Embodiment and Education: Exploring Creatural Existence. Dordrecht: Springer. Piaget, J. (1962) Play, Dreams and Imitation in Childhood (translation by Gattegno, C. and Hodgson, F.). New York: W.W. Norton. Pylkkanen, P. (1989) The Search for Meaning: The New Spirit of Science and Philosophy. Wellingborough Crucible: The Aquarian Press. Sheldrake, R. (2003) The Sense of Being Stared At. London: Hutchinson. ——(2009) A New Science of Life: The Hypothesis of Morphic Resonance. London: Icon Books. Wellington, J. (1993) The Work Related Curriculum. London: Kogan Page. Zohar, D. and Marshall, I. (1993) The Quantum Society. London: Bloomsbury. ——(2000) Spiritual Intelligence: The Ultimate Intelligence. London: Bloomsbury.

17

2 Learning and cognition Knud Illeris

The concepts of cognition and learning The concept of cognition has always had a central position in psychology and not least in relation to the psychology of learning. Cognition is a broad term including everything that has to do with knowledge, thinking, reason and understanding, and is traditionally placed in opposition to the other elements of the mind: the affective, which has to do with feelings and emotions, and the conative, which has to do with volition (e.g. Hilgard, 1980). Linguistically the word comes from the Latin, cognitus, which means knowledge in a broad sense. Thus, the famous statement by the French philosopher René Descartes (1596–1660), cogito, ergo sum (1967 [1637]), is usually translated into ‘I think, therefore I am’. But this translation has often been disputed and, according to the well-known Norwegian historian of philosophy Arne Næss (1912–2009), cogito in this connection rather means ‘I experience’ or ‘I am somewhat aware’ (Næss, 1963 [1962]: 143). This is not unimportant in the present connection, partly because it indicates that cognition in relation to learning can be much more than just the acquisition of knowledge – in modern terms it is ultimately about making meaning of what we experience (Bruner, 1990; Mezirow, 2000), and partly because the statement of Descartes is often regarded as the foundation of the separation between the mental and the bodily, which for centuries has been so significant in Western philosophy and mentality and has, among many other things, derailed and confused the basic understanding of human learning by also separating the cognitive from the social and the emotional. I shall return to this in the following. As to the understanding of ‘learning’, there are also many and widely differing understandings. I shall here stick to the very comprehensive definition that learning is ‘any process that in living organisms leads to permanent capacity change and which is not solely due to biological maturation or ageing’ (Illeris, 2007: 3). This implies, among other things, that such processes as socialization, qualification, competence development and therapy are regarded as special types of learning processes or as special angles for perceiving learning.

Early learning research and behaviourism Originally, learning research and learning theory were concentrated on very simple learning processes, and there was an underlying idea that a kind of learning mechanism could be discovered 18

Learning and cognition

which would be the basic unit or ‘atom’ of all learning (Madsen, 1967: 64ff). The conception of learning was also limited to the cognitive field, including simple processes that can hardly be called anything but basic, especially when the learning of animals was studied. Two early examples, in brief, are as follows:  First, at the end of the nineteenth century the German learning researcher Hermann Ebbinghaus (1850–1909) studied the learning of meaningless syllables such as nug, mok, ket, rop, etc., because such learning could be measured exactly and any distorting influence from the meaning of the learning content could be avoided (Ebbinghaus, 1964 [1885]). Today, this must be regarded as a derailment, as precisely the meaning of what is learnt is seen as a crucial quality.  Second, during the early years of the twentieth century the Russian physiologist and Nobel Prize winner Ivan Pavlov (1849–1936) studied how a dog could learn by conditioning: he let a bell ring immediately before the dog was fed, and soon he could observe that it started to produce saliva whenever the bell rang. Later he performed a lot of experiments about the effects of various conditions in this connection (Pavlov, 1927). Then, in 1913 the American John Watson (1878–1958) introduced the approach of behaviourism (Watson, 1930), which became dominant, especially in American and British learning psychology, right up to the 1980s. This implied that the study of learning was concentrated very much on cognitive and rather simple learning processes. Most important were probably the contributions of Edward Lee Thorndike (1874–1949) about trial-and-error learning, which led to the ‘law-of-effect’, stating that reactions implying a satisfying effect will be learned (Thorndike, 1931), and of B.F. Skinner (1904–90), who exceeded the cognitive domain by claiming that all learning is conditioned, including the learning of capacities such as independence and creativity, and that education should therefore be practised as teaching technology (Skinner, 1968: 1971).

Other classical cognitive learning approaches However, parallel to the behaviourist dominance in the English-speaking countries, other and much broader approaches to cognitive learning were developed elsewhere. In Germany the Gestalt psychology, claiming that the mind is an indivisible whole, focused on learning as the acquisition of insight and pointed to problem solving as the way to do so (Köhler, 1925 [1917]; Duncker, 1945 [1935]) – the approach that Kurt Lewin (1890–1947) later developed into his ‘field theory’, experimental social psychology and the ‘T-groups’ (training groups) as a method to promote social learning (Lewin, 1976). Of the greatest importance were, however, the two approaches that were made respectively by the Swiss biologist and epistemologist Jean Piaget (1896–1980) and the Russian psychologist Lev Vygotsky (1896–1934) and others of the so-called cultural historical school. Both these approaches are in their essence truly cognitive, although they also both clearly indicate that emotional and motivational factors play an important role in learning, and a collection of lectures by Piaget on this topic has been published in English since his death (Piaget, 1981). Piaget is best known for his work on the development through several stages of intelligence in the child, but, in relation to learning, his understanding of assimilation and accommodation as two collaborating and equilibrating ways of learning (Piaget, 1952 [1936]) has been a very fruitful contribution to which I shall return later. Another important insight by Piaget was that all learning happens by new impulses being related to the results of prior learning in a way that changes both (which has later been further elaborated by the American David Ausuble: ‘The most important single factor influencing learning is what the learner already knows’ – Ausuble, 1968: vi). 19

Knud Illeris

The Russian cultural historical approach emphasizes that mankind’s fundamental psychological structures have developed in interaction with the development of culture, and that the human capacity of learning and ‘higher psychological functions’ can only be understood in this perspective. The most important kinds of cultural activity are play, learning and labour and they are all dependent on our abilities to think and to speak (Leontjev, 1981 [1959]). Vygotsky’s conception of learning is mainly related to children’s learning in school and problem solving guided by adults or more capable peers. In this connection, special attention is given to what he called learning in ‘the zone of proximal development’, indicating that teachers lead their activities into the zone where such developmental learning can take place (Vygotsky, 1978, 1986 [1934]). This approach has later been further elaborated by American researchers such as Michael Cole (1996): who has emphasized that this kind of learning should be ‘a dialogue between the child and his future [ … ] not between the child and an adult’s past’ (Griffin and Cole, 1984: 62) – and not least by Finnish Yrjö Engeström, who has transferred the ideas into adult and workplace learning (Engeström, 1987, 2009). Both Piaget’s and the cultural historical approaches referred to learning in general, but were certainly predominantly thought and used in relation to the cognitive dimension of learning and may still be said to be the two most important contributions to the understanding of cognitive learning.

Newer cognitive approaches During the 1960s and 1970s the above-mentioned approaches, and especially those of Piaget and Vygotsky, began to achieve influence in the USA and, together with influence from the new computer technology, this led to what has been called ‘the cognitive revolution’, which gradually reduced the influence of behaviourism. On the one hand, this resulted in the emergence of ‘cognitive science’, which treated learning and thinking as information processing and celebrated artificial intelligence (e.g. Calvo and Gomila, 2008) – but this trend has by and large disappeared because of its inability to include such human capabilities as intention and meaning making (Dreyfus and Dreyfus, 1986). On the other hand, it released a new wave of approaches to cognitive learning. A first name to mention in this connection is that of the American psychologist Jerome Bruner. Right back in the 1940s he started his long career with cognitive studies that increasingly challenged traditional behaviourism. Later he was a central figure in relation to the so-called science-centred curriculum, which was a response to the ‘sputnik-shock’ in 1957 when the Russians sent the first satellite into space. In 1990 he published the book Acts of Meaning, which, in open opposition to behaviourism, introduced meaning as a central element of human learning and understanding. And in 1996 his publication of The Culture of Education was a clear dissociation from both behaviourism and cognitive science and a devoted pleading for the understanding of learning as a human and cultural process reaching far beyond the cognitive area (Bruner, 1990, 1996). Another American psychologist to mention here is David Kolb. In his Experiential Learning from 1984 he takes his point of departure from the ‘founding fathers’, John Dewey, Piaget and Lewin, and comes to the conclusion that all learning is experiential and follows a specific circular pattern from concrete experience via reflective observation and abstract conceptualization to active experimentation and then back to new concrete experience (Kolb, 1984). Although this learning cycle is rather rigid in relation to the diversity of human learning, and once again predominantly is thought and used in relation to the cognitive area, Kolb’s thinking was, no doubt, an important contribution to the establishment of a more differentiated understanding of learning. The organizational learning theory of the American psychologists Chris Argyris and Donald Schön (1930–97) is also relevant in this connection, especially because of the distinction between single-loop learning, which remains within, and double-loop learning, which exceeds the existing frames of understanding (Argyris and Schön, 1978, 1996), and further for Schön’s exploration of ‘the reflective 20

Learning and cognition

practitioner’ and ‘reflection-in-action’ (Schön, 1983, 1987). These are all contributions that help to understand cognitive learning in working life. Finally, the work of the American psychologist Jack Mezirow on transformative learning is mainly cognitive as it is about changes in meaning structures, meaning perspectives and habits of mind (Mezirow, 1978, 1991, 2000).

Personal development – crossing the boundaries of cognitive learning Whereas all the approaches mentioned up till now have been totally or predominantly cognitive in their content and perspectives, the most important development in the understanding of human learning since about 1990 has been that learning is never and by no means only a cognitive matter – which implies that pure cognitive learning does not take place in normal human beings and that cognitive learning theories deal only with a special side of human learning. This has, since the middle of the twentieth century, been claimed by a few learning theorists, but during the last two decades this understanding has rapidly gained ground and has also been clearly confirmed by modern brain research (especially Damasio, 1994). Thus, the concept of cognitive learning is a kind of illusion – as it must also somehow have appeared to the famous German philosoper Immanuel Kant (1724–1804), as he wrote his Critique of Pure Reason in 1781 (Kant, 2002 [1781]). Actually, the first reseacher who discovered this in practice can be said to be Sigmund Freud (1856– 1939), who as early as 1895 described the phenomenon of ‘catharsis’, which is the mental breakthrough that can take place in psychoanalysis and psychotherapy (Freud and Breuer, 1956 [1895]). But Freud and his age did not think of this as learning and certainly not cognition – although it is firmly within the definition of learning that is used in this chapter. However, half a century later another psychotherapist, the American Carl Rogers (1902–87), realized this connection and developed the concept of ‘significant learning’ for such learning that involves a change in the organization of the self (Rogers, 1951, 1969). Rogers also launched the issue of ‘encounter groups’, a special shaping of Lewin’s ‘T-groups’, to promote significant learning and personal development (Rogers 1970). This strongly helped to see personal development as a kind of learning, which of course includes the cognitive dimension, but only as a part of a much wider totality. Another contribution in this direction was delivered at the same time by the German-American psychoanalyst Erik H. Erikson (1902–94), who described the life course as a succession of stages connected by crises-like transitions, which can also be interpreted as periods of intensive personal learning (Erikson 1968: 1994).

The social dimension of learning However, seeing personal development as a kind of learning did not at this time really affect the conception of learning as a cognitive matter, probably because these ideas were so different; the serious challenge came when learning began also to be considered to have important and specific social and emotional dimensions. The concept of social learning was first established in earnest by the American social psychologist Albert Bandura in the 1960s. It primarily concerned model learning and learning through imitation – phenomena that had often been dealt with before, not least by Piaget (1951 [1945]) – which Bandura and his work associates studied in a traditional behaviouristic fashion (Bandura and Walters, 1963; Bandura, 1977), which implied certain limitations. A quite different approach at the same time was the sociological theories of socialization, which is the process through which the individual acquires current societal norms and structures, thus becoming 21

Knud Illeris

part of the society in question. This was primarily taken up by the German-American ‘Frankfurt School’ which combined a Freudian and a Marxist approach into what was called ‘Critical Theory’. Important names from this school are Max Horkheimer (1895–1973), Theodor Adorno (1903–69), Herbert Marcuse (1898–1979) and Jürgen Habermas, but, in relation to socialization learning, the later branch-off in Hanover became more important, especially through the works of Peter Brückner (1922– 82), Alfred Lorenzer (1922–2002), Oskar Negt, Thomas Leithäuser and Thomas Ziehe. The central issue in all this is that the young generation mainly unconsciously comes to learn the culture and forms of consciousness and also cognition of its society, but at the same time develops defence and resistance towards societal elements which it dislikes (Brückner, 1972; Lorenzer, 1972; Negt, 1971; Leithäuser, 1976, 1998; Ziehe 2009). However, the real breakthrough of the understanding of all learning having a social dimension was not established until the early 1990s. Most significant was the claim in 1991 by the American anthropologist Jean Lave and the Swiss-American computer scientist Etienne Wenger that all learning is ‘situated’: it takes place in a specific situation and this situation does not only influence the learning but actually is part of it (Lave and Wenger, 1991), and later the book by Wenger on Communities of Practice (Wenger, 1998). The broader movement of ‘social constructionism’ also strongly advocated the social inbeddedness of psychological processes, sometimes so strongly that the individual nature of the processes was denied (Gergen, 1991, 1994; Burr 1995). Also the biographical approach, seeing learning in the perspective of the personal life story, should be mentioned in this connection (Alheit, 1994, 2009).

The emotional dimension of learning To some extent the emotional dimension was included in the personal development approach to learning, but this was not in any way emphasized or set out explicitly. It has also already been mentioned that both Piaget and Vygotsky pointed to this dimension without really integrating it in their predominantly cognitive theories. So when the Briton John Heron in 1992 launched this approach in his Feeling and Personhood it was certainly received as Psychology in Another Key as it was termed in the subtitle of his book. However, a more widespread acceptance of viewing the emotional as part of learning in general was in the following years probably promoted to a higher extent by the American Daniel Goleman’s more popular book on Emotional Intelligence (Goleman, 1995) and, as already mentioned, new discoveries and understandings from the rapidly expanding area of brain research (Damasio, 1994). Finally, it should be mentioned here that the first publication to give the social and the emotional a position that is fully equal to the cognitive was my own, The Three Dimensions of Learning (Illeris, 2002 [1999]). Other contemporary authors who, more indirectly, include the non-cognitive dimensions as general features of human learning are the American Robert Kegan (1994, 2009 [2000]) and the Briton Peter Jarvis (2006, 2009).

Cognitive learning as an integrated learning dimension Thus, the development of the understanding of human learning has during the latest decades gradually led to an overall conception that all learning includes three dimensions – the cognitive or content dimension, the emotional or incentive dimension, and the social or interaction dimension – which are equal in the sense that each of them always play a role and no full understanding, analysis or planning of learning processes can omit any of these dimensions (Illeris, 2002, 2007, 2009). This can be illustrated by the ‘learning triangle’: 22

Learning and cognition

SOCIETY

CONTENT

INCENTIVE

INTERACTION

Figure 2.1 The three dimensions of learning Source: Illeris 2007, p. 26.

The two double arrows inside the triangle depict the two different processes that are involved in any learning. The vertical double arrow shows the interaction process between the individual and what is exposed or happening in his or her environment. This process is going on all the time when we are awake, and whenever something that is new to the individual turns up there is a possibility of learning. However, learning only takes place if there is also an active process of acquisition going on, as in the figure depicted by the horizontal double arrow. This acquisition takes place in the individual’s brain and central nervous system and includes two poles or elements: the content and the incentive. The content may be identical with the cognitive, but may also include skills and personality qualities. It is obvious that any learning must have a content, as to learn without learning something is nonsense. But neither can it be imagined that there can be any learning without an incentive in the form of a mobilization of mental energy. All mental processes demand energy, and modern brain research has estimated that we spend about 20 per cent of our energy supply on such processes (Andreasen, 2005). This mobilization is fundamentally emotional and, in relation to learning, usually referred to as motivation. 23

Knud Illeris

These fundamental features constitute the three learning dimensions as in the figure depicted by the learning triangle, and learning always takes place in a specific place and situation, which are finally societally constituted and in the figure depicted by the outer circle. Seen in relation to cognition, the figure indicates that the cognitive element or dimension of learning is always part of a more complex structure, which also includes the emotional and the social, or, to be more precise, that the acquisition of cognitive learning content, such as knowledge, recognition, understanding or insight, is always integrated with and dependent on the learner’s active interaction with the environment and mobilization of an incentive to drive the process. So both the learning process and the result or outcome always include all these three dimensions. For example, an unclear interaction and/or an ambivalent or unengaged incentive will tend to lead to an imprecise or week learning outcome which can only be recalled in situations that are strongly resembling the learning situation, and if it is not reinforced it will soon be blurred or forgotten.

The types of learning As illustrated above, it is ultimately not possible or appropriate to speak in isolation of cognitive, emotional or social learning, as all learning to some extent includes all of these. This insight is especially important in relation to schools and education, as learning in these institutions is very often thought and spoken of only in terms of the cognitive, academic or professional content. This then leads in the direction of a one-sided focus on what is or should be learnt at the expense of how it is learnt and of which engagement or motivation is involved, and thereby of the learning quality, which may be seen in relation to when the learning can be recalled, what it can be used for and how soon it will be forgotten. However, a quite different and more relevant kind of learning can be established by taking as the point of departure how the new elements are connected to what has already been acquired, i.e. to the mental schemes that are the results of prior learning and always include all three learning dimensions. This was actually the approach that was introduced by Jean Piaget who, as already mentioned, was the first to realize that new learning is always acquired or taken in by relating it to what has already been learnt, in which process both the old and the new are changed (e.g. Piaget, 1952 [1936]). Piaget distinguished between assimilative and accommodative learning, but later contributions have made it possible to divide each of these into two, which makes four learning types, of which the two first may be understood as learning by addition and the two last as learning by reconstruction (Illeris, 2007). The first learning type in this typology was pointed out by the Danish psychologist Thomas Nissen, who named it ‘cumulation’ (Nissen, 1970). This is learning that starts up a new mental scheme because the content cannot be related to any existing scheme. This happens quite often in our first years, but already by the age of two it becomes more scarce and after the age of about six years it is used only when we have to learn something by heart, e.g. a pin code. Cumulation is the kind of learning that we use for training animals and which was in the early days of behaviourism studied as simple conditioning. The main character of what is learnt in this way is that it can only be recalled in situations that subjectively are experienced as identical with the original learning situation. After this comes ‘assimilation’ as the learning type that we use in usual everyday learning and also in most school learning and training. This takes place simply by adding a new element to an already existing mental scheme; it is not very demanding, and we all do it again and again by noticing what is new in a situation, finding a subjectively relevant existing scheme and elaborating the new element into this scheme. The learning type that Piaget termed ‘accommodation’ is only commanded by humans and in very limited forms by the most developed animals. We use it whenever we are confronted with information or come into situations in which we cannot subjectively immediately relate or add what we experience to any existing scheme. In such cases we have the possibility to break down (part of) one or more schemes and reconstruct them such that the new impulses can fit in. This results in qualitatively new learning; we so to 24

Learning and cognition

speak exceed our own boundaries and acquire a new understanding or way of behaving or experiencing. In traditional German psychology this was termed an ‘aha-experience’, and it often implies a feeling of relief. But it also demands much more mental energy than assimilation, and we therefore tend to only mobilize for this type of learning when we are really engaged. If not, we have the possibility of just avoiding learning or make a ‘distorted assimilation’ by reducing the new into something that is already known or familiar, a matter of course or a prejudice. Finally, we can learn by ‘transformation’, which is actually precisely what Carl Rogers described as significant learning. This implies the reconstruction of several schemes, including the scheme of our self or identity. It has also been termed by Yrjö Engeström expansive learning (Engeström, 1987) and by Alheit transitory learning (Alheit, 1994) – whereas Mezirow’s term of transformative learning is not always transformational in this sense, because it need not involve the self. Anyway, it is a very demanding kind of learning that we only resort to when we can find no other way out of a locked situation or position. But it is worth noticing that, as society becomes ever more complex and its changes ever more widespread, transformative learning is no longer a field that professionally is reserved for psychotherapy, but it is also quite often required in relation to youth and adult education and training, for example when people are referred to reschooling because they are unemployed and their qualifications are no longer marketable. It should here be emphasized that this typology has been developed from Piaget’s concepts, which are mainly related to the cognitive field, but can be fully applied to all of the three dimensions of the learning triangle.

Learning barriers As a last point, barriers to learning shall be taken up as a topic that is of rapidly growing importance as societies and existence become more and more complex and changes become more and more frequent. So the traditional cognitively oriented types of barriers such as misunderstandings, insufficient prior learning, lack of concentration, or inappropriate communication have to a growing extent been surpassed by barriers related mainly to the two other learning dimensions (Illeris, 2007). Learning defence in particluar has since the middle of the twentieth century expanded into something that we all have to develop to counter the enormous growth in the amount of information and influence that we constantly meet, and which often is of a manipulative or persuasive character. According to Thomas Leithäuser (1976) this has forced all of us to necessarily develop what he has called an ‘everyday consciousness’ that blocks or distorts possible learning, usually unconsciously, because we cannot even manage to consciously administrate which of the many influences to take in and which to reject. And gradually the defence against the amount of influences has been supplemented by defence against certain kinds of influence and also often by a genuine defence of one’s identity. Finally, an older but not so common barrier is that of learning resistance towards what the individual finds truly unacceptable. This involves a very strong mobilization of mental energy and therefore opens the individual for profound accommodative and transformative learning, often in opposition to what has been intended. If people are asked when they have learnt something that has really been of importance to them they will very often refer to situations of learning resistance (Illeris, 2007). In today’s ‘learning society’ it is obvious that learning barriers are a very important issue that contributes strongly to emphasizing that the cognitive side of learning is heavily and inseparably influenced by and integrated with non-cognitive processes.

References Alheit, P. (1994): The Biographical Question as a Challenge to Adult Education. International Review of Education, 40. ——(2009): Biographical Learning – Within the New Lifelong Learning Discourse. In K. Illeris (ed.): Contemporary Theories of Learning: Learning Theorists … In Their Own Words. London: Routledge. 25

Knud Illeris

Andreasen, N. C. (2005): The Creating Brain: The Neuroscience of Genius. New York: Dana Press. Argyris, C. and Schön, D. (1978): Organizational Learning: A Theory of Action Perspective. Reading, MA: Addison-Wesley. ——(1996): Organizational Learning II: Theory, Method, Practice. Reading, MA: Addison-Wesley. Ausuble, D. P. (1968): Educational Psychology: A Cognitive View. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston. Bandura, A. (1977): Social Learning Theory. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall. Bandura, A. and Walters, R. H. (1963): Social Learning and Personality Development. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston. Bruner, J. (1990): Acts of Meaning. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. ——(1996): The Culture of Education. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Brückner, P. (1972): Zur Sozialpsychologie des Kapitalismus [The Social Psychology of Capitalism]. Frankfurt a.M.: Europäische Verlagsanstalt. Burr, V. (1995): An Introduction to Social Constructionism. London: Routledge. Calvo, P. and Gomila, Antoni (eds) (2008): Handbook of Cognitive Science: An Embodied Approach. Oxford: Elsevier. Cole, M. (1996): Cultural Psychology: A Once and Future Discipline. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Damasio, A. R. (1994): Descartes’ Error: Emotion, Reason and the Human Brain. New York: Grosset/Putnam. Descartes, R. (1967 [1637]): The Philosophical Works of Descartes. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 3rd reprint. Dreyfus, H. and Dreyfus, S. (1986): Mind over Machine. New York: Free Press. Duncker, K. (1945 [1935]): On Problem-Solving. The American Psychological Association, Psychological Monographs, 5. Ebbinghaus, H. (1964 [1885]): Memory: A Contribution to Experimental Psychology. New York: Dover. Engeström, Y. (1987): Learning by Expanding: An Activity-Theoretical Approach to Developmental Research. Helsinki: Orienta-Konsultit. ——(2009): Expansive Learning: Toward an Activity-theoretical Reconceptualization. In K. Illeris (ed.): Contemporary Theories of Learning: Learning Theorists … In Their Own Words. London: Routledge. Erikson, E. H. (1968): Identity, Youth and Crisis. New York: Norton. ——(1994): Identity and the Life Cycle. New York: Norton. Freud, S. and Breuer, J. (1956 [1895]): Studies of Hysteria. London: Pelican Freud Library. Gergen, K. J. (1991): The Saturated Self: Dilemmas of Identity in Contemporary Life. New York: Basic Books. ——(1994): Realities and Relationships. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Goleman, D. (1995): Emotional Intelligence: Why it can Matter More than IQ. London: Bloomsbury. Griffin, P. and Cole, M. (1984): Current Activity for the Future: The Zo-Ped. In Barbara Rogoff and James W. Wertsch (eds): Children’s Learning in the ‘Zone of Proximal Development’. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Heron, J. (1992): Feeling and Personhood: Psychology in Another Key. London: Sage. Hilgard, E. R. (1980): The Trilogy of Mind: Cognition, Conation and Emotion. Journal of the History of the Behavioral Sciences, 16: 107–17. Illeris, K. (2002 [1999]): The Three Dimensions of Learning: Contemporary Learning Theory in the Tension Field Between the Cognitive, the Emotional and the Social. Copenhagen: Roskilde University Press and Leicester: NIACE. ——(2007): How We Learn: Learning and Non-learning in School and Beyond. London: Routledge. ——(2009): A Comprehensive Understanding of Human Learning. In K. Illeris (ed.): Contemporary Theories of Learning: Learning Theorists … In Their Own Words. London: Routledge. Jarvis, P. (2006): Towards a Comprehensive Understanding of Human Learning. London: Routledge. ——(2009): Learning To Be a Person in Society: Learning To Be Me. In K. Illeris (ed.): Contemporary Theories of Learning: Learning Theorists … In Their Own Words. London: Routledge. Kegan, R. (1994): In Over Our Heads: The Mental Demands of Modern Life. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. ——(2009 [2000]): What ‘form’ transforms?: A Constructive-developmental Approach to Transformative Learning. In K. Illeris (ed.): Contemporary Theories of Learning: Learning Theorists … In Their Own Words. London: Routledge. Kant, I. (2002 [1781]): The Critique of Pure Reason. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Köhler, W. (1925 [1917]): The Mentality of Apes. Harmondsworth: Penguin. Kolb, D. A. (1984): Experiential Learning: Experience as a Source of Learning and Development. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall. Lave, J. and Wenger, E. (1991): Situated Learning: Legitimate Peripheral Participation. New York: Cambridge University Press. Leithäuser, T. (1976): Formen des Alltagsbewusstseins [The Forms of Everyday Consciousness]. Frankfurt a.M.: Campus. ——(1998): The Problem of Authoritarianism: Approaches to a Further Development of a Traditional Concept. In K. Illeris (ed.): Adult Education in a Transforming Society. Copenhagen: Roskilde University Press. Leontjev, A. N. (1981 [1959]): Problems of the Development of the Mind. Moscow: Progress. [Collected manuscripts from the 1930s]. Lewin, K. (1976): Field Theory in Social Science: Selected Theoretical Papers. Chicago, IL: Chicago University Press. 26

Learning and cognition

Lorenzer, A. (1972): Zur Begründung einer Materialistischen Sozialisationstheorie [Foundations of a Materialistic Theory of Socialization]. Frankfurt a.M.: Suhrkamp. Madsen, K. B. (1967): Almen Psykologi I [General Psychology]. Copenhagen: Gyldendal. Mezirow, J. (1978): Education for Perspective Transformation: Women’s Re-entry Programs in Community Colleges. New York: Teachers College, Columbia University. ——(1991): Transformative Dimensions of Adult Learning. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. ——(2000): Learning to Think Like an Adult: Core Conceptions of Transformation Theory. In Jack Mezirow and Associates: Learning as Transformation: Critical Perspectives on a Theory of Progress. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Negt, O. (1971): Soziologische Phantasie und Exemplarisches Lernen [Sociological Imagination and Exemplary Learning]. Frankfurt a.M.: Europäische Verlagsanstalt. Nissen, T. (1970): Indlæring og pædagogik [Learning and Pedagogy]. Copenhagen: Munksgaard. Næss, A. (1963 [1962]): Filosofiens Historie II [The History of Philosophy]. Copenhagen: Vintens Forlag. Pavlov, I. P. (1927): Conditional Reflexes: An Investigation of the Physiological Activity of the Cerebral Cortex. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Piaget, J. (1951 [1945]): Plays, Dreams and Imitation in Childhood. New York: Norton. ——(1952 [1936]): The Origin of Intelligence in Children. New York: International Universities Press. ——(1981): Intelligence and Affectivity: Their Relationship During Child Development. Palo Alto, CA: Annual Reviews Inc. Rogers, C. R. (1951): Client-Centred Therapy. Boston, MA: Houghton-Mifflin. ——(1969): Freedom to Learn. Columbus, OH: Charles E. Merrill. ——(1970): Carl Rogers on Encounter Groups. New York: Harper & Row. Schön, D. A. (1983): The Reflective Practitioner: How Professionals Think in Action. New York: Basic Books. ——(1987): Educating the Reflective Practitioner. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Skinner, B. F. (1968): The Technology of Teaching. New York: Appleton-Century-Croft. ——(1971): Beyond Freedom and Dignity. New York: Knopf. Thorndike, E. L. (1931): Human Learning: The Messenger Lectures. New York: Cornell University. Vygotsy, L. S. (1978): Mind in Society: The Development of Higher Psychological Processes. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. ——(1986 [1934]): Thought and Language. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Watson, J. B. (1930): Behaviorism. London: Kegan Paul. Wenger, E. (1998): Communities of Practice: Learning, Meaning and Identity. Cambridge, MA: Cambridge University Press. Ziehe, T. (2009): ‘Normal Learning Problems’ in Youth: In the Context of Underlying Cultural Convictions. In K. Illeris (ed.): Contemporary Theories of Learning: Learning Theorists … In Their Own Words. London: Routledge.

27

3 Learning a role Becoming a nurse Michelle Camilleri

In essence, humans do not exist in isolation; rather they live and work in a social world made up of groups, often defined as communities of practice (Wenger, 1998). Each society has its own culture, of norms and values, which is understood and lived through its own language, knowledge, values and beliefs. The culture is learned through the process of socialization, whereby individuals entering the society learn how to live and survive within the culture. Berger and Luckmann (1966) suggested that there are two aspects of socialization: primary socialization, whereby individuals become members of a society, and secondary socialization, as any subsequent processes through which individuals enter new areas of the objective world of their society. Thus, the socialization process becomes a long-term process. The functional aspect of being a part of a society entails having a role. Some roles are biological or genetic, such as being female, being a daughter, and others are socially constructed, such as being a nurse or being a friend. The role dimension refers to the type of actor rather than the actual person. Hence, occupational socialization is a process through which individuals learn how to behave in newly established roles. In a work environment, this often commences during a period of training and education and continues once the individual enters the workforce. Entering a profession is seen from a sociological perspective as a secondary socialization process. Indeed, nursing practice and the transition between student and worker has been predominantly studied from a sociological perspective, as is evident by the wealth of nursing literature (for example, Mooney, 2007; Fox, et al. 2005; Ross and Clifford, 2002; Whitehead, 2001; Gerrish, 2000; Maben and Clark, 1998; Duncan, 1997). Much of the early literature in the 1980s was directed towards understanding and capturing the experiences of nurses in this role transition and evaluating the ability to function effectively in the role (Wierda, 1989; Hathaway, 1981). This research was mainly organizational in nature, as it emerged as a result of service providers finding that the new graduates were not living up to expectations as well as not being able to integrate quickly with the team and undertake responsibility. This was attributed to the larger theoretical component of a university-based pre-registration programme that was failing to equip the students with the necessary knowledge and skills to assume the role of a qualified safe and competent nurse in practice. However, upon further analysis, this seems to have had more to do with the process of assuming new roles rather than the differences in educational systems. In the case of European pre-registration nursing programmes, the practical component, that is the experience in the real clinical setting, is approximately 40 to 50 per cent of university programmes. Thus, time is a significant element as these roles do not develop instantaneously. Various theorists have discussed 28

Learning a role: becoming a nurse

role theory, often in terms of role development, role conflict and role overload (such as Biddle and Thomas, 1966; Turner, 1962). In an early study by Melia (1987) which explored the occupational socialization of student nurses, role conflict was particularly evident, as essentially the education institution had socialized them into the role of a student nurse, rather than the role of a nurse. Furthermore, this justifies the emphasis on the practical component at the training stage of professional development and suggests that practice with others in the role is an essential part of the formation of nurses. When actors portray a character in a play, a script as well as other external influences, such as the director’s instructions, performances of other actors and, at times, reactions of the audience, determine their performance. Similarly, role theory proposed that individuals occupy a position in society and that their performance within these positions is determined by social norms, demands and regulations. It is also affected by the roles of others and in a sense by the ‘social script’ (Biddle and Thomas, 1966: 4). The director and the audience will vary according to the circumstance, but in essence the director is often someone in authority, while the audience is anyone who is observing the individual’s behaviour. Within the nursing profession, the authority would be the education and service institutions, including nursing officers, managers, other hospital professionals or senior nurses; fellow actors would be other nurses; the audience would be patients and relatives, as well as fellow nurses and health care professionals working in the team. The script would be the expectations of all involved. Although conformity is necessary for the functional aspect of role development, the ability of individuals to alter the roles through a role-making process as they relate to other members of the society highlights the flexibility of the role (Turner, 1962). Moreover, role-making consists of two fundamental elements: time and a process of learning. Hence the process of socialization from student to worker is unavoidably a simultaneous process of growth through which learning takes place over a period of time. Therefore, it is unrealistic to expect individuals to perform at optimum levels immediately they take on a new role. Through experiencing events in daily life, behaviour becomes internalized. Behaviour is copied from other established members, thus ensuring conformity and acceptance within the society. Here, a timeline is a vital element. Various sociologists have argued that the functionalism and structure of society is of utmost importance to enable a stable society (Giddens, 1979; Parsons, 1951; Durkheim, 1933). As long as new members behave in the expected way, then they are readily accepted into the group. Deviant behaviour is frowned upon and various mechanisms are instilled to reduce this behaviour. Although one could argue that in this manner individualism is lost, it is a mechanism of maintaining a stable and constant society. It could be argued that one of the reasons why newly qualified nurses entering the workforce are seemingly not competent is a result of the different types of pre-registration learning that has taken place. Certainly, the more recent university-based courses have a higher theoretical input with a particular emphasis on research-based and evidence-based practice, whereas the traditional courses were carried out in a practical, hands-on apprenticeship style. Perhaps the difference in learning led to variations in nursing care and, subsequently, in acceptance by the other more established members of the group. On the other hand, according to Heller (1984): the process of externalization consisted of three interconnected components: physical artefacts, tools and products; systems of custom and habit; and the use of language. Through repeated exposure to similar events, individuals begin a process of habitualization whereby practice or behaviour that has been successful will be repeated. This is often negotiated between individuals through mutual understanding. Language transcends spaces and provides individuals with a way of knowing things. Through language individuals become familiar with the society’s norms and values as well as allowing individuality to emerge. Thus individuals through interactions construct the norms and values of a society. The concept of externalization of the role centres the person within society. Yet, human beings do not merely receive knowledge, but process and give meaning to this knowledge. There would seemingly be little change due to the cultural norms and values through the internalization process, as change becomes a constant. Thus individuals become a part of a changing culture. The process of change subsequently 29

Michelle Camilleri

becomes a process of learning, as new knowledge will constantly surface. The process of learning is understood through the interaction of the person’s biography and daily social interactions. Subsequently, although the sociological approach explains various issues relating to the changing nature of roles, it fails to address how the individuals are able to learn and consequently take on new roles.

Playing versus being the role The scope of the pre-registration training programme is to socialize individuals into the role as well as teach them the knowledge, skills, attitudes and values required to be able to function effectively and safely within the role. Recently, I investigated in depth the process of becoming a nurse in Malta, by interviewing a group of individuals over a 22-month period from the time they were in the final stages of their pre-registration programme up until they had completed 18 months of practice as qualified nurses (Camilleri, 2009). It appeared that, upon entry into the profession, these newly qualified Maltese nurses were unable to perform to the expectations of the employer, they felt apart from the system and, most significantly, the majority did not identify themselves as nurses. This resulted in most of the participants initially ‘playing’ the role, rather than ‘being’ the role. These findings are particularly surprising as the general expectation is that individuals are able to function in the role. Furthermore, this raises serious questions as to whether the educational institution is providing the required level of training, or whether this inability to perform is the result of other factors. No literature, especially within the nursing field, explores this concept of ‘playing the role’ as a first process to ‘being the role’, therefore it is difficult to make comparisons with other similar or different educational programmes and health care support systems for newly qualified staff. The deficit in literature on this subject is possibly due to the fact that retrieved studies on the transition from student to worker were designed in a way to investigate outcomes rather than processes. However, another possible reason for this deficit in the literature could be the expectation that the formal training period is the time in which students are able to experiment with the role and, therefore, are not expected to carry the role or the associated responsibilities of being a nurse.

Sense of belonging The sense of belongingness to the community of nursing professionals was the first noticeable factor in the study I conducted. Although as students they had been socialized into the role of the nurse through many hours of hands-on practice, it was evident that these participants felt external to the ward team to which they were allocated. Wenger (1998) espoused that a community of practice should consist of three dimensions: mutual engagement, a joint enterprise and a shared repertoire. Therefore, to be part of this community, one needed to be able to function, to have trust and a shared vision so as to be integrated into the team. However, for these participants this was not an automatic process that happens naturally on the first day of work. Primarily, it was difficult for the participants to mutually engage with the community, as they very clearly lacked knowledge and skills and therefore became dependent on other colleagues for support and assistance. One could argue that, following a four-year course, these individuals had become expert students and therefore their ideals, visions and purpose until that point in time had been that of students. Since the responsibilities between being a student and being a nurse vary, it was unrealistic to expect them to immediately adopt a shared vision through which they could engage with the team members. Furthermore, individuals enter the workplace with their own biographies (Jarvis, 2005; Dominice, 2000), which includes a past history of accumulated experiences through which values, attitudes and beliefs have been formed. Differences between one individual and another are very likely to occur; differences between a newly qualified nurse and members of a pre-established team are also likely to transpire. Wenger (1998) 30

Learning a role: becoming a nurse

unfortunately failed to explain how new members learn to become a part of the team. Perhaps one of the notable changes that took place in each participant was how they started out with their own individual beliefs and system and, as time progressed, they developed a shared belief and system according to the clinical setting in which they worked. This was evident in the early phases of the data-collection period, where several participants stated clearly that they carried out tasks in a different manner to others. There was a clear ‘me’ and ‘them’ attitude in the discussions. Very interestingly, the participants were acutely aware that other people viewed them as a nurse, even though they themselves did not perceive themselves to be nurses. This was evident through colleagues introducing them as a team member to other health care professionals, as well as relatives and patients referring to them as ‘a nurse’. Although they were aware that, for the lay person, it was difficult to differentiate between a nurse with years of experience and a nurse who has just graduated, the participants placed themselves metaphorically in a separate category. There was a clear distinction between themselves and the experienced nurses, which included anyone who was working in the ward before their arrival. Those participants who appeared to be particularly confident quickly integrated into the team and developed a strong sense of belongingness, to the extent that they were actively involved in professional activities such as practice development and informal training during the period of data collection. They also felt that, in situations where the team was debating an issue (such as a procedure relating to patient care or an aspect of professional development), they were able to contribute to the discussion and felt comfortable forwarding their ideas and opinions. In stark contrast, those participants who appeared to be more cautious, had only just started to contribute or give an opinion by the end of the 22-month period of data collection. In some wards, especially those with large numbers of nurses in each shift, the hierarchical system was particularly strong and, subsequently, it could be argued that this is what might have hindered the development of the role. Yet, there were ‘self-confident’ and ‘cautious’ participants in wards with small numbers of nurses as well as wards with large numbers of nurses. Therefore, it was not the numbers of nurses present in each shift or the presence of a hierarchical system that made the difference, but rather the individual participants’ degree of confidence to voice their opinion or to abstain. This signifies that a sense of belonging is not merely the result of external influences such as other people, but a true sense of belonging is an internal feeling that develops over time, once the individuals acquire shared beliefs, values, attitudes, vision and purpose of the community they joined.

Ability to perform to the required level of competence There is clearly an unspoken expectation that newly qualified nurses are able to function competently and independently upon entry into the profession. This expectation was held by the participants themselves as well as others around them, including patients and team members. The participants introduced this discussion while they were still students, as it was evidently a cause for concern. Even at this stage, they felt that they would have difficulty in being capable of caring. This feeling was substantiated in the second phase of data collection, at three months of practice, when they vividly explained their experiences with new or previously unfamiliar procedures as well as what they had been learning during those first three months. Although almost half the pre-registration programme had been situated in practice, once they entered the workforce the participants stated that they were learning new knowledge, procedures and skills as well as engaging in new experiences. All of this compounded together led them to a state of not being capable of caring. More significantly, each time they encountered a new situation they were acutely aware of not knowing what to do, and thus relied heavily on other colleagues. On the other hand, at three months of practice, when asked what kinds of activities they were engaging in, all were able to give detailed descriptions of a range of clinical activities and skills. Furthermore, it was also evident that they compared their performance in practice to the more senior and experienced nurses. Possibly these were the same 31

Michelle Camilleri

professionals who provided them with support and assistance. In comparison, they did not feel that they were competent and this was certainly another external influence. Practising to a competent level is seen as the benchmark of good and safe practice. Indeed, across Europe, some institutions are implementing competency-based curricula for nurse pre-registration training. Benner (1984): a renowned American nursing scholar, advocated the theory of the acquisition of skills, in which all practitioners commence as novices and progress over a specific number of years through five stages of ability until they become experts. Similarly, Gladwell (2008) argued that individuals need approximately 10,000 hours of practice in the field in order to master a craft. This extensive time in practice supports the argument made by Sennet (2008) that true craftsmanship is a result of individuals being engaged in the craft and emerges once a skill is developed to a high degree. On commencement of mastering a skill, an individual will demonstrate very basic levels of ability with the emphasis revolving around the successful completion of that skill. However, at the level of mastery, ‘at its higher reaches, technique is no longer a mechanical activity; people can feel fully and think deeply what they are doing once they do it well’ (Sennet, 2008: 20). The attainment of the mastery of skills was reflected in the participants’ ability to perform to the required level independently. They were able to describe themselves as competent after gaining experience as well as when they were able to function with minimal interventions from colleagues. Interestingly, when they described themselves as competent, they were also describing several instances in which they were teaching other health care professionals and students. Therefore, being competent is not merely a result of reaching certain milestones, but rather it is a sign that individuals have developed sufficient practical knowledge to be able to function effectively as well as teach others. In order to teach others, it is necessary to be comfortable and confident with the skill or procedure. This was evident as the confident participants stated that they were teaching others by six months of practice, while those who were more cautious only began teaching others after twelve months of practice. An interesting finding that emerged was that the participants seemed to wholly identify as nurses only once they were able to describe themselves as competent, that is, at the third stage of Benner’s continuum. This means that the Maltese participants did not appear to perceive themselves as nurses while describing themselves at the first two stages, that is as novices and advanced beginners. The findings of this study showed that there were substantial differences when compared to Benner’s (1984) study. Furthermore, it appears that the progression from stage to stage is not uni-directional, but rather, throughout one’s career it is possible to be moving back and forth between the different stages according to external changes taking place. By identifying the specific stages they felt they had attained during the study, they showed how their practice had changed and improved, but also compared the change that they were witnessing that guided them in their choice of stage. They also justified their decision by stating that they ‘felt’ more capable than before. This feeling is an internal process of change that is taking place at an individual level as a result of an accumulation of experiences and learning.

Acquiring an identity In order to acquire an identity, individuals need to perceive themselves as capable of caring independently and competently, as well as being a valued member of the team. Initially, the identity of the nurse was imposed upon the participants by others, through the wearing of a uniform that strongly symbolized the role of the nurse, by other colleagues and patients who referred to them as ‘a nurse’, as well as by the expectations of others to carry out certain skills and procedures accurately. Furthermore, they were literally forced into the role of a nurse by the system. As a result, initially they were ‘playing the role’ of the nurse to match the expectations of others. It is therefore evident that the social identity clearly precedes individual identity. The findings of this study showed that, while the participants were ‘playing the role’ they were not able to describe themselves as nurses. Also, as time progressed, the dependency on their colleagues diminished 32

Learning a role: becoming a nurse

and they began working in their shifts with minimal interventions from others. Hence, by being independent in their practice they felt that they were being nurses. This suggests that the identity evolves over time and is pre-consciously learned – it is a tacit process. They were able to state that they were nurses once the role had been internalized.

Learning the role In discussing the sense of belongingness, the ability to perform and the acquisition of an identity, it is apparent that there is a mismatch between the expectations of the profession in comparison with the individual abilities. In other words, the participants were aware of the level of competence expected of them, yet simultaneously did not feel capable of meeting those expectations, resulting in the difference between ‘playing the role’ and ‘being the role’ as discussed previously. Considering that, to be a nurse, one must complete a specified training programme, this indicates that it is possible to teach someone to perform a role; however, they, in turn, must learn the role. Indeed, the participants had used a multitude of strategies to assist them in learning the role. In accordance with previous nursing literature, they learnt using a combination of behaviourist, cognitive and social learning theory approaches, such as observing the practice of more senior colleagues; using active experimentation of trial and error; and reflection, as well as critical thinking. By the very nature of the socialization process upon entry into the profession that situated them within a team of experienced professionals, using secondary experience they learnt about their practice. They also learnt using primary experiences as they themselves were directly involved in the hands-on care delivered to patients. It appears that the way in which most newly qualified nurses learn is by discussing with others as well as by referring to published material such as books or through the internet. However, by having access to a knowledgeable group of people such as senior colleagues and hands-on practice does not mean that learning automatically takes place. It is only through a process of internalization that is centred within an individual, that the cycle of learning occurs (Jarvis, 2005, 2004, 1992). It is clear that the learning processes vary from individual to individual. The awareness of learning and one’s own self-development also differs from one individual to another. Furthermore, those individuals who have a heightened self-awareness are able to learn even once harmony and routine have settled into their daily working lives. Hence, the findings of this study showed that learning is centred in the individual. Therefore individuals should be allowed to learn in their own unique way, at their own pace.

The time–confidence–learning trajectory model Time, confidence and learning are all essential elements of the process of becoming a nurse. Figure 3.1 represents a self-designed model that visually maps the findings of this study through which the journey of becoming a nurse can be understood. This model builds on Jarvis’ (2005) theory of Human Learning, in which he describes the processes of learning taking place as part of human living. The model starts with the same reference point, that is, the individual. The individual in this model represents individuals who enter the work place as newly qualified nurses. At this point, they are ‘playing’ the role of the nurse, as they have not as yet acquired the identity of a nurse, they are dependent on others and do not feel that they are a significant member of the team. Towards the middle of the diagram are factors that contribute towards ‘being’ a nurse, including the acquisition of an identity, the ability to perform and feeling like they are a significant member of the team. ‘Playing’ and ‘being’ are linked diagrammatically by a series of lines that are interrupted. These interrupted lines symbolize the passing of time. They also symbolize the liminal period between playing the role and being the nurse. These arrows are interrupted, as each individual will journey between ‘playing’ and ‘being’ at different speeds. The long solid arrow at the top of the diagram symbolizes the ongoing learning processes, whilst the long solid 33

Michelle Camilleri

Learning to become Time

II

•

II

•

sco

~

(5 ~

:5 (/)

~ (I)

c

~ PLAYING THE ROLE

No identity

(I)

0..

BEING A NURSE

- - - - - - - - - Acquires an identity

Reliant on others

---------

Outsider

_________ Significant team member

0

e

---------

Able to perform

~

I-

Time Gaining confidence

Figure 3.1 The time–confidence–learning trajectory of becoming a nurse

arrow at the bottom of the diagram symbolizes the development of confidence. Both these arrows have been interrupted, representing the passing of time to which both confidence and learning are attached. These solid lines represent each individual’s ongoing career path. Time occupies the central space in the diagram, precisely because it is central to this whole process. The two long bold arrows continue beyond the phrasing of ‘being a nurse’, as each individual is continually developing and changing. These two solid long arrows represent the ongoing nature of professional and personal development. Hence, just as the learning process is ongoing, so too is the state of becoming. From the findings, it appears that, in order to reach the stage of being a nurse, the acquisition of an identity and the ability to perform, as well as being a significant member of the team, all need to develop simultaneously. Indeed, all three components are essential, as they are interlinked and interdependent upon each other. Hence, one cannot progress without the other interlinking components. The model represents the complexity of the process of becoming a nurse in a two-dimensional view. In reality, the process from ‘playing the role’ to ‘being the role’ is not a simple linear process that merely happens with the passage of time. Rather, it represents a multitude of experiences, interactions and thought processes through which individuals learn the role. Not only did the Maltese participants play the role upon entry into the profession, but, more disconcertingly, some participants spent many months in a state of ‘playing the role’ due to lack of competence, confidence and the ability to function independently. This has been presented quite forcefully through variations in the sense of belonging, the ability to perform and the acquisition of an identity.

Discussion of the implications Transitions are complex and multidimensional. Clearly, the transition from student to worker is about a process that invokes a need for individuals to learn new experiences, new rules and new responsibilities arising from new circumstances. Through these processes of learning the individuals acquire the identity of the nurse, through which they are able to perform. Indeed, it is an existentialist process. Transitions pose challenges and create stress, but also offer opportunities for growth and development. Although it is beneficial to explore these issues through various disciplines such as psychology or anthropology, the complexity of the process of learning a new role, such as becoming a professional nurse, fails to give an understanding of this concept in its entirety. It is evident that nursing has traditionally drawn on other disciplines to inform and develop its unique body of knowledge. However, in attempting to understand the transition from student to worker, many unanswered questions remain. The concept of ‘playing’ the role at the initial stages is not a new discovery. Indeed, Turner (1962) documented this phenomenon well when he explained his role theory. He maintained that, upon entering 34

Learning a role: becoming a nurse

a new role, individuals necessarily ‘play’ the role, which he likened to the allegory of theatre acting. Over time, individuals learn the values, attitudes, knowledge and skill and, through a process, take on or acquire this role through a process of internalization. At this point the person is actually ‘being’ the role. Furthermore, in moving between playing and being, the catalyst is learning. The acquisition of the identity is not automatic upon completion of the programme of studies, or upon entering the workforce on the first day of work. Rather, it requires a process of change that takes place at both a professional as well as a subjective level. As time progresses and individuals internalize the role, they begin to be the role, rather than merely play the role. This is a gradual process. Furthermore, the timing of this change varies from individual to individual. Once the role is internalized, an identity is acquired and simultaneously the ability to perform safely, competently and independently with minimal interventions from others. A sense of belonging emerges through the responsibilities held and the contributions that are made within the work socio-cultural milieu. Consequently, this means that we truly acquire an identity and become a role in society through a combination of processes: initially there is an external ascription, which is then followed by an internal realization of the manner in which we perform the role (Jarvis, 2009). The change from being a student and becoming a nurse enabled a transition that allowed for the social structures of one society to be broken down, thus allowing for the opportunity to learn new things including values, knowledge, language and beliefs. Therefore, change generates newness and forces individuals to learn so as to become part of a new society. Individuals may choose to engage or disengage from this new society. Those who engage are constantly challenged to learn new things. Therefore, in being a role, we are necessarily always learning. This paper has identified that the acquisition of the identity of a specific role requires change to take place internally at a subjective level in order for the external and professional level to be fully materialized. Moreover, it has demonstrated that the subjective level takes place as a result of a process of learning. Furthermore, since humans change as a result of the learning that is taking place, then the acquisition of an identity will change too, thus resulting in an ongoing process of becoming. So, in being a specific role, an individual is necessarily always in an ongoing state of becoming.

References Berger, P. L. and Luckmann, T. (1966). The social construction of reality. A treatise in the sociology of knowledge. Middlesex: Penguin Publishers Ltd. Benner, P. (1984). From novice to expert. Excellence and power in clinical nursing practice. California: Addison-Wesley Publishing Company. Biddle, B. J. and Thomas, E. J. (1966). Role theory: concepts and research. New York: John Wiley & Sons Inc. Camilleri, M. (2009). Becoming a nurse: a process of learning. Unpublished PhD thesis. Surrey: University of Surrey. Dominice, P. (2000). Learning from our lives: using educational biographies with adults. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Duncan, K. (1997). Student pre-entry experience and first year of employment. The Journal of Continuing Education in Nursing, 28(5): 223–30. Durkhein, E. (1933). The division of labour in society. New York: Free Press. Fox, R., Henderson, A. and Malk-Nyhan, K. (2005). ‘They survive despite the organizational culture, not because of it’: A longitudinal study of new staff perceptions of what constitutes support during the transition to an acute tertiary facility. International Journal of Nursing Practice, 11: 193–99. Gerrish, K. (2000). Still fumbling along? A comparative study of the newly qualified nurse’s perceptions of the transition from student to qualified nurse. Journal of Advanced Nursing, 32(2): 473–80. Giddens, A. (1979). Central problems in social theory: action, structure, and contradiction in social analysis. California: University of California Press. Gladwell, M. (2008). Outliers: the story of success. New York: Little, Brown and Company. Hathaway, D. (1981). Rooting out reality shock. The Journal of Practical Nursing, 31(10): 42–44. Heller, A. (1984). Everyday life. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Jarvis, P. (1992). Paradoxes of learning. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass Publishers.

35

Michelle Camilleri

——(2004). Towards a philosophy of human learning: an existential perspective. Paper presented at the Philosophy Society, University of Malta, Malta. ——(2005). Towards a philosophy of human learning: an existential perspective. In Jarvis, P. and Parker, S. (eds), Human learning: a holistic perspective. London: Routledge. ——(2009). Learning to be a person in society. London: Routledge. Maben, J. and Clark, J. M. (1998). Project 2000 diplomates’ perceptions of their experiences of transition from student to staff nurse. Journal of Clinical Nursing, 7: 145–53. Melia, K. (1987). Learning and working: the occupational socialization of nurses. London: Tavistock Publications. Mooney, M. (2007). Newly qualified Irish nurses’ interpretation of their preparation and experiences of registration. Journal of Clinical Nursing, 16: 1610–17. Parsons, T. (1951). The social system. Glencoe: The Free Press. Ross, H. and Clifford, K. (2002). Research as a catalyst for change: the transition from student to Registered Nurse. Journal of Clinical Nursing, 11: 545–53. Sennet, R. (2008).The craftsman. London: Penguin Books. Turner, R. H. (1962). Role-taking: process versus conformity. In Rose, A. M. (ed.), Human behaviour and social processes: an interactionist approach. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul Ltd. Wenger, E. (1998). Communities of practice: learning, meaning and identity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Whitehead, J. (2001). Newly qualified staff nurses’ perceptions of the role transition. British Journal of Nursing, 10(5): 330–39. Wierda, L. (1989). BSN students find a way to lessen the severity of reality shock. Nursing Forum, 24(1): 11–14.

36

4 Self-constructed activity, work analysis, and occupational training An approach to learning objects for adults Marc Durand

What do people learn in occupational education and training? This question expresses a major concern of instructors, but is not necessarily interesting to education scientists. For the latter, learning objects—what one learns—are independent of the learning process—how one learns—and the material to be learned is considered to depend on practical rather than scientific decisions. This is not the position defended in the activity-centered approach, developed in particular by French-speaking researchers. This chapter is devoted to presenting this approach. When we learn we are always learning something, and that something is related to social practices. For a job-training instructor, this involves knowing these practices, particularly those serving as a reference for the training. This topic will be addressed in Section 1. In the scientific analysis of work, the theoretical object of study is activity, which is conceptualized differently in the various activity-centered theories. This topic will be addressed in Section 2. The activity-centered approach recommends not separating learning and work, and can be used to design fruitful new learning objects for training. This topic will be addressed in Section 3.

1 Knowing social practices and analyzing work Our acts differ at every moment: we change the place of action, the pace and frequency, the extent of involvement, the partners, the cultural context, the value system, the mode of relating to others, and so on. This diversity of social practices and life contexts brings about varied experiences, each involving specific learning processes and objects. This implies that instructors must not only know these practices well, but also know how to analyze them.

1.1 Diversity of practices and occupations, and the need for a work analysis Human experience is constantly changing in accordance with the practices and actions in which the actor is engaged. These in turn are partially defined by the actor. Social practices are highly diverse and apply to work, study, sports, art, tourism, family, politics, and religion, to mention only a few. They differ according to what they imply in terms of values and norms shared by various actors, the extent of cognitive or bodily 37

Marc Durand

demands, the person’s knowledge and know-how, individual or group decision-making modes, methods for evaluating actions, emotional repercussions and risk-taking, the degree of uncertainty and event predictability, the precision of the actions, the need to cooperate or not, rewards sought, actor responsibility and accountability, etc. Each society has its own system of organized social practices, composed of entities that are both differentiated and interdependent (Baubion-Broye, 1998). Actors find their bearings, act, and move within this system, which means that they must learn the skills and competencies it demands. Today, this learning process extends across the life span due to rapid social change, frequent job relocation, and sometimes multiple career modifications. When it comes to work, occupational practices are fully predefined, and some professions such as airline piloting, caring for the sick, or speculating on monetary exchange rates are highly specialized and therefore call for specific knowledge and skills (Durand, 2008). Professors and instructors in charge of occupational education and training must therefore have a thorough knowledge of the job for which their students or trainees are bound, so as to come up with relevant learning objects. This knowledge is often acquired through past experience (e.g. an engineering teacher may have worked as an engineer before going into teaching). But, when prior work experience is lacking, instructors must have the necessary methods and concepts at their disposal to help them analyze and understand the work they are to teach (Durand, 2009; Durand and Filliettaz, 2009).

1.2 Analyzing work in order to develop learning objects In all jobs, there is a gap between the prescribed work and the actual activities carried out by the actors. This gap is not a sign of incompetence, ill will, negligence, or lack of commitment on the part of workers. It is rather the result of their efforts to accomplish the job “in spite of it all,” that is, in spite of its complexity, unfavorable conditions, flaws in planning and organization, intangibles, and unforeseen events (Zarifian, 1995). The gap corresponds to the fact that the reality of a work activity does not readily lend itself to being captured by a set of job specifications or instructions. There are always unforeseen hazards and mishaps, an impossibility not thought of, an unanticipated phenomenon, etc. And the actions carried out—especially when they are as complex as work actions often are—are neither contained in a job procedure, nor completely specified or controlled by job instructions. In order for work to be accomplished, a fundamental factor comes into play: the human factor (Dejours, 1999). According to a high-level manager in the French National Railroad Corporation, the complexity of the train-traffic network in his country has increased so much (France has one of the most complex railroad systems in the world) that he wonders how it can operate on a daily basis without too many errors or accidents. The answer to his question, as elsewhere, is straightforward: it is simply because the human factor enters into the picture, that is to say, individual efforts, tricks of the trade, compensations, inventions, deviations from instructions, and so on, all done locally and daily by each of the 170,000 employees of this organization who enable it to operate “in spite of it all.” Observing the interplay of human factors reveals an unsuspected complexity and an irreducible uniqueness. This is why Schwartz (1998) said that all work is a puzzle. Every day each actor does his/her work, yet a great part of that work escapes our superficial understanding of the occupations and their ways. This means that, to understand the work that gets done, it must be analyzed. This requires precisely identifying (i) what the actors are supposed to do (what is asked and imposed on them, their list of duties and tasks, their mission, their assignments, etc.), (ii) the real activity of those actors (what they actually do), and (iii) how these two elements are related to each other (Leplat, 1997). Work is a puzzle because, as indicated in the above example, it cannot be known in advance. It is as much the product of the ingenuity of its designers, as it is the result of the inventiveness of the people who are doing the work. This is true for occupations requiring specialized qualifications and advanced training; 38

Self-constructed activity

it is also true for simpler trades requiring little in the way of skills. Even so-called “manual” work demands precise on-the-job reasoning and decisions that are often quite complex. And even in assembly-line work or jobs in Taylorian organizations, which try to reduce or eliminate the human factor, employees demonstrate a certain degree of autonomy in their activities and depart from the procedures outlined in their job descriptions. For example, assembly-line workers have a tendency to “move up the line,” i.e. they start working on the part being manufactured before it arrives directly in front of their workstation. The price paid for this is reduced accuracy (due to shifted positions and also hastiness) and sometimes even physical pain caused by the leaning body posture it entails. But there is a positive side too: it is a safeguard against faulty work (because missed operations can be redone) and a reflection of respect for the workplace culture (persons working farther down the line are not penalized). It can also give the work a play-like dimension (seeing how far up the line one can go, experimenting with shifting left and right) and may generate a feeling of power and superiority over the machinery. Here, the real activity is infinitely richer than the simple repetition of the automatic movements needed to manufacture a part as it passes at optimal speed in front of the actor. Work is becoming increasingly complex, and the search for profitability, ongoing competition, and demands for productivity in all occupations force workers to make subtle adjustments, and to exhibit new reactivity and decision-making abilities at all times. They must be capable of coping with what Zarifian (1995) called events, that is, major unexpected happenings that take the job out of its routine, in such a way that the actors can no longer operate at their cruising speed. A case in point is that of floor managers supervising an automated production line at a cement plant, who have to determine whether a particular alarm message on their control panel is a sign of a major breakdown or a minor malfunction. The decision they must make (on their own) is fundamental for the company: if their diagnosis is wrong—i.e. if they choose to stop production in the case of a minor malfunction, or decide to keep it going following a breakdown that proves serious—the consequences on line productivity, the factory, and also on themselves will be far reaching. The complexity of work also lies in its inherent injunction of subjectivity (Clot, 1999). All workers are expected to “get involved” in their job and to do more than just simply follow routines in a measured and neutral way. The case of the assembly-line work presented above illustrates this idea: even in apparently simple and automatic tasks, the actors still invest themselves in their jobs. This is especially true when the job requires the use of discretion, or is defined as a mission whose objectives are specified, but the means to attain them are not. The actors themselves must figure out how to do their work, so they are in fact responding to this paradoxical demand for autonomy. This can take its toll in the form of individual responsibility, which is sometimes accompanied by personal suffering and health problems (Dejours, 1998).

2 Work activity Activity can be broadly defined as everything an actor is doing at a given moment. It takes on different forms and meanings, which depend upon social practices. Analyzing activity involves breaking down the ongoing flow into a sequence of discrete units, each with a meaning and an identifiable organization. Some examples of discrete units are machining a metal part, ordering from a supplier, anesthetizing a patient, or presiding over a board meeting (Durand, 2008). As a theoretical object, activity allows us to account for social practices without over-simplification, while still maintaining their meaning and structure. In the French-speaking tradition, the approach to work activity is supported by an interdisciplinary movement emerging mainly out of ergonomics. In the various definitions of activity proposed so far, each one supported by its own underlying assumptions and epistemological and philosophical traditions (constructivist, historical-cultural, phenomenological, etc.), different points are emphasized (Durand, 2008). In the domain of vocational education and training, the main theories are occupational didactics (Pastré, 2007), the clinical approach to activity (Clot, 1999), and course-of-action theory (Theureau, 2004). 39

Marc Durand

2.1 Properties of work activity Here, we will focus on the common elements of these activity-centered theories, while presenting the key properties of work activity. Work activity is constrained, goal-oriented, and productive. It is constrained by (i) the surrounding culture, which specifies the norms, values, and concrete or symbolic tools and instruments that apply to it, (ii) the state of the actor (his/her alertness or fatigue, personality and skills, etc.), and (iii) the task to be accomplished, as dictated by the work organization and instructions coming down from hierarchical superiors. It is goal-oriented in the sense that it is not erratic and there is a desired result. It is productive in that it is aimed at producing goods or services, and results in a transformation of the actors, their culture, and their task. Work activity is a whole. It cannot be understood by being broken down into single, separate processes (decision making, problem solving, sensorimotor coordination, perception, emotional control, regulation of motivation, etc.). These processes are interdependent; they become meaningful and take on structure in relationship to the activity as a whole. Work activity is organized. It has an order and regularities, and there are relationships between its constituents: similar actions are performed or conducted “in view of” achieving something, and causally or temporally dependent relations between components can be identified. Work activity is dynamic. It is formed and transformed in accordance with events occurring in the environment in which it unfolds. But its dynamic quality is not merely reactive: it is fundamentally endogenous or intrinsic. Certain transformations are short lived. Others are irreversible, in such a way that, afterwards, the activity is never the same, in which case we speak of learning and/or development. Work activity is the realization of certain potentials. What the actors do is not equal to everything that they could do. They follow the job instructions when they have to, but there always exists what Clot (1999) calls “prevented” activities, ones that could have or should have come to be but did not. The actors continually assess their real activities in relation to these prevented activities. This process generates various kinds of affect, and because of the regret and dissatisfaction it may cause, can also generate work-related suffering (Dejours, 1998). Work activity is meaningful. Its meaning resides in the relationship between the activity and the task’s constraints and objectives, and also in each actor’s own dynamics, which assign meanings to the experiences being lived through, which are linked to the history of that actor’s past activity. For example, in our observations of educational advisors and job counselors who are helping applicants validate their work experience, we have noticed that some of them talk to the applicants in a metaphorical mode, using wordings like (i) “it’s an obstacle course with a target at the end” (the desired diploma), (ii) “filling up a container with one’s experience,” (iii) “searching for an overlap between the applicant and the diploma,” and so on (Salini and Durand, in press). The guidance such counselors provide falls right in line with the metaphors they use. Work activity is situated—culturally, spatially, temporally, and bodily. It is made to fit into the organizational, spatial-temporal, and cultural environment in which it takes place. What’s more, it expresses the actor’s own point of view on that environment, i.e. the situation that the actor constructs or makes emerge. Work activity, then, cannot be understood unless the links with the environment are considered from the actor’s viewpoint. Work activity is both unique and general. It is never reproduced in exactly the same way, so each occurrence is one of its kind. But it also manifests a degree of generality (for example, it is the activity of a fisherman, a teacher, a pilot). It expresses and is structured by components that are general (within the actor) and shared (by a group or a community of practice). Depending on the theory, this generality results from constructs that are not only cognitive (Pastré’s pragmatic concepts, 1999), but also social (Clot’s genres, 1999), and experiential (Theureau’s types, 2004). 40

Self-constructed activity

2.2 Analyzing work activity in view of occupational education and training Analyzing work activity consists of identifying its properties as they are specified for a particular job. The analysis relies on observations in the field, supplemented by various kinds of interviews generally consisting of showing workers samples of their activity (audio or video recordings, written reports, etc.) and asking them to describe, comment upon, analyze, justify, or explain their activity, either alone or in the presence of co-workers (Durand, 2008). Once this material has been collected, the analyst proposes a model of the work, which then serves as documentation for designing the training plan. The model highlights different aspects, depending on the theory upon which it is based. According to occupational didactics, work activity is organized around scientific, technical, and pragmatic knowledge. Scientific knowledge is taught during training; technical and pragmatic knowledge is acquired through experience. Pragmatic knowledge, which can only be identified by analyzing real work activity, is made up of pragmatic concepts, e.g. “filling” for plastic industry technicians setting injection molding machines (Pastré, 1999), “the front line” for firemen controlling a forest fire (Vidal-Gomel and Rogalski, 2007), “balance” and “load” for winemakers pruning their vineyards (Caens-Martin, 1999). These concepts are combined into sets that form what Pastré (1999) calls the conceptual structure of an occupational situation. According to the clinical approach to activity, two aspects are crucial. The first is the organization of work activity into three levels and their interrelationships: the activity, which is related to the subject’s motives for transforming his/her environment (e.g. participating in a group hunt), the actions and associated goals that enter into carrying out the activity (e.g. for the beater, driving the game), and the operations specific to the particular environmental conditions, which contribute to performing the actions (e.g. shooting the rifle). Each level is part of an integration process: the operations become meaningful in relation to the actions, which become meaningful in relation to the activity (Leontiev, 1972). The second aspect is the relationship between generic and specific elements. The activity is prepared in a social matrix made up of occupational “genres.” These genres (similar to Bakhtin’s (1986) speech genres) are sets of rules governing how the work is to be performed. They constitute the collective resources available to each person, who then brands them with a personal marker: his/her style. Learning a trade thus means internalizing the rules of the genre while asserting one’s personal style. It is also, secondarily, maintaining the generic dynamic by taking part in occupational controversies and developing one’s own activity within a dialectic between the job’s individual and collective dimensions. In illustration, we have observed two opposing styles in counselors in charge of training programs for future high school teachers. One counselor recommended handling the class in a gentle and progressive fashion, ensuring the transition between events that occurred right before class, and helping students move gradually into the lesson. The other advised drawing a clear line between what came before, rushing the students, and taking the least possible amount of time to get them to start work. When asked to comment on the video recordings of their work and to explain it to student teachers, both counselors emphasized these controversial differences, but they also insisted on something they had in common: “handling the class.” This genre consists of getting the students’ attention and adherence, synchronizing their activities, and explaining how the current lesson fits into the scheduling and progression of the curriculum. According to the course-of-action framework, work activity consists of an actor–environment coupling endowed with an essential property: autonomy. It has its own dynamic, such that ongoing transformations of the activity result from transitions from one state of coupling to another: state S1 determines state S2, and so on. These successive states are disrupted by outside events, but they are not controlled by them. The coupling is accompanied by pre-reflective awareness through which the actor has a conscious experience of what he/she is living through. The coupling is never radically new, in the sense that it recapitulates its own history while updating certain possibilities that this history has opened up in the here and now. The actor draws benefit from past experiences that have become typified, and each occurrence is 41

Marc Durand

assigned to “a type”: such and such an event, a particular chain of actions, a given emotion, a certain perceptual-cognitive-emotional pattern—all become typical of the job. These types help the actor interpret current situations and invest available resources in order to plan his/her course of action. Typified elements are found across actors, and learning a trade or occupation consists precisely of building or acquiring them. Such “typical” elements have been observed on numerous occasions. In the area of teaching, for example, we find group activity patterns in the classroom (Veyrunes et al., 2008), emotional patterns typical of beginning teachers (Ria et al., 2003), and recurring conflict-management sequences in the classroom (Flavier et al., 2002). They have also been found for other occupations, such as among managers in the way they organize their own work (Dieumegard et al., 2004) or even among top-ranking athletes (Durand et al., 2004).

3 Transformation of activity, learning, and training A work analysis allows one to indirectly understand the learning achieved by the actors. The learning process always involves individual/group transformations of activity that are closely tied to the requirements of the job. Instructors rely on the results of work analyses to design training materials that bring to bear the constructive properties of the activity as it is implemented naturally, and then use these results to propose learning objects geared to the job in question.

3.1 Self-construction of work activity and “encouraged-action spaces” Some of the transformations that take place during work are irreversible and have effects that usually (but not always) make the activity more effective (faster, more accurate, etc.), efficient (economical), and risk-free. In this case, we speak of learning and/or development of the work activity, which has a self-construction function. When transformations take place, elements drawn from the cultural environment show up in the work activity. This is a manifestation of the appropriation of artifacts, procedures, technical objects, etc., which become the actor’s instruments for perceiving, thinking, interpreting, and acting. These new tools are combined with the former ones and reorganize the actor’s occupational repertoire. When development takes place (a topic which is beyond the scope of the present chapter), enhancing changes occur. Components of the activity undergo expanding transformations that broaden the domain on which they bear and reorganize the intrinsic dynamics of the activity. The transformations brought about go hand in hand with the job’s requirements. They do not take place “in addition to” or “on the side of” the job, but “within” it, in such a way that one can doubt the usefulness of theoretically distinguishing a work activity and a learning activity (Sève and Leblanc, 2003). Studies on work activity suggest instead that all activity is self-transforming on various time scales (microto macro-transformations), both in work environments and in the context of vocational education and training. These two types of environments are not fundamentally different, and, as a consequence, the learning that takes place is not different in nature. It is the environment and the objects learned by the actors, and not the learning processes per se, that make the difference. This hypothesis challenges the classic opposition between informal and formal learning (on the job vs in a classroom). All activity is unique, and what is done in work situations does not differ in nature from what is done in an educational or training context. In both cases, the actors learn, and their learning is inherent in the activity that is unfolding in accordance with certain specific prescriptions. In terms of their nature, then, there is no reason to make the distinction between productive activity and learning activity. Some environments are nevertheless more conducive to here-and-now performance, while others are better for learning. The latter, however, are a promise of more skillful, safer, more economical, more creative and inventive, and more effective accomplishments in the future. Accordingly, the instructor 42

Self-constructed activity

designs environments that are favorable to a given activity, and these in turn promote learning. We call such environments “encouraged-action spaces” or EASs (Durand, 2008). EASs are environments set up by the instructor to promote activities and experiences likely to induce learning. They actualize the instructor’s intention to influence the learner’s activity by disrupting it, triggering transformations, and selecting the desired change. The instructor discourages certain actions by stating what is impossible or prohibited, and encourages others by making them possible, easier, and more rewarding. EASs are generated by transformations of the targeted work environment. These include reformulation of objectives, euphemizing the consequences of actions, addition of artificial performance criteria, simplification or complexification, alleviation or elimination of accessory components of tasks, changes in the natural pace (slowing down or speeding up), focusing on particular aspects of the work, elicitation of emotions, and overt teaching methods (prompting, demonstration, explanation, reinforcement of experience by stating rules for action, instigation of cognitive conflict, fueling of controversies and debates, analysis of practices, going through the motions or walking through tasks with the learner, tutoring, coaching, scaffolding, etc.).

3.2 Designing learning objects for work Spontaneous learning occurs on objects that are known only through a work analysis. The durability of these acquisitions, along with their resemblance across actors with different levels of experience, shows that they are indeed critical. This fact has led instructors to design training situations that are closely tied to the work analyses performed (Durand and Filliettaz, 2009). The two cases given below illustrate training approaches of this type. Pruning a grapevine is a complex task that is difficult to learn. It consists of a spring cutting of the year’s vine shoots, except for two canes which are left in place. The pruning must promote the growth of a highquality, plentiful annual crop, and facilitate the balanced development of the vine stock over several decades. Learning this skill is difficult because the pruning of the shoots is anticipatory, and a mistake can jeopardize the annual harvest and the growth of the stock (Caens-Martin, 1999). The activity of experienced grapevine growers revolves around two pragmatic concepts: load (related to the annual crop) and balance (related to the development of the vine stock). Caens-Martin designed a simple simulator that shows a vine on a computer screen and asks the learner to indicate the pruning points. The simulator is organized in relation to the different categories of problems found in this occupation: simple problems where the vine is balanced and/or the load is what must guide the action; complex problems where the vine is not balanced and/or the pruning has to restore the balance; and dilemmas where a trade-off must be found between load and balance. The simulator has two advantageous features: (i) critical elements of the grapevine grower’s job are involved, even though it is not real work, and (ii) errors are possible and have no consequences since the learner is in a virtual situation. This case illustrates the merits of precisely identifying the learning object, and the fact that, in simulation-based training devices, a rigorous replica of reality is not required: it is more useful to have an environment that calls upon the pragmatic concepts, genres, and types that are crucial to the target job. The second case concerns a training program we conducted for beginning teachers. The teaching instructions they had been given to conduct their classes (derived from the practices of experienced teachers) turned out to be quite ineffective. The experienced teachers’ expertise did not make sense to these new teachers because it was so far removed from their understanding of classroom situations (Leblanc et al., 2008). Their idea of what makes a successful class included discipline, student involvement in tasks, and following the lesson plans (Leblanc, 2007). The training brought out a clear-cut gap between two opposing views of the teacher’s job: a realistic one corresponding to what the teachers were actually experiencing on a daily basis, and an unrealistic one corresponding to what they had learned as students when they were earning their teaching degree. The type of training we proposed avoided this opposition because the 43

Marc Durand

learning objects we designed were derived from the typical components of the real activity of beginning teachers, namely: the classroom as an opportune social place where teachers seek to gain control over the situation so as not to “lose face;” the classroom as a place where conflicts emerge and are facilitated by supervision at a distance; the teacher’s multiple and simultaneous actions that provoke intense dilemmas and emotions; the classroom environment as a spatial device, an artifact offering opportunities for the teacher to take a stand and interact in order to detect, assess, and prohibit rule breaking; the teaching process itself as a way of building the “story” of the teacher/student rapport; the classroom as a place where everyone potentially learns from everyone else, etc. (Leblanc, 2007). A databank of cases and occurrences like these was compiled by Ria (2010): based on a model of teachers’ professional development. It takes into account the context of the work situation, and includes video and audio recordings, verbatim records of verbal exchanges in class and during interviews, analytical reports by instructors, and so forth. For example, the databank user can choose “the most promising entry activities,” i.e. those most highly related to the targeted practices and types of occupational concerns and interests of beginners, including (for a teacher) letting the students run the show to avoid being “a sage on stage,” asserting one’s authority while creating a kind of complicity with the pupils, instilling good classroom habits, etc. The training materials are video simulations in which the actors are called upon to act (i) from the point of view presented in the video, and (ii) from their own point of view by putting themselves in the shoes of the beginning teacher being viewed. Such training situations are likely to prompt learners to observe and describe the observed activity, interpret the situation presented while taking the actor’s viewpoint into account, analyze their own activity compared to that being presented, conceptualize the situation while incorporating the instructor’s or experienced teachers’ contributions, and devise approaches for intervention that are more effective, relevant, and recognized by the entire professional community (Leblanc et al., 2008). This method shows promise and is currently part of a nationwide program at the National Institute of Pedagogical Research in France. In conclusion, the analysis of work activity is a source of innovation and can transform long-standing vocational education and training methods, in the sense that it can lead to an in-depth revision of the very concepts of work, learning, and the purpose of occupational training.

References Baubion-Broye, A., (ed.), (1998), Événements de vie, transitions et construction de la personne. Toulouse: Érès. Bakhtin, M.M., (1986), Speech genres and other late essays. Austin, TX: University of Texas Press. Caens-Martin, S., (1999), Une approche de la structure conceptuelle d’une activité agricole: la taille de la vigne. Education Permanente, 139: 99–114. Clot, Y., (1999), La fonction psychologique du travail. Paris: PUF. Dejours, C., (1998), Souffrance en France. Paris: Seuil. ——, (1999), Le facteur humain. Paris: PUF. Dieumegard, G., Saury, J. and Durand, M., (2004), La détermination de son propre travail: instruments et significations dans l’activité méta-opérationnelle de managers de l’industrie. Le Travail Humain, 67(1): 157–80. Durand, M., (2008), Un programme de recherche technologique en formation des adultes. Education et Didactique, 2(2): 69–93. ——, (2009), Mutation des relations travail – formation et transformation des savoirs: une perspective enactive en éducation des adultes. Raisons Educatives, 13: 185–200. Durand, M. and Filliettaz, L., (eds), (2009), Travail et formation des adultes. Paris: PUF. Durand, M., Hauw, D., Leblanc, S., Saury, J. and Sève, C., (2004), Analyse de pratiques et entraînement en sport de haut niveau. Education Permanente, 161: 54–68. Flavier, E., Bertone, S., Hauw, D. and Durand, M., (2002), The meaning and organization of physical education teachers’ action during conflict with students. Journal of Teaching in Physical Education, 22(1): 20–38. Leblanc, S., (2007), Concepts et méthodes pour valoriser l’activité professionnelle au sein de la formation initiale et continue des enseignants. Formation et Pratiques d’Enseignement en Questions, 6: 11–33. Leblanc, S. Ria, L., Dieumegard, G., Serres, G. and Durand, M., (2008), Concevoir des dispositifs de formation professionnelle des enseignants à partir de l’analyse de l’activité au travail et en formation. @ctivité(s), 5(1): 58–78. 44

Self-constructed activity

Leontiev, A.N., (1972), Le développement du psychisme. Paris: Editions Sociales. Leplat, J., (1997), Regards sur l’activité en situation de travail Paris: PUF. Pastré, P., (1999), La conceptualisation dans l’action: bilan et nouvelles perspectives. Education Permanente, 139: 13–35. ——, (2007), La didactique professionnelle: origines, fondements, perspectives. Apprentissages et Travail, 1: 9–21. Ria, L., (2010), Conception de la plateforme 《 NéoP@ss 》 de ressources en ligne pour la formation des enseignants en France. National Institute of Pedagogical Research in France Research Project. Ria, L., Sève, C., Theureau, J., Saury, J. and Durand, M., (2003), Beginning teachers’ situated emotions: a study of first classroom experiences. Journal of Education for Teaching, 29(3): 219–33. Salini, D., Durand, M., (in press), L’activité des conseillers dans des situations d’information-conseil initial pour la V.A.E. Carriérologie. Schwartz, Y., (ed.) (1998), Reconnaissances du travail. Paris: PUF. Sève, C. and Leblanc, S., (2003), Exploration et exécution en situation: singularité des actions, construction de types et apprentissage dans deux contextes différents. Recherche et Formation, 42: 63–74. Theureau, J., (2004), Le cours d’action: méthode développée. Toulouse: Octarès. Veyrunes, P., Gal-Petitfaux, N. and Durand, M., (2008), Configurations of activity: from the coupling of individual actions to the emergence of collective activity. Research Papers in Education, 22(4): 95–113. Vidal-Gomel, C. and Rogalski, J., (2007), La conceptualisation et la place des concepts pragmatiques dans l’activité professionnelle et le développement des compétences. @ctivités, 4: 49–84. Zarifian, P., (1995), Le travail et l’événement. Paris: L’Harmattan.

45

5 Emotional intelligence Betty Rudd

Introducing emotional intelligence When I was a little girl at primary school, my headmaster stood me in front of the whole school. He shouted at me for everyone to hear: ‘You’re stupid! Un-teachable! If I had my way, you’d be out working, not wasting tax-payers’ money in school!’ I hung my head, shamed, unable to express myself. I was not emotionally intelligent. With hindsight and years later, I realised that neither was he.

Definition What is emotional intelligence (EI)? The term is vague because of different, yet similar, definitions. For example, according to Petrides, it embraces well-being and self-control (Petrides and Furnham, 2003). For Salovey, another expert, it is understanding and managing emotions (Salovey and Grewal, 2005). Wikipedia defines EI as ‘the ability … to identify, assess and manage the emotions of one’s self and others’ (http://en. wikipedia.org/wiki/Emotion). Overall, it seems to mean being able to feel your emotions, read those of others and deal with them appropriately. If my headmaster had had these abilities, he might have asked to see me alone, to problem-solve, while keeping us both OK. If I had had EI, I could have stood up for myself. From that school day onwards, I truanted as much as possible for my remaining school years. Consequently, my school learning suffered; reading was difficult until relatively late. Different learning happened, though, such as how not to be noticed. Logically, it follows that learning and EI are linked.

History Where does the concept of EI stem from? Initially, a developmental psychologist, Dr Gardner: conceived the theory of multiple (seven) intelligences (1993):  Linguistic  Logical/Mathematical  Musical 46

Emotional intelligence

   

Bodily/Kinesthetic Spatial/Visual Interpersonal Intrapersonal.

Then, a paper focussing on EI, which is part of Gardner’s (1993) Interpersonal Intelligence, was presented at a conference by two relatively unknown academics: Mayer and Salovey (1993). Later, EI tests started being published (e.g. Bar-On, 1996). Yet it was not until 2003 that EI workshops were facilitated by one of my old teachers, Dr Steiner, through a process of interacting authentically, while keeping self and others OK. More recently, in the UK, the concept of EI spread in state schools through ‘circle time’ with resources for facilitating it (e.g. Rudd, 2010).

Theory and research The theory behind Steiner’s work is that social adeptness stems from emotional literacy, which is the scaffolding for success in relationships (2003). Currently, theory is ahead of research. This is due to two reasons. First, investigators have yet to agree on a clear meaning of EI. Second, the field is in the process of rapid growth.

Centrality of emotions Although it is challenged whether EI is an intelligence at all, the notion of the centrality of emotions is not new. Darwin was one of the earliest investigators who recognised the importance of non-cognitive intelligence (1898). He realised that it was crucial for surviving and adapting. From his time to the twentieth century, there is a lack of literature on EI because cognitive intelligence was deemed most important, but in 1920 a psychologist, Thorndike: highlighted the importance of ‘social intelligence’: the skill of understanding and managing others (1920). More recently, research findings show that feeling fulfilled acts as a buffer for warding off illness and mental distress (Chopra, 2005; Heru, 2006; Bloom, 2007). The source of the ‘umbilical cord’ that emotions are attached to is the amygdala, which processes emotion in the brain. The brain’s chemicals can continue pumping days after a distressing emotion. It is not uncommon to have a cold within a week after an upset with a partner: emotional upset causes a weakened immune system. Mounting research shows that the body’s physiology is related to emotional state (e.g. Kenneth and Sabin, 1997; Chopra, 2005; Stamm, 2007).

Positive affect Research and theory confirm the favourableness of positive emotional experiences such as good attention, sensitive communication and adequate bonding, right from infancy (Stamm, 2007; and Gilbert, 2010). Norman Cousins: a medical doctor, reports in his book his self-experiment of curing himself of a cancer that his doctors described as ‘incurable’, by experiencing joy, compassion and love (2005). He activated his endorphins, facilitating recovery (Bloom, 2007). He described how he felt joy because he laughed daily, compassion because he experienced it for himself, love because he loved himself enough to change his attitude. These experiences nourished his brain, releasing opiates, endorphins and hormones such as oxytocin, boosting overall health (Gilbert, 2010). Cousins’s story is a powerful testimony on how emotions, such as happiness, help with healing (2005). Emotionally intelligent people experience ups and downs in life, just as those who are not emotionally intelligent. Like Cousins (2005): they tend to bounce back from adversity more so than those without 47

Betty Rudd

good-enough EI, perhaps by managing emotions aptly (Batmanghelidijh, 2007; Goleman, 2004; Ross, 2008; Rudd, 2008 and 2009; Steiner, 2003).

Negative affect Without EI, mental problems develop more easily (Goleman, 2004). Those with good-enough EI handle negative emotions and go through difficult times, rather than becoming overwhelmingly stressed, while those without good-enough EI are more likely to stop learning and become ill (Goleman, 2004; Meyer and Damasio, 2009). There is a strong argument that productivity also suffers if EI is low (Weisinger, 1997).

Hard-wired emotions Expressing emotion is natural. Research led by Professor Schyns (2009), Director of the Centre for Cognitive Neuroimaging within the Department of Psychology at Glasgow University, shows that facial expression is hard-wired for six basic expressions:      

Happiness Fear Surprise Disgust Anger Sadness.

His research (Schyns, 2009) backs up others, such as that of Ackerman and Izard (2004), whose findings also revealed that basic emotions are hard wired. They rationalised that all other emotions are derived from these six. Schyns concludes that we use our perception of these innate emotions to make crucial social decisions (2009). Managing emotions though, is not innate but learnt (Gerhardt, 2007).

Neurological research A neuroscientist, Joseph LeDoux: investigated emotions, brain and memory (2003). His research shows that, although stressful emotions such as fear and anxiety block learning to make way for the stress fight/flight response, positive emotions are conducive to learning. Investigations by cognitive neuroscientists such as LeDoux reveal that emotions and cognitions are interconnected during the learning process, influencing motivation, learning disorders, memory, self-discipline and academic problems (2003).

Lifestyle, emotions and learning If we manage emotions aptly, we can live the rest of our lives more optimally. I can best explain this with an example from personal experience. At a time when I was not carving out my life suitably I became unwell with symptoms such as fatigue (my adrenal functioning was exhausted) and thyroid problems causing much of my hair to fall out (due to dealing unsatisfactorily with stress). Fortunately, I learned to purposefully change my lifestyle, enabling recovery. Cousins’ story inspired me (2005). With help, I designed a wellness programme that included going to a place where I experienced support and had plenty of sunny fresh air. All my senses were fed daily in an enhancing way, allowing new learning, while pacing my outdoor physical activity, relaxing and becoming more positive. Within a month, I and others were astonished that I did not need medication or surgery. 48

Emotional intelligence

Leaders in the EI field have developed the concept of the importance of emotions and linked it to mental and physical health (e.g. Gerhardt, 2007; and Chopra, 2005).

Relaxation and emotional robustness Relaxing aids overall health because it decreases stress, thereby aiding emotional robustness. Deep breathing occurs if relaxed. The hypothalamus’ cascade of stress response is interfered with by breathing deeply. Therefore, relaxation is incompatible with the stress response; changing negative thinking to positive also interferes with it (Zantra, 2004). One way to relax is to sit in a physically relaxed and comfortable way, then to meditate so that the body learns to be aware and recognise that relaxed state; it is important to sustain that state of relaxation for a few minutes. When practised daily, it becomes possible to revisit that relaxed, meditative state, if emotionally ruffled (Goleman, 2004).

Emotional disclosure Realising our emotions and appropriately disclosing them within relationships is good for overall wellness. The work of Dr Ornish and his team, which includes the conditions of paced physical movement, daily meditation, a healthy diet and emotional disclosure, shows significant health differences between those who do and those who do not disclose affect, irrespective of other conditions (1996). His research with adults illustrates repeatedly that disclosing emotions and problems, particularly the ones most difficult to share, prolongs life (Ornish, 1996; Aldana et al., 2004). We can deduce from this that emotional literacy can be learnt in adulthood.

Developmental EI Emotional literacy can be developed in adults, and also nurtured in youngsters. Educationalist James Park found a correlation between creativity and EI; and he has created guidelines for what to include in an EI programme for children (2004). There is also a more recent complete programme for teaching EI, for those aged four to 19 years (Rudd, 2008). Intriguingly, the work of Gerhardt shows that EI seeds can be sown before birth (2004).

Pre-birth While baby is in utero, if mother feels content (perhaps due to adequate support) then the fetus is not flooded with stress hormones. A stressed pregnancy can result in premature birth and or diminished fetal brain development (Lexington et al., 1999; Gerhardt, 2007).

0 to 3 years We are born to be compassionate, as Pert’s (1997) research on mirror-neurons and Gilbert’s (2010) on compassion show. There is a relatively large amount of recent research showing how patterns of neuronal networks and the brain are shaped by early emotional experiences (e.g. Gerhardt, 2004; Cozolino, 2007). Normally, from birth to three years, children should be able to call for care, such as crying or indicating another way to get their needs met. They should also be able to express their happiness by smiling or laughing, accept nurturing touch, trust caring adults and show wanting to live through exploring their environment by using all their senses and eventually start thinking for themselves. 49

Betty Rudd

To assist with this process, teachers and carers can provide on-going care, ensuring that the child’s senses are stimulated aptly. It is important to be reliable, trustworthy and to glean support if unsure how to respond (Gerhardt, 2007; Rudd, 2009).

4 to 7 years Children in the four-to-seven-year age range can normally be expected to build on what they have previously assimilated. They can be expected to assert their identity as separate from others, perceive information about the world and themselves and use their power in order to affect relationships. They tend to have the ability to focus on immediate goals, such as wanting attention immediately, while their selfawareness grows. They can look forward to a future event such as a birthday party, smile when smiled at and want to offer comfort if they see a distressed child. They should be able to name their feelings of joy, sorrow and anger (Park, 2004; Rudd, 2008). To help in the development of EI, teachers and carers can acknowledge and respond aptly to appropriate behaviour and affirm the children in their developmental tasks. It is important to teach that it is OK to have emotions and to support creative play, while clarifying the difference between fantasy and reality. Providing correct answers to questions asked and having clear boundaries can also support the development of EI.

8 to 12 years Expect children aged eight to 12 to build on their previously assimilated knowledge. Also expect them to tend to learn from mistakes while accepting what is good enough, to listen and think, to know why they want or need something and to follow rules set at school and home. They can normally be expected to face the consequences of rule-breaking, experience still being wanted while disagreeing with someone, know when to run away, keep going or stand firm, and develop their ability to co-operate. They can be expected to take turns, wait for what they want, plan short-term goals such as learning a poem by heart to recite it, ask for help when needed, deal with their own and others’ emotions and answer questions appropriately about a story they have listened to (Rudd, 2008). It is important for teachers and carers to teach conflict-resolution and problem-solving, and give nurturing strokes for the learning taking place, thus encouraging children’s skills development. They can also clarify that part of learning has to do with making mistakes. They should be consistently reliable and challenge negative behaviour, respecting the children’s perspectives and allowing discussion.

Teens Teenagers can build on their previously assimilated knowledge and by now should be expected to know that emotion, behaviour and thought are different. They should know what their and others’ emotions are and be able to deal with them. Normally, one would expect them to have the ability of delayed gratification, plan for short- and long-term goals, and keep healthy boundaries between themselves and others. To help teenagers develop EI they need to experience being in charge of what they do. It helps if they can feel self-empowered by experiencing being in charge. By adulthood the more subtle emotions, such as jealousy and embarrassment, should be identifiable (Rudd, 2008).

Learning to expand EI How can we raise EI? By socialising with emotionally literate individuals! We can notice those (whether real or fictional, in books, or films) with EI and learn from them. We can practise opening the heart, being 50

Emotional intelligence

forgiving and having compassion (Gilbert, 2010). It is important to acknowledge and manage affect, be solution-focussed and cope well with interpersonal relationships (Rudd, 2008), sharing even the deepest feelings (Gozolino, 2007).

Why is EI important? EI is essential for health, facing problems courageously, transposing destructive energy into creative behaviour, managing depression and creating friendlier classes (e.g. see Seligman, 2005). EI is important for creating a social environment in which relationship difficulties are dealt with compassionately, and welltuned attention and kindness are shown towards self and others (Gilbert, 2010). Attention is easier when we feel positive, irrespective of age (Hardiman, 2003; Batmanghelidijh, 2007). Attending to anything when distressed is difficult.

Soma and emotion What is manifested physically can reflect inner emotions. For example, babies cry when unhappy and smile when happy. If we make babies feel happy, it grows their physical circuitry to help them have life-long positive emotions (Goleman, 2004). Communicating in a way that honours your and others’ emotions also has desired outcomes for individuals with mental problems or somatic illnesses (Heru, 2006). Emotions can be harmful, and too much stress causes harm, for example, road-raged people tend to drive badly and have more road traffic accidents. Emotions such as fear and anger, unsatisfactorily dealt with, are harmful (Goleman, 2004). Conversely, positive authentic emotions are beneficial in person-to-person relationships and also have a positive physical impact on the heart (Goleman, 2004; Ornish, 1998). Research findings show that authentic positive emotions are health-boosting (e.g. Zantra, 2004).

What’s love got to do with it? When experiencing positive emotions, for instance love-feelings, such as empathy, love, appreciation, care, happiness and compassion, we become healthier. Love-feelings slow down aging, dilate blood vessels, reduce heart rate, decrease stress hormones, help relaxation and boost the body’s effectiveness to cope better with stress (Beech, 1999; Gilbert, 2010). When individuals were asked to focus on love-feelings, the rhythms of their hearts changed for the better and affected body organs. Stress hormones and heart rate decreased while blood vessels became less constricted. Focusing on love-feelings resulted in less deterioration of internal organs and nerves, irrespective of other factors such as age or smoking (Beech, 1999; Medalie and Goldbourt, 1976; Medalie et al., 1992; Russek and Schwartz, 1997; Ornish, 1998). This research indiates the importance of supporting individuals to focus on managing their emotions in a healthy way that is conducive to their overall health. Emotion affects hormone levels. Positive emotions reduce the stress hormone cortisol while increasing the anti-aging hormone DHEA. DHEA protects and regenerates much of the body’s system while combating the effects of growing old (McCraty et al., 1998; Gilbert, 2010). We can use EI to glean love-feelings by using our imagination to create positive emotions such as joy, love and compassion, thereby releasing healthy hormones (Gilbert, 2010). We can decrease many unwanted symptoms, such as sleep problems, rapid heart rate, tiredness, indigestion, tension, aches and pains, by manifesting love-feelings (Beech, 1999; Gilbert, 2010). Research shows that people suffering from hypertension can achieve normal blood pressure levels without medicine within six months by manifesting love-feelings daily (e.g. Beech, 1999). This is intelligent use of emotions. 51

Betty Rudd

Emotional health’s hinge-pin A hinge-pin to being emotionally healthy is using EI daily, thereby making it part of normal living! If emotions are not expressed there can be increased illness as the immune system becomes less robust (Goleman, 2004; Chopra, 2005; Cousins, 2005).

Implications of research, theory and practice Neurological research from the early twenty-first century has implications for learning and emotions, giving a clear indication of the effect that others can have on our emotions (Jensen, 2008; Meyer and Damasio, 2009). Teachers have a particularly important role in influencing our emotions in both positive and negative ways. It follows therefore that their own emotional state has an effect on students’ learning. We need emotionally intelligent teachers, aware of the balance of power and how to make positive emotions central for optimum learning experiences. What is important is utilising research results on emotions to teach more effectively. Teachers who are emotionally literate exhibit a higher level of skilfulness in their teaching practice (Hardiman, 2003). The implication is to teach teachers how to be emotionally literate, so that they can more skilfully teach learners how to learn. There is little in the literature on practically linking emotions with learning. In practice I have facilitated this link using drama while building social skills. Crucially, compassion flowed if there was emotional pain, and I used positive emotions to stoke up the learning process. There is a strong implication from literature and practice that compassion is paramount if emotional pain is present and that positive emotions should be used for firing up learning (Gilbert, 2010). If we experience a learning situation as threatening, our ability to learn is profoundly diminished because we feel intimidated and so cannot experience the freedom to think creatively in that emotional state (Gilbert, 2010). From this understanding the implication is that, for inter-connective complex processes to occur during learning, it is best for learners to perceive themselves as being in charge of their learning. I remember one of my tyrannical instructors. He had power and control, shouting while towering over me. In that situation I did whatever seemed to please the instructor, feeling too chained by him to learn. The implication is that an emotionally literate teacher has control over the class so that there is order, while purportedly equalising power to produce a creative space for learners to feel free in expressing themselves, ask questions and learn.

Balance of power Even how instructors arrange the learning environment impacts on whether the mode of instruction is authoritarian or not. If there is more balance of power, the less threatened learners feel, thus they are more open to learning. A challenge to instructors is to sit at eye-level among a circle of learners. When I have done this I often colourfully decorated the learning environment, using for example balloons on the door, some flowers and a colourful cloth, especially the higher the level of establishment worked for, as it tended otherwise to be environmentally ‘sterile’. This approach went down well with my students, but was something of a novelty to the university in which I worked.

Concluding discussion Emotions inform whether things are good or bad. They enable us to have positive or negative experiences of what we perceive, giving us the option to attend to what is good, rather than bad, for us. Emotional expression is a human need mainly requiring a safe place for manifestation and should take centre stage in learning. 52

Emotional intelligence

Within the Western world, emotions have been a ‘second-class citizen’ compared to intellectual, technological and leadership abilities. Yet, what is important is the ability to keep self and others OK. This includes being able to heal relationships, reciprocity and love. Good-enough emotional literacy, which can be learnt, embraces these abilities. Learning to be emotionally intelligent can start in babyhood (and even before!) by being cultivated in the home, continued throughout childhood and into adolescence, where it can be taught in schools, and then nurtured at professional institutions in adulthood. For instructors, the challenge is to teach inspiringly, even to older learners who expect and are used to the old lecture-mode way.

Vision My vision is that it will not be unusual to use what is known about emotions and understood from cognitive neuroscience to improve learning, inform the workplace and enrich parenting. In educational institutions teaching would occur socio-emotionally on a widespread scale for improving behaviour, cognition and outcomes.

Exercises and games Having taught socio-emotionally for decades, I have repeatedly witnessed astonishingly positive results with individuals and groups (including those whom society had locked away). For instance, a favourite way of learning counselling skills that are remembered is to teach using fun exercises that I created, such as ‘shoot the counsellor’. With younger people, I play games such as ‘catch the dragon’s tail’ to teach self-discipline and boundary-keeping, while keeping self and others OK.

Change emotional states Although the brain creates emotional states, they can be regulated. From my experience, students are more open to learning if I initially facilitate changing their emotional states to one more conducive for learning. This also helps them self-regulate. Self-regulation involves self-discipline which is useful for achieving. The psychologist Dr Seligman, who has conducted good research projects on emotions, concludes, along with Dr Duckworth, that self-discipline out-does IQ (Duckworth and Seligman, 2005). Excitingly, what we are learning about emotions can revolutionise our understanding of the role of affect within education.

Easier learning How can emotions be used intelligently so that it is easier to learn? Gratitude is good for health and if we are healthy we can be more open to learning than if we are unhealthy or focussing on discomfort. Similarly, if we laugh, we are probably happy and relaxed, thereby making learning easier. Emotion affects attention and attention affects memory (Stamm, 2007). For easier remembering, unleash positive emotions at the time of learning (LeDoux, 2003). We expect schools to deliver learning, decision-making, social functioning, memory and attention. These are subsumed and therefore profoundly influenced by emotional processes, and emotionally related processes have to be involved if skills learnt in schools are to be transposed into the outside world. A skilled educator would be able to draw on a range of sense experiences in supporting their students’ learning, such as the sounds of nature, smelling sea air, seeing beauty in colourful flowers, tasting deliciously fresh water, feeling the sun’s warmth. These experiences involve all the senses pleasurably. If pleasure is linked with learning, learning is easier. Positive emotional involvement, such as excitement 53

Betty Rudd

within a trusting environment, can also be integrated with sensual experiences for facilitating easier yet profound learning.

Hooks I trust that, as our understanding of neurobiological relationships grows, it will help provide a springboard for innovative designs for the environments of learning. From my experience, meaningfully integrating arts into the instruction of content, can elicit enthusiasm for optimum learning. Teacher-training should include how to use emotional ‘hooks’ to engage trainees in exciting sessions, fostering productive environments for promoting and getting ‘hooked’ on learning (Ross, 2008).

Future avenues Possible future avenues to explore include eliciting positive emotions before teaching students, for example by using short film clips, music, story-telling, writing about a happy event or thinking about something positive. It is also possible to foster motivation in learners by engaging their curiosity by creating a few surprises in the teaching session, such as humour and mystery, for developing emotional connections to make biochemical links with memory. It is important to build confidence in learners, for example, by starting with what they already know so they feel comfortable and safe before taking them to new ground and thereby enabling them to connect existing knowledge with new information. I declare with my heart and mind: any theory of learning should embrace EI!

References Ackerman, B.P. and Izard, G.E. (2004) Emotion cognition in children and adolescence: Introduction to the special issue, Journal of Experimental Child Psychology, 89 (4): 271–275. Aldana, S.G., Greenlaw, R., Thomas, D., Salberg, A., DeMordaunt, T. and Fellingham, G.W. (2004) The influence of an intensive cardiovascular disease risk factor modification program, Preventive Cardiology, 7 (1): 19–25. Bar-On, R. (1996) The Emotional Quotient Inventory (EQ-i) – A test of intellectual intelligence, Toronto: Multi-Health Systems. Barrios-Choplin, B., McCraty, R. and Cryer, B. (1997) A new approach to reducing stress and improving physical and emotional well-being at work, Stress Medicine, 13: 193–201. Batmanghelidijh, C. (2007) There is nowhere to hide, Counselling Psychology Review, 22 (3): 55–59. Beech, D. (1999) The Heartmath Solution, Bath: Piatkus. Bloom W. (2007) The Endorphin Effect: A breakthrough strategy for holistic health and spiritual wellbeing, London: Piatkus. Chopra, D. (2005) The Book of Secrets, New York: Random House. Cousins, N. (2005) Anatomy of an Illness as Perceived by the Patient: Reflections on Healing and Regeneration, London: W.W. Norton & Co. Cozolino, L. (2007) The Neuroscience of Human Relationships: Attachment and the Developing Brain, New York: Norton. Darwin, C. (1898) The Expression of the Emotions in Man and Animals, New York: D. Appleton & Co. Duckworth, A. and Seligman, M. (2005) Self-discipline outdoes IQ predicting academic performance in adolescence, Psychological Science, 16 (12): 939–944. Gardner, H. (1993) Multiple Intelligences – The Theory in Practice, New York: Basic Books. Gerhardt, H. (2004) Why Love Matters: How Affection Shapes the Brain, London: Bruner-Routledge. Gerhardt, S. (2007) Making a person: The lasting impact of babyhood, Counselling Psychology Review, 22 (3): 37–44. Gilbert, P. (2010) The Compassionate Mind, London: Constable. Goleman, D. (1996) Emotional Intelligence, London: Bloomsbury. ——(1998) Working with Emotional Intelligence, New York: Bantam Books. ——(2004) Destructive Emotions and How We Can Overcome Them – A Dialogue with the Dalai Lama, London: Bloomsbury. Gozolino, L. (2007) The Neuroscience of Human Relationships: Attachment and the Developing Brain, New York: Norton. Hardiman, M.M. (2003) Connecting Brain Research With Effective Teaching, New York: Rowman and Littlefield. House, J.S., Robbins, C. and Metzner, H.L. (1982) The association of social relationships and activities with mortality: Prospective evidence from the Tecumseh Community Health Study, American Journal of Epidemiology, 116 (1): 123–140. 54

Emotional intelligence

Heru, A.M. (2006) Family psychiatry: From research to practice, American Journal of Psychiatry, 163 (6): 962–968. Jensen, R.D. (2008) Neuropathic pain – Redefinition and a grading system for clinical and research purposes, Neurology, 70 (18): 1630–1635. Kenneth, A. and Sabin, N. (1997) The Road to Immunity – How to Survive and Thrive in a Toxic World, New York: Simon and Schuster. LeDoux, J.E. (2003) Synaptic Self: How Our Brains Become Who We Are, London: Penguin. Lexington, K.Y., Pathik, D. and Wadhwa, D.M. (1999) Study Suggests Maternal Stress Hormones May Influence Fetal Brain Development in Utero, Presentation at the 20th Annual Scientific Sessions of the Society of Behavioral Medicine held March 3–6 in San Francisco. McCraty, R., Barrios-Choplin, B. and Rozman, D. (1998) The impact of a new emotional self-management program on stress, emotions, heart rate variability, DHEA and cortisol, Integrative and Behavioral Science, 33 (2): 151–170. Mayer, D.J. and Salovey, P. (1993) The intelligence of emotional intelligence, Intelligence Journal, 17 (4): 433–443. Medalie, J.H. and Goldbourt, U. (1976) Angina pectoris among 10,000 men – Psychosocial and other risk factors as evidenced by a multivariate analysis of a five year incidence study, American Journal of Medicine, 60: 910–921. Medalie, J.H., Goldbourt, U., Strange, K.C. and Zyzanski, S.J. (1992) Angina pectorsis among 10,000 men. Psychosocial and other risk factors in the development of duodenal ulcer in a cohort of middle-aged men, American Journal of Epidemiology, 136 (10): 1280–1287. Meyer, K. and Damasio, A. (2009) Convergence and divergence in a neural architecture for recognition and memory, Trends in Neuroscience, 32 (7): 376–382. Ornish, D. (1996) Dr. Dean Ornish’s Program for Reversing Heart Disease, New York: Ballantine Books. ——(1998) Love and Survival: The Scientific Basis for the Healing Power of Intimacy New York: Harper Collins. Park, J. (2004) Shaping the Conditions for Learning Campaign for Emotional Literacy, (15): 1–7. Pert, C. (1997) Molecules of Emotion, New York: Scribner. Petrides, K.V. and Furnham, A. (2003) Trait emotional intelligence: behavioural validation in two studies of emotion recognition and reactivity to mood induction, European Journal of Personality, 15: 425–448. Ross, G.W. (2008) Lost at School: Why Our Behaviorally Challenging Kids Are Falling Through the Cracks and How We Can Help Them, New York: Simon and Schuster. Rudd, B. (2008) Talking is for All – How Children and Teenagers Develop Emotional Literacy, London: Sage. ——(2009) Help Your Child Develop Emotional Literacy – The Parents’ Guide to Happy Children, London: Continuum. ——(2010) EQ – Connecting Heart With Mind, Milton Keynes: SpeechMark. Russek, L. and Schwartz, G.E. (1997) Perceptions of parental love and caring predict health status in midlife: A 35-year follow-up of the Harvard mastery of stress study, Psychosomatic Medicine, 59 (2): 144–149. Salovey, P. and Grewal, D. (2005) The science of emotional intelligence, Current Directions in Psychological Science, 14: 1–6. Schyns, P. (2009) Brain Takes Just 200 Milliseconds to Interpret Facial Expression, Glasgow: Glasgow University Press. Seligman, M. (2005) Authentic Happiness – Using the New Positive Psychology to Realize Your Potential for Lasting Fulfilment, London: Nicholas Brealey Publishing. Stamm J. (2007) Bright From the Start: The Simple, Science-Backed Way to Nurture Your Child’s Developing Mind from Birth to Age 3, Arizona: Institute of Infant Brain Development. Steiner, C. (2003) Intelligence with a Heart, California: Personhood Press. Thorndike, E.L. (1920) A constant error in psychological ratings, Journal of Applied Psychology, 4: 469–477. Weisinger, H. (1997) Emotional Intelligence at Work, San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. Wikipedia, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emotion (accessed 25/02/2010). Zantra, A.J. (2004) Emotions, Stress and Health, Oxford: Oxford University Press.

55

6 Language and learning Bernard Camilleri

Discussions on language and learning have revolved around the nature of their interactions and the extent to which one is dependent on the other. That one or more interactions exist is not disputed. One lasting debate has involved the extent to which language development is dependent on general cognitive development, or cognitive development is shaped by the language we speak. Delving into this discussion is beyond the scope of this chapter. Rather, from a theoretical perspective, I will refer to Piaget and Vygotsky. An earlier chapter has elaborated on their influential learning theories. Here we will focus on the role that both assign to language in its interaction with cognitive development and the processes involved in learning. I will be expanding on Vygotsky’s learning theory in order to further explore the central part that language plays. In the second part of this chapter I will then refer to seminal research that has demonstrated the crucial nature of language-based interactions in both home and school environments, followed by an exposition of recent efforts to enhance the role of language in the schooling system in the UK. Finally, I will consider the case of children with language difficulties by looking at children with specific language impairment (SLI) as well as children with general delay (GD). By looking at outcomes for children with relatively selective language deficits (i.e. without other learning difficulties) as well as children who have both language and non-verbal difficulties, it may be possible to reach some conclusions on the extent to which learning within the school setting is dependent on language skills.

Piaget and Vygotsky’s views on language and learning Piagetian (Piaget and Inhelder, 2004) theories of development and learning pitched the process as primarily involving an interaction between the child and the environment where the developing child built cognitive structures, ‘maps’, or schemes for understanding and responding to physical experiences within his or her environment. During all development stages, the child experiences the environment using whatever mental maps he or she has constructed so far. If the experience is a repeated one, it is assimilated into the child’s cognitive structure so that he or she maintains mental ‘equilibrium’. If the experience is different or new, the child loses equilibrium, and alters his or her cognitive structure to accommodate the new conditions, in other words to learn. Progressively, the child develops more and more adequate cognitive structures. Piaget appreciated the importance of language in a child’s process of learning about the world around him. With regards to the relationship between thought and language, Piaget and Inhelder stated: 56

Language and learning

The semiotic function detaches thought from action and is the source of representation. Language plays a particularly important role in this formative process. Unlike images and other semiotic instruments, which are created by the individual as the need arises, language has already been elaborated socially and contains a notation for the entire system of cognitive instruments (relationships, classifications, etc.) for use in the service of thought. The individual learns this system and then proceeds to enrich it. (Piaget and Inhelder, 2004: 60) From a Piagetian perspective, language constitutes a convenient and ready-made system for representing the cognitive schemes that children learn through interaction with their environment. In spite of its insightful contribution to the nature of children’s developmental process, Piagetian theory ignored certain crucial aspects, namely the role of human mediators and the relevance of sociocultural aspects (Kozulin and Presseisen, 1995). Vygotsky’s theories marked a radical shift from the dominant Piagetian ones in their approach to the nature of learning and development. Like Piaget, Vygotsky saw development as consisting of periods of relative stability interspersed with ‘crises’. However, for Vygotsky, these crises are prompted by the interaction of maturation and sociocultural forces, rather than maturational and experiential factors (Kozulin, 2002). Vygotsky’s work emphasised the crucial role played by parents, carers and peers in defining and shaping the child’s interaction with his/her environment and consequently in shaping his/her cognitive development. A crucial difference between Vygotsky and Piaget lies in the nature of the interaction of language and thought. The role assigned to ‘egocentric speech’ is typical of this. For Piaget, egocentric speech reflected the child’s underlying egocentrism. For Vygotsky, egocentric speech was derived from its communicative origin, while representing the first steps towards inner speech in its cognitive function (Kozulin, 1999). As Kozulin (1999) comments, ‘Vygotsky demonstrated how thought and language, without coinciding with each other, are involved in a dynamic process of transmutation’ (p. 81).

Vygotsky’s sociocultural theory: the link between language and learning Wertsch identified three basic themes that run through Vygotsky’s work, and that are closely intertwined (Wertsch, 1991, 1985). The first theme is an emphasis on ‘genetic’ or ‘developmental’ analysis (Wertsch, 1991, 1985). For Vygotsky, the understanding of mental functioning required an appreciation of where these functions originated and how they changed and developed over time. In Vygotsky’s words: To encompass in research the process of a given thing’s development in all it’s phases and changes – from birth to death – fundamentally means to discover its nature, its essence, for ‘it is only in movement that a body shows what it is.’ Thus, the historical study of behaviour is not an auxiliary aspect of theoretical study, but rather forms its very base. (Vygotsky, 1978: 64, 65) Vygotsky applied his genetic approach to various human domains, including phylogenesis, sociocultural history and what Wertsch (1985) refers to as ‘microgenesis’. However, Vygotsky’s main focus was ontogenesis – the development of the individual, and in particular the development of the child. One particular defining feature pertaining to ontogenesis, as defined by Vygotsky, was the simultaneous and inter-related existence of different levels of development. Vygotsky (1993) identified two levels of development – ‘natural development’ and ‘cultural development’ – which ‘coincide and merge one into the other’ (p. 42). Natural development involves the process of maturation and organic development, whereby ‘sociopsychological apparatuses’ develop ‘in the presence 57

Bernard Camilleri

of innate human intellect, organs and function’ (p. 42). Cultural development takes place through socialization and interaction between the child and the adult or more capable other (Vygotsky, 1993). The fundamental importance of the latter is particularly emphasized and Vygotsky (1993) argued that a lack of cultural development may lead to ‘primitivism’ or ‘primitiveness’. He defined primitivism as the ‘polar opposite of cultural development’, which could easily be mistaken for ‘mental retardation’ since the ‘two phenomena are often extremely similar’ (Vygotsky, 1993: 43). Vygotsky emphasized the importance of distinguishing between these two phenomena, which may co-occur, but are not one and the same. Vygotsky, on the one hand, saw language as a good example of the fusion of ‘natural’ and ‘cultural’ development and stated that, as a result of socialization and ‘if his [the child’s] brain and speech apparatus develop normally, he masters language’ (Vygotsky, 1993: 42). On the other hand, he also construed a lack of command of language as leading to a deficit in cultural development and therefore to ‘primitivism’. He referred to a bilingual girl for whom ‘the entire complex of symptoms, implying illness, stemmed in fact from primitivism, which, in turn, was conditioned by the lack of command of either language’ (Vygotsky, 1993: 44). The second basic theme that Wertsch (1985, 1991) identified in Vygotsky’s work was that higher mental functioning in the individual derives from social relations and interactions. This theme is clearly related to the first in that it deals with the genesis of cultural development. As Wertsch (1985) points out, Vygotsky reflected Marx’s ideas about the social origins of human consciousness and elaborated it into his much quoted and discussed ‘general genetic law of cultural development’: Any function in the child’s cultural development appears twice, or on two planes. First it appears on the social plane, and then on the psychological plane. First it appears between people as an interpsychological category, and then within the child as an intrapsychological category. This is equally true with regard to voluntary attention, logical memory, the formation of concepts, and the development of volition … internalization transforms the process itself and changes its structure and functions. Social relations or relations among people genetically underlie all higher functions and their relationships. (Vygotsky, as cited in Wertsch, 1985: 26) According to this view, an examination of the interpsychological or ‘intermental’ functioning as well as its product, intrapsychological or ‘intramental’ functioning, is required in order to obtain a complete understanding of the individual’s development. There are strong ‘genetic’ ties between interpsychological and intrapsychological functioning, such that variations at the interpsychological level may lead to different intrapsychological outcomes (Vygotsky, 1981). As Wertsch (1981) points out, the notion of ‘internalization’ does not merely suggest that the child develops cognitive skills such as problem-solving, memory or language through interaction with others. Rather, the very means that are used in social interactions, with speech and language being the primary examples, are internalized. Within Vygotsky’s theory, speech and language hold a special place because they are themselves a key cognitive skill that is internalized, but that also constitutes a primary tool through which the child develops other skills and knowledge. A central concept of Vygotky’s theories is the notion of the ‘zone of proximal development’ (Vygotsky 1978). He defined it as ‘the distance between the actual developmental level as determined by independent problem solving and the level of potential development determined through problem solving under either adult guidance or in collaboration with more capable peers’ (Vygotsky, 1978: 86). This separate notion clearly finds its foundations in the more general claim about the social origins of higher mental functioning in the individual. The zone of proximal development is the zone within which the teaching–learning interaction between adult and child takes place. This concept has been central to the view that the process of assessing a child’s learning should involve a ‘dynamic assessment’ of the child’s ability to respond to the adults’ mediations, rather than merely ‘statically’ assessing the child’s knowledge (as happens in standardized 58

Language and learning

assessments). Dynamic assessment has been developed in the field of cognitive assessment (Sternberg and Grigorenko, 2002; Sternberg et al., 2002; Brown and Ferrara, 1985; Budoff, 1987; Haywood and Lidz, 2007; Lidz and Elliott, 2000) and, more recently, has also been adopted in the assessment of children’s language (Bain and Olswang, 1995; Olswang and Bain, 1996; Peña et al., 2006; Peña, Resendiz and Gillam, 2007; Camilleri and Law, 2007). The third general theme that Wertsch (1991) identified in Vygotsky’s work was that human action, on both the social and individual planes, is mediated by tools and signs. Vygotsky’s concern was to identify how tools and sign systems, the foremost of which being language, were involved in intermental and intramental functioning. Rather than focusing primarily on their structure, he approached language (and other sign systems and tools) on the basis of how they are a part of and mediate human action (Wertsch, 1991). In summary, Vygotsky’s view was that, in order to understand how a child learns, it was necessary to observe this learning as it took place, in interaction with adults and/or more capable peers. This learning is primarily mediated through language, first between the adult and the child and then within the child, as he/she internalizes the new cognitive skills. By documenting the child’s language-based interactions with adults it should be possible to identify features of the interactions that were conducive to the child’s learning – of language and of a whole range of other skills. Such observation of language-based interactions between adults and children was at the essence of the project undertaken by Wells and his colleagues in Bristol, in the 1980s.

Early language-based adult–child interactions and learning In his seminal and influential project, which followed children over a decade, Wells (1985) explored the impact of adults’ language in their interactions with children. He felt that, in addition to learning new skills and knowledge, children ‘internalized images of themselves as learners, and of their abilities to recognize and solve problems for themselves’ (Wells, 1985: 152). Without referring extensively to Vygotsky’s ideas at the time, this view is compatible with them. As Wells himself pointed out, he has since incorporated Vygotsky’s theoretical framework in much of his more recent work (Wells, 2009). In the Bristol project, Wells obtained recorded data from 128 children, sampling their interactions in their home environments, and subsequently in school settings, from the age of 15 months. As Wells (1985) pointed out, in spite of the lack of any curriculum or direct teaching as such, children were observed to make great progress in learning language itself, but also in learning about the world around them through their language-based interactions. He found that interactions were negotiated by the child and the adult involved, not imposed by the adult. A crucial component of children’s learning at home was that much of it took place through meaningful and purposeful activities, much of which involved joint engagement with the parent/carer. While the words, skills and knowledge that children acquired tended to be ones that were relevant within the home environment, the learning was particularly effective because it served the purpose of meeting the child’s goals within that context. Language and learning were fully integrated in pursuit of the common goal of making sense of those meaningful activities. By comparison, when Wells (1985) explored the interactions which took place between teachers and five-year-old children in the school setting, he found that children, first of all, tended to talk much less. Additionally, the percentage of conversational sequences actually initiated by the child was only 16%, compared to 73% at home. The child was also far less likely to ask the adult questions in the school setting. Only 3% of the child’s utterances at school, compared to 12% at home, were questions to adults. While adults were not dissimilar in the school and home settings in terms of the proportion of their utterances that were questions to the child, there were important qualitative differences in the type of questions used. A much higher proportion of the questions asked by adults in school settings were ‘display’ questions – asking the child to display skill or knowledge, rather than provide information unknown to the adult. Most 59

Bernard Camilleri

importantly, perhaps, adults in the home setting were far more likely to produce utterances that extended the child’s chosen topic. Conversely, in the school setting, the adult was far more likely to produce utterances which pursued a topic previously introduced by the adult. Wells (1985) described how teachers, compared with parents, appeared ‘more concerned to pursue their own topics – to follow their own agenda – than to accept and extend the topics offered by the child’ (p. 160). The tendency for teachers to do this was partly driven by the fact that a large proportion of sustained interactions between child/ren and teacher took place within group or whole-class discussions. As Wells (1985) points out, such teacher-led discussions may not be the best way to develop children’s ability to use language to think and to learn, in spite of the teachers’ best intentions. Another crucial influence is the pressure on teachers to ensure that the curriculum is covered systematically. Wells (1985) pointed out how a great degree of effort had gone into breaking learning tasks into graded steps that could be arranged in a linear fashion for the purpose of teaching. Wells (1985) argued that, while this may be helpful for promoting some types of learning, it is certainly not the case that children learn best when all the tasks they are engaged in form part of a rigidly set curriculum with predetermined sequences. Relying on a structured and graded curriculum is certainly not the best way for ‘learning the language with which to learn’ (Wells, 1985: 170). Wells’s suggestion is that children should be encouraged to take an active role in choosing the activities to carry out in the classroom (Wells, 2009, 1985). This would allow children to be intrinsically interested in learning skills in order to achieve goals that they have, at least to some extent, set themselves. In this context, rather than directing every activity in the classroom, the teacher is freed for the more important tasks of sharing interests and enthusiasms and helping them to think and to talk about what they are doing … to articulate their aims and to formulate appropriate plans of action; to recognize problems and to consider alternative means of resolving them; to use available resources to the best effect, e.g. books, equipment and material; to evaluate the outcomes of their activities, both functionally and aesthetically. (Wells, 1985: 157) The child has time and space to talk, and the adult listens to the child without immediately imposing the adult point of view. Listening to what the child has to say can be followed by questions or other contributions from the adult, which allow the child to explore and express his or her thinking process. This experience would match more closely the child’s earlier learning context at home, where parents used the child’s interests as a means of exploring a variety of new learning opportunities. From a Vygotskyan perspective, this would constitute the ‘intermental’ construction of new skills, which the child can subsequently internalize. As Wells (2009) has recently pointed out, many things have changed since the Bristol project. One such change, both in the UK and in North America, has been the increasing emphasis on accountability and outcome measurement. This has led to greater centralization of curriculum planning and, inevitably, to a greater emphasis on achieving set targets than on fostering students’ individual interests and talents (Wells, 2009). Since the Bristol project, the appreciation of the importance of language within the learning process has increased. On the other hand, the pressures that may negatively impact on the development of language for learning have also increased.

Language in the early years and primary school curriculum in the UK The importance of speech and language as a foundation skill for learning as well as an important area of skill in its own right was highlighted in the Independent Review of Teaching of Early Reading (Rose, 2006). While the main recommendations arising from Rose’s report relate to the adoption of ‘synthetic phonics’ for the development of literacy, a key underlying message was that: 60

Language and learning

Far more attention needs to be given, right from the start, to promoting speaking and listening skills to make sure that children build a good stock of words, learn to listen attentively and speak clearly and confidently. Speaking and listening, together with reading and writing, are prime communication skills that are central to children’s intellectual, social and emotional development. (Rose, 2006: 3) Over 20 years after Wells’s (1985) research, the crucial importance of language in the classroom was formally recognized in the UK through the inclusion of Communication, Language and Literacy as one of the six areas within the Early Years Foundation Stage (EYFS) of education,1 which was implemented through the passing of the Childcare Act in 2006, shortly after the Rose Report. It is therefore one of the areas of learning and development ‘that all early years providers must by law deliver, regardless of type, size or funding of the setting’ (Anonymous). Communication, Language and Literacy is further elaborated into areas including Language for Communication, Language for Thinking, Linking Sounds and Letters, Reading, and Writing. By the end of the EYFS, when children enter primary school (aged four to five), they are expected to achieve a number of early learning goals that relate to these areas. Children should be able to interact with others and negotiate plans and activities by taking turns to listen and to speak, to listen attentively to spoken language and to respond appropriately both verbally and through their actions, and to speak clearly with an awareness of the listener’s perspective. Children are also expected to enter primary school with an ability to use language ‘to imagine and recreate roles and experiences’ and to ‘use talk to organise, sequence and clarify thinking, ideas, feelings and events’ (Anonymous). The latter goals explicitly highlight the relevance of language as a tool for thinking and learning. In relation to the link between spoken language and early literacy skills, children are expected (among others) to develop their phonological skills to the point where they can ‘hear and say sounds in words in the order in which they occur’ as well as ‘link sound to letters, naming and sounding the letters’ (Anonymous). Children are also expected to be able to retell narratives with an awareness of the key elements of stories and to answer questions about ‘where’, ‘who’, ‘why’ and ‘how’ in the stories (Anonymous). Early years practitioners and carers are supported in their work to help children achieve these (and other) goals related to communication, language and literacy through initiatives such as the project, Every Child A Talker (Anonymous). This provides resources and activities for early years practitioners and carers, designed to ‘encourage early language development right from the outset, extending children’s vocabulary and helping them build sentences so that before they start school, children are confident and skilled communicators’ (Anonymous). While these state-led initiatives understandably highlight the fact that all children should achieve the language-related targets, there is little or no mention of the needs of children for whom language and learning remain problematic, for one reason or another. It is estimated that approximately 7% of children starting school at age five have a significant primary speech and/or language difficulty and a further proportion of children have language difficulties associated with other conditions such as autism, cerebral palsy and general learning difficulties (Bercow, 2008). It is to these children with language difficulties that I will be turning now.

Language impairment and learning: the case of specific language impairment One way of exploring the relationship between language and learning is to look at the impact that a language difficulty has on an individual’s educational outcomes and beyond. Children and young people with specific language impairments are particularly relevant to this discussion, because they consist of a group of individuals for whom, by definition, language is the primary difficulty. A child is diagnosed as having SLI if they have significant difficulties understanding and/or expressing themselves using language in the absence of any primary cause for the difficulty. They have no hearing or other sensory difficulty. There is no 61

Bernard Camilleri

identified anatomic or physiological cause of the language difficulty (e.g. cleft palate, neurological difficulties) and their non-verbal IQ is similar to that of their peers. So, by definition, SLI constitutes an apparently isolated deficit in the area of language in the absence of a broader learning difficulty or of other conditions that could affect learning. Over the years, a number of studies have followed cohorts of children with SLI longitudinally (Stothard et al., 1998; Catts et al., 2002). Most recently, the Manchester Language Study followed a group of 242 children with SLI from the age of seven into their teenage years. Conti-Ramsden (2008) reported on outcomes in areas that would be expected to be associated with language difficulty, including literacy and academic achievement, which we will focus on here. As she points out, one would expect to find an association between the degree of language difficulty and the degree of difficulty in related areas of functioning. The literature has consistently reported that there is a strong relationship between SLI and subsequent literacy problems (Stothard et al., 1998; Catts et al., 2002). This is hardly surprising, given that literacy is built on a foundation of language skills. Phonological skills are particularly implicated in the decoding aspect of literacy, and difficulties with receptive and expressive oral language are associated with reading comprehension. As many as three-quarters of their cohort of children with SLI were found to have significant difficulties with reading at the age of 16 (a score greater than one standard deviation below the mean on standardized tests) (Conti-Ramsden, 2008). The vast majority of these children had difficulties with reading comprehension and about two-thirds of them also had difficulties with reading accuracy. This supports previous findings that adolescents with SLI have greater problems with reading comprehension than with accuracy, although many have problems with both. Interestingly, of the adolescents with reading abilities within the normal range, 63% were found to have age-appropriate language abilities concurrently with the reading assessments (i.e. at age 16). In the group as a whole, language comprehension and language expression abilities were both found to be concurrently predictive of reading abilities, accounting for 30% of the variance (using regression analysis). Given the high incidence of literacy difficulties among adolescents with SLI and the importance of literacy to the educational process, it was to be expected that children with SLI would be found to have lower academic achievement than their peers. The timing of the outcome measurement allowed ContiRamsden (2008) to report on adolescents’ achievements in the national exams carried out at the age of 16. They found that 3% of their cohort of adolescents with SLI achieved no qualifications, while 19% achieved the lowest, entry-level qualification. By comparison, none of a control group of typically developing (TD) children (comparable to the adolescents with SLI in terms of household income and maternal education) left school with only entry-level qualification. A small proportion (11%) of these TD children gained Level 1 qualifications (the next step up). A considerably larger proportion (34%) of adolescents with SLI achieved qualification/s at this (low) level. Finally, twice as many TD adolescents (88%) obtained at least one qualification at the expected level of A* to C (National Qualifications Framework, as cited by ContiRamsden 2008) when compared to adolescents with SLI (44%). Yet again, it is worth pointing out that, among children with SLI, the majority of those who were achieving comparable academic targets to their TD peers were found to have age-appropriate receptive and expressive language skills concurrently. This raises the question as to whether those adolescents who were achieving comparable outcomes to their TD peers were still truly language impaired. What is clear is that individuals who experienced ongoing language difficulties that lasted into adolescence were the ones most likely to achieve lower outcomes compared to their peers.

Language impairment and learning: the case of SLI compared to general delay Although a discrepancy between language abilities and non-verbal cognitive abilities has been widely used as a key diagnostic criterion for SLI, the conceptual and clinical utility of the diagnosis has been questioned in 62

Language and learning

recent years (Cole, Dale and Mills, 1990; Plante, 1998). Through their epidemiological methodology, Tomblin and colleagues were able to longitudinally follow a large cohort of children from the age of five/six years throughout their childhood and into their teenage years. This cohort included children with SLI (whose non-verbal abilities were within the normal range) and children with general delay who had both poor language skills and low non-verbal skills, as well as typically developing children. Tomblin (2008) reported that, perhaps unsurprisingly, both of the groups of children with poor language skills presented with reading difficulties by the time they were in second grade (7–8 years) and that these difficulties persisted through the eighth grade (13–14 years) and into the tenth grade (15–16 years). One interesting finding was that the two groups of children with language difficulties did not differ significantly. From a functional perspective, Tomblin and colleagues defined ‘functional illiteracy’ as performing (at age 16) below the mean level for an 11 year old. Nineteen percent of children with SLI and 31% of children with GD were found to be functionally illiterate, compared with 5% of the typically developing children in the epidemiological study (Tomblin, 2008). The significant conclusion reached by Tomblin (2008) was that spoken language abilities (as measured at the age when the children were assessed in second grade) had a long-lasting and major impact on children’s academic outcomes, while the impact of non-verbal IQ was actually quite small. The poorer outcomes for children with GD were actually explained by the fact that their language skills were also poorer than those of children with SLI, rather than by the fact that they had lower non-verbal abilities. Tomblin (2008) reported that, through stepwise regression analysis of the entire cohort of students (including SLI, GD and TD), oral language abilities were found to account for 43% of the variance of reading comprehension ability, whereas non-verbal IQ only accounted for an additional 3%. Tomblin’s findings only serve to reinforce the importance of language skills in achieving learning outcomes, irrespective of whether we are dealing with children with SLI or GD.

Conclusions I started out this chapter by mentioning that the link between language and learning is often assumed, although the precise nature of the interaction is widely debated. If the evidence from children with language difficulties is to be taken at face value, one thing is clear. Language skills or the lack thereof is a crucial variable in determining the degree of success that an individual will achieve in their learning outcomes as measured using academic achievement criteria, which are so highly valued by society. The recent drive to emphasize the importance of language skills in the early years of education, both as an important skill in its own right and as a tool for learning in a range of other areas, can only be seen in a positive light. Ironically, this has led to new sets of targets being identified, accompanied by new sets of linear tasks towards achieving specific language skills. These are the sorts of curriculum-led pressures that Wells (1985) argued are not ideal for fostering individual children’s learning of ‘language for learning’. Conti Ramsden’s and Tomblin’s findings also raise the question as to whether children who are identified as having language difficulties are being served by the current educational system. Bercow’s (2008) review on provision for children and young people with speech, language and communication needs (SLCN) in fact found that there was great variability and a lack of continuity in the provision of universal, targeted and specialist services for these children. In spite of the central role assigned to language in the Childcare Act of 2006, Bercow reported that there was still ‘insufficient understanding of the centrality of speech, language and communication among policy makers and commissioners nationally and locally, professionals and service providers, and sometimes parents and families themselves’ (Bercow, 2008: 7). A problem with language, it seems, is the tendency to take it for granted. The widely held view that language and learning must be associated should drive us to pay particular attention to language, both as a fundamental skill in its own right and as crucial to learning. However, in many instances, the opposite may 63

Bernard Camilleri

be true. Parents of children with SLCN in fact expressed the concern that their children’s ability to communicate, to speak and to understand was taken for granted in the school setting (Bercow, 2008). Perhaps the widely held assumption that language and learning are related and the tendency for language to be taken for granted are in fact two sides of the same coin. Language appears to be such a natural endowment to human beings, and children typically appear to acquire it with such relative ease, that there is a lack of widespread understanding of the variability in language skills among children, or of the impact that different language-based interactions may have on children’s learning. Recent changes in the economic and political scenario may well lead to changes in educational policy. In the UK, one such change is likely to be a shift, of some degree, away from centralized control of curricula and of teaching methods. In the coming years, the challenge will be to bring about changes that take into account and even foster children’s individuality while ensuring that key skills, language skills foremost among them, are catered for appropriately. Whether in improving language and learning in the school-age population generally, or in addressing the needs of children with language difficulties, the theoretical viewpoint of Vygotsky and the practical suggestions of Wells may well constitute useful reference points.

Note 1 At the time of writing, an independent review of the Early Years Foundation Stage had been initiated, following the election of a new government in the UK.

References Bain, B.A. and Olswang, L.B. 1995, ‘Examining readiness for learning two-word utterances by children with specific expressive language impairment: Dynamic assessment validation’, American Journal of Speech-Language Pathology, vol. 4, no. 1: 81–91. Bercow, J. 2008, The Bercow Report: A review of services for children and young people (0–19) with speech, language and communication needs, Nottingham: DCSF publications. Brown, A.L. and Ferrara, R.A. 1985, ‘Diagnosing zones of proximal development’ in Culture, Communication and Cognition: Vygotskian perspectives, ed. J.W. Wertsch, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 273–305. Budoff, M. 1987, ‘Measures for assessing learning potential’ in Dynamic Assessment, ed. C.S. Lidz, New York: The Guilford Press, pp. 173–95. Camilleri, B. and Law, J. 2007, ‘Assessing children referred to speech and language therapy: Static and dynamic assessment of receptive vocabulary’, Advances in Speech-Language Pathology, vol. 9, no. 4: 312–22. Catts, H.W., Fey, M.E., Tomblin, J.B. and Zhang, X. 2002, ‘A longitudinal investigation of reading outcomes in children with language impairments’, Journal of Speech, Language, and Hearing Research, vol. 45, no. 6: 1142–57. Cole, K.N., Dale, P.S. and Mills, P.E. 1990, ‘Defining language delay in young children by cognitive referencing: Are we saying more than we know?’, Applied Psycholinguistics, vol. 11, no. 3: 291–302. Conti-Ramsden, G. 2008, ‘Heterogeneity of specific language impairment in adolescent outcomes’ in Understanding Developmental Language Disorders: From theory to practice., ed. D.V.M. Bishop, New York: Psychology Press, pp. 115–29. Haywood, C.H. and Lidz, C.S. 2007, Dynamic Assessment in Practice: Clinical and educational applications, New York: Cambridge University Press. Kozulin, A. 2002, ‘Sociocultural theory and the Mediated Learning Experience’, School Psychology International, vol. 23, no. 1: 7–35. ——1999, ‘Sociocultural contexts of cognitive theory’, Human Development, vol. 42, no. 2: 78–82. Kozulin, A. and Presseisen, B.Z. 1995, ‘Mediated learning-experience and psychological tools – Vygotsky and Feuerstein perspectives in a study of student learning’, Educational Psychologist, vol. 30, no. 2: 67–75. Lidz, C.S. and Elliott, J. 2000, Dynamic Assessment: Prevailing models and applications, New York: Elsevier Science. Olswang, L.B. and Bain, B.A. 1996, ‘Assessment information for predicting upcoming change in language production’, Journal of Speech and Hearing Research, vol. 39, no. 2: 414–23. Peña, E., Resendiz, M. and Gillam, R.B. 2007, ‘The role of clinical judgement of modifiability in the diagnosis of language impairment’, Advances in Speech-Language Pathology, vol. 9, no. 4: 332–45. Peña, E., Gillam, R.B., Malek, M., Ruiz-Felter, R., Resendiz, M., Fiestas, C. and Sabel, T. 2006, ‘Dynamic assessment of school-age children’s narrative ability: An experimental investigation of classification accuracy’, Journal of Speech, Language, and Hearing Research, vol. 49: 1037–57. 64

Language and learning

Piaget, J. and Inhelder, B. 2004, ‘The semiotic or symbolic function’ in First language Acquisition – The essential readings, eds. B. Lust and C. Foley, Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, pp. 56–63. Plante, E. 1998, ‘Criteria for SLI: The Stark and Tallal legacy and beyond’, Journal of Speech, Language, and Hearing Research, vol. 41: 951–57. Rose, J. 2006, Independent Review of the Teaching of Early Reading: Final report, Nottingham: Department for Education and Skills publications. Sternberg, R.J. and Grigorenko, E.L. 2002, Dynamic Testing: The nature and measurement of learning potential, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Sternberg, R.J., Grigorenko, E.L., Ngorosho, D., Tantufuye, E., Mbise, A., Nokes, C., Jukes, M. and Bundy, D.A. 2002, ‘Assessing intellectual potential in rural Tanzanian school children’, Intelligence, vol. 30: 141–62. Stothard, S.E., Snowling, M.J., Bishop, D., Chipchase, B.B. and Kaplan, C.A. 1998, ‘Language-impaired preschoolers: a follow-up into adolescence’, Journal of Speech, Language & Hearing Research, vol. 41, no. 2: 407–18. Tomblin, J.B. 2008, ‘Validating diagnostic standards for specific language impairment using adolescent outcomes’ in Understanding Developmental Language Disorders: From theory to practice., ed. D.V.M. Bishop, New York: Psychology Press, pp. 93–114. Vygotsky, L.S. 1993, The Collected Works of L.S. Vygotsky: Vol 2 The Fundamentals of Defectology (Abnormal Psychology and Learning Disabilities), New York: Plenum Press. ——1981, ‘The genesis of higher mental functions’ in The Concept of Activity in Soviet Psychology, ed. J.W. Wertsch, New York: M.E. Sharpe. ——1978, Mind in Society: The development of higher psychological processes, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Wells, G. 2009, The Meaning Makers: Learning to talk and talking to learn, 2nd edn, Bristol: Multilingual Matters. ——1985, Language Development in the Pre-school Years, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wertsch, J.W. 1991, Voices of the Mind: A sociocultural approach to mediated action, London; Harvester Wheatsheaf. ——1985, Vygotsky and the Social Formation of Mind, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Web References The Early Learning Goals, available: http://nationalstrategies.standards.dcsf.gov.uk/eyfs/site/requirements/learning/goals. htm [2011, 1/6/2011]. Every Child a Talker: Guidance for Consultants and Early Language Lead Practitioners (Third instalment), available: http:// nationalstrategies.standards.dcsf.gov.uk/node/277287?uc=force_uj [2011, 1/12/2011]. Statutory Framework for EYFS: Learning and Development Requirements, available: http://nationalstrategies.standards.dcsf. gov.uk/node/84020?uc=force_uj [2011, 1/12/2011].

65

7 Gender and learning Feminist perspectives Julia Preece

This chapter provides a selected review of literature on gender and learning with a specific focus on adults. The analysis draws on feminist perspectives that have explored whether or not women have a particular learning preference or way of acquiring knowledge. Whilst feminism takes many perspectives, the emphasis here is on a poststructural stance that recognizes the complexity of gender analysis and tries to avoid creating fixed, binary divides between males and females. Particular knowledge perspectives are introduced, such as subjectivity, standpoint theory, and knowledge itself, before looking in more detail at the focus of many studies on gender and learning – that of the distinction between separate and connected knowing. Finally, some suggestions for further research are made, with reference to practice theory and its potential contribution to a more holistic understanding of the relationships between learning, gender and context. The core argument of this chapter is that gendered positions on learning are not fixed. They are mediated by time, space, situation and power relations.

Women and knowing It is more than 25 years since Belenky et al. (1986) wrote their seminal work on Women’s Ways of Knowing. This was a study of 135 women in America – which resulted in five categories of knowledge perspectives representing the different ways in which women viewed the world and learned to make sense of it in relation to their lives. The arguments in this study have since been supported (Ortman, 1993; Nesbit, 2000; Lathrop, 2000), expanded (Goldberger et al., 1996), challenged (Tisdell, 1998; Le Cornu, 1999; Ryan, 2001; English, 2006, 2006a), and modified (Zohar, 2006). Aside from studies related to these debates, other experimental studies into gender and learning differences have proved equally inconclusive. Some claim that there are distinctive gender-related differences in learning preferences and patterns (Kim 2002; Alumran, 2008; Anglin et al., 2008), while others suggest that learning differences are less distinctive than patterns of social behaviour that lead to learning preferences (Price, 2006). Whilst there have been studies to suggest that differences can be physiologically determined, as articulated in Hayes and Flannery’s (2000) extensive exploration of the subject, there are as many psychological, anthropological and political explanations for gender differences in learning. Indeed, Hayes and Flannery (2000: 137) warn that we should be wary of overgeneralizing about women’s ways of knowing: 66

Gender and learning: feminist perspectives

We might do better to see particular ways of knowing as strategies that can be acquired and used by all people. Nevertheless, there is a consensus that we do need to pay attention to women’s learning, since issues of gender inequality and male dominance over what counts as knowledge still prevail. Bearing this in mind, we start with the concept of gender. Gender: According to Hayes and Flannery (2000: 15) gender is ‘a system of social relations that are continually re-negotiated, both at the level of daily interactions and at the level of the broader social structures’. This means that gender, our identities as men and women, and the way we operate as gendered social beings, are socially constructed. Gender analysis pays attention to the social determinants of gender roles and norms, but a gendered analysis of women’s learning means ‘looking for the influence of gender on whatever aspect of women’s learning is being studied’ (p. 226). So, for example, women’s activities have tended to be socially constructed around ‘activities of connection and care’ (p. 224), which in turn impacts on women’s attitudes to learning. The nature of a gender analysis, however, depends on what theoretical perspective one adopts. A feminist starting point has an emancipatory goal that aims to expose and address gender inequalities. Feminism: In feminism women are the focal point of discussion. So a feminist study of learning will focus on trying to ‘understand and value women’s learning in its own right rather than in relationship to men’s learning’ (Hayes and Flannery, 2000: 142). This is in recognition of the fact that women’s lives are distinct from men’s in a number of ways and that, compared with men, women are less likely to have been able to control their lives. Women’s lives are often characterized by discontinuity as a result of following or responding to their spouse’s careers, adopting multiple roles of family, work and community, and holding a different set of relationships from men within the family itself (ibid.). The extent to which women may be oppressed, privileged or subjugated depends on context, in terms of time, place, culture, class and other forms of marginalization, such as having a disability. Studies into gender and learning are often framed within, and reflect different positions within, feminism itself. Feminist theory itself takes many perspectives, ranging from the psychoanalytical to the Marxist. These studies have influenced our understanding of women’s learning in different ways. English (2006, 2006a) explains that feminist perspectives have gone through broadly three waves since the 1960s. Whilst the first two waves tended to identify the category of ‘woman’ as universal and distinctive (thus reflecting the Belenky et al., 1986 era), the third wave, since the 1990s, focuses more on differences between categories of ‘woman’ and how women and their roles in society are socially constructed. This latter perspective is characterized by a feminist poststructuralist approach to women and their learning, drawing in particular on Foucault’s (1980) notions of power, knowledge and discourse. Poststructuralism and Foucault: Power, in Foucauldian terms, is not simply a force for oppression. It is an allpervasive relationship in which everyone plays a part, whether wittingly or not. Discourses are the mechanisms through which power flows. They are expressed through language, behaviour and attitudes, or internalized rationales that give an appearance of stability. But, in themselves, they are precarious and are always open to resistance by other discourses. What counts as valuable knowledge is a manifestation of power relations and dominant discourses that claim privilege over certain forms of knowledge. Thus, science, objectivity and impartiality are hegemonically dominant discourses for knowledge production. These arguments provide the groundwork for demonstrating that everything is potentially fluid, socially constructed and context bound. A poststructuralist analysis of power, discourse and knowledge itself unearths the how and why of these uncertainties, how meanings and identities are potentially fluid and always shifting. Feminist Poststructuralism: This perspective focuses on understanding: [H]ow each of us is at once oppressed and privileged and how this experience continually changes according to the contexts in which we find ourselves … understanding the intersections of multiple 67

Julia Preece

systems of oppression and privilege … how individual women respond to their unique and particular experiences. (Hayes and Flannery, 2000: 13) A feminist poststructuralist analysis emphasizes the complexity of these experiences and the consequent identities of individuals connected to those experiences. The concept of positionality suggests that women’s (and men’s) identities and behaviours are not fixed, but are conditional upon how they interface with a range of intersecting relationships, experiences and worldviews. As Connell (2002: 4) states, ‘being a man or a woman, then, is not a fixed state. It is a becoming, a condition actively under construction’. This means that our attitudes to learning are also subject to reconstruction. The extent to which people choose to reconstruct themselves depends upon the experiences they encounter and also how they respond to the relationships of power that reinforce the status quo. These relationships are held in place by potentially unstable discourses (Ryan, 2001; English, 2006a). So, we cannot think of gender differences in womanhood or manhood as fixed by nature. But neither should we think of them as simply imposed from outside, by social norms or pressure from authorities. Indeed, people construct themselves as masculine or feminine through a form of ‘disciplinary power’ (Foucault, 1980, English, 2008) whereby people behave in certain ways as if they are being watched: ‘Power operates through disciplinary practices or techniques that give rise to self-surveillance’ (English, 2008: 270). This theoretical perspective informs our understanding of women’s ways of knowing and their learning preferences. It provides us with the tools to examine how and why women may appear to learn in different ways from men, but also provides us with the ammunition to explain that stereotypes of learning are social constructions, and gender related, rather than biologically determined or fixed. It also explains why different social contexts reveal different observations about women’s learning. Feminist analysis in this regard has challenged some of the assertions of learning and pedagogical theorists such as Mezirow, Habermas and Freire. Hayes and Flannery (2000) and Ryan (2001): for example, question Mezirow’s overemphasis on rationality and omission of historical and sociocultural context in relation to his perspective on transformative learning theory, since it ‘does not allow for the investments that people make in certain positions or in certain kinds of knowledge’ (Ryan, 2001: 68). Similarly Freire is criticized for assuming that it is possible to reach consensus on oppression based on rational talk: ‘assumptions of a collective experience of oppression do not adequately address the realities and complexities of students’ lives’ (ibid.: 67). More recent feminist perspectives, therefore, do not take an oppositional, either/or stance towards learning, but they emphasise the need to take a broader view of learning. In particular, they challenge the positivist, separatist ‘rationales’ that do not take account of the emotional and connected side of learning. Similarly, Burke and Jackson (2007): amongst others, argue that learning is always an emotional process, since it involves the construction of identities, even though we are taught, especially in Western thought, that learning is something that can be learned externally from the emotions. These feminist positions bring us to the use of some common concepts related to gender and learning. They include: subjectivity/objectivity, standpoint epistemology, and connected/separated knowing. Not all of them hold equal weight in recent discussions, but they have all contributed to highlighting the notion that learning is gender related, as well as class, race and culture related.

Subjectivity Subjectivity is the collective identity that constitutes our individual sense of self and how we relate to the world around us. In poststructuralist terms our concern with subjectivity refers to a concern with the different forms of power that interface with our socially constructed selves and govern who we are (Ryan, 68

Gender and learning: feminist perspectives

2001). Subjectivity relates to knowledge because it suggests that our subjective selves influence what counts as knowledge, so that, ‘knowledge is neither value-free nor value-neutral; the processes that produce it are themselves value-laden; and these values are open to evaluation’ (Code, 1991: 70). As Code asserted in a later work (1993: 40), ‘knowledge is always relative’ and reflects a perspective or standpoint, indicating that ‘objectivity’ is never innocent – it is always situated.

Standpoint theory The rationale behind standpoint theory comes from the philosopher Hegel’s notion that a slave had a more complete view of the world than his master because the slave could see the world from his subjugated position as a slave as well as from his master’s dominant, articulated position. Standpoint theory was discussed particularly amongst Black feminists during the 1990s as a challenge to the dominant discourse of feminism amongst white theorists. Experience was an important claim to authenticate knowledge, and the experiential credentials of the speaker or knower were based on ‘How do you know?’ Hill Collins (1991), cited in Hayes and Flannery (2000: 127), explained that this was because a person’s knowledge should be judged ‘not solely by the internal logic of her arguments’. This kind of knowing for Black women was also associated with ‘motherwit’ or ‘wisdom’ in recognition that Black women had to learn how to survive in an oppressive world. Their knowledge, or wisdom, was born out of that experience and was socially situated. Hill Collins (1990) argued that these observations created two interrelated levels of knowledge – the commonplace, everyday, taken-for-granted knowledge and the specialized knowledge that emerged from intellectuals. But from Black women’s standpoints, these two types of knowledge were interdependent and grounded in Afro-centric roots that embraced notions of caring, empathy, personal accountability and personality as necessary to validate knowledge production. In this way she challenged the process of truth production unless it passed those experientially constituted tests. In other words, an Afro-centric audience would not be satisfied with simply hearing the knowledge imparted by a speaker unless the speaker also revealed their social situatedness – what personal history led to their understanding and construction of that knowledge. Harding (1993) argued that this position of being marginalized enabled people to understand and explain things from a stronger objectivity than knowledge that was created unproblematically through apparently detached science or rationality. ‘Strong objectivity’, therefore, was linked to ‘strong reflexivity’ (p. 69), that is, reflecting on where we are coming from with our arguments. While Skeggs (1997) points out that standpoint theories were able to demonstrate that there is no such thing as a disinterested knower: ‘the positions from which we speak are a product of our own positioning’ (p. 26), she also asserts that, ‘standpoint theory can be seen as a product of its time’. The use of experience as an authenticator of knowledge is no longer sufficient in feminist analysis. Experience also needs to be interrogated and understood in Foucauldian terms as a historical product of power and discourse, so no experience can be assumed to offer an absolute truth. This brings us to the argument that knowledge itself is bound by context and time (Code 1991; Skeggs 1997; Weiler and Middleton 1999; Hayes and Flannery, 2000). It is therefore value laden and not constructed separately from the emotions.

Knowledge The notion of connection has been an ongoing theme in the way feminists discuss knowledge. Weiler and Middleton (1999): for example, argue that knowledge is interrelated with language and subjectivity. Zohar (2006: 1583), drawing on Miller (2000), goes further to explain that knowledge, according to feminist epistemology, is interconnected through thinking in several ways: 69

Julia Preece

[B]etween the phenomenon to be understood and its context … between themselves and the phenomenon to be understood … [and] [t]hinkers’ mental representations of knowledge are interconnected among themselves in the collaborative co-construction of knowledge. This interconnectivity between the self and mind was described by Belenky et al. (1986: 15) as the end-point of a series of stages or ways in which women viewed reality in their original study. Five categories, drawn from Perry (1970): were presented as ‘stages in self growth’. The first three stages were: Silence – where women experience themselves as voiceless in the face of external authority; Received knowledge – where women felt capable of receiving and reproducing knowledge from external sources; and Subjective knowledge – which primarily focused on women’s trust in their own intuition and mistrust of externally produced knowledge. The final two stages (Procedural and Constructed knowledge) suggested the women were now applying different forms of critical thinking in their acquisition of knowledge. Procedural knowers favoured either separate or connected knowledge. Constructed knowers were able to integrate the two approaches. Analysis of these remaining stages highlighted that women were more likely to be ‘connected’ as opposed to ‘separate’ knowers. It is the distinction between these latter concepts that will be discussed here.

Connected/separated knowing Belenky et al. (1986: 15), and also in their subsequent edited volume (Goldberger et al., 1996), claim that at the procedural-knowledge stage learners may be connected (using subjective procedures for obtaining and communicating knowledge), or separate knowers (relying on objective procedures). The final stage of constructed knowledge is where, ‘women are able to value both subjective and objective strategies for knowing’. It is the procedural knowledge stage that has attracted most investigation and discussion into genderrelated ways of knowing, though it was not categorized as gender specific. Connected knowing has been interpreted as more relevant to female knowing and separate knowing as more associative with male knowing. Connected knowing: Connected knowing (ibid.: 112) builds on the conviction that ‘the most trustworthy knowledge comes from personal experience rather than the pronouncements of authorities’. It is closely linked to standpoint epistemology and related terms such as subjective knowing and global knowing. Subjective knowers, according to Hayes and Flannery (2000: 117) and citing Clinchy (1996), respect views that differ from their own; but they are less likely to criticize these views. For their own sources of information they rely on personal feelings: Connected knowers are aware that they cannot accurately know another’s world because the experiences belong to the particular person. At the same time, connected knowers use their own experiences to understand the other person. (p. 126) Global learners are referred to by Hayes and Flannery (2000: 116), amongst others, as perceiving information ‘in a subjective manner, connecting it with their own personal experience. If the information does not connect to what is personal to them, they discard it as unimportant.’ They suggest that the literature tends to relate this kind of learning more to women than men, since women ‘tend to connect and interconnect ideas, events and people in whole pictures rather than focusing only on one part of a picture’ (ibid.). These perspectives lead to a dominant pedagogical theme that women prefer to learn with others and prefer a mutually supportive and caring relationship with other learners. But we shall see later that this dominant perspective has been vehemently challenged by English (2006): not only for its essentialist 70

Gender and learning: feminist perspectives

perspective but also for its lack of attention to the discourse that frames women in this way in the first place, thus hegemonically leading them to behave accordingly. Zohar (2006: 1594) suggests that connected knowing needs to be interpreted in relation to more current theories that talk about deep and surface learning, where surface learning relates more to the stage of received knowledge, while deep learning relates more to procedural and constructed knowledge. Deep learning looks for ‘understanding’ that can be interpreted subjectively, ‘in the sense that the pre-existing conceptual framework is unique to each individual, and consequently so are the connections created between old and new concepts’. She uses this perspective to analyse how females in mathematics and science classes tended to look for relationships between concepts through discussion and enquiry, rather than enjoying rote learning. Here again, however, she suggests that, although gender related, such preferences were not gender specific. Separate knower: On the other hand, separate knowers favour traditionally scientific, positivist approaches to knowledge, based on impersonal procedures for establishing truth (Belenky et al., 1986): ‘at the heart of separate knowing is critical thinking or … the doubting game’ (p. 104). This is suggested as an adversarial approach ‘entailing reasoning against the other’ (Zohar, 2006: 1581). In connected knowing, feelings are considered to illuminate thought, while in separate knowing they are seen as clouding one’s thinking (Clinchy, 2002). The different forms of knowing have been related to different pedagogical practices, so that connected knowing favours collaborative, supportive learning procedures, while separate knowing favours more clinical observation and individualistic investigation. Examples of such advocates include Smith (2002): who used collaborative enquiry as a means of enabling women learners to move from mere receivers of knowledge to constructed knowers. Similarly, Lathrop (2000) argued that teaching based on collaborative learning and small group teaching, sensitivity to group cohesion and encouraging listening skills, facilitated more equitable seminars in her college context. Price (2006) argued that women learners in an online study context were no less confident or competent than their male counterparts, but they appeared to interact differently from male students and placed more value on pastoral learning support. These dichotomies are now highly contested, as the introductory paragraph indicated. The differences have recently been applied more critically to the social construction of gender roles and it has been argued that they must be seen in the context of how women are often positioned in society culturally, socially and psychologically, potentially leading them to see themselves as positioned proportionately in contexts where strategies for facilitating connected types of knowing may be more attractive.

Criticisms Contested arguments on the above lines are demonstrated by a number of writers. They all highlight the dangers of over-generalizing the differences between men’s and women’s learning preferences and suggest that there needs to be more attention to what causes these differences (see Hayes and Flannery, 2000: for example). The emphasis should be on the structural causes of women’s oppression and how women’s learning orientations are explained in relation to their societal positioning, rather than as a reflection of their ‘natural’ preferences (p. 11). Indeed it should be recognized that men, too, can be victims of oppression in different contexts. A number of these writers specifically critique Belenky et al.’s (1986) study for its lack of attention to the complexities of women’s structural inequalities. Ryan (2001): for instance, comments on how the authors unwittingly position women’s early learning stages as deficient, rather than looking at the complexity of the women’s experiences and how that interfaced with their learning modes. By failing to analyse structural inequalities in educational environments, such as abuse, the authors do not analyse how this happens: ‘They do not address women’s knowledge as socially and politically organized, but as something intrinsic to women’ and overlook ‘the importance of politically conscious resistance experiences’ (Ryan, 2001: 71). 71

Julia Preece

Similarly, Tisdell (1998) argues that gender difference is not the only form of positionality that should be considered. Indeed, Lekoko and Modise in this volume demonstrate how other cultural factors can come into play. Moreover, research by Tomasello and Rakoczy (2003: 127) suggests that humans, irrespective of gender or culture, possess ‘uniquely human skills of social cognition’ and that any form of knowing requires a shared understanding of interaction in terms of communication, an asset which other primates do not possess. The implication of this finding is that all other forms of learning, beyond this intrinsic one of mutual recognition in terms of communication, are culturally or socially situated. Zohar (2006: 1593), on a different point, and drawing on Harding’s (1998) concept of ‘dynamic objectivity’ suggests that we need to take a more sophisticated look at the notion of objectivity. Dynamic objectivity recognizes the role of subjective experience in knowledge construction through personal critique and questioning of the phenomenon at stake. Perhaps most significantly, English (2006a) produces a postructuralist analysis of Canadian women learners. She demonstrates that procedures that favour certain ways of behaving can be self defeating – so that women either discipline themselves to ‘fit in’ – or choose not to take part and feel excluded from the stereotypical expectations of behaviour. She draws on Foucault’s notion of disciplinary power to highlight how women, either consciously or not, were socialized to behave in relational, caring and connected ways because of the environment that was constructed to facilitate those relationships. Other women in the group became ‘silenced’ if they felt unable to conform to expectations: We do need to pay attention to women’s learning but must recognize that stereotypes are as much to do with socialization as anything else … we need new lenses and a fresh perspective that is more complex, has fewer binaries or polarities, and is inevitably more challenging. (p. 19) Some suggested ways forward include the need to ‘analyse how women experience and express shifting identities that reflect multiple social influences … how power operates among and between all learners and educators … how we govern ourselves in the learning situation’ (p. 21).

Potential new research directions The above-mentioned debates are followed by requests for a different kind of research – that looks in more detail at ‘gender as a type of social relation that is constantly changing’ (Hayes and Flannery, 2000: 4). The principal argument is that: Women and men can be found in both cultures but these cultures shape women’s and men’s experiences in different ways, giving them the opportunity to acquire different sorts of knowledge and abilities … the system of gender relations may also lead women and men to develop different ways of creating and sharing knowledge. Moreover, ‘these gendered knowledge systems, like gender relations, may differ by society, culture, ethnic group, locality and so on … within the cohort of all women as well as between women and men’ (p. 5). English (2006a) emphasizes the need to see women’s learning as a larger picture – to ‘move our emphasis from a list of gender differences to larger issues’. This would help educators and learners focus less on the individual person and more on understanding the meaning and complexity of women’s learning, especially the role that power relations play in how that learning takes place. Hayes and Flannery (2000: 18) suggest that there should be more focus on women’s narratives and personal stories of learning. We need to look at the significance for women’s learning of social contexts – for example, the community, home, workplace, religious associations, leisure and more formal educational 72

Gender and learning: feminist perspectives

settings. Indeed, narrative learning as a research focus generally is becoming more topical in relation to researching transitions into lifelong learning (Lynch and Field, 2007). These observations resonate with many of the arguments over the past 20 years in relation to literacy studies. Street (1995); Barton and Hamilton (1998); Prinsloo and Breier (1996) and many others have claimed that literacy practices are socially situated and linked to relationships of power. There are many literacies that challenge the dominant model of literacy as a unitary skill that can be applied across different contexts. These arguments have been reinforced by evidence from ethnographic studies that explored literacy as social practices in different domains such as home, work and the community. Their findings draw on theoretical perspectives that emphasize the need to explore how and why people use literacies in the way that they do. If ‘literacies’ were interchanged with ‘learning’ and ‘knowledge’ in the above arguments, one can see parallels that could inform and develop our understanding of gender relations and gendered situations in relation to knowledge construction and learning. It may be useful, therefore, to explore how practice theory can enlighten us – drawing on the experiences of social practices’ approaches to literacies. A starting point is usefully summarized by Jonassen and Roher-Murphy (1999: 62) in their explanation of activity theory: Activity cannot be understood or analysed outside the context in which it occurs. So when analysing human activity, we must examine not only the kinds of activities that people engage in but also who is engaging in that activity, what their goals and intentions are, what objects or products result from the activity, the rules and norms that circumscribe that activity, and the larger community in which the activity occurs. Again, if ‘activity’ were replaced with ‘learning’ and ‘knowledge’, this would provide a useful analytical framework for ethnographic studies into learning that probe and question how and why people choose to acquire and use knowledge in a way that is useful for them.

Summary This chapter has explored some of the basic principles behind feminist perspectives on gender and learning. It has argued that learning preferences should not be regarded as gender specific, though they may be gender related. But analysis of gender and learning should take account of the socially constructed circumstances surrounding gender itself and not assume that all women prefer a particular style of learning. Further research is needed into the complexities surrounding learning preferences in order to maximize learning opportunities and so that no-one is disadvantaged by context-specific circumstances and experiences. An ethnographic approach is suggested, using activity theory as an analytical framework. The chapter has addressed literature relating to adults and learning, rather than children.

References Alumran, J. I. A. (2008) Learning styles in relation to gender, field of study, and academic achievement for Bahraini university students, Individual Differences Research, 6(4): 303–16. Anglin, L. P., Pirson, M. and Langer, E. (2008) Mindful learning: a moderator of gender differences in mathematics performance, Journal of Adult Development, 15: 132–39. Barton, D. and Hamilton, M. (1998) Local Literacies: Reading and writing in one community, London: Routledge. Belenky, M. F., Clinchy, B. M., Goldberger, N. R. and Tarule, J. M. (1986) Women’s Ways of Knowing: The development of self, voice and mind, New York: Basic Books. Burke, P. J. and Jackson, S. (2007) Reconceptualising Lifelong Learning: Feminist interventions, London: Routledge. Clinchy, B. M. (2002) Revisiting Women’s Ways of Knowing, in Hoer, B. K. and Pintrich, P. R. (eds) Personal Epistemology: The psychology of beliefs about knowledge and knowing, Mahwah, NJ and London: Lawrence Erlbaum Associated, 63–87.

73

Julia Preece

Code, L. (1991) What Can She Know? Feminist theory and the construction of knowledge, Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. ——(1993) Taking subjectivity into account, in Alcoff L and Potter E (eds) Feminist Epistemologies, New York: Routledge, 15–48. Connell, R. W. (2002) Gender, Cambridge: Polity. English, L. M. (2006) A Foucauldian reading of learning in feminist, non-profit organizations, Adult Education Quarterly, 56(2): 85–101. ——(2006a) Women, knowing and authenticity: living with contradictions, New Directions for Adult and Continuing Education, 111: 17–25. ——(2008) Reflexive texts: issues of knowledge, power and discourse in researching gender and learning, Adult Education Quarterly, 58(4): 267–83. Foucault, M. (1980) Power/Knowledge, London: Harvester Wheatsheaf. Goldberger, N., Tarule, J., Clinchy, B. and Belenky, M. (eds) (1996) Knowledge, Difference and Power: Essays inspired by women’s ways of knowing, New York: Basic Books. Harding, S. (1993) Rethinking standpoint epistemology: what is ‘strong objectivity’? in Alcoff L and Potter E (eds) Feminist Epistemologies, New York: Routledge, 49–82. Hayes, E. and Flannery, D. D. (2000) Women as Learners: The significance of gender in adult learning, San Francisco, CA: Jossey Bass. Hill Collins, P. (1990) Black Feminist Thought: Knowledge, consciousness, and the politics of empowerment, London: Routledge. Jonassen, D. H. and Roher-Murphy, L. (1999) Activity theory as a framework for designing constructivist learning environments, Education, Training, Research and Development, 47 (1): 61–79. Kim, E. M. (2002) Conversational learning: a feminist pedagogy for teaching preaching, Teaching Theology and Religion, 5(3): 169–77. Lathrop, A. H. (2000) Feminist theory and collaborative learning in seminar contexts, The International Journal for Academic Development, 5(1): 61–67. Le Cornu, A. (1999) Learning styles, gender and age as influential issues amongst students of theology, Journal of Beliefs and Values, 20(1): 110–13. Lynch, H. and Field, J. (2007) Getting stuck, becoming unstuck: transitions and blockages between learning contexts. Paper presented at Centre for Research in Lifelong Learning Conference 22–24 June, ‘Transitions and learning in the lifecourse: insights from the Learning Lives Project’, University of Stirling, Scotland. Nesbit, M. (2000) Connected knowing and developmental theory, Revision, 22(4): 6–15. Ortman, P. E. (1993) A feminist approach to teaching learning theory with educational applications, Teaching of Psychology, 20(1): 38–40. Perry, W. G. (1970) Forms of Intellectual and Ethical Development in the College Years, New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston. Price, L. (2006) Gender differences and similarities in online courses: challenging stereotypical view of women, Journal of Computer Assisted Learning, 22: 349–59. Prinsloo, M. and Breier, M. (eds) (1996) The Social Uses of Literacy: Theory and practice in contemporary South Africa, Cape Town: SACHED Books and John Benjamins Publishing Company. Ryan, A. B. (2001) Feminist Ways of Knowing: Towards theorizing the person for radical adult education, Leicester: NIACE. Skeggs, B. (1997) Formations of Class and Gender, London: Sage. Smith, L. L. (2002) Using the power of collaborative inquiry: community women learn and lead themselves, New Directions for Adult and Continuing Education, 94: 23–32. Street, B. V. (1995) Social Literacies: Critical approaches to literacy in development, ethnography and education, London: Longman. Tisdell, E. J. (1998) Poststructural feminist pedagogies: the possibilities and limitations of feminist emancipatory adult learning theory and practice, Adult Education Quarterly, 48(3): 139–57. Tomasello, M. and Rakoczy, H. (2003) What makes human cognition unique? From individual to shared to collective intentionality, Mind and Language, 18(2): 121–47. Weiler, K. and Middleton, S. (eds) (1999) Telling Women’s Lives: Narrative inquiries in the history of women’s education, Buckingham: Open University Press. Zohar, A. (2006) Connected knowledge in science and mathematics education, International Journal of Science Education, 28(13): 1579–99.

74

8 Learning and identity Lyn Tett

Introduction This chapter discusses how an individual’s identity has an effect on their learning and vice versa. In particular it focuses on what it means to have an identity as someone who sees oneself, and is seen by significant others, as a competent learner. When thinking about identity it is usual to focus on the characteristics of an individual that are maintained over time and that distinguish one person from another. However, identity is socially constructed in interaction with others and so it is dynamic and only relatively stable (see Schuller et al., 2004). It follows from this that identity is not fixed, but is created and re-created in interactions between the individual and the social world that they inhabit (Bauman, 1996; Sfard and Prusak, 2005; Wenger, 1998). This does not mean, however, that identity is completely fluid, since individuals seek to make sense of their experiences by constructing patterns of consistency and coherence regarding the nature of their identity in their relationships with others. Learning has a strong relationship to identity because, through the institutions of the family, education and work, the individual’s outlook and self-image are socially shaped so that ‘fundamental to our understanding of learning … is our understanding of the whole person in a social situation’ (Jarvis, 2009: 31). Viewing learning and identity as developing through social relationships and within particular contexts or ‘communities of practice’ (Wenger, 1998) is also helpful in dealing with issues of power and responsibilities because it addresses: how collective discourses shape personal worlds and how individual voices combine into the voice of a community … [as well as] the mechanisms through which the collective and the common enter individual activities … through learning. (Sfard and Prusak, 2005: 15) In modern times constant change results in the pervasive fluidity of social memberships and of identities themselves in ways that often lead to fear and insecurity (Beck, 1992; Giddens, 1991). Therefore the role of learning in shaping identities may be greater now than in the past, since learning can be the primary means of creating a new self because what is potentially possible is only limited by our imaginations. So, engaging in learning can be the means of making a reality of our desire to be, for example, a great chef and thus can close the critical gap between our actual and designated identities (Sfard and Prusak, 2005: 19). 75

Lyn Tett

Learning is therefore not only about acquiring new skills and practices but also about changes in people’s identity. However, learning identities tend to act as self-fulfilling prophecies and so play a critical role in determining whether the process of learning will end with what counts as success or with what is regarded as failure. This is because identity as a competent learner is shaped by the complex interaction of a number of factors that include past learning experiences and the mediating effect of family influences upon them (Rees et al., 2000), as well as the norms and values of the social networks to which individuals belong (Gallacher et al., 2002; McGivney, 2001). So identities feed into, and are fed by, learning experiences. Researchers (see Crossan et al., 2003; Tett and Maclachlan, 2007; Wojecki, 2007) have suggested that engaging in learning in adulthood can have a significant role in the formation and re-formation of the identities of participants and consequently of their ability to reach their learning goals. This is because, as Schuller and colleagues argue (2004: 13), ‘learning [is] a process whereby people build up – consciously or not – their assets’ particularly in the form of greater self-confidence. However, a person’s activities and choices are both constrained and enabled by their horizons for action and this has a major impact on the decision to engage in learning. As Hodkinson (2004: 7) argues, learning is ‘influenced both by the opportunities a person has access to, and also by a person’s perception of self, of what they want to be, and of what seems possible’. Thus people bring a particular life history, which influences how they engage with learning through the ways it shapes their expectations, hopes, and aspirations. Barton and colleagues (2007: 18), for example, have emphasised the importance of individual histories; how people have their own ‘ways of being’, the cluster of social, psychological and affective characteristics that make up their identities; the significance of the circumstances in which they are situated, over which they will have some control; and the importance of people’s plans and how they see their future possibilities. In particular, poor experiences of learning at school can have a strong negative effect on a decision to participate in education as an adult. The task of overcoming this negativity should not be underestimated, for as Jonker (2005: 123) argues: at the individual level, schooling can offer the confidence of becoming an educated, knowledgeable person. It can also saddle one for life with the feeling that one is doomed to fail. Schooling, in other words, is part of the complex process of shaping and reshaping the self. This negative identity is particularly common in people who have difficulties with literacy, because people tend to internalise a deficit discourse and assume that earlier experiences of ‘failure’ to learn are solely their responsibility. Since individuals play an active role in constructing meaning from the discourses that they encounter, this suggests that learning designed to bring about change should focus both on the individual’s sense of self and identity and also on how these are shaped by, and shape, their agency. In order to explore this further the chapter now turns to an examination of the role of learning identity in adult literacy education.

Adult literacy students This section draws on two studies of participants in literacy programmes (Maclachlan et al., 2008; Tett et al., 2006) where many of the students described negative experiences of initial education that had caused them to be reluctant to engage in structured, or ‘learning-conscious’ learning (Rogers, 2003: 27). Rogers distinguishes the everyday learning that we engage in through living and acting in the world around us from acquisitional or ‘task-conscious’ learning (p. 16). He maintains, however, that many adults with negative experiences of compulsory education struggle to marry their construction of themselves as capable ‘taskconscious’ learners with their sense of self as learners in structured educational contexts. Although adults may recognise their competence in relation to the acquisitional learning that they regularly encounter, such as 76

Learning and identity

caring for children or elders, their perceptions and experience of education inhibit the transfer of this positive self-construct in formalised learning contexts. They can therefore revert to constructing themselves as not competent, because they equate learning primarily with formal education. This means that they have negative or, at best, fragile identities as learners. Many of the students who participated in these studies pointed out, when reflecting back on how they felt at the start of their courses, that they had been reluctant to engage in any kind of learning. For example, one participant said ‘school days are bad memories, and it puts you off learning because it makes you feel such a failure, and you don’t want that again’ (Maclachlan et al., 2008: 33). Another spoke about the teachers being: more interested in the bright ones, the ones that could get on …. They sort of just left me to one side … I tried to do my best, but I just felt that because I wasn’t bright and I wasn’t brainy that people just didn’t want to know. (Maclachlan et al., 2008: 32) The discourse that people internalised was that they were ‘thick’, ‘stupid’ and ‘not very bright’ human beings, and this led them to hide their literacy difficulties. For example, another student said ‘I used to feel like I was a nobody at work because I just kept thinking about all the things I couldn’t do and having to hide them from my workmates’ (Tett et al., 2006: 50). Many recalled memories of bullying and harassment that affected their ability to learn because they felt unsafe. For example, a student’s memories of his learning at school were shaped by his experiences of bullying from his teachers. He said, ‘In English and Math classes if you got picked on by the teacher … and when you got it wrong – you got hit. So there was fear – no one would put up their hand unless you were 100% sure, and that marks you’ (Maclachlan et al., 2008: 33). However, this research showed that participating in programmes where students’ abilities and achievements were recognised by both their peers and tutors was crucial in changing these negative views of their competence as learners. As one student suggested: Coming here helps me keep on going. I don’t think I’m a failure any more. …. It’s making me feel good doing something I wanted to do for myself. … It’s boosting my self-esteem, giving me more confidence and helping me know I can get a job. (Maclachlan et al., 2008: 56) Tutors also offered the students trust and respect by responding positively to their ideas about what they wanted to learn. For example, ‘the tutors here offer me lots of choice and help me to move on to the next thing when I’m ready’ (Maclachlan et al., 2008: 50). Peer support also built a positive learner identity especially when: ‘the whole group gets on well together and it gives me support to try things that I find difficult such as writing on the flip-chart’ (Maclachlan et al., 2008: 51). A final aspect of the way in which participating in these programmes contributed to a new sense of being a person that was capable of learning was positive tutor–student relationships. For example: It motivates me that the tutors are working so hard to help me. I’ve already been able to write a letter and had a good result from it. I feel it’s the first time anyone’s reacted to anything I’ve said. (Maclachlan et al., 2008: 58) This quote illustrates that, although the individual student can affect his/her own confidence in learning, tutors and peers can help increase this by providing support, encouragement and constructive feedback, especially when the learning results in positive change. A final feature of the programmes that impacted on 77

Lyn Tett

learner identity was being placed at the centre of social networks that regard learning as valuable and productive. This led to changes in participants’ sense of their potential, ability and achievements and a growing realisation that they were not as ‘thick’ as they had seen themselves, and been seen, in the past. As Beth Crossan and her colleagues have argued, seeing oneself as a competent learner is the product of the complex interplay between the ‘social and economic structures that shape people’s lives, the educational institutions which determine the processes of engagement with learning, and the learners themselves’ (2003: 58). All education represents the practical articulation of a particular set of values, be they implicit or explicit. The data from these research projects show that, where students are assisted in actively and critically making informed choices about their lives and their learning, then changes in learning identity can follow. This section has focused on planned learning in educational programmes, but much learning occurs more informally through engagement with the social world, particularly at work. Work is a context in which we are aware of being part of a community that learns how to engage in particular practices, but these are often in a tacit, rather than a conscious, way. The next section therefore investigates learning at work and in particular how an individual’s learning identity is mediated by the organisational culture of the workplace.

Learning in the workplace There is a growing body of research that focuses on learning both as a component and as an outcome of individuals’ engagement in work (e.g. Alvesson and Willmott, 2002; Billett, 2006; Lave and Wenger, 1991; Wenger, 1998). This research recognises that identity is experienced through the competences manifested in sharing a common enterprise, values, assumptions, purpose and communication through work, which means that ‘we know who we are by what is familiar, understandable, usable, negotiable; we know who we are not by what is foreign, opaque, unwieldy, unproductive’ (Wenger, 1998: 153). Identity in this sense is not fixed, because people are also defined in terms of their non-participation in practices as well as in the movement between or within them. People also bring a set of conceptions, procedures, beliefs and dispositions to their working lives, so learning is shaped by the diverse ways in which individuals elect to engage in workplace activities and these in turn are ‘mediated by individuals’ subjectivities’ (Billett, 2006: 2). At the same time workplaces themselves offer different learning environments that can range from the ‘restrictive’ to the ‘expansive’ (see Fuller and Unwin, 2004). In an expansive environment, learning for the whole workforce is developed, employees are seen as an asset to the company and there is a belief that everybody can learn. These different environments interact with individuals’ orientations to learning, because people also identify with the social expectations of their ‘community of practice’ (Wenger, 1998) in terms of both what they do and how they go about it. To illustrate these interactions this section draws on a research project that investigated workplace learning in small and medium-sized enterprises (SMEs) in Scotland through a study of 14 companies from different employment sectors (Ahlgren et al., 2007; Ahlgren and Tett, 2010). The research investigated both employers’ and employees’ attitudes to, and experiences of, learning. Managers in companies with an ‘expansive’ orientation to learning emphasised the opportunities that employees had to develop their careers and also demonstrated their sensitivity to the needs of their employees. For example, one manager of a care home for older people said: Some employees are older and hadn’t been to school for years and the thought of going through a qualification just terrified them. A couple of staff left but I managed to convince the rest of them that support would be [available] here … . We didn’t want them to go to a college because it would be 78

Learning and identity

too scary for them so we thought if they are all together and they are doing their training then there’s going to be a support mechanism here as well. (Ahlgren and Tett, 2010: 21) On the other hand, managers with a ‘restrictive’ attitude to learning were more negative about opportunities and imposed limits on learning. For example, one manager from a manufacturing company argued: As we change products there are some people who don’t have the ability to learn the new products … [especially] people who have been with the company a long time. They could build the products we used to make ten years or more ago … but they don’t have the ability … to make the more modern [products]. That’s always a difficulty. (Ahlgren and Tett, 2010: 21) From the employees’ perspective, those working in expansive environments valued the informal opportunities to learn from colleagues and for colleagues to learn from them. This mutual learning led to an increase in confidence as their own knowledge and experience were valued and appreciated by their colleagues and employers. For example one person (a care assistant) reported: You get to see things. You can tell if someone is under the weather and you understand what is wrong … . We work closely with nurses … [and] in here the staff nurses will ask us because we are the ones working closely with the residents. (Ahlgren and Tett, 2010: 23) From the restrictive end of the continuum, in a company that undertook stone cleaning, the administrator who was very keen to learn said: They repeatedly promised me computer training but there was just no time for me. We tried several times to slot in but … I could never get to any training. So the training was supposed to be available to all the staff but unfortunately my workload has to come first. (Ahlgren and Tett, 2010: 23) Her manager, whilst acknowledging her lack of opportunities, argued that training was expensive: The administrator has had the least training and part of that was because she didn’t have anyone helping her in the office. So you need to make the time and bear the costs … it is not just their wages, it is the fact they are not earning. (Ahlgren and Tett, 2010: 22) This example illustrates the unequal distribution of learning affordances within the company (Billett, 2001), so that, even if individuals were keen to learn, they were denied opportunities. On the other hand, some employees, who had not seen themselves as competent learners, had been encouraged to participate in training by the expansive learning environment in their workplace. For example, one person (a support worker) said: I have not got a lot of confidence in myself. … I am not brainy, I was never in trouble or anything like that, but I wasn’t much interested in school. … [Here] if you go into the office and ask they will help you, they will never see you struggle, … and if they think there is some training that would be good for you … they are very encouraging. (Ahlgren and Tett, 2010: 24) 79

Lyn Tett

Some individuals really welcomed the opportunities to engage in training courses, particularly those that led to qualifications. For example, one person (a child care worker) felt that her formal qualifications, gained through her workplace, had given her the confidence to communicate effectively with parents. She explained: ‘I know exactly what I’m talking about and I can explain it to them. I know what I’m doing and I know how to plan activities for the kids. I now have a better knowledge’ (Ahlgren and Tett, 2010: 23). In her case, her confidence in learning was met by the affordances offered by the workplace. Eraut (2004) in his study of a range of workplaces found that much learning at work occurs through doing things and being proactive in seeking learning opportunities, but he emphasised that this required confidence. He argued that confidence came from successfully meeting challenges in one’s work, while the confidence to take on such challenges depended on the extent to which workers felt supported in that endeavour. Thus, he suggested that there was a triangular relationship between challenge, support and confidence. The evidence from his research showed that both confidence in one’s ability to do the work and commitment to the importance of that work were factors that affect individual learning. If there is neither challenge nor sufficient support to encourage staff to seek out, or respond to, a challenge then confidence declines and with it the motivation to learn. Workplaces can boost employees’ confidence and function as ‘safe’ environments that encourage people back into learning. For example, one person (a care worker) found that the communication course offered through her workplace gave her a sense of security in the knowledge that people around her were unlikely to find out about her literacy needs: I don’t know if I would have pursued it myself had it not been offered through work. You wouldn’t want them talking about you, whereas in your work nobody knows. (Ahlgren et al., 2007: 29) Finally, one employee (a cleaner) who successfully completed an introductory computer course with several of her colleagues said: I wouldn’t go on a course myself … when a few were going together from work, then that was different, you feel OK, and if you can’t do it, you can always ask the others … and if I don’t know, then I’m not stupid on my own. We can have a giggle about being thick together. (Ahlgren et al., 2007: 30) This quote also demonstrates the value of being part of a social group that is engaging in the learning of new practices. These differing examples show how learner identity and workplace culture interact to facilitate or close down opportunities for learning and development (see Berg and Chyung, 2008). In addition, whilst everyday life in work is characterised by collective and habitual routines, these routines are always guided by the social and relational emotions attached to them and so change can be challenging. So, for one of these employees (a care worker) the opportunity to engage in learning in a formal setting was seen as intimidating due to her previous negative experience of schooling and the emotions that this generated. She described her experience of a personal development course held at a Further Education College. Ten minutes into the course I went to introduce myself, well without a word of a lie I was actually feeling sick, I hate things like that. I was so embarrassed that I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me. You had to say what your ambition was … I couldn’t say anything. I hate talking in front of people. I really find it intimidating. (Ahlgren and Tett, 2010: 24) 80

Learning and identity

This again demonstrates the value of learning in the familiar environment of work, rather than somewhere formal and removed from the everyday. Clearly the relationships between work, subjectivity and learning are crucial to understanding the complexities of identity, learning opportunities and organisational culture. As Scheeres and Solomon (2006) have pointed out, the changing demands on workers in the 21st century have meant that workers are required to engage in on-going change and learning and ‘much of the learning involves workers becoming subject to, and subjects of, various organisational practices’ (p. 88). However, workers are able to make choices that, whilst they are exercised within and through the social practices of the workplace, are not necessarily constrained by them. The culture of the workplace interacts both with individual employees’ identities as learners and also with the ways in which learning and training are delivered. Those people who have had earlier negative experiences need to have a supportive experience of learning that challenges their assumptions that they can’t learn. One key way in which this can be done is by building on the tacit knowledge that people have of their workplace practices that has been gained through simply doing the job. Learning through participating in the cultural practices of the workplace means that it is ‘an integral part of the generative social practice of the lived in world’ (Lave and Wenger, 1991: 5). Clearly, an approach that builds on employees’ existing knowledge and understanding is highly influenced by the workplace culture and, if there is an expansive approach to employees that goes beyond skills and reaches towards a holistic approach to learning and development, then it will enable positive learning to be undertaken. Such an approach also enables people to see their future possibilities in a different way, as their employers value the knowledge and experience that they bring and this promotes their own confidence in learning.

Conclusion This chapter has demonstrated that coming to see oneself, and being seen by others, as a person who has an identity as a competent learner is the product of the interaction of the individual’s own personal history and the social context in which the learning takes place. Focusing on the different contexts of adult literacy students engaged in educational programmes and learning in workplaces has provided an opportunity to explore different influences on learner identity. In the first context, the emphasis has been on the impact of earlier experiences of formal education and, in the second, the learning affordances (Billett, 2001) that workplaces offer. In both cases it has been shown that, although identities are assigned by powerful others, we can also create our own sense of self despite these constructions. Individuals are able to assert their agency through the adoption and adaptation of different forms of participation and identity construction within different communities. These communities also exist in the structurally defined hierarchies of everyday life ‘so people are also marked by their location within these larger systems of power and privilege that have shaped their experience’ (Cervero and Wilson, 2001: 11). People are not passive receptacles or carriers of discourses, but rather are actively and critically interpreting and enacting them. However, their ability to assert their agency is constrained by the socio-cultural structures within which they act. This means that engaging in meaningful learning activities that are developed through shared social relationships will be limited both by the individual’s internalised conceptions of their identity as a learner and by the learning affordances offered in their educational, working and social lives. One value of engaging in new practices and experiencing new perspectives through learning lies in the awareness that it brings of both how we see ourselves and how others see us, which opens up the possibility of positive change. An aspect of this is the gaining of reciprocal and mutual recognition of each other’s skills, knowledge and understanding, leading to a stronger identity as a competent learner. In the literacy programmes this involved providing an environment in which students could thrive through a pedagogical approach that placed participants’ own goals at the centre of the learning activities and created a supportive atmosphere where they were treated with respect within relationships of trust. In the 81

Lyn Tett

workplace this involved learning that built on employees’ tacit and experiential knowledge and was shared vertically and horizontally across the workplace. In both contexts these approaches were more likely to lead to increasing competence and confidence in learning because people were regarded as knowledge-rich and thus able to contribute, rather than being seen as suffering from a skills deficit. The evidence presented here from these differing contexts shows that receiving respect and recognition from significant others about who we are and what we can do makes a contribution to our ability to see ourselves as competent learners, and so our learning identity can change.

References Ahlgren, L., and Tett, L. (2010) ‘Work based learning, identity and organisational culture’, Studies in Continuing Education, 32 (1): 17–28. Ahlgren, L., Riddell, S., Tett, L. and Weedon, E. (2007) Adult learning in small and medium sized enterprises in Scotland, Edinburgh, CREID: University of Edinburgh. Alvesson, M. and Willmott, H. (2002) ‘Identity regulation as organizational control: producing the appropriate individual’, Journal of Management Studies, 39 (5): 619–44. Barton, D., Ivanic, R., Appleby, Y., Hodge, R. and Tusting, K. (2007) Literacy, lives and learning, London, Routledge. Bauman, Z. (1996), ‘From pilgrim to tourist – or a short history of identity’, in S. Hall and P. du Guy (eds), Questions of cultural identity, London: Sage, 18–36. Beck, Ulrich (1992) Risk society: towards a new modernity, London: Sage. Berg, S. and Chyung, S. (2008) ‘Factors that influence informal learning in the workplace’, Journal of Workplace Learning, 20 (4): 229–44. Billett, S. (2001) ‘Learning through work: learning affordances and individual engagement’, Journal of Workplace Learning, 13 (5): 209–14. ——(2006) ‘Work, subjectivity and learning’, in S. Billett, T. Fenwick and M. Somerville (2006) Work, subjectivity and learning: understanding learning through working life, Dordrecht, Netherlands: Springer, 1–17. Cervero, R. and Wilson, A. (2001) Power in practice, San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Crossan, B., Field, J., Gallacher, J. and Merrill, B. (2003) ‘Understanding participation in learning for non-traditional adult learners: learning careers and the construction of learner identities’, British Journal of Sociology of Education, 24 (1): 55–67. Eraut, M. (2004) ‘Informal learning in the workplace, Studies in Continuing Education, 26 (2): 247–73. Fuller, A. and Unwin, L. (2004) ‘Expansive learning environments: integrating personal and organisational development’, in H. Rainbird, A. Fuller and A. Munro (eds) Workplace learning in context, London: Routledge. Gallacher, J., Crossan, B., Field, J. and Merrill, B. (2002) ‘Learning careers and social space: exploring the fragile identities of adult returners in the new further education’, International Journal of Lifelong Education, 12 (6): 493–509. Giddens, A. (1991) Modernity and self-identity, Cambridge: Polity Press. Hodkinson, P. (2004) ‘Career decision-making, learning careers and career progression’, Nuffield Review of 14–19 Education and Training Working Paper 12. Hodkinson, P. and Bloomer, M. (2002) ‘Learning careers: conceptualizing lifelong work-based learning’, in K. Evans, P. Hodkinson and l. Unwin (eds) Working to learn: transforming learning in the workplace. London: Kogan Page. Lave, J. and Wenger, E. (1991) Situated learning, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Jarvis, P. (2009) ‘Learning to be a person in society: learning to be me’ in K. Illeris (ed.) Contemporary theories of learning, London: Routledge, 21–34. Jonker, E. (2005) ‘School hurts: refrains of hurt and hopelessness in stories about dropping out at a vocational school of care work’, Journal of Education and Work, 19 (2): 121–40. McGivney, V. (2001) Fixing or changing the pattern? Reflections on widening adult participation in learning, Leicester, NIACE. Maclachlan, K. and Tett, L. (2006) ‘Learning to change or changing the learning: adult literacy and numeracy in Scotland’, Journal of Adult and Continuing Education, 12 (2): 195–206. Maclachlan, K., Hall, S., Tett, L., Crowther, J. and Edwards, V. (2008) Motivating adult literacies learners to persist, progress and achieve: literacies learners at risk of non-completion of learning targets, Edinburgh: Scottish Government. Rees, G., Gorard, S., Fevre, R. and Furlong, J. (2000) ‘Participating in the learning society: history, place and biography’, in F. Coffield (Ed.) Differing visions of a learning society, Bristol: The Policy Press. Rogers, A. (2003) What is the difference? A new critique of adult learning and teaching, Leicester: NIACE. Scheeres, H. and Solomon, N. (2006) ‘The moving subject: shifting work(ers) across and beyond organisational boundaries’, in S. Billett, T. Fenwick, and M. Somerville Work, subjectivity and learning: understanding learning through working life, Dordrecht, Netherlands: Springer, 87–103.

82

Learning and identity

Schuller, T., Brasset-Grundy, A., Green, A., Hammond, C. and Preston, J. (2004) Wider benefits of learning, London: Routledge Falmer. Sfard, A. and Prusak, A. (2005) ‘Telling identities: in search of an analytic tool for investigating learning as a culturally shaped activity’, Educational Researcher, 34 (4): 14–22. Tett, L. and Maclachlan, K. (2007) ‘Adult literacy and numeracy, social capital, learner identities and self–confidence’, Studies in the Education of Adults, 39 (2): 150–67. Tett, L., Maclachlan, K., Hall, S., Edwards, V., Thorpe, G. and Garside, L. (2006) Evaluation of the Scottish Adult Literacy and Numeracy Strategy, Glasgow: Scottish Executive, available: www.scotland.gov.uk/Publications/2006/03/ 20102141/0 [accessed 20th July 2010]. Wenger, E. (1998) Communities of practice: learning, meaning and identity, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wojecki, A. (2007) ‘What’s identity got to do with it anyway? Constructing adult learner identities in the workplace’, Studies in the Education of Adults, 39 (2): 168–82.

83

9 Thinking styles in student learning and development Li-fang Zhang

For the past seven decades, scholars have been investigating the roles of intellectual styles in human learning and development (Morgan, 1997). Intellectual styles, a general term for different constructs with or without the root word “style”, such as cognitive style, learning style, conceptual tempo, and thinking style, refer to people’s preferred ways of processing information (Zhang and Sternberg, 2006). Although various intellectual styles are conceptually different (Sternberg and Zhang, 2001b), they are similar in a fundamental way: all of them are different from abilities. An ability refers to what one can do, whereas a style refers to how one prefers to use the abilities that one has. Major theorization and research on styles has been summarized in several recent publications (e.g. Jonassen and Grabowski, 1993; Riding and Cheema, 1991; Sternberg and Zhang, 2001a; Zhang and Sternberg, 2006, 2009a). This chapter examines the role of thinking styles as defined in Sternberg’s theory of mental self-government in student learning and development. It is divided into four parts. First, the theory and the research tools used to operationalize the theory are introduced. Second, research evidence supporting the importance of thinking styles in learning is presented. The third part introduces research evidence demonstrating the value of thinking styles in student development. Finally, some conclusions are drawn and implications of findings on the role of thinking styles in student learning and development for education are discussed.

The theory of mental self-government and its research tools Using “government” metaphorically, Sternberg (1988) contended that just as there are different ways of governing a society, there are different ways in which people use their abilities. These different preferences for using abilities are construed as thinking styles. The theory describes 13 thinking styles. The main characteristics of each of the 13 thinking styles are highlighted in the Appendix (see the end of the chapter). Based on empirical evidence, Zhang (2002a) reconceptualized the 13 styles into three types. Type I styles are more creativity-generating, require higher levels of cognitive complexity, and include the legislative, judicial, hierarchical, global, and liberal styles. Type II styles denote a norm-conforming tendency, require lower levels of cognitive complexity, and include the executive, local, monarchic, and conservative thinking styles. Type III styles may manifest the characteristics of either Type I or Type II styles, depending on the stylistic demands of the specific task, and include the anarchic, oligarchic, internal, and external styles. 84

Thinking styles in student learning and development

Although various research methods (e.g. questionnaire survey, interview, and experiment) have been used to study thinking styles, self-report inventories, especially the Thinking Styles Inventory (TSI, Sternberg and Wagner, 1992) and its revised versions, TSI-R (Sternberg, Wagner and Zhang, 2003) and TSI-R2 (Sternberg, Wagner, and Zhang, 2007), have been responsible for generating the bulk of the literature on thinking styles. Research using these inventories has supported the validity of Sternberg’s original theory, as well as its reconceptualization (e.g. Fjell and Walhovd, 2004; Hommerding, 2003; Zhang, 2005), and has shown that thinking styles play an important role within the education arena. This chapter focuses on elaborating research that has demonstrated the value of thinking styles in student learning and development.

Thinking styles in student learning Broadly speaking, the critical role of thinking styles has been evidenced in two aspects of student learning: learning processes and learning outcomes. Learning processes are represented by such constructs as Biggs’s (1992) learning approaches, Atkinson’s (1964) achievement motivation, and Schraw and Dennison’s (1994) metacognitive processes, while learning outcomes are best represented by students’ academic achievement.  Learning Approaches and Thinking Styles. According to Biggs (1992): learners commonly use three approaches to learning: surface, which involves a reproduction of what is taught in order to meet the minimum requirements; deep, which involves a real understanding of what is learned; and achieving, which involves maximizing one’s grades. The relationship between learning approaches and thinking styles is an important area of study, because, whereas the two constructs have been individually shown to be critical to student learning, nothing was known about how the two constructs were related to each other until the studies described here were published. In a first study, Zhang and Sternberg (2000) administered the Thinking Styles Inventory (Sternberg and Wagner, 1992) and Biggs’s (1987) Study Process Questionnaire to 854 students entering the University of Hong Kong and 215 undergraduate freshmen from two universities in Nanjing, mainland China. As expected, results suggested that, in general, students who indicated a stronger preference for Type I thinking styles tended to report a deep approach to learning, whereas students who scored higher in Type II thinking styles tended to report a surface approach to learning. Zhang (2000a) replicated the above study among two independent samples in the United States of America. The first sample was composed of 67 students taking an introductory psychology course in a Midwest Big Ten university in 1997. The second sample was a different cohort group of students (N = 65) registered in the same course in the same university in 1998. Data from these two samples suggested strikingly similar results to those in Zhang and Sternberg’s (2000) study of Chinese university students.  Achievement Motivation and Thinking Styles. Fan and Zhang (2009) investigated whether or not thinking styles made a difference in students’ achievement motivation. Two hundred and thirty-eight university students in Shanghai responded to the TSI-R (Sternberg, Wagner and Zhang, 2003) and the Achievement Motives Scale (Gjesme and Nygard, 1970) that is based on Atkinson’s (1964) achievement motivation theory. Results confirmed the prediction that Type I thinking styles would be positively contributory to achievement motivation to approach success – an achievement motivation that is considered to be more adaptive – but negatively to achievement motivation to avoid failure – an achievement motivation deemed to be maladaptive. At the same time, the findings lent partial support to the prediction that Type II thinking styles would be negatively related to achievement motivation to approach success.  Metacognition and Thinking Styles. Metacognition, a critical individual-difference variable in the learning process, refers to the ability to reflect upon, understand, and control one’s learning (Schraw and 85

Li-fang Zhang

Dennison, 1994). Zhang (2010a) administered the TSI-R2 (Sternberg, Wagner and Zhang, 2007), the Metacognitive Awareness Inventory (Schraw and Dennison, 1994), and the Self-rated Ability Scale (Zhang, 1996) to 424 university students in mainland China. Results suggested that, after students’ self-rated abilities were taken into account, three creativity-generating styles (hierarchical, liberal, and legislative) and the executive style predicted the level of metacognition.  Achievement and Thinking Styles. Research on the role of thinking styles in academic achievement has been carried out at both the school level and the university level in several cultural contexts. Findings are diverse. The earliest research on the contribution of thinking styles to academic achievement was conducted by Sternberg and Grigorenko (1993; also see Grigorenko and Sternberg, 1997) with two groups of gifted students participating in the Yale Summer School Program. The authors found that the Type I, judicial and legislative thinking styles, positively predicted students’ success in a variety of academic tasks, whereas the Type II, executive thinking style, tended to contribute negatively to students’ success in these tasks. However, in a study of American university students, Zhang (2002b) found that the Type II, conservative style, positively predicted students’ grade point averages, whereas the Type I, global and liberal styles, did so negatively. The inconsistent findings may be due to various factors, most notably, students’ different educational levels and the different types of achievement scores used in the different studies. Moreover, different schools also may value different styles. For example, Sternberg and Grigorenko (1993) found correlations that differed in sign between styles and academic achievement across different schools: More progressive schools attached more importance to Type I styles, while more conservative schools put stronger emphasis on Type II styles. In Hong Kong, several studies (Cheung, 2002; Sun, 2000; Zhang, 2001a, 2001b, 2004; Zhang and Sternberg, 1998) were carried out in both secondary school and university settings. Results from almost all studies in Hong Kong (with Sun’s 2000 and Zhang’s 2001b studies being the exceptions) suggested that, in general, the Type II thinking styles, which require conformity (conservative style) and respect for authority (executive style), and the Type I style, which requires a sense of order (hierarchical style), were positively related to academic achievement. In contrast, the Type I thinking styles, which foster creativity (legislative and liberal styles), tended to be negatively predictive of academic achievement. Furthermore, a preference for working individually (internal style) was positively correlated with academic achievement, while a preference for working in groups (external style) was negatively associated with higher academic achievement scores. In a classroom that emphasizes creative thinking and cooperative learning, however, the opposite pattern of results might have been shown. Sun’s (2000) study lent partial support to the above general findings by identifying a positive relationship between students’ achievement in the Chinese language and the local (Type II) and hierarchical (Type I) styles among a group of higher-ability students. However, within a lower-ability group, a positive relationship was found between achievement in the Chinese language and the liberal (Type I) thinking style. Furthermore, one of the Hong Kong studies involved investigating the contribution of thinking styles to academic achievement among university students from mainland China (Zhang, 2001b). Results showed that, as among American school students, the executive (Type II) thinking style was a negative contributory factor in students’ academic achievement. Studies of academic achievement among Filipino university students (Bernardo, Zhang and Callueng, 2002) and among university students in Spain (Cano-Garcia and Hughes, 2000) obtained results that were consistent with those in the majority of Hong Kong studies and with those in the American university sample. In Israel, Nachmias and Shany (2002) examined the relationships between students’ performance in virtual courses and thinking styles among eighth and ninth graders. As in the majority of studies, this study suggested that the internal style positively contributed to achievement. At the same time, the study also found that the liberal (Type I) style contributed to better performance. 86

Thinking styles in student learning and development

Finally, in a more recent study, Kyriakides (2005) investigated the predictive power of thinking styles for academic achievement among a large sample of Cypriot primary school students (1,721 students from 32 schools). Results suggested that a Type I style (liberal) and a Type II style (executive) positively predicted students’ achievement in both mathematics and the Greek language. At the same time, the global (Type I) style also positively contributed to achievement in the Greek language. As illustrated above, the specific ways in which thinking styles contribute to students’ academic achievement are not always consistent. They are highly contingent upon culture, school level, and academic subject matter. Nonetheless, existing studies strongly suggest that thinking styles play an important role in academic achievement—a major indicator of learning outcomes – as they do in learning processes.

Thinking styles in student development Apart from having been shown to be an important factor in learning processes and learning outcomes, thinking styles have been shown to be essential in student development. These developmental aspects include, but are not limited to, cognitive development, emotional development, identity development, career interest development, psychosocial development, personality development, and mental health.  Cognitive Development and Thinking Styles. Zhang (2002a) examined the relationship of thinking styles to cognitive development as measured by the Zhang Cognitive Development Inventory (Zhang, 1997), which is based on Perry’s (1970, 1981) theory of ethical and intellectual development. Research participants in Zhang’s (2002a) study were 82 university students in Hong Kong. It was found that, in general, students who reasoned at higher levels of cognitive development tended to use a wider range of thinking styles, whereas students who reasoned at lower levels of cognitive development tended to be confined to a narrow range of thinking styles, in particular, to Type II styles—styles that denote a norm-favoring tendency.  Emotional Development and Thinking Styles. Zhang (2008a) also examined the relationships of thinking styles to emotional development as assessed by the Iowa Managing Emotions Inventory (IMEI, Hood and Jackson, 1997), based on the five types of emotions proposed by Chickering (1969; see also Chickering and Reisser, 1993): happiness, attraction, anger, depression, and frustration. Participants in Zhang’s (2008a) study were 93 (23 male and 76 female) second-year students in Hong Kong. Results showed that Type I thinking styles were related to Hong Kong university students’ ability to deal with negative emotions (e.g. depression, frustration, and anger) and to the enhancement of positive emotions (e.g. attraction and happiness).  Identity Development and Thinking Styles. In Zhang’s (2008b) study, the Erwin Identity Scale-III (Erwin, 1987) was used to measure three aspects of identity: confidence, sexual identity, and conceptions about body and appearance. Participants were 187 university students in mainland China. Results indicated that Type I styles positively contributed to the development of students’ confidence and conceptions about body and appearance, whereas Type II styles did so negatively, as predicted. However, findings related to the dimension of sexual identity were equivocal in that both Type I and Type II styles positively predicted the development of sexual identity. The inconsistent findings on sexual identity suggest that the development of sexual identity and the development of the other two dimensions of identity may follow very different trajectories. Nonetheless, it is undeniable that thinking styles play an important role in identity development.  Career Interests and Thinking Styles. Research efforts have also aimed at identifying the association of thinking styles with the development of career interests as defined in Holland’s (1973, 1994) six types of career interests: realistic, investigative, artistic, social, enterprising, and conventional. In a study of 600 university students in Hong Kong, Zhang (2000b) found that Type I styles and the external style tended to be positively related to the development of social and enterprising career interests, whereas 87

Li-fang Zhang

Type II styles were positively associated with the conventional type of career interest. These findings were replicated with 789 university students in mainland China (Zhang, 2001c). Identical findings were subsequently obtained by Balkis and Isiker (2005) in their study of 367 third-year university students in Turkey.  Psychosocial Development and Thinking Styles. Psychosocial development as defined by Erikson (1968) is another student-developmental dimension against which thinking styles have been tested (Zhang, 2010b; Zhang and He, 2011). Erikson’s eight stages of psychosocial development were operationalized thorough the Measures of Psychosocial Development (Hawley, 1988). A first study was conducted by Zhang and He (2011): who investigated the relationship between thinking styles and psychosocial development among 426 university students in Shanghai. Results suggested that Type I styles positively contributed to psychosocial development, whereas Type II styles, especially the monarchic and conservative styles, did so negatively. Moreover, two Type III styles consistently predicted psychosocial development: the external style positively contributed to psychosocial development, whereas the anarchic style did so negatively. These results have since been replicated with an independent sample of 362 university students in mainland China (Nanjing) and with a sample of 117 university students in Hong Kong.  Personality Development and Thinking Styles. Thinking styles have been examined in relation to the development of at least four types of personality: the Big Five personality traits, locus of control, anxiety, and self-esteem. Between 2001 and 2003, several studies (e.g. Zhang and Huang, 2001) examining the relationships between thinking styles and the Big Five personality traits (Costa and McCrae, 1992) in Hong Kong and mainland China consistently indicated that Type I thinking styles were positively related to such adaptive personality traits as openness and conscientiousness, whereas Type II styles were positively related to neuroticism—a personality trait often regarded as undesirable. These findings were subsequently supported by studies conducted in the United States of America, Norway (Fjell and Walhovd, 2004), and Iran (Shokri, Kadivar, Farzad, Sangari, and Ghana-ei, 2006). Palut (2008) examined the relationship between thinking styles and locus of control as measured by Rotter’s Internal–External Locus of Control Scale (Rotter, 1966) among 108 female preschool teacher education students. Results indicated that all five Type I thinking styles were negatively associated with higher levels of externality—a personality trait often shown to be correlated with less adaptive attributes such as school discipline problems and task postponement. Zhang (2009) investigated the role of thinking styles in anxiety as measured by Spielberger’s (1983) State–Trait Anxiety Inventory. Participants were 378 university students in mainland China. The study showed that, in general, Type I styles and the external style were negatively related to anxiety, whereas the conservative style was positively related to anxiety. Students’ thinking styles have been tested against their levels of self-esteem. In a first Study, Zhang (2001d) investigated the relationship of thinking styles to self-esteem among 794 university students in Hong Kong using the Self-Esteem Inventory (Adult Form, Coopersmith, 1981). It was found that higher levels of self-esteem were significantly positively related to Type I thinking styles, but moderately negatively related to Type II styles. In a second study of an independent sample of 694 university students in Hong Kong, Zhang and Postiglione (2001) obtained strikingly similar results.  Mental Health and Thinking Styles. Finally, Chen and Zhang (under review) examined the role of thinking styles in mental health as measured by a Chinese version of the Symptom Checklist-90 (Derogatis, Rickels, and Rock, 1976). Participants were 250 university students majoring in management and business at Guangzhou University of Foreign Studies in Guangzhou, P.R. China. It was found that students scoring higher on Type I thinking styles tended to report better mental health, scoring lower on depression and hostility scales as well as lower on the General Symptomatic Index. By contrast, students scoring higher on Type II styles, especially those who scored higher on the local and 88

Thinking styles in student learning and development

monarchic styles, tended to score higher on such scales as phobic anxiety, obsessive-compulsive, and psychoticism.

Conclusions and implications The preceding two sections described empirical work focusing on investigating the role of thinking styles in student learning and development. It has been demonstrated that the role of thinking styles in learning processes such as study approaches, metacognition, and achievement motivation as well as in several studentdevelopmental dimensions has been remarkably consistent. Type I styles (i.e. styles that are creativitygenerating) are predictive of learning processes and developmental outcomes that are normally perceived to carry positive values (e.g. deep approach to learning, achievement motivation to approach success, higher levels of cognitive development, openness and conscientiousness personality traits, and so on). Type II styles (i.e. styles that are norm-conforming) on the other hand, are contributory to students’ learning processes and student-developmental outcomes that are commonly considered to carry negative values (e.g. surface approach to learning, achievement motivation to avoid failure, lower levels of cognitive development, neuroticism and psychoticism personality traits, and so forth). The ways in which thinking styles contribute to academic achievement, however, can vary as a function of a range of demographic factors. These include cultural contexts, school and grade levels, and academic subject matter. It is true that, in some cases, research on particular variables (e.g. metacognition and anxiety) has been conducted merely in one single study, which makes the relevant findings impossible to be generalized. It is also true that all studies reviewed here are correlational and cross-sectional. Even so, for at least three reasons, the results obtained are more likely to reflect true individual differences in student learning and development, than to have been found by a statistical chance. First, the consistent patterns of predictive relationships identified are the convergent results from studies of different variables within and across student learning and development. Second, the data sources are from a wide range of cultural settings and from both schools and universities. Third, the psychometric properties of the inventories employed in the studies are sound. Given these reasons, one could argue that the findings highlighted here make significant contributions to the field of styles and they have practical implications for education. To begin with, although much knowledge about thinking styles as defined in Sternberg’s theory of mental self-government has been accumulated over the past two decades, there is not a single piece of work that documents this knowledge. The present chapter reviews work that focused on the roles of thinking styles in student learning and development. The general conclusion that thinking styles are critical in student learning and development contributes to the literature on styles and to that on student learning and development. At the same time, this review contributes to our knowledge about the nature of thinking styles. In the styles literature, one of the long-standing controversial issues is whether styles are value-laden or value-free. This review shows that thinking styles are value-laden, with Type I styles being generally more adaptive than Type II styles. Equally importantly, the research reviewed here has practical implications for education. Although the concept of thinking styles is becoming increasingly known in the education arena, almost all parties (including students, teachers, student development educators, and senior administrators) are left to wonder how they can apply the notion of styles in their efforts to enhance student learning and development. What are the roles of thinking styles in student learning and developmental outcomes? Studies reviewed in this chapter consistently suggest that thinking styles play critical roles not only in learning processes and academic achievement, but also in non-cognitive development. Such findings have implications for students, teachers, student development educators, and school/university senior managers.  Students. Very often, students are aware of the importance of ability, even that of personality, in learning and development. However, seldom do students realize that their thinking styles also play an 89

Li-fang Zhang

important function in learning and development. An understanding of the notion of thinking styles would be conducive to the development of student self-esteem and motivation for learning. For example, when students achieve unsatisfactory academic scores, instead of attributing their “failure” to their low academic ability, students could perhaps start thinking about other possible reasons, such as a mismatch between their learning styles and teachers’ teaching styles. One important outcome of such a realization could be that students gain confidence in themselves and, thereafter, become more motivated to learn. Beyond the academic domain, an awareness of the notion of styles may have other benefits. For example, an understanding of the diversity of thinking styles may also enable students to develop higher levels of tolerance for individual differences in ways of approaching their learning tasks, and in their values and opinions.  Teachers. Thinking styles can be changed and teachers are in a powerful position to act as the agents of change. The question is: what kind of thinking styles should teachers develop among their students, and what are some of the strategies that teachers could use to develop students’ thinking styles? Teachers can be engaged in many activities to allow for a variety of thinking styles among students. For example, teachers could facilitate the use of different thinking styles by diversifying their instructional methods and assessment schemes. This diversification is necessary, because, whereas some students may learn better when teachers’ instructions leave plenty of room for imagination, others may learn more effectively when teachers provide detailed guidelines. Students who appear mediocre when assessed on one type of tasks may excel on another. Effective teachers diversify their instruction and assessment so that students, no matter what their thinking styles are, have the opportunity to learn and grow intellectually in a learning environment that is both accommodating (i.e. that allows students to use their existing styles) and challenging (i.e. that provides students with the opportunities to develop other styles). Likewise, teachers can do much to foster Type I styles. For example, they could do so by modeling creative thinking within and beyond classroom settings, by allowing students to make mistakes and to take risks, and by encouraging creative ideas through assigning learning tasks that elicit creative thinking.  Student Development Educators. The finding that thinking styles have a special place in student developmental outcomes dictates that student development educators (e.g. university/school counselors, student affairs personnel, and career guidance personnel) take thinking styles into account when they work with students. Like teachers, student development educators could foster students’ Type I styles. They could encourage students to use more complex thinking in their career decision making (or development in any other non-cognitive domains) by challenging students to come up with creative solutions. For example, they could promote creative thinking by modeling open-mindedness in working with students. As another example, they could facilitate programs that aim at cultivating students’ tendency to appreciate different values and traditions. Research has shown that engaging in such activities as finding creative solutions, being open-minded, and appreciating different values and traditions is beneficial to the development of Type I thinking styles (Zhang and Sternberg, 2009b).  Senior Administrators. In order to meet the diversity in students’ styles, both teachers and student development educators need constantly to expand their repertoire for working with students. Such an expansion would come much more easily if they had the opportunities to learn from one another. Senior school and university managers are in the best position to create situations in which staff members could share their experiences, and thus increase their capacity to deal with students with diverse styles. To promote diverse styles among students, senior school and university managers must first encourage diverse styles among teachers and student development educators. They can do so by taking into account individual differences among teachers and student development educators. For example, they could demonstrate flexibility in working with teachers by creating a work environment in which 90

Thinking styles in student learning and development

teachers and student development educators have the autonomy to do things in their own preferred ways. Finally, they could also facilitate positive student learning and development by introducing policies that encourage Type I styles among students, teachers, and student development educators.

Appendix Table 9.1 Thinking styles in the theory of mental self-government Style type

Thinking style

Key characteristics

I

Legislative

One prefers to work on tasks that require creative strategies; to choose one’s own activities. One prefers to work on tasks that allow for one’s evaluation; to evaluate and judge the performance of other people. One prefers to distribute attention to several tasks that are prioritized according to one’s valuing of the tasks. One prefers to pay more attention to the overall picture of an issue and to abstract ideas. One prefers to work on tasks that involve novelty and ambiguity. One prefers to work on tasks with clear instructions and structures; to implement tasks with established guidelines. One prefers to work on tasks that allow complete focus on one thing at a time. One prefers to work on tasks that require working with concrete details. One prefers to work on tasks that allow one to adhere to the existing rules and procedures in performing tasks. One prefers to work on multiple tasks in the service of multiple objectives, without setting priorities. One prefers to work on tasks that would allow flexibility as to what, where, when, and how one works. One prefers to work on tasks that allow one to work as an independent unit. One prefers to work on tasks that allow for collaborative ventures with other people.

Judicial Hierarchical Global

II

Liberal Executive Monarchic Local Conservative

III

Oligarchic Anarchic Internal External

References Atkinson, J. W. (1964). An introduction to motivation. New York: Van Nostrand. Balkis, M., and Isiker, G. B. (2005). The relationship between thinking styles and personality types. Social Behavior and Personality, 33 (3): 283–94. Bernardo, A. B., Zhang, L. F., and Callueng, C. M. (2002). Thinking styles and academic achievement among Filipino students. Journal of Genetic Psychology, 163 (2): 149–63. Biggs, J. B. (1987). Student approaches to learning and studying. Hawthorn: Australian Council for Educational Research. ——(1992). Why and how do Hong Kong students learn? Using the Learning and Study Process Questionnaires, Education Paper No. 14, Faculty of Education, The University of Hong Kong. Cano-Garcia, F., and Hughes, E. H. (2000). Learning and thinking styles: An analysis of their relationship and influence on academic achievement. Educational Psychology, 20 (4): 413–30. Chen, G. H., and Zhang, L. F. (under review). The role of thinking styles in mental health. Unpublished manuscript. Cheung, F. (2002). Thinking styles and achievement in mathematics and language learning. Unpublished manuscript. The University of Hong Kong. Chickering, A. (1969). Education and identity. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Chickering, A., and Reisser, L. (1993). Education and identity (Second edition). San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Coopersmith, S. (1981). Self-esteem inventories. Palo Alto, CA: Consulting Psychologists Press, Inc. Costa, P. T., Jr., and McCrae, R. R. (1992). The NEO-PI-R: Professional manual. Odessa, FL: Psychological Assessment Resources. Derogatis, L. R., Rickels, K., and Rock, A. (1976). The SCL-90 and the MMPI: A step in the validation of a new self-report scale. British Journal of Psychiatry, 128: 280–89. 91

Li-fang Zhang

Erikson, E. H. (1968). Identity: Youth and crisis. New York: W.W. Norton. Erwin, T. D. (1987). Erwin Identity Scale: Manual. Harrisonburg, VA: Developmental Analytics. Fan, W. Q., and Zhang, L. F. (2009). Thinking styles and achievement motivations. Learning and Individual Differences, 19: 299–303. Fjell, A. M., Walhovd, K. B. (2004). Thinking styles in relation to personality traits: An investigation of the Thinking Styles Inventory and NEO-PI-R. Scandinavian Journal of Psychology, 45 (4): 293–300. Gjesme, T., and Nygard, R. (1970). Achievement Motivation Scale. Oslo: University of Oslo. Grigorenko, E. L., and Sternberg, R. J. (1997). Styles of thinking, abilities, and academic performance. Exceptional Children, 63 (3): 295–312. Hawley, G. A. (1988). Measures of psychosocial development: Professional manual. Lutz, FL: Psychological Assessment Resources, Inc. Holland, J. L. (1973). Making vocational choices: A theory of careers. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall. ——(1994). Self-directed search. Odessa, FL: Psychological Assessment Resources. Hommerding, L. (2003). Thinking style preferences among the public library directors of Florida. Dissertation Abstracts International (Section B): The Sciences and Engineering, 63 (11B): 5545. Hood, A.B., and Jackson, L.M. (1997). The Iowa Managing Emotions Inventory. In A. B. Hood (Ed.), The Iowa student development inventories (2nd edn), Iowa City, IA: HITECH Press, pp. 22–31. Jonassen, D. H., and Grabowski, B. L. (1993). Handbook of individual differences: Learning and instruction. Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Kyriakides, L. (2005). Extending the comprehensive model of educational effectiveness by an empirical investigation. School Effectiveness and School Improvement, 16 (2): 103–52. Morgan, H. (1997). Cognitive styles and classroom learning. Westport, CT: Praeger Publishers. Nachmias, R., and Shany, N. (2002). Learning in virtual courses and its relationship to thinking styles. Journal of Educational Computing Research, 27 (3): 315–29. Palut, B. (2008). The relationship between thinking styles and level of externality: A study of Turkish female preschool student teachers. Social Behavior and Personality, 36 (4): 519–28. Perry, W. G. (1970). Forms of intellectual and ethical development in the college years: A scheme. (2nd edn). New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston. ——(1981). Cognitive and ethical growth: The making of meaning. In A. Chickering (Ed.), The modern American college. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass, pp. 76–116. Riding, R. J., and Cheema, I. (1991). Cognitive styles—an overview and integration. Educational Psychology, 11 (3 and 4): 193–215. Rotter, J. B. (1966). Generalized expectancies for internal versus external control of reinforcement. Psychological Monographs, 80: 1–28. Schraw, G., and Dennison, R. S. (1994). Assessing metacognitive awareness. Contemporary Educational Psychology, 19: 460–75. Shokri, O., Kadivar, P., Farzad, V., Sangari, A. A., and Ghana-ei, Z. (2006). The role of personality traits and thinking styles in academic achievement: Introducing causal models. Journal of Iranian Psychologists, 2 (7): [NP]. Spielberger, C. D. (1983). State-Trait Anxiety Inventory (for Adults). Redwood City, CA: Mind Garden, Inc. Sternberg, R. J. (1988). Mental self-government: A theory of intellectual styles and their development. Human Development, 31: 197–224. Sternberg, R. J., and Grigorenko, E. L. (1993). Thinking styles and the gifted. Roeper Review, 16 (2): 122–30. Sternberg, R. J., and Wagner, R. K. (1992). Thinking styles inventory. Unpublished test. Yale University. Sternberg, R. J., and Zhang, L. F. (2001a) (eds). Perspectives on thinking, learning, and cognitive styles. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. ——(2001b). Preface, in R. J. Sternberg and L. F. Zhang (eds), Perspectives on thinking, learning, and cognitive styles. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum, pp. vii–ix. Sternberg, R. J., Wagner, R. K., and Zhang, L. F. (2003). Thinking Styles Inventory—Revised. Unpublished test. Yale University. ——(2007). Thinking Styles Inventory—Revised II. Unpublished test. Tufts University. Sun, C. C. (2000). Thinking styles and academic achievement. Unpublished manuscript. The University of Hong Kong. Zhang, L. F. (1996). Self-rated Ability Scale. Unpublished test, The University of Hong Kong. ——(1997). The Zhang Cognitive Development Inventory. Unpublished test. The University of Hong Kong. ——(2000a). Relationship between Thinking Styles Inventory and Study Process Questionnaire. Personality and Individual Differences, 29: 841–56. ——(2000b). Are thinking styles and personality types related? Educational Psychology, 20 (3): 271–83. ——(2001a). Do styles of thinking matter among Hong Kong secondary school students? Personality and Individual Differences, 31 (3): 289–301. 92

Thinking styles in student learning and development

——(2001b). Do thinking styles contribute to academic achievement beyond abilities? The Journal of Psychology, 135 (6): 621–37. ——(2001c). Thinking styles and personality types revisited. Personality and Individual Differences, 31 (6): 883–94. ——(2001d). Thinking styles, self-esteem, and extracurricular experiences. International Journal of Psychology, 36 (2): 100–107. ——(2002a). Thinking styles and cognitive development. The Journal of Genetic Psychology, 163 (2): 179–95. ——(2002b). Thinking styles: Their relationships with modes of thinking and academic performance. Educational Psychology, 22 (3), 331–48. ——(2004). Revisiting the predictive power of thinking styles for academic performance. The Journal of Psychology, 138 (4): 351–70. ——(2005). Validating the theory of mental self-government in a non-academic setting. Personality and Individual Differences, 38: 1915–25. ——(2008a). Thinking styles and emotions. The Journal of Psychology, 142 (5): 497–515. ——(2008b). Thinking styles and identity development among Chinese university students. The American Journal of Psychology, 121 (2): 255–71 ——(2009). Anxiety and thinking styles. Personality and Individual Differences, 47: 347–51. ——(2010a). Do thinking styles contribute to metacognition beyond self-rated abilities? Educational Psychology, 30 (4): 481–494. ——(2010b). Further investigating thinking styles and psychosocial development in the Chinese higher education context. Learning and Individual Differences, 20: 593–603. Zhang, L. F., and He, Y. F. (2011). Thinking styles and the Eriksonian stages. Journal of Adult Development, 18: 8–17. Zhang, L. F., and Huang, J. F. (2001). Thinking styles and the five-factor model of personality. European Journal of Personality, 15: 465–76. Zhang, L. F., and Postiglione, G. A. (2001). Thinking styles, self-esteem, and socio-economic status. Personality and Individual Differences, 31: 1333–46. Zhang, L. F., and Sternberg, R. J. (1998). Thinking styles, abilities, and academic achievement among Hong Kong university students. Educational Research Journal, 13 (1): 41–62. ——(2000). Are learning approaches and thinking styles related? A study in two Chinese populations. The Journal of Psychology, 134 (5): 469–89. ——(2006). The nature of intellectual styles. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. ——(eds) (2009a). Perspectives on the nature of intellectual styles. New York: Springer Publishing Company. ——(2009b). Revisiting the value issue in intellectual styles. In L. F. Zhang and R. J. Sternberg (eds), Perspectives on the nature of intellectual styles. New York: Springer Publishing Company, pp. 63–85.

93

10 Non-learning Peter Jarvis

A common exclamation when a teacher has had a ‘bad’ lesson is – ‘They have not learned anything!’ but, in reality, the students might have learned a lot, but not always what the teacher intended. The teacher’s aims and objects were not fulfilled and this was the way that non-learning was perceived – it was a form of what Illeris (2007: pp.158–59) called mis-learning, but it was only non-learning in relation to intended learning, as we will show below. It was regarded as non-learning because the focus was always on teaching and the teacher’s aims and objectives, rather than on the students’ learning. However, in recent years a great deal more attention has been paid to individuals’ learning both within and beyond the educational milieu and it has been clearly distinguished from teaching, so that learning and non-learning are now recognised as having as much to do with living as with education. Learning is a personal process; it is both an existential and an experiential process, and non-learning may be conceptualised within this much broader framework. It used to be assumed that social living was conformist and that deviancy was the interesting phenomenon to be studied. In other words, non-learning – in this case conformity – was assumed to be the norm and this gave rise to the classic formulation of bureaucracy (Weber, 1947), in which new entrants to the organisation learned the rules of social behaviour and thereafter conformed to the prevailing culture: the bureaucratic culture was regarded as unchanging and the individual just fitted in, and so when the concept of the learning organisation appeared as the speed of social living increased, it was regarded as the antithesis of bureaucracy. The same argument can be made for the learning society. However, as we have gained a more sophisticated understanding of learning, so the concept of non-learning raises more searching questions that help shed some light on our understanding of learning: these relate to consciousness, awareness and perception. In this paper three forms of non-learning are discussed: the state in which a conscious person does not learn, which is existential and experiential; the state when a conscious person is aware of potential learning opportunities but resists them, which is experiential; and the state where the learners do not learn what they were intended to learn, which is also experiential. In order to do this, I want first to revisit my own formulation and extend that discussion and then I will look briefly at two other studies – those of Knud Illeris (2007) and David Hay (2007: 2008) and colleagues. 94

Non-learning

Extending the discussion In my own work I have defined learning as: The combination of processes throughout a lifetime whereby the whole person – body (genetic, physical and biological) and mind (knowledge, skills, attitudes, values, emotions, meaning, beliefs and senses) – experiences social situations, the content of which is then transformed cognitively, emotively or practically (or through any combination) and integrated into the individual person’s biography resulting in a continually changing (or more experienced) person. (Jarvis, 2009: 25) Learning, therefore, is a product of conscious living – although there might be an exception with learning as we sleep (see this volume): in a sense we are constructing our own biography whenever we learn. Whilst we live, our biography is an unfinished product, constantly undergoing change and development – either through experiences that we self-initiate or else through experiences that are initiated by others. We actually learn from our experiences and so the question needs to be asked whether conscious human beings can ever not learn, or do we learn from some of these experiences although, like those teachers, we do not recognise it?

Presumption In my original formulation of non-learning I suggested that there were three types: situations that we take for granted and, therefore, do not appear to need to think about; situations where there are internal constraints, so that we do not desire to learn; and situations where there are external constraints so that, for instance, we do not have the time to learn and we are therefore unable to learn. Since there can be both internal and external constraints, we can see that learning is not an isolated, individual process, but a social one, although certain forms of contemplation do occur in isolation, but by individuals who have gone through many of the social processes earlier in their lives. Learning always occurs at the intersection of the personal and the social/cultural, and in my own work I have argued that learning potentially occurs where there is disjuncture between individuals’ expectation of what they will perceive in an experience and what they actually perceive as they construct their own experience. By contrast, when there is harmony between anticipation and perception, non-learning is a potential outcome. The following diagram illustrates the different levels of disjuncture. Coincidence is when there is no conscious experience of specific events because we live in harmony with the situation and we can presume upon the world, and this is where non-learning might occur; divergence is when there is a slight difference between expectation and actual perception, and we can adjust our behaviour to respond to the situation without necessarily changing our understanding of the world (our theory/meaning); separation is when there is a larger gap between the two, and this is where we begin to ask questions and learn answers: this is the location of most of our conscious learning; and distinction is when the gap is so wide that we know that, in order to bridge it, we have to undertake a great deal of learning, for example, we have to take a course of study, and in the end the gap grows so wide that we know that we can never bring the two together: this may result in a meaningless or a very meaningful experience. Divergence is a problematic form of disjuncture, because sometimes we can be aware of the difference and the way in which we respond to it and learn, whereas there are other times when there is no awareness of the disjuncture or how we respond to it. In the former, there is conscious disjuncture and learning can occur, but in the latter we often respond to slight divergences automatically, almost unconsciously, and we are not aware that we are adapting to the situation and so we appear not to learn. Non-learning appears to occur when there is no perceived separation between expectation and 95

Peter Jarvis

..

Actual perception of reality

: Disjuncture I

T :

:

:

Individual biography/Memory/Meaning System - expectation of perception

Coincidence

Divergence

Separation

Unbridgeable gap

Figure 10.1 The transformation of the person through learning

actuality of the external world and so we can take the situation for granted. However, perception of an event depends not only on the consciousness of perceivers, but also on their awareness of the situation. In the action domain this might be regarded as a form of practice in which practitioners are merely going through the rituals of the performance without a great deal of thought – they are familiar with it and so take it for granted – or they are thinking about aspects of the practice in order to improve it. It is clear, however, that we do need to clarify the distinction between consciousness and awareness – many dictionaries define one by the other, but this is not particularly helpful, since they are not synonymous concepts. Without undertaking a full philosophical discussion about the many definitions of each of these terms, consciousness is treated here as a mental state that enables individuals to have sensations from and perceptions of the external world, whereas awareness is regarded as the level of attention that people exercise as a response to an external object or phenomenon. Consequently, conscious individuals may demonstrate high or low levels of awareness depending on their circumstances, interests, and so on. The higher the level of awareness, or attentiveness to the situation, the less likely we are to experience coincidence between the expectation and the actual perception of the situation and this becomes a potential learning situation. Attentiveness to experience constitutes the basis of a humanistic and spiritual way of knowing (Crawford, 2005) and taken-for-grantedness does not occur so frequently. In precisely the same way, Marton et al. (1996) showed how Chinese learners understand things better by constant repetition, because their practice is not mere ritual, but action and reflection. A similar situation may occur when there is any form of repetition in lectures, presentations, and so forth. Nevertheless, if the familiarity with the situation has resulted in lower levels of attentiveness, then there is more likelihood that we will take the situation for granted and no learning will apparently occur. This situation can occur in all four dimensions – sensations, cognitions, emotion and actions. A question remains, however, as to whether the conscious mind does internalise some aspects of familiar situations without the individual’s being aware of it and whether these internalisations are stored in the mind and take the form of tacit knowledge until such time as they might be brought into the arena of awareness and consciousness in either thought or action, and then become acts of learning. But if these internalisations are never recalled in any way, then non-learning does occur and we can conclude that conscious human beings can on occasions presume upon their world and not learn.

Internal Constraints Internal constraints, which I originally called ‘rejection’ (Jarvis, 1987: 30–31), occur in the latter three stages – divergence, separation and distinction. In other words they impose themselves on learners after those 96

Non-learning

learners have experienced disjuncture, so that they do have a heightened awareness of the potential learning situation, but do not feel able to learn from it. These are conscious and aware decisions and there may be many reasons for this, such as the desire to protect one’s own self-identity, lack of will, lack of confidence, no wish to disturb the status quo, and so on. For example, elderly, and not so elderly, people might exclaim, ‘I don’t know what the world is coming to these days!’ indicating that the disjunctural gap between their expectation of the situation and their actual perception of it is too wide to be bridged easily, and if they do not learn from the situation they lose confidence and may reject the opportunity to learn a new skill or improve on an existing one – and so no learning takes place; as people age they may not wish to have their own life-worlds disturbed and so they also reject opportunities to learn new things. While there is a conscious rejection of the opportunity to learn something, those who reject it may actually learn more about themselves, and so incidental learning may occur, but this need not be an inevitable outcome to rejecting opportunities to learn.

External Constraints I originally called this ‘non-consideration’ (Jarvis, 1987: 30) and, like ‘internal constraints’, these situations can occur in the latter three stages of disjuncture but, as we saw above, it takes time to consider some learning situations and this does not always occur in contemporary society. People become aware that they need to learn something as a result of a disjunctural experience but realise, for instance, that they just have not got sufficient time to undertake the learning. This also occurs within educational settings because learners, listening to a lecture, may not have time to consider a point that the lecturer has made before the lecture progresses to another point. Indeed, because of poor technique, it could be argued that the lecturer does not achieve the learning outcomes that were anticipated. Whilst time may be a major external constraint, there are many others. When confronted with external constraints, learners do not control the nature of their experience, nor the speed with which it changes, while others can control the nature of the potential learning experience or how or when it is offered to the potential learners. Many external constraints could be considered here that would take us far beyond the remit of this brief chapter – but external control is also implicit in the third form of non-learning. All that the learners may learn in these situations is that they need to learn, but have not been able to respond to the potential learning situation within which their experience has occurred: they might learn that rapid change is not conducive to learning and that some of the intended learning opportunities are lost. It is this type of experience that has given rise to the slow movement (Honore, 2004) In conclusion, we can see from this discussion that there are clearly two different scenarios – the one could be called ‘everyday life’ (Heller, 1984), while the other is the teaching and learning, or an institutional, one. Two forms of non-learning occur – the state in which conscious individuals may not learn anything from being in a situation and the state in which individuals are aware of the potentiality of learning from their situation and do not avail themselves of it. Non-learning, like learning itself, is primarily about everyday life and we can see this in the discussion about presumption, but non-learning is also to be found amongst both types of constraint. Failure to achieve intended learning outcomes that can be found amongst both forms of constraint may not actually be non-learning per se, since self-learning may occur, as well as learning about other things about and within the experienced situation.

Other studies of non-learning Illeris (2007: 158), in his chapter entitled ‘Barriers to learning’, starts his discussion by acknowledging that he has built on my types of non-learning, although he nowhere considers the possibility of conscious persons not learning because they presume upon their environment, only of them rejecting opportunities to learn when they are aware of them. Actually, he does not deviate far from the types discussed above, but he names 97

Peter Jarvis

them as mis-learning, defence against learning and resistance to learning. At the same time, he is clear that non-learning actually refers to ‘when the intended learning does not occur’ (Illeris, 2007: 157), which restricts his discussion and to that extent he is not in a position to discuss my first type of non-learning, but only the other two, which are constraints and a failure to achieve intended learning outcomes. However, he does include one other situation – ambivalence. Mis-learning, as we saw right at the outset of this paper, is a failure to obtain the desired learning outcomes. Defence against learning consists of the mental defence mechanisms that protect the learner’s selfidentity, and this occurs through rejection, blocking or distorting. He cites Thomas Leithauser’s (1977) list of defence mechanisms in Leithauser and Volmerg (1977): from Andersen et al. (1993: 24) that relate to learning: reduction – ‘of course I know this’; harmonisation – emphasising unimportant common traits in conflicting conditions; displacement – ‘not my department’; levelling – ‘this is really no problem’; personification; and scapegoating mechanisms. Illeris suggests that these defence mechanisms illustrate reasons why people do not learn from potential learning situations and he points to the possibility that non-learning might also have neurotic features, or be the result of phobias. These mechanisms can co-exist with his category of resistance to learning and are sometimes difficult to distinguish from it. He regards these as predominantly biological, as part of the human equipment in the struggle for survival, that block some forms of learning while enabling other opportunities to occur that further develop learners and fulfil their lives’ potential. Illeris’s discussion of resistance then points to what can be learned as a result of the initial resistance. Ambivalence, which is very similar to resistance to learning, occurs when people are forced into certain forms of learning that are required by society, but which the group of persons in particular would prefer to forgo. Illeris’s discussion on barriers to learning is more related to my constraints of learning and to the second form of non-learning – that is that non-learning is equivalent to not responding to the opportunities that are presented by potential learning situations. His mis-learning, however, relates to not learning the intended outcomes of teaching and learning situations. And it is this type of non-learning that is adopted by Hay (2007) and Kinchin et al. (2008). In both of these papers, Hay and his colleagues had used the concept of non-learning as one possible outcome to teaching, the others being surface and deep learning within a higher education framework. They fit their argument within the scholarship of teaching and learning and have researched their work empirically. They have argued that, by encouraging rote learning, chains of understanding that result in a form of stasis discourages learning that leads to change, which is for them an indication of learning. They make the point that: teachers and students are complicit in a cycle of non-learning … that allows the maintenance of an ‘economy of practice’ resulting from an audit culture … that maintains the status quo. (Kinchin et al., 2008: 98) In this case, being complicit in a cycle of non-learning that maintains the status quo is actually creating a constraint that inhibits students learning more and, in this instance, it is a manifestation of the second type of non-learning.

Concluding discussion Three types of non-learning have been discussed here – the third, mis-learning is probably correctly named, but should not be included within discussions of non-learning. The second type of non-learning accepts that the non-learning occurs within a potential learning situation and that the learners could have learned, had the constraints not been there. The study of some of the internal constraints, as Illeris suggests, might highlight different phobias and neuroses, whereas the external constraints clearly demonstrate the social nature of learning and the social power that some people have that enables them to control or even inhibit other people’s learning. In both these cases, potential learning situations exist, but the non-learning occurs 98

Non-learning

because individuals are unable to avail themselves of them. It is only in circumstances with which we are so familiar that they allow us to presume upon the situation that the possibilities for non-learning arise, simply because we do not feel the need to focus upon specifics that might create disjunctural situations and so commence a learning process. Such non-learning occurs in everyday life in all the dimensions, but it is rarely researched or discussed.

References Andersen, A., Olesen, H., Somer, F. and Weber, K. (1993) En Oplevelse for Livet [An Experience for Life], Roskilde: The Adult Education Research Group, Roskilde University. Crawford, J. (2005) Spiritually Engaged Knowledge, Aldershot: Ashgate. Hay, D. (2007) Using Concept Mapping to measure deep, surface and non-learning outcomes, Studies in Higher Education Vol. 32 No. 1: 39–57. Heller, A. (1984) Everyday Life, London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Honore, C. (2004) In praise of Slow, London: Orion. Illeris, K. (2007) How We Learn, London: Routledge. Jarvis, P. (1987) Adult Learning in the Social Context, London: Croom Helm. ——(2009) Learning to be a Person in Society, London: Routledge. Kinchin, I., Lygo-Baker, S. and Hay, D. (2008) Universities as centres of non-learning, Studies in Higher Education Vol. 33 No. 1: 89–103. Leithauser, T. and Volmerg,(1977) Die Entwicklung einer empirischen Vorschungsperspektive auf der theorie Alltagswusstseins [The development of an empirical research perspective from the theory of everyday consciousness], in Leithauser T et al. (eds) (1977) Entwurf zu einer Empirie des Alltagbewussteins, Frankfurt: Suhrkamp. Marton, F., Dall’Alba, G. and Tse Lai Kun (1996) Memorizing and understanding: the keys of the paradox?, in Watkins D. and Biggs J. (eds) op. cit. Weber, M. (1947) The Theory of Social and Economic Organization, New York: Free Press.

99

Part 2

Learning across the lifespan

11 Learning in early childhood Christine Stephen

There is a widespread consensus that the first five or six years of life are particularly important for children’s learning. There is evidence of rapid growth and learning from a range of disciplines, charting changes in physical, social, emotional and cognitive capacities. From neuroscience we learn about changes in the brain that speed up the passage of signals and increase the number of synaptic connections. Psychologists have identified changes in children’s cognitive capacities in the early years of life, for example, becoming able to sort, classify, sequence and use symbols, the development of meta-cognition and theory of mind. From a sociological perspective, learning in the early years is often seen as a process of enculturation, as children learn the ways of their families and society. But they do not just learn how to ‘fit in’, they appropriate, reinvent and contribute to cultural reproduction (Corsaro, 1997). The focus in this chapter is on the learning of 3–5-year-olds, often referred to as the preschool years. This is not to suggest that children younger than 3 years old do not learn – they clearly do. There is a wealth of literature that demonstrates that babies learn from birth and that some kinds of learning occur in the womb (e.g. Goswami, 2008). Infants learn through tracking associations between co-occuring events, imitation, constructing causal connections and making analogies. The focus on 3–5-year-olds is a response to pragmatic considerations about space in this brief chapter, but it is also in recognition of the distinctive nature of the ways in which young children learn as they begin to engage more independently with the world outside their homes and with settings designed to foster their development. As Nelson (1996: 325) points out: Between about 2 and 6 years of age language and the surrounding culture take over the human mind. It is during these years that biology ‘hands over’ development to the social world. This chapter will look at the ways in which learning in the early years has been theorised and at the understandings that have shaped the educational provision made for young learners and the practices they experience in these settings. Learning is an internal process made evident in changes in children’s level of skill, confidence and knowledge. At nursery, children’s actions demonstrate that they have learned, for instance, how to share with others or have mastered one-to-one correspondence counting. At home, they move from depending on adults for their basic needs, to washing, dressing and eating independently. Learning is a pervasive 103

Christine Stephen

feature of the lives of preschool children. They can learn at home, out of doors, in educational settings and with others or alone. They learn:  how to do things  about how things work and the world around them  about communications and relationships. In addition, they learn how to learn and develop dispositions that support their potential to learn, such as persistence, co-operation, independence and confidence. Learning in early childhood involves the acquisition of skills, practices and more abstract knowledge and it happens across the physical, social, cognitive, communicative and emotional spheres of children’s lives. For some, learning is regarded as synonymous with development, but, while most children share a common developmental pattern, they do not all learn the same things at the same time or acquire the same skills. In this chapter learning is conceived as a socio-cultural process that is the product of physical, social, cultural and environmental experiences, as well as individual biological development. The focus is on the processes that are associated with learning, rather than giving an account of what is typically learned during the preschool years. The chapter begins with an examination of recent findings from neuroscience and cognitive psychology before moving on to the classic theories of Piaget and Vygotsky that have been so influential in early years education. A review of work on learning at home and in preschool settings follows. The final section of the chapter looks at the relationship between play and learning in early childhood.

From neuroscience and cognitive psychology At birth, parts of the human brain have almost all the brain cells they will ever have, while the number of cells in other areas, e.g. the cerebellum and hippocampus, grows rapidly in the first year of life. The number of connections between brain cells also increases dramatically in the first 12 months, followed by pruning, so that frequently used connections are strengthened and infrequently used links are removed. As our understanding about the human brain develops there has been a tendency to look to neuroscience for answers to questions about facilitating cognitive growth. However, despite the claims of some policymakers and politicians, neuroscientists suggest that there is no convincing evidence for beginning formal education as early as possible (Blakemore and Frith, 2005). Much of our knowledge about changes in the brain in the early years comes from animal studies and it would be inappropriate to assume that the time course for the proliferation and pruning of synaptic connections is the same in humans as it is for other species. Furthermore, synaptic connections in the human brain develop at different rates: in the visual cortex they reach a peak at about 10 months old, while in the frontal cortex (responsible for planning and decision-making) growth in synaptic density starts later and pruning begins in adolescence. For human beings, interaction, language and communication with other humans is important for later development. Work in cognitive psychology has charted the mastery (between 2 and 6 years old) of the sounds, vocabulary and grammar that allow children to learn through interactions with others. Babies seem to be predisposed to attend to other people and engage in social interactions that are a powerful source of learning opportunities. Their brains are ready to understand and learn through language from an early age and the social mediation of learning in young children is not limited to cognitive and socio-emotional domains; perceptual learning is also supported by social interaction. Current thinking discounts ideas about rigid ‘critical periods’ when particular stimulation is needed to develop certain sensory or motor systems. Neuroscientists now argue instead for sensitive periods when the kind of stimulation needed for normal development is present in the everyday environment of the organism. Evidence about the negative impact of growing up alone and without stimulating ‘toys’ comes mainly from studies of rats. While this work demonstrates the negative impact of deprived environments, Blakemore and Frith (2005: 33) conclude that 104

Learning in early childhood

‘[i]t is unlikely that children brought up in any ‘‘normal” child-orientated environment could be deprived of sensory input.’ Evidence from cognitive psychology suggests that children can reason in the same way as adults and can learn from imitation and analogy, but that their lack of experience can limit their thinking. Neuroscience research has revealed that learning depends on the establishment of multi-sensory networks of neurons across the brain, so that activity in neurons in several areas, such as memory and spatial memory, may be associated with one concept. Goswami and Bryant (2007) argue that, because of this distribution of representations across networks, cumulative experiences and multi-sensory approaches make an important contribution to learning. They go on to point out that popular notions such as left- or right-brain learning or uni-sensory ‘learning styles’ are not supported by neuroscience.

Theories of learning Two theories about learning have been particularly influential when considering early childhood: the work of Jean Piaget and of Leo Vygotsky. Both began publishing their work in the 1920s. Piaget’s work was widely available in French and English from that period (e.g. 1926, 1929) but Vygotsky’s work was not readily available in English until the 1960s and 1970s (e.g. 1962, 1978). As a result, Piaget’s stage theory of development was the dominant perspective on learning and knowing in early childhood for much of the twentieth century. Piaget conceptualised learning as a product of either assimilation or accommodation, both of which result in changes in the mental structures by which children make sense of the world. If a child’s current mental structures allow her to make satisfactory sense of the new information, then it is assimilated and equilibrium is maintained. On the other hand, if a child encounters information that she cannot make sense of with her existing mental structures, then disequilibrium is experienced and the structures are changed through a process of accommodation until a new equilibrium is reached. For Piaget, the drive to achieve equilibrium is what powers intellectual growth; it is the enduring curiosity that compels children to seek to understand all that they encounter. Fundamental to Piaget’s theory of knowledge growth is that it happens in a step-wise, linear and unidirectional manner. Piaget argued that, from about 2 years of age, preoperational thought replaces the earlier sensori-motor period and continues until about the age of 7, when the stage of concrete operations is reached. In the preoperational stage children are freed from their previous dependence on physical realities and are able to make sense of the world through symbols such as words or images. They are able to distinguish fantasy from ‘reality’ and can take part in imaginative activities. However, Piaget’s original construction of the preoperational stage saw 2–6-year-olds as egocentric and unable to take account of the perspectives of others, as being unable to reverse sequences and incapable of pre-logical thinking. Piaget’s work has been subject to extensive critique and modification by later researchers (e.g. Donaldson, 1978). It has been widely criticised as suggesting a deficit model of children (focusing on what they cannot do compared to adults) and as normative and wrongly focused on notions of individual development, irrespective of the context in which children are growing up (e.g. James, Jenks and Prout, 1998; Burman, 1994). Nevertheless, it has retained a significant implicit and explicit influence on educational practices in the early years. This legacy can be seen in the attention to defined age groups and staged expectations in curricula, in age-differentiated groups of children in one setting and in the provision of a resource-rich environment designed to offer novel experiences and stimulate exploration in order to challenge and develop children’s mental structures. It is present, too, in thinking that sees the role of preschool practitioners as being to arrange the learning environment and then remain ‘in the background’, allowing the child to be a ‘lone explorer’ (Stephen, 2010). However, despite the critiques and caveats, Piaget’s theory has made an important contribution through the attention that it has focused on young children’s drive to explore and make sense of their physical and social environment and actively construct their knowledge 105

Christine Stephen

through assimilation and accommodation. As a result, we have become aware that it cannot be assumed that a young child makes sense of the world in the same way as any particular older child or adult and, therefore, of the pedagogic imperative to understand the individual’s perspective in any learning interaction or activity. Vygotsky also saw children as active participants in learning. However, he conceptualised the learning process as one in which children acquire the cultural tools of their society (such as language and mathematical concepts) through their interactions with adults or more able peers. According to Vygotsky, children learn first through interactions with others, moving on over time to be able to carry out the operations they previously did together with internal guidance alone – a shift from joint thinking and supported understanding to individual competencies, knowledge and independent attainment. What is usually translated as the Zone of Proximal Development captures this progression from what is currently known, to what can be understood or achieved with the help of another. Schaffer (2004: 216) claims that: [Vygotsky’s] principal achievement was to have shown the gains to be made in our understanding when children are treated as part of the ‘social world’ and not detached from their environmental context. Vygotsky’s ideas give rise to particular implications for parents and preschool practitioners as they seek to facilitate young children’s learning. Here, the role of the adult or more capable other is to be aware of what a child can do alone and, through joint activity and talk, to assist the learner to move beyond previous achievements. This adult support for young children’s learning was conceptualised by Wood et al. (1976) as scaffolding. They noted how mothers of 3–4-year olds offered help with a block-building task in ways that allowed the children to learn to complete the activity independently. The help that the mothers offered was predominantly, though not exclusively, mediated through language and was implicitly contingent on the children’s progress. They offered more help when they noticed that the child was experiencing difficulties and reduced their involvement when it was not needed. Other studies have followed, aimed at articulating the particular characteristics of effective scaffolding (e.g. Saxe, Guberman and Gearhart, 1987). A study of the support needed to enhance preschool children’s encounters with new technologies (such as computer games and digital cameras) found that both proximal and distal actions on the part of preschool practitioners made a difference to children’s engagement with the learning opportunities offered by the technology (Stephen and Plowman, 2008). Distal actions included planning and making decisions about resources. Effective proximal guided interaction or scaffolding was multi-modal. Physical help, demonstrations by adults, verbal feedback, reading written instructions and emotional support, such as praise or being alongside during a time of anxiety, all sustained engagement. Nelson (1996) argued that neither Piaget’s individual construction model nor Vygotsky’s social construction model was an adequate explanation of the process of children’s learning. She suggested that what was needed was a model that construed individuals as constructing understandings and representations in collaboration with social others. She saw children as shifting from individual, experiential representations to everyday or folk understandings, mediated through language and acquired informally through contact with their families and community. They are followed later by understandings that are formal, organised and abstract and that are explicitly taught in the course of formal education, rather than ‘caught’ in the course of everyday living.

‘Everyday learning’ Rogoff (2003) has explored learning as a cultural activity. Starting from a socio-cultural position that rejects universal claims about stages of development, she argued that what, when and how children learn is 106

Learning in early childhood

influenced by the social and cultural circumstances in which they live. Rogoff considered the kind of learning interactions that occur in the Zone of Proximal Development as being primarily associated with formal learning situations. She turned her attention instead to the everyday interactions that happen in families and communities and which, although not designed to teach or engender learning, provide children with important opportunities to acquire the tools and practices of their culture. Rogoff conceptualised this process of learning in informal and everyday settings as guided participation. This concept arose from investigations of the learning interactions of mothers and young children in four very different cultural settings (Rogoff et al., 1993). They identified two distinct components to guided participation. The first of these is mutual bridging of meanings. Young children and their carers and siblings use the cultural tools of language, gesture and referencing of actions and reactions to establish a shared understanding in order to be able to act together. The second basic component of guided participation is described as the mutual structuring of participation. Children and adults are involved in the structuring of activities, choosing what to engage in, what should be observed and who to interact with. For instance, parents position items they wish young children to learn to use so that they are accessible, break down tasks into more manageable stages and recount and elaborate narratives that serve to instruct about local practices. But children, too, influence what is learned. Their preferences make a difference to the activities and family and community practices with which they choose to engage. Stephen et al. (2008) found that having access to technology at home and parents and siblings who were enthusiastic about using domestic and leisure technologies was not enough to encourage some 4- and 5-year-olds to, for example, play computer games, or master selecting television channels. Brooker (2002) found that children growing up in culturally different homes located in one geographical area had very different learning outcomes before they went to school as a result of the opportunities available and the practices to which they were introduced. Children in the disadvantaged English-heritage families were introduced to play with dough, Lego and paint at home before they went to school and could move readily to make use of these resources when they entered the first class at school. Four-year-olds from the Bangladeshi-heritage homes were less likely to have experiences of play with such ‘educational’ resources, but they were often skilled participants in other aspects of everyday life such as food preparation. The Effective Provision of Pre-school Education (EPPE) project has examined the contribution that family socio-economic circumstances, the activities that children take part in at home and the educational provision offered in group settings make to later attainment. The researchers found that children’s Home Learning Environment made a difference to their later academic attainment and social development (Melhuish et al., 2008). The Home Learning Environment index is compiled from parents’ accounts of engaging in specific learning activities, such as reading with their child, singing songs and rhymes and visiting the library. What parents did with their children at home made a significant difference to later attainment in reading and mathematics, even after five years of primary school.

Learning in early childhood educational settings There is a wealth of literature offering evidence about the positive association between attending good quality preschool provision and children’s learning (e.g. Schweinhart and Weikart, 1997; Currie, 2001). In England the longitudinal Effective Provision of Pre-school Education study has demonstrated that attending preschool provision enhances children’s attainment on a range of measures of cognitive development (e.g. reading and mathematics) and social development (e.g. concentration, independence, anti-social/worried behaviour), regardless of home and family socio-economic circumstances (Sammons et al., 2004). The benefits of good quality early years education were still evident at age 7 and at age 10 (Sylva et al., 2010). However, the EPPE findings make it clear that the quality of preschool settings varies and that not all provision makes the same level of contribution to children’s future attainment. At preschool settings that 107

Christine Stephen

were more effective at adding value to children’s learning, practitioners had good curriculum knowledge as well as an understanding of child development and offered children a balance of freely chosen but ‘potentially instructive’ activities and teacher-initiated and teacher-led group work. In the most effective settings, adult–child interactions were characterised by ‘sustained shared thinking’ between adults and children and open-ended questioning to extend children’s exploration and reasoning (Siraj-Blatchford and Sylva, 2004). The evidence from studies of learning at home and in preschool makes clear the important role of adults in supporting children’s learning through the environments they provide, the scaffolding they offer and the thinking and meaning-making they prompt. Drawing conclusions from their authoritative review of the research about the ways in which 2–5-year-olds learn, Bowman et al. point out that: Research from a variety of theoretical perspectives suggests that a defining feature of a supportive environment is a responsible and responsive adult. (Bowman et al., 2000: 5) New thinking about the ways in which the social and the material environment shape learning conceptualises it as happening in between the resources, the learner and other adults and children (Lenz Taguchi, 2010). Olsson (2009): too, focuses on interactions in the learning context. She argues for an approach to learning that makes space for children’s desires and interests, works with potential and immanence and follows ‘lines of flight’. Both these ways of theorising learning see adults as important, but they require them to be open to the unexpected and to learn to ‘surf it’.

Play and learning Along with the emphasis on ‘child-led’ learning activities, play is one of the ‘big ideas’ of preschool education, and any account of learning in the preschool years must consider the role of play. ‘Learning through play’ is a core element in the consensus position and formal guidance on appropriate educational provision for 2–5-year-olds in the UK and in countries influenced by guidance on Developmentally Appropriate Practice (NAEYC, 2009). The emphasis on experiential, child-led play was present in the approach of the pioneers of early childhood education, such as Susan Isaacs who argued that ‘play has the greatest value for the young child when it is really free and his own’ (Isaacs, 1932: 133). Nevertheless, despite its long association with learning in the early years, play is under-theorised and under-researched and the efficacy of play is more often asserted than evidenced (BERA Early Years SIG, 2003). The work of Vygotsky and post-Vygotskian researchers theorises play as a ‘leading factor in development’ and a particular feature of the preschool period (Vygotsky, 1976). They argue that during the preschool years play is the medium for the child’s exploration of the world, a bridge between creating understandings mediated through actions and the later development, at around 5 years old, of abstract and symbolic or ‘schooled’ thinking. However, by play, Vygotsky meant play that meets specific criteria: children creating an imaginary situation, acting out roles and following rules determined by those roles (Bodrova, 2008). Such play, he and others argued, allows children to progressively separate the real, imaginary and symbolic. But Fleer (2010) has demonstrated that play episodes do not always develop the kind of conceptual understanding that practitioners intend. She suggests that play needs careful framing if it is to be used as a pedagogic tool to support abstract concept formation. From the perspective of socio-cultural theory, then, play is considered to be the driver for a distinct stage of cognitive development and refers to particular kinds of imaginary activities. However, policy documents often refer to an undifferentiated notion of play and educators attempt to appropriate children’s desire to play as a way to engage them in the adult’s agenda, without considering whether this negates the 108

Learning in early childhood

apparent benefits. For example, curriculum guidance in Scotland refers to the advantages conferred by ‘spontaneous play’ and ‘planned purposeful play’, while in Wales play is referred to as a ‘serious business’ that is important for intellectual and social development. Sutton Smith refers to this as the rhetoric of progress associated with play and, declaring his scepticism about the over-generalised claims for the developmental power of play, he concludes that play is ‘seldom to be the only determinant of any of the important forms of learning that occur in young children’ (1997: 41). An alternative view of play is as cultural activity, reflecting the cultural traditions and the economic, communicative and value contexts in which children live (Göncü et al., 2006). Others have written about play as a means of exploring and developing identity, developing friendships and as a space to resist adult structures and intentions (e.g. Rogers and Evans, 2008). The relationship between play and learning outcomes must remain on the agenda for further research. There is clearly scope for future exploration to look at what adults and children consider to be play and playful, at the ecology or context of play at home and in educational settings, and at what is played and what is learned.

In conclusion There can be no firm conclusions about learning and the processes associated with learning in early childhood other than that it is contingent. What children learn in early childhood depends on their interests and the cultural practices, values and expectations of the environments in which they grow up. Learning always takes place in particular contexts that will influence the opportunities offered and the learning that occurs. Ideas about what is important to learn vary across families and cultures and, in settings funded by the state, practices will reflect policy objectives. Across the range of theoretical perspectives on the process of learning reviewed, two characteristics stand out. First, young children are active agents in their own learning; across the domains learning is not a process of transmission, but one of construction and sense-making. And the second is that the support of other adults and children is an essential component of the learning process. Through the mediation of others, children acquire the cultural tools of their society and become able to participate in its practices. Language is a critical channel for this mediation, but learning is supported by multi-modal forms of scaffolding. Much more remains to be explored about the process of learning in early childhood. For example, neuroscience holds out the promise of further understandings about the possibilities for and limitations on learning. There is a need to continue to investigate the relationship between play and learning and the influence of the material world, as well as the social and emotional contexts in which learning takes place and to consider the implications of this research for pedagogical practices. There are new and emerging challenges too. Yelland et al. (2008) have called for attention to be paid to the kinds of competencies and knowledge that will be needed for the twenty-first century, raising questions about the kind of learning that will be valued in the future and how this learning can be supported now. And some challenges are enduring. A growing body of research points to the considerable influence of family background (e.g. socio-economic status, parents’ educational background) on later attainment. If we are to ‘close the gap’, there is much more to be understood about ways of supporting, at home and in educational settings, the learning of young children who grow up in disadvantageous circumstances.

References Blakemore, S.-J. and Frith, U. (2005) The Learning Brain: Lessons for Education. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing. Bodrova, E. (2008) Make-believe play versus academic skills: a Vygotskian approach to today’s dilemma of early childhood education. European Early Childhood Education Research Journal, 16, 3: 357–70. Bowman, B. T., Donovan, M. S. and Burns, M. S. (2000) Eager to Learn: Educating Our Preschoolers. Washington, DC: National Academic Press. 109

Christine Stephen

British Educational Research Association (BERA), Early Years Special Interest Group (2003) Early Years Research: Pedagogy, Curriculum and Adult Roles, Training and Professionalism. Available at www.bera.ac.uk/files/2008/09/ beraearlyyearsreview31may03.pdf. Brooker, L. (2002) Starting School: Young Children Learning Cultures. Buckingham: Open University Press. Burman, E. (1994) Deconstructing Developmental Psychology. London: Routledge. Corsaro, W. A. (1997) The Sociology of Childhood. Thousand Oaks: Pine Forge Press. Currie, J. (2001) Early childhood education programs. Journal of Economic Perspectives, 15, 2, Spring: 213–38. Donaldson, M. 1978. Children’s Minds. London: Fontana. Fleer, M. (2010) Conceptual and contextual intersubjectivity for affording concept formation in children’s play. In L. Brooker and Susan Edwards (eds) Engaging Play. Maidenhead: Open University Press. Goswami, U. (2008) Cognitive Development – The Learning Brain. Hove: Psychology Press. Goswami, U. and Bryant, P. (2007) Children’s Cognitive Development and Learning (Primary Review Research Survey 2/1a). Cambridge: University of Cambridge Faculty of Education. Available at www.primaryreview.org.uk/Publications/ Publicationshome.html. Göncü, A., Jain, J. and Tuermer, U. (2006) Children’s play as cultural interpretation. In A. Göncü and S. Gaskins (eds) Play and Development: Evolutionary, Sociocultural and Functional Perspective. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. Isaacs, S. (1932) The Nursery Years. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. James, A., Jenks, C. and Prout, A. (1998) Theorizing Childhood. Cambridge: Polity Press. Lenz Taguchi, H. (2010) Going Beyond the Theory/Practice Divide in Early Childhood Education: Introducing an Intra-active Pedagogy. Abingdon: Routledge. Melhuish, E. C., Sylva, K., Sammons, P., Siraj-Blatchford, I., Taggart, B., and Phan, M (2008) Effects of the Home Learning Environment and preschool center experience upon literacy and numeracy development in early primary school. Journal of Social Issues, 6: 157–88. National Association for the Education of Young Children (NAEYC) (2009) Developmentally Appropriate Practice, 3rd edition. Washington, DC: NAEYC. Available at www.naeyc.org/DAP. Nelson, K. (1996) Language in Cognitive Development: Emergence of the Mediated Mind. Cambridge, MA: Cambridge University Press. Olsson, L. M. (2009) Movement and Experimentation in Young Children’s Learning: Deleuze and Guattari in Early Childhood Education. Abingdon: Routledge. Piaget, J. (1926) Judgement and Reasoning in the Child. New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich. ——(1929) The Child’s Conception of the World. New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich. Rogers, S. and Evans, J. (2008) Inside Role-Play in Early Childhood Education. Abingdon: Routledge. Rogoff, B. (2003) The Cultural Nature of Human Development. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Rogoff, B., Mistry, J., Göncü, A. and Mosier, C. (1993) Guided Participation in Cultural Activity by Toddlers and Caregivers. Monographs of the Society for Research in Child Development 58, 7 no. 236. Sammons, P., Elliot, K., Sylva, K., Melhuish, E., Siraj-Blatchford, I. and Taggart, B. (2004) The impact of preschool on young children’s cognitive attainments at entry to reception. British Educational Research Journal, 30, 5: 691–712. Saxe, G.B., Guberman, S. R. and Gearhart, M. (1987) Social Processes in Early Number Development. Monographs of the Society for Research in Child Development, 52, 2 no. 216. Schaffer, H. R. (2004) Introducing Child Psychology. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing. Schweinhart, L. J. and Weikart, D. P. (1997) Lasting Differences: The High/Scope ® Preschool Curriculum Comparison Study through Age 23. Monographs of the High/Scope ® Educational Research Foundation. Ypsilanti, MI: High/Scope ® Press. Siraj-Blatchford, I. and Sylva, K. (2004) Researching pedagogy in English pre-schools. British Educational Research Journal, 30, 5: 713–30. Stephen, C. (2010) Pedagogy: the silent partner in early years learning. Early Years 30, 1: 15–28. Stephen, C. and Plowman, L. (2008) Enhancing learning with information and communication technologies in pre-school. Early Child Development and Care 178, 6: 637–54. Stephen, C., McPake, J., Plowman, L. and Berch-Heyman, S. (2008) Learning from the children: exploring preschool children’s encounters with ICT at home. Journal of Early Childhood Research, 6, 2: 99–117. Sutton Smith, B. (1997) The Ambiguity of Play. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Sylva, K., Melhuish, E., Sammons, P. and Siraj-Blatchford, I. (2010) Early Childhood Matters: Evidence from the Effective Pre-school and Primary Education Project. Abingdon: Routledge. Vygotsky, L. S. (1962) Thought and Language. Cambridge, MA: M.I.T. Press. ——(1976) Play and its role in the mental development of the child. In J. Bruner, A. Jolly and K. Sylva (eds) Play – Its Role in Development and Evolution. Harmondsworth: Penguin, pp. 537–554. 110

Learning in early childhood

——(1978) Mind in Society. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Wood, D., Bruner, J. and Ross, G. (1976) The role of tutoring in problem solving. Journal of Child Psychology and Psychiatry, 17: 89–100. Yelland, N., Lee, L., O’Rouke, M. and Harrison, C. (2008) Rethinking Learning in Early Childhood Education. Maidenhead: Open University Press.

111

12 Crossing boundaries Harnessing funds of knowledge in dialogic inquiry across formal and informal learning environments Kristiina Kumpulainen and Lasse Lipponen

Many critical voices have been expressed towards formal education and its practices (Hubbard, Mehan, and Stein, 2006; Resnick, 1987; Sarason, 1993; Tyack and Cuban, 1997). The critics maintain that formal education does not acknowledge enough those experiences and that agency that learners bring to school from other contexts, such as from their homes, after-school clubs, museums, libraries and science centers. Further, formal education is said to be unable to exploit fully cultural resources, i.e. funds of knowledge (Gonzáles, Moll, and Amanti, 2005) of communities surrounding schools—their expertise, knowledge, and artifacts—and utilize these in a systematic manner. Critics continue that formal education should realize and acknowledge in more visible ways the fact that learning takes place everywhere. Learning in other contexts may even be more important or make more sense to the learner in her daily life than what is learned in the formal setting of the school. In fact, a major part of children’s waking time activities take place in non-school settings (Bransford et al., 2006). In addition to the importance of acknowledging learners’ out-of-school experiences in formal education, there is also a clear need to understand better what learners take with them from the school to other settings (Pugh and Bergin, 2005). Are we successful as educators in providing our students with opportunities to construct experiences, attitudes and knowledges that are usable, helpful and productive outside the school? Indeed, often times learners are left to navigate in different settings of learning without adequate support and without the recognition of the importance of communication and social interaction as vital mediators of learning. This argument unfortunately applies to both formal and informal settings of learning. There is clearly a need for the development of pedagogical models, solutions and activities that can best support learners’ meaningful and productive transitions and participation in formal and informal settings. The funds of knowledge developed in one setting should become resources in the other. This is likely to increase learners’ agency and active engagement in learning the stretches beyond settings and contexts. Our chapter discusses a study that investigates the practice of dialogic inquiry within a classroom community whose formal learning spaces were extended to more informal settings of learning, namely to a technology museum, a science center and a forest. The study illuminates the ways in which the cultural practices of dialogic inquiry, its norms, values, and discourses, were talked into being in these multiple learning spaces that were aimed to enrich the students’ learning experiences, and promote their agency in learning, as well as to support their meaning making and knowledge generation. 112

Crossing boundaries

Our study uses a chronotopic analysis (Brown and Renshaw, 2006) of students’ dialogic inquiry practices. Here, the analytical focus is on the agency of learners as they actively shape the space-time contexts of their learning environments and relationships. Our analyses provide insights into the ways in which learners harness as well as contest past, present and future space-time contexts in their joint negotiations. The results of our study suggest that a dialogic learning culture can provide students with cultural bridges to participate meaningfully and powerfully in learning spaces beyond the classroom. These bridges are vital in helping students to develop boundary-crossing competencies to bridge the gap between diverse learning contexts and to harness the funds of knowledge they generate within and across them.

Boundary-crossing competence There exists a body of research on learning situated in non-school settings (Bransford et al., 2006). For example, we know a great deal about how aspects of peer groups and families affect educational outcomes (see e.g. Phelan, Davidson, and Cao, 1991). Yet, we know little about how these worlds combine in the day-to-day lives of diverse learners to affect their engagement with school and life in general. Prior research on learning in different contexts has often focused on settings as distinct entities. At present, there is very little systematic and longitudinal educational research on understanding how, why and what kind of transitions students make as they move across different contexts of learning (Bransford et al., 2006; Walker and Nocon, 2007), and how they utilize their funds of knowledge: what, why and how students transfer (bring to, take from), and adapt whilst moving across contexts. Previous work within the sociocultural framework of learning (Vygotsky, 1978) points towards promising lines of research. According to Greeno (2006): the competence to function in multiple contexts is developed whilst students are positioned in activity systems where they are framed as authors of their own learning. It is hypothesized that this strengthens students’ agency, that is, gives them a possibility to learn to act authoritatively and accountably (problematizing and solving issues), and to build a strong participatory identity and ownership of learning. Children do not merely react and repeat given practices, but intentionally transform and refine their social and material worlds as they confront particular challenges (Emirbayer and Mische, 1998). In addition, to become an agent one must be treated as if one can do something of one’s own volition. The second line of sociocultural research points to the idea of connecting schools to large cultural networks (and vice versa), in order to exploit fully the cultural resources available, i.e. funds of knowledge (Gonzáles, Moll and Amanti, 2005). Utilizing funds of knowledge and collaborating between different contexts calls for participation in shared spaces. Our working hypothesis is that, whilst working on the shared spaces of knowledge funds, one develops and learns to master a set of discursive (symbolic, conceptual) and material tools that can be adopted, evaluated, questioned, modified, and created across contexts. Working with funds of knowledge leads us to consider the third line of sociocultural research, namely, research on boundary objects. This line of research gives us ideas to analyze and develop inter-organizational tools for making transitions between contexts (Star and Griesemer, 1989). As Star and Griesemer (1989: 393) frame it: “Boundary objects are objects which are plastic enough to adapt to local needs and the constraints of several parties employing them, yet robust enough to maintain a common identity across sites.” We assume that learning to build and work with boundary objects will advance humans’ and communities’ competences for crossing the boundaries of different contexts.

Dialogic inquiry as a potential boundary object? The proponents of the idea of teaching and learning as dialogic inquiry have been motivated to convert the culture of formal education into authentic “communities of practice” (Lave and Wenger, 1991) in order to promote the values and goals behind the participatory pedagogy (Kovalainen and Kumpulainen, 2005, 2007; 113

Kristiina Kumpulainen and Lasse Lipponen

Kaartinen and Kumpulainen, 2001). In this pedagogical approach, stress is placed on multiple positions of authority and identity, promoting negotiation and dialogue for the social construction of knowledge and understanding. Although there is a widespread interest towards enhancing dialogic inquiry in contemporary classrooms as a medium for participatory pedagogy, several studies have also suggested that fostering genuine student engagement in productive discussions is a highly demanding task (Lipponen, 2000; Polman and Pea, 2001; Engle and Conant, 2002; Scott, Mortimer and Aquiar 2006). The multidimensional nature and the flow of classroom interaction require specific sensitivity as well as practical pedagogical know-how from the teacher to follow and respond to various lines of inquiry (Nathan and Knuth, 2003; Scott, Mortimer and Aquiar 2006). The potentiality of dialogic inquiry practices in supporting students’ active and productive engagement while they participate within and across different settings also requires further exploration. The learning culture of the classroom community with whom we have been collaborating as part of our research is embedded within a dialogic inquiry approach, with a heavy emphasis on the development of students’ communication and collaboration skills. In particular, the classroom community has systematically promoted students’ engagement in exploratory talk (Dawes, Mercer and Wegerif, 2004; Mercer and Littleton, 2007) across disciplines and subject areas. In our chapter, we are interested to explore the potentiality of the dialogic inquiry approach as a boundary object, i.e. as a supportive cultural bridge, to support learners’ agency, and active engagement in learning as they transit and participate in formal and more informal settings of learning as a part of their educational program/curriculum activities. We believe a chronotopic analysis can work as a powerful resource in our study to reveal the ways in which dialogic inquiry practices can mediate students’ agency and active engagement in learning across contexts.

Learning as participation In the wide framework of the sociocultural tradition, human activities are seen as socially mediated and, thus, learning is seen more as a matter of participation in a social process of knowledge construction than as an individual endeavor (Vygotsky, 1978). Knowledge emerges through the network of interactions and is distributed among those (humans and tools) interacting. As stated by Lave and Wenger (1991): learning is a process that takes place in a participation framework, not in an individual mind. By emphasizing both processes of enculturation and transformation, we are positing an agentic learner whose capacities are afforded and constrained by the cultural tools they can access within their social setting. Culture itself has been theorized as a shared way of living within communities that is continuously being reconstituted through the use (invention and reinvention) of cultural tools, technologies, artefacts and concepts (Gonzáles, Moll and Amanti, 2005). In a sociocultural framework, learning is not just a matter of epistemology, but also a matter of ontology, the development of identity and agency (Packer and Goicoechea, 2000). Following this line of thought, the conceptual framework of our research work is embedded within the sociocultural, as well as ethnographic and sociolinguistic (i.e. interactional sociolinguistics) perspectives that all view the context of learning as a cultural site of meaning in which norms, values, rules, roles, and relationships are socially constructed into being in the local interactions of the community (Bowers, Cobb and McClain, 1999; Castanheira, Crawford, Dixon and Green, 2001; Cole, 1996). The socially established cultural practices of the learning environment become evident and are continuously reconstructed in the social life of the classroom community, reflected in the legitimate ways of participation and communication (Wells, 1999; Wenger, 1998). The local, moment-by-moment classroom interactions, thus, signal what counts as learning, participating and communicating. The commonly shared and patterned ways of interacting in the classroom community can be regarded as both providing and also limiting the access of classroom members to particular opportunities for learning (Castanheira et al., 2001; Kantor, Green, Bradley and Lin, 1992; Nathan and Knuth, 2003). 114

Crossing boundaries

In this study, participation in the interactions of the classroom community is defined as a socially constructed phenomenon. The participatory positions constructed by and for each individual in the classroom community are made visible in the interactions and actions members take, what they orient to, what they hold each other accountable for, how they respond to each other, and how they engage with, interpret and construct meaning from ongoing interactions (Castanheira et al., 2001; Stevens and Hall, 1998). The participatory positions of the students cannot be viewed as stable and fixed, which can be identified across different social contexts. Rather, the nature of participation in classroom interaction is a dynamic and locally established process that is being constructed and reconstructed within the community. Being a legitimate member of a classroom community, then, means understanding and engaging in joint interactions in ways that mark membership in the community (Rex, Green and Dixon, 1997). In this process, individuals may also display actions that indicate their membership with other social groups that they are part of (Bloome and Egan-Robertson, 1993; Wertsch, 1991). Thus, when talking about participation in the interactions of the classroom community, it is important to recognize the flexibility and possibility of changing one’s position: changing even within one community or social group. To conceptualize participation in classroom interaction as socially constructed is to understand that the participatory positions of classroom members are both a product of and a tool for the community. That is, the interactive practices constructed and made available to members constitute participation as a situated process. Moreover, the participatory practices of the classroom and the positions that individuals take during the practices develop and change at the same time as the community itself develops. Thus, the participation opportunities and possibilities can be regarded as serving both the collective and the individual needs (Lima, 1995). Classroom members are afforded and sometimes also denied access to particular interactions within the community. The development of the individual’s repertoire of participatory skills in classroom interactions is, consequently, dependent on the kinds of opportunities she or he has access to and which opportunities he or she takes up during the joint activities of the classroom (Alton-Lee and Nuthall, 1992, 1993; Castanheira et al., 2001; Floriani, 1993; Heras, 1993). The analytic focus of our chapter is on the culture of a specific classroom and the situated identities and agency of the students whose dialogic inquiry practices are described and analyzed while they move across settings. The culture of the classroom is described in terms of patterns of engagement in everyday tasks and activities, accepted ways of talking and interacting with others, and selective deployment of symbolic, technical, and concrete tools. By agency, we refer to the idea of learning that entails acting authoritatively and accountably, the ability to transfer knowledge and skill across contexts (Greeno, 2006). Identity (who am I, who I want to be), we hypothesize, is continually negotiated and renegotiated in the processes of participation, and is closely related to the development of agency.

Methodological principles The empirical study that we draw on in our chapter belongs to a larger program of research that investigates the developments of students’ boundary-crossing competences across formal and informal settings of learning. This research program is committed to make four contributions to the previous work on transitions across contexts. First, we conduct longitudinal and systematic educational research on understanding how students and teachers make transitions, and what kind of transitions they make, as they move across contexts: what, how and why they bring to, take from, and adapt in transitions between contexts (Bransford et al., 2006). Second, we make a methodological contribution by exploring the transitions at individual, collective and inter-organizational levels. Here, we refer to the investigation of participants, i.e. children, teachers and museum and library pedagogues while they engage and participate in educational activities across the settings. Third, we aim to develop models and best practices of participatory pedagogy for schools and for non-school institutions to bridge the gap between contexts and to harness funds of knowledge. Fourth, we 115

Kristiina Kumpulainen and Lasse Lipponen

take seriously children’s own learning experiences and their endeavors in organizing their own learning in these transitions. The methodological framework of our study is grounded in the ethnographic approach. In this approach, culture such as the culture of a classroom is seen as a situated resource—a fund of knowledge and a repertoire of practice and competence—that learners draw upon to make sense of their social and material world and to participate in it. Rather than treating culture as a container, as an independent variable that influences learning, ethnographers have treated culture as an interpretative and localized meaning-making process that enables participants to engage in different collective activities (Spindler, 1974). The basic investigative in our research is the combination of a variety of qualitative methods in order to provide a multifaceted and comprehensive picture of the phenomena (see Kang and Patrick, 2002). In our research, we draw on the sociocultural, ethnographic, sociolinguistic and discourse analysis, as well as critical perspectives. Further, various units of analysis will be used. One special focus is to combine micro- and macro-level analysis to better understand the complex, reciprocal and co-evolving nature of individual, communal, and organizational development and mastering of the multifunctional and transferable competences. For that reason, we use a variety of sources in data collection: ethnographical observations (videotaped, audiotaped), interviews, and artifacts produced by the participants

Chronotopic analysis of dialogic inquiry practices In the present study, we have applied a chronotopic analysis (Brown and Renshaw, 2006) to the dialogic inquiry practices of the classroom community in order to make sense of the nature of the learners’ agency as they shape the space-time contexts of their learning environments and relationships. In doing so, we shall illuminate the ways in which learners harness as well as contest past, present and future space-time contexts in their joint negotiations. This, we believe, can provide us with evidence of the potentiality of dialogic inquiry to act as a boundary object or, in other words, as a cultural bridge that can help students to develop competencies to bridge the gap between diverse learning contexts and to harness the funds of knowledge that they generate within and across them. Our analysis of the dialogic inquiry practices of the classroom community has been guided by the work of Raymond Brown and Peter Renshaw (2006) who applied a chronotopic analysis to investigate collaborative practice in the classroom and the role of students’ agency in it. The concept of chronotope can be traced back to the work of Bakhtin (1981): who defines the spatiotemporal matrix as being produced, shaped and reshaped by the discourses of the participants as they relate to spaces and times beyond here and now (Brown and Renshaw, 2006; Hirst, 2004). In his work, Bakhtin captures the temporal and spatial situatedness of human actions. The chronotopic analysis provides a tool to capture students’ situated and dynamic participation in different settings of learning mediated by the interaction of past experiences, ongoing involvement, and goals that are intended to be accomplished (Brown and Renshaw, 2006). In viewing the processes of learning as relational and transformative, chronotypes can be defined as creative spaces in which students’ agency and identities are negotiated. It is these time-space relationships and students’ agency that we are interested to explore as the classroom community moves both physically and psychologically to different spaces and time scales in their interactions.

Classroom community The empirical study that we draw upon in our chapter has been carried out in a comprehensive school setting (grade 3) in the metropolitan area of Helsinki. The formal learning spaces of this classroom community were extended to more informal settings of learning, namely to a technology museum, a science center and a forest. 116

Crossing boundaries

The participants of this study were 18 third-grade students from a Finnish elementary class, and their teacher. Of the 18 students, nine were boys and nine were girls, aged from 9 to 10 years old. The students were a representative sample of children in Finnish society in terms of socioeconomic background. Unique to this classroom was, however, the practice of working and acting as a community of dialogic inquirers (Wells, 1999), as evidenced by the pre-study observations of the classroom community in different subject domains as well as interview data and informal discussions with the classroom teacher. The classroom teacher could be described as an expert teacher who has continually developed his professional competence by studying and researching educational sciences. The teacher’s pedagogical thinking has been influenced by the sociocultural approach, namely the Thinking Together project (Dawes, Mercer and Wegerif, 2004; Mercer and Littleton, 2007), which he has actively applied with his classroom to provide students with better opportunities to communicate, collaborate and learn. The instructional activities applied by the teacher whilst working with the students on academic tasks are mostly collective discussions and small group activities. In sum, in this classroom a heavy emphasis was placed upon social interaction and discourse as tools for learning and thinking.

Results The chronotopic analysis of dialogic inquiry practices reveals the dynamic and hybrid nature of social interaction within the classroom community as they participate in different settings of learning. The analysis illuminates learners’ agency as they negotiate and shape the space-time contexts of their learning environments and relationships. Below, we share and discuss five transcripts of students’ dialogic inquiry practices in order to illuminate the ways in which learners harness as well as contest past, present and future space-time contexts as well as their relationships with one another and with knowledge in general.

The interplay of time and place in dialogic inquiry In this transcribed example the classroom community is collectively exploring stones as a part of their curriculum activities. In addition to school-based activities, the project on stones has involved visits to a forest, a science center and a technology museum. The role of the teacher as a guide in helping students to navigate in the past, present and future (Emirbayer and Mische, 1998) is powerfully demonstrated here. The teacher initiates the episode by asking students to recall their experiences of the science center and its stone laboratory. In doing so, he refers to the shared history of the learning community. A student, Jimi, responds to the teacher’s invitation and he shares his investigations in the countryside about the weight of different types of stones. The teacher builds his next turn on Jimi’s contribution. By referring to Jimi’s idea, “Now this is interesting”, the teacher is crediting Jimi’s authority by recognizing his contribution as valuable for the learning community. Then the teacher visits the future with the classroom in encouraging the students to use their knowledge later on (in the future) to investigate and measure stones in a similar manner in the forthcoming visit to the museum of technology. The excerpt shows that, whilst responding to the demands of dialogic inquiry, students must reconstruct their view of the past in order to create future-oriented actions of inquiry.

Excerpt 1 Hey, how do you recognize a lodestone, well, there are probably lots of ways, remember when you were at the museum, you studied stones, and there you did, you studied conduction of electricity, does this ring a bell? Then there was, Jimi, do you want to say something, about this topic directly? JIMI: (unclear) for example a lodestone is heavier. TEACHER:

117

Kristiina Kumpulainen and Lasse Lipponen

TEACHER:

Okay. For example, I’ve in the countryside, limonite, if you have a limonite the size of a fist, then it probably weighs the same as a regular stone three times that size, you can tell by the weight. TEACHER: Now this was interesting, because when you go to the museum of technology, you can try, there’s three different kinds of stones, one of which is lodestone, they’re the same size, and you have a scale, so you can test if it’s true what Jimi says, we’ll see there, that might be one way. JIMI:

Contesting authority and knowledge in dialogic inquiry The second example highlights the ways in which the classroom community collectively explores a statement that one of the students, Roope, had taken up from their visit to the museum of technology. The guide in the museum had informed the class that money is made from wool and not from paper. Roope found it important that this piece of information be collectively discussed back in the classroom. The teacher valued Roope’s initiation and he gave Roope a space to realize and lead a collective discussion on the matter. In doing so, the teacher appears to leave his expert’s role, and shares the authority with the students. Roope’s position, especially, is expanded. His is put in a position where he has an increased possibility to learn to act authoritatively and accountably. This type of postitioning of students appeared to set up a lively and multivoiced discussion. What is notable also in this extract is the way in which a student, Saara, contests the claim of money being made from wool. She also convincingly justifies her argument by referring to her experiences at home. In all, this episode demonstrates reasoning and argumentation by the students, evidencing their active engagement and agency.

Excerpt 2 ROOPE:

Well there, when we were at the museum of technology, the guide said that they don’t make money from paper, but from wool. TEACHER: Roope is the chairman now, does anyone want to comment on this? SAARA: I don’t believe that! TEACHER: Put your hand up, and Roope will give you your turn. ROOPE: Saara? SAARA: I can say that, even if it is scientific, I don’t believe that. TEACHER: Ok, does anyone else want to comment? ROOPE: Kimmo? KIMMO: Yes, it can be true, if they put it into some kind of machine, and the machine makes them. ROOPE: Exactly, you can see, if you look really closely, you can see some of it. KIMMO: Exactly, just that. ROOPE: Aaro? AARO: Well, I think they make it, well, maybe out of wool, I’m not sure. SAARA: I don’t believe it, whoever the guide is. ROOPE: Kimmo? KIMMO: Some kind of machine makes it, just like they make money with machines, too. ROOPE: Yes, it’s the same, in a way, made of wool completely, it’s not paper. TEACHER: I have something to say on this topic. ROOPE: Teacher? TEACHER: Yes, relating to this, could someone tell me why they might make it out of wool instead of paper, even though it might be easier just to make it out of paper, with a photocopier? KIMMO: Roope, you are the chairman. 118

Crossing boundaries

ROOPE:

I know, it lasts longer, from what I hear, because money circulates a long time, so if you buy something from the store, pay with money, then it circulates, they give cash back to someone who buys something else with it. So it needs to be durable. ROOPE: Pauliina? PAULIINA: Yeah, it’s probably also because it’s more durable, because if it was just paper, anybody could just take the money and put it into a copying machine, and they could just make copies very easily, because it was just paper, and you copy it. It would be very easy that way. (unclear). ROOPE: Saara? SAARA: Well I have two things now, can I say both? TEACHER: Do they have anything to do with this topic? SAARA: Yes. I don’t understand how they could make it out of wool, I once cut one of those foreign notes, which was useless, I cut it in half. Or then, I’ve cut a Finnish note, too, once, when mum said I can cut just the one, so I cut it and it wasn’t durable at all, and I tore it and it wasn’t durable at all. ROOPE: Well it isn’t that durable in that sense, but from what I’ve heard, paper is weaker, so should they make money out of some metal, so that you need some kind of cutters to break it? SAARA: And I don’t have to believe that. TEACHER: No you don’t have to believe it. If you get a good explanation, then maybe you can change your mind.

Negotiating ground rules for collective participation Some of the outdoor visits to the forest were realized in collaboration with another classroom community from the school. This was a first-grade classroom community and the pedagogical idea behind the collaboration was to encourage peer tutoring and guidance between older and younger students. The shared visit challenged existing ground rules in the classroom community resulting in frustration among the older students. The older students appeared to blame the younger ones for not acting as intentional and responsible members of the learning community. For them, the younger students did not follow expected practices and ground rules for participation, i.e. what it is to engage in collaborative inquiry in a forest setting. What is also notable, is that some of the older boys appear to take an agentive activity by slightly questioning and resisting teachers’ authority. The extract below highlights an interaction episode that took place after the visit to the forest. Here, the two teachers of classroom communities participate in the dialogue with the first and third graders when the students reflect upon their feelings and experiences. This episode powerfully highlights the importance of a shared culture of participation, communication and learning.

Excerpt 3 KIMMO:

Afterwards he is complaining to us about it. I wasn’t complaining to you, I understand that it was challenging for you to be with the first-graders, but you were acting up a bit, too. Jimi come to your group, Teemu and Ville, come with your groups, Erkki with your group, go. TEACHER 2: I understand, boys, that you had a challenging task, it was really difficult for you, too, it wasn’t easy. TEACHER1: The main thing is you did your best, even I couldn’t do what you tried. You tried really hard, this was only the first time. You can’t succeed at once. AARO: Well it wasn’t with me. TEACHER 1: Really good, the first-graders have never worked with third-graders before. TEACHER 1:

119

Kristiina Kumpulainen and Lasse Lipponen

TEACHER 2:

And you took Tuukka into consideration really well, you waited for him, even if it was a little bit frustrating for you, but we’ll have other times, so you … . TEEMU: And we waited a bit for Ville as well. KIMMO: Well not just a bit. We waited for him during the whole trip. TEACHER 1: Can you hear now, Tuukka, the boys are a bit upset that you didn’t go with them, even when they went with you first, and you were being slow. KIMMO: Yeah, well we ran everywhere, when you went on the ice, we had to run after you on the ice, and when you stopped to look at a cone, we had to stop and look at the cone. TEACHER 1: But then you didn’t go after them to look at what the older boys wanted to look. KIMMO: Yeah, you just wanted to go on the ice, when we wanted to climb the rock. We wanted to be there first, and all of a sudden we’re there last. TEACHER 2: Now we’ll try to learn that everyone, everyone, you too listen a little to the bigger boys. And you big boys, I bet you, or did you tell Tuukka that now you are irritated, that you want to go and look at something else? KIMMO: Well we told him. TEACHER 2: Yes, so Tuukka, you must listen more carefully next time. KIMMO: He just carried on. TEACHER 2: Okay, but hey. KIMMO: He was interested in everything that was in the forest. TEACHER 2: Well in a way that. KIMMO: Every thing, even the rug. AARO: He could go there after school. TEACHER 2: Your interests are a bit different now, but … . KIMMO: Maybe it might interest you the first time around, but even I wasn’t that interested the first time, I just looked around and jumped on the rocks. TEACHER 2: Yeah, boys, but it doesn’t sound very nice to me, that you, you can’t say on behalf of someone else, what they’re interested in, every person is interested in different things.

Taking on different positions This short episode highlights another out-of-school visit participated in through collaboration with the first and third graders. Here, the students change flexibly positions as teachers and students, helping and guiding one another when needed; using the support of others, and recognizing others’ need for support. This is what Edwards and D’Arcy refer to as relational agency (Edwards and D’Arcy, 2004).

Excerpt 4 KIMMO:

Otto, did you get it, yeah and, let’s ask something, how do you tell the difference between these two trees? (Waits for an answer.) I don’t mean you have to say these (points to the exhibition texts), but just in general, how do you tell them apart, Otto (unclear). OTTO: … and those have smaller those things. OLIVER: And look at what colour they are. OTTO: Yeah, from that you can tell, too. KIMMO: And from the colour you can tell, too (unclear). OLIVER: And from that, how you can tell a pine, do you see there, a pine is like, it has lots of these. AARO: Oliver this is a birch. OLIVER: Yeah. No a fir—no, a birch, yeah. It has lots of this stuff. 120

Crossing boundaries

Revisiting past experiences as a learning potentiality In this episode the classroom community are reflecting on their experiences and learning gains from the visit to the museum of technology. Beforehand, the students had constructed questions for reflection under the guidance of the teacher and now each child in the classroom community was engaged in answering the questions. The teacher engaged in reflective discussions with some of the students while they were working on their texts. The extract highlights the challenges that the students faced in reflecting on one’s own learning experiences. Moreover, it demonstrates the complexities in pedagogical design of learning activities in and out of school. These are related to both the design of reflection activities and learning and teaching practices in more informal settings of learning. Out-of-school activities do not automatically guarantee more meaningful learning than activities constructed into being within the premises of the school.

Excerpt 5 TEACHER:

Okay, let’s stop for a moment, the others can help. What for example could you write on question number one … ? PEKKA: I learn … I learnt how to move around in the forest (whispering). TEACHER: Yes, let’s think about number one at first, Pekka. PEKKA: I learnt how to move around in the forest and take care. TEACHER: You learnt how to take care of children, take care of children, younger kids, pupils, Anni? ANNI: Well Pekka, you’re supposed to put there what you learnt about forest as a topic, and not what you learnt in general. So did you learn how to take care of kids with forest as a topic? PEKKA: Yeah, I learnt the forest. TEACHER: Should we expand the question then, to what I learnt on the trip, so that you can put there whatever? MAJORITY OF PUPILS: No, oh, aah (complaining voices). JARI: Teacher, how can you write two sentences if you didn’t learn anything? TEACHER: Well, then one sentence is enough. JARI: I’m just going to write that [I learnt] nothing. TEACHER: Okay SAMI: I know, you can do … . TEACHER: Good JARI: I didn’t learn anything on the forest trip. TEACHER: Don’t talk over me, it could be, that you didn’t learn anything, this time around, then we’ll think, what we could do, that we’ll learn about the topic. JARI: This number two is pretty difficult. TEACHER: Has anyone learnt anything or what have you written on number one? JARI: Nothing. MARI: I haven’t made it that far yet. TEACHER: Are there any examples? JARI: No. TEACHER: Okay, has anyone thought, that you could answer how I could have learnt? MARI: But not that either, it’s pretty impossible to answer. JARI: I just put down nothing. TEACHER: For example … well okay, for example the options that come to my mind, that if you had found an interesting thing there, or if the forest would have been different, or if I had had more time to go where I wanted to go … or if I had received more teaching. JARI: Is it ok if I put down, if the forest would have been more interesting? 121

Kristiina Kumpulainen and Lasse Lipponen

TEACHER:

If the forest would have been more interesting, that’s one possible answer for sure. Okay TEACHER: You need to think carefully what. JARI: If the forest would have been more interesting, that’s just one sentence. TEACHER: Okay, let’s agree that one sentence is enough, if you can’t think of anything else, but, if all answer sheets say that I learnt nothing, then … I … it’s enough, but I’ll be a bit disappointed, in that case. JARI: We agreed, on numbers one and two, that [I learnt] nothing. TEACHER: So please try to think about number three still. JARI: On three I put down (unclear). JARI: I can never see there, I want to go closer. TEACHER: Maybe you should check your eyesight. JARI: No! JARI: No, no! TEACHER: Okay, we’ll work on this for another three minutes in complete silence. JARI:

Discussion Often times learners of all ages are left to navigate in spaces and places of learning without adequate support or tools. In this study we have explored and discussed the potentiality of a dialogic inquiry approach to provide students with cultural tools to participate meaningfully and powerfully in learning spaces in and out of school. In our study, we were able to identify discursive practices that gave evidence of the students’ active engagement and agency in learning. We were able to identify the students’ negotiation of time-space relationships, contesting knowledge and authority, negotiating the ground rules for participation, taking on different roles, and revisiting past experiences as a learning potential, as well as weaving experiences and worlds together during their collective discussions. In all, the results of our study suggest that a dialogic learning culture has potential to provide students with cultural bridges to participate meaningfully and powerfully in learning spaces beyond the classroom. These bridges are vital in helping students to develop boundary-crossing competencies to bridge the gap between diverse learning contexts and to harness the funds of knowledge that they generate within and across them. As the interactions of this classroom community demonstrate, the pedagogical culture of this learning community appreciated learners’ experiences, natural curiosity and authority in learning (Goos, Galbraith and Renshaw, 1999). In this classroom community the students were afforded the opportunity to take the stance of being active initiators in collective discussions who negotiate, challenge, reason, justify, and provide feedback to the ideas presented by the other members of the learning community. Regardless of the aim to enhance student-led discussions and horizontal information flow during the social interactions of the classroom, the teacher was not found to be a passive classroom member (Nathan and Knuth, 2003). Rather, as an expert member of the learning community, the teacher’s role was to support students’ meaningful engagement in socially shared learning situations (Tharp and Gallimore, 1988). The discursive practices of the classroom investigated in this study can be viewed as descriptions of socially established and taken-as-shared ways of reasoning, i.e. norms of a community (Bowers et al., 1999). Whilst participating in classroom interactions, both the teacher and students apply the structures of the material and social world to align their activities with a cultural system (Cole, 1996). Thus, practices define the legitimate interactional and physical moves within a given context. Full participation in a practice requires that one is oriented toward certain aspects of experience, that one frames one’s activity in particular ways, and that one interacts with the physical and social environment in appropriate ways (Stevens and Hall, 1998). 122

Crossing boundaries

The task of creating and enacting social practices that support dialogic inquiry within the classroom community clearly reconfigures the role of the teacher and students, as well as spaces and places of learning. Here, the students clearly have agency in meaning making and knowledge creation. As the results of this study suggest, in this classroom the students clearly take charge of the cognitive work, whereas the teacher’s responsibility is more directed to the management of the interaction. Micro-level, contextual insights into classroom practices in dialogic inquiry classrooms are valuable not only for evaluation purposes, but also for future design and realization of such practices. Furthermore, they provide a powerful resource for professional development activities (Nathan and Knuth, 2003).

Conclusions The design of classroom pedagogies that encourage active student participation and meaningful engagement in knowledge building, that transform traditional student and teacher roles and reconfigure spaces and places of learning has been of interest to many educators and researchers in different parts of the world (e.g. Renshaw and Brown, 1997; Brown, 1994; Roth, 1995; Walker and Nocon, 2007; Wells, 1999). Understanding and supporting the development of learners’ multiple worlds, identity work, and boundary-crossing behavior is vital in a world where barriers continue to block understanding and obstruct attempts to develop and implement policies to ensure the success of all learners in today’s schools and society. Learners’ competence in moving between settings and having an active role in meaning making has significant implications for the quality of their lives and their chances of participating in schooling as a grounding to lifelong learning, and a meaningful life. Our study is an attempt to explore and develop models and best practices of participatory pedagogy for schools and for non-school institutions to bridge the gap between contexts and funds of knowledge. Moreover, we take seriously students’ own learning experiences, and their endeavors in organizing their own learning in these transitions. Via our research and development work we are beginning to see the possibilities that dialogic inquiry can offer for creating educational practices that make sense.

References Alton-Lee, A. and Nuthall, G. (1992). Children’s learning in classrooms: Challenges in developing a methodology to explain ‘opportunity to learn’. Journal of Classroom Interaction, 27(2):, 1–8. Bakhtin, M. M. (1981). The dialogic imagination: Four essays by M. M. Bakhtin (M. Holquist, Ed.; C. Emerson and M-Holquist, Trans.). Austin, TX: University of Texas Press. Bloome, D. and Egan-Robertson, A. (1993). The social construction of intertextuality in classroom reading and writing lessons. Reading Research Quarterly, 28: 305–33. Bowers, J., Cobb, P., and McClain, K. (1999). The evolution of mathematical practices: A case study. Cognition and Instruction, 17: 25–64. Bransford, J, Vye, N., Stevens, R., Kuhl, P., Schwartz, D., Bell, P., Meltzoff, A., Barron, B., Pea, R., Reeves, B., Roschelle, J., and Sabelli, N. (2006). Learning theories and education: Toward a decade of synergy. In P. Alexander and P. Winne (eds), Handbook of educational psychology. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Brown, A. (1994). The advancement of learning. Educational Researcher, 23(8): 4–12. Brown, R. and Renshaw, P. (2006). Positioning students as actors and authors: A chronotopic analysis of collaborative learning activities. Mind, Culture and Activity, 13(3): 247–59. Castanheira, M. L., Crawford, T., Dixon, C., and Green, J. (2001). Interactional ethnography: An approach to studying the social construction of literate practices. Linguistics and Education, 11(4): 353–400. Castanheira, M.L., Green, J., Dixon, C., and Yaeger, B. (2007). (Re)Formulating identities in the face of fluid modernity: An interactional ethnographic approach. International Journal of Educational Research, 46: 172–89. Cole, M. (1996). Culture in mind. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Dawes, L., Mercer, N., and Wegerif, R. (2004, second edition). Thinking Together: A programme of activities for developing speaking, listening and thinking skills. Birmingham: Imaginative Minds Ltd. Edwards, A. and D’Arcy, C. (2004). Relational agency and disposition in sociocultural accounts of learning to teach. Educational Review, 56: 147–55. Emirbayer, M. and Mische, A. (1998). What is agency? American Journal of Sociology, 103: 962–1023. 123

Kristiina Kumpulainen and Lasse Lipponen

Engle, R. A. and Conant, F.R. (2002). Guiding principles for fostering productive disciplinary engagement: Explaining an emergent argument in a community of learners classroom. Cognition and Instruction, 20(4): 339–483. Floriani, A. (1993). Negotiating what counts: Roles and relationships, content and meaning, texts and context. Linguistics and Education, 5(3–4): 241–74. Greeno, J. G. (2006). Authoritative, accountable positioning and connected, general knowing: Progressive themes in understanding transfer. The Journal of the Learning Sciences, 15: 537–47. Gonzáles, N., Moll, L.C., and Amanti, C. (2005). Funds of knowledge: Theorizing practices in households, communities, and classroom. Mahwah, NJ: L. Erlbaum Associates. Goos, M., Galbraith, P., and Renshaw, P.D. (1999). Establishing a community of practice in a secondary mathematics classroom. In L. Burton (Ed.), Learning mathematics from hierarchies to networks. Studies in mathematics education, series 13. London: The Falmer Press. Heras, A.I. (1993). The construction of understanding in a sixth grade bilingual classroom. Linguistics and Education, 5(3–49): 275–99. Hirst, E. W. (2004). The diverse social contexts of a second language classroom and the construction of identity. In K. M. Leander and M. Sheehy (eds), Space matters: Assertions of space in literacy practice and research (pp. 39–66). New York: Peter Lang. Hubbard, L., Mehan, H., and Stein, M. K. (2006). Reform as learning: School reform, organizational culture, and community politics in San Diego. New York: Routledge. Kaartinen, S. and Kumpulainen, K. (2001). Negotiating meaning in science classroom communities: Cases across age levels. Journal of Classroom Interaction, 36: 4–16. Kang, Y. and Patrick, H. (2002). The classroom environment and students’ reports of avoidance strategies in mathematics: A multimethod study. Journal of Educational Psychology, 94: 88–106. Kantor, R., Green, J., Bradley, M., and Lin, L. (1992). The construction of schooled discourse repertoires: An interactional sociolinguistic perspective on learning to talk in preschool. Linguistics and Education, 4: 131–72. Kovalainen, M. and Kumpulainen, K. (2005). The discursive practice of participation in an elementary classoroom community. Instructional Science, 33(3): 213–50. ——(2007). The social construction of participation in elementary classroom community. International Journal of Educational Research, 46: 141–58. Kovalainen, M., Kumpulainen, K., and Vasama, S. (2001). Orchestrating classroom interaction in a community of inquiry. Journal of Classroom Interaction, 36(2): 17–28. Lave, J. and Wenger, E. (1991). Situated Learning. Legitimate Peripheral Participation. Cambridge: University of Cambridge Press. Lemke. J. L. (2001). The long and the short of it: Comments on multiple timescale studies of human activity. Journal of the Learning Sciences, 10: 17–26. Lima, E.S. (1995). Culture revisited: Vygotsky’s ideas in Brazil. Anhropology and Education Quarterly, 26(4), 443–57. Lipponen, L. (2000). Towards knowledge building discourse: From facts to explanations in primary students’ computer mediated discourse. Learning Environments Research, 3: 179–99. Mercer, N. and Littleton, K. (2007). Dialogue and the development of children’s thinking: A sociocultural approach. London: Routledge. Nathan, M.J. and Knuth, E.J. (2003). A study of whole classroom mathematical discourse and teacher change. Cognition and Instruction, 22(4): 431–66. Packer, M. and Goicoechea, J. (2000). Sociocultural and constructivist theories of learning: Ontology, not just epistemology. Educational Psychologist, 35(4): 227–41. Phelan, P., Davidson, A.L., and Cao, H.T. (2001). Students’ multiple worlds: Negotiating the boundaries of family, peer and school cultures. Anthropology and Education Quarterly, 22: 224–50. Polman, J. L. and Pea, R. D. (2001). Transformative communication as a cultural tool for guiding inquiry science. Science Education, 85(3): 239–62. Pugh, K. J. and Bergin, D. A. (2005). Educational Researcher, 34 (9): 15–23. Renshaw, P. and Brown, R. (1997). Learning partnerships: The role of teachers in a community of learners. In I. Logan and J. Sachs (eds), Meeting the challenges of primary schools (pp. 200–11). London: Routledge. Resnick, L. B. (1987). Learning in school and out. Educational Researcher, December: 13–20. Rex, L., Green, J., and Dixon, C. (1997). Making a case from evidence: Constructing opportunities for learning academic literacy practices. Interpretations: Journal of the English Teachers Association of Western Australia, 78–104. Roth, W.-M. (1995). Authentic school science: Knowing and learning in open-inquiry science laboratories. Dordrecht, The Netherlands: Kluwer Academic. Sarason, S. (1993). The predictable failure of educational reform: Can we change course before it’s too late? San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. 124

Crossing boundaries

Scott, P.H., Mortimer, E.F., and Aquiar, O.G. (2006). The tension between authoritative and dialogic discourse: A fundamental characteristic of meaning making interaction in high school science lessons. Science Education, 90(4): 579–766. Spindler, G. D. (1974). Education and cultural process: Toward an anthropology of education. Holt Rinehart and Winston. Star, S. L. and Griesemer, J. R. (1989). Institutional ecology, ‘translations,’ and boundary objects: Amateurs and professionals in Berkeley’s Museum of Vertebrate Zoology, 1907–1939. Social Studies of Science, 19: 387–420. Stevens, R. and Hall, R. (1998). Disciplined perception: Learning to see in technoscience. In M. Lampert and M. Blink (eds), Talking mathematics in school: Studies of teaching and learning (pp. 107–49). New York: Cambridge University Press. Tharp, R. and Gallimore, R. (1988). Rousing minds to life. Teaching, learning and schooling in social context. Cambridge, MA: Cambridge University Press. Tyack, D. and Cuban, L. (1997). Tinkering toward utopia: A century of public school reform. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Vygotsky, L. S. (1978). Mind in society: The development of higher mental processes (M. Cole, V. John-Steiner, and E. Souberman, eds). Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Walker, D. and Nocon, H. (2007). Boundary-crossing competence: Theoretical considerations and educational design. Mind, Culture and Activity, 14(3): 178–95. Wells, G. (1999). Dialogic inquiry. Towards a sociocultural practice and theory of education. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wenger, E. (1998). Communities of practice. Learning, meaning and identity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wertsch, J. (1991). Voices of the mind: A sociocultural approach to mediated action. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

125

13 Young people and learning Rachel Brooks

How does young people’s learning differ from that of children and older adults? This is an important question that guides much contemporary policy and practice within formal educational settings, and also in some of the other contexts in which young people learn – for example, in the workplace and through leisure pursuits. This chapter will suggest that the answer to this question is not clear-cut. Indeed, it will demonstrate, first, that there are important historical variations in the way that ‘young people’, as a group, have been conceptualised and understood within education and learning policy and, second, that there is considerable contestation, within contemporary discourse, about the extent to which this age group should be seen as distinct from others. In exploring these issues, the chapter draws largely, although not exclusively, on policy texts and other literature produced in the UK. However, as intimated at various points below, it is likely that similar arguments can be made with respect to education and learning policies in many other national contexts.

Historical variations An analysis of policy documents and scholarly texts, published over the course of the twentieth century in the UK, attests to the different ways in which young people have been understood by policymakers and academics. These different understandings have had implications both for conceptualisations of how young people learn and the educational policies that have been thought to be necessary to support this learning. In 1927, the Consultative Committee of the Education of the Adolescent published its report (Board of Education, 1927). This document, known as the Hadow Report, emphasised the very particular educational needs of young people as they enter adolescence. Indeed, it claimed (p.xix) that: There is a tide which begins to rise in the veins of youth at the age of eleven or twelve. It is called by the name of adolescence. If that tide can be taken at the flood, and a new voyage begun in the strength and along the flow of its current, we think that it will ‘move to fortune’. We therefore propose that all children should be transferred, at the age of eleven or twelve, from the junior or primary school either to schools of the type now called secondary, or to schools (whether selective or non-selective) of the type which is now called central, or to senior and separate departments of existing elementary schools. Transplanted to new ground and set in a new environment, which should 126

Young people and learning

be adjusted, as far as possible, to the interests and abilities of each range and variety, we believe that they will thrive to a new height and attain a sturdier fibre. As can be seen from this quotation, it was thought necessary to separate physically those above the age of 11 or 12 from younger pupils, and to provide for them a ‘new environment’ to cater for their specific adolescent needs. This theme, of the age-specific educational needs of young people, was developed more fully in the Spens Report, which was published 11 years later (Board of Education, 1938). In the Introduction to this report, the authors explain the relationship between the two documents, and the importance they place on separating out what they consider to be the different phases of education: This Report is the third of a series in which we develop the theme of our Report on The Education of the Adolescent. In that Report we visualised the education of the boy or girl as a continuous process, but conceived it as developing through two successive periods to which we gave the names of ‘primary’ and ‘secondary’; and we laid down the broad lines for a new advance in the general scope of our national system of education. In our Reports on The Primary School (1931) and on Infant and Nursery Schools (1933), we dealt with the special problems and opportunities of self-contained schools for children in the primary period of education which ends at the age of 11+. We now return to the education of boys and girls in the secondary period which begins at that age. (Board of Education, 1938: xvii–xviii) The Spens Report then specifies in considerable detail a large number of physical and mental changes which, the authors contend, are characteristic of adolescence and to which educators and policymakers must be sensitive. The following quotations are illustrative: A new and very varied self-consciousness is one of the most salient characteristics of adolescent boys and girls, and we would point out that it provides one of the most ready means for moulding their moral character. (Board of Education, 1938: 362) We consider that the group of impulses broadly described as curiosity which emerge at this period may offer a powerful handle for intellectual instruction. If curiosity be encouraged rather than repressed, then the pupil’s own insistent questions and inquiries may often furnish valuable hints for the lines which school instruction and school methods may usefully follow. This is one reason for applying a heuristic procedure within reasonable limits to the principal subjects of the curriculum. (Board of Education, 1938: 361) Assumptions about the special requirements of this age group are implicit in these observations, and explicit at other points in the report: The prime duty of a school providing secondary education is to cater for the needs of children who are entering and passing through the stage of adolescence, giving the pre-adolescent and adolescent years a life which answers to their special needs and brings out their special values. (Board of Education, 1938: 363) Although this strongly age-differentiated view of the learning needs of young people tended to dominate thinking in the UK in the 1920s and 1930s, academic and policy texts from later on in the twentieth century paint a rather different picture. Writing in 1966, for example, Musgrove (1966) argued that there were no 127

Rachel Brooks

essential characteristics of young people in the 14 to 18 age range; instead, it was the differences between them that warranted more attention from both academics and policymakers. Moreover, he maintained that schools needed to enable young people to come into contact with a wide range of other people, especially those of different ages – including children and adults from the wider community (not just teachers and family members). Furthermore, he argued that those who were less academically-inclined could, through their school, be involved with adults in part-time work: ‘Under such conditions the young will not mark time in an artificially induced immaturity. The fifteen-year-old is not a child, although our present social arrangements are remarkably successful in making him [sic] appear like one’ (p. 144). As part of his more general argument that there was very little intrinsic to a specific, age-defined period of ‘youth’ that education needed to protect, he maintained that, over time, social policy would continue to offer more to an increasing age range of young people. The history of education in the UK would seem to support Musgrove’s position. The raising of the age until which young people are expected to remain in education (or training) is perhaps evidence of the socially constructed nature of the end point of ‘youth’. Contrary to the claims about the specific developmental characteristics that underpin the ‘adolescent phase’ made explicit in the Spens Report, the raising of the school leaving age to 16 in 1972–73 and the legislation passed in 2008 to raise the ‘participation age’1 to 17 from 2013 and 18 from 2015 suggest that learning policy has been guided more by the external demands of the economy and changing norms about the position of young people in society, rather than any essential biological determinants. Indeed, Cowan (2010) has suggested that changes to the age at which young people are able to leave school can be seen as evidence of the ‘institutionalisation’ of youth identity. The importance of policy processes and political decisions in shaping our understanding of ‘youth’ should not be understated. Moreover, as Dwyer and Wyn (2001) note, one of the main effects of recent policy in Western societies has been to define young people primarily in terms of their status as students: ‘the alternatives to the completion of schooling which were taken for granted in the industrial era as part of the school-to-work transition have been called into question as a result of changes to the youth labour market in the restructured economy’ (pp. 37–38).

Contemporary policy perspectives Particular understandings of ‘age’ continue to inform education policy and practice within contemporary society. Many European countries have a strong age-differentiated education system (Aapola, 2003). Throughout compulsory schooling, in the UK and many of its European neighbours, students typically learn alongside others of a very similar chronological age. As a result, young people and older learners rarely mix within schools and other educational institutions. Although further education colleges within the UK have typically been one of the few educational sites in which learners of different ages have been taught together, there has been some concern about the negative effects of even this limited ‘age-mixing’ on young people’s learning. In the following quotation from 2003, the then Minister for Lifelong Learning in the UK, Margaret Hodge, outlined what she saw as the important benefits of distinct educational provision for 16–19-year-olds: We mean it should meet the particular pastoral, management and learning needs of this age group, wherever they learn. It is about creating a really distinct learning environment, clear and separate management and support arrangements which respond to young people as individuals at a time of complex transition in their lives. And it is about giving young people a clear base, separate management and tutor arrangements. Young people must know that their provision is managed by a team of people concerned exclusively with the quality of the offer to them and the success of young people in achieving their ambitions. (Hodge, 2003: 5) 128

Young people and learning

It is argued that one consequence of the strong age focus in much state policy in the UK – and particularly that relating to education and training – is that all sense of dynamic within the life course is lost: ‘each age group or age grouping … becomes static and membership within each group is frozen, so that within each age group, no process is involved – all sense of process is channelled into the transition from one age grouping to another’ (Jones and Wallace, 1992: 148–49). Moreover, in line with some of the arguments made above, Jones and Wallace (1992) contend that such an age focus also tends to overlook the considerable differences – and different life experiences – of young people of the same chronological age (for example, their gender, ethnicity, social class and geographical location). Research that has focussed on the perspectives of teachers and learners rather than policymakers has, however, revealed different conceptualisations and understandings of distinctions by age (Brooks, 2005; McNair et al., 2003). Although both staff and students in the six institutions across the UK involved in McNair et al.’s (2003) study thought that there were important, age-related distinctions between groups of ‘older’ and ‘younger’ learners, these were rarely thought to correlate well with chronological age. Indeed, chronological age was considered to be a poor proxy for other, more profound changes in one’s life that may affect the process of learning. Instead, a variety of other markers were believed to be significant. Some of these related to traditional transitions to adulthood (for example, engaging in full-time work and moving out of the parental home), but other markers were also introduced, including having already had some experience of post-compulsory education. The findings from this study tend to support Aapola’s (2002) contention, based on her own work in Finland, that young people’s constructions of age rarely conform to the discourse of ‘institutional age’ (i.e. the standardised definitions of chronological age within particular social institutions) and are, instead, commonly located within a range of different discourses relating, for example, to physical appearance and conduct, how old one feels, and age-related symbols and rituals. Furthermore, in contrast to the assumptions of Hodge and other policymakers who have placed emphasis on the distinctiveness of young people’s learning, and the need to ensure that they learn within protected and age-segregated spaces, the respondents in Brooks’s (2005) and McNair et al.’s (2003) research – almost without exception – believed that significant benefits accrued from integrating learners of different ages. Some of these were pedagogical in nature – for example, providing a wider range of life experiences and skills from which the class or learning group could draw, and offering positive messages about the value of education and learning throughout the life course. Others were more socially-oriented: The most commonly cited ‘wider benefit’ of mixed-age groups was that such groups prepared students well for other parts of their life in which they would be likely to mix with people of a different age. It was felt that working with older or younger students not only helped to overcome age-related stereotypes but helped learners to develop interpersonal skills that could be used in other contexts, and particularly in the workplace. In contrast, other respondents pointed to the age-segregated nature of contemporary society and the divisions and misunderstandings between generations. In this context, many believed that mixed-age learning could play an important role in helping to increase inter-generational understanding and respect. (Brooks, 2005: 65) Thus, this research on the perspectives of learners suggests that, while learning policy, with respect to young people, continues to be informed, to some extent at least, by various age-related assumptions, these do not necessarily determine the way in which young people themselves (and older learners) understand either ‘youth identity’ or interactions between students of different chronological ages.

‘Transitions’ and learning in the lives of young people Similar debates about the nature of young people’s learning emerge within the contemporary academic literature. The concept of ‘transition’ has come to be associated with the educational pathways taken by 129

Rachel Brooks

young people and, in particular, their movement out of compulsory education and into further or higher education and/or full-time work (e.g. Ball et al., 2000; Brooks, 2009; Heinz, 2000; Hollands, 1990) and has underpinned much educational policy, certainly in Western countries, and in various other nations as well (see, for example, Tagoe, 2009). This relates to assumptions about the more general ‘transitional’ nature of young people’s lives at this time, as they move from childhood to adulthood. Indeed, within youth studies, transitions to adulthood have typically been seen as encompassing movement: from the parental home into independent living accommodation; from one’s ‘family of origin’ into new relationships and family formations; and from full-time education into full-time employment. The concept gained particular prominence in many Western countries during the early 1980s, with the collapse of the youth labour market, increasing youth unemployment and greater numbers of young people staying on in education (Dwyer and Wyn, 2001). The concept has, however, been subject to significant critique over recent years (for example: Cohen and Ainley, 2000; Coles, 2000; Wyn and Woodman, 2006). Stokes and Wyn (2007) suggest that there are three main reasons why the term is seen as problematic. First, they argue that it conflates social and developmental processes. By this, they mean that, as the term transition is used to describe the process of moving from one phase of life (childhood) to another (adulthood), it tends to draw, either explicitly or implicitly, on psychosocial theories of development (in many ways akin to some of the assumptions of the Spens Report discussed above). This, they contend, ‘privileges the idea of youth as a (universal) developmental phase, and inevitably either ignores or underestimates the significance of social meanings and experiences of age’ (p. 497). They go on to argue that this approach is hard to reconcile with the increasing diversity of experiences of young people in their teenage years and early 20s and also the increasingly permeable nature of young people’s lives, where many engage in paid work well before they leave full-time education, and may continue to juggle formal learning and paid work for considerable periods of time. Indeed, Stokes and Wyn (2007) claim that the conflation of social and developmental understandings of youth ‘only serve to mask the extent to which young people engage in adult practices incrementally and early, across many dimensions of their lives’, not only in education (pp. 497–98). The second problem with the concept of ‘transition’ is, Stokes and Wyn (2007) suggest, the assumption of linearity upon which it is often based. They argue that, by giving such priority to the transition from school (or other full-time education) to work, many policymakers overemphasise the linearity of this movement and ignore much of the complexity and chaos that often accompanies it. The concept also tends to assume that the fields of learning and work are entirely separate, thus ignoring the now considerable literature that attests to the importance of both paid employment and full-time education in the lives of many young people (Brooks, 2006) and the way in which formal learning is very likely to continue into, or be picked up again in, later adulthood. Indeed, this is a point that is developed by Quinn (2010) in her research on ‘failed transitions’ to higher education. She has suggested that the understanding of transition, upon which many policy texts are predicated, which sees it as a ‘fixed point on a path without deviation’ (p. 127) is inherently unhelpful. Instead, she argues that policymakers and scholars need to recognise the transitional nature of much learning across the lifecourse, and the way in which learners (old as well as young) move across and between a great many different learning contexts, often returning to some they have inhabited previously. This leads Quinn to proffer a different understanding of ‘transition’: we need to change the terms of the discussion and recognise that the concept of transition itself does not fully capture the fluidity of our learning or our lives. Transition, as dominantly conceptualised, implies moving from one state, strata or location to another. The individual goes through a change and becomes different because of the external event. This is too static a viewpoint. We constantly change, we transform and we move backwards and forwards, we do not coalesce either before or after even the most momentous life crisis. (Quinn, 2010: 127). 130

Young people and learning

Here, there seems little to distinguish the movement of young people in and out of higher education, for example, from that of older adults (returning to the university or other sites of learning) later in life. While some scholars, like Quinn, have pointed out the strong commonalities between the transitions made by young people and those of older adults, other researchers have contended that the concept of transition is also meaningful in the lives of young children, and can offer considerable analytical purchase in understanding their educational movements. Hughes et al. (2010): for example, explore the daily transition between home and school made by primary school children in the UK. They argue that, while this transition may seem mundane and commonplace, it raises fundamental questions about the differential attainment of different groups of children and about educational inequalities more broadly. Their data suggests that most children feel different in the two locations (school and home), but that the extent and nature of this dissonance is affected by social class, ethnicity and the cultural resources available to children within the home and school. There is also a reasonably large literature that focuses on transitions from primary to secondary school; this is wide ranging and addresses issues related to, for example, choice of secondary school (James and Beedell, 2010), effective pedagogical practice (Hunt et al., 2008; Lawrence et al., 2004), and the attitudes of children as they move between the two stages of their education (Weller, 2007; West et al., 2010; Zeedyk, 2003). This body of work raises a number of questions about the emphasis placed by many scholars and policymakers on the centrality of ‘school-to-work’ transitions, and the often-assumed linearity in such transitions. The third way in which Stokes and Wyn (2007) critique the notion of transition is by pointing to some of its normative assumptions. These, they suggest, are linked to the linearity discussed above, and also to the conflation of social and developmental processes. They argue that ‘the normative framing of the concept of transition creates expectations that by a particular stage (and age) young people should have achieved a particular milestone or reached a particular level’ (pp. 498–99). Young people who do not conform to these expectations are often problematised and assumed to have failed educationally. Quinn’s (2010) work provides some empirical support for this, showing how young people who do not complete a higher education course in their early 20s are often assumed to have ‘failed’. She argues that, instead, policymakers (and other stakeholders) should change their perspectives and practices – and recognise the benefits to some students of leaving a degree programme early. Moreover, she advocates the adoption of a lifelong learning framework, within which movement in and out of higher education throughout life is facilitated. The critique developed by Stokes and Wyn (2007) leads them to the conclusion that the concept of transition does little justice to the complexity of young people’s lives and, thus, should be abandoned by both scholars and policymakers. However, not all researchers share this analysis. Shildrick and MacDonald (2007): for example, agree with much of Stokes and Wyn’s analysis. Nevertheless, drawing on their own work with disadvantaged young people in the UK, they argue that the concept of transition remains useful, viewing it as ‘a necessary heuristic’. For them, the period of youth is necessarily transitional (being neither the first nor the last life stage). They write: Youth, despite the changes that have recast transitions, is still a critically important period in which life changes are established and through which society is reproduced in familiar or different forms. The appeal of a broad, holistic, long view of youth transitions is that it offers a privileged vantage point from which to glimpse processes of social structural formation and transformation. (Shildrick and MacDonald, 2007: 601) Thus, in their analysis, a focus on youth transitions does not necessarily imply the conflation of social and developmental processes or assumptions about linearity. Instead, it provides a lens through which to investigate: the nature of young people’s lives; how they are responding to changes in the economy and 131

Rachel Brooks

society more generally; and the extent to which policy itself can inform the construction of a ‘youth identity’, as discussed in the first part of the chapter.

Conclusion This chapter has explored the ways in which policymakers and researchers have understood young people as learners. By drawing on both historical and contemporary policy texts, it has suggested that the assumptions made about young people and their learning needs have not remained constant over time. While the Spens Report of 1938 argued clearly for age-segregated educational provision to meet the very specific needs of the adolescent, subsequent debates about raising the school leaving age have indicated the malleable and often socially-constructed boundaries to the period of ‘youth’. The chapter has also demonstrated the ways in which, despite some evidence pointing to the ‘institutionalisation’ of youth identity, understandings of young people as learners are often contested between different groups at one point in time. The discussion about learning provision for 16–18-year-olds in the twenty-first century, for example, provided evidence of how ‘official’ assumptions about the distinct needs of young learners were frequently disputed by young people themselves. The chapter has suggested that similar debates also infuse the academic literature. The notion of ‘transition’ has, since the second half of the twentieth century, frequently been used to conceptualise the movement made by young people from education into work, and for assessing the quality of the education they receive as a preparation for employment. Implicit in the use of this term is an assumption that the learning undertaken by young people at this point in their lives is rather different from that experienced at earlier periods in their education, or that with which they may engage at later points in life. The emphasis on preparing for the future and for moving from formal education into the world of work is often held to be distinguishing features of learning at this time of life. However, as outlined above, the concept of transition has recently been critiqued for: conflating social and developmental processes; assuming linearity; and making normative assumptions about young people’s lives. The literature has also raised important questions about the extent to which ‘transitions’ are unique to this phase of life, pointing to ways in which learning undertaken at other ages can also be strongly focussed on preparing for the future, and/or moving into (new forms of) employment. Nevertheless, while the criticisms made are helpful in focussing attention on the changing and increasingly complex lives of young people, they do not necessarily invalidate the concept of transition. As Shildrik and MacDonald (2007) have suggested, retaining a ‘broad, holistic, long view of youth transitions’ offers a ‘privileged vantage point’ from which to investigate aspects of both stability and change in young people’s lives. It also helps us to explore some of the changing constructions of youth – across both time and space – discussed in the earlier parts of this chapter.

Note 1 Young people will not necessarily have to remain in school until 18 as a result of this legislation. As an alternative to staying on in full-time education at school or college, they will be able to pursue work-based learning, such as an apprenticeship, or part-time education or training, if they are employed, self-employed or volunteering for more than 20 hours per week.

References Aapola, S. (2002) Exploring dimensions of age in young people’s lives, Time and Society, 11, 2–3: 295–314. ——(2003) Cultural Discourses of Age and the Life Course. Paper presented at the European Sociological Conference, University of Murcia, Spain, September 2003. Ball, S., Maguire, M. and McRae, S. (2000) Choice, Pathways and Transitions Post-16: New Youth, New Economies in the Global City, London: Routledge.

132

Young people and learning

Board of Education (1927) Report of the Consultative Committee on The Education of the Adolescent (The Hadow Report), London: HMSO. ——(1938) Report of the Consultative Committee on Secondary Education with Special Reference to Grammar Schools and Technical High Schools (The Spens Report), London: HMSO. Brooks, R. (2005) The construction of ‘age difference’ and the impact of ‘age mixing’ within UK further education colleges, British Journal of Sociology of Education, 26, 1: 55–70. ——(2006) Learning and work in the lives of young adults, International Journal of Lifelong Education, 25, 3: 271–89. Brooks, R. (ed.) (2009) Transitions from Education to Work. New Perspectives from Europe and Beyond, Basingstoke, Palgrave. Cohen, P. and Ainley, P. (2000) In the country of the blind? Youth studies and cultural studies in Britain, Journal of Youth Studies, 3, 1: 79–95. Coles, B. (2000) Joined Up Youth Research, Policy and Practice, Leicester: Youth Work Press. Cowan, S. (2010) Educational Responses to ROSLA [Raising of the School Leaving Age]. Presentation as part of seminar on ‘Raising the School Leaving Age: participation and policy in historical perspective’, Institute of Education, London, 23rd September 2010. Dwyer, P. and Wyn, J. (2001) Youth, Education, Risk. Facing the Future, London: Routledge. Heinz, W.R. (2000) Youth transitions and employment in Germany, International Social Science Journal, 164: 161–70. Hodge, M. (2003) Keynote Address to Learning and Skills Development Agency Summer Conference 2003, available at www. lsda.org.uk/files/lsda/events/summerconf03/MargaretHodge_Speech.pdf (accessed 13/09/03). Hollands, R. (1990) The Long Transition, Basingstoke: Palgrave. Hughes, M., Greenhough, P., Yee, W.C. and Andrews, J. (2010) The daily transition between home and school, in: Ecclestone, K., Biesta, G. and Hughes, M. (eds) Transitions and Learning through the Lifecourse, London: Routledge. Hunt, M., Barnes, A., Powell, B. and Martin, C. (2008) Moving on: the challenges for foreign language learning on transition from primary to secondary school, Teaching and Teacher Education, 24, 4: 915–26. James, D. and Beedell, P. (2010) Transgression for transition? White urban middle-class families making and managing ‘against the grain’ school choices, in: Ecclestone, K., Biesta, G. and Hughes, M. (eds) Transitions and Learning through the Lifecourse, London: Routledge. Jones, G. and Wallace, C. (1992) Youth, Family and Citizenship, Buckingham: Open University Press. Lawrence, J., Capel, S. and Zwozdiak-Myers, P. (2004) Exchange of information about physical education to support the transition of pupils from primary and secondary school, Educational Research, 46, 3: 283–300. McNair, S., Parry, G., Brooks, R. and Cole, P. (2003) Learning Together: Age Mixing in Further Education Colleges, London, Learning and Skills Development Agency. Musgrove, F. (1966) The Family, Education and Society, London: Routledge. Quinn, J. (2010) Rethinking ‘failed transitions’ to higher education, in: Ecclestone, K., Biesta, G. and Hughes, M. (eds) Transitions and Learning through the Lifecourse, London: Routledge. Shildrick, T. and MacDonald, R. (2007) Biographies of exclusion: poor work and poor transitions, International Journal of Lifelong Education, 26, 5: 589–604. Stokes, H. and Wyn, J. (2007) Constructing identities and making careers: young people’s perspectives on work and learning, International Journal of Lifelong Education, 26, 5: 495–511. Tagoe, M. (2009) The relevance of university education and fears of unemployment: perceptions of university students making transitions to the world of work in Ghana, in: Brooks, R. (ed.) Transitions from Education to Work. New Perspectives from Europe and Beyond, Basingstoke: Palgrave. Weller, S. (2007) Sticking with your mates? Children’s friendship trajectories during the transition from primary to secondary school, Children and Society, 21, 5: 339–51. West, P., Sweeting, H. and Young, P. (2010) Transition matters: pupils’ experiences of the primary–secondary school transition in the West of Scotland and consequences for well-being and attainment, Research Papers in Education, March 2010, 25, 1: 21–50. Wyn, J. and Woodman, D. (2006) Generation, youth and social change in Australia, Journal of Youth Studies, 9, 4: 495–514. Zeedyk, S. (2003) Negotiating the transition from primary to secondary school: perceptions of pupils, parents and teachers, School Psychology International, 24, 1: 67–79.

133

14 Adult learning Andragogy versus pedagogy or from pedagogy to andragogy Peter Jarvis

In 1970 Malcolm Knowles wrote The Modern Practice of Adult Education and he subtitled it andragogy versus pedagogy, but, as a result of the discussion that followed, he changed the sub-title in the second edition of the book in 1980 to from pedagogy to andragogy. The question is, which of these is right, if either? The argument of this chapter is that, as we have learned more about human learning, there is a sense in which neither was really right. While this chapter might be reviving an old debate, it is not the history of the debate that really interests us here, but the advances in learning theory that have occurred during the past quarter of a century and the new light they throw on an old debate. In order to do this, we will briefly review that debate and then show how we think that it can be finally resolved.

The debate after the 1970 edition As early as 1972 Houle (1972: 221–23) gently disagreed with Knowles’s claim in the original sub-title by suggesting that education is a single process, but the debate really did not take off until later in the decade. McKenzie (1977) sought to provide Knowles’s rather pragmatic formulation with a sounder philosophical base by arguing that children and adults are existentially different. Elias (1979) disagreed and responded to this by claiming that this is not necessarily significant, since men and women are existentially different, but no one has yet suggested that men and women should be taught differently, to which McKenzie (1979) replied that, while they might be existentially different, their readiness to learn was not related to their gender. At the same time Knudson (1979) suggested that humanagogy would be a better term, because it merely suggested that we are teaching human beings whatever their age or gender and, while this idea did not really receive much attention, it was perhaps much more valid. However, by 1980 Knowles re-entered the debate with his revised edition of the original book – with a new sub-title, from pedagogy to andragogy. While this really killed off the debate about the difference between andragogy and pedagogy, two other issues became important: firstly, many writers claimed that Knowles had not really understood the nature of andragogy itself (Hartree, 1984; Tennant, 1986: inter alia) and others pointed out that Knowles had not understood how the term was used in Yugoslavia and this latter claim was essentially correct; secondly, andragogy became used much more to signify an adult teaching technique and there is a sense in which this was true to Knowles’s own thinking – but as a teaching technique it was nothing new since many 134

Adult learning: andragogy versus pedagogy

adult educators had always accepted that learner-centred education was the nature of adult education. But Knowles’s ideas about andragogy became very widely accepted since this was a time of rapid growth in the education of adults and the term became a symbol for this expanding phenomenon which differentiated it from traditional education. One of the most significant things about the debate in the 1970s was the emphasis on existentialism. For Knowles (1980: 43) andragogy was ‘the art and science of helping adults learn’: for him, it was a teaching technique rather than a theory of learning based upon adult characteristics. But it was a teaching technique that he related to the learners and their characteristics, pointing to one of the major developments in education at the end of the twentieth century – the emphasis on learning itself. Knowles was unsure about the characteristics that he described – four were described in his initial writings but these were later extended to six (Knowles, 1989) – but it matters not how many he identified, the fact is that he did not concentrate on the way his learners learned and so he never managed to solve his dilemma.

Developments in the theory of learning In many ways Knowles’s own theory of learning was not well developed, and yet his work contributed greatly to the development of learning theory. Amongst Knowles’s characteristics was the experience that adults accumulate over their lifetime and that they can use in their future learning and about which adult teachers had to be aware in their teaching of adults. At the time when he wrote, two major approaches to learning were prevalent – behaviourism and cognitive development; both are very weak theories, since behaviourism can be characterised as the ‘mindless body’, while cognitivism can be seen as ‘the bodiless mind’. They were not combined in these two approaches. But the emphasis on the learners’ experience was coming to the fore – the work of Dewey and Lewin was again being recognised, and Kolb and Fry (1975) published an experiential learning cycle, which was to become popularised by Kolb’s (1984) book. Learning from experience became quite central to the development of learning theory and, indeed, it also fitted very nicely into Knowles’s work, so that, we venture to suggest, without it, Kolb’s work might not have become so popular. Kolb focused on the learner’s experience and then on reflection on that experience, which was Concrete Experience

Active Experimentation

Reflective Observation

Generalisation and Abstract Conceptualization Figure 14.1 Kolb’s Learning Cycle 135

Peter Jarvis

also in line with Knowles’s own work. Kolb, however, then claimed – perhaps wrongly – that reflection led to generalisation and abstraction, and from there to experimentation, but when I (Jarvis, 1987) developed my learning model in 1987 – which was a development on Kolb – I found very few people who actually generalised from a single learning experience. This cycle has become as symbolic of experiential learning as Knowles’s concept of andragogy became of adult education. However, I did claim that my research probably covered children’s learning as well as adult learning, although I had not included any children in the sample. In this sense, my argument was reflecting the 1970s’ debate about andragogy and to a very great extent agreeing with the sentiments expressed by Houle (1972). Over the years that followed, research has continued in human learning and Mezirow (1991; Mezirow and Associates, 2000) has also built on this with his theory of transformative learning. While Mezirow has pointed a way forward, he has not answered the question posed by Knowles. Perhaps one of the clues to understanding the original problem actually lies in the ideas of existentialism that McKenzie and Elias pointed towards in that original debate, but they looked at age and gender rather than the whole person. Rogers [1994 (1969)], however, had highlighted this issue, although his work was not brought into the original debate: it is the whole person who learns, and in this he agreed with Knudson. Once we recognise this, we enter a different debate about learning, because we have to ask the question about the nature of the person who has the experiences from which learning occurs. Now, this had not been done, although Knowles’s characteristics of the adult learner had begun to do this.

Towards a theory of existential learning Learning always begins from human experience, so that we can see how both Knowles and Kolb were pointing us in this direction. But experience is neither mindless nor bodiless and so it is important that we begin to explore the idea of experience before we can proceed – something that Knowles did not do because he rather assumed it to be the sum of previous experiences amassed throughout the lifetime, and so he became concerned about the nature of the adult.

Experience Michael Oakeshott (1933) suggested that the concept of experience is one of the most difficult in the philosophical vocabulary – see also James (Capps and Capps, 2005) – but it has also become predominant in the vocabulary of learning. Oakeshott was clearly right, and one of the problems with a great deal of the writing on experiential learning is that it does not seek to explore the nature of experience itself. But we do have experiences when we as persons interact with the world in which we live, and the sum total of these episodic experiences might be regarded as the lifetime experience. Experience occurs in space and time – space can be any place, but time is a more problematic concept. We take time for granted. The philosopher Bergson (1999 [1965]) describes this as durée, and the sociologists Schutz and Luckmann (1974: 7) write about it in the following way: I trust that the world as it has been known by me up until now will continue further and that consequently the stock of knowledge obtained from my fellow-men and formed from my own experiences will continue to preserve its fundamental validity … . From this assumption follows the further one: that I can repeat my past successful acts. So long as the structure of the world can be taken as constant, as long as my previous experience is valid, my ability to act upon the world in this and that manner remains in principle preserved. The psychologist Csikszentmihalyi (1990) calls it ‘flow’ – ‘the way people do things when consciousness is harmoniously ordered’. For him, being is always connected to the ontological present. 136

Adult learning: andragogy versus pedagogy

The point about learning is that, when this flow is interrupted, we are no longer in a harmonious relationship with our world – a disjuncture has occurred and we experience dissonance. We no longer can take our life world for granted and durée becomes a consciousness in time. We are aware of our world, we experience it, and we ask questions like, Why?, How?, What does it mean? We have to think about it: we have to learn about it. Now, these situations to which we respond are usually, but not always, social and they can be either self-initiated or other-initiated. But, we as persons are both body – physical, genetic and biological – and mind – knowledge, skills, attitudes, emotions, values, beliefs, senses and identity. When we experience the ‘now’, we have to recognise that it is all of these dimensions of the person that are involved in the experience and that respond to the situation. Most learning theorists tend to restrict their analysis of the experience to knowledge and skills, although a few have more recently ventured into the emotions and attitudes, e.g., Goleman (1996): but there are few who have tried to examine the whole person in this situation. Significantly, we can see that once we discuss the whole person, disjuncture can occur and cause dissonance in any aspect – knowledge, skills, sense, emotions, beliefs, and so on. See Jarvis (2009) for a discussion on disjunction, but, in summary:  It can occur as a slight gap between our biography and our perception of the situation, to which we can respond by slight adjustments in our daily living, which we hardly notice, since this occurs within the flow of time.  It can also occur with larger gaps that demand considerable learning.  In the meeting of strangers, the disjuncture might not only occur in the discourse between them, but it might actually occur between them as persons and between their cultures, and it takes time for the stranger to be received and a relationship, or harmony, to be established.  In addition, some disjunctural situations – often emotive in category – just cause us to wonder at the beauty, pleasure and so forth that we are experiencing. In these situations, it is sometimes impossible to incorporate our learning from them into our biography and our taken-for-granted. These are what we might call ‘magic moments’, to which we look forward in the hope of repeating them in some way or other, but upon which we might often reflect.  Finally, we recognise that we cannot learn from the experience, so that we become non-learners. Disjuncture, then, is a varied and complex experience, but it is from within the disjunctural that we have experiences which, amongst other things, start our learning processes. There is a sense in which learning occurs whenever harmony between us and our world has been broken, so that the relationship between our present understanding and our experience of the ‘now’ needs to be established, or re-established. While there are a wide variety of ways in which we can discuss experience, we will focus on two forms here – primary and secondary – that relate to the whole person as body and mind.

Primary experience In this, we experience the world through our senses. It would be false to say that, in the ordinary course of events, we experience phenomena through one sense only. For instance, when we hear something, we might also respond emotionally; when we smell something, we might well have a cognitive response as well, and so on. However, experiences through our senses are predominantly primary ones; they are, as it were, us ‘touching’ the world directly. In itself each sensation is meaningless. But primary experiences are more than just the sensations, since, through reflection and interaction with others, we give them meaning, so that we know that a certain odour comes from a flower in the garden or the factory in the town, or tastes of a certain food, etc. There are also other primary experiences to which science cannot give meaning – for example, what is the meaning to the cosmos? Our daily lives consist of primary experiences to which we respond in a wide variety of ways, but through which we seek meaning. 137

Peter Jarvis

Living, and therefore doing, is a primary experience! We live through our acts. Consequently, in the course of daily doing (and living) we acquire many skills and the exercise of skill is always a primary experience. It is not surprising therefore that, in preparing people to enter a new occupation, practical placements have become an increasing necessity and we are rediscovering the need for apprenticeship and mentoring, since the apprentice cannot learn the skills in the classroom. Learning the skills must be done through the act of doing and, therefore, experiencing. But, doing something is not just an act; it has a cognitive dimension as well, and the inter-relationship between knowledge and skill emerges.

Secondary experience There is, however, another form of experience – secondary or mediated experience – which comes through interaction and sharing. We transform experience into discourse and this we do with many other aspects of our lives, including learning. This is precisely the way in which culture is shared. It is through interaction that we experience other people, and this is a primary experience. But it is not just the person whom we experience; in the interaction we share our narratives and even listen to each other’s discourses. The content of the narrative or discourse is also experienced, but this is a secondary experience. Indeed, the meaning that we give to primary experiences is secondary once we try to tell it to others. Most of what we learn about the world comes from secondary experience and much of what we are taught in college or university, often called theory, is also secondary experience, although we can also have facts mediated to us through teaching. But often it is the interpreted experiences of others that are transmitted by us or to us and about which we always need to be critical. Many educators have endeavoured to provide primary experiences, through role play, simulation, and so on in order that learners experience cognitively, physically and emotionally, so that they then relate the theories that they learn (secondary experiences) to the world of reality. Experiential learning, in this limited sense, is also existential, but all existential learning would not be considered by all experiential learning practitioners as experiential, although we would maintain that it is.

Human learning as transformation It is important to note that we are born in relationship – as Buber (1994 [1923]: 22) says, ‘In the beginning is relationship’ – and that we live the whole of our lives within a social context; the only time when most of us sever all relationships is at the point of death. Consequently, no understanding of learning can omit the lifeworld or the wider social world within which we live, since learning is a process of transforming the experiences that we have and these always occur at the intersection of the individual and the wider society. Neither can it omit our experience of the natural world.

Learning from primary experience As we have noted, experience itself begins with body sensations, e.g. sound, sight, smell, and so on. This is a human experience – it is universal. Indeed, we transform these sensations and learn to make them meaningful to ourselves, and this is the first stage in human learning. We are more aware of it in childhood learning because many of the sensations are new and we have not learned their meaning, but in adulthood we have learned sounds, tastes, etc., and so we utilise the meaning as the basis for either our future learning, or for our taken-for-grantedness, in our daily living. For example, we know the meaning of a word (a sound) and so we are less aware of the sound itself and more aware of the meaning, and so on. This first process is depicted in Figure 14.2. Significantly, we live a great deal of our lives in situations that we have learned to take for granted (box 1), that is, we assume that the world as we know it does not change a great deal from one experience to another similar one, as we noted above (Schutz and Luckmann, 1974). Over a period of time, we 138

Adult learning: andragogy versus pedagogy

Time

The person takes life-world for granted (1)

The changed person takes life-world for granted (5)

Practices the resolution (4)

Has sensation/ disjuncture (2)

Gives meaning/ new meaning to sensation/ resolves disjuncture/ learns to live with disjuncture (3)

Figure 14.2 The Transformation of Sensations: initial and non-reflective learning

actually develop categories and classifications that allow this taken-for-grantedness to occur. Falzon (1998: 38) puts this neatly: Encountering the world … necessarily involves a process of ordering the world in terms of our categories, organising it and classifying it, actively bringing it under control in some way. We always bring some framework to bear of the world in our dealings with it. Without this organising activity, we would be unable to make any sense of the world at all. We recognise that very young children may not always be in a position to make such assumptions and that they are in a more continuous state of learning, so that for much of their early life they are developing from the stage of box 2. Learning from primary experiences is lifelong, although, as we gain more experiences, we take them for granted and focus on their meaning. But, how we treat our experience is also vital; the more time we give to it, the more attentive we are about it (Crawford, 2005), the deeper might be our insights, so that, if we meditate on the experiences, we might see even more. We all have new sensations and then we cannot take the world for granted; we enter a state of disjuncture and immediately we raise questions – What do I do now?, What does that mean?, What is that smell?, What is that sound?, and so on. Many of these queries may not be articulated in the form of question, but there is a sense of unknowing (box 2). However, unknowing is also a social phenomenon, since one person’s knowledge is another’s ignorance, and so on. There is a double arrow between the second and the third box, indicating that we do not necessarily gain a meaning immediately, but eventually we are able to give meaning to the sensation and our disjuncture is resolved. An answer (not necessarily a correct one, even if there is one) to our questions may be given by a significant other in childhood, by a teacher, incidentally in the course of everyday living through discovery learning, or through self-directed learning, and so on (box 3). Significantly, the answers are social constructs and so immediately we are affected by the social context and our learning is influenced by it. Once we have acquired an answer to our implied question, however, we have to practise it in order to commit it to memory (box 4). The more opportunities we have to practise the answer, the better we will commit it to memory. Since we do this in our social world we get feedback, which confirms that we have got a socially acceptable resolution, or else we have to start the process again, or be different from those 139

Peter Jarvis

people around us – as the double arrow between the third and fourth boxes indicates. A socially acceptable answer may be called correct, but here we have to be aware of the problem of language – conformity is not always ‘correctness’. This process of learning to conform is ‘trial and error’ learning. In addition, we have to recognise that those people with power can define what is regarded as socially acceptable, but, as we become more confident of ourselves, we are in a position to reject this socially accepted answer. However, as we become more familiar with our socially acceptable resolution and memorise it, we are in a position to take our world for granted again (box 5), provided that the social world has not changed in some way or other. Most importantly, as we change and others change as they learn, the social world is always changing, and so our taken-for grantedness in box 5 is of a slightly different situation. The same water does not flow under the same bridge twice, and so even our taken-for-grantedness is relative. The significance of this process is that, once we have given meaning to the sensation and committed a meaning to our memories, then the significance of the sensation itself recedes in future experiences as the socially acceptable answer (meaning) dominates the process, and when disjuncture then occurs it is more likely to be because we cannot understand the meaning, rather than about the sensation itself. It is in learning that we incorporate culture into ourselves; this we do in most, if not all, of our learning experiences. In this sense, we carry social meaning within ourselves – whatever social reality is, it is incorporated in us through our learning from the time of our birth onwards. Indeed, this also reflects the thinking of Bourdieu (1992: 127) when he describes habitus as a ‘social made body’ and he goes on in the same page to suggest that: Social reality exists, so to speak, twice, in things and in minds, in fields and in habitus, outside and inside of agents. There is a sense, then, in which we might, unknowingly, be imprisoned behind the bars of our own minds1 but perhaps there is a reality that is other than the social that needs further exploration. It is within us that we experience the world and it is from within us that we start our every learning journey – it is a journey into all academic disciplines and all forms of knowledge. However, if we return to box 2, disjuncture is treated there as if it were a single type of phenomenon, whereas there is continuum of disjunctural experiences, as we pointed out, for example, from there being but a small gap between what we experience and what we already know in our biography so that we merely adjust our response a little, and this often occurs almost unthinkingly in the process of everyday life – in the flow of time – to there being a massive gap between the two, which we recognise that we cannot bridge and we cannot get answers to it. We called this latter one ‘meaningless experience’, but there are other ways of looking at this, such as learning to live in ignorance and incorporating our ignorance into our biography, and so on. We dismiss our ignorance by recognising that we live in an extremely complex world and, after all, when we do not know something we can also claim that ‘it might not be my field’, etc. We learn to live in ignorance without disjuncture. This helps us understand why many people might no longer want to think about unknowns of daily living, including religious phenomena. But what some people incorporate into their minds as meaningless, and then learn to take their ignorance for granted, might be meaningful or learning experiences for others. There might be socially acceptable meanings within our culture, or we may have to devise new understandings and interpretations, and this is also a part of the process of learning. In addition, there might be ‘magic moment’ experiences, religious experiences, where the sensation is more important than any socially ascribed meaning.

Learning from secondary experience Significantly, however, we learn to take our sensations for granted when we have given them meaning and it is then that we experience cognitive disjuncture – the meaning that we have given to previous experiences 140

Adult learning: andragogy versus pedagogy

Time

The person takes life-world for granted (1)

The changed person takes life-world for granted (5)

sensation/ cognitive disjuncture (2)

Practices the resolution (4)

Gives meaning/ new meaning to sensation/ resolves disjuncture/ learns to live with disjuncture (3)

Figure 14.3 Learning from secondary experience

might be questioned, the meaning that we have read might not seem correct, and so on. In the same way, the values and beliefs that we have worked out may be questioned by others, including teachers, or even by something that we see on the television, and so on. Consequently, we also learn a great deal from mediated, secondary experiences. In this cycle, we go through the same processes as we did in our description above about learning from primary experience. Now, we are transforming meanings, values, beliefs, and so on. It is at this point that this argument approaches Mezirow’s theorising about adult learning. But human learning is more than just transforming the meaning, it is also about transforming bodily sensations into meaning and the meanings that we have into new ones. It is the process of transforming the whole of our experience through thought, action and emotion and, thereby, transforming ourselves as we continue to build perceptions of external reality into our biography. However, we have to combine these two processes and recognise that the whole person has both these primary and secondary experiences, usually simultaneously, and learns. These two diagrams together also depict the complex process of experiencing both sensations and meanings simultaneously. Learning, then, is a complex set of processes, and so learning is defined as the combination of processes throughout a lifetime whereby the whole person – body (genetic, physical and biological) and mind (knowledge, skills, attitudes, values, emotions, beliefs and senses) – experiences social situations, the perceived content of which is then transformed cognitively, emotively or practically (or through any combination) and integrated into the individual person’s biography, resulting in a continually changing and more experienced person. (Jarvis, 2009: 25).

Andragogy and pedagogy From the previous discussion we can see that, in the first instance, children learn more frequently from primary experiences since they do not know the meaning of the experiences that they have. Having learned the meaning, often through trial and error but also from having been taught by others, and practised their answer on many occasions and found it to be acceptable to the social group in which they are members, they can internalise it and take it for granted. They then do not have to concentrate on the sensations, but on the meaning of the sensation for future learning and, in this sense, their future cognitive learning depends upon 141

Peter Jarvis

their experiences – in precisely the way that Knowles recognised. However, it is not age that determines their level of experience, but the learning from their previous experiences, so that young children are able to deal with cognitive learning when they have internalised the meaning as a result of many previous experiences. By contrast, adults who experience a new taste, sound, smell, etc. – who have a new sensation – do not know its social meaning either and so they have to learn the meaning attached to their primary experience before they can take their primary experience for granted and move on to learning from meanings, or secondary experiences. Obviously, the more experienced we are, the more frequently we learn through secondary experience, although there are times when even experienced adults still have to learn from primary experiences. In addition, we are now well aware that in experiential learning we try to help adults, usually in work place simulations or work place student experiences, learn from the primary experiences that we have provided. Meanings are only attached to sensations by cultures and societies – so that to learn a meaning of a sensation, whether it is a word or a feeling, may be only to learn what is socially acceptable and conformist. It is the ability to recreate disjuncture and question the socially accepted meaning through reflection and criticality that empowers individuals to develop their individuality. Consequently, we can see that teaching people by providing them with primary experiences demands a different technique to teaching them through secondary experiences. Knowles was right thus far. He was also right about focusing teaching upon previous learning, but age and experience cannot be equated, and so, while he moved in the right direction in the later book, he could not break away from the adult–child dichotomy. For instance, he wrote (Knowles 1970: 43) that ‘the two models are probably most useful when not seen as dichotomous but rather as two ends of a spectrum’. He goes on to talk of a 6-year-old and a 40-year-old and their levels of dependency, rather than their levels of previous experience, so that, for him, both pedagogy and andragogy finish up as teaching methods based upon an incomplete theory of human learning.

Conclusion We are now in a position where we can return to the original question: was Knowles right to differentiate between andragogy and pedagogy in either of the ways that he did? As different teaching techniques, he was right to differentiate between learner-directed and teacher-directed methods – but in the wider educational vocabulary neither term is specifically restricted to teaching methods. In terms of learning theory, he was hinting at a very valid differentiation in the types of experience from which we learn, but he was unable to substantiate his feelings because they were not clearly conceptualised. He neither explored how the learners actually learned, nor the nature of the experiences that they had, which he so rightly regarded as important. Perhaps he would have been even more correct had he not tried to compare the education of adults with that of children, but recognised that, as human beings, we all learn in similar ways but have different experiences at different levels and we learn from these. Teachers also need to respond to the different experiences of their learners, as he recognised, if they are to be good educators.

Note 1 This phrase, I think, originated with Peter Berger.

References Bergson, H. (1999 [1965]) Duration and Simultaneity, Manchester: Clinamen Press. Bourdieu, P. (1992) The Purpose of Reflexive Sociology, in Bourdieu, P. and Wacquant, L., An Invitation to Reflexive Sociology, Cambridge: Polity. 142

Adult learning: andragogy versus pedagogy

Buber, M. (1994 [1923]) I and Thou, Edinburgh: T& T Clark. Capps, J. and Capps, D. (2005) (eds) James and Dewey on Belief and Experience, Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Crawford, J. (2005) Spiritually Engaged Knowledge, Aldershot: Ashgate. Csikszentmihalyi, M. (1990) Flow: The Psychology of Optimal Experience, New York: Harper and Row. Elias, J. (1979) Andragogy Revisited: Response to Elias, in Adult Education, Washington, DC, Vol. 29: 252–56. Falzon, C. (1998) Foucault and Social Dialogue, London: Routledge. Goleman, D. (1996) Emotional Intelligence, London: Bloomsbury. Hartree, A. (1984) Malcolm Knowles ‘Theory of Andragogy’: a critique, in The International Journal of Lifelong Education, Vol. 3 No. 3: 203–10. Houle, C. O. (1972) The Design of Education, San Francisco, CA: Jossey Bass. Jarvis, P. (1987) Adult Learning in the Social Context, London, Croom Helm. —— (2009) Learning to be a Person in Society, London: Routledge. Knowles, M. (1970) The Modern Practice of Adult Education: Andragogy versus Pedagogy, Chicago, IL: Association Press. —— (1980) The Modern Practice of Adult Education: From Pedagogy to Andragogy, revised and updated. Chicago, IL: Association Press. —— (1989) The Making of an Adult Educator, San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Knudson, R. (1979) Andragogy Revisited: Humanagogy Anyone?, in Adult Education, Washington, DC, Vol. 29: 261–64. Kolb, D. (1984) Experiential Learning, Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall. Kolb, D. and Fry, R. (1975) Towards an Applied Theory of Experiential Learning, in Cooper, C. (ed.) Theories of Group Processes, London: John Wiley and Sons. McKenzie, L. (1977) The Issue of Andragogy in Adult Education, Washington, DC, Vol. 27: 225–29. —— (1979) Andragogy Revisited: Response to Elias, in Adult Education, Washington, DC Vol. 29: 256–61. Mezirow, J. (1991) Transformative Dimensions of Adult Learning, San Francisco, CA: Jossey Bass. Mezirow, J. and Associates (2000) Learning as Transformation, San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Oakeshott, M. (1933) Experience and its Modes, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Rogers, C. (1969) Freedom to Learn, Columbus, OH: Charles Merrill – 3rd edition with H. Freiberg (1994). Schutz, A. and Luckmann, T. (1974) The Structures of the Lifeworld, London: Heinemann. Tennant, M. (1986) An Evaluation of Malcolm Knowles’ Theory of Learning, in The International Journal of Lifelong Learning, Vol. 5 No. 2: 113–22.

143

15 Exploring learning in midlife Jo-Anne H. Willment

In the last two decades, researchers have focused increasingly on the middle years of adulthood as an emerging topic in the adult literature. The reasons for this include: the aging of the Canadian baby-boom population, who now have reached the middle years of life (Statistics Canada, 2007); healthier lifestyles of these midlife adults (Brim, Ryff, and Kessler, 2004); the recognition of midlife as a unique and distinct stage of adulthood (Lachman, 2001); and, the interdisciplinary developments linking midlife to both the adult development and the adult education literatures (Hoare, 2006). Collectively, these new directions offer innovative dimensions in our thinking about the middle years of our lives. Midlife adults experience life changes that bring both opportunities and challenges. In this chapter, we will explore this issue in more depth from the context of learning and development. The definition of the term midlife is briefly explored, followed by investigating three unique ways in which learning occurs in the middle years: (a) transfer learning; (b) transition learning; and, (c) transformative learning. The chapter concludes with implications and future directions.

The middle years Demographically, the ages between 40 and 60 have traditionally been labelled as the midlife years. Increasingly, however, this is expanding by adding a decade to either side of the 40–60 year benchmark. For example, when asked, middle-aged adults report feeling about 10 years younger than their demographic age (Montepare and Lachman, 1989), thereby representing midlife as ages 30 to 70 or 75 (National Council on Aging, 2000). Perhaps the more useful definition might be that midlife is best described as occurring between the ages of 50–75 years of age (Schuller and Watson, 2009). This age range seems particularly appropriate, given that adults are living longer and healthier lifestyles as a result of enhanced personal, technological, medical and community directions. Psychologists such as Freud, Erickson, and Lovenger offer traditional foundations that have prescribed child, adolescent and adult development over past decades. Each provides different ages and stages for the onset and resolution of specific developmental life tasks. Conversely, the elderly years were not well defined and were characterized as a downward spiral, with diminished opportunity and infirmities leading to eventual death. While this may have been accurate decades ago, the situation today finds midlife adults continuing to follow new life paths with health and an extended life expectancy. A “disconnection” is 144

Exploring learning in midlife

drawn between the traditional psychosexual and psychosocial dilemmas of twentieth century theorists and the contemporary North American adult in the prime of midlife. In response to this developmental fly in the psychology ointment, interdisciplinary literature offers a refreshing view of this situation. As a prominent theologian at Princeton Theological Seminary, Capps (2008) argues that middle age is, in fact, a period of tremendous personal change. He explains that the “self” evolves in different ways through the middle decades of life. For example, adults in their 50s focus on the “faithful self”, which stretches into their 60s, when an appreciation for the “loving self” is felt. As adults grow into their senior years marked by their 70s, caring for oneself and for others is increasingly important to them to ensure promotion of good health and well-being. Continuing development is the foundation of a “wise self” throughout the 80s, while the “grateful self” is often the hallmark of adults entering into their 90s. The “enduring self” is critical in the most senior years of life, typically reached by those living their lives to the age of 100 years and beyond. Capps’s (2008) categories reveal much about the change that occurs in adulthood over the middle years, while presenting unique understandings about the aging phenomenon over the lifetime. Under the umbrella of Capps’s (2008) unique developmental approach, adults in midlife continue to adapt, confront and/or create new life opportunities. Just as a summer job can influence a young person’s decision to pursue a particular career, so too can an event influence a midlife adult decision to pursue new paths. Sometimes, these opportunities develop quite unexpectedly, while others may occur with regularity. In any event, the way in which adults address these events tells much about the processes of learning and coping in midlife. In fact, by the middle years, learning is well developed, easily drawn upon and serves as a rich resource in ways that were not possible in the early adult years. As we age, life offers new opportunities. For example, thinking about retirement, a frequent thought by midlife adults aged 50 years plus, Jarvis (2001) notes the importance of retirement rituals often associated with this change in life. The process of retiring means that one is departing from an activity (e.g. a full-time job) by embarking on a ritual of separation, transitioning from one lifestyle to another, and commencing a new direction marked by an incorporation ritual. Similar to the process of retirement described above, the context of learning in midlife also is multifaceted. In this chapter, we explore three out of many types of learning. Adults must decide to engage in new learning (i.e. transfer learning); they explore new ways or act(s) of learning (i.e. transition learning); and they use their new learning to pursue life directions (i.e. transformative learning). Each of these is described below.

Transfer of learning in midlife The middle years are a time when adults tend to ask self-reflective questions about themselves and their lives. These questions are often highly individual, are of a personal nature and may or may not be shared with others. They have the potential to be very influential in determining future life events. They can be asked out of a desire to explore existing or new possibilities, to identify feelings, or to weigh potential benefits and/or limitations of events in life. The answers can be life-changing. Responses can offer insight into the way in which transfer of learning occurs for an adult in midlife. Much has been written on transfer of learning and the skills that are used in this self-directed process. Leberman, McDonald, and Doyle (2006) described the transfer of learning from the perspectives of behaviors, cognitive structures, information processes, workplaces and cultures. While each represents different types of transfers, many traditional transfer schemes fail to provide insight into the way in which this learning occurs in midlife adults. In fact, understanding the transfer of learning is critically important to midlife development. Wlodkowski (2003) argues that adults must be continually motivated to transfer learning over the middle years, otherwise they may well become reluctant or even resistant to new learning over time. A failure to continue to 145

Jo-Anne H. Willment

be motivated, excited or interested in new situations can lead to the development of learning “blocks” and a resistance that may well reduce interests and abilities into the elder years. This transfer of learning is a crucial base in the continued psychosocial development of healthy and active midlife adults. Surry et al. (2004) define a number of conditions to promote this personal and proactive transfer of learning. For example, adults need to continue to be involved in new learning activities and events that foster the steady improvement of personal knowledge, skills, and innovation. Time, support, and stimulation are also critically important in this process. Adult educators, faculty, instructors, facilitators, coaches, and educators can be helpful in promoting transfer and linking past with present events to offer future opportunities. Incentives can be useful benefits for those who seek to take up these opportunities. The types of changes that adults realize when transfer of learning occurs can be quite dramatic. This is particularly true for midlife adults who may be asking questions related to self in conjunction with their past, present, and future directions. Ferguson (1980) explains that sometimes an adult can “change by exception” by experiencing an event and adapting to this change by altering one’s personal belief structure (e.g. one who changes his or her life work as a result of medical illness). Others may experience “incremental change” by slowly but consistently developing in small but largely unnoticed ways (e.g. the midlife learner who steadily evolves as he or she progresses through a graduate program). More pronounced is the “pendulum changer” who, upon considering a new learning perspective, becomes convinced of the need to change or convert to an opposite viewpoint (e.g. the person who leaves a CEO position to become a philanthropic donor). In each case, it is this process of growing and developing from a previous knowledge base to a new perspective, concept, or understanding that makes this transfer or exchange a reality. These changes may be large or small, but they can provide new ways of seeing and experiencing life in middle age. Moreover, these transfer possibilities can lead to positive trends beyond midlife and into the senior years of life.

Transition learning in midlife Further along the continuum is the act of transition learning in midlife. For this to occur, transitions evolve that are both welcomed and expected. These include, for example, predictable transitions such as school leaving, development of relationships and marriage, birth of the first child, entrance or re-entrance to university, or work promotions. These anticipated transitions (Goodman, Schlossberg and Anderson, 2006) are typically changes associated with family, friends, and work, and each necessitates readjustments to life realities. In early adulthood, these transitions are instructive, because they provide learning opportunities that enable adults to learn how to shift, adjust, adapt, readjust, and grow from these experiences. Bridges (1980) argues, however, that the transition events in midlife are very different from those in early adulthood. While middle adulthood is often a process of settling down and maintaining life priorities, midlife transition events often occur unexpectedly and in very unpredictable ways. In fact, frequently they are potentially life-changing events. These events are described as unanticipated transitions (Goodman, Schlossberg and Anderson, 2006) and are most noteworthy as midlife adults often have not developed past learning strategies to cope with these present transitional events. This is particularly true for transitions that are life-changing, such as separation, divorce, loss, or death of a loved one. In fact, transitional events can produce a shocked response as individuals try to deal with these challenges. In describing these events, Parkes (1971) proposed the term psychosocial transitions, defined as “a change that necessitates the abandonment of one set of assumptions and the development of a fresh set to enable the individual to cope with the new altered life space” (p. 103). These unanticipated transitions may include, but are not limited to, illness, terminal diagnosis, loss of a significant partner, divorce, bankruptcy, or even natural disasters. Adaptation, accommodation and change in assumptions by the individual(s), the environment, and the 146

Exploring learning in midlife

complex relationship between these factors (Goodman, Schlossberg and Anderson, 2006) serve to influence the learning that develops over this time and into the future. These transitions represent truly major challenges, as adults must also continue to cope with daily life events while at the same time addressing the event. Transitions and the learning that they provide can be complex, risky, and timely, because these unplanned events do not occur in isolation, but often within the context of families, work, social obligations, community involvement, and other responsibilities. These add pressures to the responsibilities, contorted timelines, and expectations to which midlife adults must respond. Adults can, in fact, often become psychologically buried by these multiple requests to respond. This is especially true for adults who are required to respond over a lengthy time period. To ease the load, strategies need to be put into place to cope with this new experience, while continuing to address these daily activities. The learning that occurs from these transitional events is often undervalued. In fact, an explosion of learning can occur as the transitional event is explored with others. How was the event discovered? What are the short- and long-term needs to manage the situation? What are the options? Who can help? These questions prompt learning that is often highly applied (e.g. learning the what, where, how, when, and why of the event), content-specific (e.g. learning about the reasons, incidences, trends, patterns and outcomes related to the event), and with relevant timeframes (e.g. learning about short- and long-term needs and expectations, and future placements and strategies). Transition learning continues as more information is gathered. Family members anxiously await a diagnosis; human resource responses provide further information about the “redundant job”; or a court date is set that will provide decisions. As a result of waiting, hoping, listening, arguing, responding, and discussing these critical life events, self-reflection occurs in this process of transition learning. These personal and private times offer golden opportunities to learn about oneself, about other support, and about new ways of being in the world. Goodman, Schlossberg and Anderson (2006) note that working through this transitional process prompts personal growth and development. Adults experiencing unanticipated transitional events often develop personal learning strategies that become “anchors” for their transitional learning experiences. Anchors are a way to turn learning instability into stability. They can take many forms. For example, a medical crisis such as a stroke may lead to the assembly of a transitional team composed of neurologists, physicians, nurses, pharmacists, occupational therapists, physiotherapists, caregivers, psychologists, social workers, homecare workers, and other professionals. For job loss, a personal learning team may be established consisting of human resource personnel, lawyers, counsellors, career and/or educational experts, and coaches. These teams provide personal learning strategies by offering new knowledge, coping skills and learning anchors to support adults during the event(s) and, ideally, after the transition event(s) have passed. In this way, new paths of learning and maturity can develop.

Transformation learning in midlife This is perhaps the most significant of the three learning processes discussed in this chapter. While learning remains an essential building block of adulthood, life events often seem to occur randomly, but can also introduce new opportunities. It has the power to make a significant change in life. Personal transformation learning is about this change—“dramatic, fundamental change in the way we see ourselves and the world in which we live” (Merriam, Caffarella and Baumgartner, 2007: 130). Transformation is a major paradigm shift that has the power to transform an adult’s life. It allows the creation and development of new ways of living in life. Living life without smoking, managing life with an illness, or loving again following the death of a spouse all require shifts in learning about self, relationships, society, and the world. It is a process of learning deeply and meaningfully to effect change and direction for oneself and others. Readers are encouraged to read the chapter on transformative learning in this volume to learn more about this phenomenon. 147

Jo-Anne H. Willment

Mezirow (1990) is a pioneer in transformative learning literature. He argues that adults must be faced with a “disorienting” learning dilemma for which a solution is not readily available. The learner examines his or her personal assumptions to identify why s/he is discontented or affected by the dilemma and then explores options that create new roles, relationships and/or actions. By working through the process of testing, adapting, and developing renewed self-confidence, a new perspective is found and is progressively integrated into the learner’s life (Mezirow, 2000). While this process appears straightforward, in reality it often occurs in a complex and disorganized fashion. Of the three approaches explored in this chapter, transformative learning is potentially the most dramatic, elusive, surprising, and powerful in the way that it can influence and change lives. Underlying this process of learning are the values of critical reflection and analysis which represent the hallmarks of transformative learning in the middle years of life. Adults may decide that they have enjoyed the fruits of labour and that the time is right to follow other paths in retirement. Alternatively, some may decide to pursue new careers while they are healthy enough to enjoy the challenge, while others may decide that the departure of children now offers new opportunities to travel, to downsize or to focus on relationships. In each case, this life-changing transformation learning process provides opportunities to reflect on the past, to understand the present, and to initiate action that will cause one to live one’s life in new ways. Just having a transformational experience is not enough for this type of learning to occur. In fact, a person may not at first recognize experiences as transformational – especially if these events occur quietly, with little notice. For this reason, midlife adults are wise to look, listen, feel, and see their world as a place of surprises, experiences and unpredictable occurrences as signposts along life’s path. An example of transformation learning was a study of midlife adults completing non-traditional graduate degrees by distance education in selected Canadian institutions over the last decade (Willment, 2008). The results were staggering. Of six midlife learners who completed Master’s degrees while continuing to work full time, all have left their former occupations and have developed new skills sufficient to pursue new directions in their lives as a result of graduate study. In fact, two have left their former occupations and now teach in universities; two have progressed from middle managers to senior administrators in new workplaces; one has retired and is presently pursuing full-time doctoral studies, while another is presently working in the field of her Master’s degree that was interrupted with marriage and child-rearing earlier in her life. Each has undergone a profound transformational life change by completing a graduate degree in their middle years. These three personal learning processes described in this chapter are profound in midlife. They signal major life changes that often produce unexpected results at times when life change was needed. Often, however, these changes occur in complex ways, and this is the focus in the next section of this chapter.

Implications The chapter reveals the transfer, transition and transformative learning processes experienced by adults in midlife years. While learning is always possible, it can also be complicated by additional issues in midlife. This is explored below. Most adults develop an internal learning repertoire to respond to the needs of their daily lives. This is particularly true for midlife adults who have developed experiential learning strategies that are comfortable and responsive to meet the needs of their personal, work, family, and community lives. Coping and adaptation becomes more complex, however, when this learning repertoire does not contain the necessary responses to a new issue or life situation. How can one respond to the experiences, when no previous learning path is etched out? Learning how to “adjust” to the departure of children from home; learning to “cope” on a daily basis with a terminal illness; living “through” the death of partner; coping “with” grief; or “finding” new routines in retirement are changes for which we are not prepared and can present 148

Exploring learning in midlife

difficulties as we adjust to new realities. The “old” established learning repertoire does not address the “new” learning required. It takes time to learn how to build bridges between that which is known and that which is needed in midlife. These “paradoxes in learning” often create disruptions, causing feelings of stress, anxiety, continual fatigue, and even depression. In extreme cases, medical illness can develop. Conversely, if learning paradoxes can be addressed promptly, the health and well-being of adults will be preserved with personal growth, integrity, and lifelong development. In this section we explore examples of the dimensions of learning paradoxes, the environments in which learning paradoxes may occur, and the timing of learning paradoxes. Some strategies for coping with each is discussed to support adults in these times.

Dimensions Three paradoxes are illustrated that adults in midlife are often faced with when confronted by new situations. These are described below.

Instability versus stability Transfer, transitions and transformative learning do occur, but they often do not happen immediately. An unexpected event may occur, but time is needed for one to understand and respond. This is especially true in midlife when adults often “juggle” multiple roles and stressors in their daily lives. A sense of instability, a loss of confidence, or lack of direction can often have unpredictable and surprising results. Several coping strategies can be especially helpful during this time period. Midlife adults usually have personal and social support systems to draw on in times of need. Taylor (2000) suggests that trust and friendship are essential for adults as they live and learn through a life-changing experience. This support is often augmented by medical, legal, mentoring, or professional team members who can listen, suggest, and indirectly help to create a learning plan for adults in this time of crisis. Short- and long-term plans, options, and coping strategies are useful. In so doing, adults are able to pull from their past strengths, to create plans that will introduce new strategies to move from instability into stability.

Confusion versus complexity Life events do not occur linearly or separately, but often through confusing and chaotic life events. These events involve others either directly (e.g. marital problems, a desire to return to school) or indirectly (e.g. the impact on others, managing the financial affairs of the family). These can be incredibly confusing events and times for adults and others. This is especially true for women, who often subsume their own needs for others when touched by confused and chaotic events. Confusion is felt when comfort is upset by new experiences. For example, adults in midlife may wish to expand their learning in new ways by enrolling in part-time graduate programming, yet the mature adult may feel this is quite impossible as a result of unfamiliarity about the use of technology in an online graduate program. This creates feelings of stress, anxiety, and in some cases panic. Transition learning becomes much more difficult when learners automatically “assume” that barriers exist to graduate studies. Learner-centered faculty members can help to reduce student stress by working with individual mature adults to untangle these issues. Through this process, mature learners should be encouraged to identify and articulate where and why they are having difficulties. Faculties need to work alongside to help with the development of personal plans, thereby reducing confusion in learners. By progressing through a series of small steps and accomplishments, the learning actually can move from confusion to complexity in such a way that personal development can flourish. In so doing, this transfer and transition learning can profoundly influence adults’ self-understanding, insight, and new direction in the world (Willment, 2008). 149

Jo-Anne H. Willment

Risk versus comfort The opportunity to pursue new learning comes with risks. The older that one gets, the riskier new learning can become, if one has allowed this behaviour to lapse. The risk-taking activity especially associated with the use of new technologies can shut down the world of a retired person, as opportunities to learn are severely reduced when one disengages from the workforce. Engaging in risk-taking can be undertaken if knowledgeable, consistent and inviting support is given to overcome the learning difficulties associated with new ways of addressing problems. For example, the ability to learn to use, benefit from, and try new approaches multiplies when midlife adults are given access to knowledgeable, helpful, and consistent services. In fact, some corporations have discovered this niche in business. For example, Apple Computers has liberal and continued access to consultants who provide ongoing lessons to customers via retail outlets. By providing ongoing access to knowledgeable personnel, consumer risk-taking is encouraged with high levels of personal comfort. In so doing, customized service is the way in which Apple does business with new and existing customers, while adding to the corporate bottom line of returning customers and profitability.

Environments Most physical settings contain a learning culture that can help or hinder the pursuit of learning in midlife. Further, the implicit versus explicit nature of learning cultures can invite, direct or discourage this activity. The following incident illustrates the point. Several years ago, I was employed as an administrator within a university and decided to pursue a doctoral degree part-time while continuing to work. While I had wonderful encouragement to pursue studies from the office director, this was not the case once the director left and an interim manager was appointed. In a university designed to promote all types of learning, it was explicitly stated that further education was valued by the institution, and yet implicitly it was quickly apparent that enhancement in further education was neither encouraged nor rewarded. In fact, quite the opposite was true. Fortunately, my doctoral program was provided at another institution. The learning culture was such that, when the time was right, I left the job and moved to a parallel track to complete my studies. The lesson learned is always to think twice about working and enrolling in part-time graduate programs of study within the same institution. When the doctorate was completed I accepted a faculty position at another university working with midlife learners with further continuing education desires. I have never looked back. These life experiences can deeply impact midlife adults, depending on the learning culture in which one is employed.

Timing The commencement of new learning can bring at once joy, frustration, curiosity, opportunity, and a steep learning curve. New learning is rich with insights and growth, but is also accompanied by barriers and challenges that must be overcome for successful learning to occur. As a result, there will be times when it is best not to assume new opportunities, while at other times adults should actively seek new opportunities. If decisions are made quickly without forethought, then failure may occur. The goal should always be to try and match readiness with opportunity for maximum positive outcome. The secret to realizing opportunities rests, in part, with timing. In today’s world, timing can be critically important in the pursuit of new dreams. It is usually helpful in advance to consult with others who may be experts in the field, counsellors, trusted colleagues, and/or other knowledgeable networkers, who are often quite pleased to lend assistance in the development of a potential life-changing learning plan. This places midlife adults in positions of control and strength, and is consistent with Capps’s (2008) stages of midlife development. The application of these learning strategies to respond to learning paradoxes is consistent with midlife adults needing “the freedom to live with change, to invent and reinvent themselves a number of times 150

Exploring learning in midlife

through their lives” (Butler, 1975: 401). If learning through reinvention is limited or blocked in midlife, the potential for the development of a healthy and positive outlook may be more difficult as adults move into the senior adulthood years.

Future directions Within the foundation of traditional and contemporary theorists such as Capps (2008): three learning approaches are reviewed for midlife adults. Preliminary evidence suggests that adults face paradoxes in their forms of learning throughout midlife. Learning paradoxes are examined in the context of dimensions, environments, and timing, with resources suggested that are designed to help midlife adults meet new learning opportunities. In so doing, midlife adults learn more about their learning changes, the learning environment in which these opportunities exist for them, and the timing of their learning changes. This helps in setting a continued life course. By so doing, it is possible for midlife adults to move forward into the “wise self” in the 80s, the “grateful self” in the 90s and the “enduring self” in the eleventh decade of life.

References Bridges, W. (1980). Transitions. City, ON: Addison-Wesley. Brim, O., Ryff, C., and Kessler, R. (eds). (2004). How healthy are we? Chicago, IL: The University of Chicago Press. Butler, R. (1975). Why survive? Being old in America. Baltimore, MD: The Johns Hopkins University Press. Capps, D. (2008). The decades of life. Louisville, KY: John Knox Press. Dirkx, J. (1998). Transformative learning theory in the practice of adult education: An overview. PAACE Journal of Lifelong Learning, 7: 1–14. Ferguson, M. (1980). Change and transformation. In J. W. Pfeiffer and A. C. Ballew, Theories and models in applied behavioural science. San Diego, CA: Pfeiffer, pp. 223–25. Goodman, J., Schlossberg, N. K., and Anderson, M. L. (2006). Counseling adults in transition. New York: Springer. Hoare, C. (ed.). (2006). Handbook of adult development and learning. New York: Oxford University Press. Jarvis, P. (2001). Learning in later life. London: Kogan Page Ltd. Lachman, M. (ed.). (2001). Handbook of midlife development. New York: John Wiley. Leberman, S., McDonald, L., and Doyle, S. (2006). The transfer of learning. Burlington, VT: Gower. Merriam, S. B., Caffarella, R. S., and Baumgartner, L. M. (2007). Learning in adulthood. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Mezirow, J. (2000). Learning to think like an adult: Core concepts of transformation theory. In J. Meizrow et al. (eds), Learning as transformation. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass, pp. 3–33. ——(1990). How critical reflection triggers transformative learning. In Jack Mezirow (ed.), Fostering critical reflection in adulthood: A guide to transformative and emancipatory learning. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass, pp. 1–20. Montepare, J., and Lachman, M. E. (1989). You’re only as old as you feel. Self-perceptions of age, fears of aging, and life satisfaction from adolescence to old age. Psychology and Aging, 4: 73–78. National Council on Aging. (2000, March). Myths and realities 2000 survey results. Washington, DC: National Council on Aging. Parkes, C. M. (1971). Psycho-social transitions: A field for study. Social Science and Medicine, 5: 105–15. Schuller, T. and Watson, D. (2009). Learning through life. Inquiry into the future for lifelong learning. National Institute of Adult Continuing Education. Leicester, UK. Statistics Canada. (2007). Census snapshot of Canada population. Canadian Social Trends, Catalogue No. 11–008, Vol. 85, Winter, p. 38. Surry, D., Porter, B., Jackson, K., and Hall, D. (2004). Proceedings of the Society for Information Technology and Teacher Education International Conference. Atlanta, GA. Taylor, E. W. (2000). Analyzing research on transformative learning theory. In J. Mezirow et al. (eds), Learning as transformation: Critical perspectives on a theory in progress. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass, pp. 285–328. Willment, J. H. (2008). Learners in midlife. Calgary, AB: Detselig Enterprises, Inc. Wlodkowski, R. J. (2003). Fostering motivation in professional development programs. New Directions for Adult and Continuing Education, 98: 39–47.

151

16 The older adult in education Mary Alice Wolf

The self-fulfilling prophecy Eleanore L., a 68-year-old former teacher, took a graduate course in counseling. She plans to open a therapy center for parents of autistic children. The other day she came into my office and asked, “Do you think I should do a doctorate?” Andrew B., a retired lawyer, aged 79, attends the New York Artists League. “I feel more creative at this point in my life than ever before,” he says. “What shocked me, though, was receiving an offer to sell one of my paintings!” Jack M., aged 82, is taking a course called Writing the Novel You’ve Always Dreamed of Writing at the University of Connecticut Osher Livelong Learning Institute (USA). The course description announces, “The final class will stress rewriting and working with a professional editor” (OLLI, 2009: 15). Weezi and Cynthia (they decline to give their ages: “Just say ‘over 21,’ dear.”) have signed up for Kayak the Low Country. This is a weeklong program sponsored by Road Scholar, formerly Elderhostel, a program designed for active older adults. The catalog copy for Kayak the Low Country reads: “Wildlife abounds … including alligators, wood stork and dolphins. Expect a physically active week of learning on water and on land about the region’s history and natural resources” (Road Scholar, 2010: 13). Six women gather in an enrichment program at a long-term care facility to reminisce about growing up in Danbury, a small Connecticut (USA) city; all have memory problems. The facilitator shows pictures of Danbury and suddenly the women are girls again with perfect recollection. One has not spoken in days, but is now exclaiming, “And that’s where I took my piano lessons!” Her husband sobs in the next room, “There she is! God bless you!” All of the above are “older adult learners,” but each individual is constructing his/her experience of learning within a highly personalized context. Who imagined the burgeoning population of people over the age of 65 who would want to learn? And who thought many of them would be starting new careers? There is clearly a revolution afoot, and it is an international phenomenon! In 1975, Dr. Robert Butler wrote in Why Survive? Being Old in America, “Human beings need the freedom to live with change, to invent and reinvent themselves a number of times through their lives” (in Martin, 2010). At the time, this was a revolutionary concept: people do not stop growing and learning because of an age barrier. Indeed, Butler was a visionary: according to developmental theory, older adults have the greatest need to know, learn, and process their experiences in evermore nuanced and richer ways (Peck, 1968; Wolf, 2005). Older adults who have diminished memory can enjoy fulfilling educational experiences, including museums, dancing, poetry, and reminiscence. Formerly they had been stringing macaroni. 152

The older adult in education

With the mean age rising in the United States of America and elsewhere, new paradigms for learning have evolved. Many people choose education for personal and professional transitions. The New York Times recently carried a story about an 82-year-old woman who got a law degree so that she could stop development in her town; I met a 90-year-old nun who was taking computer classes to redesign the payroll system for the hospital she runs. An older woman in my class writes: From reviewing my life, I see clearly I need change and have sought and continue to seek growth opportunities at every chance I have had. I have consciously and unconsciously sought change, gone back to school, changed jobs and realized in the last few years that stagnation is my enemy. I need to have variety to keep my creativity alive. I write, have had a few poems published and created many other things but without change and variety, I felt stifled. But now, with this educational opportunity I am growing again in many different ways. It feels right. The time is ripe for educators to examine the place of the older adult in educational settings. This is not just a result of demographics, but also recognition of research and theory of human development. While the expectation in the USA is that some 20 percent of Americans is coming into the “golden age” in the next 20 years (US Census Bureau, 2010), there is a concomitant understanding of the capabilities and verve within this population. We know that some will want to exercise—not just their physical capacities, but also their mental stamina. They may want to experience new meaning-making perspectives and to contribute to the general culture. “Giving back to your community may slow the aging process in ways that lead to a higher quality of life … . It potentially could have great social impact if taken to a large scale” observes Linda Fried, director of the Center on Aging and Health at Johns Hopkins University (2010). Indeed, aging may become the newest horizon.

Who knew? Psychologists and sociologists considering the life-long socialized and adaptive patterns of adult behavior have had to revise previous assumptions about the life interests of older adults. Nearly 50 years of gerontological research have gone a long way toward debunking what were once common myths about life after 65. We know that older adulthood—what the Europeans call the Third Age—is not a serene and halcyon stage of dwindling energy and interest in life. Nor is it a hellish, disease-ridden empty time of inevitable senility. Recent medical evidence and psychological research into the last years of life indicate that it can be a creative and highly rewarding time of growth (Cohen, 2000; Rowe and Kahn, 1998; Vaillant, 2002, 2009; Wolf, 2005; Wolf and Brady, 2010; and others). Dementia is not a given in the majority of older adults and sexual, intellectual and interpersonal development can continue in later life, often beyond what an individual had expected. This creates ever-new challenges and transitions. One older learner observes: As I think of life, constantly changing and challenging, I recognize that we change in response to it and I wonder if for all the planning and goal setting we do if we can really plan our lives. It seems to me whenever I reach one of those end points it is not what I had anticipated. It seems as though the progression – the very act of getting there – actually somehow changes the goal and might be more important in terms of enriching life. What a surprise to be 65 and have new dreams and accomplishments!

Do we need a rationale? There are myriad reasons for the burst of older adult learning experiences taking off across the globe. The foremost, of course is the increase in the over-65 population and in their educational levels (Turkel, 2006). 153

Mary Alice Wolf

Across the world, there are nearly 600 million people over the age of 60 years (US Census/Global, 2010). Here are some factors that contribute to growing numbers of older adults participating in learning activities:  A sense that we can route our own aging. A principle of aging—of life—is locus of control (Beatty and Wolf, 1996) and we have seen lifetime examples. Technically, “locus of control is the belief of an individual that events in his or her life result from personal actions (internal locus). Or, they are determined by fate or powerful others (external locus)” (Hooyman and Kiyak, 2008: 168). There is a growing sense, now, that we can avoid the diseases and morbidity of previous generations. Bedrock in this belief system is the role of continued physical exercise and mental stimulation (Beatty and Wolf, 1996; Butler, 2010; Shenk, 2009).  Technology: the new frontier. Older people do want to be part of the future (Shenk, 2009; Willis, 2006). At a recent panel discussion with older adults living in a continuing care community, the strongest wish was for computer classes. “We need to learn to text,” announced one 80-something-year-old. “I simply must be able to stay on top of things.” A recent finding in a study of older learners was that looking up medical conditions was essential to the majority of that population (Wolf, in preparation). Beware the physician who assumes that elderly patients are passive and compliant.  Higher educational levels with each cohort. No one will age as one’s grandparents did. Each generation is a historic phenomenon, given that it has lived through different environments and circumstances (Schaie and Zanjani, 2006). In the United States of America, for example, this means that the 65 and over generations (some 35 million people) have lower educational levels than the coming cohort does, the 55 to 65-year-olds (often referred to as the “leading edge of the Baby Boomers”). To put it another way, in the 85-year-and-over population, there are over 14 percent who have not completed high school. In the Boomer group, this will be 9 percent. Given this situation, we may see more older adults enter adult education with diverse motivations, including new careers, informed citizen roles, and sophisticated versions of volunteerism.  New roles. One major motivation for the coming cohorts of older adult learners will surely be the discovery of new directions, perhaps new employment opportunities. For men, these new roles will surely be affiliative; for women, they may be in service of leadership and instrumentalism (Bateson, 2010; Gutmann, 1987; Vaillant, 2010; Wolf, 2005, 2009).  Socialization. According to Paulo Freire (1970): the most powerful of human capacities comes into play when we experience our worlds as centered within a mutual universe. The crucial element of connection, trust, is the pathway to transformation (Erikson, 1968). In adult learning environments, relationships spark awarenesses and personal differentiation. Denise K., a midlife faculty member working with older adults, discovered: There were some people who were quite candid. I would sit around with them after class and talk. I think they like that. They like the class setup; they like information; but I think they just want to get to know you—I mean, personally. You really have to spend time with them. So we sat around after class and I didn’t realize that some people were eighty-two and eighty-three.  Well-being. “When I am here, I know I am all right,” observed an 80-plus in my water aerobics class. We know now that physical and mental challenges enhance the lives of everyone, well into old age. The Johns Hopkins University “Prescription for Longevity” describes exercise as the “single most important anti-aging measure anyone can follow, regardless of age, disability, or general level of fitness” (1998: 4–6). Similarly, mental exercise, the challenge of cognitive stimulation, is essential for older persons (Rabins, 2010). Schaie and Zanjani (2006) cite research findings that professional retirees experience mental decline, 154

The older adult in education

whereas those retirees who had “more routinized workplaces” gained in cognition. Snowdon (2002) found that elderly nuns who enjoyed mental challenges “gained in intellectual prowess.” I call this Brain Magic. While we still know little about cognitive growth—growth of dendrites—in those who choose learning in older adulthood, we do know about rats and how they do build dendrites (Diamond, 2010). Diamond, for example, has added longevity to those rats that, 1) receive loving touch, and 2) are given stimulating environments (i.e. jungle gyms) in their cages. That is it, then: puzzles to solve and attention. Surely, there is no older adult who wouldn’t benefit from this miracle combination.  Adulthood is dynamic. Developmentalists have come to rely on the work of Erikson (1968) and Jung (1933) to speculate on the nature of psychosocial tasks for elders. Both theorists adopted ontological frameworks for understanding meaning-making in late life, i.e. becoming generative. Butler (1975, 2010) contributed the notion of emotional legacy—opining that a process of evaluative life review is universal. Erikson talked about the final stage of life as one of integration (“integrality”), in which the individual achieves the “harvest of life.” Our understanding of the meaning that older learners find in educational activities may be the explorations that they make into their own understanding of life—their own lives and the meaning of their place in the world (Peck, 1968). This is ontological development: a process of reaching to our greatest potential. It is also a reflection of hope and trust. Nouwen and Gaffney observed, “When hope grows we slowly see that we are worth not only what we achieve but what we are, that what life might lose in use, it may win in meaning (1976: 71). Dave W., aged 70, in reviewing his experience as an instructor in a class of older adults, admitted that he had initially had “an uneasy relationship” with his own aging. Now, he found: I’d like to think this is a part of the whole humanizing process of life itself. Just a sense that, “Hey, we’ve got a common humanity here … . We are sharing—in a joyful way—that underlying sense of a common humanity. They have a richer sense, a deeper sense, than at a younger age. People are less of a threat to each other. … Ultimately, this is the way it’s supposed to be: that the whole life process is intended to be an opening up to the world and to the resources of joy and richness, love and compassion. We are called to live out our lives. To me, it is simply a confirmation of this: a growing, richer sense of life. And for my own aging, too. The other side of this concept was recently expressed by Butler (2010): who said, “We shouldn’t romanticize aging; there are hardships … I think a lot of older people are sitting on their asses, playing golf, and not making a contribution to society” (Tapper, 2010).  Retrospection. Educational gerontologists often attribute wisdom to the aged: surely, that is an ontological bias. We hope that by the time we are elders, we will achieve the Eriksonian height of ego integrity “which conveys some world order and spiritual sense” (1968: 268). Yet, there is surely a rhythm to the life cycle and tasks of the last stages of life (Jung, 1933; Peck, 1968). We seem to come into the world equipped to take on the adaptive demands of a myriad of environments. It is only logical to think that the last stages of life involve a final phase of meaning-making that includes retrospection and learning. We recall C.G. Jung’s statement, “A human being would certainly not grow to be seventy or eighty years old if this longevity had no meaning for the species to which he [she] belongs” (1933: 109). At the 2009 International Reminiscence Conference, a large component of Japanese scholars reported on the use of life review and reminiscence with their older learners. Irish, British, Australian, Dutch, and other scholars sat together to explore the process of story-telling, finding meaning and commonality. 155

Mary Alice Wolf

Ninety-something Dr. James Birren led a workshop in memoir writing and seemed to exemplify the elder-at-his-finest: giving, listening, questioning and being open to the new and untried.  Ritual and development: the need for structure. If one is growing, developing, and fully integrative, why the need for educational formalities? It seems that we may be socialized to experience our own “ahas” in public—or at least, in the company of like-minded individuals. In that case, educational settings take on new guises. Here is what one older adult said about her experience in a class setting: This group not only affects the individual but also those who surround me. The act of becoming is therefore never over, never complete and never alone. I see myself as a bubble floating in a stream. Changing shape, getting bigger and smaller, responding to my surroundings, arriving at a final destination, intact but changed.  The self-directed, field-independent learner. Just as there is no prototype of an older adult, there is no one kind of learning. Some older people had enough of the classroom when they were 10 years old. Although curious, striving, and engaged in meaning-making, many older adults have projects that satisfy their leanings. Henry S., an 80-year-old working plumber, has developed an elaborate investigation into variations of bees in the north-eastern states of America. He is as knowledgeable as any professor, but he is a solitary scholar. Field independence is a cognitive style in which the individual orients him or herself independently of the environment (Encyclopaedia Britannica, 2010), although he/she may enjoy researching in libraries, museums, online, or in laboratory settings.

Engaging older learners What do older adults find supportive in educational settings? We know that the “holding environment”— the place within which we find ourselves at any given time of growth and development—must support the individual’s motivation to learn. For older learners, especially the “Baby Boomer” clientele—those born between 1944 and 1964—this environment must include some level of collaborative activity. A successful example in the USA is the Osher Lifelong Learning Institutes (OLLI). They were established in 2004; there are now over 400 centers (Wolf and Brady, 2010). They are community based and member driven, typically established on university grounds all over the USA. Many of the courses are designed by the learners themselves or in partnership with interdisciplinary faculty staff (Wolf and Brady, 2010). One learner observed, “I think it was designed just to make me happier and smarter and more aware of the world.” Museums and other arts facilities have developed broad partnerships with long-term care institutions and senior groups to expand programming in creativity and the arts. These include dance programs, play readings, arts, and something called “sand building” (National Center for Creativity and Aging, 2010). Programs include: Stage-bridge, Kairos Dance, IONA Senior Services, Arts for the Aged, Elders Share the Arts, Meet Me at MoMA, Time Slips, Story Corps Memory Loss Initiative, Minnesota Creative Aging Network, EngAGE, Song-writing Works, The Center for Elders and Youth in the Arts, and Pregones (Hana, 2009). Programs for older learners have proliferated in the past 30 years. In the USA, they include The Third Age Initiative, Civic Engagement, Encore Careers (Reserve), New Chapters Centers, Older Adult Service and Information Systems (OASIS), The Second Journey, The University Without Walls, The Shepherd’s Centers, Transitional Keys, Elderhostel, Roads Scholars, and Centers for Creative Retirement (NCCR). Pruchno and Smyer (2007) explored the challenges of an aging society and conclude that education is an integral part of the themes of “autonomy, responsibility and distributive justice … that resonate in personal and public life” (p. 14). A model program has been developed in Portland, Maine (USA) to teach English 156

The older adult in education

to Somali refugees (Wolf and Brady, 2010). Even the need to find work (perhaps part time) and like-minded socialization drives older adults out and into learning environments.

Conclusion With the change in health and expectations, older persons present a completely new population of active learners, who now view the world sharply from a vantage that had long been assumed to be silent. How do practitioners tap this capacity and hunger to learn? One principle of learning in old age is that, although there is no one “older learner,” there is an underlying rhythm to the life cycle, and old age can be as productive as any other time of life. There is, indeed, developmental “work” that occurs in the last stages of life (Erikson, 1968) and that is the integration of one’s life. One mysterious and particularly intriguing component of human adaptation is the construct of numinous development.1 It appears to be an active process at work in older learners whose experience can now be integrated and tweaked for new “ahas.” It carries the potential for wisdom and great generativity, and is a quality of recalling a life lived and a transformative sense of meaning. Anthony Powell wrote, in A dance to the music of time: Nothing establishes the timelessness of Time like those episodes of early experience seen, on reexamination at a later period, to have been crowded together with such unbelievable closeness in the course of a few years; yet equally giving the illusion of being so infinitely extended during the months when actually taking place. (1995: 23) Indeed, older adulthood brings this opportunity for human beings to explore their internal resources, find new dimensions for growth, and reexamine their histories. Among the older adult learners (N = 280) in a recent study by this author there was a heightened sense of curiosity in personal development, autobiography, the journey of life. Integration occurs among sorrows, losses, recalling early life adventures, and later life passions. Many find new directions. Mary observed, “I just have to repot myself every few years.” The majority were flexible and resourceful in later life and, in their historical narratives, described lifelong philosophies of adaptation and the ability to recenter. They used these philosophies to process change and to achieve optimal development, relying on recalled strengths and practiced adaptive behaviors. This has been cited as “resilience” in seminal work by McMahon and Rhudick (1967): who found that those veterans in a hospital setting who bragged about their feats got significantly better. Recent evidence on long-lived elders indicates that learning in old age is essential to development, if only as an adaptive strategy. Perls and Silver (1999): in a study of centenarians, found that a “stress-resisting mindset” is conducive to longevity. Brady and Sky (2003) found that older learners who did journaling were able to cope better with day-to-day situations, experience joy of discovery, and nurture individual voice and spirit. Learning activities in late life were found to enhance longevity and vitality (Rowe and Kahn, 1998; Vaillant, 2002: 2010). The distinguished Israeli gerontologist, Jacob Lomranz, had a recent opening of his late-life paintings. It was widely applauded, a break-through event for someone who had never painted. A leading authority on creativity and aging, Dr. Lomranz found himself a “self-fulfilling prophecy.” Another learning principle is that learning is essential to the human being, a form of nurture and strength. Let us hope that research on healthy older adults continues to debunk myths of automatic senility and decline. On the contrary, narratives of survival and renewal through lifelong learning and adaptation confirm the potential of old age. We see the need for a new perspective that teaches others via their greater wisdom. Indeed, older learners have new lenses that illuminate life experiences and lessons. We know now that the learning of older adults can be far more vigorous and challenging than prior stereotypes had inferred. Armin Grams (2001: 108) wrote: 157

Mary Alice Wolf

This making sense of life, so inexorably bound up with what has been termed reintegration, can result, when it is successful, in wisdom. I think Samuel Johnson put this so well when he wrote: “Design on the passing world to turn thine eyes, and pause a while from learning to be wise.”

Note 1 Random House Dictionary of the English Language defines “numinous” as “spiritual … surpassing comprehension of understanding; mysterious; arousing one’s elevated feelings of duty, honor, and loyalty.”

References Bateson, M.C. (2010). Composing a further life, the age of active wisdom. New York: Knopf. Beatty, P.T, and Wolf, M.A. (1996). Connecting with older adults: Educational responses and approaches. Malabar, FL: Krieger Publishing Company. Brady, E.M., and Sky, H.Z. (2003). Journal writing among older learners. Educational Gerontology, 29: 151–63. Butler, R.N. (1975). Why survive? Being old in America. New York: Harper & Row. ——(2010). The longevity prescription—The 8 proven keys to a long, healthy life. New York: Avery/Penguin. Cohen, G. (2000). The creative age: Awakening human potential in the second half of life. New York: Harper Collins. Diamond, M. (2010). The human brain. Berkley, CA: University of California. Available at: http://vodpod.com/watch/ 2569063-the-human-brain-and-muscular-system-lecture-by-marian-diamond-berkeley-university. Encyclopaedia Britannica. Field independence. Retrieved July 14, 2010 from Encyclopaedia Britannica Online: www. britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/20629/field-independence. Erikson, E.H. (1968). Childhood and society. Boston, MA: W.W. Norton. Freire, P. (1970). Pedagogy of the oppressed. New York: Herder & Herder. Grams, A. (2001). Learning, aging, and other predicaments. In S.H. McFadden and R.C. Atchley (eds), Aging and the meaning of time, a multidisciplinary exploration. New York: Springer Publishing Company, pp. 99–111. Gutmann, D. (1987). Reclaimed powers. New York: Basic Books, Inc. Hana, G. (2009). The creative age explores new, uncharted waters. Aging Today, November-December, vol. xxx, no. 6. Hooyman, N., and Kiyak, H.A. (2008). Social gerontology: A multidisciplinary perspective (8th edn). Boston, MA: Allyn and Bacon. The Johns Hopkins Prescription for Longevity. (Dec. 10, 1998). (10), 4–6. Available at: www.ncbi.nih.gov/pubmed/ 9825720. Retrieved September 23, 2010. The Johns Hopkins University Center on Aging and Health. (2010). Baltimore, MD. Available at: www.jhsph.edu/ agingandhealth. Jung, C.G. (1933). Modern man in search of a soul (trans. W.S. Dell and C.F. Baynes). New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich. McMahon, A.T., Jr., and Rhudick, P.J. (1967). Reminiscing in the aged: An adaptational response. In S. Levin and R.J. Kahana (eds), Psychodynamic studies on aging: Creativity, reminiscing and dying. New York: International Universities Press. Martin, D. (July 7, 2010). Robert Butler, 83, aging expert, dies; Inspired new approaches for elderly. The New York Times, p. A14. National Center for Creativity and Aging. Washington, D.C. [email protected] (n.d.). Nouwen, H.J.M., and Gaffney, W.J. (1976). Aging, the fulfillment of life. Garden City, NY: Doubleday & Company. Osher Lifelong Learning Institute (OLLI). (2009). Course Catalog. Waterbury, CT: University of Connecticut. Peck, R.C. (1968). Psychological developments in the second half of life. In B.L. Neugarten (ed.), Middle age and aging: A reader in Social psychology. Chicago, IL: The University of Chicago Press, pp. 88–92. Perls, T.T., and Silver, M.H. (1999). Living to 100. New York: Basic Books. Powell, A. (1995). A dance to the music of time. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Pruchno, R.A., and Smyer, M.A. (eds). (2007). Challenges of an aging society, ethical dilemmas, political issues. Baltimore, MD: The Johns Hopkins University Press. Rabins, P.V. (2010). The Johns Hopkins white pages: Memory. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins Medical Center. Road Scholar, Adventures in lifelong learning. (July 2010). Rowe, J.W. and Kahn, R.L. (1998). Successful aging. New York: Random House. Schaie, K.W., and Zanjani, F.A.K. (2006). Intellectual development across adulthood. In C. Hoare (ed.), Handbook of adult development and learning. Oxford: Oxford University Press, Ch. 5, pp. 99–122. Shenk, J.W. (June, 2009). What makes us happy? The Atlantic Monthly. 158

The older adult in education

Snowdon, D. (2002). Aging with grace. New York: Bantam Books. Tapper, J. (July 7, 2010). A last conversation with Dr. Robert Butler. The New York Times. Available at: http://newoldage.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/07/07/a-last-conversation-with-dr-robert-butler/?ref=todayspaper. Turkel, S. (July 18, 2006). The U.S. population age 65 and over is expected to double in the next 25 years. Available at: www. hotel-online.com/News/PR2006_3rd/Jul06_MatureMarket.html. US Census Bureau. International Dsata Base. (2010). Available at: www.census.gov/ipc/www/idb/groups.php. Accessed September 23, 2010. Vaillant, G.E. What makes us happy? Available at: http://goodexperience.com/2009/05/george-vaillant-on-wh.php. Retrieved July 6, 2010. ——(2002). Aging well. Boston, MA: Little, Brown and Company. Willis, S. (2006). Technology and learning in current and future generations of elders. Generations, 30(2). Wolf, M.A. (ed.). (2005). Adulthood: New terrain. New Directions for Adult and Continuing Education (no 108). San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Wolf, M.A. (2009). Learning in older adulthood. P. Jarvis (ed.), The Routledge international handbook of lifelong learning. London: Routledge. Wolf, M.A. (in preparation). The older learner: A developmental perspective. Presentation to the Annual Meeting of the Adult Education Association of America, Clearwater Beach, FL, October 2010. Wolf, M.A., and Brady, E.M. (2010). Adult and continuing education in relation to an aging society. In C. Kasworm, J. Ross-Gordon, A. Rose (eds), The 2010 handbook of adult and continuing education, (Ch. 33). New York: SAGE Press.

159

17 Lifelong learning in long-term care settings Alexandra Withnall

Lifelong learning is a contested concept and, in practice, a range of models have emerged in Europe and beyond over the last few decades. Yet, although the ageing of the world’s population and the implications of demographic trends have been well documented, it is only comparatively recently that older people have come to merit some consideration when lifelong learning policies are being developed and to feature in educational policy documents at supra-national level and within individual countries. Indeed, it is now noticeable that, in many countries across the world, the United Nations Principles for Older People (1991) and the World Health Organization’s espousal of the concept of active ageing (2002) have been particularly influential in encouraging policy makers to accept that the provision of learning opportunities for older people is a vital ingredient in any recipe for healthy and productive ageing and for maintaining independence. A further example can be seen in the European Commission’s Lifelong Learning Programme 2007– 13, designed to provide practical support for the implementation of adult learning policies across the member states of the European Union. It incorporated all kinds of adult learning within its Grundtvig strand and, for the first time, stated its intention to fund activities designed to address the challenges posed by ageing populations across Europe (EC 2007). This move is timely, as governments in many countries seek to deal with economic crisis, skills shortages, escalating state benefit costs and an increasing number of pensioners in poverty by extending working life (Smeaton et al. 2009). There has also been a growing interest in changing concepts of retirement and in exploring what role learning can play in the lives of those no longer active in the labour market not just in respect of maintaining health, well-being and independence, but also in order to maintain and develop skills and competencies and as a dimension of social inclusion and participation in civic life. More controversially, it has often been claimed that participation in learning can promote empowerment, choice and personal development, although these terms are seldom well defined (Withnall 2010). In spite of increasing recognition of the sheer diversity and potential of later life, what still seems to be missing from the debate is any real acknowledgement of what lifelong learning might mean in the lives of those older people who have some degree of physical disability or cognitive impairment, or both, and who are accordingly living in long-term residential care. Following Laslett (1989): this period is often gloomily designated the Fourth Age of descent into dependence, senility and death, in contrast to the Third Age of active leisure, although Laslett himself acknowledged that some Third Age activities can be maintained in the face of physical decline. More recently, Schuller and Watson (2009) have argued for a four-stage model 160

Lifelong learning in long-term care settings

of the educational life course in which the age of 75+ marks the fourth stage. Acknowledging that this stage implies some degree of dependency, they rightly point out that the growing size of this age group poses particular challenges to the meaning and aims of lifelong learning. In particular, the prominence of older women also implies a gender dimension, although improvements in male life expectancy suggest that this aspect will become less prominent in future. It should also be pointed out, however, that many people over 75 years of age continue to lead healthy and busy lives and do not need assistance until much later in their lives, if at all. As with any other age group, there is considerable diversity in the processes of ageing and in how individuals respond. What is of concern here is those older people who, for various reasons, have already entered long-term residential care. Institutional arrangements and titles tend to vary in different countries, but, in many places, what is often called ‘aged care’ has developed into big business. In the United Kingdom a care home is any home that is registered under the Care Standards Act 2000, including homes run by a local authority, voluntary organisation or those that are privately owned, and which offer personal care to those unable to cope at home, with some also providing full-time nursing care. A minority of homes provide specifically for those designated elderly mentally infirm (EMI). Currently, only 3 per cent of people over 65, 18 per cent of people over 80 and 28 per cent of people over 90 live in residential care (Audit Commission, 2008). However, just over half of residents in care homes aged over 65 are estimated to have some level of dementia, rising to 66.9 per cent of people in nursing homes and 79.9 per cent in EMI homes (PSSRU 2007). Depressive symptoms are also common. As life expectancy increases and the numbers of very old people grow, the need for some form of care is also forecast to increase. Indeed, within the UK, it is expected that over 1.7 million more adults will require some form of care or support in 20 years’ time (HM Government, 2009). Other countries are facing similar issues, although different solutions are being explored in Europe and beyond. Frequently, however, the emphasis is on how care should be funded, rather than on residents’ quality of life In respect of lifelong learning, Withnall (2010) has suggested that we adopt the term ‘longlife learning’ as a way of acknowledging the longevity of the population, the need to value individuality and diversity at any age and as a basis for exploring how learning activities could be understood and developed in respect of physically and mentally frail older people who require varying degrees of care and support in daily living. The notion of longlife learning will therefore underpin the ensuing debate; but a further consideration is how individual needs might be met in an institutional setting, where considerations of cost-effectiveness usually dictate the use of both time and available resources, including staff.

Ageing and the capacity to learn Any discussion must begin from an appraisal of how the processes of ageing affects the ability to learn, since, as Jarvis (2010) points out, it is through the body that we communicate and learn. Whilst it is obviously not possible to review the vast amount of literature relating to the ageing body here, it is worth commenting on some of the more obvious age-related changes that take place. Physical aspects may include mobility problems as the structures that support movement undergo age-related changes, sometimes resulting in painful arthritis or osteoporosis and restricted movement. Degrees of visual disturbance may be caused by presbyopia (impaired near vision), age-related macular degeneration, cataracts or glaucoma, and there may be associated psychological difficulties, especially if other health problems are also present. It has been pointed out, however, that even those who are registered blind usually have some small degree of sight and can benefit from the provision of activities if their special requirements are taken into account. A degree of hearing loss is also considered to be a normal part of ageing, although it can range from slight to severe. If left undiagnosed, or if the older person does not acknowledge a hearing problem, difficulties in communication, isolation and depression may result, even though modern digital hearing aids can go some way to alleviating any problems (Withnall et al., 2004). 161

Alexandra Withnall

Structural and chemical changes in the brain as people grow older have fascinated researchers for many years. In spite of some evidence that the brain may shrink with increasing age, age-related changes in brain structure are not thought to have a major impact on intellectual abilities unless other more complex and abnormal changes in brain tissue associated with a range of dementias, Alzheimer’s disease in particular, appear to be present. Symptoms of dementia include gradual loss of memory, inability to concentrate, problems with language and communication, progressive difficulty in completing simple tasks and solving problems and sometimes mood swings and emotional reactions. as well as abnormal motor functions. Dementia may progress from mild to severe over a period of between five and 20 years, although people differ considerably regarding both their symptoms and the speed at which their illness progresses. Not all areas of the brain are simultaneously affected; for example, many people preserve a memory for music and singing. Alternatively, some people may experience mild cognitive impairment that does not develop into dementia, but causes the individual to experience problems with memory (Alzheimer’s Society, 2010). Recently in the UK, the National Institute for Health and Clinical Excellence (NICE) has produced guidelines for the diagnosis, management and prevention of delirium, an acute confusional state that develops over a short time (but is usually only temporary), since being over the age of 65 appears to be one of the risk factors with which it is linked. It may appear as a result of the changes associated with admission to long-term care (NICE, 2010). Even in the absence of the complex brain changes that characterise dementia, it does appear that ageing has some bearing on different components of memory, especially working memory, but this is not generally considered an indication of an inability to learn. Similarly, although some psychologists believe that fluid intelligence (the ability to carry out higher cognitive functions) declines as people pass their mid-60s, it is also thought that crystallised intelligence involving the skills, information and problem-solving strategies acquired across the life course continues to grow as people age. A further common perception is that people’s reactions slow down in later life and that this must affect their ability to learn. Reviewing the available evidence Withnall et al. (2004) stress the importance of considering an older person’s overall health status, since there are a number of illnesses such as chronic bronchitis or diabetes that may affect the efficiency of the central nervous system; and anxiety, depression and stress, common reactions to the presence of chronic illness, may exacerbate the situation. Whitbourne (2001) has drawn attention to psychological issues in respect of admission to a long-term residential care facility. The danger of delirium has been mentioned above, but she comments further on the range of infirmity that individual residents may display and the problems of addressing their individual preferences in matters of daily living that may stem from physical factors or perhaps cultural background, including their ability to live comfortably in an institutional setting. There may also be some cultural differences between staff and residents, and she suggests that ‘differences in social class, ethnicity, age and experiences in the world outside the institution can interfere with their ability to establish a common ground as a basis for positive relationships’ (p. 387). Accordingly, Whitbourne draws on the competencepress model originally developed by Lawton and Nahemow (1973) for predicting how well people will adapt to living in an institutional setting. This model posits an ideal relationship between an individual resident’s physical and psychological competencies and the demands of the environment; if there is a complete mismatch, the resident may respond with negativity and display maladaptive behaviour.

A theoretical perspective Let us now return to the issue of learning in long-term residential care. Owing to the comparative lack of interest in this aspect of learning, there have been virtually no attempts to develop any kind of theoretical perspective on this aspect of later life learning. An exception can be seen in the concept of integrative geragogy as a basic aspect of educational gerontology developed in a specifically German context by Maderer and Skiba (2006a) from earlier concepts of geragogy. They point out that geragogy itself cannot be easily 162

Lifelong learning in long-term care settings

defined; in Germany, it appears to have emerged from three different schools of thought. These relate, first, to an educational position where geragogy is strongly connected to pedagogy and its main aim is to make older people aware of the ageing process in order to convince them of the need to recognise and make use of hidden opportunities. Second, another branch of discussion has focused on social geragogy with the suggestion that it should concentrate on analysis and critique of the socialisation process of older people and assist them in finding a fitting role. A third branch examined the relevance of a consideration of special subgroups of older people with emerging connections between old age and frailty. It is this latter perspective that encouraged the authors, initially separately, to establish and refine the theoretical foundation of integrative geragogy. They base their arguments on the premise that, in the case of frail older people, learning may not be limited just to higher cognitive processes. Although their line of reasoning is complex and loses considerably in translation as there are no equivalent words in English for some of the German terms that they employ, they appear to be utilising an approach based in phenomenological anthropology. Put simply, each resident is more than just the recipient of care; whatever his/her level of functioning, he or she is a mixture of psychological and physical abilities and possesses a subjective biography linked into social relationships that are in turn influenced by emotional feelings, personal memories and interpretations of historical events. In this way, each resident plays a role in creating the environment of the care home and is central to any geragogical interventions (Maderer and Skiba, 2006b). According to the perspective of integrative geragogy, then, the overall aim of learning in residential care is to ensure that residents can maximise their individual abilities in different areas of their lives and are enabled to live as independently as possible even in the face of increasing physical or cognitive frailty. Learning may evolve from a combination of interventions designed to enhance the dimensions described above, together with appropriate social and medical care. Interventions may be individual or may take the form of various types of group work. The authors go on to stress the importance of the role of care and nursing staff, relatives and the external community within a home and in any interventions. They also comment on environmental concerns, including the available space within a home and how it might be enriched. They seem less sure of their ground here and move to trying to justify their approach from economic, political, humanitarian and legal perspectives, as well as claiming a contribution to educational theory. Whilst their theoretical perspective is an original and useful input to an aspect of educational gerontology that has hitherto received little attention, it can be argued that the ‘integrative’ aspect of their approach is not well defined and the link that they attempt between theory and practice requires clearer definition, especially in respect of residents with advanced dementia or other intellectual disabilities that have a major impact on their daily lives.

Developing a holistic approach to learning One of the problems with a geragogical approach is that different meanings have been ascribed to the term over time. It has previously been defined mainly in relation to teaching older people from the perspective of the provider and practitioner (Schuetz 1982; John 1988; Girton 1995) and has also been the subject of considerable academic debate as Maderer and Skiba (2006a) have shown. It has been less concerned with different types of frail older learners and their learning. It is therefore proposed that a more inclusive way of thinking about learning in long-term care would be to develop a holistic approach to learning. This basically involves the adoption of a systems approach in which the overall goal is, as above, to maximise each resident’s independence and well-being for as long as possible through learning. However, it also recognises that, within a care home, it is necessary to understand how the external environment, the prevailing philosophy of care and thus available resources, structures and processes and various people (residents, staff and visitors), interact within a particular physical environment in order for that goal to be attained. Since a care home is a dynamic entity constantly undergoing change in all these sub-systems and influenced by changing external factors, it can be seen as an open system. 163

Alexandra Withnall

If we consider the external environment in which a care home operates, this will be different in different countries, depending on any existing legislation. As an example, in the UK, the legal basis for inspections is the Health and Social Care Act 2008. The Care Quality Commission is responsible for the inspection of care homes; its guidance to providers to help meet regulations includes the necessity of ensuring that ‘people who use services get effective, safe and appropriate care, treatment and support that meets their individual needs’. In the same document, providers are advised to consider all aspects of service users’ welfare and well-being, including daytime activities (CQC, 2010). In Australia and some other countries, the appointment of an Activities Organiser within a care home is mandatory. In addition to statutory requirements, the philosophy of care to which a home subscribes has a major impact on how it is organised and run, which resources are given priority and how staff and residents relate to each other. A further factor is whether the home is part of a larger group with its own imposed values and structures, or simply a small privately run institution. However, it appears that a growing international movement known as the Eden Alternative is having a measure of success in encouraging alternative ways of thinking about the ethos of care for the benefit of both residents and staff in a variety of care homes throughout the world. Founded in 1991 by an American geriatrician, its philosophy is based on combating ‘the three plagues’ of loneliness, helplessness and boredom that are said to afflict residents living in long-term care. Accordingly, the Eden philosophy is based on the notion that life can be fulfilling at any age. It proposes ten principles for creating an elder-centred community that stress relationships and continuing contact with younger people, plants and animals; loving companionship; the opportunity to give as well as receive care; spontaneity in daily life; placing decision-making authority in the hands of older people or their friends and relatives; and a recognition that the creation of such a community is an ongoing process that needs wise leadership. The approach requires a complete change to the culture of a care home in that it is necessary to develop a shared vision and to welcome other generations (and animals) in order for residents to participate in a variety of chosen activities. In this way, a home can become a thriving focal point for both individual and shared learning; staff roles may need to evolve or change in the course of time as they become not just carers or nurses but ‘life assistants’ (Burgess, 2009). Although evaluations of the Eden Alternative are still somewhat limited, Rosher and Robinson (2005) detected significant improvement in family satisfaction regarding their relatives’ quality of activities and general contentment amongst other benefits in their study completed at a large nursing home in the American Midwest. A further example can be seen in the prevailing ethos of Sunrise Senior Living, an American organisation that now operates 365 homes in the USA, Canada, the UK and Germany. Sunrise recognises the need to respect residents’ dignity and individuality and employs Life Enrichment Managers, whose role is to work closely with individual residents and their relatives and friends to enhance residents’ enjoyment of their daily lives and to ensure that they are able to experience a sense of achievement in their chosen activities. However, the cost of living in a Sunrise facility appears to be notably higher than might be the case elsewhere (www.sunriseseniorliving.com). In spite of these very positive philosophies, the internal physical environment of a care home has rarely been considered in relation to residents’ learning, although Eaton and Salari (2005) have drawn attention to the impact of physical surroundings in respect of seniors’ centres in the USA. Recently, Burton and Sheehan (forthcoming) conducted research into how individual design features can influence older people’s quality of life and well-being in a residential care setting in two different areas of the UK. Using an exploratory study of residents’ perceptions based on personal interviews and also making use of sets of photographs featuring variation in one particular design feature, they ascertained that, whilst views of nature and greenery were important, residents especially favoured open-plan layouts and practical, easily accessible design. The type of building most preferred was a single-storey design and, in communal rooms, home-like spaces, comfort, sunlight, grouped seating and tables for activities were generally seen as ideal. The researchers noted, however, from this and previous research, that it is often difficult to encourage people to think about their immediate physical environment and that they tend to adapt uncritically to 164

Lifelong learning in long-term care settings

their surroundings over time. This suggests that more careful thought should be given at the outset to the design and location of care homes as an important facet of residents’ overall well-being and subsequent propensity to enjoy learning and other activities.

The nature of learning in long-term care A holistic approach can provide a useful framework for thinking about how learning might take place in long-term care. The remaining aspect, or sub-system, is the residents themselves, the staff and relatives or other visitors. It has been seen that Maderer and Skiba (2006b) stressed the importance of seeing residents as more than just recipients of care; together with staff and visitors they are instrumental in helping to create the care home environment. However, this is a constantly changing population; some residents will decline or die, whilst others with varying interests and levels of ability are just moving into care. In turn, they introduce new groups of relatives and friends; staff leave and are replaced by others; visitors come and go. Because the care home population is a shifting one, it is apparent that to develop one definition of learning in this setting is problematic. What can be said is that it will have a variety of meanings and practical applications for residents according to their background, personality, current level and type of dependency, and thus their abilities. A resident who is still reasonably active and has little in the way of physical, sensory or cognitive impairment can be encouraged to continue with existing hobbies and interests or to develop new ones and to continue to forge beneficial relationships with others. They are likely to remain in contact with and interested in, the wider world beyond the care home and this can be maintained through regular contact in ways envisaged within the Eden Alternative. Others whose mobility, sight or hearing has diminished may benefit from the same kind of opportunities, although more consideration might be needed in respect of the home’s environment, with more attention given to ergonomic issues. Aldridge (2009) has provided a rich variety of examples of innovative programmes devised with and for residents in a range of care homes in the UK, including the use of trained volunteer personal learning mentors to help develop an individual’s own interests and needs; and a series of reading groups in a Scottish care home, which provide both intellectual stimulation and a chance for residents and staff to learn from each other. There are many other examples from long-term care facilities in different countries across the world. For residents who may be experiencing mild cognitive impairment or have some degree of dementia, perhaps in addition to physical or sensory problems, learning can still take place, but it will take different forms and require different approaches. An initial requirement might be to maintain some sense of continuity in residents’ lives. A useful starting point is the concept of ‘personhood’ (Kitwood, 1997), defined as being vested in relationships between carers and patients and implying recognition, respect and trust. Currently, further research to increase understanding and implementation of personhood approaches to dementia care is underway through a range of interdisciplinary projects, notably at the University of British Columbia in Canada, since it can provide the basis for a positive relationship between residents and those with whom they come into contact. A further approach that has relevance is the Specialised Early Care for Alzheimer’s (SPECAL) method outlined by James (2008). Designed for use with people in the early stages of dementia, SPECAL recognises that, in spite of memory loss, recollection of past events and feelings are still intact and can be used to replace more recent information that has been lost. The resident (or client) is seen as the expert; it is important to enter his or her world and not to contradict or try to re-orientate them or ask questions that only lead to more confusion. SPECAL makes use of the idea of a ‘photograph’ from the past to create a present-day context in which the resident is enabled ‘to live much of their waking life in their favourite psychological place, an activity or interest that they have always loved, one that brings them alive, that promotes their feelings of self-worth’ (p. 133). In this way, as long as the resident is absorbed in their own recalled interests, they tend to remain calm and cease to be puzzled and distressed by their inability to 165

Alexandra Withnall

understand their current context. Memories from the past can be conjured up through ‘verbal ping-pong’, beginning from the introduction of words or phrases that might reflect the resident’s past interests. Adoption of this method means that carers, relatives or other visitors need to have a very good grasp of residents’ biographies and to be prepared to invest in conversations that may be in some ways counter-intuitive. Although there is growing support for SPECAL among carers, the UK Alzheimer’s Society does not support its approach on the grounds that it is contrary both to principles embedded in the Mental Capacity Act (2005) and established best practice. It is said to take away choice and control from people suffering from dementia through its use of what amounts to deception (www.alzheimers.org.uk). Certainly, the method requires more debate regarding its ethics and an independent rigorous scientific evaluation as to its overall efficacy, but it appears to offer an interesting way to help residents reconnect with their past interests. Meanwhile, a variety of other approaches to engaging people with dementia in learning and associated activities has been developed in different countries. For example, Zeisel (2009) emphasises the importance of creative activity to stimulate the brain and open pathways to better communication. Other examples include reminiscence work, music therapy, craft activities, learning to care for a pet or plant, gentle and progressive exercise and listening to the radio (but not watching television, which can sometimes cause further disorientation). For people in the advanced stages of dementia or suffering temporarily from delirium, learning can involve simple repetitive tasks that help the resident maintain a degree of functional independence. This might include the use of prompts and cues or various behavioural strategies that offer the resident the kind of cognitive stimulation required to learn how to carry out a task such as getting dressed. Positive reinforcement would also be needed to help maintain what has been learnt (Whitbourne 2001), although, in this situation, the resident is actually re-learning what was once known. If we accept the concept of holistic learning and subscribe to very different ideas of learning that can be seen in long-term care, it is of course necessary to acknowledge that enabling learning in any form requires the active participation not only of individual residents, but also of care and nursing staff, relatives and other visitors. This implies the need for everyone who is involved with residents’ lives to subscribe to a vision that recognises the importance of learning however frail the resident may be. In addition, an important pre-requisite is for staff to be aware of each new resident’s biography and interests; relatives and friends have a role to play here as well as the older person. Above all, care and nursing staff need appropriate training, not just in delivering care, but in understanding what role different forms of learning can play in maintaining independence and encouraging well-being for as long as possible. Accordingly, as Neuberger (2008) has cogently argued, it is also important that caring is seen as an honourable, well-paid and well-trained profession, with real opportunities for career progression. In some countries, this is not always the case.

Conclusion In view of demographic trends, it was suggested that the time has come to substitute the idea of ‘longlife learning’ for the more commonly used ‘lifelong learning’. Within this framework, it is necessary to begin to consider how learning can assist physically and/or mentally frail older people moving into long-term care to maintain their independence and well-being for as long as possible; and indeed, what meaning can be ascribed to learning in this context. The perspective offered by integrative geragogy points an interesting way forward, but it has been argued here that the use of a systems approach and the resulting concept of holistic learning can shift the emphasis from teaching to learning and help to identify the complexity of learning in the unique and dynamic setting of each long-term care home. As the population of very elderly people is set to increase, the issues raised here will doubtless come to attract more attention from educators of adults and learning theorists. All our futures are at stake. 166

Lifelong learning in long-term care settings

References Aldridge, F. (2009) Enhancing Informal Adult Learning for Older People in Care Settings. Interim Report and Consultation Document, Leicester: NIACE. Alzheimer’s Society (2010) Online. Available at: http://alzheimers.org.uk (accessed 13 July 2010). Audit Commission (2008) Don’t Stop Me Now. Preparing for an Ageing Population, Local Government National Report, London: Audit Commission. Burgess, J. (2009) ‘Sowing seeds: introducing the Eden Alternative’, Journal of Dementia Care, 17: 27–30. Burton, E. and Sheehan, B. (forthcoming) ‘Care home environments and wellbeing: identifying the design features that most affect older residents’, Journal of Architecture and Planning Research. Care Quality Commission (CQC) (2010) Online. Available at: www.cqc.org.uk (accessed 23 June 2010). Eaton, J. and Salari, S. (2005) ‘Environments for lifelong learning in senior centers’, Educational Gerontology, 31: 461–80. European Commission (EC) (2007) Action Plan on Adult Learning. It is Always a Good Time to Learn. Com (2007) 558 final, Brussels: European Commission. Girton, K.M. (1995) ‘Education and expression: a natural expansion to a theory of geragogy’, Gerontology and Geriatrics Education, 16: 53–69. HM Government (2009) Shaping the Future of Care Together Green Paper, London: Department of Health, CM 7673. James, O. (2008) Contented Dementia, London: Vermilion. Jarvis, P. (2010) Adult Education and Lifelong Learning, London and New York: Routledge. 4th edition. John, M.T. (1988) Geragogy: A Theory for Teaching the Elderly, Binghampton, NY: The Haworth Press. Kitwood, T. (1997) Dementia Reconsidered: The Person Comes First, Buckingham: Open University Press. Laslett, P. (1989) A Fresh Map of Life, London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson. Lawton, M.P. and Nahemow, L. (1973) ‘Ecology and the aging process’, in C. Eisdorfer and M.P. Lawton (eds) The Psychology of Adult Development and Aging, Washington, DC: American Psychological Association. Maderer, P. and Skiba, A. (2006a) ‘Integrative geragogy: part 1: theory and practice of a basic model’, Educational Gerontology, 32: 125–45. ——(2006b) ‘Integrative geragogy: part 2: interventions and legitimizations’, Educational Gerontology, 32: 147–58. National Clinical Guidelines Centre (NICE) (2010) Delirium: Diagnosis, Prevention and Management, NICE Clinical Guidelines 103. Online. Available at: www.nice-org./guidance/CG103/PublicInfo (accessed 15 August 2010). Neuberger, J. (2008) Not Dead Yet. A Manifesto for Old Age, London: HarperCollins. PSSRU (2007) Dementia UK. Report to Alzheimer’s Society, London: Alzheimer’s Society. Rosher, R.B. and Robinson, S. (2005) ‘Impact of the Eden Alternative on family satisfaction’, Journal of the American Medical Directors Association, 6: 189–93. Schuetz, J. (1982). ‘Geragogy: instructional programs for elders’, Communication Education, 31: 339–47. Schuller, T. and Watson, D. (2009) Learning Through Life. Inquiry into the Future for Lifelong Learning, Leicester: NIACE. Smeaton, D., Vegeris, S., Sahin-Dikmen, M. (2009) Older Workers: Employment Preferences, Barriers and Solutions, London: Equality and Human Rights Commission Research Reports Series; London: Equality and Human Rights Commission. United Nations (1991) United Nations Principles for Older Persons, United Nations Programme on Ageing. Online. Available at: www.un.org/ageing/un_principles.html (accessed 3 February 2010). Whitbourne, S. (2001) Adult Development and Aging. Biopsychosocial Perspectives, New York: John Wiley & Sons. Withnall, A. (2010) Improving Learning in Later Life, London and New York: Routledge. Withnall, A., McGivney, V. and Soulsby, J. (2004) Older People Learning. Myths and Realities, Leicester: NIACE. World Health Organization (2002) Active Ageing. A Policy Framework, Geneva: WHO. Zeisel, J. (2009) I’m Still Here: A Breakthrough Approach to Understanding Someone Living with Alzheimer’s, New York: Penguin Group.

167

18 The biographical approach to lifelong learning Peter Alheit

Introduction ‘Lifelong learning’ continues to be a somewhat diffuse term (see Field, 2000). On the one hand, it is obvious that we learn our whole lives long. From our first attempts at walking and talking, to familiarising ourselves with the old people’s home, we experience new things, acquire new knowledge and new skills. We definitely cannot refuse learning. On the other hand, we do not know what ‘lifelong learning’ theoretically means. The following lines of thought are concerned with the conceptual side of lifelong learning. Interest centres here not on policies and institutions and also not on situative learning acts by isolated individuals, but on learning as the (trans-)formation of experience, knowledge and action structures in the context of people’s life histories and lifeworlds (i.e. in a lifewide context). I therefore speak of ‘biographical learning’, by which I mean not so much sharply and empirically delineated entities – such as learning processes that are bound up with specific forms, locations or times – but rather a theoretical perspective on education and training that takes as its starting point the life history perspective of the actual learner (Krüger and Marotzki, 1995, 1999), in the sense of a phenomenological concept of learning (Schulze, 1993a, 1993b). At the level of biographical experience, analytical distinctions such as those between formal, non-formal and informal learning (Commission of the European Communities, 2000: 9) are not necessarily sharp. On the contrary, one of the peculiar features of biography is that, through the accumulation and structuring of experience in one’s life history, institutionally and socially specialised fields of experience become integrated, congealing to form a new and particular construct of meanings. This accomplishment on the part of living subjects can be circumscribed with the term, ‘biographicity’ (Alheit, 1993; Alheit and Dausien, 2000b), which embraces the notion of ‘self-willed’, subjective appropriation of learning schemes (Kade, 1994; Kade and Seitter, 1996), while going beyond that aspect to accentuate the opportunity to generate new structures of cultural and social experience. Policies and pedagogical concepts of lifelong learning take the potential for education and training implicit in the biographical, constructional logic of experience and action as their cue – usually in an affirmative, rather than analytically reflected way. Nevertheless, the distinction between formal, non-formal and informal learning also makes sense from the perspective of biography theory, as long as it is not interpreted as a typology of learning processes, but is related instead to the structures and frames of the respective learning contexts. Learning processes take place in educational institutions and formalised learning settings to a lesser extent only, but structured institutions for education and training nevertheless structure the ‘option spaces’ for biographical learning processes 168

The biographical approach to lifelong learning

(Kade and Seitter, 1996); they also shape the historical and cultural notions of ‘biography’, within which frame subjects interpret their experience and generate biographical meaning. Biographical learning is embedded within societal structures and cultural contexts of interpretation. For that reason, it is also essential when analysing educational and learning processes at the individual, biographical level to be clear about the ‘external’ structures that frame the life course. The following conceptualisation begins with this aspect and goes on to differentiate between some empirical phenomena of lifewide learning.

The social structuring of the life course by educational institutions The life course is an institution that crystallised with the onset of Modernity (Kohli, 1985) and provides a formal ‘framework’ for the biographical education and training processes that individuals undergo. This framework exists regardless of the specific way in which individuals orient themselves to it (e.g. in an affirmative manner, striving for preset goals, or rubbing up against it, breaking with it, modifying it, etc.). There is a societal ‘curriculum’ for the individual’s life from birth to death that is more or less defined in norms and expectations, constantly renegotiated and subject to historical change. One part of the education and training processes that we pass through or actively shape during our life is based relatively closely on this curriculum and regulated by formal learning objectives and qualifications. To emphasise this aspect, Schulze (1993a) speaks of ‘curricular learning’. ‘Learning in the life history context’, in contrast, obeys other (biographical) rules, but cannot dissociate itself entirely from the aforementioned framework. There are tensions and frictions between these two dimensions, which are mutually dependent on each other (Schulze, 1993a; Kade and Seitter, 1996). In order to understand biographical learning processes, it is therefore essential to reflect on the respective life course models that operate within a given society. These are not ‘external variables’ that are always preexistent, but are shaped and formed in decisive ways by institutionalised education, for example. This was shown by Kohli (1985) for the classical subdivision of the life course in modern Western societies into ‘preparatory, activity and retirement phases’. In the latter life course model, times and spaces of formalised learning are defined by institutional classification (school, vocational training system) and by the temporal localisation of socialisation and skilling in childhood and youth, and all members of society are obliged to pass through these predefined phases. However, the role of education and training in the life course is not confined to the ‘preparatory’ phase, but it structures, in the form of a chain of options and branching points, the entire biographical curriculum. This holds true for the model, described by Kohli, for the standard biography in modern societies – the school system for general education, and the skilling levels and profiles defined by it, specifies certain starting opportunities and establishes the direction that the individual’s life subsequently takes, as well as the social positioning of the individual; these steps are almost impossible to achieve with subsequent qualifications (Rabe-Kleberg, 1993b). The school is simultaneously a key location for practising formal learning. By internalising the specific content of learning, individuals also learn the various forms of learning. Qualifications and experience gained in school structure the subsequent status passages of biography to an enormous extent – vocational training and/or the transition to employment – and together with initial vocational training they establish the framework for the entire employment biography. Although continuing vocational education or retraining can create new options, these are always dependent on the initial level achieved and on prestructured career patterns that differ considerably not only from one occupation to the next, but also according to social positioning criteria (class, gender, ethnicity, nationality), and are largely absent in the typical women’s occupations, for example (Rabe-Kleberg, 1993a; Born, 2000). The last major phase of biography, retirement, is also defined in crucial ways in terms of its basic conditional framework – not only one’s economic, cultural and social capital, but also one’s health, physical and (life)time resources – by one’s previous employment biography, and to that extent is dependent at least indirectly on the person’s education and training history. 169

Peter Alheit

Although the three-phase life course regime has lost some of its validity with changes in the nature of employment, the new, individualised and ‘pluralised’ life course patterns are still shaped, in increasing measure, by educational institutions that for their part must adapt to the new ‘lifelong learning biographies’ (Faulstich-Wieland, 1997; Nuissl, 1997). However, the type of structuring has changed – education and training are not necessarily linear any longer, in the sense of continuous skilling and social positioning (‘career’), but are ‘patchworked’ or cyclically repeated in the sense of a ‘timeless, sectoral life form’ (see Kade and Seitter, 1996: 143ff.). Independently of this differentiation of the biographical forms taken by education and training, which are only starting to be researched, it remains a fact that education and training, as a social institution or as a system of interwoven institutions, shapes typical life course structures and exerts a major influence on subjective life plans and experience. A historical and sociostructural comparison reveals that this shaping process occurs along the social axes of differentiation – class, gender and ‘ethnicity’ – and that life courses distribute opportunities unevenly and typify them according to social position. From the lifeworld perspective of individuals, they represent ‘models for a possible life’.

The temporal organisation of education and learning in the life course In addition to one’s positioning in the social space, education and training generates above all a temporal order for learning processes along the axis of an individual’s biography. At present, we have to assume a mixture comprised of persistent norms dating from the three-phase, ‘standard’ (i.e. male) career, and a more contradictory model for the ‘standard female biography’ (for a critique, see Dausien, 1996), on the one hand, and more recent models involving flexible ‘lifelong learning’, on the other. Ever since the educational reforms of the 1960s, especially, new skilling pathways have been created by education policymakers that enable formal education and training in adulthood as well. These second and third routes to formal education and training (especially on the part of women) have been accepted and have not only led to higher educational mobility (for women’s mobility, see Schlüter, 1993, 1999), but have also generated new life course patterns in which ‘work’, ‘family’ and ‘education’ may frequently alternate and be combined with each other in different constellations. Although space prohibits a review of specific, empirically identified patterns, we should distinguish here between three aspects of the temporal ordering of education and training within the life course that do not follow linear trajectories or curricula, but which are typical for biographical experience within the context of increasingly individualised conduct of life:  Educational qualifications and alternative routes to training and education for adults: These are schemes providing adults with a second (third, fourth, … ) ‘chance’ to make up for missed opportunities or to correct a previous educational status by means of various adult learning pathways within the education and career system. However, the possibilities for making up lost ground are limited, simply by virtue of the fact that lifetime cannot be repeated, and by the lack of opportunities for follow-up and further advancement within previous education and training. This is clearly evident, for example, in typical women’s occupations (Rabe-Kleberg, 1993a), which are also referred to as ‘dead-end occupations’. The subjective enrichment that adult learning usually provides is offset by social structures that until now have predominantly imposed negative sanctions on any deviations from the standard (male) model of an ongoing career, despite the newly propagated flexibility in education and training (Rabe-Kleberg, 1993b). In Germany, neither the education and training system nor the occupational system are systematically geared to recognising and integrating ‘deviating’ skills and competencies acquired during the individual biographical process, especially when these were acquired through non-formal biographical learning or – in the case of migrant biographies – in other societal and national contexts (cf. the Assessment of Prior Experiential Learning tradition in England, Alheit and Piening, 1999). The problems of ‘fit’ that arise must be handled by the individuals concerned and in certain circumstances may lead to 170

The biographical approach to lifelong learning

unforeseeable conflicts, to discontinuities and ‘distortions’ of educational schemes offered by institutions. The freedoms gained from the opening of the education and training system also conceal new biographical risks (Kade, 1997).  Continuing training and skilling as an ongoing task: The experienced necessity and/or subjective interest in continuing vocational and occupation-related training has increased enormously in recent years (see Field, 2000: 69ff). The causes are generally seen to lie in the faster pace of technological change and the ever-shorter ‘half-life’ of job-related knowledge. Education and skilling are no longer restricted to ‘preparation’ for working life, but are becoming a permanent support factor within individual careers. Two other social changes contribute to the greater relevance of ongoing continuing education and training: the social transformation of the old-age phase, in combination with the changed biographical significance of old age (S. Kade, 1994a, 1994b; Mader, 1995), which is progressively becoming a separate learning phase (S. Kade, 1994a). Women, too, are expressing greater interest in a continuing (occupational) education and training. As Schiersmann (1987, 1993) has shown, however, this area of education and training is part of a genderised structure. Systematic disadvantages and barriers for women in the vocational training system extend the reach of gender-specific channelling and hierarchisation within that system. The gender-critical perspective on continuing (vocational) education and training also highlights some new aspects, however. For women, continuing training is not a ‘neutral’ instrument of career planning, but is embedded within a form of life planning that is closely tied to opportunities and perspectives in the familial domain. This experience of biographical networking between different areas of life is increasingly a general feature of continuing training (also for men).  Education and training in ‘one’s own time’: Achieving formal schooling qualifications as an adult, as well as ongoing vocational training also have a personal, biographical significance alongside the strategic value aspect. People’s concerns are not restricted to what is often an uncertain outcome when exploiting their acquired skills on the labour market – in many cases this is not even their prime concern – but are also focused on compensating for biographically experienced deficits in education and training, and unfulfilled educational wishes. Such biographically based motivation leads similarly to the ordering of life-time by decisions, transitions and learning processes. The inherent temporal structure of education and training may be based on and utilise institutional structures during specific phases, but it can also subvert them or even have ‘contrary’ effects. Temporal patterns that are biographically organised follow an individual logic in which past, present and future are linked, often across large intervals of time and areas of life that are institutionally separated. Within the individual, biographical perspective from which individuals draw meaning, there is a temporally structured need for education, training and personal development that influences learning processes reflexively in terms of an ‘implicit’ biographical structure. There are recurrent phases or situations in which the need for reflexivity and reconstruction, for synchronisation and to redesign one’s ‘own life’ is uppermost. These phases or situations are often provoked or occasioned by conflicts with socially structured (educational) timetables. As empirical studies using the methods of biographical research have shown, adults often use continuing training schemes not merely in an instrumental way in order to follow pre-structured learning pathways, but also to gain spaces of time for their ‘own’ learning processes and reflection (e.g. in adult education courses, see Alheit and Dausien, 1996; or in distance learning courses, see Kade and Seitter, 1996).

Education as a biographical process This pointer to the individual, biographical time structure of learning processes leads us to the fundamental question as to how education and training can be conceived of as a biographical process that is relatively autonomous in relation to life courses and curricula. Education and training do not only take place in organised and institutionalised forms. They also include the shaping of everyday, life-historical experiences, transitions and crises. Thus, lifewide learning is also tied at all times to the context of a specific biography. On 171

Peter Alheit

the other hand, it is also the precondition or the medium in which biographical constructions can be created and modified at all as reflexive forms of experience. Without biography, there can be no learning; without learning, no biography.  Implicit learning, reflection and pre-reflexive knowledge: Many learning processes occur ‘implicitly’ and congeal to form patterns of experience and dispositions without these being explicitly reflected upon in every case. Concepts such as implicit, tacit learning emphasise this aspect, but say nothing about the complexity of this phenomenon in the dialectics of appropriating the world and forming one’s self. Through implicit learning processes that operate from the beginning of one’s life, both inside and outside institutions, we not only appropriate single experiential elements as components of the social world, but we develop the ‘appropriation system’ itself. What this process involves, therefore, is the formation of supra-ordinated, generative structures of action and knowledge that can be interpreted, depending on one’s theoretical leanings, as the acquisition and expansion of biographical ‘learning dispositions’ (Field, 2000), cognitive structures in Piaget’s sense, ‘emotional orientation systems’ (Mader, 1997), habitus formation (Bourdieu, 1987) or the construction of self- and world-references (Marotzki, 1990). All these experiential processes form a person’s biographical stock of knowledge (Alheit ,1993; Alheit and Hoerning, 1989) consisting, like a landscape, of different layers and regions, some near, some far, and which changes in the course of time (through learning). In everyday action (and also in explicit learning situations; Dewe, 1999) we focus explicitly on a particular ‘problem’ – a mere excerpt from our stock of knowledge, experience and actions – and make recourse at the same time to large portions of our knowledge (and non-knowledge) in a taken-for-granted way, without querying what we do. In a certain sense, we ‘move’ within our biographically acquired landscape of knowledge, without consciously reflecting on every step we take, every twist in the path and every signpost along the way. In many cases, we do not turn to such elements in our biographical ‘background knowledge’ until we find ourselves stumbling, or at a crossroads, or we feel as if the ground is slipping away from beneath our feet. Theoretically, at least, we are able to retrieve large parts of this pre-reflexive knowledge into the present, to process it explicitly and perhaps even to change structures of the entire landscape in which we find ourselves. Such reflexive processes can be interpreted as moments of self-education (Alheit, 1993). They are the basis of each person’s organising of learning and justify speaking about the biographicity of all educational processes.  Sociality of biographical learning: Reflexive learning processes do not take place exclusively ‘inside’ the individual, but depend on communication and interaction with others and relations to a social context. Biographical learning is embedded in lifeworlds that can be analysed under certain conditions as ‘learning environments’ or ‘learning milieus’. Experience-based, lifeworld learning or learning in contexts are terms that take this aspect of lifelong learning into consideration, as is also reflected in the greater interest now shown in integrating and shaping learning environments (Dohmen, 1998). However, there are two tendencies that can be observed here and which need to be critically assessed using the biographical analysis of education processes: an ‘anti-institutional’ interpretation of lifelong learning, whether welcomed or feared (Gieseke, 1997, Nuissl, 1997), that overlooks the fact that biography (biographical learning) and institutions are inter-related (see, for example, the study by Seitter, 1999); and the technological idea of the trivial ‘feasibility’ of learning environments. This latter idea overlooks the fact that ‘learning worlds’ are embedded within historically rooted, interactive and biographically ‘produced’ lifeworlds that are integrated and shaped in education processes, but which cannot be artificially generated or managed (Lave and Wenger, 1991).  Individuality and the ‘self-willed’ nature of biographical learning: Learning within and through one’s life history is therefore interactive and socially structured, on the one hand, but it also follows its own ‘individual logic’ that is generated by the specific, biographically layered structure of experience. The 172

The biographical approach to lifelong learning

biographical structure does not determine the learning process, because it is an open structure that has to integrate the new experience that it gains through interacting with the world, with others and with itself. On the other hand, however, it significantly affects the way in which new experience is formed and ‘built into’ a biographical learning process (Alheit and Dausien, 2000a). There is a necessity here, as well, to subject some current concepts such as self-organised, self-determined, self-managed or self-directed learning (Straka, 1997; Dohmen, 1998; Konzertierte Aktion Weiterbildung, 1998) to critical debate (Report 39; Hoffmann and von Rein, 1998). All too often, they presume an autonomous learner who has a reflexive and strategic ‘grip’ on his/her own education and training. This model overlooks the multi-layeredness of biographical reflexivity. Biographical education and training processes operate in selfwilled ways, they permit unexpected experiences and surprising transformations that in many cases are not foreseen by the ‘learner’ themself, or are not ‘understood’ until after the event, but which still pursue their own ‘direction’. Terms such as ‘seeking movement’ or ‘diffuse directedness’ are more appropriate here than cybernetic models involving some well-targeted ‘self-management’ that for its part is oriented to institutionalised pre-givens (e.g. the acquisition of knowledge). A biographical understanding of ‘self-determination’ would have to be developed with reference to the ‘formation’ concept (Bildung), rather than the notion of learning as ‘training’. If the biographical organisation of learning processes is to be given practical educational (and institutional) support, then spaces for reflection and communication, as well as interaction with ‘spaces of opportunity’ are at least as important as developing ‘instruments for individual self-management’.

Education as the ‘formation’ of social structures If lifelong learning is researched using an approach based on biography theory, the various aspects of that approach that we have discussed above would provide ways of relating back to a macro-perspective of learning. Biographical education and training processes must be understood not only as appropriational and constructional accomplishments, given the individual and reflexive organisation of experience, knowledge and ability. They also include the biographical formation of social networks and processes, of collective knowledge and collective praxis, which can be also understood theoretically – as in Berger and Luckmann (1969) – as ‘institutionalisation’, as the formation of social networks and ‘social capital’ or as the crystallisation of cultural practices (empirical examples include the formation of cultural and social centres, associations, local community initiatives, etc.; Seitter, 1999; Field, 2000; Alheit and Dausien, 2000b). It holds true for these collective formation processes, too, that they are explicitly negotiated and reflexively planned only to a partial extent. Social formations, such as new models and experiential contexts for possible educational routes, for potential women’s and men’s biographies, for gender relations, for learning processes and forms of interaction between cultures and generations can ensue even from the uncoordinated, biographical praxis of individuals in educational matters. The biographicity of social experience lends itself here, too, as a useful theoretical concept for explaining such phenomena. If we conceive of biographical learning as a self-willed, ‘autopoietic’ accomplishment on the part of active subjects, in which they reflexively ‘organise’ their experience in such a way that they also generate personal coherence, identity, a meaning to their life history and a communicable, socially viable lifeworld perspective for guiding their actions (Alheit, 1993; Alheit and Dausien, 2000a), it becomes possible to comprehend education and learning both as individual identity work and as the ‘formation’ of collective processes and social relations. The analysis of biographical learning has shown clearly that, within this analytical perspective, there is not only a focus on individual processes, but also that different levels converge within it and may generate discrepancies that must be dealt with biographically and coped with in a pragmatic way by the subjects themselves: one aspect is that the programmatics of ‘lifelong learning’ evoke new patterns of expectation and interpretation that may be experienced subjectively as burdensome pressures, but also as a biographical 173

Peter Alheit

opportunity. Secondly, biographical learning processes and life plans depend on institutional structures and lifeworld contexts that may foster or obstruct education and training processes that are ‘self-determined’ by individuals and collectives. Finally, from the perspective of subjects, there is not only a contradiction here between ‘wish’ and ‘reality’ – both levels are biographically ‘real’, must be processed by the individual and re-integrated into his/her own educational history again and again in a genuinely lifelong process of biographical construction and reconstruction. Yet, if we are to grasp and explain these processes with greater theoretical precision, to analyse them with greater empirical differentiation, and on this basis to design methods and approaches for possible educational practices, then further empirical research studies are urgently necessary. The complexity of the problem certainly demands a substantiated, well-grounded framework concept – such as the biographical approach outlined here – that is able to fill the lifelong learning programme with theoretical and empirical substance.

References Alheit, P. (1993): ‘Transitorische Bildungsprozesse: Das “biographische Paradigma” in der Weiterbildung’. In: Mader, W. (Hrsg.) (1993): Weiterbildung und Gesellschaft. Grundlagen wissenschaftlicher und beruflicher Praxis in der Bundesrepublik Deutschland. Bremen, 2., erweiterte Aufl., pp. 343–418. Alheit, P. and Dausien, B. (1996): ‘Bildung als “biographische Konstruktion”? Nichtintendierte Lernprozesse in der organisierten Erwachsenenbildung’. In: Report. Literatur-und Forschungsreport Weiterbildung, 37, pp. 33–45. ——(2000a): ‘Die biographische Konstruktion der Wirklichkeit. Überlegungen zur Biographizität des Sozialen’. In: Hoerning, E. M. (Hrsg.) (2000): Biographische Sozialisation. Stuttgart, pp. 257–83. ——(2000b): ‘“Biographicity” as a basic resource of lifelong learning’. In: Alheit, P., Beck, J., Kammler, E., Salling Olesen, H. andTaylor, R. (eds), Lifelong Learning Inside and Outside Schools, Vol. 2. Roskilde, pp. 400–22. Alheit, P. and Hoerning, E.M. (Hrsg.) (1989): Biographisches Wissen. Beiträge zu einer Theorie lebensgeschichtlicher Erfahrung. Frankfurt a.M. Alheit, P. and Piening, D. (1999): Assessment of Prior Experiential Learning as a Key to Lifelong Learning. Evaluating European Practices. Bremen. Berger, P. and Luckmann, T. (1969): Die gesellschaftliche Konstruktion der Wirklichkeit. Eine Theorie der Wissenssoziologie. Frankfurt a.M. Born, C. (2000): ‘Erstausbildung und weiblicher Lebenslauf. Was (nicht nur) junge Frauen bezüglich der Berufswahl wissen sollten’. In: HEINZ, W. (Hrsg) (2000): Übergänge. Individualisierung, Flexibilisierung und Institutionalisierung des Lebenslaufs. 3. Beiheft 2000 der ZSE. Zeitschrift für Soziologie der Erziehung und Sozialisation. Weinheim, pp. 50–65. Bourdieu, P. (1987): Die feinen Unterschiede. Kritik der gesellschaftlichen Urteilskraft. Frankfurt a.M. Dausien, B. (1996): Biographie und Geschlecht. Zur biographischen Konstruktion sozialer Wirklichkeit in Frauenlebensgeschichten. Bremen. Dewe, B. (1999): Lernen zwischen Vergewisserung und Ungewißheit. Reflexives Handeln in der Erwachsenenbildung. Opladen. Dohmen, G. (1998): Zur Zukunft der Weiterbildung in Europa: Lebenslanges Lernen für alle in veränderten Lernumwelten. Bonn. ——(2000): A Memorandum on Lifelong Learning. Lisbon. Faulstich-Wieland, H. (1997): ‘Zukunft der Bildung – Schule der Zukunft’. In: Report. Literatur-und Forschungsreport Weiterbildung, 39, pp. 59–68. Field, J. (2000): Lifelong Learning and the New Educational Order. Stoke on Trent. Forschungsmemorandum für die Erwachsenen- und Weiterbildung (2000): Im Auftrag der Sektion Erwachsenenbildung der DGfE verfasst von R. Arnold, P. Faulstich, W. Mader, E. Nuissl von Rein, E. Schlutz. – Frankfurt a.M. (Internetquelle). Gerlach, C. (2000): Lebenslanges Lernen. Konzepte und Entwicklungen 1972 bis 1997. – Köln. Giddens, A. (1990): Consequences of Modernity. – Cambridge. ——(1991): Modernity and Self-Identity. Self and Society in the Late Modern Age. – Cambridge. ——(1998): The Third Way. The renewal of social democracy. – Cambridge. Gieseke, W. (1997): ‘Lebenslanges Lernen aus der Perspektive der Geschlechterdifferenz’. In: Report. Literatur-und Forschungsreport Weiterbildung, 39, pp. 79–87. Hoffmann, N. and Von Rein, A. (Hrsg.) (1998): Selbstorganisiertes Lernen in (berufs-)biographischer Reflexion. Frankfurt A.M. Kade, J. (1994): ‘Erziehungswissenschaftliche Theoriebildung im Blick auf die Vielfalt einer sich entgrenzenden pädagogischen Welt’. In: Uhle, R. and Hoffmann, D. (Hrsg.): Pluralitätsverarbeitung in der Pädagogik. Weinheim, pp. 149–61. 174

The biographical approach to lifelong learning

——(1997): ‘Riskante Biographien und die Risiken lebenslangen Lernens’. In: Report. Literatur-und Forschungsreport Weiterbildung, 39, pp. 112–24. Kade, J. and Seitter, W. (1996): Lebenslanges Lernen. Mögliche Bildungswelten. Erwachsenenbildung, Biographie und Alltag. Opladen. Kade, S. (1994a): Altersbildung. Lebenssituation und Lernbedarf, Ziele und Konzepte, 2 Bde. Frankfurt a.M. Kade, S. (Hrsg.) (1994b): Individualisierung und Älterwerden. Bad Heilbrunn. Kohli, M. (1985): ‘Die Institutionalisierung des Lebenslaufs. Historische Befunde und theoretische Argumente’. In: Kölner Zeitschrift für Soziologie und Sozialpsychologie, 37, pp. 1–29. Konzertierte Aktion Weiterbildung (1998): Selbstgesteuertes Lernen. Möglichkeiten, Beispiele, Lösungsansätze, Probleme. Bonn. Krüger, H.-H. and Marotzki, W. (Hrsg.) (1995): Erziehungswissenschaftliche Biographieforschung. Opladen. ——(1999): Handbuch erziehungswissenschaftliche Biographieforschung. Opladen. Lave, J. and Wenger, E. (1991): Situated Learning: Legitimate Peripheral Participation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Mader, W. (Hrsg.) (1995): Altwerden in einer alternden Gesellschaft: Kontinuität und Krisen in biographischen Verläufen. Opladen. Mader, W. (1997): ‘Lebenslanges Lernen oder die lebenslange Wirksamkeit von emotionalen Orientierungssystemen’. In: Report. Literatur-und Forschungsreport Weiterbildung, 39, pp. 88–100. Marotzki, W. (1990): Entwurf einer strukturalen Bildungstheorie. Biographietheoretische Auslegung von Bildungsprozessen in hochkomplexen Gesellschaften. Weinheim. Nuissl, E. (1997): ‘Institutionen im lebenslangen Lernen’. In: Report. Literatur-und Forschungsreport Weiterbildung, 39, pp. 41–49. Rabe-kleberG, U. (1993a): Verantwortlichkeit und Macht. Ein Beitrag zum Verhältnis von Geschlecht und Beruf angesichts der Krise traditioneller Frauenberufe. Bielefeld. ——(1993b): ‘Bildungsbiographien – oder: Kann Hans noch lernen, was Hänschen versäumt hat?’ In: Meier, A. and Rabe-kleberg, U. (Hrsg.) (1993): Weiterbildung, Lebenslauf, sozialer Wandel. Neuwied, pp. 167–82. Report 39 (1997). Report. Literatur-und Forschungsreport Weiterbildung, 39. Schiersmann, C. (1987): Berufsbezogene Weiterbildung und weiblicher Lebenszusammenhang. Zur Theorie eines integrierten Bildungskonzepts. Bielefeld: Kleine-Verlag. Weinheim/München. ——(1993): Frauembildung. Konzepte, Erfahrungen, Perspektiven. Schlüter, A. (1993): Bildungsmobilität. Studien zur Individualisierung von Arbeitertöchtern in der Moderne. Weinheim. ——(1999): Bildungserfolge. Eine Analyse der Wahrnehmungs-und Deutungsmuster und der Mechanismen für Mobilität in Bildungsbiographien. Opladen. Schulze, T. (1993a): ‘Lebenslauf und Lebensgeschichte’. In: Baacke, D. and Schulze, T. (Hrsg.) (1993): Aus Geschichten lernen. Zur Einübung pädagogischen Verstehens. Weinheim, pp. 174–226. ——(1993b): ‘Zum ersten Mal und immer wieder neu. Skizzen zu einem phänomenologischen Lernbegriff’. In: Bauersfeld, H. and Bromme, R. (Hrsg.) (1993): Bildung und Aufklärung. Münster, pp. 241–69. Seitter, W. (1999): Riskante Übergänge in der Moderne. Vereinskulturen, Bildungsbiographien, Migranten. Opladen. Straka, G.A. (1997): ‘Selbstgesteuertes lernen in der Arbeitswelt’. In: Report. Literatur- und Forschungsreport Weiterbildung, 39, pp. 146–54.

175

19 Learning from our lives John Field

We live and learn. Like so many popular sayings, this one seems to be stating the obvious. Yet, like most clichés, there is a reason why we all take it for granted that this is what we humans do. As individuals, we value our ability to learn productively from such everyday experiences as going about our work, caring for our family, encountering friends and neighbours, experiencing illness, enjoying sports and hobbies, or sitting around relaxing. And this capacity matters. Later in this article, I suggest that our capacity for learning from our lives is also a major influence on who we are (our ‘identity’) and how we live with others. More immediately, it can help us earn a living, avoid injury, make and repair things, plan ahead and deal with life’s crises. At a wider level, it helps to shape our social relationships and our economic position. There have been many attempts to grasp the nature of the ways in which we learn from life. This chapter will focus on a selection of these ideas. It starts by considering the very notion of life as a permanent process of learning, which requires constant reflection on all the institutions and practices in which we engage. These ideas have helped to shape public policies on lifelong learning, and emerge from radically new conditions of everyday life. They are therefore important in establishing the context of our lives in the contemporary world, as well as underlining the importance that continuous learning has in late modern societies. I then go on to consider theories of narrative learning and of experiential and biographical learning, all of which seek to understand the relationship between learning and life. While these can be seen as educational responses to motivational psychology, I will argue here that our learning needs to be understood in socio-cultural terms, as an outcome of everyday life as it is lived in constant interaction with specific socio-economic conditions, and as experienced through each individual’s interpretations of and actions on those conditions. The chapter frames these issues in terms and concepts drawn from the work of Pierre Bourdieu. It then concludes with suggestions for policy and practice based on the preceding analysis.

A permanently learning life In 1972 UNESCO, the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization, created a landmark commission on lifelong education. The very title of its report, Learning to Be, tells its own story (Faure et al., 1972). The Commission’s work was based on four assumptions: first, that the world community had common aspirations, problems and trends, despite differences of all kinds between nations and peoples; second, a belief in democracy, to which education was the keystone; third, that the total fulfilment of each 176

Learning from our lives

individual is the aim of development; and fourth, that only lifelong education could shape a complete human being. Learning to Be is remarkable because of the strength and breadth of its vision about the significance of education throughout the lifecourse. The authors see the ultimate aim of education as ‘to enable man to be himself, to “become himself ”’ (Faure et al., 1972: xxxi; emph. in original). For this, they argue that we need to learn ‘how to build up a continually evolving body of knowledge all through life – “learn to be”’ (Faure et al., 1972: vi). In turn, they believe that this implies a ‘belief in democracy, conceived of as implying each man’s right to realize his own potential and to share in the building of his own future,’ and argue that ‘only an over-all, lifelong education can produce the kind of complete man the need for whom is increasing with the continually more stringent constraints tearing the individual asunder’ (Faure et al., 1972: v–vi). Accepting that the language was too gendered even for its own times, let alone today, this is nonetheless a broad, ambitious and humane definition of lifelong education and its aims. Such views stand in sharp contrast to the policies and practices that dominate the ‘new educational order’ (Field, 2006) of lifelong learning today. Twenty-five years after the publication of Learning to Be, the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development issued its own report on lifelong learning, Lifelong learning for all (OECD, 1996). The OECD emphasised the economic rationale for lifelong learning, presenting the idea of ‘lifelong learning for all’ as the guiding principle for policy strategies ‘that will respond directly to the need to improve the capacity of individuals, families, workplaces and communities to continuously adapt and renew’ (OECD, 1996: 3). According to Lifelong learning for all, the disappearance of many unskilled jobs, the more rapid turnover of products and services, and the fact that people change jobs more often than previously, all point to the need for ‘more frequent renewal of knowledge and skills’ (OECD, 1996: 13). Lifelong learning ‘from early childhood education to active learning in retirement’ will thus be ‘an important factor in promoting employment and economic development’ (OECD, 1996: 13). The focus of policy therefore appears to have shifted over the past three decades from lifelong learning as a means for personal development and social progress to lifelong learning as a means for economic growth and global competitiveness. This is no mere problem of definition. Broad-ranging areas of human practice like learning are always hard to define with any precision; they cover a wide terrain of knowledge and skill, they are carried out in a reflexive and iterative manner, and they can take unpredictable turns. We should not worry too much about setting linguistic boundaries to learning. But learning can also be defined in a narrow and restrictive manner, making a material impact on people’s opportunities to engage in different forms of learning throughout their lives. Think, for example, of the way in which learning for personal development has been reclassified in many countries as ‘leisure learning’ and how, as a result, the opportunities to obtain public funding for such forms of learning have significantly decreased. The shift from ‘learning to be’ to ‘learning to be productive and employable’ can thus be read as a struggle over the definition of what counts as lifelong learning and, more importantly, about what counts as worthwhile lifelong learning. During the 1990s, a number of adult educators started to debate ideas of reflexivity as a basic feature of life in late modernity (Schemmann, 2002). This discussion was hugely influenced by two eminent sociological theorists: Ulrich Beck and Anthony Giddens. Both had written independently, and then in collaboration, about the extent to which life in late modernity is characterised by the way in which people must constantly reflect on every aspect of their lives, and review their behaviour and relationships in the light of their reflection (Beck, 1992; Giddens, 1991). For Giddens, the reflexivity of late modern societies ‘extends into the core of the self’: it not only shapes who we are and how we see ourselves, but is an intrinsic element in how others see us as well (Giddens, 1991: 32). Our identity today is no longer something that is ‘just given’ and taken for granted, but must be understood as ‘something that has to be routinely created and sustained’ (Giddens, 1991: 52). The reason for this perpetual practice of self-examination is, Giddens argues, the speed and pervasiveness of change. Every social institution and practice is subjected routinely to the same reflexivity as the self. 177

John Field

Giddens argues that this holds true just as much for our intimate relationships through to our dealings with large, impersonal institutions. All aspects of human life, Giddens says, are ‘constantly examined and reformed in the light of incoming information’ (Giddens, 1990: 39). As a result, the reference points for reflexivity of the self cannot be derived from outside alone, but rather must also be drawn ‘from the inside’, in terms of ‘how the individual constructs/reconstructs his or her life story’ (Giddens, 1991: 80). Elsewhere, I have criticised Giddens and Beck for tending to universalise these tendencies (Field, 2006: 71–73). They can be faulted for underplaying the constraints that inhibit reflexivity, as well as downplaying the extent to which certain actors and institutions can manage information and resist attempts at change. They also see identity as largely constructed in individual terms, while Beck in particular dismisses collective identities like class or gender as ‘zombie categories’ that no longer correspond to lived experience (Beck, 1992). Yet, as Mike Savage has argued, individuals are still formed by cultures of class, and must position themselves socially in order to make sense of and act upon the risks and information that pervade everyday life (Savage, 2000). Beverley Skeggs goes further, suggesting that the construction of biographies is never neutral, but rather depends on ‘access to the resources by which the self can be known, accessed and related’ (Skeggs, 2004: 53). We might add that the construction of biographies – which is always a process of learning – also requires resources to handle aspects of the self that remain unknown, for biography encompasses the hidden and unconscious as well as the conscious and narrated self (West, 1996: 30–31).

A framework for understanding learning from life In recent years, a number of attempts have been made to examine how people learn from their lives. I am particularly concerned in this chapter with those approaches that focus on learning that takes place outside educational programmes. This is not to say that formal and planned instruction has no connection to the way we learn informally; on the contrary, there is always a relationship between the different domains of our lives, and sometimes the link is a very direct one. The focus here, though, is firmly on the ways in which we learn simply by living our lives, through everyday experiences, as we weave our way through our life course. One common way of looking at this has been to understand it as experiential learning. Considerable attention has been paid to the idea of experiential learning, by professional trainers and educators as well as by researchers. Some years ago, Tara Fenwick warned against the ‘troubling orthodoxies’ that she saw as dominating much discussion of experiential learning (Fenwick, 2003: 1–10). Much of the drive behind the movement has been concerned less with how people learn to live their lives, and learn from their lives, than with how to assess those aspects of experiential learning that are relevant to employment, seeking to ‘capture’ tacit and embedded capacities so that they might have a commercial value (Field, 2006: 99–100). Its contribution to equity and social justice is uncertain, and may possibly be negative, as those who end up relying on the assessment of experiential learning are likely to be those who were not able to benefit from formal educational qualification in early life. As operationalised in this way, experiential learning approaches tend to understand learning as a very individualised process, neglecting the possibility that knowledge generation and exchange arises from and is dependent on complex group interaction. Moreover, as Dewey noted a century ago, although ‘direct experience has the advantage of being first hand, it also has the disadvantage of being limited in range’ (Dewey, 1916: 315). So assessed experiential learning is unlikely ever to acquire the exchange value of a planned educational programme. These are real and important problems, but ideas of experiential learning have a strong history in educational thinking. Its value is in providing some rather limited insights into how people learn, and in offering a theoretical underpinning – however eclectic – for the design of some types of planned learning activity that incorporate at least some element of explicit reflection upon experience (Jarvis, Holford and 178

Learning from our lives

Griffin, 1998: 46–52). Beyond that, it seems to be of limited value in understanding learning as a fundamental dimension of everyday life, which is not confined to the workplace, the atomised, the explicit and the abstract. Biographical or life history research represents one way of understanding learning from life. Rather than focussing on the learning, as defined by its applicability within a formal qualification scheme, biographical research concentrates on the life and the place of learning within it. This approach has become remarkably popular in recent years, for a number of reasons. Partly, biographical research has benefited from the wider ‘cultural turn’ in the social sciences, with its focus on language and narrative. It speaks to a humanist emphasis on ‘lived experience’, as well as to interpretative concerns with understanding meaning and subjectivity as key dimensions of people’s identity (Merrill, 1999: 45–51). It may have a particular appeal for adult education researchers who are also adult education teachers, identifying strongly and personally with their students. Second, biographical research is highly compatible with other approaches to analysing the life course. This can be very useful in helping to explain why significant episodes of learning are often most apparent at turning points. These are particularly so at significant moments of personal change, which tend to foreground issues of identity for the person (Biesta et al., 2011). The most charged turning points may help promote reflexivity about identity which then provide a basis for what we have described as narrative learning. They are therefore extremely important in our account of significant changes in someone’s experiences in prompting or constraining learning. Biographical approaches thus allow for researchers to explore the meanings and importance that people attach to particular changes in their lives, including those that have to do with transitions between different life stages, which we probably expect to go through at some time as we grow older, and those that involve significant and often unexpected challenges to somone’s status and role. Both force us to ask who we are, and who we should relate to and how, requiring us to reconsider more or less explicitly our capacity for learning from and for our lives (Field, Gallacher and Ingram, 2009). The method’s popularity also reflects the broad socio-cultural changes that Giddens and Beck have emphasised in their work on institutionalised reflexivity. While people have always experienced their biographies as a field of learning, in late modernity ‘transitions have to be anticipated and coped with, and … personal identity is liable to be the result of long and protracted learning processes’ (Alheit, 1995: 59). Moreover, these learning processes take place in circumstances where routine and habit have been devalued: we cannot use templates inherited from the past to anticipate an uncertain and rapidly changing future. Biographical learning therefore becomes ‘a self-willed, “autopoietic” accomplishment on the part of active subjects’ (Alheit and Dausien, 2002: 17). If we wish to understand learning as a fundamental and pervasive human activity, then we need to see it as integral to people’s lives and the stories that they tell about their lives. This brings us to the question of narrativity – that is, the ways that people structure their life stories. In particular, I am interested in the role that stories and storying might play in how people learn from their lives. Of course, people can live good, happy and rewarding lives without learning, without stories and without narrative learning. Nevertheless, recent research has pointed to a relationship between the narrative quality of life stories and their potential to generate learning and facilitate action. From this perspective, the way in which someone can ‘construct a story that presents the life as “making sense”’ is related to ‘the ideas of “plot” and “emplotment” and also to questions about justification’ (Tedder and Biesta, 2009: 79). This implies that different ways of telling your life story may involve differences in the learning involved, depending on whether the narrative is ‘more evaluative and analytical than descriptive’ (Tedder and Biesta, 2009: 80). In a more detailed analysis, this research has focused on particular aspects of what Goodson et al. called ‘narrative learning’ (2010). First, they distinguished between the narrative quality of life stories and storying and the efficacy of narrative and narration. Within the latter, they then further distinguished between the 179

John Field

learning potential – the ways in which and the extent to which certain narratives allow for learning and people are able to learn from their stories and storying – and the action potential – the ways in which and the extent to which such learning ‘translates’ into action. By narrative quality, they referred to formal characteristics of the stories people tell about their lives. This then provided a framework for understanding the ways in which narrative can shape and organise the life story in ways that enable what some have called ‘expansive learning’ (Engeström, 2004). Narrative and naration, they suggest, always contains a potential for learning and a potential for action, which are related but distinct. The notion of learning potential is central to the idea of narrative learning, as it refers to the ways in which and the extent to which the life narrative and the narration of life function as ‘sites’ for learning. This is an important and powerful way of seeing learning as a fundamental dimension of living. However, it raises as many questions as it answers, and two issues in particular are important here. The first is the extent to which learning and narration are still conceived as primarily an individual capacity and/or process. Although Goodson and his colleagues insist emphatically that their approach is not solely individualistic, it nevertheless clearly focuses on the individual’s capacity for narrating their own life in such a way as to reflect on their own experiences. The second issue is the emphasis placed on the story as a distinctive account; yet narration never takes place in a social vacuum. On the contrary, life stories are inseparable from ‘the relationship of teller and audience in which it is occasioned’, a relationship that is always particular to a given time and place (Tonkin, 1995: 2). Narration, and the experiences that we try to make sense of when we tell our story, is embedded in a particular habitus – a term used by Pierre Bourdieu to point to a social milieu in which a great deal of everyday life is conducted on the basis of shared values, norms and routines that are largely taken for granted (Bourdieu, 1984: 169–73). One way of understanding the different ways in which people learn from their lives is certainly by looking at the nature of their stories. Narrative analysis can, as suggested above, help us understand where storying not only serves as a ‘site’ of reflection and learning, but as a ‘site’ of reflection and learning that clearly has an impact on action and agency. Yet, if we take the ideas of structure and resources seriously, we also need to examine the positions and dispositions that people occupy within a particular social space, and Bourdieu’s ideas are particularly helpful here. Bourdieu distinguishes between the idea of position as a specific social, economic and cultural locus in the social space; and that of habitus, which comprises a set of dispositions, or propensities towards particular values and behaviours. Our interest, clearly, lies in the relationship between position, disposition and learning. In his work on taste, Bourdieu argues that a particular disposition – for example, towards a type of music or film – has to be learned. Yet, although these competences are closely associated with educational level, he believes that they are less likely to be learned consciously, by formal effort, than from the ‘unintentional learning made possible by a disposition acquired through domestic or scholastic inculcation of legitimate culture’ (Bourdieu, 1984: 28), so that one’s cultural taste is closely related to the social milieu that one inhabits. It is clear that dispositions influence learning and that learning equally influences the nature of a person’s dispositions. This is so whether the dispositions change over time or remain largely intact. In practice, these two reciprocal influences are continually interwoven with, and constantly influence, each other. How we orient ourselves towards life and its many possibilities and positions will influence what and how we learn; and our learning in turn directs our orientation towards our lives. People’s positioning tends to influence their learning in three broad and overlapping ways. First, people occupy what might be called positions within a wider social and economic context. All of the stories in this book show the significance of such structural positioning on lives and learning. Of course it is true that these structures are made and remade by people, but their effects are nevertheless felt and narrated as very real. For example, gender, ethnicity and social class are all important and they influence life and learning in complex ways. One way of illustrating this is to imagine that one of these structural factors is suddenly and radically changed: it becomes immediately obvious that one’s life, and one’s learning, would not be the 180

Learning from our lives

same as it is now. So, although we are not arguing that social structures determine learning, we are clear that learning lives are always structured lives. Second, position is always historical and geographical. Place is always important in our stories, though often it is taken for granted, at least until someone moves their location. And, by the historical dimension, we are noting that each person’s narrative is a story of its time, so that people who belong to a particular generation will often narrate some similar experiences, as a result of living their lives through a given historical period (Field and Malcolm, 2007). Once more, we are not claiming that these dimensions of position invariably determine lives and learning, simply that their influence is ever present. The strength and significance of those influences will vary from person to person, from place to place, and from time to time; they can be more or less significant in different parts of a peson’s life and learning. In some cases, as suggested above, they may be subjected to narrative reflection, and also become resources for narrative learning. However, they can never be completely transcended. The third way of understanding position in relation to learning is in reference to the places where people learn. There is now an abundant literature on the ways in which learning is rooted in specific webs of social relationships and cultural contexts. Much of this writing has come in response to Jean Lave and Ettienne Wenger’s idea of ‘situated learning’. As Lave and Wenger put it, learning is not solely a cognitive activity taking place inside the brain (itself part of the body), but is always also a social practice through which people co-construct knowledge. Further, they claim that: learning is not merely situated in practice – as if it were some independently reifiable process that just happened to be located somewhere; learning is an integral part of generative social practice in the lived-in world. (Lave and Wenger, 1991: 35) Lave and Wenger’s approach has generated considerable debate in recent years, prompting a flurry of empirical studies and attempts to apply the theory to practical educational settings (Lang and Canning, 2010). Indeed, it is one of the most influential ideas to be found in current scholarly work on adult and workplace learning. In recent years, ideas of situated learning have started to challenge excessively individualistic accounts of learning from life. Rooted in cultural-historical activity theory (CHAT), this perspective is part of the turn to examine learning in systems as involving the personal, the social, and the material (Lave and Wenger, 1991). CHAT focuses upon activity as the unit of analysis, where people’s learning is understood to be practice-based and embedded in everyday relational action. CHAT studies examine a system’s historical emergences and relations among divisions of labour, tools/technologies, cultural norms and perspectives enmeshed in the system; particular emphasis is accorded to the system’s “objects” (the problems or goals at which action is directed) and the contradictions or frictions between these (Sawchuk, 2006). These then shape what and how a system’s members learn individually and collectively, how practices become reconfigured, and what knowledge is recognised and valued by these members. Learning is thus understood as a participatory process which involves continuing reworkings of meaning and knowledge (Lave and Wenger, 1991; Jarvis, Holford and Griffin, 1998; Felstead et al., 2009). What Bourdieu’s work brings to this approach is a recognition that the ‘situation’ in ‘situated learning’ is highly structured, constraining learning as well as enabling it.

Conclusions Learning to Be: the provocative title of Faure’s report reminds us that becoming an adult person is a journey through the social space. It is both individual and social, with important tensions between the two that can both provide and prompt reflection and action, and place constraints on them (Jarvis, 1992). This recognition 181

John Field

helps us reconsider the ways in which adults learn from their lives. The life-history methodology has helped many scholars to explore the significance of narrative and narration in such learning processes, something that some researchers have tried to capture in the idea of ‘narrative learning’. Stories and storying are important vehicles for learning from one’s life, and there appear to be important relationships between styles of narration, forms of narrative learning and agency. Life stories play a crucial role in the articulation of a sense of self, which means that narrative learning is a form of ‘identity work’, in which people seek to place their own experiences within a wide framework of meaning. In articulating one’s sense of self across the life course, change and transition assume a particular significance. Relationships between identity and learning often become clear at times of crisis and change. People’s major, life-changing turning points often involve a need to learn. Learning can then contribute to changes in some dispositions, and thus a person’s identity. It is, however, possible that existing dispositions are so strong that learning and subsequent change in identity do not happen. This suggests that there is a widely felt ‘need’ for the construction of a (coherent) life-story that helps people make sense of and come to terms with their life. This cannot be seen as simply an individual process; rather, we need to understand lives and life-stories as situated, and embedded in particular relationships, and wider, public histories over particular periods of time. Learning from life is, of course, pervasive. A number of studies show that for many people, for much of the time, learning from and for life is a taken-for-granted activity that goes on continually, utterly regardless of any educational programmes or institutions or professionals (Alheit, 1995; Biesta et al., 2011). And there is a risk that some might conclude from this that formal and structured learning programmes are unnecessary or even undesirable. It is particularly clear that ‘expansive learning’ – that is, learning that involves ‘creation of new knowledge and new practices for a newly emerging activity’ (Engeström, 2004: 15) – may require access to resources that are not easily available to those in the least advantaged or privileged positions and with the most marginalised types of habitus. Yet this is precisely the type of learning that is likely to serve people well in dealing with the most challenging and unexpected transitions in their lives, and in articulating new stories of the self that enable new potentials for learning and for action. The idea of learning from and for life, far from denying the role of professional support, suggests rather that new forms of support for ‘transitional learning’ are urgently required.

References Alheit, P. (1995) ‘Biographical learning. Theoretical outline, challenges and contradictions of a new approach in adult education’ in P. Alheit, A. Bron-Wojciechowska, E. Brugger and P. Dominicé (eds), The Biographical Approach in European Adult Education. Vienna: Verband Wiener Volksbildung, pp. 57–74. Alheit, P. and Dausien, B. (2002) ‘The “double face” of lifelong Learning: Two analytical perspectives on a “silent revolution”’, Studies in the Education of Adults, 34, 1: 3–22. Beck, U. (1992) Risk Society. London: Sage. Biesta, G., Field, J., Hodkinson, P., Macleod, F. and Goodson, I. (2011) Improving Learning through the Lifecourse: Learning lives. London: Routledge. Bourdieu, P. (1984) Distinction: A social critique of the judgement of taste. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Dewey, J. (1916) Democracy and Education: An introduction to the philosophy of education. New York: Macmillan. Engeström, Y. (2004) ‘New forms of learning in co-configuration work’, Journal of Workplace Learning, 16, 1/2: 11–21. Faure, E. and others (1972) Learning to Be: The world of education today and tomorrow. Paris: UNESCO. Felstead, A., Fuller, A., Jewson, N., and Unwin, L. (2009) Improving Working as Learning. London: Routledge. Fenwick, T. (2003) Learning through Experience: Troubling orthodoxies and intersecting questions. Malabar FL: Krieger. Field, J. (2006) Lifelong Learning and the New Educational Order. Stoke-on-Trent: Trentham. Field, J. and Malcolm, I. (2007) ‘Talking about my learning generation: The role of historical time and generational time over the life course’ in M. Osborne, M. Houston and N. Toman (eds), The Pedagogy of Lifelong Learning: Understanding effective teaching and learning in diverse contexts. London: Routledge, pp. 67–78. Field, J., Gallacher, J. and Ingram, R. (2009) ‘Learning transitions: Research, policy, practice’ in J. Field, J. Gallacher and R. Ingram (eds), Researching Transitions in Lifelong Learning. London: Routledge, pp. 1–6. 182

Learning from our lives

Giddens, A. (1990) Consequences of Modernity. Cambridge: Polity. ——(1991) Modernity and Self-Identity: Self and society in the late modern age. Cambridge: Polity. Goodson, I., Biesta, G., Tedder, M., and Adair, N. (2010) Narrative Learning. London: Routledge. Jarvis, P. (1992) Paradoxes of Learning: On becoming an individual in society. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Jarvis, P., Holford, J. and Griffin, C. (1998) The Theory and Practice of Learning. London: Kogan Page. Lang, I. and Canning, R. (2010) ‘The use of citations in educational research: the instance of the concept of “situated learning”’, Journal of Further and Higher Education, 34(2): 291-301. Lave, J. and Wenger, E, (1991) Situated Learning. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Merrill, B. (1999) Gender, Change and Identity: Mature women students in universities. Aldershot: Ashgate. OECD (1996) Lifelong Learning for All. Paris: Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development. Savage, M. (2000) Class Analysis and Social Transformation. Buckingham: Open University Press. Sawchuk, P. (2006) ‘“Use-value” and the re-thinking of skills, learning and the labour process’, Journal of Industrial Relations, 48, 5: 593–617. Schemmann, M. (2002) ‘Reflexive modernisation in adult education research: The example of Anthony Giddens’ theoretical approach’ in A. Bron and M. Schemmann (eds), Social Science Theories in Adult Education Research. Münster: Lit Verlag, pp 64–80. Skeggs, B. (2004) Class, Self, Culture, London: Routledge. Tedder, M., and Biesta, G. (2009) ‘Biography, transition and learning in the lifecourse: The role of narrative’ in J. Field, J. Gallacher and R. Ingram (eds), Researching Transitions in Lifelong Learning. London: Routledge, pp. 76–90. Tonkin, E. (1995) Narrating our Pasts: The social construction of oral history. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. West, L. (1996) Beyond Fragments: Adults, motivation and higher education – a biographical analysis. London: Taylor and Francis.

183

20 Psychological development Mark Tennant

Psychological development refers to growth and progress on the full gamut of human dimensions across the lifespan. The study of psychological development has been concerned with questions such as: What develops?; In what sequence?; Are there identifiable stages and phases of development?; What processes underlie developmental change?; Are there general principles of development and change that apply across all ages?; What factors enhance or retard development?; What explains inter-individual differences?; and To what extent is development socially and culturally determined? An engagement with the literature reveals a range of very different theoretical and empirical approaches to the above questions. Furthermore, the questions that are posed are typically framed within a particular theoretical position and/or contain basic theoretical assumptions about development. In the developmental literature there are two broad fields of enquiry: one concerned with the development of cognitive and intellectual capabilities across the lifespan; the other concerned with social and emotional development or one’s sense of self or identity. The early research in both these fields of enquiry focused on child development – arguably because of the need to understand children’s learning given the growth of education in the latter part of the nineteenth century and also because of a commonly held belief that adult maturity was the end-point of development. Nowadays a great deal of research has been undertaken on adult development. Once again this may be connected with the need for adults to engage in lifelong learning in the context of continuing technological, social and organisational change and the subsequent increasing educational provision for adults in formal and informal settings throughout life. A common thread in the developmental literature, then, has been the application of developmental theories across the entire lifespan. In many ways the application of developmental theories to adults has raised new questions and issues that have helped shape thinking in relation to the development of children. For example, in adult developmental research there has been a general move away from identifying common sequences of predictable stages and phases, which characterised earlier attempts to document development. Instead the emphasis is now placed on the impact of social and historical factors in accounting for multidirectional change and variability in life trajectories (see for example, Smith and Baltes, 1999; Elder, 1998). Research into child development has followed suit, paying greater attention to the social and historical factors that influence the direction and timing of development. Of course this trend is also a response to the increasing need to recognise cultural diversity among those attending educational institutions. I am not suggesting that the pragmatic needs of educators alone drive the theory construction of developmental psychologists in a direct and explicit way, however, 184

Psychological development

it is clear that broad social concerns, including those of educators, provide a context in which it is possible for developmental theorists to raise new questions and issues in their research. It is also worth noting that the education sector is a major user of the research on developmental psychology and this is understandable given that both education and developmental psychology have a common focus on learning.

Cognitive and intellectual development As noted above, much of the early work on cognitive and intellectual development focused on child development, either documenting age norms and changes in IQ or the cognitive capabilities at different ages and stages. The construction and use of standardised tests for a range of capacities that can be measured, such as IQ and aptitude, is referred to as the psychometric approach. This approach has served to establish agegraded norms across the population. The psychometric approach provides a descriptive account of ‘normal’ development and has been used as a diagnostic tool and as a means of identifying and grouping cohorts of children in the school system. Indeed, this was the the motivation behind the first IQ tests developed by Binet – to provide a means of identifying the capabilities of children in order to stream them in the education system. It should be noted here that the advent of universal education meant easy access to large cohorts of students of similar age in the education system – this provided both an opportunity to develop standardised tests and a reason to do so. Over the years there has been much debate concerning the determinants of IQ. IQ has featured prominently in the nature–nurture debates, the issue being the extent to which IQ is inherited or capable of being nurtured. These debates were informed by studies of identical twins raised apart, which was seen as a ‘natural’ experiment whereby ‘nature’ (ie. one’s genetic make-up) is controlled and ‘nurture’ (ie one’s environment) is varied. The higher correlation in IQ among identical twins raised apart as compared with siblings raised apart was offered as evidence of the inheritance of IQ. And this is good evidence. However, there is plenty of evidence showing that educational opportunity and other social factors, such as the educational level of parents, also has an impact on IQ. And so IQ is influenced by both inherited capacities and social factors, and this is pretty much where the debate stands today. An interest in adult intellectual development did not really occur until the middle of the twentieth century. Basically, there appear to be three models of intellectual development after maturity. One model, the ‘stability’ model, assumes that adult intelligence remains essentially stable after maturity. The result of intellectual progress during childhood is the attainment of mature forms of reasoning and thinking, which are then applied throughout the adult years. By contrast, the decrement model postulates that there is a gradual decrease in the ageing individual’s capacity to utilise and organise information, presumably the result of some kind of biological deterioration. Finally, the decrement with compensation model accepts the notion of biological deterioration, but also emphasises the compensatory effects of accumulated experience during adult life (Labouvie-Vief, 1985; Baltes et al., 1999). One of the most influential pioneering theories in adult intelligence was proposed by Horn and Cattell (1968). They separated intellectual ability into two general factors labelled ‘fluid’ and ‘crystallised’ intelligence. Fluid intelligence is measured by texts of complex reasoning, memory and figural relations – tests which are said to be ‘culturally’ neutral and thereby linked with universal, biological development. Crystallised intelligence is measured by tests on information storage, verbal comprehension and numerical reasoning, abilities that are normally associated with experience, education and acculturation. Horn and Cattell’s research reveals that, from the teenage years onwards, there is a decrement in fluid intelligence and an increment in crystallised intelligence. The net result is that intellectual functioning remains relatively stable with age – there is simply a shift in the balance between fluid and crystallised intelligence. Much of the debate about adult intellectual capacity has centred on how to measure and/or interpret the consistent finding that there is decline with age in performance on ‘fluid’ type psychometric tests. In a twenty-one year study, comprising a number of independent cross sectional studies, Schaie (1983) reported that intelligence does decline with chronological age, but not until relatively later in life. 185

Mark Tennant

However, where decline is found, it can normally be reversed through training (Schaie and Willis, 1986). More recent findings from the Berlin Aging Study support the original dual-process model of intelligence (i.e. the fluid and crystallised model or the ‘mechanics’ and ‘pragmatics’ of intelligence respectively), but point to the overwhelming mediating factor of sensory and sensory-motor decline: When it comes to the hardware-like mechanics and the speedy and accurate functioning of basic mechanisms of information processing, old age takes its toll. Constraints and losses associated with the mechanics of intelligence are linked closely to biological and physical indicators of functioning. Conversely, whereas the lifelong contributions of life history and cultural factors to the pragmatics of intelligence continue to provide an advantage in terms of absolute level of functioning, they do not protect against the rate of decline and loss of intellectual capacity. (Smith and Baltes, 1999: 62–63) In this model of intellectual development, successful development is defined as ‘the conjoint maximisation of gains. … and the minimization of losses’ (Baltes et al., 1999: 482). Such studies, although reporting a decline in old age, offer a much more optimistic view of adult intellectual capacity, largely through the recognition of the compensatory effects of the ‘pragmatics’ of intelligence, especially in middle adulthood. This is consistent with commentators such as Labouvie-Vief (1980, 1995) who have long argued that we need to reconceptualise what we mean by ‘intelligence’ in its broader sense of ‘adaptability’. It is also consistent with the work that has been carried out on ‘practical intelligence’, which emerged in the 1980s and which distinguished between our capacity to solve abstract, formally constructed problems and everyday problems (see Sternberg et al., 2000). This is important work because it repositions intelligence as adaptation to the environment, rather than the ability to solve abstract, decontexualised problems. A separate line of enquiry into psychological development has sought to identify the development of cognitive structures that underlie our growing capacity to understand our world. It is primarily associated with the work of Jean Piaget, who documented the child’s growing understanding of abstract physical concepts such as number and volume, and abstract social concepts such as moral judgment. He did not use standardised tests that measured intellectual or cognitive functioning. Instead, he based his work on careful observation of the problem-solving strategies used by children and made inferences about the underlying cognitive structures that account for their reasoning. While working with Binet in Paris on standardised tests of intelligence, Piaget noticed that younger children provided answers that reflected a different quality to their thinking than older children. It was not that they were at the low end, and the older children at the high end, of a continuous scale, rather that they thought on a different dimension altogether. Much of his life’s work grew out of this initial insight. Piaget’s concept of intelligence was couched in terms of adaptation to the environment. We develop schemes (or structures of reasoning) to understand our environment. Early in life these schemes are simple reflexes such as sucking and grasping, but they develop into more sophisticated schemes through the biological drive towards equilibration, which is the balance between our experience of the world and our internal schemes for understanding the world. The mismatch between experience and our understanding results in disequilibrium, which can only be resolved by changing our representation of our experience of the world to fit our existing understanding (he referred to this as assimilation) or by changing our understanding to fit our experience of the world (he referred to this as accommodation). This process results in Piaget’s celebrated description of a series of stages of developmental progress during childhood: the sensori-motor, pre-operational, concrete-operational and finally the formal-operational stage (see Flavell, 1963: for a thorough account). As with many developmental theories, Piaget was mainly concerned with childhood development towards mature adult thought. Subsequent work in this tradition has sought to extend the stages of development beyond the formal operational period to include one or more stages of ‘post-formal’ thought 186

Psychological development

(see for example, Commons and Richards, 1984). Generally, this work points to the limitations of pure logic in solving real world problems and as such it is consistent with both the ‘practical intelligence’ and ‘pragmatics’ of intelligence literature. Early critiques of cognitive structuralism focused on its disregard for context. For example, Piaget’s emphasis on an invariant (and universal) sequence of stages leading to mature formal operational thought and his apparent disregard for psychological phenomena that defy structural analysis (feelings, beliefs, values, imagination, desire) attracted at the time a flood of what may be called ‘ideology’ critiques (see Broughton, 1981). Basically, he was portrayed as presenting an asocial view of development without reference to the role of historical, social and cultural factors. But, as Biddell points out, it is important to distinguish between Piaget’s stage theory and his constructivist theory of knowledge and not to portray him solely as presenting an asocial view of development. Biddell concedes that Piaget’s ‘stage theory is based on an interactionist metaphor in which the relation between the person and the social world is conceived as an individual standing apart from and interacting with a social environment’ (1992: 307). In contrast ‘Piaget’s constructivism implicitly supports a contextualist approach to knowledge development and stands in contradiction to the individualism of this stage theory’ (ibid). It is Piaget’s constructivism (especially through the twin concepts of assimilation and accommodation) that links him to Vygotsky and ultimately to contemporary post-Vygotskian theories of situated and/or distributed cognition. It is of course Vygotsky (1978) who is seen from a contemporary standpoint as providing a more complete account of the role of historical, social and cultural forces in development. Daniels (2001) provides a detailed account of how Vygotsky emphasises the sociocultural nature of human activity and development. The concept of mediation is central to an understanding of how culture enters into psychological processes. Basically Vygotsky’s thesis is that relations between subjects and objects are mediated by both signs and tools. A most essential difference between sign and tool … is the different ways they orient behavior. The tool’s function is to serve as the conductor of human influence on the object of activity; it is externally oriented; it must lead to changes in objects. It is a means by which human external activity is aimed at mastering, and triumphing over, nature. The sign, on the other hand, changes nothing in the object of a psychological operation. It is a means of internal activity aimed at mastering oneself; the sign is internally oriented … . The mastering of nature and the mastering of behavior are mutually linked, just as man’s alteration of nature alters man’s own nature … . One thing is already certain. Just as the first use of tools refutes the notion that development represents the mere unfolding of the child’s organically predetermined system of activity, so the first use of signs demonstrates that there cannot be a single organically predetermined internal system of activity that exists for each psychological function. (Vygotsky, 1978: 55) He goes on to explain how the interpersonal becomes intrapersonal in the child’s development: Every function in the child’s development appears twice: first, on the social level, and later, on the individual level; first between people (interpsychological), and then inside the child (intrapsychological). This applies equally to voluntary attention, to logical memory, and to the formation of concepts. All the higher functions originate as actual relations between human individuals … . The internalisation of socially rooted and historically developed activities is the distinguishing feature of human psychology. (Vygotsky, 1978: 57) How the developing person is seen in relation to historical, social and cultural factors is of course a continuing source of disagreement and debate within psychology. This is likely to continue, given that psychology does not have a monopoly on the kinds of questions it posed about human beings in the society 187

Mark Tennant

in which they live. Emerging sociological and philosophical analyses will invariably have an impact on how psychologists approach their work. This is very clear when it comes to the development of identity, to which I now turn.

The development of identity across the lifecourse In philosophical, religious and literary contexts the life course is commonly described in terms of a sequence of stages through which one progresses, at least ideally. For example, Aristotle proposed a three-stage model, Solon divided life into nine seven-year stages, Confucius identified six stages, The Sayings of the Fathers (from the Talmud) contain fourteen stages, and Shakespeare, of course, has contributed his well-known seven stages. The psychological literature, too, contains propositions about the stages, tasks or phases of life. What are the major influences on identity formation? To what extent and how does identity change in the adult years? Can we say anything general about the way identity changes and develops as a part of the human condition irrespective of gender, history, culture, and race? Part of the answer to these questions depends on what is meant by the term, ‘identity’. Rather than provide a definition of identity at the outset, this section progresses towards such a definition. In the first part, some well-known attempts in psychology to delineate the stages and phases of development are described and analysed. The second part outlines some ways in which our particular society and culture shapes our identity. The third describes a way of thinking about identity formation and change as both a psychological and social construction. The stage, phase and task models of adult development that are most frequently cited are those of Maslow (1968); Havighurst (1972); Erikson (1959); Levinson (1978, 1996); Gould (1978); Loevinger (1976); and Labouvie-Vief (1995). Each of these models presents a descriptive account of development, an explanation of the fundamental processes underlying developmental progress, and a clear view of the end point of development: the mature, fully developed, psychologically healthy person. All these approaches attempt to chart the life course in terms of a sequence of phases or stages: periods of stability, equilibrium and balance alternate, in a largely predictable way, with periods of instability and transition (see Table 20.1 for an illustration from Erikson, 1978). Accepting for the moment that the life course is indeed quite predictable and stable: what is the source of this predictability and stability? Is it the result of a natural psychological unfolding or maturation? Or is it the result of the living out of a set of largely social expectations that vary from one society to another and from one historical period to another? If the latter, to what extent do social and cultural groupings construct and then prescribe the life course patterns of their members? The early models of identity development did not, according to various detractors, sufficiently address the historical and social structuring of identity. However, even the most casual observation reveals that age-graded norms, statuses and roles are a Table 20.1 Stages of human life Opposing issues of each stage

Emerging value

Period of life

Basic Trust versus Mistrust Autonomy versus Shame and Doubt Initiative versus Guilt Industry versus Inferiority Identity versus Identity (Role) Confusion Intimacy versus Isolation Generativity versus Stagnation (Self-absorption) Integrity versus Despair (and Disgust)

Hope Will Purpose Competence Fidelity Love Care Wisdom

Infancy Early Childhood Play Age School Age Adolescence Young Adulthood Maturity Old Age

Source: Based on Erikson (1978).

188

Psychological development

feature of social organisation. In different cultures and historical periods there are different conceptions of the stages of life, their boundaries, dimensions and divisions. There are different conceptions of what it means to be a fully developed person, the processes through which development occurs, and the significant tasks and marker events in life. As a basic social institution, the life course may either impose external constraints on individual action (for example, sanctions for not behaving in an age-appropriate way), or, more importantly, shape the expectations that we have about the proper progression of events and roles during the life course, and ultimately the way in which we experience ourselves and our relations with others. It is worth noting some features and propositions about age structuring and how it relates to the life course of individuals. First, age structuring is influenced by history and culture. The life course is structured in different ways in different historical periods and in different cultures. While the fact of age structuring may be universal, it takes particular forms in different cultures and historical periods. In this sense the way in which age is structured is arbitrary, rather than ‘natural’. Second, age structures, like other social structures such as gender and class, become embedded in the psychology of individuals. Therefore an understanding of the life course requires an understanding of how individuals engage, and struggle with, socially prescribed age categories. Third, socially constructed age categories change over time, as do the patterns of individual lives. But although individual and social change interrelate, they are not necessarily synchronised, which means there can be disjunctions between individual and social change (for example, an individual becoming more concerned with moral and ethical issues in a society that is becoming increasingly materialist and competitive). In Western societies there is a history of state intervention and regulation that serves to maintain common life trajectories. The state legalises, standardises and provides institutional support for entry into and exit from formal education, employment, marriage, and even life itself (through birth and death certificates). There is a range of supporting mechanisms that distribute resources and opportunities to ensure an orderly progression through the various age categories and divisions within them. For example, there are regulations concerning the commencement, progression and termination of schooling; funds are provided to assist with the immediate transition from secondary schooling to post-secondary education; scholarships, apprenticeships and job search schemes are often targeted towards a particular age category; mandatory retirement is combined with superannuation and other retirement schemes; and there are a host of welfare services targeted towards particular age groups. Non-state-controlled institutions also spread opportunities and resources to enhance an individual’s progression through a socially approved, age-based timetable of ‘successful’ career, family or personal development. This institutionalisation of age, and the co-option of society at large, makes it highly unlikely that individuals can chart alternative life courses, at least without considerable financial or personal cost. There are of course forces that are moving against the continued institutionalisation of the life course, such as demographic and technological change, changes in male/female relations, together with changes in the way in which work is organised. Thus, the extent to which society continues to be age-graded in postmodern times is certainly open to question. However, the essential point is that the state clearly has an interest in demarcating the roles, responsibilities and demands made upon different age categories. In order to function effectively as members of society we need to identify correctly, say, the gender and age categories to which others belong and to assist others in identifying us as belonging to a particular gender or age category. This is because our interactions with others are partly based upon presumptions about gender or age. In the instance of gender, there are (among children at least) very few observable physical differences in most public situations. The signifiers used to position a child as a boy or girl are dress, hairstyle, topics of conversation, choices of activity and such like. The physical differences associated with age categories are perhaps more obvious, but nevertheless the same types of signifiers apply. Thus, we speak of age-inappropriate dress, hairstyle and activity in much the same way that we speak of these in relation to gender. 189

Mark Tennant

Furthermore, as with gender, one develops a posture and attitude towards oneself as belonging to an age category. By this we mean the taking on of psychological characteristics deemed to be appropriate for a given age category (for example, in old age it may be fragility, dependence, forgetfulness) which help govern relations with other age categories. Failure to act in an age-appropriate manner is seen to be deviant by others, who at best will react with mild amusement, perplexity, or perhaps a few patronising comments, and at worst with anger, fear or moral outrage. The concern here is not with why age categories seem to be a feature of social organisation, but rather with how we come to constitute ourselves as ‘belonging’ to a particular age category. To begin with it seems reasonable to treat ‘age category’ as a social phenomenon quite separately from age as a biological phenomenon. While it is invariably linked to chronological age, as a social phenomenon, it is historically and culturally specific. How, then, is ‘age category’ transmitted to new generations and through what processes can change occur in the way in which it is constituted? The position adopted here is that social phenomena are not transmitted genetically; they are transmitted socially and symbolically. In the life course of any individual, social phenomena, like gender and age category, are historical givens. They are arbitrary in the sense that they are human creations, but they are nevertheless experienced as objectively real in much the same way that physical objects are experienced as real or natural. But, whereas the physical world is experienced through perceiving and acting on things, the social world is experienced through interactions with others and through exposure to social institutions. In a sense, we come to know the physical world, but we come to be the social world. It is by interacting with others, and reacting to or participating in social institutions, most importantly through symbolic processes, that we come to constitute ourselves as social beings. Accepting this position, our argument is that there is a discourse pertinent to ‘age category’ in much the same way that there is a discourse pertinent to ‘gender’. Like ‘gender’, ‘age category’ is sustained as a seemingly natural element of one’s personal identity and subjective experience by learning the discursive practices in which all people are positioned on an age-graded continuum (see Davies, 1989). Furthermore, ‘gender’ and ‘age category’ intersect. The ‘male’ life course is constructed very differently from the ‘female’ life course and genderbased relations of dominance and power are embedded in the discourse associated with age categories. (See Gilligan, 1986). If discourse lies at the heart of the process, how is change possible? It seems that it is only possible through adopting new and different forms of discourse. This is precisely the issue addressed by a number of contemporary psychologists seeking to understand identity change and development from a narrative perspective (Burman, 1994; Burman and Parker, 1993; Gergen, 1997; McAdams, 1996; Shotter and Gergen, 1989; White, 1989). The work of McAdams serves to illustrate the tenor of this approach. For McAdams (1996) identity is the sense of unity, coherence and purpose in life: it is the experience of a continuous, coherent self, a self that remains essentially the same from one situation to the next and over time; and that is unique, integrated, different from, but related to, other selves. In contemporary Western society, the construction of such a self has become problematic, mainly because of the constantly changing and multiple choices that we face. It is no longer true that our identity is prescribed or conferred, rather selves are made: one’s very identity becomes a product or project that is fashioned and sculpted, not unlike a work of art moreover … the developing self seeks a temporal coherence. If the self keeps changing over the long journey of life, then it may be incumbent on the person to find or construct some form of life coherence and continuity to make this change make sense. (McAdams, 1996: 296–97) In this view, identity is essentially a psychosocially constructed narrative that integrates the reconstructed past, perceived present, and anticipated future: in short it is a story of the self. In McAdams’s view, identity is 190

Psychological development

self-reflexively authored, made, explored and constructed (note the contrast with the more postmodern view of selves as residing in narratives that surround and define them – see Gergen, 1997). This view led him to examine the life course as a narrative or story. He defined the life story formally as: ‘an internalised and evolving narrative of the self that incorporates the reconstructed past, perceived present, and anticipated future’ (p. 307). It is a psychosocial construction in the sense that it is jointly authored by the person and his or her defining culture. Life stories are based on fact, but they go beyond mere facts by rendering past, present and future meaningful and coherent in sometimes imaginative ways. The basic function of a life story is integration – it binds together disparate elements of the self. Based on an analysis of over 200 accounts of life-story interviews, McAdams (1997) identified the following common features:    

Narrative tone – the emotional tone or attitude, e.g. pessimism, optimism, tragedy, romance, irony. Imagery – the metaphors and similes that provide the narrative with a distinctive feel. Theme – the kinds of things that are pursued in the narrative, e.g. power, love, recognition, achievement. Ideological setting – a moral stance or view of the ‘good’ from which judgements are made of one’s life and the lives of others.  Nuclear episodes – scenes and events that stand out in the narrative, normally high points or low points or turning points in the narrative.  Imagoes – an idealised personification of the self, drawing on archetypal characters and contemporary role models.  The generativity script – the creation and nurturing of a positive self for future generations. (McAdams, 1997: 65–71) The above features provide a way into an understanding of the life story. But of particular interest is the developmental trajectory of life stories. How do life stories change over time? McAdams sees the creation of a self-defining life story beginning in late adolescence or early adulthood and continuing through most of the adult years. As a first approach to the construction of a narrative in early adulthood, the typical move is to organise personal values into an ideological system and to select key scenes or moments from the past that explain one’s contemporary and anticipated future self. In their 20s and 30s, many contemporary adults fashion stories around various social roles (imagoes), for example caregiver, partner, worker. Midlife brings with it concerns for harmony and reconciliation in the life story and the beginning of a creation of the end of the narrative. Identity formation may turn now to issues of generativity as people begin to define themselves in terms of their legacies. The point being made by McAdams is that, for the most part of adult life, life stories are continually under construction, but that different themes and concerns emerge at different ages, and there are periods of intensive and less intensive ‘identity work’ or ‘selfing’. Moreover, there are no dominant stories, but rather stories associated with the diverse ways in which contemporary adults live their lives. He did however stipulate the qualities of the ‘good’ story, at least from a mental health perspective. The elements of such a story are:      

coherence – the extent to which the story makes sense in its own terms openness – tolerance for change and ambiguity credibility – grounded in the real world differentiation – complex and multifaceted reconciliation – harmony and resolution amongst the multiplicity of self generative integration – a sense of being a productive and contributing member of society.

In many ways McAdams’s approach is not too dissimilar to the life stage and phase theories mentioned earlier; after all, one of the main research tools used was the biographical interview, and so the raw data for such theories were the stories that people told about themselves. The main difference is that McAdams is not 191

Mark Tennant

attempting to discover the ‘true’ story of adult identity development: there are multiple ways in which people find coherence and continuity and meaning in their lives. Also, it is not as if individuals ‘discover’ their ‘true’ inner selves through the narratives that they construct. It is not the true or authentic self which is discovered through reflection on one’s life experience, instead experience is viewed as a story that can be reinterpreted and re-assessed. Indeed, because the self remains situated in history and culture, it is continually open to re-inscription and reformulation. But this doesn’t mean that we can ascribe any meaning to our experiences or that we can create any identity we choose. We need to give a plausible reading to our experiences, one that is credible and that, ideally, contains the essential elements of the ‘good’ story described above. On this account, identity is best understood as the self’s sense of continuity, coherence and meaning. Identity work, or ‘selfing’, is an ongoing project in the adult years and it involves the construction and continual reconstruction of narratives or stories about one’s life. Such narratives are jointly authored by the individual and his or her culture. These narratives may reveal different concerns at different stages or phases of life, but these differences are strongly linked to cultural and historical differences. Ultimately, any practices that impact or intervene in the process of identity work, such as education, counselling and various kinds of therapy, must necessarily make judgements about what constitutes the ‘good’ life story – just as they must make judgements about what constitutes intellectual and cognitive progress.

References Baltes, P. B., Staudinger, U. M., and Lindenberger, U. (1999) Lifespan psychology: theory and application to intellectual functioning, Annual Review of Psychology, 50: 471–507. Biddell, T. (1992) Beyond interactionism in contextualist models of development. Human Development, 35, 5: 306–15. Broughton, J. M. (1981) Piaget’s structural developmental psychology: ideology-critique and the possibility of a critical developmental theory. Human Development, 24: 382–411. Burman, E. (1994) Deconstructing developmental psychology. London: Routledge. Burman, E. and Parker, I. (eds) (1993) Discourse Analytic Research: Repertoires and Readings of Texts in Action. London: Routledge. Commons, M. L., and Richards, F. A. (1984) A general model of stage theory. In M. L. Commons, F. A. Richards, and C. Armon (eds) Beyond formal operations: Vol. 1. Late adolescent and adult cognitive development, 120–40. New York: Praeger. Daniels, H. (2001) Vygotsky and pedagogy. London: Routledge-Falmer. Davies, B. (1989) Frogs and snails and feminist tales. Sydney: Allen & Unwin. Elder, G. H. (1998) Life course as developmental theory. Child Development, 69(1): 1–12. Erikson, E. H. (1978) (Ed,) Adulthood. New York: Norton. ——(1959) Identity and the life cycle. Psychological Issues, 1 (Monograph No. 1). Flavell, J. (1963) The developmental psychology of Jean Piaget. New York: Van Nostrand. Gergen, M. (1997) Life stories: pieces of a dream. In M. Gergen, and S. Davis, (eds) (1997) Toward a new psychology of gender. New York: Routledge. Gilligan, C. (1986) In a different voice. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1986. Gould, R. (1978) Transformations: growth and change in adult life. New York: Simon and Schuster. Havighurst, R. J. (1972) Developmental tasks and education (3rd edn). New York: McKay. Horn, J. and Cattell, R. (1968) Refinement and test of the theory of fluid and crystallized intelligence. Journal of Educational Psychology, 57, 253–70. Kaufman, S. (2008) Straight talk about twin studies, genes, and parenting: what makes us who we are. Psychology Today, October www.psychologytoday.com accessed August 1 2010. Labouvie-Vief, G. (1995) Psych and eros: mind and gender in the life-course. New York: Cambridge University Press. ——(1985) Intelligence and cognition. In J. E. Birren and K. W. Schaie (eds) Handbook of the Psychology of Aging (2nd Edition) New York: Van Nostrand Reinhold. ——(1980) Beyond formal operations: uses and limits of pure logic in lifespan development. Human Development, 23: 141–61. Levinson, D. (1996) The seasons of a woman’s life. New York: Ballantine. ——(1978) The seasons of a man’s life. New York: Knopf. 192

Psychological development

Loevinger, J. (1976) Ego development. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. McAdams, D. (1996) Personality, modernity, and the storied self: a contemporary framework for studying persons. Psychological Inquiry, 7: 295–321. McAdams, D. (1997) The case for unity in the (post) modern self. In R. Ashmore, and L. Jussim, (eds) Self and identity. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Maslow, A. (1968) Towards a psychology of being. New York: Van Nostrand. Schaie, K. (Ed.) (1983) Longitudinal studies of adult psychological development. New York: Guilford Press. Schaie, K., and Willis, S. (1986) Can adult intellectual decline be reversed?” Developmental Psychology, 22: 223–32. Shotter, J. and Gergen, K. (eds) (1989) Texts of Identity. London: Sage. Smith, J. and Baltes, P.B. (1999) Life-span perspectives on development. In M. H. Bornstein and M. E. Lamb (eds) Developmental psychology: an advanced textbook. Hillsdale, NJ: Erlbaum, 47–72. Sternberg, R., Forsythe, G., Hedlund, J., Horvath, J., Wagner, R., Williams, W., Snook, S. and Grigorenko, E. (2000) Practical intelligence in everyday life. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Tennant, M. and Pogson, P. (1995) Learning and Change in the Adult Years: a Development Perspective. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Vygotsky, L.S. (1978) Mind in society: the development of higher psychological processes. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. White, M. (1989) Selected papers. Adelaide: Dulwich Centre Publications.

Acknowledgements This chapter draws, in part, from the following previous publications of the author: Tennant, M. (2008) The development of identity in the adult years. In J. Athanasou (ed.) Adult educational psychology. Rotterdam: Sense Publishers, 9–24. ——(2005) Cognition. In P. Jarvis and S. Parker (eds) Human learning: a holistic approach. London: Routledge, 101–15. ——(2000) Adult learning for self development and change. In A. Wilson and E. Hayes, Handbook 2000: adult and continuing education, San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass, 87–100.

193

21 Transformative learning Patricia Cranton and Edward W. Taylor

It is our intent in this chapter to describe transformative learning theory and practice and to situate transformative learning in the larger context of learning theory in general. First, we provide an overview of transformative learning theory, including a broad definition and a description of the ways in which the theory has evolved over time. Second, we examine in detail three main perspectives on transformative learning: the rational, the extrarational, and the social change perspective. Third, we review how transformative learning can be fostered in practice, focusing on six themes: the individual experience, critical reflection, the role of dialogue, authentic and supportive relationships, a holistic orientation, and the awareness of context. Transformative learning is a deep shift in perspective during which habits of mind become more open, more permeable, and better justified (Cranton, 2006; Mezirow, 2000). According to Mezirow, the process centers on critical reflection and critical self-reflection, but other theorists (for example, Dirkx, 2001) place imagination, intuition, and emotion at the heart of transformation. Generally, transformative learning occurs when a person, group, or larger social unit encounters a perspective that is at odds with the prevailing perspective. This may be anything from a personal traumatic event to a social movement. The discrepant perspective can be ignored, or it can lead to an examination of previously held beliefs, values, and assumptions. When the latter is the case, the potential for transformative learning exists, though it does not occur until an individual, group, or social unit changes in noticeable ways. This definition is deliberately general so as to incorporate the wide variety of definitions and perspectives now existing in the literature. Mezirow’s (1978) original theory was based on a study of women who, in returning to college, found that the experience led them to question and revise their personal beliefs and values in a fairly linear ten-step process. By 1991, Mezirow produced his comprehensive theory of transformative learning in Transformative Dimensions of Adult Learning. In this book, he drew on Habermas’s (1971) three kinds of human interests and the resulting three kinds of knowledge—instrumental, practical (or communicative), and emancipatory. In this view, transformative learning (the acquisition of emancipatory knowledge) occurs when people critically reflect on instrumental and communicative knowledge. At that time, Mezirow (1991) described three types of meaning perspectives—epistemic (about knowledge and how we obtain knowledge), sociolinguistic (understanding ourselves and the social world through language), and psychological (concerned with our perception of ourselves largely based on childhood experiences). He argued that we uncritically assimilate perspectives in each of these domains and do not realize that such perspectives are distorted until we encounter a dilemma that brings this to our attention. 194

Transformative learning

The process of bringing distortions to light and revising them is an individual, cognitive, and rational process. Mezirow (2000) distinguishes between educational tasks—helping people become aware of oppressive structures and learn how to change them—and political tasks, which challenge economic, government, and social structures directly. Set up in contrast to Mezirow’s work is the extrarational approach, which substitutes imagination, intuition, and emotion for critical reflection (Dirkx, 2001). Also within the individual focus is a developmental perspective. As is the case in developmental psychology in general, transformative learning in this framework describes shifts in the way we make meaning—moving from a simplistic reliance on authority through to more complex ways of knowing or higher orders of consciousness (Kegan, 2000). Belenky and Stanton (2000) report on a similar change in epistemology, but they emphasize connected knowing (through collaboration and acceptance of others’ views rather than autonomous, independent knowing). Transformative learning theory is, as Mezirow (2000) suggests, a “theory in progress.” Some theorists, including Mezirow and Dirkx, focus on the individual, and others are interested in the social context of transformative learning, social change as a goal, or the transformation undergone by groups and organizations. Although this appears to be a divide in theoretical positions, there is no reason that both the individual and the social perspectives cannot peacefully coexist; one does not deny the existence of the other, but rather they share common characteristics and can inform each other. Gunnlaugson (2008) describes “first wave” and “second wave” theories of transformative learning, the first wave being those works that build on, critique, or depart from Mezirow’s seminal work, and the second wave being those authors who work towards integrative, holistic, and unified perspectives. In the next section, we explore three theoretical perspectives more fully.

Theoretical perspectives To understand transformative learning theory it is important to recognize that many of the processes are consistent with what is known about constructivism from the field of educational psychology (Bruner, Ausbel, Paiget, Vygotsky). It is a view of learning where the learner is an active participant in the learning process, not a passive recipient, creating and interpreting knowledge rooted in personal experience. It recognizes that learners, particularly adults, have a rich life experience that plays a significant role in understanding the meaning-making process both for constructivism and transformative learning theory. Like constructivism, which has multiple conceptions (psychological, social, and sociological) (Woolfolk, 2001), transformative learning theory has multiple conceptions as well, with similar units of analysis. These various forms of transformative learning theory help explain the processes of constructing and appropriating new and revised interpretations of the meaning of an experience in the world (Taylor, 2008). Since the early 1980s, transformative learning has evolved into a variety of theoretical conceptions and, like constructivism, much of it is due to the shifting units of analysis (individual, social). The exciting part of this diversity is that it has the potential to offer a more diverse interpretation of transformative learning and significant implications for practice. To make sense of these various perspectives, we have collapsed them into three broad views—rational, extrarational, and social—based on an analysis of several interpretations of the different theoretical perspectives of transformative learning (Cranton, 2006; Dirkx, 1998; Taylor, 2008). Each conception is discussed below.

Rational transformation Jack Mezirow’s (1991, 2000) perspective is the dominant view of transformative learning theory, where the unit of analysis is individual change. It reflects a rational approach to transformative learning, emphasizing a critical and objective analysis of an interpretation of experience. Based to some extent on Habermas’s communicative theory (e.g. instrumental, communicative learning), it recognizes that there is an innate drive 195

Patricia Cranton and Edward W. Taylor

among all humans to understand and make meaning of their experiences. Based on the assumption that there are no fixed truths and that change is continuous, individuals cannot always be confident of what they know or believe and therefore it becomes imperative that they continually seek ways to better understand their world, by developing a more critical worldview. Mezirow (2000) argues that adults have a need to better understand “how to negotiate and act upon our own purposes, values, feelings and meanings rather than those we have uncritically assimilated from others—to gain greater control over our lives as socially responsible clear thinking decision makers” (p. 8). Developing more reliable beliefs about the world, exploring and validating their dependability, and making decisions on an informed basis is central to the adult learning process. It is transformation theory as defined by Jack Mezirow that explains this psychocritical process of constructing and appropriating new or revised interpretations (beliefs) of the meaning of one’s experience. Furthermore, understanding transformative learning requires recognizing its various structures. Most significant is a frame of reference, which includes the meaning structures of assumptions and expectations that frame an individual’s tacit points of view and influence their thinking, beliefs, and actions. A frame of reference is composed of two dimensions, habits of mind and a point of view. Habits of mind are habitual means of thinking, feeling, and acting influenced by underlying cultural, political, social, educational, and economic assumptions about the world. The habits of mind get expressed in a particular point of view. They often develop uncritically in childhood through socialization and acculturation with family, teachers, and through other significant relationships. Over time, in conjunction with numerous congruent experiences, a frame of reference becomes reified, providing a rationalization for an often irrational world. It offers criteria for evaluating the world that adults interact with, based on a set of cultural and psychological assumptions. These assumptions give meaning to experience, but they are subjective: they can distort thoughts and perceptions, skewing reality. Frames of reference act as filters when interpreting experience. When an individual comes upon a new experience, depending on the degree of conformity with prior experience, it either reinforces the frame of reference or gradually stretches its boundaries. However, when an individual has a radically different or incongruent experience (e.g. the death of a loved one, moving to a different country), where the experience cannot be assimilated into the frame of reference, it is either rejected or there is a development of a new frame of reference—a perspective transformation. It is the revision of a frame of reference in concert with a disparate experience, often referred to as a disorienting dilemma, in conjunction with critical reflection on the experience that leads to a perspective transformation—a paradigmatic shift. A perspective transformation leads to “a more fully developed (more functional) frame of reference … one that is more (a) inclusive, (b) differentiating, (c) permeable, (d) critically reflective, and (e) integrative of experience” (Mezirow, 1996: 163). The learning process of a perspective transformation is reflected in a series of phases identified by Mezriow (1978) in his study of women returning to higher education. He inductively identified a process that began with a disorienting dilemma (returning to school), followed by a series of experiences, including a selfexamination with feelings of guilt or shame, critical reflections of assumptions, the dialoguing in concert with others, exploration and experimentation with new roles and ideas, developing a course of action, acquiring new skills and knowledge, trying on new roles, developing competence, and over time developing a more inclusive and critical worldview.

Extrarational transformation Boyd and Myers (1988; Boyd, 1985, 1989, 1991) called on Jungian psychology to explain transformative learning. Discernment, rather than reflection, is the central process of transformation; symbols, images, and archetypes lead to personal enlightenment as individuals work to bring the unconscious to consciousness. Boyd (1989) emphasizes the role of small groups in working with unconscious content. The group becomes 196

Transformative learning

the archetypical “mother” and influences the way in which people in the group create images and work through personal dilemmas. Boyd (1989) defines transformation as “a fundamental change in one’s personality involving conjointly the resolution of a personal dilemma and the expansion of consciousness resulting in greater personality integration” (p. 459). This process is the inner journey of individuation (Jung, [1921] 1971). Jung ([1921] 1971: 448) defines individuation as the process by which individuals differentiate themselves from the collective of humanity. It includes becoming conscious of the psychic structures of anima, animus, ego, shadow, and the collective unconscious. People come to see how they are both the same as and different from others; transformation is the emergence of the Self. Dirkx (2001, 2006) draws on the Jungian concept of individuation along with others’ work to describe transformative learning as an imaginative, intuitive, emotional, and soulful experience (the way of mythos rather than logos). Mythos is a facet of knowing that engages symbols, images, stories, and myths, paying attention to the small everyday occurrences of life and listening to individual and collective psyches. Dirkx (2006) suggests that the experience of emotional dynamics in learning comes from “largely unconscious issues evoked by various aspects of the learning setting, such as the self, designated leaders, other learners, the context in which learning occurs, and the task that is the explicit focus of our learning” (p. 17). Individuation, suggests Dirkx: is mediated through emotion-laden images (2006: 18). In the extrarational perspective on transformative learning, people bring the unconscious into consciousness through imagination, intuition, and emotional experiences. We enter into a conscious relationship with images as we discover who we are as separate from and the same as others. As Dirkx (2006) puts it, “Conscious participation in this process directs our psychic energy toward creative, life-enhancing, constructive, and potentially transformative activities” (p. 19).

Social transformation Social transformation is a view of transformative learning of a socially constructed individual (nonpsychological) that “is contextualized in the history, culture, and social fabric of the society in which he/she lives … at the intersection of the personal biography and societal structure” (Cunningham, 1998: 16). This view reflects a shift in the unit of analysis from the individual to the individual within the context of society, more specifically about transforming society in concert with individual change. Similar to a sociological perspective of constructivism, it is concerned with how public knowledge is created, as well as emphasizing the importance of fostering an awareness, a consciousness of the dominant culture and its relationship to power and positionality in defining what is and is not knowledge in society. Most emblematic of this view is the work by Freire (1984). It is about developing “ontological vocation” (p. 12), a theory of existence that views people as subjects, not objects, who are constantly reflecting and acting on the transformation of their world so that it can become a more equitable place for all to live. Social transformation is seen as the unveiling or demythologizing of reality by the oppressed through the awakening of their critical consciousness–conscientization, where they learn to become aware of political, social and economic contradictions and to take action against the conditions that are oppressive. This awakening of an individual’s critical consciousness is the consequence of the transformative experience. Central to this perspective, similar to rational transformation, is critical reflection; however, it is grounded in critical theory and viewed as ideology critique. “Critical theory views thinking critically as being able to identify, and then to challenge and change, the process by which a grossly inequitable society uses dominant ideology to convince people this is a normal state of affairs” (Brookfield, 2009: 126). As a result, a transformation is more of a social experience where the act of transformation is change in society. It is based on the assumption that humans relate to the world in only two ways, by integration and adaptation. Integration involves the critical capacity to act on the world as a Subject and adaptation is being an Object, acted upon by the world. Transformative learning from this perspective occurs when the learner becomes 197

Patricia Cranton and Edward W. Taylor

aware of his or her history and biography and how this is embedded in social structures that foster privilege and oppression of persons, based on power. The learner acquires the ability to construct his or her own meaning of the world (Cunningham, 1998). Along with an emphasis on ideology critique, there is a liberating dialogical approach to teaching “couched in acts of cognition not transferal of information” (Freire and Macedo, 1995: p. 67). Central to this teaching approach is a problem-posing method rooted in praxis, which is a process of moving back and forth in a critical way between reflecting and acting on the world. This approach is framed within the context of dialogue as a social learning process with the objective of removing oppressive structures prevalent both in education and society. Furthermore, there is an emphasis on a horizontal (equitable) student-teacher relationship, built upon a foundation of respect and mutual trust.

Fostering transformative learning in practice Fostering transformative learning is about teaching for change in the classroom. The goal of this approach to teaching is to help “learners move from a simple awareness of their experiencing to an awareness of the conditions for their experiencing (how they are perceiving, thinking, judging, feeling, acting—a reflection on process) and beyond this to an awareness of the reasons why they experience as they do and to action based upon these insights” (Mezirow, 1991: 197). Originally, three interrelated components were identified as central to the process of fostering transformative learning: the centrality of experience, critical reflection, and dialogue. However, through extensive research other practices have emerged (Taylor, 2007) that have been collapsed into three additional elements: a holistic orientation, awareness of context, and an authentic practice. These elements are not a group of teaching strategies that are applied arbitrarily; they are interrelated and theoretically grounded in deeply held assumptions about the transformative nature of adult learning. To engage in the application of these core elements without some awareness of transformative learning would be indicative of teaching without a clear purpose or goal (Taylor, 2009).

Individual experience Individual experience is the practical knowledge, skill, and understanding of the word that every adult brings into the classroom. It “constitutes a starting point for discourse leading to critical examination of normative assumptions underpinning the learner’s … value judgments or normative expectations” (Mezirow, 2000: 3). Experience, more specifically life experience, is the grist for the mill of an adult classroom, recognizing that it is socially constructed and can be deconstructed through reflection and dialogue. Also, how it is made meaning of is shaped both by the educational context and the teacher-student relationship. Although little is known about the nature of experience in the classroom, there are a number of interesting insights about prior experience and classroom-created experience. Looking at prior experience, the degree of life experience held by adults, research has shown that those with greater experience (time on the job) were more likely to internalize new perspectives from exposure to education (Cragg, Plotnikoff, Hugo and Casey, 2001). Also, prior experience often represents for the transformative educator “pedagogical entry points”—those experiences that reflect disillusionment and concern in learners’ lives—offering opportunities for engaging a learner’s personal dilemma as a potentially transformative experience (Lange, 2004). In addition to prior experience is the identification of classroom experiences that educators can create and that can be a catalyst for critical reflection and offer opportunities for transformative learning. One approach is the use of value-laden course content, that facilitates contentious and thought-provoking discussion, such as the topics of HIV-AIDs, abortion, spirituality, death, and dying, all of which have been found to promote reflection among learners (Taylor, 2000). Consistent with value-laden content, is the application of intense experiential activities that can potentially trigger disorienting dilemmas among 198

Transformative learning

learners and promote critical reflection of deeply held assumptions. A few examples include the exposure of white students to a series of activities about race and racism, including a tour of the National Civil Rights Museum in Memphis, Tennessee (Herber, 1998) and an educational program for medical students on palliative care requiring them to spend time with a dying patient and family members, “hearing their stories and exploring issues of importance to them” (MacLeod, Parkin, Pullon, and Roberson, 2003: 58).

Critical reflection Since the inception of transformative learning theory, fostering critical reflection has been seen as one of the central tasks in promoting transformative learning in educational settings. Essentially, the possibility of transformative learning occurring relies on the person being exposed to points of view or perspectives that are discrepant with those currently held (what Mezirow originally called a disorienting dilemma). In educational settings, we simulate life-changing dilemmas through the use of activities and materials that have the potential to lead individuals to critically question their beliefs and assumptions. This can be done through film and the arts, fiction, questioning, role plays, debates, consciousness-raising activities, journal writing, experiential learning, and critical incidents, to name only some of the possible strategies (Cranton, 2006). Mezirow (1991) describes three types of reflection—content reflection (which serves to raise awareness of assumptions and beliefs), process reflection (which addresses how a person has come to hold a certain perspective), and premise reflection (which examines the very foundation of a belief system). Although Mezirow proposes that reflection occurs in the order of content, process, and premise, Kreber (2004) suggests that, in some contexts (e.g. learning how to teach), premise reflection may need to precede the other forms of reflection. In a review of the history of Mezirow’s transformative learning theory, Kitchenham (2008) sees content and process reflection as leading to the transformation of meaning schemes and labels this “straightforward transformation.” Premise reflection leads to transformation of meaning perspectives, and Kitchenham labels this as “profound transformation” (2008: 115). Kitchenham also reminds us of Mezirow’s distinction between critical reflection as the objective reframing of something communicated to a person from outside of the self, and critical self-reflection as subjective reframing of personal assumptions. He further subdivides subjective reframing into narrative critical self-reflection (on something we are told), systemic critical selfreflection (on taken-for-granted cultural influences), therapeutic critical self-reflection (on problematic feelings and their consequences), and epistemic critical self-reflection (on knowledge and the acquisition of knowledge).

The role of dialogue Mezirow has long placed discourse as a central component of transformative learning. He defines discourse as dialogue involving the assessment of beliefs, feelings, and values (Mezirow, 2003: 59). Under ideal conditions, participants in this type of dialogue or discourse will have accurate and complete information, be free from coercion and distorted self-perception, be able to weigh evidence and assess arguments objectively, be open to alternative perspectives, be able to reflect critically on presuppositions and their consequences, have equal opportunity to participate, and be able to accept an informed, objective consensus as valid (Mezirow, 1991: 78). Mezirow (2003) goes on to say that the “hungry, desperate, sick, destitute, and intimidated … cannot participate fully and freely in discourse” (p. 60), which may be a problematic claim for those educators working in labor education, literacy education, social services, and with oppressed or marginalized groups in general. For example, Jones (2009): writing in the context of social work education, emphasizes the importance of meaningful dialogue in small group environments as a way of fostering critical reflection and transformative learning. Dialogue, says Jones: creates “bridges of understanding between students and 199

Patricia Cranton and Edward W. Taylor

practitioners from different social identity groups” (2009: 16). Tsang (2007): writing from the same social work context, sees dialogue as a necessary component of critical reflection. Dialogue creates conditions that support and provoke critical self-reflection and critical reflection. Some strategies, applicable in different contexts, include: using controversial readings and readings from different points of view to stimulate dialogue from different perspectives; giving group members responsibility for monitoring and controlling the direction of the discourse to ensure equal participation without coercion; and being aware of the educator’s power to shape dialogue through verbal and non-verbal communication (Cranton, 2006: 125–26).

Authentic and supportive relationships Fostering transformative learning depends to a large extent on establishing genuine, meaningful relationships with learners. Cranton and Wright (2008) go so far as to describe this role as being a learning companion. Based on interviews with eight literacy educators, they explore how the educators deliberately and consciously create a safe environment, build trust, help learners overcome their fears, create possibilities, and foster self-discovery. Supportive and meaningful relationships among people are based on authenticity—the educator bringing a genuine sense of self into the classroom and working to help learners become authentic in their interactions with the educator and others (Palmer, 2008). Much earlier, Jarvis (1999) described people as being authentic when they chose to act so as to “foster the growth and development of each other’s being” (p. 113). Going back another 20 years, we find Freire (1984) outlining the attitudes that encourage meaningful and authentic dialogue: love for the world and human beings, humility, faith in people, hope that the dialogue will lead to meaning, and critical thinking and the continuing transformation of reality. In fostering transformative learning through authentic and supportive relationships, educators bring a developed sense of Self, are conscious of getting to know and knowing their students, pay attention to their relationships with learners, are conscious of the context within which they work and how that influences authenticity, and engage in critical reflection and self-reflection on each of the previous facets (Cranton, 2006; Cranton and Carusetta, 2004).

Holistic orientation Another essential core element to fostering transformative learning is the importance of a holistic approach to teaching beyond the rational that engages the whole person. Learners rarely change through a rational process (analyze–think–change) and “are more likely to change in a see–feel–change sequence” (Brown, 2006: 732). Inherent to the holistic approach is an emphasis on affective knowing, which is developing an awareness of feelings and emotions in the reflective process. Greater affective awareness is inherent to successful critical reflection and it reveals much about the psycho- and socio-cultural dynamics of the individual and the group within the classroom. Engaging the affective in practice provides “an opportunity, for establishing a dialogue with those unconscious aspects of ourselves seeking expression through various images, feelings, and behaviors within the learning setting” (Dirkx, 2006: 22). Furthermore, it provides a means to engage the dynamics associated when there is a resistance to learning, but as well potentially to initiate a process of individuation, that of “a deeper understanding, realization, and appreciation of who he or she is” (p. 18). A means to foreground the affective, beyond dialogue, can occur through presentational or expressive ways of knowing. This involves “engagement with music, all the plastic arts, dance, movement, and mime, as well as all forms of myth, fable, allegory, and drama” (Davis-Manigualte, Yorks and Kasl, 2006: 27). Other examples include the use of the arts (Berger, 2004; Hanlin-Rowney et al., 2006; Patteson, 2002), online group meditation (Hanlin-Rowney et al., 2006), journaling (Burke, 2006; King, 2000, 2004), and 200

Transformative learning

cultural autobiographies (Brown, 2006). Presentational or expressive ways of knowing are “about inviting ‘the whole person’ into the classroom environment, we mean the person in fullness of being: as an affective, intuitive, thinking, physical, spiritual self ” (Yorks and Kasl, 2006: 46).

Awareness of context A final core element to be aware of when fostering transformative learning is developing an appreciation of the personal and socio-cultural factors that influence transformative learning. These factors include the surroundings within the immediate learning event occurring in the classroom, the prior life history of the participants, and the larger societal events that are playing out in society. As previously discussed, the prior experience of the learners has significant influence on teaching and, the more insight an educator has into this experience, the greater the potential to identify those learners who have predisposition for change. Research has shown that participants with recent traumas or critical events in their lives are more prone to change. “The disturbing events in the participants’ lives … create a fertile ground for perspective transformation”(Pierce, 1986: 296), similar to when learners are in a transitional zone of meaning-making (Berger, 2004). Research has revealed contextual factors that explain resistance to change, in terms of barriers that inhibit transformative learning. Included are such things as rigid role assignments; a culture of resistance to learning new technology (Whitelaw, Sears and Campbell, 2004); and cohort learning experiences where there is an unequal distribution of group responsibilities and overemphasis on task completion, instead of reflective dialogue (Scribner and Donaldson, 2001). Another factor often overlooked is temporal constraints, due to the time-consuming nature of fostering transformative learning. This is particularly challenging when attempting to include all voices while engaging intense emotional experiences within the rigid time periods often found in classroom settings. Finally, from a societal context, King (2004) describes a study of using transformative learning in tandem with grief theory (e.g. Kubler-Ross, 2005) in helping students make meaning of the 9/11 experience in the USA; students found that this approach validated their feelings and provided clarity and understanding of others’ feelings.

Conclusion In North America, transformative learning theory is the most comprehensive theory of adult learning developed to date, and it is rapidly gaining the interest of scholars in Europe, Asia, and Africa. Transformative learning is a deep shift in perspective during which habits of mind become more open, more permeable, and better justified. This shift occurs through reflection, imagination, intuition, emotion, and engaging with symbols and myths. It can be an individual process, a group process, and a social change process. The transformative learning literature is fairly consistent in describing transformative learning as a uniquely adult process, especially the rational perspective that calls on metacognition, which is not fully developed until adulthood. However, it is not always clear how transformative learning differs from deep learning, active learning, relational learning, making meaning from experience, and the like. Transformative learning theory has a constructivist foundation, as do many other learning theories, and there is considerable overlap between the characteristics of transformative learning and more general learning theories. Several perspectives on transformative learning theory have evolved over the decades since Mezirow first presented his concept of “perspective transformation” in the 1970s. Following the first wave of theoretical development, in which authors critiqued and expanded on Mezirow’s work, a second wave of theoretical development focuses on integrative and holistic understandings of the theory. In this chapter, we provided an overview of three broad perspectives, with the intent that they be seen as a pluralistic, inclusive portrayal of the field. 201

Patricia Cranton and Edward W. Taylor

Less has been written about fostering transformative learning, but this is changing with, for example, Mezirow and Taylor’s (2009) book and Hogan, Simpson, and Stuckey’s (2009) collection of ways to incorporate and use creative expression to promote transformation. In this chapter, we reviewed six themes related to fostering transformative learning—themes that were derived from research (Taylor, 2008): the individual experience, critical reflection, the role of dialogue, authentic and supportive relationships, a holistic orientation, and the awareness of context.

References Belenky, M., and Stanton, A. (2000). Inequality, development, and connected knowing. In J. Mezirow and Associates (eds), Learning as transformation: Critical perspectives on a theory in progress. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass, pp. 71–102. Berger, J. G. (2004). Dancing on the threshold of meaning. Journal of Transformative Education, 2: 336–51. Boyd, R. D. (1985). Trust in groups: The great mother and transformative education. In L.S. Walker (ed.), Proceedings of the Annual Midwest Research to Practice Conference in Adult and Continuing Education. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan. ——(1989). Facilitating personal transformation in small groups. Small Group Behavior, 20(4): 459–74. ——(1991). Personal transformation in small groups: A Jungian perspective. London: Routledge. Boyd, R.D., and Myers, J.B. (1988). Transformative education. International Journal of Lifelong Education, 7: 261–84. Brookfield, S. (2009). Engaging critical reflection in corporate America. In J. Mezirow and E. W. Taylor (eds), Transformative learning in practice. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass, pp. 125–35. Brown, K. (2006). Leadership and social justice and equity: Evaluating a transformative framework and andragogy. Educational Administration Quarterly, 42(5): 700–745. Burke, A. (2006). Do the write thing. In E. W. Taylor (ed.), Teaching for change. New Directions for Adult and Continuing Education, No. 109. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bas, pp. 79–90s. Cragg, C. E., Plotnikoff, R. C., Hugo, K., and Casey, A. (2001). Perspective transformation in RN-to-BSN distance education. Journal of Nursing Education, 40(7): 317-322. Cranton, P. (2006). Understanding and promoting transformative learning (2nd edn). San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Cranton, P. and Carusetta, E. (2004). Developing authenticity as a transformative process. Journal of Transformative Education, 2(4): 276–93. Cranton, P. and Wright, B. (2008). The transformative educator as learning companion. Journal of Transformative Education, 6: 33–47. Cunningham, P. M. (1998). The social dimension of transformative learning. PAACE Journal of Lifelong Learning, 7: 15–28. Davis-Manigualte, J., Yorks, L., and Kasl, E. (2006). Expressive ways of knowing and transformative learning. In E. W. Taylor (ed.), Teaching for change, No. 109, San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass, pp. 27–35. Dirkx, J. (1998). Transformative learning theory in the practice of adult education: An overview. PAAACE Journal of Lifelong Learning, 7, 1–14. ——(2001). Images, transformative learning and the work of soul. Adult Learning, 12(3): 15–16. ——(2006). Engaging emotions in adult learning: A Jungian perspective on emotion and transformative learning. In E.W. Taylor (ed.), Teaching for change: Fostering transformative learning in the classroom. New Directions for Adult and Continuing Education, No. 109. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass, pp.15–26. Freire, P. (1984). Pedagogy of the oppressed. New York: Continuum. Freire, P. and Macedo, D. P. (1995). A dialogue: Culture, language, race. Harvard Educational Review, 65: 377–402. Gunnlaugson, O. (2008). Metatheoretical prospects for the field of transformative learning. Journal of Transformative Education, 6(2): 124–35. Habermas, J. (1971). Knowledge and human interests. Boston, MA: Beacon Press. Hanlin-Rowney, A., Kuntzelman, K., Abad Lara, M. E., Quinn, D., Roffman, K., Nichols, T. T., and Welsh, L. (2006). Collaborative inquiry as a framework for exploring transformative learning online. Journal of Transformative Education, 4: 320–34. Herber, S. (1998). Perspective transformation of preservice teachers. Unpublished doctoral dissertation. The University of Memphis, Memphis, Tennessee. Hogan, C., Simpson, S., and Stuckey, H. (eds) (2009). Creative expression in transformative learning: Tools and techniques for educators of adults. Malabar, FL: Krieger Publishers. Jarvis, C. (1999). Love changes everything: The transformative potential of popular romantic fiction. Studies in the Education of Adults, 31: 109–123.

202

Transformative learning

Jones, P. (2009). Teaching for change in social work: A discipline-based argument for the use of transformative approaches to teaching and learning. Journal of Transformative Education, 7(1): 8–25. Jung, C. (1971, originally published in 1921). Psychological types. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Kegan, R. (2000). What ‘form’ transforms? A constructivist-developmental approach to transformative learning. In J. Mezirow and Associates (eds), Learning as transformation: Critical perspectives on a theory in progress. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass, pp. 35–70. King, K. P., (2000). The adult ESL experience: Facilitating perspective transformation in the classroom. Adult Basic Education, 10: 69–89. ——, (2004). Both sides now: Examining transformative learning and professional development of educators. Innovative Higher Education, 29: 155–174. Kitchenham, A. (2008). The evolution of John (sic) Mezirow’s transformative learning theory. Journal of Transformative Education, 6(2): 104–23. Kreber, C. (2004). An analysis of two models of reflection and their implications for educational development. International Journal of Academic Development, 9: 24–49. Kübler-Ross, E. (2005). On grief and grieving: Finding the meaning of grief through the five stages of loss. New York: Simon & Schuster. Lange, E. (2004). Transformative and restorative learning: A vital dialectic for sustainable societies. Adult Education Quarterly, 54: 121-139. MacLeod: R.D., Parkin: C., Pullon: S., and Robertson: G. (2003). Early clinical exposure to people who are dying: Learning to care at the end of life. Medical Education, 37: 51-58. Mezirow, J. (1978). Perspective transformation. Adult Education, 28: 100–110. ——(1991).Transformative dimensions of adult learning. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. ——(1996). Contemporary paradigms of learning. Adult Education Quarterly, 46: 158–172. ——(2000). Transformative learning. In J. Mezirow and Associates (eds) Learning as transformation: Critical perspectives on a theory in progress. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass, pp. 1–33. ——(2003). Transformative learning as discourse. Journal of Transformative Education, 1(1): 58–63. Mezirow, J. and Taylor E. W. (eds) (2009). Transformative learning in practice. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Patteson, A. (2002). Amazing grace and powerful medicine: A case study of an elementary teacher and the arts. Canadian Journal of Education, 27(2/3): 269–289. Palmer, P. (2008). The courage to teach: Exploring the inner landscape of a teacher’s life. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Pierce, G. (1986). Management education for an emergent paradigm. Unpublished doctoral dissertation, Teachers College, Columbia University. New York. Scribner, J. P., and Donaldson, J. F. (2001). The dynamics of group learning in a cohort: From nonlearning to transformative learning [Electronic version] Educational Administration Quarterly, 37: 605–38. Taylor, E. W. (2000). Fostering Mezirow’s Transformative Learning Theory in the adult education classroom: A critical review. The Canadian Journal of the Study of Adult Education, 14: 1–28. ——(2003). Attending graduate school in adult education and the impact on teaching beliefs: A longitudinal study. Journal of Transformative Education, 1(4): 349–68. ——(2007). An update of transformative learning theory: A critical review of the empirical research (1999–2005). International Journal of Lifelong Education, 26: 173–91. ——(2008). Transformative learning theory. In. S. B. Merriam (ed.), Third update of adult learning. New directions for adult and continuing education, No. 119. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass, pp. 5–15. ——(2009). Fostering transformative learning. In J. Mezirow and E. W. Taylor (eds), Transformative learning in practice. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass, pp. 3–17. Tsang, N. (2007). Reflection as dialogue. British Journal of Social Work, 37: 681–94. Whitelaw, C., Sears, M., and Campbell, K. (2004). Transformative learning in a faculty professional development context. Journal of Transformative Education, 2: 9–27. Woolfolk, A. E. (2001). Educational psychology (8th ed.). Boston, MA: Allyn & Bacon. Yorks, L., and Kasl, E. (2006). I know more than I can say. Journal of Transformative Education, 4: 43–64.

203

Part 3

Learning sites

22 Informal learning Everyday living Paul Hager

Introduction and overview This chapter aims to outline the wide and diverse scope of informal learning. It is argued that this is an important kind of learning that hitherto has been unjustly neglected. Informal learning is defined and its scope outlined in the first major section. Following that, key characteristic features of informal learning are considered in some detail. It is argued that recent theorizing of learning serves to highlight the significance of informal learning. The last main section discusses some examples of rich informal learning from everyday living.

Definition of informal learning and the scope of informal learning from living Any attempts to define ‘informal learning’ are shaped necessarily by its intimate connection to the concept of ‘formal learning’. As the very term ‘informal’ indicates, informal learning is usually thought of as lacking important features that distinguish its more illustrious cousin, ‘formal learning’. For a learning situation to count as formal, it typically must exhibit three essential features. Formal learning situations involve:  a specific curriculum  teachers who are responsible for teaching the curriculum  an assessment system that assesses and certifies the learning attainments of the individual learners. If we accept that these three features mark off formal learning, then we can define informal learning as covering all of the myriads of other situations in which people learn (Hager and Halliday, 2006: 30). This definition entails, of course, that informal learning encompasses an extraordinarily wide and diverse range of instances of learning. For example, most learning situations in the so-called non-formal education sector count as informal learning according to the above definition. This is so because non-formal educational offerings usually exhibit only two of the three essential features of formal learning. Typical examples here are adult education courses that follow a specific curriculum taught by designated teachers, but do not involve formal assessment of student learning. Thus, except for its small number of courses that meet the three essential features of formal learning, the vast bulk of educational provision in the non-formal sector counts as informal learning according to the above definition. This usage conforms with much of the 207

Paul Hager

literature, which views the terms ‘informal learning’ and ‘non-formal learning’ as interchangeable. It is also reflected in major policy documents (e.g. Department of Innovation, Universities and Skills 2009). However, there are other writers who view non-formal learning as being halfway between formal and informal learning (for detailed discussion of these matters see Colley, Hodkinson and Malcolm, 2003; and Hager and Halliday, 2006. The latter also provide the full case for favouring the definition of informal learning employed in this chapter). But the non-formal component of informal learning is dwarfed by other much bigger components. For instance, informal learning from everyday living, from life experiences of all kinds, is an extremely large category within the overall realm of informal learning. Informal learning at and from work is a major subcategory within this very large category. This major sub-category expands rapidly if, quite reasonably, work is thought of as including both paid and unpaid labour. Large amounts of rich informal learning occur as people plan and prepare to carry out work projects, and as they carry out and complete such projects, both large and small. In doing so, they extend their own capabilities, whilst expanding the range and level of the work tasks that they are able to perform. Some idea of the diversity, complexity and sheer size of the learning from work sub-category can be gained from a consideration of Tabe 22.1, in which Hodkinson and Hodkinson (2004) propose a six-fold classification of the different types of workplace learning. The first thing to note about Table 22.1 is that, although it is focused on workplace learning, each of its categories can be easily adapted to cover the different types of learning from everyday living. The second thing to note about Table 22.1 is that the large bulk of the informal learning at and from work, as discussed above, seems to be captured in the unintentional/unplanned column, whereas, at first sight, the intentional/planned column represents more formal training or workplace learning situations. However, these two columns definitely do not provide such a sharp division between formal and informal learning. This becomes clear from a consideration of examples. For instance, a new employee in a workplace might be assigned a mentor who is responsible for seeing that they ‘learn the ropes’. Although this would be a clear example of ‘planned learning of that which others know’, it is unlikely to include all three essential features of formal learning as defined above. Hence, this would be an informal learning situation as understood in this chapter. Clearly, this would be true of many cases of workplace learning that belong in the intentional/planned column. Given, then, that informal learning of different kinds fills both of its columns, Table 22.1 is useful for understanding some of the key features that lie behind the diversity and complexity of the learning from work sub-category. It is uncontroversial that some learning from work is planned, whilst much of it is unplanned. However, the exact senses in which learning from work is intentional or unintentional is a bit trickier. Work itself is the main focus of intentions in the workplace. Typically, people are focused on completing work tasks well, and not on engaging in learning. That is, unlike in formal learning situations, learning from work is parasitic on something else. Whilst this point is obvious in the case of unplanned/ Table 22.1 Types of workplace learning Intentional / planned Learning that which is already known Planned learning of that which others to others know Development of existing capability Planned / intended learning to refine existing capability Learning that which is new in the Planned / intended learning to do workplace (or treated as such) that which has not been done before Source: Hodkinson and Hodkinson (2004).

208

Unintentional / unplanned Socialisation into an existing community of practice Unplanned improvement of ongoing practice Unplanned learning of something not previously done

Informal learning – everyday living

unintentional learning from work, it can also apply to planned/intentional cases. Partly, it depends on whose intentions they are. For instance, in the mentoring example in the previous paragraph, the mentor intends that the new employee will ‘learn the ropes’. But the new employee’s intentions are likely to be closely focussed on satisfactorily completing the immediate work tasks, whilst being oblivious of the broader situational learning that is simultaneously happening. However, it is also true that good learners intentionally seek out opportunities in the contingent circumstances of work practice to extend their knowledge and capabilities. Hager and Halliday (2006) presents many examples of such opportunistic and contingent informal learning. A further aspect of the complexity of learning from work is that much of it is tacit in several distinct senses (see, e.g. Eraut, 2000; Winch, 2010). Overall, then, learning from work is a major category of learning from everyday living. But informal learning from everyday living extends well beyond work to include the full range of life experiences not usually thought of as work. It includes informal learning through leisure activities such as hobbies, crafts and sports. As well, it includes informal learning that assists people to survive in stressful situations, e.g. unemployment, incarceration and dead-end jobs. Also, activism of all kinds promotes major informal learning by those engaging in the various kinds of activist activities. There is also the learning that accrues from the full spectrum of interactions with other people – from our most intimate relationships, to day-to-day interactions and transactions with people of all kinds. The list continues, for further kinds of informal learning not captured in these categories. These considerations prompt the question: Is all living learning? On this question, Hager and Halliday (2006: 48) observe: It is not necessarily helpful to draw a distinction between learning and living. It has been normal to learn in the course of living long before there were even institutions concerned with formal learning such as schools. Moreover it has been normal to assess our learning and that of others in the course of living. It is worth remembering that people did all kinds of imaginative, useful and beautiful things long before there was talk of the sort referred to above. Great bridges, churches, houses, songs and so on came into existence long before it was fashionable to distinguish between work, living and learning in so sharp a way as is the case now. It is also worth remembering that such enduring creations were not products of the applications of courses of formal learning. Despite this, the answer to the question, Is all living learning?, is doubtless, No. For one thing, there are some people who never learn or are poor learners. Nevertheless, it does seem to be universally true that all living offers opportunities for significant learning. It is differences between people that account for whether or not these opportunities for learning are taken up, and for the extent and depth of the learning that does occur in a given instance.

Characteristic features of informal learning A major obstacle to informal learning being taken seriously as a component of a person’s overall education is the way that it differs on very many criteria from activities that have traditionally been thought of as ‘real education’. This is most obvious in the vast differences between informal learning and the learning that typically takes place in formal educational institutions. However, it may not be widely appreciated that informal learning at work is also very different from formal on-the-job training. These differences can be appreciated by considering the cumulative effect of the following series of contrasts (for more detailed discussion see Beckett and Hager, 2002; Hager and Halliday, 2006).  Planned learning vs contingent and opportunistic learning: teachers/trainers are in control of the planning, delivery and (usually) assessment of both formal learning in educational institutions and of formal on-the-job training. Whereas, for informal learning, whether at work or from life experiences 209

Paul Hager













generally, it is the learner who is in control (if anyone is). That is, formal learning of all kinds is planned, but informal learning is typically unplanned. It arises contingently and opportunistically as events unfold within a particular environment. Pre-specification vs emergence: learning that occurs within formal educational institutions and in onthe-job training situations is largely predictable. It is formally prescribed in curricula documents, competency standards, learning outcomes, etc. Whereas, informal learning, whether from work or from life experiences generally, is much less predictable. It emerges from the often unexpected kinds of events that unfold in workplaces or in other everyday environments. This emergent character of informal learning precludes a prior curriculum or prescribed outcomes. Explicit vs tacit: in both educational institutions and formal on-the-job training, learning is largely explicit. Learners are expected to be able to articulate publicly what they have learnt, e.g. in written examinations, in answers to oral questioning, or in performances of appropriate activities following training. Whereas, for informal learning, whether from work or from life experiences generally, it is often the case that aspects of the learning are implicit or tacit. For one thing, learners are commonly unaware of the extent of their own informal learning. This is so even when learners are well aware of the outcomes of such learning, e.g. that they are able to perform their job much better. But also, as noted above, some aspects of informal learning appear to be, in principle, tacit. Hence, there is the well-known phenomenon of practitioners being able to identify readily those who are the superior performers amongst them, whilst being unable to provide a satisfactory account of the underpinnings of superior performance. Focus on teaching/training and content vs focus on the learner and their learning: learning both in formal settings and in on-the-job training is marked by an emphasis on teaching/training and on the content and structure of what is taught/trained. In short, the focus is on teaching/training rather than on learning (largely as a consequence of the three previous points). Whereas, for informal learning, whether from work or from life experiences generally, the focus is squarely on the learner and on their learning. Focus on individuals vs focus on both groups and individuals: learning both in formal settings and in on-the-job training centres on learners as individuals. In general, it is exclusively individual learning/ training that is assessed and certified. Whereas, in the case of informal learning, whether from work or from life experiences generally, the learning often is collaborative and/or collegial. Whilst learning by individuals is still important, learning by groups or teams, that is not reducible individual learning, constitutes an important dimension of much informal learning. Context-free learning vs contextualized learning: learning in formal courses is typically decontextualized. Generally, there is a focus on general principles, rather than on their specific applications. For instance, it is common for school students to dislike their compulsory study of mathematics, whilst being totally unaware that mathematical understanding is essential in their preferred future vocational field. While formal on-the-job training is typically somewhat contextualized, even here there is normally some emphasis on the general, for instance the training being aimed at achieving general industry standards. However, informal learning, whether from work or from life experiences generally, is by its nature highly contextualized. This, of course, contributes to features of unpredictability and emergence noted above. Knowledge and its application vs seamless know-how: The learning that occurs in both formal educational institutions and in on-the-job training typically is conceptualized in terms of theory (or knowledge) and practice (application of theory and knowledge). Whereas, informal learning, whether from work or from life experiences generally, is characteristically more holistic. It seems to be most appropriately thought of holistically as seamless know-how.

Considering these trends as a whole, it is hardly surprising that formal learning/education has been seen as being much more valuable than informal learning. Informal learning, whether from work or from life 210

Informal learning – everyday living

experiences generally, is a paradigm case of informal education. Hence, it tends to be undervalued, particularly by those with a stake in the formal education system, at whatever level. Historically, training has been viewed as the antithesis of education. It is only a slight caricature to say that training has been thought of as aimed at mindless, mechanical, routine activity. By contrast, education is understood to aim for development of the mind via completion of intellectually challenging tasks. Despite this ‘chalk and cheese’ conception of education and training, the trends just noted above show that, in many key respects, the two have more in common with one another than either one does with informal learning, whether from work or from life experiences generally. Interestingly, although the above discussion shows that informal learning has been the ‘black sheep’ amongst the varieties of learning, having features that make it distinctly different from its siblings, recent developments in the theorizing of learning have the potential to make informal learning a much more mainstream phenomenon. This will become evident from a brief consideration of theories of learning, particularly as they relate to informal learning. (For a more detailed discussion, see Hager, 2011). Here I will distinguish three sequential categories of theories of learning:  early theories (mainly influenced by psychological theories)  socio-cultural theories  postmodern theories. It will be argued that the features of informal learning that distinguish it from formal learning, have actually become more prominent in recent theorizing of learning in general. For over a century, theorizing of learning has been largely dominated by psychological theories such as behaviourism, cognitivism and constructivism (for a good overview see Kalantzis and Cope, 2009). Early theories of informal learning were largely centred on understanding learning at work and from work (e.g. Argyris and Schön, 1974, 1978; Schön 1983, 1987; Marsick and Watkins, 1990; Watkins and Marsick, 1992). Thus, these authors were essentially developing theories of workplace learning. However, their theoretical principles were easily extended beyond paid work to capture learning from life more generally. Some common themes in these early theories are:  The focus is on individual learners.  The rational, cognitive aspects of workplace performance are stressed.  Performance of work is represented as thinking (or reflection), followed by the application of this thinking or reflection. (This theme is especially evident in Schön’s work).  The concept of learning is simply assumed to be unproblematic. Learning is treated as a ‘thing’. As Elkjaer (2003) noted, the effect of this is that these theories tend to treat workplace learning as akin to formal learning. Amongst others things, this means that they also employ the acquisition and transfer metaphors unproblematically.  The significant role of social, cultural, and organizational factors in workplace learning is underestimated. Though some of the theorists discussed above do allow a role for such factors, they serve as a backdrop against which workplace learning occurs. Later theories of workplace learning provide much more decisive roles for social, organizational and cultural factors in shaping workplace learning and performance. (Hager, 2011: 19) It is readily apparent that these themes align more closely with those features shared by formal learning and training, rather than with the features of informal learning, as set out in the above series of seven contrasts. Indeed, two themes (a focus on individuals and role of social cultural and organizational factors) have direct equivalents. Other themes (a stress on the rational, cognitive aspects of performance, and performance 211

Paul Hager

viewed as thinking, followed by application of thinking) are closely implicated in the features shared by formal learning and training in the second, third and seventh contrasts. Finally, the theme of learning as a ‘thing’ to be acquired and transferred can be seen to underpin virtually all the features shared by formal learning and training in the seven contrasts. Thus, we can conclude that the early theories of informal learning were emphatically aligned with presuppositions that characterized understandings of formal learning. In hindsight, this meant that this work had limited success in explaining informal learning, whether from work or from life experiences generally. The last 20 years have seen a rise to prominence of a very different approach to theorizing learning. These so-called socio-cultural theories have been significantly shaped by work in sociology and social anthropology. Major contributors include Lave and Wenger (1991), Wenger (1998), Engeström (1999, 2001, 2008), Tuomi-Gröhn and Engeström (2003), Fuller and Unwin (2003, 2004): and Guile and Young (2003). These socio-cultural theories reject major assumptions that characterized psychological approaches to understanding learning. Though they seek to understand learning in general, their main theses align very well with key features of informal learning, as set out in the above series of seven contrasts. Hence, they have provided a major stimulus to the theorizing of work-related learning in its various forms, and of informal learning more generally. Socio-cultural theories of learning directly contradict three of the themes that characterized psychological approaches to understanding learning, First, they elevate the various social aspects of learning to a new prominence. In so doing, they reject all notions that individual learners should be the focus of analysis. In some of these newer theories, attention is directed exclusively onto the social. In other cases, both individual and social learning are part of the analysis. Thus, some socio-cultural learning theories challenge the assumption that learning has to be exclusively either individual or social. Hence, for understanding the phenomenon of informal learning, whether from work or from life experiences generally, these sociocultural theories suggest that both individual and social learning are important dimensions of it (see, e.g. Hodkinson, Biesta and James 2008). Second, these socio-cultural theories view learning as an ongoing process of participation in appropriate activities. They thereby reject the primacy of learning as a ‘thing’ or a product. They portray learning as occurring when learners actively participate in suitable practices. For socio-cultural theories, the metaphor of participation replaces the acquisition and transfer metaphors for the purposes of describing learning. Third, these socio-cultural theories totally reject any suggestion that learning can be independent of its context. They insist that all learning is significantly shaped by social, organizational, cultural and other contextual factors. Other key themes that are broadly common to socio-cultural theories of learning are:  an emphasis on learning as an embodied phenomenon, thereby rejecting mind–body dualism and related dichotomies;  a recognition that learning seamlessly integrates a range of human attributes that include much more than just rationality. As well, context becomes the significant causal background of the learning. The net effect of these socio-cultural themes is to problematize the concept of learning as traditionally understood. It is also apparent that these themes have the effect of making informal learning a central case of learning. One might be tempted to conclude that they proclaim informal learning to be a paradigm case of learning. More recently, a noticeable postmodern approach to theorizing learning has become apparent. Significant contributors include Fenwick (2009), Edwards and Nicoll (2004), Fenwick and Edwards (2010), Usher and Edwards (2007), Gherardi (2006): and Shotter (2008). It is still too soon to judge what their overall impact on our understandings of learning will be. Indeed, it is somewhat dubious to suggest that there 212

Informal learning – everyday living

might be a postmodern theorization of learning. However, taken together, the work of these writers suggests that not only should learning be viewed as an ongoing process exhibiting temporal change (as the socio-cultural theories maintain), but that the changes are, in principle, not fully decidable in advance. The suggestion is that learning is emergent from its context in unanticipated and unpredictable ways. Learning is transformed by context in an ongoing creative process. Modernist hopes of decidability and predictability, beloved of policymakers, are unrealistic according to these theories. So, the directions of workplace learning can only be characterized in broad, general terms. It was earlier suggested that informal learning of all kinds is marked by opportunism and contingency. Thus, this recently emerging understanding of learning serves to reinforce the idea that informal learning, whether from work or from life experiences generally, is a paradigmatic, if also under-appreciated, kind of learning. One of the implications of the key features of informal learning increasingly being viewed as being typical of learning in general is that, in practice, it is often difficult to disentangle different categories of learning. For instance, formal learning is virtually always accompanied by some informal learning (the so-called ‘hidden curriculum’). Likewise supposedly different kinds of informal learning can be inextricably entwined, e.g. the learning involved in handling successfully a difficult situation at work might be closely entwined with the learning that resulted from a breakfast-table discussion earlier that same day. The ‘holism’ feature of informal learning reflects this trend. Overall, it can be concluded that recent developments in the theorization of learning have drawn attention to the crucial significance of informal learning in its many guises. However, most educational writing is so single-mindedly centred on formal schooling and education that socio-cultural and more recent theories of learning are analysed almost exclusively for what insights they might contain for thinking about teaching and assessment of individual learners in time-honoured educational arrangements. In the process, the fact that important learning extends well beyond formal learning escapes notice.

Some typical examples of informal learning from everyday living 1 Informal learning in leisure – hobbies, crafts, sports, etc. Hobbies, crafts, sports and other recreational activities provide important learning opportunities, both formal and informal. But, even where such activities are part of formal learning situations, they inevitably involve substantial informal learning as well, for instance in the learner becoming directly acquainted with the work of fellow practitioners or devotees. A person’s identity as a practitioner of the hobby, craft, sport, etc. will be significantly shaped and reshaped by such learning, whether formal or informal. Because hobbies, crafts, sports and the like are often pursued for their own sake, at their best, they provide rich opportunities to develop and refine skills, know-how and other capacities that underpin excellent performance in the given activity. Even where they are engaged in for extrinsic reasons, e.g. as compulsory school activities or to fill in time, there is the possibility of worthwhile informal learning taking place. It is evident that the informal learning associated with hobbies, crafts, sports and other recreational activities exhibits key features of informal learning discussed above. Opportunism and contingency will be hallmarks of much of this learning. It will be unpredictable in various ways. Its context will include the particular ways that those significant others, who happen to stimulate the learner’s initial interest and involvement, engage with the hobby, craft, or sport. Their ways of engaging in the hobby, craft, or sport will very likely be nested in, for example, local traditions relating to its practice. As the learner becomes more involved and experienced as a practitioner, they will likely change their goals and ambitions, for instance, as they become aware of new and different possibilities. Thus, serious engagement with the hobby, craft, or sport can be seen as a continually evolving process in which, over time, new understandings and know-how, much of them tacit, will be developed. 213

Paul Hager

2 Informal learning and surviving Significant informal learning is likely to result from the experiences of surviving difficult circumstances of all kinds. Such survival learning situations include:    

dead-end jobs oppressive social circumstances, (e.g. unemployment, drug addiction) incarceration (e.g. prison) internment (e.g. prisoner of war, illegal immigrant).

In all these instances, there are accounts available of people surviving and, even, flourishing within them, even though the circumstances are sometimes horrific. Survivors of such circumstances invariably describe strategies that they developed, applied and modified through experience, thereby enabling them to adjust to and survive the difficult circumstances. A further common element in these survival stories is the survivors reporting that they developed an inner mental life, often based on significant memories, but also developing over time into fantasies. This inner mental life appears to offer a sphere of freedom and release from the restrictive and oppressive physical circumstances in which the survivors are immersed. As well as providing a refuge from the physical hardship, this rich inner mental life gives the survivors a more enhanced sense of their own personal identity. This richer sense of personal identity is closely connected to the developing and implementing of suitable strategies to alleviate the harsh and oppressive physical circumstances. Once again, the various characteristics of informal learning discussed above are clearly present in cases of surviving oppressive circumstances. Survival learning is indeterminate in several senses. First, it is highly contextual, including being intimately bound up in the survivor’s own personal life history. It also involves trial-and-error learning, as the survivor finds out what works best for them in their own particular circumstances. This trial-and-error learning is obviously opportunistic and contingent, making use of whatever resources are available, such as friendship with and support from like-minded persons who are also intent on surviving. Personal integrity, self-respect, and particular survival goals, both short term and longer term, seem to be common features of survival stories. The ongoing informal learning process experienced by survivors develops in them a strong sense of personal identity, of continuously becoming the kind of person who can survive. Once freedom or relief from the oppressive circumstances is obtained, it becomes evident that the survivor has become a very different person from the one who was first placed in the oppressive circumstances. The improved circumstances provide the survivor with a new challenge – to adopt an identity suited to freedom. In doing so, there will be no going back to earlier identity phases.

Conclusion This chapter has contrasted informal learning with its more illustrious sibling, formal learning. As Hager and Halliday (2006) argue in detail, the time is ripe for the richness of informal learning to be appreciated and a better balance of the two siblings achieved. The wide definition of informal learning adopted in this chapter has the advantage of bringing to attention the remarkable diversity and complexity of the various types of informal learning. This also serves to signal how key characteristics of informal learning align it strongly with recent theorizations of learning. Informal learning should no longer be largely ignored, as it has been up till now.

References Argyris C. and Schön D.A. (1974) Theory in Practice: Increasing Professional Effectiveness. San Francisco, CA: Jossey Bass. ——(1978) Organizational Learning: A Theory of Action Perspective. Reading, MA: Addison-Wesley. Beckett D. and Hager P. (2002) Life, Work and Learning: Practice in Postmodernity. Routledge International Studies in the Philosophy of Education 14, London and New York: Routledge. 214

Informal learning – everyday living

Colley H., Hodkinson P. and Malcolm J. (2003) Informality and Formality in Learning: A Report for the Learning and Skills Research Centre. London: Learning and Skills Research Centre. Department of Innovation, Universities and Skills (2009) The Learning Revolution. UK Government White Paper. London: Department of Innovation, Universities and Skills. Edwards R. and Nicoll K. (2004) ‘Mobilizing Workplaces: Actors, discipline and governmentality’, Studies in Continuing Education, Vol. 26, No. 2: 159–73. Elkjaer B. (2003) ‘Organizational Learning with a Pragmatic Slant’, International Journal of Lifelong Education, Vol. 22, No. 5: 481–94. Engeström Y. (1999) ‘Activity Theory and Individual and Social Transformation’, in Y. Engeström, R. Miettinen and R. Punamaki (eds) Perspectives on Activity Theory. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 19–38. ——(2001) ‘Expansive Learning at Work: Towards an activity-theoretical reconceptualisation’, Journal of Education and Work, Vol. 14, No. 1, pp. 133–56. ——(2008) From Teams to Knots: Activity-theoretical Studies of Collaboration and Learning at Work. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Eraut M. (2000) ‘Non-Formal Learning and Tacit Knowledge in Professional Work’, British Journal of Educational Psychology, Vol. 70: 113–36. Fenwick T. (2009) ‘Re-thinking the “Thing”: Sociomaterial approaches to understanding and researching learning at work’, paper presented at The 6th International Conference on Researching Work and Learning, Roskilde University, Denmark, June 28–July 1 2009. Fenwick T. and Edwards R. (2010) Actor-Network Theory in Education. London: Routledge. Fuller A. and Unwin L. (2003) ‘Learning as Apprentices in the Contemporary UK Workplace: Creating and managing expansive and restrictive participation’, Journal of Education and Work, Vol. 16, No. 4: 407–26. ——(2004) ‘Expansive Learning Environments: Integrating organisational and personal development’, in Rainbird, Fuller and Munro (eds), pp. 126–44. Gherardi S. (2006) Organizational Knowledge: The Texture of Workplace Learning (with the collaboration of D. Nicolini). Malden, MA: Blackwell. Guile D. and Young M. (2003) ‘Transfer and Transition in Vocational Education: Some theoretical considerations’, in T. Tuomi-Gröhn and Y. Engeström (eds) Between School and Work: New Perspectives on Transfer and Boundary-crossing. Amsterdam: Elsevier Science, pp. 63–81. Hager P. (2011) ‘Theories of Workplace Learning’ in M. Malloch, L. Cairns, K. Evans and B.N. O’Connor (eds) The Sage Handbook of Workplace Learning. London: Sage, pp. 17–31. Hager P. and Halliday J. (2006) Recovering Informal Learning: Wisdom, Judgement and Community (Lifelong Learning Book Series, Vol. 7). Dordrecht: Springer (paperback edition 2009). Hodkinson, P. and Hodkinson, H. (2004) ‘The Complexities of Workplace Learning: Problems and dangers in trying to measure attainment’, in H. Rainbird, A. Fuller and A. Munro (eds) Workplace Learning in Context. London: Routledge, pp. 259–75. Hodkinson P., Biesta G. and James D. (2008) ‘Understanding Learning Culturally: Overcoming the dualism between social and individual views of learning’, Vocations and Learning, Vol. 1, No. 1: 27–47. Kalantzis M. and Cope B. (2009) New Learning: Elements of a Science of Education. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lave J. and Wenger E. (1991) Situated Learning. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Marsick V. and Watkins K. (1990) Informal and Incidental Learning in the Workplace. London: Routledge. Schön D.A. (1983) The Reflective Practitioner. New York: Basic Books. ——(1987) Educating the Reflective Practitioner. San Francisco, CA: Jossey Bass. Shotter J. (2008) ‘Dialogism and Polyphony in Organizing Theorizing in Organization Studies: Action guiding anticipations and the continuous creation of novelty’, Organization Studies, Vol. 29, No. 4: 501–24. Tuomi-Gröhn T. and Engeström Y. (2003) (eds) Between School and Work: New Perspectives on Transfer and Boundary-crossing. Amsterdam: Elsevier Science. Usher R. and Edwards R. (2007) Lifelong Learning – Signs, Discourses, Practices. Dordrecht: Springer. Watkins K. and Marsick V. (1992) ‘Towards a Theory of Informal and Incidental Learning in Organizations’, International Journal of Lifelong Education, Vol. 11, No. 4: 287–300. Wenger E. (1998) Communities of Practice: Learning, Meaning and Identity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wertsch J. W. (1998) Mind as Action. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Winch C. (2010) Dimensions of Expertise: A Conceptual Exploration of Vocational Knowledge. London and New York: Continuum.

215

23 Self-directed learning Katarina Popovic´

Introduction Although self-directed learning is one of the concepts that has captured the attention of researchers and authors in adult education for a long time, there is still considerable theoretical and methodological confusion about it. Viewed as one of the main concepts in adult learning and/or the most typical form of adult learning, it has been the subject of inquiries on its nature, processes and characteristics, with many attempts at theory building and considerations of similar concepts in adult education and learning. There are a number of terms that are used by writers and researchers. Tough (1971) quoted 17 authors who use 12 different terms, while Hiemstra (1994) compared six main competing terms. The most used terms include: selfdirected learning, self-education (used mostly by scholars from Russia and other Slavic language areas), selforganized learning, self-planned learning, self-teaching, learning projects, autonomous learning, autodidaxy, independent study, open learning and so on. In earlier periods it was recognized, but neglected as a phenomenon not relevant from a scientific point of view, until interest in it ‘exploded’ and it became almost a kind of ‘fashion’ in adult education research. Nowadays, a new interest in this phenomenon has emerged and new research issues have arisen, including the need for modern, adequate, fresh conceptualization, combined with continuous attempts at theory building. Kulich in 1970 (Brockett and Hiemstra, 1991) and Brockett and Hiemstra (1991) showed that selfdirected learning has a long history, and illustrated it with examples of famous personalities as self-directed learners, from classical Greece, Rome, renaissance Europe and colonial America. On the other hand, selfdirected learning among ‘common people’ in different historical periods has not been explored so much. Tröhler described several such examples in the context of informal learning in the middle ages (Tröhler, 2005). Early studies of self-directed learning go back to the nineteenth century, with Craik’s description (1840) of several self-learners, and Smiles’s book Self-help in 1859. Modern research started in 1961 with O’Houle: who described three groups of adult learners, divided according to their motivation to participate, and it is the third group – those motivated by the learning process itself – that could be characterized as self-directed learners. Systematic approaches to self-directed learning were developed by Knowles (1975) and Tough (1971). In his book, Self-directed Learning, Knowles (1975) compared attributes of teacher-directed and self-directed learning (such as: the role of the learner’s experience, a subject-centred orientation of the learner vs a 216

Self-directed learning

problem-centred one, external vs internal incentives, etc.), also offering a kind of working guide, i.e. a set of learning resource exercises with recommendations in the form of steps for self-guided enquiry. This book presents the concept of self-directed learning as an essential component of the maturing process, highlighting the capacity and need to be self-directed as almost typical for adult learners, even if they are not well prepared for this type of learning. A ‘classical’ study, which also offered a conceptual framework for self-directed learning, was carried out by Tough. He proved that a great deal of adult learning happens independently, outside institutions of formal education and in the form of learning projects. Some of the learning projects are aimed at an increase in new knowledge, insight or understanding; others at changes in attitudes, habits and emotional reactions. Adults undertake several learning projects a year (around 700 hours a year – 100 per project), although they are not always aware of them. Tough further defined the learning project as a series of shorter, connected episodes lasting not less than seven hours, where more than half of a person’s motivation is to gain and retain knowledge and skills for a minimum of two days. These episodes can happen in a variety of settings, e.g. in the library, classroom, kitchen, hotel or train, and the person might learn with a teacher, in a group or completely alone. Tough explained the complete phenomenon of adult learning using the ‘iceberg’ metaphor – the visible, smaller part happens within the organized forms of learning and education (such as courses and seminars), but some 80% is not visible and consists of learning planned, organized and guided by the person him/herself. For further development of research in the theory and practice of self-directed learning an annual International Symposium on self-directed learning was established in 1987 by Long, playing an important role for many years. Different models for empirical research on self-directed learning were developed over that time. They have been driven by various perspectives, and they have all looked at how to capture such complex phenomena through the means and methods of research models (Guglielmino – Self-directed Readiness Scale in 1978; Spear’s model, 1988; Cavaliere, 1992; Garrison, 1997; Conceptual PRO – Personal Responsibility Orientation model developed in 1991 by Brockett and Hiemstra). Brookfield’s criticism (1986) of earlier research was related to the approach whereby many phenomena in adult education and learning are over-identified with self-directed learning, without an adequate theoretical base, but he also criticized it for methodological shortcomings. Transformational learning theory gave modern impetus to new approaches to self-directed learning.

Defining the concept Many research efforts were carried out with the purpose of defining self-directed learning and developing adequate conceptualization. Three main approaches have been developed and discussed with the intention of building a theoretical base: self-directed learning as the self-initiated process of learning, where individuals plan and manage their own activity; an attribute or characteristic of the learner, with personal autonomy as its hallmark; and a way of organizing instruction in formal settings with greater learner control over the process of learning (Caffarella, 1993). Scholars and researchers presented various perspectives and had different focuses including topics and areas of self-directed learning, learners’ motivation, learning components and characteristics of the process, abilities of the learners, activities that may be organized within the self-directed learning, etc. Knowles (1975) defines self-directed learning as the process in which a person starts the initiative for learning, defines a need, conceives goals, localizes the resources, makes choices of strategies for learning and applies them, and evaluates the results. Mezirow (1985) leaves aside the details of the learning process and defines self-directed learning as the ability of the adult person to critically reflect and make life changes. Similar to Brookfield (1986): he highlights critical reflection in the context of the learner’s reality, providing him/her with the capacity not just to understand it, but also to shape the context in which the 217

Katarina Popovic´

learner lives. For some authors, self-directed learning involves instructional method, while others prefer to analyse the dichotomy between processes and goals. Brockett and Hiemstra (1991) view the term self-directed learning ‘as an instructional process centring on such activities as assessing needs, securing learning resources, implementing learning activities, and evaluating learning’. Hiemstra and Sisco (1990) refer to this as individualizing instruction, a process focusing on characteristics of the teaching–learning transaction’ (Hiemstra, 1994: 430). Brockett and Hiemstra emphasize external and internal factors of self-direction in learning, and Merriam (2001) focuses on the goals of self-directed learning. This variety of approaches, accompanied by overlap and difficulties of definition, still poses a real challenge for philosophical discussions and empirical study of self-directed learning. Although it is necessary for adult education theory to try to define clear concepts and to operate within consistent theoretical and conceptual frameworks, it is exactly the complexity of the learning processes of the modern person that causes these differences, dichotomies and controversies, and inspires constant rethinking of existing models and the development of a multifaceted approach. In spite of this, and in spite of the lack of common definition and theory, there are several issues relating to self-directed learning where there is a common understanding, and where there are approaches accepted by the majority of scholars, and consensus views regarding some topics. Some of the most important are:  The characteristics and qualities of self-directed learning are viewed as a continuum, not as clear divided categories without overlap (for example, Tough’s seven-hour episodes and half-motivation are less relevant for contemporary research).  The definitions of self-directed learning are mostly created by listing and explaining a set of qualities or characteristics of this type of learning (for example, autonomous learning, strong ‘ownership’ of the learning process, critical reflection, high level of learners’ responsibility).  There is an analysis distinction between self-directed learning and the self-directed learner. For example, even in learning situations that are directed from ‘outside’, a learner could behave in an autonomous and self-directed way.  It is almost impossible to find ‘clear’ learning modes or one dominant mode in adult education – they are usually mixed and changeable. This is also the case with self-directed learning, which can range across instructional teaching and different types of learning and includes various activities, methods and resources.  Contextual aspects of the learning process are more important than ever, becoming one of the main determinants of self-directed learning.

Some characteristics of self-directed learning There are several important characteristics that were chosen by researchers as the main criteria to explore whether a learning process is self-directed or not. Locus of control is one of them. For example, Mocker and Spear (1982) developed the model where the level of control over the main elements of the learning process is a measure of the self-directed character of learning. This approach understands the character of learning as a continuum along a spectrum from where the adult learner is in complete control of the learning process to the opposite end of the spectrum, where the institution or instructor is completely in charge. This is very close to the model proposed by Knowles’s (1970: 26) dimensions of maturing – from dependence towards autonomy – although the opposite of dependence in our complicated world may not be independence, so much as self-directed interdependence. In earlier times self-directed learning was first presented as primarily solitary learning, ‘learning in isolation’ (especially when it was related to distance learning). Caffarella (1993: 28) explains the ‘scenario’ of how adults learn as it is described in the 1970s by Tough and Knowles: ‘adults use mostly linear, stepwise processes … . Their conception of the process of learning mirrors very closely how we depict the process of learning in formal settings’. 218

Self-directed learning

For analytical purposes, the connected dimensions: dependency / instructiveness + control can be seen as a continuum, with linear movement across the spectrum. While this applies to the concept of Tough’s learning projects, there are also many important learning processes initiated and carried out by adults that do not follow this scheme. These learning forms and phases may alter and change, being switched or combined. There is a kind of coexistence between these two opposite ends of the spectrum of learning (with different levels of control and instructiveness), whereby one or another type becomes dominant in different phases. Merriam finds that ‘models developed in the late 1980s and the 1990s are less linear and more interactive’ (2001: 9). The linear scheme is seldom applicable, because of the specific dynamic of the life and work situation of the adult learner, which interferes with learning phases or episodes, or because of the nature of the topic. For example, an adult could start to learn about macrobiotic nutrition suddenly and passionately, after being diagnosed with an illness, and devote a significant amount of time to studying the subject, or s/he could have developed a growing interest in this topic throughout the life course, neglecting it sometimes and returning to it again at different times. This scenario is closer to the one where ‘patterns vary from person to person and learning project to learning project’ (Caffarella, 1993: 28), with ‘many loops and curves’ (Caffarella and Merriam, 2000: 57). The dynamic and unpredictability of learning scenarios, and the complexity of all types of self-directed learning and its activities, give emphasis to new models and paradigms of adult learning, veering away from psychologically driven ones and closer to the andragogical ones. One of the possible paradigms can be based on the adult learning cycles. Self-directed learning may provide a framework for a range of learning cycles guiding the learner through the various phases. The learning encompasses the following cycles:  identifying a need or problem that requires a solution  choosing a way of learning appropriate to solving the problem and deciding about the learning aim, content, resources, means and methods  carrying out the learning  observing and monitoring the process and progress  evaluating the learning experience and results, and deciding what to do with them. The first and the last two categories or parts of the cycle tend to be mostly in the hands of the adult learner, but the middle one – the pure learning part– may be willingly delegated to others (including a whole variety of learning behaviours following on from this decision), while the learner remains the owner of the whole process/cycle, constantly making choices about its continuation. This ‘delegated responsibility’ often happens in the form of a learning contract with outside assistance, as is described by several authors (Hiemstra and Sisco, 1990; Knowles, 1975). This approach recognizes the collaborative and interdependent character of adult learning and defines self-directed learning as typical for adults. Even though children may act in a self-directed way, the main elements of defining their way of learning as self-directed are missing: they do not control the wholeness of the learning process and seldom can they make choices about its elements. Even in out-of-school and out-of-formal education, children are not fully in control of their own lives, a factor which largely determines adult learning. The fact that childhood learning is embedded in the process of socialization, which imposes social limits and constraints and many top-down and externally defined elements, means that children could be self-directed learners sometimes, but, taken on the whole, theirs is not self-directed learning. For the adult learner, the phenomenon of self-directed learning is happening in the context of maturity, and is probably the most genuine form of adult learning.

The self-directed learner – characteristics and abilities While research on self study has generally been centred on the learner, the character of the modern information society, where learning needs are increasingly more complex thanks to the rapid growth in the 219

Katarina Popovic´

volume and variety of information sources and the sheer complexity of life, sheds a new light on this ‘rediscovered species’ of adult learner. New learning needs in different areas of life (professional or personal) pose new demands that adults can no longer meet in a traditional way. They are more and more motivated or even compelled to continuously undertake different learning initiatives in order to improve the quality of different aspects of their lives, or simply to keep on track. Willingly or not, adults became predominantly self-directed learners; for many authors it is still, or more than ever, the differentia specifica of adult learning. Knowles and, partly, Hiemstra tend even to understand adult learning itself as self-directed learning. Although adults may sometimes prefer learning directed from outside, the idea of the self-directed learner is usually related to the concepts of responsibility, autonomy (moral, emotional, intellectual), independence, self-confidence, self-esteem and individualism. Some authors focus primarily on the main determinants of self-directed learning – age, class, gender, level of education, learning style and some personal characteristics and traits. There are also many efforts to find out what competencies and abilities are needed for self-directed learning, and the emphasis is usually on a strong sense of personal values and beliefs, on certain self-concepts of adult persons (including self-knowledge, need for self-actualization and the ability to be proactive), decision-making competencies and critical intelligence as the preconditions for self-directed learning. Although this approach is based on humanistic psychology, on the idea of the adult as growth-oriented and motivated for self-improvement, an important distinction should be made here – between the selfdirected learner and the successful self-directed learner. It is useful to explore what elements determine the learning behaviour of a person and what competencies are needed. A self-directed learner is not a person with a certain personality and a static combination of characteristics and abilities; rather, self-directed learning involves a learning behaviour, style and approach manifested or not manifested by the same person in different learning situations (different topics, different settings, different life phases … ). As Candy points out, a learner’s autonomy is likely to vary from situation to situation (Candy, 1991). Thus, it must not be forgotten that every adult learner can be a self-directed learner – predominantly, or sometimes, depending on the concrete learning need and the context. No adult person, regardless of levels of education, self esteem or personal competencies should be denied the opportunity and the right to undertake learning projects and to individualize his/her own learning. To what extent the adult learner will be successful, is completely another question – it depends strongly on previously mentioned characteristics and abilities, but this is exactly the same issue in all other types of learning. In almost all forms or types of learning the question of ability, readiness and competencies of the learner could be raised. Thus, attributes such as selfconcept and self-esteem can predict the quality of the results of self-directed learning of a person, but do not serve as the excluding criteria. Learning could be undertaken for various reasons, even for fear, pressure or necessity, but even in these cases a person could conduct the learning process in a self-directed manner, even without making good choices or having really good results. Unfortunately, there are still not enough studies about self-directed learning among groups of people who do not fit into these criteria. Similar shifts in the research happen in the area of motivation for self-directed learning. Tough’s earlier suggestion that the main motive for self-directed learning is to acquire and retain knowledge and competencies, is less valid today – it is more and more driven by real life situations, by the need to solve the problems, achieve aims, fulfil tasks, etc. The pragmatic nature of this kind of learning was indicated in several studies (Merriam and Caffarella, 1999; Tough, 1971). Highly intentional character, which was always emphasized in earlier research, does not necessarily mean a high level of awareness and clearly defined goals; it is more likely to mean an instrumental, functional approach (even when pure theoretical and intellectual issues are the subject of the learning), meaning that deep motivation for self-directed learning is coming from the interaction of the needs of the person and their environment and context. The context has always had an influence on learning needs (intrinsic or internalized) and gives an impetus, directly or indirectly, to adults, motivating them to start the learning initiative. A context may have a positive impact by supporting self-directed learning in different ways: through positive learning 220

Self-directed learning

culture and available resources … ; in contrast, lack of support, facilities and resources that can satisfy learning needs can have the opposite effect; and, in the third case scenario, there may be resources and possibilities available in the learner’s environment, but the person may be dissatisfied with them, thus motivating them to start learning on their own. This constant everyday interaction with one’s own environment and critical reflection on it is often a starting point for self-directed initiatives.

Changing traditional approaches to self-directed learning Two approaches were typical in the traditional understanding of self-directed learning – one suggesting that this kind of learning occurs mostly in the non-formal settings, and seldom within formal education, and the other, stressing the highly intentional character of self-directed learning. Recent research in sociology and psychology of adult learning, new theoretical approaches to adult education and, above all, new practices in adult learning brought about numerous changes in these traditional understandings. One of the earlier ideas about self-directed learning was that it was something that happens because of the absence of institutions within the formal system. It is accepted today that self-directed learning may occur precisely in spite of such existing institutions, even if the learner is formally enrolled in them. Still, self-directed learning is often perceived as a form of learning that appears as non-formal learning, sometimes as informal learning, and in very limited cases as learning in the formal settings. Mocker and Spear’s scheme (1982) depicts this model, which sees self-directed learning as the opposite of formal learning (Table 23.1). The model depicting formal, non-formal and informal learning as the overall framework for different types of learning, including self-directed learning, becomes less relevant today, and does not necessarily suit the dynamic and non-linear type of learning, as described earlier in this text. Conversely, it may be more relevant to take self-directed learning as the overarching concept, as the framework within which adults may choose formal or non-formal settings, learn independently or ask someone for assistance (friend or expert), enter the course or self-support group, go to the library, search the internet, listen to the lectures at the university … . They may combine completely independent and self-organized learning with less independent phases; they may also decide to leave some parts of his/her learning process completely to a tutor or guide. Even in this case, they may retain their own goal, keeping a critical approach to the given information or methods of teaching, continuously reflecting and restructuring the knowledge and attitudes. After choosing formal education as an appropriate setting for one’s own learning process, an adult learner may decide to accept the content and values underpinning it, but may also reject them, even if a formal certificate confirms that s/he has reached the learning outcomes. Of course, this assumes that learning is not perceived in a traditional way, i.e. as obtaining and ‘collecting’ knowledge and information and developing the formal functions of thinking, but more as a transformative process of learning, i.e. changing one’s perspective, acquiring new ways of thinking, acting, getting inspired to initiate change in the environment. Of all theoretical approaches to the nature of learning, the theory of transformative learning and critical

Table 23.1 Mocker and Spear’s model of lifelong learning Self-directed learning

Non-formal learning

learner controls the goals and means of learning

learner controls the goals, but institution controls the means of learning

Informal learning institution controls the goals, but the learner controls the means of learning

Formal learning institution controls the goals and the means of learning

221

Katarina Popovic´

Self-directed learinig Informal learning Non-formal education and learning

Formal education

Different learning “projects” and initiatives

Figure 23.1 Formal/non-formal/informal learning in relation to self-directed learning

thinking seems to be the closest to self-directed learning, but does not necessarily explain all of it. Leading back to the tradition of radical philosophy, this approach hints at development of critical consciousness, a combination of thinking and action and social changes as a result of learning. But self-directed learning, also as critical reflection, may occur an all levels and in all areas – from coping with the challenges of raising children, to developing as a human being, to changing social structures. For that reason (not being limited by range and field), self-directed learning finds its place in formal as well as less formal settings. Many scholars and authors urged that learner initiative and autonomy should be incorporated into formal instructional settings and organized learning. Therefore critical thinking and reflection became important for self-directed learning, whether it happens in formal or non-formal frameworks. A self-directed learner is thus a person who has the willpower to change the course of things, behaves autonomously, responsibly, critically, even in learning situations that are mainly organized or guided from outside by an institution or another person. Although critical thinking and reflection might be of crucial importance for the success of self-directed learning, and many scholars take them as the main criteria to define it (‘the most fully adult form of self-directed learning’ contains critical reflection as the main component – Brookfield, 1986: 58), they are generic components of adult learning generally, and not specifically confined to self-directed learning, After the stage is set, i.e. an adult person has become aware of a learning need, or has formulated a problem and decided to address the problem through learning, and has decided how s/he wants to go about learning and what direction to choose, different types of learning activities can be undertaken:  A person may opt for some formal education, e.g. courses, formal training, internships, or may even decide to enrol in university and acquire academic qualifications in order to achieve his/her goal.  A person may engage in many activities of a non-formal nature, i.e. organized and systematic, but outside the formal framework, for example self-guided reading, visiting lectures and seminars, internet searches, joining self-support groups, or networking with others.  If a person is highly motivated to learn and act to achieve his/her goal, informal learning related to the chosen topic may occur. A mind occupied by certain problems and issues will have a sharper perception of anything in the environment related to them and will be open to various types of spontaneous information transfer and even subliminal learning. 222

Self-directed learning

Keeping ownership of the totality of the learning process, making choices, ‘controlling the level of control’ over the single components, mixing instructional methods and combining resources and results from different settings are all elements that justify the hypothesis that self-directed learning should be taken as an overarching concept, encompassing the formal, non-formal and informal character of learning. There is one more controversial issue associated with formal, non-formal and informal learning, that is, the intentional character of self-directed learning. Several researches have focused on the highly intentional character of self-directed learning as one of its differentia specifica, allowing a certain level of self-direction in the case of unintended, but developed learning, and ignoring incidental learning as not belonging to the realm of aware, motivated, planned, self-organized learning. An approach beyond pure cognitive processes and a psychological definition of learning may broaden our understanding of learning in the following ways:  Intended learning happens mainly in situations where the whole process is predominantly guided, organized and evaluated in a self-directed manner. As mentioned earlier, adults may choose to delegate the middle part of learning cycles to someone outside, but this is also done intentionally. Intended learning is the type of learning that Allan Tough calls learning projects, emphasizing the importance of self-initiative, high motivation and choice of means. But he also states that people are sometimes not aware of their own learning projects or activities, which brings into consideration the second and third type – unintended and incidental learning.  As was illustrated above, a learning process or even one learning project could include all types. A person who did not intend to start learning might be inspired by circumstances or compelled by certain events and start with a not intended, but developed learning process. Several aspects show that even this could be seen as part of self-directed learning:    

the not-intended learner ‘allows’ him/herself to open their mind for new information, knowledge, approaches; s/he is ready to ‘open up’ the existing structure of knowledge, attitudes and mind settings, to reflect and change them, and to change behaviour where required; the lack of initial intention does not imply the lack of learning need and willingness; usually there are other factors that are behind this lack of intention or strong awareness; unintended, but later developed, learning may easily become self-directed, completely or to a large extent.

 Incidental, unplanned, sometimes even not wanted, learning might be viewed as a part of self-directed learning to a very limited extent. This might be the case, for example, if it is a part of a learning episode that is conducted in a self-directed manner, where the adult integrates knowledge and information into the structures that s/he is creating through another, broader learning process, even if s/he is not aware of the fact that it is happening. Incidental learning may even happen against the will of a person, but s/he takes a position in relation to the content or outcomes and decides what to do with them. So, even with the lack of intention to learn in a self-directed manner, at the heart of the process is a selfdirected, autonomous, reflecting learner whose dominant learning patterns are exchanging and switching. Learning in everyday life, conceptualized as life-wide learning, has become a way of living in the modern world with all its challenges. The risk society as described by Ulrich Beck is vastly more dynamic than any previous societal forms, and an individual faces dramatically altered social structures, where they are exposed to unevenly distributed risks (Beck, 1992). This distribution has to do with wealth, but also with knowledge. Since possession of knowledge is still related to the power structures of modern societies, lifelong and lifewide learning have, on the one hand, the potential to liberate and, on the other hand, to help a person to cope with the complexity and uncertainty of everyday life. 223

Katarina Popovic´

The areas of self-directed learning The increased demands and challenges of our modern, rapidly changing society have inspired self-directed initiatives on the part of more and more adults. They need to know more about health and nutrition, family life and child rearing; they need new competencies to cope with the different kinds of risk that the globalization process brings and to develop new strategies in times of crises, sometimes simply to understand the changes that are going on. Therefore, the complexity of the learning behaviour of a person in modern society means that traditional didactic categories are not always applicable. Learning takes different forms, combining and changing different styles, going through various ups and downs, and adapting the dynamic of learning both to personal needs and to societal circumstances. The same applies to the content and topics – there is hardly any area that could not be a subject of selfdirected learning. Traditional understanding saw self-directed learning as mainly related to personal growth and satisfaction of intellectual needs. In the current climate the range of issues and challenges faced by people has bigger implications for learning for the sake of learning, fulfilment and for intellectual pleasure and curiosity. ‘Adults’ orientation to learning is life-centred; therefore, the appropriate units for organizing adult learning are life situations … ’ (Knowles, 1970: 31). A person could be moved by new demands or risks coming from the environment, by fear, or because of uncertainty and confusion, by life crises or simply because of a new stage in the life span development. The spectrum is all-encompassing. Some of the examples are:  Constant creation of new knowledge and increased demands of the labour market make it difficult for adults in the professional sphere to keep a job and/or increase employability, achieve progression, or simply keep up with the constantly changing world of work without undertaking independent learning actions. For these purposes adults usually start self-directed learning in order to increase soft skills, social competencies, team or managerial competencies, etc. Many self-directed learning actions, which include a lot of formal learning, are motivated by the new demands of a rapidly changing labour market and economy. But it is not just about acquiring new job skills and competencies, it is also about understanding a world where the rules of the game are changing, and questioning all traditional models and values related to work and economy.  The growing awareness of the potential of an individual to increase the quality of his/her personal life, especially family life and social relationships, together with the challenges and risks that the modern way of life brings for the individual and family, have inspired a series of new learning initiatives. Much of self-directed learning is devoted to areas such as family, marital and emotional relationships, partnership and parenthood, etc. An example is the expanding interest in popular psychology – learning about one’s own personality, character, traits, discovering oneself … . This may range from reading popular books and learning about various typologies of personalities (horoscopes or more serious ones), to participating in some type of psycho-therapeutic events or courses. The issue of health and nutrition has become a most popular and important topic, especially because modern industry (pharmaceutical, food production … ) relies more and more on the ‘obedient’, nonreflective user/consumer. Critical awareness, courage to question widely accepted values, ways of behaviour, products, information and knowledge, which might be ‘served’ even by scientific authorities, are needed more than ever, not just for intellectual pleasure, but as a means of survival (Popovic´, 2010). Self-directed learning thus becomes a weapon in the battle against misuse, indoctrination and foolishness, which are unfortunately often supported by media, political authorities and, sometimes, even by official science and the education system. ‘This perspective focuses on bringing about change in the present social, political, and economic order through the questioning of assumptions held by learners about the world in which they live and work’ (Caffarella, 1993: 27). In particular, the areas mostly affected by growing commercialization and supported by media, the pharmaceutical industry (health 224

Self-directed learning

education), food production (learning about nutrition), mass production of everything (consumer education) and so forth need to be a focus of the learning response in a self-directed form. In this context the development of critical thinking for and through self-directed learning is of utmost importance.  The first decade of the twenty-first century has proved that drastic climate changes, environmental disasters and destruction of nature have become the reality of the modern world. Earlier enthusiastic attempts by small groups of activists to disseminate information and to initiate learning processes about environmental issues among different social groups are not enough any more. Self-directed learning about these matters needs to shape attitudes, styles of living, personal philosophies and ways of thinking, especially because other forms of education and educational authorities are not responding fast (and deep) enough to this growing need, or indeed may act exactly in the opposite way. Self-directed learning in this area, as well as in the previous area, comes very close to the demand coming from transformational learning theory (Mezirow, Brookfield) – ‘promotion of emancipatory learning and social action’ (Merriam, 2001: 9) – and shifts the emphasis from individual learning to the social context of learning and social construction of knowledge.  Traditional domains of self-directed learning like leisure, hobbies and tourism remain important, supported by demographic changes, mobility and globalization. The self-directed learner is nowadays more self-confident about this subject than in earlier times and is more willing and ready to combine different resources and methods. S/he is more aware of the dignity of this kind of learning. In the mentioned domains, self-directed learning has become the common learning form, supported by some educational providers, commercial enterprises and media. In this case more critical approaches to the enormity of information and quality of the options and possibilities for learning are needed.

Trends and challenges The developments related to self-directed learning tackle both theoretical and philosophical issues, as well as practical and operational questions. Philosophies of constructivism, postmodernism, transformational learning theory and new approaches to emancipatory and empowerment theories raise new questions that are important for theory building in the area of self-directed learning. Hiemstra (1994) summarizes emerging trends and issues and points out the need for more research, including the need for testing conceptual ideas and models. Merriam (2001) lists the concrete areas for future investigation, facing the challenges of taking study and understanding of selfdirected learning to a new level. Ways of measuring and maintaining quality in self-directed learning have growing importance, but they also prompt rethinking and reconceptualization of the nature, attributes and goals of self-directed learning. ‘It is clearly a multifaceted concept that should not be approached through one perspective’ (Song and Hill, 2007). Still, what approaches are universally valid, what perspectives are suitable, and how can the scientific-systematic clarity of thinking about it be achieved? How can the complex nature of self-directed learning within consistent theoretical frameworks (especially the andragogical one) be captured without reduction and loss of its important elements? These remain the main challenges in attempting to develop a coherent theory of self-directed learning. More importantly, new approaches to self-directed learning may change our whole idea of adult education and learning. An interesting shift has happened in its history. Formerly, adult learning was the dominant individual and social phenomenon, while adult education appeared just a few centuries ago, in the form of several social movements. The last two centuries were marked by the fight for the recognition of adult education, by its promotion and conceptualization. Adult learning was mostly at the core of adult education, which was sometimes developed in ways that conflicted with its basic philosophy and principles, i.e. more organized, systematic and systemic, controlled, used (and misused) for various social purposes, standardized, etc. 225

Katarina Popovic´

Recent trends are showing a new shift – back to adult learning! Progressive discovery of learning, as opposed to education, does not ignore the fact that learning as an individual process is embedded in a predominantly socially organized education. But learning, even if it happens in the framework of adult education, is not limited to it. New global initiatives (UNESCO), numerous projects, research interest and alternative forms of adult education focus more and more on learning. The growing importance of selfdirected learning might provide the proof for this development. The person in a modern world is more and more isolated, very often in conflict with the subtle constraints and manipulation of society. Selfdirected learning is the form used by many movements and initiatives that stood up against the systems or some of their elements, for example the feminist movement, political changes in Eastern Europe, the ecological movement, anti-globalism, the peace movement, initiatives against the health measures imposed by governments, etc. If a person is ‘against the system’, s/he is on her/his own. Self-directed learning is increasingly the only choice for every form of adult education that goes beyond an adaptive or compensatory function and, being at the heart of lifelong and life-wide learning, is the most available ‘instrument’ to cope with the ever changing world. A ‘small piece’ of technical progress turns out to be one of the most important factors in the described development, playing a revolutionary role, that is, information and communication technologies, especially the internet. It sheds a completely new light on self-directed learning. Self-directed learning is ‘the wave of the future’, concludes Kerka (1999): having primarily the ‘deliberating potential’ of the internet to deliver new modes of learning. What television was about to achieve many years ago (to revolutionize the learning process), but failed to do because of the passive role of spectator and one-way communication, the internet may achieve in the near future. Huge numbers of options, possibilities, means and communication strategies turn attention to the possibilities that the internet is offering to learning – it is about achieving more control, enhancing the responsibility and initiative towards learning, using more resources. It might be seen as a learning resource, as a means of learning and teaching, as provision, as a communication channel and so on (Popovic´, 2010). For self-directed learning, it opens a whole new world of opportunities and raises the need to understand more about self-directed learning in a specific context (Song and Hill, 2007). This will challenge both our theoretical-conceptual approach to self-directed learning (especially its emancipatory character) and to a series of practical issues (such as instructional deficiencies) related to learning via/from/with the internet. More importantly, it might challenge the nature of adult learning itself.

References Beck, U. 1992, Risk Society: Towards a New Modernity, New Delhi: Sage. Brockett, R.G. and Hiemstra, R. 1991, Self-Direction in Adult Learning: Perspectives on Theory, Research, and Practice, London and New York: Routledge. Brookfield, S.D. 1986, Understanding and Facilitating Adult Learning, San Francisco: Jossey-Bass Inc. Publishers. Candy, P.C .1991, Self-Direction for Lifelong Learning: A Comprehensive Guide to Theory and Practice, San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. Caffarella, R.S. 1993, ‘Self-Directed Learning’, in SB Merriam (ed.), An Update on Adult Learning Theory, San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. Caffarella, R. and Merriam, B.S. 2000, ‘Linking the Individual Learner to the Context of Adult Learning’, in Wilson, L.A. and Hayes (eds), Handbook of Adult and Continuing Education, San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. Cavaliere, L.A. 1992, ‘The Wright Brothers’ Odyssee: Their Flight of Learning’, in Cavaliere, L.A. and Sgroi, A. (eds), Learning for Personal Development. New Directions for Adult and Continuing Education, San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. Craik, G.L. 1840, Pursuit of Knowledge Under Difficulties: Its Pleasures and Rewards, New York: Harper & Brothers. Garrison, M.R. 1997, ‘Self-Directed Learning: Toward a Comprehensive Model’, Adult Education Quaterly, vol. 48, no. 1, pp. 18–33. Guglielmino, L.M. 1977, ‘Development of the Self-directed Learning Readiness Scale’ (Doctoral dissertation, University of Georgia), Dissertation Abstracts International, 1978 38: 6467A. Hiemstra, R. 1994, ‘Self-directed Learning’, in T Husen and TN Postlethwaite (eds), The International Encyclopedia of Education, 2nd edn, Oxford: Pergamon Press. 226

Self-directed learning

Hiemstra, R. and Sisco, B. 1990, Individualizing Instruction, San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Kerka, S. 1999, Self-Directed Learning. Myths and Realities, vol. 3, Center on Education and Training for Employment, College of Education, The Ohio State University, Ohio. Knowles, S.M. 1970, The Modern Practice of Adult Education, New York: Association Press. Knowles, M. 1975, Self-Directed Learning. A Guide for Learners and Teachers, New York: Association Press. Merriam, S. 2001, ‘Andragogy and Self-Directed Learning: Pillars of Adult Learning Theory’, in Merriam, S (ed.), The New Update on Adult Learning Theory, San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Merriam, S.B. 2001, ‘Andragogy and Self-Directed Learning: Pillars of Adult Learning Theory’, in Imel, S (ed.), New Directions for Adult and Continuing Education, no. 89, San Francisco, CA: Jossey Bass, A Publishing Unit of John Wiley and Sons, Inc. Merriam, S.B. and Caffarella, R.S. 1999, Learning in Adulthood (2nd edn), San Francisco, CA: Jossey Bass. Mezirow, J. 1985, ‘A Critical Theory of Self-Directed Learning’, in Brookfield, S (ed.), Self-Directed Learning: From Theory to Practice. New Directions for Continuing Education, no. 25, San Francisco, CA: Jossey Bass. Mocker, D.W. and Spear, G.E. 1982, Lifelong Learning: Formal, Nonformal, Informal, and Self-Directed, Columbus. OH: ERIC Clearinghouse on Adult, Career, and Vocational Education, The National Center for Research in Vocational Education, The Ohio State University. O’Houle, C. 1961, The Inquiring Mind: A Study of the Adult Who Continues To Learn, Madison, WI: The University of Wisconsin Press. Popovic´, K. 2010, ‘Health and the Power of Informal Learning’, LLinE – Lifelong Learning in Europe, vol. XV, no.2: 94–100. Song, L. and Hill, R.J. 2007, ‘A Conceptual Model for Understanding Self-Directed Learning in Online Environments’, Journal of Interactive Online Learning, vol. 6, no. 1: 27–37. Smiles, S. 1859, Self-Help; With Illustrations of Character and Conduct, John Murray, London. Available at: www.gutenberg.org/dirs/etext97/selfh10h.htm. Spear, G.E. 1988 ‘Beyond the Organizing Circumstances: A Search for Methodology for the Study of Self-Directed Learning’, in H Long and Associates, Self-Directed Learning: Application and Theory, University of Georgia, Georgia, pp.119–221. Tough, A. 1971, The Adult’s Learning Projects. A Fresh Approach to Theory and Practice in Adult Learning, The Ontario Institute for Studies in Education, Ontario. Tröhler, D. 2005, ‘“Doživotno ucˇ enje” kao conditio humana: pledoaje za jedan revidirani pojam ucˇ enja’, Andragogical Studies, no. 1: 5–21.

227

24 Learning at the site of work Stephen Billett

This chapter elaborates and discusses learning at the site of work. That is, it explains how learning arises through work activities and interactions, including those in workplaces. It does so because there are key personal and societal goals that arise from understanding the workplace as a site in which learning occurs. It is proposed here that, in many ways, the process and outcomes of learning through and for work are no different than those that occur in and arise from other kinds of settings. However, the way that learning is mediated at the site of work is likely to be distinct in some ways from that in other kinds of settings, because the activities and interactions that constitute key mediating contributions to that learning are likely to be peculiar to paid employment, the particular occupation and the qualities of the particular workplace setting. Consequently, the mediations and contributions of sites of work are likely to be qualitatively different in some ways than those of other kinds of settings, including the particular pedagogic and curriculum qualities of those settings.

Learning at the site of work Learning at the site of work has and continues to be central to both individual and societal development. Therefore, despite often being seen as less important, legitimate or worthy sites than educational institutions, these sites warrant careful theorisation and clear explanations because of the important roles they play. Indeed, across human history, the vast majority of the learning required for work has been that which has arisen at the site of work, perhaps most typically within family (Billett, 2010). It is only in relatively recent times that the preparation for most occupations has come to occur within educational institutions, and even then only often in conjunction with experiences in work sites. Before that, and across human history, not only in European countries, but long before then in ancient Mesopotamia and China, the capacities required for the vast majority of skilful occupations were learnt at the site of work: where the occupations are enacted. From its origins in ancient Greece, where all artisans and artists learned their skills within family practices (Lodge, 1947), within European traditions the site of work was a key and the likely sole source of occupational learning until the middle and the end of the nineteenth century (Greinhart, 2002). Only then were educational institutions established specifically for the development of occupational skills and other desired associated learning outcomes. Beyond managing the supply of skilled workers, often these institutions were established for a range of societal purposes, including engaging young men in educational provisions who might otherwise become a problem for the state (Greinhart, 2002; Troger, 2002). Yet, even 228

Learning at the site of work

today the institutionalised arrangements for the development of the trades and professions still include extensive periods of work experience, with some deliberately emphasising this experience. For instance, in most countries that have an apprenticeship system, the vast majority of the period of apprentices’ indenture is spent in the workplace, usually of the order of 80% or more of that time. Equally, the major professions of medicine, law and accountancy all require extensive periods of practice as part of the occupational preparation. So, in both the trades and professions the value of learning at the site of work has remained strong, despite the growing provision of education programmes supporting occupational skills in colleges and universities. Indeed, this valuing of experiences in the sites of practice has persisted to the extent that, now, in many countries with advanced industrial economies there is a growing trend to include experience in work settings as part of higher education provisions associated with developing specific occupations (Department of Innovation, Universities and Skills, 2008; Universities Australia, 2008). Much of this current interest in learning at the site of work has come about because of concerns about the prospects for preparing practitioners remotely from the sites in which they work. As discussed below, the realisations that situational factors contribute to individuals’ learning (Brown, Collins and Duguid, 1989; Raizen, 1991) has hastened and in some ways legitimated work experience as effective sites of learning. Also, and importantly, beyond the initial development of occupational skills, the sites of work are likely to be the principal sites where workers of all kinds continue to develop their occupational capacities across their working lives, including transferring from one occupation field to another. Here, these sites play a crucial role in personal and societal development. The requirements for effective workplace performance constantly change as new needs, processes and goals arise, let alone changes in the technologies and processes used to secure these changes (Billett, 2006c). Yet, it is the site of work, its goals, activities and interactions, that likely provides key premises for the learning individuals, secure throughout their working lives, to meet these changing requirements. As discussed below, individuals’ development occurs across the life course through ongoing moment-by-moment or micro-genetic development that contributes incrementally to their ontogenetic life course development (Rogoff, 1990; Scribner, 1985b), and workplaces are key sites for work-related learning across the working life (Fenwick, 1998; Hodkinson and Bloomer, 2002; Hodkinson and Hodkinson, 2004). Furthermore, beyond individual development, learning through work sites is central to societal development. That is, as individuals engage with, learn through and develop further capacities in worksites, they are also engaging in the process of remaking and transforming occupational practices in response to specific needs, at particular times and in particular situations. This co-occurrence between individual learning and the remaking of cultural practices, such as those required for paid occupations, highlights the genius of the interdependence between human and cultural development (Rogoff, 1990; Scribner, 1984). Through these processes, not only are individuals’ learning and developing across their life course progressed (Scribner, 1985b), but they are also engaging in the process of remaking and transforming cultural practices (i.e. occupations) that themselves have arisen historically and been remade through meeting cultural requirements and needs. In this way, in responding to new challenges, continuity and change in occupations is advanced through sites of work. Consequently, because of the imperatives of initial and ongoing individual development and the remaking and transformation of cultural practices, it is important to elaborate how learning at the site of work occurs and can be theorised and also how these might be similar or different to other sites of learning (e.g. educational institutions). It is proposed here that the process and outcomes of learning at the site of work are, in many ways, no different than those that occur in other sites (e.g. home, educational institutions), because human learning arises through personally and socially mediated processes, regardless of setting. Yet, how learning is mediated at the site of work is likely to be distinct in some ways from other kinds of sites, because the activities and interactions that constitute key mediating contributions are distinct, and have particular cultural, situational and personal premises. That is, this learning is likely to be peculiar to paid employment, the particular occupation and the qualities of the specific workplace setting. Consequently, the mediations and 229

Stephen Billett

contributions of sites of work are likely to be qualitatively different than those of other kinds of settings, including the particular pedagogic and curriculum qualities of those settings. In making this case, this chapter commences by discussing processes of learning and development arising across human lives, micro-genetically, as a process of construals and constructions that is personal, yet socially mediated and shaped, albeit in individually particular ways. This learning arises through human activity and interactions that are social to their core, yet personally experienced and progressed. Here, the concept of ontogeny (i.e. development across the personal life course) is positioned centrally as a sociopersonal process. The personal dimension comprises unique socially shaped and derived ways of knowing, domains of knowledge, interests and intentionalities. The social dimension comprises those contributions arising through the particular situated activities and interactions that they afford and that individuals encounter, the socio-genetic contributions of culture (i.e. the occupation) and situation (i.e. work site). Together, and in relation to each other, these social and personal dimensions are central to human learning and development. However, the personal domains and intentionalities associated with work are likely to have particular potency within individuals that in turn shapes how they engage with and learn in and remake the activities and interactions that they encounter. The standing of the occupation, the positioning of the worker, the availability of activities and interactions, are central to the mediations available in workplace settings and the kinds of culturally derived knowledge (i.e. occupational knowledge) that will be able to be accessed in work sites. Consequently, it is proposed that they are both common underlying processes and outcomes regardless of site, but also particular personal and social factors that are a product of the workplace being a site of learning. In making this case, the sections below elaborate both the common and particular qualities of workplaces as sites of learning.

Personal and social premises for the construal and construction of knowledge It seems reasonable to claim that the underlying processes and outcomes of learning at the site of work are generally no different than for those at other sites. Across constructivist accounts that favour either a more personally based or more socially premised orientation of knowledge construction (i.e. learning), there is consensus that the human process of meaning making is engaged in and directed by cognating individuals (Greeno, 1997). Hence, regardless of the setting, humans have the key role in construing and constructing what they experience, even where the social suggestion is strong. Usually, the debate within mainstream constructivist accounts is over the degree by which the social world shapes or, as some claim, determines what is learnt (Ratner, 2000). Yet, many key theoreticians whose orientation emphasises the social and cultural contributions refer to the relations between the suggestion of the social world and individuals’ taking up of it. That is, even in accounts that privilege the social contribution, there is a key role for the individual. Some of these accounts even suggest that humans are able to ignore or resist the social suggestion and, in some circumstances, would often simply be unaware and unaffected by the contribution of the particular social setting. For instance, the cultural psychologist Valsiner (1998: 393) proposes that: most of human development takes place through active ignoring and neutralisation of most of social suggestions to which the person is subjected in everyday life. Moreover, and similarly, the sociologists of knowledge (Berger and Luckman, 1966: 124) suggest that: socialisation is never completely successful. Some individuals inhabit the transmitted universe more definitely than others. Even among the more or less accredited inhabitants, there will be idiosyncratic variations in the way they concede the universe. 230

Learning at the site of work

These statements are not used here to claim that the suggestions and contributions from the social world can be easily or necessarily wished away, as they can be potent and penetrating (Searle, 1995). However, it seems that very few accounts deny the capacity of individuals to negotiate with what the social world suggests. Hence, the person, rather than the social and physical site, might represent the principal platform for explaining learning within and across sites. However, this is not to present the individual as being an asocial cognitive entity. Quite the opposite is the case, because the person and the personal are the product of the particular set of experiences; they have had to acknowledge that individual cognition or cognitive experience is shaped reciprocally and continuously through participation in different and diverse instances of social practice throughout their life histories or ontogenies (Billett, 1998). Or, as Valsiner (1998: 2) proposes, that the individual “simultaneously maintains his or her autonomy relative to the given social context, and has become the way he or she is through the history of such relations.” Therefore, perhaps a useful way of understanding how the contributions to both the personal and social contributions to ongoing learning and remaking practice come together in terms of ongoing development is through the concept of ontogenies or individuals’ development across a life history (Scribner, 1985b). Each individual has a personally unique developmental history that arises from the moment-by-moment learning or micro-genetic development that grows from the particular combination of activities and interactions in which they engage. Through these engagements, individuals actively and continuously participate in engaging in tasks and resolving outcomes that have a cognitive legacy for them in either new learning (i.e. extending what and how they know) or refining what they know. As these activities and interactions are likely to be socially derived, the legacies arising micro-genetically have social bases. However, as these activities are construed and constructed in personally distinct ways, the social genesis is not uniform; the legacy is personally mediated and particular in some ways. This process of personally shaped micro-genetic development contributes to individuals’ ontogenetic development, as is well explained in the cognitive literature through references to individuals’ engaging in routine problem solving when they have experienced it before, and non-routine problem solving when the experiences are new, and this leads to the development of new knowledge (Anderson, 1993). The ongoing engagement in experiences that are familiar provides opportunities for rehearsal and the honing, refining and reinforcement of what is already known, whereas the development of new knowledge and ways of organising that knowledge can arise from experiences that are new to the individual. However, these experiences are not wholly subject to what is provided by the site of learning; they are person-dependent by degree. What for one individual is a routine experience, for another is a novel one. Recently, an experienced resident in a US hospital advised me that, whereas many of his emergency room activities are repetitious, tedious and not particularly interesting, for the medical students he mentors, these experiences are novel to the degree of being overwhelming. Similarly, student nurses who have had extensive clinical experience as an enrolled nurse report having very distinct premises from their university nursing studies than those students who come straight from school (Newton, Kelly, Kremser, Jolly and Billett, 2009). Yet, even within these two cohorts of nurses there were identified differences in these students’ formative experiences and also how they went about engaging with the task of completing a degree and becoming a nurse. All of these differences emphasise the personal basis for knowledge construction, which goes beyond distinctions between experts and novices, and emphasises the centrality of personal development histories and how they shape individuals’ construal and construction of what they experience in particular settings. All of the above also reinforces the importance of viewing the everyday process of thinking and acting, regardless of where it occurs, as comprising a process of ongoing micro-genetic development that contributes to individuals’ ontogenetic development (Rogoff and Lave, 1984). That ontogeny contributes to and shapes individuals’ domains of knowledge, their ways of knowing and their interests, which are central to what drives the intentionality that individuals exercise when engaging with experiences that are either familiar or novel, albeit in the workplace or elsewhere. In capturing the central role of this personal process of construal and construction, Valsiner (2000) refers to individuals’ earlier experiences as being pre-mediate 231

Stephen Billett

(i.e. arising earlier and informing the process of construal and construction) and to how individuals engage with experience in the current moment as immediate. In all, he refers to this personal process of construal and construction of knowledge as being shaped by the individuals’ ‘cognitive experience’: how they know and engage with the social and brute world beyond them. Here the term ‘cognitive’ is not intended to refer to a highly individual and internal process of thinking and acting, but rather one that is sourced in the social world and necessarily engages with that world, albeit one negotiated between the intentionalities of individual and the press and suggestion of the social world. A way of understanding the relationship between the personal and social contributions within ontogenetic development is to position them as dualities to both accommodate the contributions of the personal and the social and reconcile these tensions. Billett (2006b) proposes that the process of everyday learning, regardless of its site can be explained as a duality. On the one hand, there are the affordances – the degree by which the setting is suggestive, supportive, informing and engaging – which are invitational to individuals to participate and learn. On the other hand is how individuals elect to engage with what they are afforded. The interaction between affordances and engagement comprises a relational interdependence between the social and personal. By emphasising dualities, rather than dualisms, learning is positioned as an active process exercised continually by individuals, yet, it occurs in ways that are relational in terms of personal bases for construing and constructing knowledge, on the one hand, and in diverse ways in which workplace settings exercise their affordances. Yet, beyond these relational negotiations, there is an interdependence between the social and personal contributions, as each depends on the other. Individuals need the social world to secure the knowledge they need to learn, and the social world needs individuals to enact, remake and transform the knowledge it requires for its continuity and development. However, individuals secure the continuity of the social setting, occupation and cultural practice by engaging in, remaking and transforming that practice at particular points in time, in particular situations and in response to specific problems that they are addressing. For instance, work is conducted in workplaces that have particular practices and meet the requirements of particular clientele, whose needs and responses to those needs are not consistent and also change over time. Hence, there is interdependence between the social and personal imperatives that comprise the negotiations between what individuals know and come to experience when learning at the site of work, for instance. The propositions above apply to individuals’ learning and participation, regardless of setting. That is, they are premises and processes that are not constrained by or premised upon by particular kinds of settings. Certainly, in situations of relative social isolation, for instance, there is likely to be a greater emphasis on the active meaning making of the individual, and less on the close guidance afforded by sites that have more-experienced others (e.g. parents, co-workers, teachers, peers, etc.). Yet, these kinds of processes likely play out in all kinds of settings. However, there are particular emphases, premises and circumstances in work as a site for learning that are both particular in character and also offer more detailed accounts of these learning processes. Perhaps most central here are the kinds of intentionalities and interests that individuals exercise, and the associations between paid work and personal identity, on the one hand, and the particular qualities of work tasks and interactions as premises for learning occupational knowledge on the other. These are discussed in the following section.

Explaining learning in the workplace and through work As proposed above, whilst the underling processes and outcomes of learning are likely to have common qualities across the range of sites, there are likely to be particular characteristics and qualities of sites. That is, the mediating contributions of sites of work are distinct and have particular cultural, situational and personal premises. Here, the focus is on work as a site for learning. It is proposed that the distinctiveness of work as a site of learning reflects the duality outlined above. First, the requirements of historically derived, culturally sanctioned and bound concepts of paid employment comprise goal-directed activities and engagement of 232

Learning at the site of work

particular kinds, in the form of the particular occupation (its norms and practices) and specific sets of situational factors (i.e. affordances and engagements) that comprise the site of work. Second, there are the personal bases for learning, which likely include issues associated with identity formation and need for employment to be sustained for material requirements (e.g. food, shelter, interests) and the need to care for others (e.g. family). These two dualistic elements are now discussed together in elaborating the particular qualities of work as a site of learning. Learning at the site of work usually refers to the processes of learning through and for engaging in paid employment. This view emphasises the particular contributions to individuals’ learning provided and secured through engaging in work activities and interactions within workplaces or work practices. These contributions are often held to be of a different kind than those accessed through participating in educational institutions (Marsick and Watkins, 1990). A particular quality associated with experiences at the site of work is that they are held to be authentic instances of the occupational practices that need to be learnt. Hence, these experiences provide access to knowledge that is more readily applicable to the target occupational practice of which it is an instance than the knowledge accessed in educational settings, because the latter are less perceptibly aligned with the occupational practice. Moreover, there are contextually rich clues, cues and other situated contributions that assist this learning (Billett 2001). Noteworthy, is that the term, workplace learning, also emphasises learning, rather than teaching or training, thereby positioning it as a process more focussed on individuals’ learning and the direct and indirect guidance for that learning found at the site of learning, rather than the teaching experienced in educational settings. Conceptions associated with not only what the workplace affords individuals, but also how individuals engage are also important in advancing conceptions of curriculum, pedagogy and epistemology for the workplace. As noted, what has been found is that, in workplace learning environments, much of the emphasis of the learning process is on how individuals engage with the activities and interactions that they encounter. Consequently, key bases for learning at the site of work have been identified as: i) engaging in work-authentic work activities; ii) indirect guidance provided through observing and listening to others; iii) direct guidance of more expert co-workers; and iv) the opportunities to engage in practice (i.e. rehearsal) (Billett, 2001). As such, these affordances are in some ways distinct from other kinds of sites. The authenticity of experience is helpful for engendering legacies that are applicable to the occupational practice. For instance, the processes of observation and listening are well reported as powerful means by which learning through imitation and refinement proceeds within the anthropological accounts (Lave, 1988; Pelissier, 1991; Scribner, 1985a), and the opportunities for direct guidance by experts assist in joint problem solving that are held to directly support the development of socially derived knowledge that might not be learnt by discovery alone (Cole, 1985). The opportunity to repeat activities, to refine and hone procedural capacities and to make conceptual links are also qualities of learning at the site of work, which may not be available in other sites. Beyond what is afforded, it is noteworthy that, of the four contributions listed above, three are largely premised on the individuals’ efforts. That is how they engage with work tasks and interactions: they observe and listen and then practice. Even the way they engage in joint problem-solving activities with more experienced counterparts and what legacies arise from this will likely be premised on their agency and intentionality. Beyond these affordances are those that structure and organise learning experiences at the site of work. For instance, in her classical study of tailoring apprentices, Lave (1990) indicates that, although the learning curriculum comprised a sequenced set of activities in which the apprentices engaged, most of their learning occurred through progressing through a set of activities without the direct guidance of more expert partners. Essentially, the sequencing of the activities, whilst being aligned to the imperatives of production, also had potent pedagogic qualities. That is, the sequencing of the apprentices’ activities provided a pathway of experiences that built their understandings for the requirements for performance, made accessible the procedures to make garments and provided opportunities for these procedural capacities to be developed in a way that tolerated naive performances and errors early in the learning pathway. These same qualities of 233

Stephen Billett

the workplace curriculum have been identified in learning trajectories in other kinds of occupational practices (Billett, 2006a). Therefore, although concepts of curriculum and pedagogy in educational settings are largely premised upon what individuals other than the learners do (with the exception of the ‘experienced’ curriculum), what the learners do is central to conceptions of curriculum and pedagogy within workplace settings. Hence, given the importance of the agency of the learner, considerations of personal epistemologies seem to fit well within explanations about learning at the site of work. In consideration of ongoing learning throughout and across working lives, the importance of such personal epistemologies has become accentuated. For instance, many sites of work are relatively socially isolated and workers are required to develop their knowledge further in the absence of more expert counterparts. It has been found in such situations that workers have to exercise greater agency in securing the knowledge required for understanding and undertaking new tasks (Billett, Ehrich and Hernon-Tinning, 2003). Here, the example was small business operators learning how to administer a goods and service tax, but also in their management of other forms of new learning (Fenwick, 2002). Similar findings are also advanced in fields such as teaching (Hodkinson and Bloomer, 2002; Hodkinson and Hodkinson, 2004). In all, it is proposed that learning is distinctly mediated at the site in some ways that are distinct from other kinds of sites, because the activities and interactions that constitute key mediating contributions are distinct, and have particular cultural, situational and personal premises. Moreover, the importance of individuals’ engagement in the sites of work for purposes of identify formation and perpetuation also means that the personal intentionalities are likely to be engaged in an effortful way in at least parts of working lives.

Wider contributions of learning at the site of work In concluding, it is noteworthy that the explanatory contributions of work as a site of learning have informed an understanding of learning more generally. Indeed, many of the advances within theoretical positions in anthropology, socio-cultural constructivism and educational sciences have arisen from considerations of workplaces as sites for learning. For instance, over the last two decades, the development of instructional concepts that have purchase beyond the sites of work, (e.g. cognitive apprenticeships, distributed cognition, communities of practice, activity systems) have all been founded in enquiries into learning at the site of work. These contributions have done much to emphasise that, beyond direct teaching, there are a range of sources that shape individuals’ learning outcomes arising from their participation in physical and social settings. From anthropology came accounts of the importance of being able to participate in and observe these practices and engage with artefacts, norms and forms (Lave, 1977; Pelissier, 1991; Scribner, 1985a); from Russian-inspired psychological movements have come the importance of being guided by expert partners (i.e. Zone of Proximal Development) and individuals’ learning through appropriating socially derived practices, as with appropriation (Lave and Wenger, 1991; Rogoff, 1995). More recently has come the idea that some workplaces are inherently more generative of learning that is expansive or restricted (Fuller and Unwin, 2004). Hence, the contributions of these physical and social sites of learning are at the forefront of many of the discussions about providing and mediating access to the knowledge required for work activities. However, as emphasised above, beyond the particular qualities and characteristics of work sites, is the need to account for the active engagement of learners in the process of constructing knowledge. More than merely engaging in a social setting and being socialised by that experience, individuals are selective in how and what they engage with and through what their learning is mediated. That is, the learning that comprises and arises through everyday cognition, through engaging in goal-directed activities from which there are particular cognitive legacies (i.e. kinds of learning), is something undertaken by individuals. Theoretical explanations acknowledging the agency of the learner emphasise the importance of individuals’ active engagement and learning through participation in practice. These accounts suggest that it is necessary to consider how individuals construe and construct what they experience in workplaces or any other 234

Learning at the site of work

settings. Indeed, when the contributions of learning at the site of work are considered, much of it is dependent upon the learners’ actions. So, beyond what is afforded them in the social and physical setting of the workplace, they ultimately elect how and what they engage with and what kind of learning arises for them. Importantly, this is not an argument for individual determinism, but merely to emphasise that, whether humans think and act alone or in collaboration with others in work or other kinds of sites, they bring their uniquely socially shaped ways of knowing, personal domains of knowledge and intentionalities to the processes of their work, learning and engaging in the remaking of cultural practices such as occupations.

References Anderson, J. R. (1993). Problem solving and learning. American Psychologist, 48(1): 35–44. Berger, P. L. and Luckman, T. (1966). The social construction of reality. Harmondsworth, Middlesex: Penguin. Billett, S. (1998). Ontogeny and participation in communities of practice: A socio-cognitive view of adult development. Studies in the Education of Adults, 30(1): 21–34. ——(2001). Learning in the workplace: Strategies for effective practice. Sydney: Allen and Unwin. ——(2006a). Constituting the workplace curriculum. Journal of Curriculum Studies, 38(1): 31–48. ——(2006b). Relational interdependence between social and individual agency in work and working life. Mind, Culture and Activity, 13(1): 53–69. ——(2006c). Work, change and workers. Dordrecht: Springer. ——(2010). The practices of learning through occupations. In S. Billett (ed.), Learning through practice: Models, traditions, orientations and approaches. Dodrecht: Springer, pp. 59–81. Billett, S., Ehrich, L. and Hernon-Tinning, B. (2003). Small business pedagogic practices. Journal of Vocational Education and Training, 55(2): 149–67. Brown, J. S., Collins, A. and Duguid, P. (1989). Situated cognition and the culture of learning. Educational Researcher, 18(1): 32–34. Cole, M. (1985). The zone of proximal development where culture and cognition create each other. In J. V. Wertsch (ed.), Culture, communication and cognition: Vygotskian perspectives. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 146– 61. Department of Innovation Universities and Skills (2008). Higher education at work: High skills: high value. Fenwick, T. (1998). Women’s development of self in the workplace. International Journal of Lifelong Learning, 17(3): 199–217. ——(2002). Lady, Inc.: Women learning, negotiating subjectivity in entrepeneurial discourses. International Journal of Lifelong Education, 21(2): 162–77. Fuller, A. and Unwin, L. (2004). Expansive learning environments: Integrating organisational and personal development. In H. Rainbird, A. Fuller and A. Munroe (eds), Workplace learning in context. London: Routledge, pp. 126–44. Greeno, J. G. (1997). On claims that answer the wrong question. Education Reseacher, 26(1): 5–27. Greinhart, W.-D. (2002). European and vocational training systems: the theoretical context of historical development. Paper presented at the Towards a history of vocational education and training (VET) in Europe in a comparative perspective, Florence. Hodkinson, P. and Bloomer, M. (2002). Learning careers: Conceptualising lifelong work-based learning. In K Evans, P. Hodkinson and L. Unwin (eds), Working to Learn: Transforming learning in the Workplace. London: Kogan Page, pp. 29–43. Hodkinson, P. H., and Hodkinson, H. (2004). The significance of individuals’ dispositions in the workplace learning: A case study of two teachers. Journal of Education and Work, 17(2): 167–82. Lave, J. (1977). Tailor-made experiments and evaluating the intellectual consequences of apprenticeship training. Quarterly Newsletter of Institute for Comparative Human Development, 1: 1–3. ——(1988). Cognition in practice: Mind, mathematics and culture in everyday life. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ——(1990). The culture of acquisition and the practice of understanding. In J. W. Stigler, R. A. Shweder and G. Herdt (eds), Cultural psychology . Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 259–86. Lave, J., and Wenger, E. (1991). Situated learning – legitimate peripheral participation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lodge, R. C. (1947). Plato’s theory of education. London: Kegan Paul, Trench, Trubner. Marsick, V. J. and Watkins, K. (1990). Informal and incidental learning in the workplace. London: Routledge.

235

Stephen Billett

Newton, J., Kelly, C., Kremser, K., Jolly, B. and Billett, S. (2009). The motivations to nurse: an exploration of factors amongst undergraduate students, registered nurses and nurse managers, Journal of Nursing Management, 17(3): 392–400. Pelissier, C. (1991). The anthropology of teaching and learning. Annual Review of Anthropology, 20: 75–95. Raizen, S. A. (1991). Learning and work: The research base. Vocational Education and Training for youth: Towards coherent policy and practice. Paris: OECD. Ratner, C. (2000). Agency and culture. Journal for the Theory of Social Behaviour, 30: 413–34. Rogoff, B. (1990). Apprenticeship in thinking – cognitive development in social context. New York: Oxford University Press. ——(1995). Observing sociocultural activity on three planes: Participatory appropriation, guided participation, apprenticeship. In J. W. Wertsch, A. Alvarez and P. del Rio (eds), Sociocultural studies of mind. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 139–64. Rogoff, B., and Lave, J. (eds). (1984). Everyday cognition: Its development in social context. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Scribner, S. (1984). Studying working intelligence. In B. Rogoff and J. Lave (eds), Everyday cognition: Its development in social context. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, pp. 9–40. ——(1985a). Knowledge at work. Anthropology and Education Quarterly, 16: 199–206. ——(1985b). Vygostky’s use of history. In J. V. Wertsch (ed.), Culture, communication and cognition: Vygotskian perspectives. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 119–45. Searle, J. R. (1995). The construction of social reality. London: Penguin. Troger, V. (2002). Vocational training in French schools: the fragile State-employer alliance. Paper presented at the Towards a history of vocational education and training (VET) in Europe in a comparative perspective, Florence. Universities Australia. (2008). A national internship scheme: Enhancing the skills and work-readiness of Australian university graduates, Canberra: Universities Australia. Valsiner, J. (1998). The guided mind: A sociogenetic approach to personality. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. ——(2000). Culture and human development. London: Sage Publications.

236

25 Organisational learning won’t be turned off Bente Elkjaer

Introduction Enterprises have always been learning organisations in much the same way as it is hard for people to avoid learning. A sign of learning organisations are the many successful enterprises and the abundance of new products and services that keep emerging. The question about organisational learning is, how is it possible to ‘see’ and to analyse learning when learning is not connected to individuals but to organisations and organising? In a normative sense, however, ‘organisational learning’ is often used as our answer to the difficulties in enterprises of how most efficiently to channel knowledge to the right people and places in ways that help to maintain and develop prosperous enterprises. Then, organisational learning is viewed as an image of an enterprise as that of a learning organisation. The guidelines or ‘best practices’ of how to become a learning organisation are, however, often made with reference to ideas of education, i.e. intentional processes of the production of knowledge. In this paper, I argue that learning and organisational learning does not primarily appear as a result of intended processes, but often as the opposite, i.e. as a struggle to maintain the old and create new. The field of organisational learning has always reflected the current and contemporary understandings of the management of enterprises. This is the background for providing, first, a brief historical account of the organisational learning literature. I will introduce the most important trends in the literature on organisational learning with the focus upon what learning is and how organisations are to be understood. The account reflects what may be termed ‘cognitive’ versions of organisational learning, as well as the ‘practice turn’ within the social sciences and the humanities. Finally, to complete this history of organisational learning I introduce a pragmatist understanding of organisational learning (Elkjaer, 2003a, 2004; Elkjaer and Simpson, 2011). These different versions of organisational learning draw upon specific understandings of what is learning, and how to conceptualise enterprises as organisations, or rather organising processes, to connote that enterprises are continuously enacted and re-enacted. Following this, the next two sections in the paper deal with the two concepts of learning and organisation/organising. The latter rests upon theories on how to understand the relation between individuals and environments, which is my reason for including a section on just that. I draw the two, learning and organisation, together in a concluding section in which there is also a discussion about how a focus on organisational learning can inspire the research on individual learning. 237

Bente Elkjaer

Organisational learning – a brief historical account The notion of organisational learning is about 50 years old and it first appeared as an inspiration for making management decisions in enterprises (March and Simon, 1958). The most important work for managers was seen as decision making, and organisational learning was first and foremost driven by management, which at the time was regarded as more or less synonymous with what drove the enterprise as a whole, at least when viewed from the field of management and organisation studies. Management and organisational research had up till then primarily been inspired by economic model thinking, and the theory of the rationally acting ‘economic-man’ in which decisions are understood to be based upon a fully informed foundation of knowledge. The ‘behavioural theory of the firm’, however, was gradually making its way into this mainstream understanding of organisations and drove out the idea of abstract modelling in decision theory (Cyert and March, 1963). It became possible to talk about organisational members as not always behaving in an economically rational way, and of decisions as not always made upon all available, but rather a ‘satisfied’ foundation of, knowledge. The reason put forward was that individuals operate within a cognitive ‘bounded rationality’, because humans all have a limited capacity for computation of information. There is, in other words, a limit to how much knowledge management can cope with when making decisions. The above notion of organisational learning relies upon a behaviourist understanding of organisations, as opposed to a model thinking thereof, and a definition of learning as individual cognition, because the focus is upon rational processes of the mind. The notion of organisational learning seemed to rest for some years when making a review of organisational and management studies, but around the mid/late 1970s it popped up again, this time disguised as the idea of an awareness of the importance of open and rational communication processes (Argyris and Schön, 1978, 1996). The point of departure for this understanding of organisational learning was the assumption that humans act upon their cognitive mental models, and that they emerge as defensive when control is about to be lost. In other words, individuals communicate defensively in embarrassing or threatening situations and, furthermore, try to cover up that this is what is done. This results in endless so-called non-productive communication processes that prevent enterprises from learning because of the lack of open validation of assumptions and labelling. An example is that, when somebody asks me why I was so aggressive at the meeting yesterday, I will immediately defend myself, rather than ask why this somebody attributes me as ‘aggressive’. I react upon the labelling of my behaviour, instead of asking why this labelling is made. In its aim to develop the concept of non-productive forms of communication in enterprises, the understanding of organisational learning as communication processes draws upon an understanding of organisations as learning systems, and of learning as coming about by creating awareness of these preventive forms of communication in order for organisational learning to flourish. Both within educational and organisational research as well as within the social sciences as a whole there has been a development, which has been called the ‘practice turn’ (Schatzki, Cetina and Savigny, 2001). The idea is to understand, for example, organisations as more than individuals acting together, but without resorting to an understanding of organisations as systems with a priori defined elements, such as the ‘technical’ and the ‘social’ system. Rather, practice is to be understood as continuously performed, and practices are to be understood as ‘organised human activities’ like, for example, educational practices (Schatzki, 2005). The practice turn within organisational learning moved learning from the inside of individuals’ heads to organisational contexts through its understanding of learning as situated. This means, for example, that well-known notions such as motivation for learning should be understood as contextual conditions for motivation, rather than as a result of inner psychic processes. An inspiration for practice-based organisational learning was an understanding of learning as participation in communities of practice in which newcomers move into being old-timers (Lave and Wenger, 1991). When learning in enterprises is viewed as movements from one position to another, it means that it is in this process of participation that one learns to practice a profession and also, through moving, acquires an identity as a competent practitioner. 238

Organisational learning won’t be turned off

The decisive element within a practice-based theory of learning is access to participate and to move in an enterprise defined by its communities of practice. A practice-based theory of organisational learning was an eye-opener for many scholars, because it (re-) claimed learning as a social, rather than an individual, endeavour (Gherardi, Nicolini, and Odella, 1998). It became possible to see that organisational learning was not just a matter of individuals’ learning, but of the organisational patterns of access to participate in some organisational activities and not in others, and the power relations that come with the movements from newcomers to old-timers. Organisational learning could, in other words, be seen as an organisational matter, rather than an individual affair, as previous theories within the field had offered to us (Elkjaer, 2003b). There are, however, also some questions to be asked to a practice-based theory of organisational learning, namely whether there is a difference between participation and learning, and what it is in the movement from newcomer to old-timer that can be coined as learning and not just socialisation. Another question is whether it is possible to explicate processes of reasoning and not only practising as a part of learning. A third question regards the meaning of agency in an understanding of the enactment of force, rather than attributes of individuals and collectives (like for example organisations); is it, for example, possible to move in an enterprise with more or less commitment, and does this matter for organisational learning (Fenwick and Edwards, 2010)? Finally, if the focus point is induction of newcomers to a field and a profession in order to become part of communities of practice, from where is innovation supposed to come (Fenwick, 2003)? It is possible to find answers to some of these questions in a pragmatist theory of learning and organising, but first some words about the notion of learning.

The notion of learning Learning is a term that is used in many fields and contexts as if it was a self-explanatory term. This means that learning is often not explicitly defined, but implicitly implied. In the above, learning can, on the one hand, be analysed as cognitive processes in the mind in order to enhance decision making and to communicate in non-defensive ways. Thus, learning is about computing information and becoming aware of one’s defensive ways of communicating. On the other hand, learning in a practice-based version is to be derived from participation in communities of practice, the movements of learners within fields of practices. I find that these two notions of learning may be encompassed by a pragmatist understanding of learning in which action and thinking can never be seen in isolation from each other, but only as partners in all enactments of practice. This needs some further explanation, and the American philosopher and educationalist, John Dewey (1859–1952), helps explain this mutuality between action and thinking. In his theories of education and learning, Dewey applied ideas from the contemporary theories of functional psychology, in which life and learning are understood as social phenomena (Dewey, 1916 [1980]). This means that the intellect is viewed as a ‘function’ of social life and that it cannot work in isolation or develop by itself (Dewey, 1896 [1972]). Rather, an intellect develops as an effect of its relations with environments; it is through these continuous encounters that experience is challenged, reshaped and renewed. The sociality of learning and education pervades Dewey’s theoretical development thereof, and individuals and environments are, according to Dewey, merely abstractions when viewed in separation from each other. It is meetings with uncertainties that create tensions and frictions; at first these are experienced in an emotional sense and then they may act as input for putting the intellect to work. Thus, when habitual thinking and action are upset, the foundation for having new experience is laid. The difficulties and problems cannot be forced upon anybody from outside, and they can only be solved within the capacity for resolving problems. It is through enquiry into the tensions and frictions that new experience is had, and the potential for new knowledge emerges. The process of knowledge production depends partly on an ability to reflect on the relation between actions and their consequences and partly on the relations that it is possible to establish to previous experience. Some experience may not be apprehended as 239

Bente Elkjaer

knowledge, because it does not enter a conscious and verbal sphere. That does not mean that it is not ‘rational’, but that knowledge is only one kind of experience, and Dewey was well aware of the ethics and aesthetics of experience and the sensations that this experience provides, at least temporarily. Any delight and comfort in a situation is also an experience, and there is little distinction between a knowing intellect and an acting body. Thus, along the continuum of experience, there is a vague transfer between bodily and cognitive experience. In other words, a comprehensive understanding of Dewey’s theory of learning encompasses an anti-dualist relation between being and knowing, action and thinking. To fully understand the value of Dewey’s pragmatism for learning, it is important to remember that it is not the individual or the environment that is the point of departure, but the aspects of a situation in which subjects, objects, action and agency all are a part. The uncertain situation is open to enquiry in the sense that its constituting elements are experienced as unconnected. Dewey describes enquiry as a process that starts with a sense that something is wrong; a problem is felt. The suspicion does not present itself as cognitive until the enquirer(s) begin(s) to define and formulate the problem, and the human ability to reason and think verbally is activated. Enquirers use previous experience from similar situations and try to solve the problem by applying different working hypotheses. The initial sense of tension and friction must be replaced by a sense of consummation before the problem has been resolved. If the enquiry is to lead to learning and new knowledge, it requires thoughts on the relation between the anticipated problem and hypotheses and the resolution of the problem. Going back to both a cognitive and a practice-based understanding of learning, I think that Dewey’s pragmatism helps to see that participation holds potentials for both socialisation and learning. Learning is the result of participation when reasoning (thinking, cognition) is not only reflecting back on the past, but also includes anticipatory thinking of an unknown future in playful and experimental ways (Elkjaer, 2009). This means that it is also possible to learn through experimenting with different theories and concepts as ‘instruments’ and ‘tools to think with’ without going into the cognitive mode of learning, but maintaining the importance of the connection between action and thinking. Further, it is in bringing our attention to the value of reasoning as an aspect of complex situations by the use not only of concepts and theories but also of body and emotion that pragmatism transcends and encompasses a cognitive and a practice-based understanding of learning. Pragmatism does not only emphasise retrospective re-flection to understand past phenomena, but is also critically anticipating the consequences of decisions and choices. This is what makes a pragmatist-inspired theory of learning into a tool for a visionary and innovative development of work as well as the organisation and management thereof. This is elaborated in a pragmatist understanding of organisation and organising, but first some words on theories of the relations between individuals and environments, because this is what makes much turmoil in the field of organisational learning and the practices of learning organisations: How to get from one to the other and vice versa?

Relations between individuals and environments When the learning subject is an organisation, it is important to address the relation between individuals and environments, or subjects and worlds, as I prefer to call them, to connote the interpretive, as opposed to the essentialist, understandings of the two (see also Lave, 1997). Altman and Rogoff (1987) coin four different ways to understand the subject–world relationship, namely as (1) traits or attributes, (2) interactional, (3) organismic or systemic, and (4) transactional. They take their point of departure in Dewey and Bentley’s concepts of how humans change and become knowledgeable about their environment (1949 [1991]). Dewey and Bentley differentiate between the following three understandings thereof and term them, ‘self-action’, ‘inter-action’ and ‘trans-action’: Self-action: where things are viewed as acting under their own powers. Inter-action: where thing is balanced against thing in causal interconnection. Trans-action: where systems of description and 240

Organisational learning won’t be turned off

naming are employed to deal with aspects and phases of action, without final attribution to ‘elements’ or other presumptively detachable or independent ‘entities’, or ‘realities’, and without isolation of presumptively detachable ‘relations’ from such detachable ‘elements’. (Dewey and Bentley, 1949 [1991]: 101–2). When the relation between subject and world is understood on the basis of an understanding of the two as separated, self-acting entities, the assumption is that the function of physical and social phenomena is governed by an inner self, internal essences, self-powers, forces, or intrinsic qualities inherent in these phenomena. It is the inner and stable traits of subjects and worlds that determine their function, which means that physical and mental phenomena are defined and operate more or less independently of each other and of their contexts. An example of organisational learning within this understanding of the relation between subjects and worlds may be to view individuals’ ability for decision making as organisational learning. When the relation between subjects and worlds is defined as inter-action, it refers to the fact that physical and mental elements exist independently of each other and possess specific properties. These elements can, however, interact on the basis of specific regularities or principles and in that way influence each other. Time and space can be included in the interaction, but are normally treated as variables in the study of phenomena. Organisational learning as communication processes fits well into this understanding, because of its foundation in the causal relations between individuals’ patterns of communication and productive organisational learning systems. When subjects and worlds are related to each other on the basis of a transactional understanding thereof, time and space are inseparable. Time and space, history and context, are, in the transactional understanding of the relation between subjects and worlds, aspects of an integrated unity, a situation. Practice-based organisational learning can be understood within this understanding of the relation between subjects and worlds. A pragmatist version of organisational learning, with its explicit focus upon the study of learning as aspects of uncertain situations in which there is a struggle to resolve the tensions and frictions that the uncertainty may cause, rests, however, more clearly upon this understanding of subjects and worlds. In a transactional understanding of the relation between subjects and worlds, the unit of analysis is not either one or the other, but aspects of a situation or an event. The situation is contextual and unfolds over time, and it is a unity of intertwined and complex phenomena whose parts are mutually penetrating and inseparable. Thus, a social situation can only be studied as a united whole (Brandi, 2010). One cannot first tear a situation apart and then study its elements to understand the whole, because a social whole cannot be reduced to the sum of its parts. In contrast to a systemic understanding of this relation between subjects and worlds, the transactional understanding of this relation allows for the study of unique situations and events without necessarily referring to them as part of larger predefined elements of a system. This, however, does not mean that one cannot find a pattern or order, only that the point of departure for (de-)constructing the whole is the situation or event, not the other way around. The understanding of the relation between subjects and worlds on the basis of a transactional understanding is helpful in conceiving of the organisation/organising embracing both persons and the institutional order that makes up the organisation (Holland and Lave, 2001). When you subscribe to a transactional understanding of the relation between subjects and worlds, it means that the unit of analysis is the situation or the event in which subjects act and think with the institutional order, and not in it. Studying organisational learning means studying the patterns of organisational commitments to organisational situations or events as combined actions and thinking, and enquiring into the tensions and frictions that arise from the differences in commitments. This is elaborated below when organisations and processes of organising are understood as arenas of social worlds. 241

Bente Elkjaer

The notion of organisation/organising In much the same way that learning cannot be reduced to issues of knowledge, because emotion, aesthetics and ethics are also a part, organisational learning is much more than processes of knowledge. The organisational dynamics are comprised by a mixture of structures and cultures, politics and power, emotions, aesthetics and ethics and probably more. The crucial point is that it is not possible to reduce organisations to just people, because it is not only people but also the organisational features of these people that are at play, e.g. managers, IT specialists, nurses, case-workers, etc. The features carry a field of practice and identities that are subjectively formed, but also intertwined with the ascribed meaning to and position of the feature. This means that organisational learning cannot be reduced to individuals’ learning in organisations, although this is also present, but, in order to fully understand organisational learning, we need to define organisational learning as specific cultural and historical practices of enacting organisation within enterprises (see also Usher and Edwards, 2007). In other words, when the learning subject is an enterprise, it is necessary to define what an organisation is, and which cultural and historical practices of organising may be termed learning. Organisations have been coined as learning subjects in a number of ways, for example, and as previously mentioned, as learning systems in which individuals are learning on behalf of the system (Argyris and Schön, 1996). Other ways have been to coin organisations as forms of collectives involving not only humans, but also divisions of labour, processes of mediation and artefacts like activity systems (Engeström, 2001), actor networks (Fox, 2000), or, as mentioned above, communities of practice (Lave and Wenger, 1991). I prefer to work with a pragmatist-inspired understanding of organisations as arenas of social worlds. Dewey is helpful in defining a concept of learning in which it is the tensions and frictions that an uncertain situation may create and which, in turn, may trigger enquiry and possibly learning, not only by subjects, but also in ways that may change situations and the social worlds of which they are a part. Dewey’s theories of learning provide us with an understanding of how subjects learn and of how situations and events unfold and change, but what is missing is some conceptual elaboration on how to coin the context of work, its organisation and management. The American sociologist Anselm Strauss’s understanding of organisations as arenas of social worlds made up by commitments to workplace practices is, I think, a good way to ascribe learning neither to systems nor to subjects, but to situations, work and the organising processes of enterprises. Strauss gets his inspiration from pragmatism, especially in Dewey’s social-psychological work, Human Nature and Conduct (1922 [1988]) and from symbolic interactionism, which is the sociological variant of the Chicago-school (Fisher and Strauss, 1978). Strauss applied the notion of ‘interaction’, but the meaning thereof is the same as Dewey’s term ‘transaction’ (Clarke, 1991; Strauss, 1978, 1993). Strauss’s theory about the organising of work and of workplaces is focussed upon action and interaction as continuous processes. The foundation for Strauss’s work is that the world is highly complex and that social stability and social change are two sides of the same coin. This is why process and structure or structuring, which is Strauss’ preferred concept, continuously constitute each other, but in a non-deterministic way. Strauss’ understanding of organisations as arenas made up by social worlds takes its point of departure in work defined as ‘coordinated, collective actions’. An organisation is, according to Strauss, the organising of collective, coordinated actions around work. The organisation is an arena, which indicates that the boundaries of the organisation are open to other social (and natural) worlds. In other words, an organisation does not have walls that are determinant of the organisational activities. These are determined by the commitments to collective actions, their trajectories and the contextual conditions with which they are played out. It is within the arena (an open space) that the organisational practice unfolds and organises into social worlds, which are defined as follows: Groups with shared commitments to certain activities, sharing resources of many kinds to achieve their goals, and building shared ideologies about how to go about their business. (Clarke, 1991: 131; quoted in Strauss, 1993: 212) 242

Organisational learning won’t be turned off

In this definition, we find people, but in the shape of organisational members with certain commitments or obligations to the organisational practices, and not just individuals with their own agendas. Organisational members’ features are played out in their commitments, but commitments are at the same time personal. ‘Social worlds’ is a concept for an empirical understanding of the organising practices of work in an enterprise. This is Strauss’s attempt to get away from the idea of a priori determined social structures like class, ethnicity, gender, employees, management, etc. as the determinant and decisive variables for work and life in an organisation. Strauss defines structures as the longer (in time) lasting conditions for organisational action. Structures are then taken for granted by the actors, even if they are not always visible for them, but they can, nevertheless, be read into the commitments to the organisational social worlds and social practices. Structures contain both a social-psychological (personal) aspect by the term commitment, and make up the more encompassing social organising of work and enterprises by way of the acting out of the features of the organisational members. The notion of (trans-)action as the central turning point for participation in a social world is specifically pragmatist. The empirical question here is, Who cares and what do they want to do about it? The transactions are empirically and concretely defined and they can encompass many different forms like negotiations, ways of collaboration, tensions and frictions. The meanings of these transactions can be understood through an understanding of the commitments displayed by organisational members. Organisations as arenas made up by social worlds is an understanding that is open towards participation, structures and processes and this separates it from a priori understandings of organisations as systems. It is an understanding that is based upon organisational theory that seeks to understand and conceptualise the complexity of social organising rather than dismiss it (Clarke, 1991). The theory provides a conceptual understanding for analysing both the range of organisational forms and phenomena and the different and diverse social processes taking place within and among them.

Conclusion and discussion I began this paper by claiming that all organisations are learning, just as individuals are. The issue, however, is how learning unfolds when it is connected to organisations and organising rather than individuals. Organisational learning will, as a concept derived from management and organisation studies, always reflect contemporary issues and problems for the management of enterprises. This was my reason for providing a historical account of the field of organisational learning in which organisational learning was first seen as an answer to management decision processes, and later as a means to create less-defensive communication processes in enterprises in order to make enterprises learn. These two versions of organisational learning both rest upon an understanding of learning as individual’s cognition, and of enterprises as (learning) systems. The practice turn brought new definitions of learning and of organising into the field of organisational learning, because organisational learning was now seen as being derived from the movement from newcomers to old-timers brought about through access to participate in the communities of practice of an enterprise. Many scholars have been inspired by this version of organisational learning, but I have raised the issue of the disappearance of reasoning in learning; the importance of different commitments to work and enterprise; and the tensions and frictions following from that, which, however, through enquiry may hold possibilities for learning and, in turn, new creative and innovative practices in enterprises. These issues led me to define organisational learning as aspects of certain cultural and historical practices within enterprises and to elaborate on the relation between subjects and worlds as important for understanding organisations and organising. The result of this was a proposal of a transactional relationship between subject and institutionalised order. This may be contained within a pragmatist notion of the situation or event in which learning, with its emphasis on experience and enquiry, may arise out of emotional uncertainty. Thus, a pragmatist understanding of organisational learning rests upon an understanding of organisations as arenas of social worlds made up by different commitments to organisational practices. 243

Bente Elkjaer

These different commitments may create situations of uncertainties leading to tensions, which, in turn, may lead to organisational development and learning, resulting in the reorganisation of organisational work and life. The question to be answered is how the field of organisational learning can contribute to our knowledge of individual learning. First of all, I think that a focus upon organisational learning makes it possible to separate learning from education, i.e. from learning as an intentional endeavour often guided by somebody other than the learner. Although much literature on organisational learning, and in particular its allied research field, workplace learning, deals with some forms of educational elements like mentoring and coaching, and other forms of education, the main tenets of organisational learning are that learning derives from the organisation of work and workplace practices (see e.g. Billett, 1999). This reminds us that learning at school is not necessarily related to lessons and teachers, but to the organising of schooling and students. Second, the inspiration from organisational learning makes it possible to discuss the educational system as an arena for learning, i.e. as an arena in which power, inclusion and exclusion can be viewed differently through seeing educational institutions as organisations and organisers of learning, rather than being a result of attributing traits to individuals. Third, a focus upon organisational learning provides an occasion to rethink the relation between subjects and worlds as a complex and meaningful relation that also includes (but does not determine) the ascribed meaning to features of members and contexts such as managements and employees. This takes the focus away from individuals’ motivation for learning and to the contextual conditions for motivation and learning. Finally, for educational professionals like teachers, management and even researchers within the field of learning and education, I think that a focus upon organisational learning may help pave the way for encompassing not only didactics of learning in a narrow way, but also the importance for learning of including organising processes of learning and education as part of organising learning connected to educational institutions.

References Altman, I. and Rogoff, B. (1987). World Views in Psychology: Trait, Interactional, Organismic, and Transactional Perspectives. In D. Stokols and I. Altman (eds), Handbook of Environmental Psychology (Vol. 1, pp. 7–40). New York: John Wiley and Sons. Argyris, C. and Schön, D. A. (1978). Organizational Learning: A Theory of Action Perspective. Reading, MA: AddisonWesley Publishing Company. ——(1996). Organizational Learning II. Theory, Method, and Practice. Reading, MA: Addison-Wesley Publishing Company. Billett, S. (1999). Guided Learning in Work. In D. Boud and J. Garrick (eds), Understanding Learning at Work. London: Routledge, pp. 151–64. Brandi, U. (2010). Bringing Back Inquiry – Organizational Learning the Deweyan Way. In S. Jordan and H. Mitterhoffer (eds), Beyond Knowledge Management – Sociomaterial and Sociocultural Perspectives within Management Research. Innsbruck: Innsbruck University Press, pp. 95–121. Clarke, A. E. (1991). Social Worlds/Arenas Theory as Organizational Theory. In D. R. Maines (ed.), Social Organization and Social Process. Essays in the Honor of Anselm Strauss. New York: Aldine de Gruyter, pp. 119–58. Cyert, R. M. and March, J. G. (1963). A Behavioral Theory of the Firm. Englewoods Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall. Dewey, J. (1896 [1972]). The Reflex Arc Concept in Psychology. In J. A. Boydston (ed.), Early Works 5. Carbondale and Edwardsville, IL: Southern Illinois University Press, pp. 96–109. ——(1916 [1980]). Democracy and Education. An Introduction to the Philosophy of Education. In J. A. Boydston (ed.), Middle Works 9. Carbondale and Edwardsville, IL: Southern Illinois University Press. ——(1922 [1988]). Human Nature and Conduct. In J. A. Boydston (ed.), Middle Works 14. Carbondale and Edwardsville, IL: Southern Illinois University Press. Dewey, J., and Bentley, A. F. (1949 [1991]). Knowing and the Known. In J. A. Boydston (ed.), Later Works 16. Carbondale and Edwardsville: Southern Illinois University Press, pp. 1–294. Elkjaer, B. (2003a). Organizational Learning with a Pragmatic Slant. International Journal of Lifelong Education, 22(5): 481–94.

244

Organisational learning won’t be turned off

——(2003b). Social Learning Theory: Learning as Participation in Social Processes. In M. Easterby-Smith and M. Lyles (eds), The Blackwell Handbook of Organizational Learning and Knowledge Management. Malden, Oxford, Melbourne, Berlin: Blackwell Publishing, pp. 38–53. ——(2004). Organizational Learning: The ‘Third Way’. Management Learning, 35(4): 419–34. ——(2009). Pragmatism. A Learning Theory for the Future. In K. Illeris (ed.), Contemporary Theories of Learning. Learning Theorists … In Their Own Words. Abingdon, New York: Routledge, pp. 74–89. Elkjaer, B., and Simpson, B. (2011). Pragmatism: A Lived and Living Philosophy. What Can It Offer to Contemporary Organization Theory? Research in the Sociology of Organizations. Engeström, Y. (2001). Expansive Learning at Work: Toward an Activity Theoretical Reconceptualization. Journal of Education and Work, 14(1): 133–56. Fenwick, T. (2003). Innovation: Examining Workplace Learning in New Enterprises. Journal of Workplace Learning, 15(3): 123–32. Fenwick, T., and Edwards, R. (2010). Actor-Network Theory in Education. London and New York: Routledge. Taylor and Francis Group. Fisher, B., and Strauss, A. L. (1978). The Chicago Tradition and Social Change: Thomas, Park and Their Successors. Symbolic Interaction, 1(2): 5–23. Fox, S. (2000). Communities of Practice, Foucault and Actor-Network Theory. Journal of Management Studies, 37(6), 853–67. Gherardi, S., Nicolini, D., and Odella, F. (1998). Toward a Social Understanding of How People Learn in Organizations. The Notion of Situated Curriculum. Management Learning, 29(3): 273–97. Holland, D., and Lave, J. (2001). History in Person: An Introduction. In D. Holland and J. Lave (eds), History in person. Enduring Struggles, Contentious Practice, Intimate Identities. Santa Fe, NM and Oxford: School of American Research Press and James Currey, pp. 3–33. Lave, J. (1997). Learning, Apprenticeship, Social Practice. Nordisk Pedagogik, 17(3): 140–51. Lave, J., and Wenger, E. (1991). Situated Learning. Legitimate Peripheral Participation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. March, J., and Simon, H. A. (1958). Organizations. New York: Wiley. Schatzki, T. R. (2005). The Sites of Organizations. Organization Studies, 26(3): 465–84. Schatzki, T. R., Cetina, K. K., and Savigny, E. V. (eds). (2001). The Practice Turn in Contemporary Theory. London and New York: Routledge. Strauss, A. L. (1978). A Social World Perspective. Studies in Symbolic Interaction, 1: 119–28. ——(1993). Continual Permutations of Action. New York: Aldine de Gruyter. Usher, R., and Edwards, R. (2007). Lifelong Learning – Signs, Discourses, Practices. Dordrecht, The Netherlands: Springer.

245

26 E-learning (m-learning) Susannah Quinsee

Writing a chapter on ‘e-learning’ is a potentially challenging task for two reasons: first, the pace of technological change and second, the scope of ‘e-learning’. Technology is changing so fast that, by the time books are published, much of the source material and technologies described are dated and have been replaced. The scope and range of learning activities, theories and technologies that come under this broad heading of ‘e-learning’ are overwhelming. E-learning in its broadest form can encompass anything from the use of laptops in classrooms, to the creation of videos posted on YouTube, to debates on the social impact of Facebook and other social networks on cognitive development, to privacy issues and concerns over the publication of open access resources, and, most fundamentally, to questions about what the purpose of formal learning institutions is in an age where access to knowledge and information is seen as ubiquitous. In this brief chapter, obviously it is not possible to explore all these issues in significant depth; however, what this chapter does is provide a commentary on some of the major areas, underpinning theories, and makes particular reference to e-learning as a pedagogical method for enabling active engagement and co-creation of learning between learners and teachers. It aims to give an introduction to some of the key issues and pointers to areas of further study or exploration. E-learning is present, to a greater or lesser degree, in most levels of learning from primary school to workplace and vocational learning. In the UK, for example, agencies such as Becta,1 have prompted the use of technology in schools and colleges. The Towards Maturity Benchmark (2010) reports that ‘organisations are embedding technology in more skills programmes than in 2008’ (p. 11), demonstrating the importance of e-learning to organisational learning and development strategies for staff, as well as the increase in usage. Much of the theory and context provided in this chapter, however, is grounded in experiences of e-learning at Higher Education level. The Higher Education sector demonstrates the full range of e-learning, from technology-enhanced classrooms to fully online courses. Before we look at this in more detail, though, it is necessary to be clear about what we mean by ‘e-learning’.

Scope ‘E-learning’ is a complex term and one that is constantly shifting in meaning and scope. At its most literal and simplistic, e-learning means learning that is supported via electronic means; however, this definition has been developed and redefined to denote an approach and a particular pedagogy around the use of technology to support and enhance education. The Higher Education Funding Council for England (HEFCE), as part of 246

E-learning (m-learning)

its e-learning strategy, defined e-learning as ‘any learning that uses ICT [ … ] this will encompass flexible learning as well as distance learning, and the use of ICT as a communications and delivery tool between individuals and groups, to support students and improve the management of learning’ (HEFCE, 2005: 5). This definition is indicative of the broad notion of e-learning as an umbrella term that covers more than just the application of technology to learning, but considers the nuances and subtleties around what that application means in practice for both learners and teachers. It is these complexities over what ‘e-learning’ actually means that has led to further redefinition and replacement of the term over time in order to make it more specific and relevant. The Higher Education Funding Council for Wales’ (HEFCW) definition in 2008 (para 1.2) is illustrative of this shift: Rather than refer to e-learning, we have emphasised the enhancement of learning and teaching facilitated and supported by the use of information and communications technology (ICT). We will refer to this as technology-enhanced learning. ‘E-learning’, then, is often used interchangeably with not only ‘technology-enhanced learning’, but also ‘blended learning’ and ‘educational technology’2. In the past, e-learning has been synonymous with distance learning, although now, with the pervasive nature of technology and ease of access to online resources for all, this is much less the case. There has been much debate, particularly within the Higher Education sector about whether e-learning could or should be defined by the technology or the pedagogy and how to denote that it is more than just technology (Collis and Moonen, 2001: 18). This chapter will consider how ‘e-learning’ has developed as a pedagogic methodology over the last ten years or so by looking at those salient theories and frameworks that define much of the rhetoric around e-learning application and development, with a particular consideration of the impact of e-learning on learning generally; a brief consideration of the technologies that fall under the e-learning umbrella, including the notion of ‘m-learning’ – ‘the exploitation of ubiquitous handheld hardware, wireless networking and mobile telephony to facilitate, support, enhance and extend the reach of teaching and learning’ (MoLeNET, 2010) – and the potential impact of immersive technologies and virtual worlds on learning. So much of learning now is automatically mobile that the distinctions between e-learning and m-learning as concepts are becoming increasingly blurred. Obviously, technology is changing rapidly and the impact of social media and web 2.0 technologies is changing the face of all aspects of e-learning on a regular basis. In fact, one could argue that the advent of web 2.0 technologies in particular (coined by Tim O’Reilly in 2005 to describe the way in which the internet was changing to enable the creation of more user-generated content) has radically changed the underpinning potentials of e-learning as these technologies enable much more accessible creation of digital artefacts as well as easier communication and collaboration. This goes to the heart of e-learning pedagogy that enables active participation in learning:3 E-learning [ … ] serves the very paradigm shift that educators have been arguing for throughout the last century. Whatever their original discipline, the most eminent writers on learning have emphasised the importance of active learning. The choice of language may vary [ … ] but the shared essence is the recognition that learning concerns what the learner is doing, rather than what the teacher is doing, and the promotion of active learning in a social context should be the focus of our design of the teaching-learning process. (Laurillard, 2005) As indicated above, e-learning cannot be considered in isolation, and indeed one could argue that e-learning should not be considered as a separate entity in itself at all, rather part of learning in general; however, there is a need to consider the potential revolutionary change that the application of technologies offers in more detail to understand how learning is changing. This chapter will take examples from the Higher Education 247

Susannah Quinsee

sector in particular to offer an overview of e-learning concepts and provide an introduction to the exciting and innovative effect that e-learning can have to revolutionise learning. E-Learning is difficult to quantify in terms of tangible benefits, but a number of perceived benefits or measures have been identified (JISC, 2008). Mobility is a key factor. Easy access to course materials and information, potentially anytime and anywhere, is a huge advantage for students, who increasingly have less time on campus. Arguably, e-learning provides the impetus for engaging in new forms of pedagogy and exploring more innovative forms of educational delivery. Many of the benefits focus on administration, rather than pedagogic issues, such as access to timetables and coursework submission, but the use of asynchronous and synchronous tools also can encourage groupwork, collaboration and peer-learning between students. There is a view that students are increasingly expecting to engage with learning online to a greater or lesser extent as part of their studies (JISC, 2007). This fits with the notion expounded by Prensky (2001) of students as ‘digital natives’, who see technology as an integral part of their daily lives.

Historical trends and theories E-learning has been consistently associated with change (Laurillard, 2002; de Freitas and Oliver, 2005; Kezar, 2001; Stiles, 2003); however, as Garrison and Anderson caution, whilst the potential transformative nature of e-learning may not be disputed, ‘the transmission model that has dominated education has changed little’ (2003: 1). In other words, we may appreciate that e-learning can change the way in which students engage in learning, but e-learning can also be used just to reinforce the status quo and, in fact, increase the transmission model. Collis and Moonen (2001) demonstrate that there are four areas that need to be considered for the successful implementation of technology across an institution. These are: technology, pedagogy, implementation and institution. Although institutions may see technology as heralding change, if they do not engage the lecturers and academics, then that change will fail, as it is at the practitioner level that change can truly be enacted (Collis and Moonen, 2001; Jochems et al., 2004). This notion of the ‘sage on the stage’ has long been critiqued as an effective pedagogic model for learning (King, 1993) and the advent of large-scale distance education has challenged this, as it requires a different model of interaction. During the 1990s much of the use of technology at this time, in relation to distance education in particular, was around computer-mediated conferencing or communication (CMC), a term that has now largely fallen out of use. The Open University in the UK was a large-scale user of systems such as FirstClass, which enabled learners and teachers to interact online via asynchronous discussion boards. By the late 1990s and into the early years of the twenty-first century, virtual learning environments started to rise in popularity as there was an increase in the take-up of online distance learning (encouraged in the UK by the UK eUniversity initiative4). With the rise in distance learning there was a concern or belief that this mediated an inferior type of educational experience for learners. However, this view has been challenged through the research by Thomas Russell (2001). Russell’s work found that there was ‘no significant difference’ between distance and face-to-face learning based on a huge literature review that dated back to 1928 (No Significant Difference, 2010). With the application of technology to distance education the questions then moved to ascertain whether online distance learning actually had a positive impact on learning. Although undoubtedly online learning does mean a different experience of learning, this is not inferior to classroom interaction and in many places has some clear benefits. As Garrison and Anderson (2003) point out, although e-learning may be overhyped and unproven in many areas, ‘e-learning cannot be ignored by those who are seriously committed to enhancing teaching and learning’ (p. 2). This is because of the connection between pedagogy and e-learning: ‘while e-learning can support and even marginally enhance current practices [ … ] the real impact will be to precipitate new approaches that recognize and seize e-learning’s interactive capabilities’ (Garrison and Anderson, 2003: 4). A further aspect of online education that prompted concern and interest was its borderlessness – the fact that you can deliver materials online means that you can, 248

E-learning (m-learning)

technically, deliver them anywhere, even though, operationally, this may present a number of challenges (Meredith and Newton, 2004). More interest was generated in how to apply the lessons from encouraging participation in online conferencing via discussion boards to face-to-face teaching and how to teach in mixed-mode environments with both face-to-face and distance learners. Gilly Salmon’s 5-step model for encouraging and scaffolding online participation was one of the early, influential models to attempt to bridge this gap between classroom and online interaction (2000). Salmon explored the notion of ‘e-moderating’ as a technique for learner engagement via the use of discussion boards and other asynchronous forums. What is interesting about Salmon’s work is the potential that this model of learning has to change the role of the teacher or lecturer. Picking up on the notion of the lecturer becoming a ‘guide on the side’, Salmon contends that the role of the e-moderator will rise in significance in order to support learners. What could be perceived as a potential threat to traditional academic staff is the notion that the e-moderator does not need to be a subject specialist, but a specialist in relation to synthesising and supporting learners online (Salmon, 2000: 90), which leads to the question – what is the role of the academic? Nearly ten years later and this model of the e-moderator has not really been realised; however, the question, What is the role of the academic or teacher?, still remains. Around the same time as Salmon’s model, two other writers were attempting to describe new models of working with learners inactively and particularly through the application of technology to the learning process. Diana Laurillard’s conversational framework (2002) represents a model for understanding and improving teacher and learner interaction: The Conversational Framework [ … ] defines the structure of an academic dialogue and relates it to content in terms of a topic goal. Her premise is that teaching in Higher Education must change and that educational technologies will be key to this change. Based on continual dialogue, the conversational framework uses the theories of Vygostksy and others to demonstrate a new form of interaction. Technology not only supports interactions, but it enables participation and reflection by engaging learners in new ways of articulating their ideas and encouraging lecturers to rethink the way in which they communicate with students, but giving them different modes of articulating their ideas and recognising the contributions of students. Laurillard’s model draws on a socio-constructivist approach to learning, which, it is argued, e-learning naturally enables to be articulated (2002: 87). The Conversational Framework provides a clear underpinning for how to relate educational technologies to learning activites (Laurillard, 2002: 182). No commentary on e-learning would be complete without reference to the work of Etienne Wenger. Although Wenger does not specifically refer to e-learning in his work Communities of Practice (1998), his thinking on the creation and sustainability of communities has been extremely influential to e-learning practitioners and designers. Wenger draws on socio-constructivist theories in his work to identify significant characteristics for communities of practice and techniques to enable these to operate within learning environments and educational settings: Communities of practice are about content – about learning as a living experience of negotiated meaning – not about form. (Wenger, 1998: 229) Wenger argues that we cannot design learning per se, we can only design the curriculum and the possible opportunities for learning (1998: 229). E-learning has made the realisation, creation and participation of communities of practice more accessible and this is even more so now with the rise in social networking. Wenger’s articulation of a community of practice, as built around engagement in a joint enterprise, shared 249

Susannah Quinsee

interest and shared vocabulary, has significant resonances for how to build learning communities and engage students in these. Where problems often occur is that the technologies that support this are frequently inadequate to facilitate these interactions or not designed around a participatory framework or socioconstructivist model. In an earlier work, Lave and Wenger described how significant it is to ‘understand the technology of practice’, rather than just understanding how technology works, in order to understand the operation of communities within a particular cultural setting (1991). Considering the pedagogical models that define e-learning methods and techniques is vital and something that commentators are consistently advocating (Collis and Moonen, 2001; Jochems et al., 2004). Defining how e-learning has impacted human learning is more complex and difficult to answer. The ‘no significant difference’ work considers how online learning differs from classroom interaction and attempts to define some of the psychological differences as to why. As we have seen above, much of the literature that explores e-learning pedagogical models is based around socio-constructivism and Vygostksy’s theories about human learning (Laurillard, 2002; Lave and Wenger, 1991; Wenger et al., 2002). However, it is also worth spending some time outlining some of the key technologies in this area, including how changes to technology and particularly the rise in social media is changing this field.

Technologies As referred to above, publishing any work on e-learning and referring to specific technologies is immediately problematic, as technologies change so fast (Collis and Moonen, 2001; Bates, 2005; and so on). Furthermore, the range and variety of technologies is vast – there is the obvious difference between hardware and software. Some writers have attempted to define e-learning from a technological aspect (Whang, 2009), whereas others would rather that we focus entirely on the pedagogy. There is a huge range of hardware and software that has an immediate benefit for facilitating e-learning – both in formal and informal settings. The connectivity of the internet has undoubtedly made a huge difference to the facilitation of courses, but to be truly effective the web needs to be seen in its broad range of tools, including vod- and pod-casting, collaboration tools, gaming and computer-assisted assessment. One of the main technologies that has influenced the delivery and administration of e-learning programmes has been the virtual learning environment (VLE). A VLE is a collection of tools that can be accessed online to support study. These tools include discussion boards, chat rooms, online content, assessment tools, such as quizzes, and assignment submission facilities, ability to track interactions and so on. Universities have particularly adopted VLEs with vigour, for example, in the UK only 4% of responding institutions did not have an institution-wide supported VLE (Browne et al., 2008). Whether or not VLEs are good learning tools and encourage innovative pedagogies is hotly contested (Clay, 2009; Stiles, 2007), nevertheless VLEs do perform some core functions well – they provide a one-stop shop for students to access information related to their course, they enable academics to provide access to resources in a relatively easy fashion, they enable access to information from wherever a student is connected and they facilitate more-flexible learning through the use of online assessments and communication tools. Much of the debate around the use of VLEs has focused on the suppliers of the technology themselves, although these arguments have lessened in recent years as Blackboard has come to dominate the market and integrates other tools such as video conferencing. On the rise by many Universities is the use of Moodle, an open source VLE, which enables Universities to customise and extend their VLE to take on more of a student portal. One of the disadvantages of a VLE is that it is usually locked down within an institution, whereas many academics are now advocating for more open content.5 Moodle can facilitate more open access, but other Universities have gone further by offering all content online, such as the MIT OpenCoursWare initiative – see http:// ocw.mit.edu/about. However, the advent of social networking tools has presented a new dimension to the delivery of e-learning. Although VLEs may serve an arguable purpose, the advent of social media represents a more 250

E-learning (m-learning)

significant challenge to the use of VLEs and the curriculum delivery models of e-learning that currently exist. Social media is defined by Boyd and Ellison (2007) as ‘web-based services that allow individuals to (1) construct a public or semi-public profile within a bounded system, (2) articulate a list of other users with whom they share a connection, and (3) view and traverse their list of connections and those made by others within the system’. Sometimes dismissed as tools inappropriate for learning by students (JISC, 2007),6 social media tools such as Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, YouTube, Flickr, Wikipedia and so are on are presenting challenges to the traditional dissemination models of information and knowledge promulgated by formal learning providers, particularly Universities. At the micro level, it is sometimes argued, students now find it easier to plagiarise and criticise their lecturers, as they are instantly able to comment and find out about them online. At the macro level, the fact that information can be accessed and created by anyone and potentially anywhere challenges the purpose of going to a formal institution of learning – what is the point of attending lectures if you can find everything on the web? On a more positive note, at the micro level students now have increased opportunities to engage with academics and students on a shared programme of study via easily accessible online tools such as Twitter, whereas on a macro level institutions can promote their star academics and collaborate with other institutions across the world via YouTube, iTunesU and so on. This argument may be naïve and polarised, but social media is raising considerable challenges to the status quo. And, yes, we may need to be careful about heralding a new technology set with hyperbolic potentials but it is important to understand the challenges and opportunities that it presents in relation to learning. Social media and the advent of increased mobile technologies have broken down some of the barriers between e-learning and m-learning. Most students can access social media via their portable devices, whether that be a smartphone or a laptop and most students have some device through which they can access the internet. A recent survey at City University, London found that over 95% of students had a device through which they could access the internet (Reader et al., 2010). These results are not atypical; the Educause ECAR survey of undergraduate students in the USA in 2009 found that laptop ownership was at 100%, with a further 50% owning mobile devices (Smith et al., 2009). This means that, rather than delivering specific m-learning, providers are exploring much more deliveryflexible content that can be accessed anywhere and having a more robust, responsive web presence. Universities such as the Open University in the UK and MIT and the University of Phoenix in the USA are actively producing content to meet the rising demands of this new market, and other Universities are following suit. Social media has similar benefits to e-learning in terms of accessibility of materials and access to information. However, where social media is potentially more powerful is via the ability to create and access rapidly huge networks of people with similar interest to your own. The notion of ‘crowd sourcing’ – that is using such tools as Twitter for polling, gathering opinions or gaining information – is growing in popularity and can be very powerful. Social media also enables co-creation of knowledge and collaboration globally – as long as you have access to the internet, you can engage. For learning, this means that, potentially, students can gain access to expertise in their areas of study almost instantaneously and are exposed to a greater quantity of knowledge. Not all of this is of quality and the key is to educate students in how to use social media appropriately (Rheingold, 2010). There are many reasons why e-learning providers need to engage with social media, some of which are explored above in relation to e-learning generally, but the fact that employers are also facing the challenge of how to engage with social media means that graduates will be expected to engage with them too. There are numerous news stories of prospective or current employees coming unstuck after an unfortunate social media incident (for example, a prospective Cisco employee commenting disparagingly on a job offer from them via Twitter (Poplin, 2009) and the case of the Virgin Atlantic staff who were fired after making ill-advised comments about customers on Facebook (BBC, 2008)). Therefore, for Universities in particular, preparing our students for this connected world is vital and we need to educate them about the transition from the way they may have used technologies in their private or school life to how 251

Susannah Quinsee

they will be using them in their professional lives. Despite the blurring of boundaries between the personal and professional identities via the advent of social media, this makes it even more important that users are confident in how to create their digital identity. Rheingold (2010) makes the argument persuasively that there are five social media literacies – participation, attention, collaboration, network awareness and critical consumption – that are vital for engaging with digital culture. His views represent an increasingly common acceptance that, although our learners may be used to technology, they still need educating in how to use it, particularly for learning. Prensky’s (2001) notion of ‘digital natives’, those students who ‘have spent their entire lives surrounded by and using computers, videogames, digital music players, video cams, cell phones, and all the other toys and tools of the digital age’ (as opposed to the ‘digital immigrants’ that teach them), is being increasingly challenged, as it becomes apparent that ability to use technology does not denote the innate ability to apply it.

Lessons – where next for e-learning? Key challenges E-learning often fails to live up to the hype surrounding it (Conole, 2004) and often that is because the hype is just that – hype. Where there is evidence of need, well-thought-out pedagogic models, effective and supportive technology and a clear desire for change, then e-learning succeeds much more effectively. There have been some painful lessons learnt, especially in the UK Higher Education sector, around e-learning failure (for example the UK e-University (Bacsich, 2005; Select Committee, 2005)). That is not to say, though, that we should not learn from these lessons and consider effective e-learning as a key component for learning delivery in the years to come. In fact, one could argue that we ignore e-learning at our peril, particularly in Higher Education, where the competition and drivers are clear. There are some key challenges in relation to e-learning development in the future, which are outlined briefly below:  ‘E-learning’ as a concept: it is likely that the notion of ‘e-learning’ as a separate entity will fade over the coming years, as all learning is supported with technology. Indeed, as outlined above, the fact that there are so many overlapping and changing terms that make the definition problematic is an indication that e-learning is changing and actually, as our understanding of the potential of education supported with technology grows, we will become more specific and talk about the use of more specific kinds of collaboration or engagement tools, such as blogs, wikis, etc, rather than the broad notion of e-learning.  Future of technology: much is made of the role of technology in the future of learning (Facer and Sandford, 2010; Friedman, 2007), but how much will technology determine the future of education? And how much will we need to change our educational models to support society in the new digital world? In other words, what kind of pedagogies do we need now to both shape technology as well as enable learning to be more relevant? (Hedberg, 2006). And, of course, we cannot predict what new devices and connectivity we will have in five, ten, 15 years’ time, but we can be sure that we need modes of delivery that are flexible enough to encompass the needs of learners.  Learner engagement and learning design: as Rheingold (2010) noted above, e-learning and, in particular, social media, can enable new forms of participation. We should be mindful still of the phenomenon of the ‘lurker’ (Salmon, 2000), but should consider a diversity of modes of learning engagement. Just as the rise of social media can enable participation, we should question its potential to increase accessibility and be mindful about inclusivity issues. A key element of learner engagement is the design of learning (Conole et al., 2004; Bentham and Sharpe 2007); if we can build more effective pedagogical models, enhanced by technology then we can ensure that learning becomes more effective as technology advances.  Open educational resources: as access to resources, whether ‘valid’ or otherwise, becomes more ubiquitous, it raises questions around how much access formal learning institutions should give to their 252

E-learning (m-learning)

resources. There is also a drive for open educational resources to support education in developing countries. Significant investment in the UK has been given to this activity under the JISC Open Educational Resources programme. There are many issues around publishers and licensing of content, but this is certainly an area to watch and one that could again have a profound effect on e-learning.

Conclusion Siemans (2004) has argued that technology has impacted every aspect of our lives: it ‘has reorganized how we live, how we communicate and how we learn’. It is inevitable, then, that ‘the needs and theories that describe learning principles and processes, should be reflective of underlying social environments’. E-learning is a complex term that has been conflated with other types of study – distance, flexible, blended – as well as being associated with technology and change, often in hyperbolic manners. This has led to the terminology often being misunderstood or appropriated in a variety of ways. Despite this, e-learning is here to stay, albeit in concept if not in name, as the notion of e-learning as a separate methodology becomes less and less relevant. There are very few University courses now, particularly in most UK Universities, that do not engage with technology to a greater of lesser degree. This may be via the use of the web in lectures or fully online programmes, where students and academics never meet in person, as well as the myriad of models in between. Are all these good models of e-learning? Perhaps not, but the increase in the application of technology to educational settings has meant that models and educational design are constantly changing and what we understand to be a ‘good’ model changes with the technology. Whether or not we as educators like it, technology will undoubtedly have a huge impact on education over the next 20 to 30 years. That is not to say that technology is the answer, and there are many other variables that will impact on this (Facer and Sandford, 2010), but we should understand both the opportunities that technologies offer to expand access to learning for all, as well as the challenges that are inevitable. We should not overstate change, but be mindful of the changed technological world that our learners now inhabit and the way in which technology is shaping the professional and personal environments. This chapter has considered the history of e-learning, a range of models and underpinning educational theories that have influenced its development and the technology that has supported or driven it (depending on your view), and taken a look at some possible future developments. E-learning is all around us and enhances our ability to all be lifelong learners. We may no longer speak of e-learning, but we are all engaged in its legacy.

Notes 1 The role of Becta (formerly the British Educational Communications and Technology Agency) was to lead ‘the national drive to ensure the effective and innovative use of technology throughout learning’ with a particular remit for Schools and Colleges. However, in May 2010 the UK Government announced that Becta would cease to exist from December 2011. See www.becta.org.uk. 2 Useful definitions of these different aspects of “e-learning” can be found at www.uclan.ac.uk/information/services/sss/ quality/glossary_of_terminology.php and, for the notion of e-learning as more than just “‘electronic”’, see www. educause.edu/EDUCAUSE+Quarterly/EDUCAUSEQuarterlyMagazineVolum/ThinkExcitingELearningandtheBi199 372. 3 A further definition that encompasses the activity implicit within e-learning comes from New Zealand’s digital strategy: this defines e-learning as ‘learning that is facilitated by the use of digital tools and content. Typically, it involves some form of interactivity, which may include online interaction between the learner and their teacher or peers’ (2008); www.digitalstrategy.govt.nz/Resources/Glossary-of-Key-Terms. 4 For more information on the UKeU and its history, see Conole, G., Annamaria Carusi and Maarten de Laat (2005) Learning from the UKeU Experience; www.elrc.ac.uk/download/publications/ICEpaper.pdf and the House of Como ns Select Committee Report (2005); www.publications.parliament.uk/pa/cm200405/cmselect/cmeduski/205/ 20502.htm. 253

Susannah Quinsee

5 The Open Educational Resources movement is growing; for more information, see www.oercommons.org. 6 For an alternative view on this, see the work of Professor Joosten at http://professorjoosten.blogspot.com/2009/ 11/how-can-twitter-increase-communication.html.

References Bacsich, P. (2005) ‘Lessons to be learned from the failure of the UK e-university’. Available online at www.heacademy. ac.uk/documents/r01-ukeu.doc (accessed 6th July 2011). Bates, A. W. (2005) Technology, E-Learning and Distance Education, 2nd Edn, Oxford: Routledge. BBC (2008) ‘Crew sacked over Facebook posts’, BBC News. Available online at http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/ 7703129.stm (accessed 25th October 2010). Bentham, H. and Sharpe, R. (eds) (2007) Rethinking Pedagogy for a Digital Age: Designing and delivering e-learning, London: RoutledgeFalmer. Boyd, D. M., and Ellison, N. B. (2007) ‘Social network sites: Definition, history, and scholarship’, Journal of ComputerMediated Communication, 13(1), article 11. Available online at http://jcmc.indiana.edu/vol13/issue1/boyd.ellison. html (accessed 25th October 2010). Browne, T., Hewitt, R., Jenkins, M. and R. Walker (2008) 2008 Survey of Technology Enhanced Learning for Higher Education in the UK, UCISA. Available online at www.ucisa.ac.uk/sitecore/media%20library/groups/tlig/vle_survey s/TEL%20survey%202008%20pdf (accessed 25th October 2010). Clay, James (2009) ‘The VLE is dead – The movie’, e-learning stuff. Available online at http://elearningstuff.net/2009/ 09/09/the-vle-is-dead-the-movie (accessed 25th October 2010). Collis, B. and J. Moonen (2001) Flexible Learning in a Digital World, London: Kogan Page. Conole, G. (2004) ‘E-learning: The hype and the reality’, Journal of Interactive Media in Education, (12): 1–18. Conole, G., Carusi, A. and M. de Laat (2005) ‘Learning from the UKeU experience’. Available at http://www.elrc.ac. uk/download/publications/ICEpaper.pdf (accessed 25th October 2010). Conole, G., Dyke, M., Oliver, M. and J. Seale (2004) ‘Mapping pedagogy and tools for effective learning design’, Computers & Education, (43): 17–33. Garrison, D. R. and T. Anderson (2003) E-learning in the 21st Century: A framework for research and practice, New York: Routledge. de Freitas, S. and M. Oliver (2005) ‘Does E-learning policy drive change in higher education?: A case study relating models of organisational change to e-learning implementation’, Journal of Higher Education Policy and Management, (27:1): 81–95. Facer, K. and R. Sandford (2010) ‘The next 25 years? Future scenarios and future directions for education and technology’, JCAL, 26 (1): 74–93. Friedman, T. (2007) The World is Flat, London: Penguin. Hedberg, J. G. (2006) ‘E-learning futures? Speculations for a time yet to come’, Studies in Continuing Education, (28:2): 171–83. HEFCE (2005) HEFCE Strategy for e-Learning. Available online at www.hefce.ac.uk/pubs/hefce/2005/05_12 (accessed 25th October 2010). HEFCW (2008) Enhancing Learning and Teaching through Technology: A strategy for higher education in Wales. Available online at www.hefcw.ac.uk/documents/publications/circulars/circulars_2008/W08%2012HE%20circ.pdf (accessed 25th October 2010). JISC (2007) Student Expectations Study. Available online at www.jisc.ac.uk/media/documents/publications/student expectations.pdf (accessed 25th October 2010). ——(2008), Exploring Tangible Benefits of e-Learning: Does investment yield interest?. Available online at www.jiscinfonet. ac.uk/publications/camel-tangible-benefits.pdf (accessed 23rd November 2010). Jochems, W., Jeroen, J. G., van Merriënboer and R. Koper (2004) Integrated E-learning: Implications for pedagogy, technology and organization, London: RoutledgeFalmer. Kezar, A. (2001) ‘Understanding and facilitating change in higher education in the 21st century’, ASHE-ERIC Higher Education Report, (28:4), San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. King, A. (1993) ‘From sage on the stage to guide on the side’, College Teaching, (41): 30–35. Lave, J. and E. Wenger, (1991) Situated Learning, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Laurillard, D. (2005) ‘E-learning in higher education’, in Ashwin, P. (ed.) Changing Higher Education, Part 3, Chapter 6, London: RoutledgeFalmer. Laurillard, D. (2002) Rethinking University Teaching, 2nd edition, London: Routledge Falmer. Meredith, S. and B. Newton (2004) ‘Models of eLearning: Technology promise vs learner needs’, The International Journal of Management Education, (4:1): 39–51. 254

E-learning (m-learning)

MoLeNET (2010) Mobile Learning Network. Available online at www.molenet.org.uk/about (accessed 25th October 2010). No Significant Difference (2010). Available online at www.nosignificantdifference.org (accessed 25th October 2010). O’Reilly, T. (2005) ‘What is Web 2.0? design patterns and business models for the next generation of software’. Available online at http://oreilly.com/web2/archive/what-is-web-20.html (accessed 25th October 2010). Poplin, H. A.S. (2009) ‘Getting the skinny on Twitter’s “Cisco Fatty”. Available online at www.msnbc.msn.com/id/ 29901380 (accessed 25th October 2010). Prensky, M. (2001) ‘Digital natives, digital immigrants’, On the Horizon (9:5) 1–6. Available at www.alberto mattiacci. it/docs/did/Digital_Natives_Digital_Immigrants.pdf (accessed 25th October 2010). Reader, K., Cameron, M., Lindsay, S., Griffiths, H. and A. Sultany (2010) ‘Mobile engagement or miss-dial? A multiinstitution survey interrogating student attitudes to mobile learning’, ALT-C. Available online at http://prezi.com/ _4xamv_cxf94/alt-c-mobile-engagement-or-miss-dial (accessed 25th October 2010). Rheingold, H. (2010) ‘Attention, and other 21st-century social media literacies’, EDUCAUSE Review, (45:5): 14–24. Russell, T. L. (2001) The No Significant Difference Phenomenon, 5th edition, IDECC. Salmon, G. (2000) E-Moderating, London: Kogan Page. Select Committee (Education and Skills) (2005) UK e-University. The House of Commons, 3 March 2005. Available online at www.publications.parliament.uk/pa/cm200405/cmselect/cmeduski/205/205.pdf (accessed 25th October 2010). Siemans, G. (2004) ‘Connectivism: A learning theory for the digital age’. Available online at www.elearnspace.org/ Articles/connectivism.htm (accessed 25th October 2010). Smith, S. D., Salaway, G. and Judith B. Caruso (2009) The ECAR Study of Undergraduate Students and Information Technology, ECAR. Available online at http://net.educause.edu/ir/library/pdf/EKF/EKF0906.pdf (accessed 25th October 2010). Stiles, M.J. (2003) ‘Embedding eLearning in a higher education institution’, keynote paper for: At the Interface – 2nd Global Conference on Virtual Learning and Higher Education, 12– 13 September, Mansfield College, Oxford. Available online at www.staffs.ac.uk/COSE/cosenew/ati2stilesrev.pdf (accessed 25th October 2010). ——(2007) ‘Death of the VLE?: A challenge to a new orthodoxy’, Serials 20(1). Towards Maturity (2010), Towards Maturity Benchmark 2010: Preliminary Findings. Available online at www.towardsmaturity.org/article/2010/10/06/preliminary-findings-tm-2010-benchmark-now-release (accessed 19th October 2010). Wenger, E. (1998) Communities of Practice: Learning, Meaning, and Identity, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Whang, W. (2009) ‘The Development and transformation of e-learning: an international review’ in Jarvis, P. The Routledge International Handbook of Lifelong Learning, Oxford: Routledge, 238–48.

Additional reading Mazzolini, M. and S. Maddison (2003) ‘Sage, guide or ghost? The effect of instructor intervention on student participation in online discussion forums’, Computers & Education, (40:3): 237–53. Wenger, E., McDermott, R. and W. Snyder (2002) Cultivating Communities of Practice: A guide to managing knowledge, Cambridge, MA: Harvard Business School Press.

255

27 Sleep-dependent learning Daan R. van der Veen and Simon N. Archer

When we are asleep, we show levels of unconsciousness, are less vigilant and less responsive to outside stimuli. These behavioural characteristics of sleep are easily reversible during wakefulness, and they can be applied to many species. Sleep is best discerned from conscious rest by investigation of the electrical properties of the brain measured by the electroencephalogram (EEG). In mammals, sleep is broadly subdivided into ‘rapid eye movement’ (REM) and ‘non-rapid eye movement’ (nonREM) sleep, with a further specification of four levels (1 through 4) of nonREM sleep in primates. NonREM sleep is also known as slow wave sleep (SWS). Figure 27.1 shows the time course of a typical first 3 hours of human sleep. At the onset, we quickly move through the first three nonREM sleep stages, ending at stage 4, the deepest nonREM sleep stage. After remaining in nonREM sleep for some time, we leave deep sleep, and enter into REM sleep. We cycle through these stages and, during a typical night, each nonREM–REM sleep cycle lasts approximately 1.5 hours. Throughout the night, time spent in REM and nonREM sleep is not equally distributed. In the early night we spend more time in nonREM sleep, while in the latter part of the night REM sleep is more predominant than at the beginning of the night. Electrical activity measured on the scalp (electroencephalography) is the most common way of measuring brain activity during sleep. Transforming the EEG into the frequency domain shows a slowing of the EEG with each stage of nonREM sleep. During nonREM sleep stages 3 and 4, the EEG frequency exhibits high amplitude, slow-frequency brain activity in the range 0.5–4 Hz, which is also known as delta sleep. During REM sleep, the EEG shows high frequency and irregular activity, and appears similar to wakefulness. Due to the similarity of the REM sleep EEG to the wakefulness EEG, REM sleep is sometimes referred to as ‘paradoxical sleep’. While the rapid eye movements and the EEG spectrum seem to indicate activity, behavioural activity and muscle tone in REM sleep is low. Sleep and wakefulness are driven by two processes that are fundamentally different. The first component is a sleep-promoting process, and is quite intuitive: while we are awake, we build up a sleep debt. This is known as sleep homeostasis and, although not on a linear scale, being awake increases our sleep propensity. The second component that drives sleep and wakefulness cycles is our internal clock. Circadian (= approximately 24 hours) rhythms drive both sleep- and wake-promoting signals, and the interaction between the homeostatic and circadian components is what actually determines when our net sleep drive is high or low. Because these two processes are so strongly interlinked, it is important to also consider the circadian clock when interpreting sleep-dependent learning. 256

Sleep-dependent learning

REM Wakefulness nREM stage 1 nonREM nREM stage 2 nonREM nREM stage 3 nonREM nREM stage 4 nonREM

0

1

2

3

Time asleep (hrs)

Wakefulness

nonREM stage 4

REM

EEG

50 µV

EMG

20 µV 1s

Figure 27.1 Example of sleep architecture consisting of multiple sleep cycles. During a typical night, we cycle through stages of nonREM and REM sleep. Each cycle lasts approximately 1.5 hours, and different sleep stages show distinct electroencephalographic properties and muscle tone

Does sleep facilitate learning? In 1924 Jenkins and Dallenbach postulated that an unsatisfactory (i.e. unexpectedly high) decrease in forgetting, 9–24 hours after learning in a colleague’s study, was due to a decreased rate of forgetting during sleep (Jenkins and Dallenbach, 1924). Since then, many studies have led to the now widely accepted view that sleep promotes consolidation of memories. Although consolidation can mean a number of things, from behavioural studies to synaptic connections, consolidation of memory is often used as a term that indicates that memory has been long-term stored with low susceptibility to interference from other memories. By interference, we mean that consolidation of a memory trace can be detrimentally affected by the acquisition of a new (related) memory. Consolidation of memory during sleep is often referred to as off-line memory consolidation. At least three distinct processes, or stages, can be distinguished in memory and learning (Born et al., 2006). One first needs to acquire a new memory, a process during which a representation of a new piece of information is encoded into the brain. Then this representation is consolidated into a resilient and stable memory trace, which is less sensitive to ‘interference’. The last stage is recall or retrieval of a memory trace. Only consolidation of memory is often seen to take place during sleep, and a beneficial effect of sleep on memory consolidation has been proposed for some time (Fishbein et al., 1971). Acquisition and retrieving of memories are tasks more often allocated to wakefulness. 257

Daan R. van der Veen and Simon N. Archer

There are two distinct types of long-term memory, declarative and non-declarative memory, that benefit from sleep in different ways. While declarative memory is memories of past facts, that can be consciously recalled, non-declarative memory is a category of memories that include procedural skills and non-associative learning and are mostly recalled during performance tasks (Squire and Zola, 1996). There is a large body of evidence showing an effect of sleep on memory consolidation, but these studies are not always conclusive and there are a number of studies not showing an effect of sleep on memory consolidation. These behavioural studies can be broadly categorised in one of three approaches that assess the effects of sleep on memory consolidation. The first approach quantifies sleep EEG parameters after having acquired a task; the second deprives sleep and measures subsequent effects on memory recall. A third approach associates specific sleep stages with memory consolidation; this approach addresses specific brain activity and starts to question the mechanisms by which sleep facilitates memory consolidation. Although REM sleep was first indicated to be important for memory consolidation (perhaps based on the idea that we dream mostly during REM sleep), we now know that consolidation of different types of memory seems to benefit from both REM sleep and SWS sleep, and in a different way. Exemplary is the report that the learning efficiency of students learning French is correlated with the amount of REM sleep before testing (De Koninck et al., 1989). Conversely, depriving sleep during the first part of the night results in impaired retention of a declarative memory task, while performance on learned procedural skills was shown to be impacted mostly by depriving late night sleep. SWS, especially, improves sleep-dependent consolidation of declarative memory (Born et al., 2006). For example, the recall of associated word pairs is improved after an early night sleep, rich in SWS sleep, as compared to late night, enriched in REM sleep (Plihal and Born, 1997). While most studies indicate an improved performance on declarative memory tasks after SWS, REM sleep has also been shown to increase after declarative learning and REM sleep improves performance on declarative tasks (Smith, 2001). Consolidation of procedural memory is different to that of declarative memory, in the sense that one cannot test consolidation of, for instance, motor memory through simple recall, such as the recall of associated word pairs for declarative learning. Motor memory can actually improve over time (and sleep) and can give us the impression that we are not only consolidating memory during sleep, but that during sleep we are actually continuing to learn. Relearning of a task can be faster after having consolidated the memory of that task earlier (Krakauer and Shadmehr, 2006). Procedural memory seems to predominantly benefit from REM sleep (Robertson et al., 2004) and, for instance, Stickgold and colleagues (Stickgold et al., 2000) showed that sleep within 30 hours of training in a visual discrimination task is essential for improving performance. Procedural knowledge, such as perceptual learning, improves over sleep, and REM sleep disruption in the night after learning reduces performance significantly in comparison to nonREM sleep disruption or no sleep disruption (Karni et al., 1994). Also, for procedural memory, the sleep phase of consolidation is not exclusive, and procedural memory has been shown to benefit from SWS (Huber et al., 2004). But how long do we need to sleep? Are (short) naps long enough to consolidate memory? Most studies showing a beneficial effect of sleep on memory consolidation have looked at a full night of sleep of around 8 hours and compared this to loss of sleep for a part or all of those 8 hours of sleep. There are some contradictory reports, but 1–2 hour naps seem to be effective in improving declarative memory consolidation. One study shows that even an average 6-minute nap can benefit declarative memory consolidation as measured by recall of associated word pairs (Lahl et al., 2008). The authors of this paper do, however, hypothesise that memory consolidation is initiated during this ultra short nap, and continued in subsequent wakefulness. While many behavioural experiments have been conducted that indicate that sleep can enhance consolidation of memories, there are also studies that show no benefit of sleep on learning. More so, the differential roles of REM sleep and SWS on memory consolidation seems to complicate matters more; it is, 258

Sleep-dependent learning

however, crucial. The different electrophysiological properties associated with these two sleep states may provide the foundation to understand the neuronal mechanisms by which sleep facilitates learning.

How does sleep improve memory consolidation? There are two main theories on how sleep could facilitate learning and memory and they are not necessarily mutually exclusive. The first argues that a memory trace is first stored in a ‘temporary’ form and then transferred to long-time storage through reactivation of the memory during sleep (Rasch and Born, 2007). A second, and younger theory on the role of sleep in memory consolidation is that during sleep we restore the ‘synaptic homeostasis’ through a down-regulation of synaptic strength during sleep (Tononi and Cirelli, 2006). During wakefulness, we acquire new memories that are simultaneously encoded into short- and longterm memory. The memory stored in the short-term memory is quickly encoded and is more susceptible to decay and interference. The purpose of this short-term memory is not to actually remember, but to initially strengthen the trace in the long-term memory, in other words, to act as a ‘teacher’ for the longterm memory. Over time, the memory is integrated into the long-term memory within the context of other memories and becomes independent of the short-term memory, which decays. Long-term memory is slower in encoding, which facilitates ‘interpretation’ of the memory and integration with other memory traces already present. Long-term memory is significantly less susceptible to interference by newly learned information. Within this model, the ‘temporary short-term’ memory contains isolated memory traces that have been quickly encoded during wakefulness. These memories are subject to interference by other memories and can be easily forgotten. Only when the memory is reactivated during sleep, does the trace remain and it can strengthen the long-term memory. In humans the reactivation of a learned memory during sleep can be emphasised through presenting a contextual cue during SWS. In a key paper by Rash and colleagues, subjects were exposed to a rose odour while learning the location of card pairs; re-exposing the subjects to the rose odour during the first two episodes of SWS enhanced the recall of card location the next day (Rasch et al., 2007). Although cueing of memories is mostly effective in SWS, presenting contextual sounds during REM sleep has also been shown to improve learning of Morse code (Guerrien et al., 1989). Consolidation of memory during sleep, or ‘off-line’ memory consolidation, has the benefit that during sleep no new learning takes place, protecting the memory that needs consolidation from interference by new memories. Ellenbogen and colleagues have shown that sleep protects declarative memories from interference (Ellenbogen et al., 2006). They asked subjects to learn a set of associated word pairs either in the morning or in the evening. After 12 hours (the morning group had not slept, while the evening group had), subjects were either asked to learn a second list of word pairs (to interfere with the first list) and then recall the first list, or alternatively recall the first list immediately. For the group of individuals that had slept, the interference of the second list on the recall of the first was significantly less than for the group that had not slept. Also, it has been argued that a benefit of off-line memory consolidation is that reactivation of memories during wakefulness could lower our responsiveness to the external environment.

Neural substrate of learning during sleep The neural substrates for the short-term and long-term memory are dependent on the type of memories. For declarative memories, the first stage, temporary store has been located in the temporal lobe, specifically in a structure called the hippocampus. Upon acquisition of a new piece of information, it is first encoded in the hippocampus and during sleep this memory trace is reactivated. A striking example of the reactivation of a memory trace in the hippocampus has been reported in rats that learned a spatial task. During sleep after learning this task, the neuronal cell connections that are activated are the ones that were active during 259

Daan R. van der Veen and Simon N. Archer

learning (Wilson and McNaughton, 1994). The reactivation of memory traces in the hippocampus is accompanied by EEG activity with fast oscillations, known as ripples. Also in humans, an off-line reactivation of brain regions that were involved in initial learning has elegantly been shown. As mentioned before for procedural memory, this can improve over time (and sleep). Maquet and colleagues trained subjects on a tracking motor skill task. Subjects were either allowed or deprived of the first night of sleep after learning and were then retested three days later. The performance on this task was only improved when subjects were allowed to sleep after training, and the same brain regions that were activated during learning were activated during sleep as measured by Positron Emission Tomography (Maquet et al., 2000). For declarative memory, the long-term memory store has been located in the neocortex. During SWS (the sleep stage on which declarative memory consolidation is the most dependent), brain activity at the level of the neocortex mainly consists of slow oscillations (delta slow waves, 0.5–4 Hz). Other characteristic oscillations associated with SWS, are fast oscillations (10–15 Hz) known as sleep spindles. Current belief is that the ripples (>100 Hz) originating in the hippocampus during reactivation, together with spindle activity, result from the transfer of memory traces from short- to long-term memory. The neural substrate(s) for the consolidation of procedural memory is/(are) not as easily delineated. Procedural memory consists of different types of memory learning, such as skill learning and sequence learning (Krakauer and Shadmehr, 2006). The primary motor cortex has been implicated in off-line learning of a motor learning task, and disruption of this motor area through transcranial stimulation is only detrimental to learning during wakefulness, but not sleep, at which time the parietal cortex is involved in procedural memory consolidation (Huber et al., 2004; Robertson, 2009). In the case of associative motor learning (e.g. eye-blinking response), Bracha and colleagues showed, in patients with lesions in the cerebellar cortex, that this cortical region is needed for the acquisition of a new task, but not the retrieval of an already learned task (Bracha et al., 2000). This indicates that a similar mechanism as for declarative memory could apply, where initial and long-term memory are stored in separate locations, providing independence of the consolidated memory from the initial acquired memory. In one of the early functional Magnetic Resonance Imaging (fMRI) studies, Maquet and colleagues trained subjects in a visio-motor skill, after which subjects were either allowed to sleep or were sleep deprived (Maquet et al., 2003). Upon retesting the subjects three days later, the sleep-deprived group showed no increased performance on this task, while the control group did (procedural skills often improve over sleep). The superior temporal sulcus (in the temporal lobe) shows increased activity in subjects who were allowed to sleep the first night after learning, while subjects who were sleep deprived did not show an increased activity at retesting. One of the added features of this study is that it is retested after three days, when tiredness and stress effects of sleep deprivation have mostly dissipated.

Synaptic consolidation of memories Recently it has been hypothesised that we have only a limited synaptic capacity to store memories. During sleep we need to restore the balance (that is going back to the baseline levels for synaptic connectivity) after having added new connections during the day. A ‘reverse learning’ theory was postulated in 1983 that, during dreaming, mainly associated with REM sleep, cortical traces of unwanted memory were removed and effectively ‘unlearned’, leaving room for other memories (Crick and Mitchison, 1983). Although this theory has not found many applications, it does touch upon the ‘limited cortical space’ available. The synaptic homeostasis model deals with this cortical capacity. Within the hippocampus, memory traces are stored through strengthened electrical contacts at the level of synapses. Long-term potentiation (LTP) is thought to be the main mechanism by which synaptic plasticity underlying learning and memory is achieved. It was proposed that the use-dependent amount of LTP 260

Sleep-dependent learning

that is built up in response to learning during the day is a causal factor for increased sleep pressure (Tononi and Cirelli, 2006). Additionally, during sleep these synaptic connections are evaluated and, after sleep, global synaptic depression would result in a net synaptic strength that is restored to balanced levels. One of the best known EEG correlates of homeostatic sleep pressure is the power of slow waves (< 0.5–4 Hz) during SWS. One can locally increase slow wave activity during sleep. Huber and colleagues showed that, after performing a procedural motor task that involves specific regions of the cerebral cortex, these areas show increased slow wave activity during the subsequent sleep period, while no increase in SWS was seen after performing a motor skill that was not learned (Huber et al., 2004). While an increasing body of evidence is emerging that SWS is reflecting use-dependent sleep pressure, a direct link to LTP has not convincingly been shown. In a recent paper by Liu et al., mice and rats have been shown to exhibit increased net synaptic strength in the frontal cortex after spontaneous waking as well as during sleep deprivation instead of their normal sleep period (Liu et al., 2010).

The circadian clock The current model on sleep–wake regulation involves two processes, a homeostatic component based on sleep debt build-up during the time awake, and a cyclic drive for sleep and wakefulness, driven by a circadian clock (Borbely, 1982). The circadian and homeostatic processes interact: a circadian arousal signal peaks at the end of the activity phase when sleep pressure is greatest, thus maintaining wakefulness until the beginning of the rest phase. When the arousal signal declines to a nadir, located between 6 and 8 a.m. in humans, sleep pressure is high and objective measures of performance are poorest. These peaks and troughs of the circadian arousal signal are referred to as the wake and sleep maintenance zones, respectively. The importance of the interaction between circadian and sleep processes becomes evident when the phase relationship between two systems is altered. When people are deprived of sleep, objective measures of performance and alertness decline, especially around the time of the circadian nadir when the circadian arousal signal is weakest (Dijk and Archer, 2009). The interrelatedness of the sleep and circadian systems is further underlined by findings that targeted disruption of genes that are important to the circadian clock leads to alterations in sleep structure (Franken and Dijk, 2009). The circadian clock is located in the suprachiamstic nuclei of the hypothalamus (SCN) and the core clock machinery consists of two interlocked feedback loops of gene transcription. The positive loop consists of transcription factors (CLOCK/NPAS2 and BMAL1/BMAL2), which drive the expression of negative regulators (period and cryptochrome proteins) that feed back and inhibit their own expression – the length of the feedback cycle setting the period of the clock (for a review of this, see Ko and Takahashi, 2006). It is becoming apparent that mutation or variation in genes that determine circadian or sleep phenotypes can also affect cognition and memory. Hippocampal-dependent learning is reduced in hamsters (Ruby et al., 2008) and mice (Chaudhury et al., 2008) with a non-functional circadian clock. More recently, it was found that PERIOD2 (PER2) mRNA and protein is expressed rhythmically in hippocampal pyramidal cells almost exactly in antiphase to the SCN, and that PER2-mutant mice showed abnormal hippocampal long-term potentiation (LTP) and recall deficits in fear conditioning tests (Wang et al., 2009). This shows that PERIOD2 and, perhaps, other clock genes, may play a role in hippocampal-based learning. In fact, in-situ data from the Allen Brain Atlas show strong expression of PER3 in the mouse hippocampus (CA1, CA2 and CA3 pyramidal cell layers and the dentate gyrus) and the cortex.

A well documented case: PERIOD3 There are many documented genetic polymorphisms that are associated with human sleep phenotypes or disorders, but perhaps one of the most studied within the circadian clock is PERIOD3 (PER3). The human 261

Daan R. van der Veen and Simon N. Archer

PER3 variable number tandem repeat (VNTR) polymorphism is a 54-nucleotide motif (coding for 18 amino acids) that is repeated either four or five times, such that individuals are homozygous for the long repeat (PER35/5) or short repeat (PER34/4), or heterozygous and possess one of each allele (PER34/5). In a large population study, it has been shown that the frequency of the 5-repeat allele is higher in individuals who are extreme morning types, whereas the 4-repeat allele is more common in extreme evening types and also in patients diagnosed with delayed sleep phase disorder (Archer et al., 2003). In the Per3 mutant mouse, the entrainment of the rest and activity rhythm is also altered (Van der Veen and Archer, 2010). Subsequently, in a well-controlled prospective study, matched groups of subjects homozygous for the long or short allele were studied in a sleep laboratory (Viola et al., 2007). Prior to entering the lab, subjects spent two weeks on a strict habitual sleep/wake schedule. On entering the lab, subjects then underwent two nights of habitual baseline sleep, followed by a 40-hour dim light constant routine (CR) where they were kept awake. This was followed by a recovery sleep episode. EEG was recorded throughout, and during the CR subjects performed cognitive performance tests at 2-hour intervals. Circadian rhythms were also monitored by measuring melatonin and clock gene expression levels in a time series of blood samples taken during the CR. Surprisingly, there were no differences in circadian rhythms between the two genotypes. There were, however, significant differences in the EEG, such that PER35/5 individuals showed increased levels in markers for homeostatic sleep pressure, such as more theta in wake, and more delta during recovery sleep and also in baseline sleep prior to sleep deprivation. They also showed higher levels of slow eye movements in CR, another sign of tiredness. In addition, the PER35/5 individuals showed a much more rapid decline in cognitive performance in response to sleep loss, especially around the circadian nadir. Detailed analysis of these cognitive data showed that the PER35/5 subjects performed particularly poorly at tasks requiring a high executive load, such as the n-back task, where sequences of numbers need to be remembered and compared (Groeger et al., 2008). More recent studies have demonstrated differences in brain activity, as measured by fMRI, between PER3 VNTR genotypes. In the morning after a night of sleep deprivation, while performing an n-back task, PER34/4 individuals showed greater activations in areas associated with performance of the task (e.g frontal cortex and parahippocampus), while PER35/5 individuals showed areas of deactivations (Vandewalle et al., 2009).

Concluding remarks In this chapter we have shown evidence for a role for sleep in learning. The evidence spans a number of organisational levels, from behavioural studies to synaptic properties. While the evidence is encouraging, some caution is needed. The evidence for a role of sleep in learning and memory is still not fully understood, and not uncontested. There are still many studies that do not show a direct causal relationship, as opposed to a coinciding of sleep and memory consolidation. Moreover, there are studies failing to show an effect of sleep on learning at all. A caveat of the current body of evidence is that it appears fragmented and sometimes ad hoc. Different types of memory appear to have different mechanisms of consolidation and benefit most from different sleep stages. In the past decade great progress has been made, and the emerging evidence cumulates to a role for sleep in off-line memory consolidation through strengthening the neural encoding of the memory traces in the appropriate brain regions.

References Archer S.N., Robilliard D.L., Skene D.J., Smits M., Williams A., Arendt J. and von Schantz M. (2003) A length polymorphism in the circadian clock gene Per3 is linked to delayed sleep phase syndrome and extreme diurnal preference. Sleep 26:413–15.

262

Sleep-dependent learning

Borbely A.A. (1982). A two process model of sleep regulation. Hum Neurobiol 1:195–204. Born J., Rasch B. and Gais S. (2006) Sleep to remember. Neuroscientist 12:410–24. Bracha V., Zhao L., Irwin K.B. and Bloedel J.R. (2000) The human cerebellum and associative learning: dissociation between the acquisition, retention and extinction of conditioned eyeblinks. Brain Res 860:87–94. Chaudhury D., Loh D.H., Dragich J.M., Hagopian A. and Colwell C.S. (2008) Select cognitive deficits in vasoactive intestinal peptide deficient mice. BMC Neurosci 9:63. Crick F. and Mitchison G. (1983) The function of dream sleep. Nature 304:111–14. De Koninck J., Lorrain D., Christ G., Proulx G. and Coulombe D. (1989) Intensive language learning and increases in rapid eye movement sleep: evidence of a performance factor. Int J Psychophysiol 8:43–47. Dijk D.-J. and Archer S.N. (2009) Circadian and homeostatic regulation of human sleep and cognitive performance and its modulation by PERIOD3. Sleep Medicine Clinics 4:111–25. Ellenbogen J.M., Hulbert J.C., Stickgold R., Dinges D.F. and Thompson-Schill S.L. (2006) Interfering with theories of sleep and memory: sleep, declarative memory, and associative interference. Curr Biol 16:1290–94. Fishbein W., McGaugh J.L. and Swarz J.R. (1971) Retrograde amnesia: electroconvulsive shock effects after termination of rapid eye movement sleep deprivation. Science 172:80–82. Franken P. and Dijk D.J. (2009) Circadian clock genes and sleep homeostasis. Eur J Neurosci 29:1820–29. Groeger J.A., Viola A.U., Lo J.C., von Shantz M., Archer S.N. and Dijk D.J. (2008) Early morning executive functioning during sleep deprivation is compromised by a PERIOD3 polymorphism. Sleep 31:1159–67. Guerrien A., Dujardin K., Mandai O., Sockeel P. and Leconte P. (1989) Enhancement of memory by auditory stimulation during postlearning REM sleep in humans. Physiol Behav 45:947–50. Huber R., Ghilardi M.F., Massimini M. and Tononi G. (2004) Local sleep and learning. Nature 430:78–81. Jenkins G.J. and Dallenbach K.M. (1924) Obliviscence during sleep and waking. The American Journal of Psychology 35:605–12. Karni A., Tanne D., Rubenstein B.S., Askenasy J.J. and Sagi D. (1994) Dependence on REM sleep of overnight improvement of a perceptual skill. Science 265:679–82. Ko C.H. and Takahashi J.S. (2006) Molecular components of the mammalian circadian clock. Hum Mol Genet 15 Spec No 2: R271-R277. Krakauer J.W. and Shadmehr R. (2006) Consolidation of motor memory. Trends Neurosci 29:58–64. Lahl O., Wispel C, Willigens B. and Pietrowsky R. (2008) An ultra short episode of sleep is sufficient to promote declarative memory performance. J Sleep Res 17:3–10. Liu Z.W., Faraguna U., Cirelli C., Tononi G. and Gao X.B. (2010) Direct evidence for wake-related increases and sleeprelated decreases in synaptic strength in rodent cortex. J Neurosci 30:8671–75. Maquet P., Schwartz S., Passingham R. and Frith C. (2003) Sleep-related consolidation of a visuomotor skill: brain mechanisms as assessed by functional magnetic resonance imaging. J Neurosci 23:1432–40. Maquet .P, Laureys S., Peigneux P., Fuchs S., Petiau C., Phillips C., Aerts J., Del F.G., Degueldre C., Meulemans T., Luxen A., Franck G., Van der Linden M., Smith C. and Cleeremans A. (2000) Experience-dependent changes in cerebral activation during human REM sleep. Nat Neurosci 3:831–36. Plihal W. and Born J. (1997) Effects of early and late nocturnal sleep on declarative and procedural memory. Journal of Cognitive Neuroscience 9:534–47. Rasch B. and Born J. (2007) Maintaining memories by reactivation. Curr Opin Neurobiol 17:698–703. Rasch B., Buchel C., Gais S. and Born J. (2007) Odor cues during slow-wave sleep prompt declarative memory consolidation. Science 315:1426–29. Robertson E.M. (2009) From creation to consolidation: a novel framework for memory processing. PLoS Biol 7:e19. Robertson E.M., Pascual-Leone A. and Miall R.C. (2004) Current concepts in procedural consolidation. Nat Rev Neurosci 5:576–82. Ruby N.F., Hwang C.E., Wessells C., Fernandez F., Zhang P., Sapolsky R. and Heller H.C. (2008) Hippocampaldependent learning requires a functional circadian system. Proc Natl Acad Sci USA 105:15593–98. Smith C. (2001) Sleep states and memory processes in humans: procedural versus declarative memory systems. Sleep Med Rev 5:491–506. Squire L.R. and Zola S.M. (1996) Structure and function of declarative and nondeclarative memory systems. Proc Natl Acad Sci USA 93:13515–22. Stickgold R., James L. and Hobson J.A. (2000) Visual discrimination learning requires sleep after training. Nat Neurosci 3:1237–38. Tononi G. and Cirelli C. (2006) Sleep function and synaptic homeostasis. Sleep Med Rev 10:49–62. Van der Veen D.R. and Archer S.N. (2010) Light-dependent behavioral phenotypes in PER3-deficient mice. J Biol Rhythms 25:3–8. Vandewalle G., Archer S.N., Wuillaume C., Balteau E., Degueldre C., Luxen A., Maquet P. and Dijk D.J. (2009) Functional magnetic resonance imaging-assessed brain responses during an executive task depend on interaction of sleep homeostasis, circadian phase, and PER3 genotype. J Neurosci 29:7948–56. 263

Daan R. van der Veen and Simon N. Archer

Viola A.U., Archer S.N., James L.M., Groeger J.A., Lo J.C., Skene D.J., von Schantz M. and Dijk D.J. (2007) PER3 polymorphism predicts sleep structure and waking performance. Curr Biol 17:613–18. Wang L.M., Dragich J.M., Kudo T., Odom I.H., Welsh D.K., O’Dell T.J. and Colwell C.S. (2009) Expression of the circadian clock gene Period2 in the hippocampus: possible implications for synaptic plasticity and learned behaviour. ASN Neuro 1(3). Wilson M.A. and McNaughton B.L. (1994) Reactivation of hippocampal ensemble memories during sleep. Science 265:676–79.

264

28 Learning and violence Shahrzad Mojab and Bethany J. Osborne

In this chapter, we define violence as physical, psychological, economic, political and all other structural forms that intend to harm, denigrate, exclude and obstruct an individual or a group of people to function freely, fully and without fear in society. Feminist scholars, in particular critical, anti-racist and socialist, have expanded the definition of violence to include a wide range of acts, attitudes, ethics, morality, policies and social historical structures. These include patriarchy, colonialism, capitalism and imperialism (Bannerji et al., 2001; Burstow, 2003; Enloe, 1988, 1989; Gowen and Bartlett, 1997; Hajdukowski-Ahmed et al., 2008; Mojab, 2000; Mojab and Abdo, 2004; Mojab and Mcdonald, 2008; Mohanty, 2003; Rebick, 2005: UN, 2010). In our analysis, we understand all these forms of violence as a universal form of gender power relations with the propensity to develop particular characteristics based on norms, values, traditions, cultures, modes of social relations and historical epoch. Violence, in its many forms, is pervasive in our lives. Research presented in the recent UN report The World’s Women 2010: Trends and Statistics argues that physical, sexual, psychological and economic violence against women is a universal phenomenon (UN, 2010: 10). It takes place everywhere – at home, the workplace, school, on the street, in the media, in religious organizations, as well as in institutions set up to serve vulnerable populations (Koczka, 1992–93: 27). Research over the last four decades has established that violence affects the quality of life and leisure, psychological and sexual well-being, the general status of women and racialized people, and physical health. It also affects the sense of belonging and membership in society and community. Discussions about violence are often centred on ‘who’ is committing violence against ‘whom’. In this chapter we will not engage with a sociological, psychological or behavioural analysis of individual acts of violence or even, for that matter, group violence. We are interested in understanding the impact of violence on learning, either as an individual act, in abusive relationships for example, or as a structural act in the forms of state violence, colonial legacies, militarization, war or occupation. We also consider modern environmental destruction as a form of violence with lasting impact on learning. Scholars and practitioners of the field of adult education have studied and theorized the effects of violence against women (Battell et al., 2008; Horsman, 1999, 2002, 2005; Tisdell, 1996). Many conclude that violence affects women’s capacity to engage fully in society and that fear is often used to re(produce) male dominance. The act of producing and reproducing the condition for women’s subjugation is identified as systemic violence. Systemic violence is intentional and serves a political function, that is, creating the ideological and social logic for women’s subordination (Hirschmann, 1998: 236). The issue of 265

Shahrzad Mojab and Bethany J. Osborne

state violence is of particular interest to educators and activists because of the effect that it has on the learning capacities and possibilities of both individuals and communities. ‘State violence’ was initially only applied to militarized, authoritarian states, where violence is a mechanism of control and disciplining, creating a perpetual experience of disenfranchisement and (dis)empowerment (Turshen, 1998: 7). However, over the last few decades, state violence has been identified by activists and feminists as being pervasive in so-called democratic states as well. State violence we define as acts of violence perpetrated by the state against its citizens in order to maintain order and control. It is important to note that the exercise of violence by rights-oriented, democratic regimes or autocratic ones often gives rise to resistance movements (Gordon, 2001: 2270). The learning that occurs within these movements is of particular interest to adult educators. Significant learning happens when an individual is forced to find a way to survive and resist state violence. For some learners, the impact of violence is intensified because of their social, economic, cultural or geographic positions. Immigrant and refugee women, as well as women who have experienced war, often face a different reality of violence and its impacts on their learning. Individual learners bear the impact of systemic acts of violence, for instance, forced migration or forced exile, or the legacies of historical violence, such as slavery, colonialism and genocide. It is important to be aware of the reality of how these acts of violence affect survivors in order to discern how to help mitigate the effects of the trauma on survivors and enable the learning process. Appropriately, this type of learning is called ‘survival’ or ‘resistance’ learning (Mojab and McDonald, 2008: 51). Survival and resistance learning established the possibility of conscious learning in demanding the elimination of violent forms of social order. Although survival and resistance are connected to social movement learning (Hall and Clover, 2005; Kilgour, 1999), learning that happens within a social movement context often happens informally or incidentally because of the stimulation and participation in the movement (Hall, 2006: 3). In the articulation of survival and resistance learning, individuals are agents of change and are actively seeking ways out of the coercive circumstances. The definitional outline provided above facilitates our discussion on the relationship between violence and learning. In the next sections we will theorize the impact of violence on learning, examine the concept of violence through learning, as well as outline emerging research areas including new sites or spaces where violence is (re)produced, discussing new theoretical perspectives and methodological possibilities. Throughout these sections, we will also identify some of the best practices and pedagogies in delineating the impact of violence on learning.

Learning and violence Adult educators have engaged with the question of how adults learn and, along with psychologists, social workers and other educators, they have contributed to raising questions of how the violence that causes trauma affects an individual’s capacity to function. In the last 40 years, following the return of North Americans from the Vietnam War, the effects of trauma on the functions of everyday life have been studied in much greater depth (Herman, 1992: 7; Shay, 1994). This tradition has continued through different wars that have directly impacted North Americans over the last four decades. The focus has centred on the effect of the violence of war and the disruption that it causes to the day-to-day functioning of soldiers returning from the wars in the Gulf, Iraq and Afghanistan. This phenomenon is labelled Post-traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) (Schiraldi, 2009), and significant literature has been produced for both practitioners and policy makers; however the label of PTSD has been identified as problematic in a number of ways (Burstow, 2005). Although the identification of the effects of violence has been helpful, isolating the ‘post-traumatic’ experience from other social factors has not contributed significantly to our knowledge of the relationship between violence and learning. People who have experienced trauma are often pathologized1 and their deficits, specifically trauma, have been carefully analyzed and theorized, while 266

Learning and violence

their assets, including the learning from the experience, have been rendered invisible (Horsman, 1999, Burstow, 2005). Critical adult educators have pushed the boundaries of what constitutes conditions and sites of learning (Merriam, 2001: 1999; Knowles et al., 2005). They have also been at the forefront of theorizing the implications of unequal social and material power relations. At the foundation of work with disenfranchised learners is Freire’s Pedagogy of the Oppressed and the need for transformational learning in order to combat oppression and bring about social action (Freire, 1973). Mezirow’s transformational learning theory posits that the learner’s previous experiences contribute significantly to their understanding of the world (Mezirow, 1996: 162). Welton (1995) draws attention to the significance of all experiences to the learning process through what he calls the life-world. Jarvis (2001: 30) suggests that the concept of continuing education is at the foundation of lifelong education and addresses the important needs of learners once they have left the formal schooling system. There have also been significant changes in the perception of educators in respect to the learning process. Whereas memorizing knowledge was once perceived as the best way to learn, it is now recognized that the learner contributes significantly to their own learning through their experiences and, as they develop, their own narratives (Jarvis, 2001: 33). Critical adult educators suggest that it is impossible to address issues of racism, classism and sexism without addressing power and oppression and the interconnection of power and knowledge construction (Merriam and Cafferella, 1999: 354). Adult education practitioners, such as literacy practitioner Jenny Horsman, were among the first to suggest that trauma literature needed to be expanded to include issues of the effect of violence on learning. Horsman recorded an ongoing dialogue between adult educators in the literacy field who had observed learners affected by violence. Her book, Too Scared to Learn: Women, Violence and Education (1999), discusses the challenges that adult literacy learners and practitioners face. Central to her argument is the suggestion that the presence of violence in the classroom must be acknowledged in order for learners and educators to work effectively. To prevent the normalization of violence, educators must allow the experience of violence to surface in the learning setting. This can be done by designing and implementing programs that support learners, with the intent that through these kinds of programmes learners will gain skills as well as a better sense of self (Horsman, 1999: 78). The legacy of violence is present within the learning environment. Survivors of violence encounter many barriers to the learning process, such as an ‘inability to concentrate, sense of detachment (spacing out, feeling numb), difficulty in beginning new things or taking risks, tiredness, panic attacks and flashbacks, negative self-image, concern for safety, inability to trust, health problems (depression, etc.)’ (Rundle and Ysabet-Scott, 1995: 8). Learners who have suffered violence are often distracted from learning, as their physical and psychological energy goes into their survival. These coping mechanisms can function to disable the learning process. It is important to note that individuals respond differently to experiences of violence. Much of the discussion on learning and violence concentrates on those learners who withdraw or have difficulty engaging or being present. There are, however, other responses to the experience of violence. Violence can beget violence. Someone who has experienced violence may become a perpetrator of violence in order to protect themselves from further injury. Educators may be forced to police the behaviours of this particular type of learner, in order to prevent disruptions and to protect other learners from abuse within the learning setting (Horsman, 2002: 271). With the global influx of refugees, displaced persons and immigrants, issues of the impact of trauma are attracting more attention (Battell et al., 2008; Horsman, 1999; Isserlis, 1996, 1999, 2001; Kerka, 2002; Magro, 2006, 2007; Magro and Polyzoi, 2009; Schwartz, 2005). The literature acknowledges that many learners have experienced torture, deprivation of basic amenities of life, from shelter to health and food, and often have borne witness to atrocities beyond human comprehension. The challenge is to work through these experiences to transform the inability to learn into an ability to change. This requires 267

Shahrzad Mojab and Bethany J. Osborne

educators to be willing to think ‘outside of the box’, approaching each educational opportunity with the willingness to learn and grow themselves as they understand the particular needs of learners. Adult educators are beginning to write about these experiences in a variety of settings, from first-language literacy classrooms, to English as Second Language (ESL) classrooms filled with internationally trained professionals, to learning settings filled with individuals who have experienced various forms of state-sponsored violence. Karen Magro, working in ESL classrooms, encourages educators to be aware that violence, state-sponsored violence in particular, has a significant impact on the learner’s capacity to learn (Magro, 2006: 70). Magro uses life history and personal narratives as tools to explore the relationships between educators working with learners who have experienced violence. She suggests that what occurs during an individual’s first years of resettlement can have a greater effect on emotional and social health than experiences before migration. Many of the educators she interviewed talked about helping learners ‘build bridges’ from prior knowledge to new knowledge (Magro, 2006: 72). Healthy and successful learners are able to build their own bridges. Magro also mentions that educators must find ways to acknowledge and affirm the ‘hidden learning’ that occurs through trauma. This kind of learning is the same ‘survival’ and ‘resistance’ learning discussed by Mojab and McDonald. Instead of diagnosing and treating ‘victims’, educators need to transform the learning environment into a space that is safe and effective for everyone. Educators who participated in Magro’s study shared that it was necessary to balance creativity with structure and support in order to help students develop both personally and professionally. They also identified that they needed to cultivate personality traits like patience, creativity, perceptiveness and enthusiasm when working with refugees (Magro, 2007: 389). These traits are also important in working with learners who have experienced violence outside formal educational settings. Social, economic, cultural, linguistic and political circumstances directly interfere with adults’ access to formal education. Learning opportunities may be opened to them through informal settings with alternative and creative pedagogies. There are many good examples of these alternative approaches. For instance, we are familiar with the Canadian Centre for Victims of Torture (CCVT) learning strategies in the ESL curriculum (CCVT, 2010), which is designed for survivors of torture and argues that classes can function to reduce a survivor’s isolation. In this purposeful setting, former political prisoners are encouraged to speak about their experience of torture as a public act for a larger social good demanding human rights. It is also important that the adult educators recognize their role as facilitators, working in a counter-hegemonic capacity against the intentions of violence. Similarly, in our research with former political prisoners, we have realized the liberating effect of inverting the pain of remembering to a testimony on a learner’s resiliency and determination to act socially for abolishing torture on a global level. This qualitative shift in learning, from an individual experience to a collective social action, is what we argue requires more theorization. In the section below we will further explore this point by focusing on learning that emanates through the act of violence.

Learning through violence We have so far explored the notion of violence as an inhibitor of self growth, fostering community, facilitating connection and enabling learning. In this next section, we want to explore the notion of violence as a source or as an enabler of learning. Violence injures individuals and communities, causing them to forget who they are and their purpose in life. But, this reactive mode of being carries with it the seed of a potent resistance and survival mechanism. In the field of psychology, this particular phenomenon is called resilience (Werner and Smith, 2001). Resilience is the capacity of individuals to cope well under adversity and to navigate their way to the psychological, social, cultural and physical resources that sustain their well-being and their capacity to individually and collectively negotiate for these resources to be provided (Ungar, 2008). 268

Learning and violence

Resilience is also the phenomenon of recovery from immediate danger or stress or prolonged or severe adversity (Carver and Scheier, 1999). There are many factors that can foster resilience in people. For instance: family and community support (Benard, 1991), belonging to a religious or cultural community, heightened level of social/political consciousness (Brookfield and Holst, 2011; Ungar et al., 2007) and art and creative expression (Alayarian, 2007). Creative approaches to the learning process provide learners with opportunities to express their thoughts as well as stories. Most of this discussion within the adult education community centres on narrative and storytelling (Horsman, 1999; Isserlis, 1996, 1999, 2001; Kerka, 2002; Magro, 2006, 2007; Mojab and McDonald, 2008; Osborne, 2010; Stone, 1995). The telling of story, both oral and written, can play a significant role in the survivor’s recovery process, because it provides survivors with the opportunity to make sense of their experiences and consciously refine their thoughts on understanding and learning through the act of violence (Herbst, 1992: 143; Horsman 2002). The use of narrative and storytelling is important in making meaning in education, in addition to being an effective therapeutic technique (Kerka, 2002: 4). It is important to allow learners to be silent and to learn from their silences as well as their words, to bear witness by listening attentively, to create space for pain as well as for expressions of joy and humour and to offer learners activities that give them the freedom to choose to either share or to be silent (ibid). Storytelling, in traditional forms such as oral and written expression, or more non-traditional forms such as film, photography, poetry, song, ritual or talking circles can be used as a holistic tool as well (Rosenwasser, 2000: 4). These methods access different ways of knowing and help to repair and build the closeness, community and connection that were destroyed through the acts of violence (Kerka, 2002: 4). In the case of state-sponsored violence, individuals are faced with the remaking of their worlds. This is true in the case of women refugees who were victims of political torture. In her work with these women, Chester suggests that educators and practitioners need to engage in a learning process, understanding and using the strengths of both their gender and cultural contexts, in order to provide vital healing strategies (Chester, 1992: 219). Educators and practitioners can facilitate this by bringing women who have had similar experiences together in both formal and informal learning settings. This can provide an outlet to share the suffering and frustration that have come to define their lives. Guatemalan women living in the United States of America discovered that, as they met together, they began to be able to express the experiences of violence that had defined their lives in Guatemala and in their settling process. They were able to reject the patriarchal assertions such as ‘women are not worth anything’, ‘women are only to stay in the house and cannot do anything’, or ‘we cannot decide, cannot think’ that had held them captive, and then they begin to write new scripts (Light, 1992: 298). Similar experiences are mentioned by other adult education scholars and practitioners. Mojab and McDonald researched the experiences of informal education with women who had experienced violence in Latin American and Middle Eastern contexts. The women they worked with talked about the importance of learning from each other. They also talked about the confidence they gained from approaching a problem or situation together (Mojab and McDonald, 2008: 37). When individuals are given the opportunity to share common experiences, they are figuratively freed from the prison of their isolation. Similarly, Nadera Shalhoub-Kevorkian worked with a group of women who were former political prisoners in Palestine using the technique of voice therapy, with the goal of providing women with the opportunity to share with and learn from each other. Voice therapy technique encompasses three interrelated components: (1) breaking silence about oppression by developing self-reflexive speech and opening a dialogue in which women can share their individual visions; (2) emphasizing the process of grafting a group-based point of view; and (3) confronting, countering, or talking back to elite discourses with a woman-oriented discourse (Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 2005: 10). In these discussions, women were able to reflect on the trauma that was caused by the different socio-political conflicts that were part of their lives. 269

Shahrzad Mojab and Bethany J. Osborne

The group provided a safe space to speak and an opportunity to move towards healing, as women shared and validated each other’s experiences. Women were able to share pictures that spoke of their history of displacement, verbalize traumatic experiences like preventing the imprisonment of loved ones and eventually gain power and ownership over their traumatic experiences. This form of narrative therapy helped the women to discover the possibility that they could take ownership of their situation and that they had the capacity within themselves to create the tools they needed for survival (Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 2005: 10). Another inevitable result of state violence is forced migration. In their country of exile, refugees are often caught in the chronic cycle of the victimhood status and are unable to move forward. One reason for this is the concept of impunity – the absence of formal justice (Espinoza, 2004: 56). The Chilean community and their supporters in Canada faced this challenge and formed a group to resist the effects of the political violence. ‘The Memory and Justice in the Americas Working Group’ is a community-based and civiceducation project with two central objectives: the organization of an international tribunal, to denounce the human rights violations that continue to take place in Latin America, and the implementation of what the group has theorized as a pedagogical and collective healing process, through education workshops and activities aimed at recovering collective memory in exile (Espinoza, 2004: 57). Similarly, over the last six years, we have been involved with a group of former political prisoners from Iran based in Toronto. The purpose of this project has been to provide a forum for former prisoners to meet and to find ways to speak out against state violence. We spent two years with a group of women former political prisoners, using narrative and visual arts to mitigate the effects of trauma and to enable learning. Part of this research was the development of a Narrative ESL Teaching Method that used the prison narrative as an instructive text to increase capacity in the English language. Participants expressed frustration with their inability to tell their stories due to lack of adequate English. Regular adult ESL classes failed to provide a learning context relevant to generate vocabulary, thoughts and the discourse necessary to express their stories of incarceration. We provided one-to-one learning opportunities for them through a weekly scheduled meeting where they would narrate a moment in prison. The session was taped. We transcribed the session and created vocabulary and grammar sheets. We then made an audio version of the story to enhance their English comprehension and pronounciation skills. This generative learning process expanded the repertoire of the participants’ English vocabulary and enhanced their analytical skills to a qualitatively higher stage of abstraction. In other words, they were able to clearly locate self within a larger collective of sympathizers and listeners who were ready to stand with them to protest against human rights violations. This language-learning effort was accompanied by art workshops that provided learners with the opportunity to visually depict their experience of imprisonment and to create art that made their experiences accessible to others. It is important to note that these art workshops involved renowned local artists who were able to work with participants, giving them tools to use in their expression of their prison experiences. The inclusion of art was important, as it transformed this act of overcoming personal and collective acts of violence into an act of educating others. Our research findings indicate that political consciousness and a politicized understanding of self and society assist learners in successfully walking through their own paths of learning with a dual purpose: first, of self healing, and second, of making an individual healing process into a collective process of remembering in order to forgive but not to forget. The very process of learning was transformed into acts of testimony and witness, breaking the silence that had been orchestrated by the acts of violence (Osborne, 2010). Learning processes demanding change and justice are taking place in various informal educational settings in diaspora with significant results. This involves communal remembering, a process that invites individuals with similar experiences to remember together, constructing a shared history that is a composite of individual memories. Similar learning processes are also taking place in contexts where the violence 270

Learning and violence

is perpetrated. In Colombia, the youth at the centre of the civil war are attempting to reconstruct their lives (Riaño-Alcalá, 2004: 165). In order to deal with past terror, Riaño-Alcalá suggests that silenced histories need to be recognized in order that justice can be realized (ibid.: 184). With this justice comes a sense of freedom to both remember and forgive, to move on and to learn new ways of engaging with the world. This is a process which Herman calls the ‘survivor’s mission’ (Herman, 1992: 207). As individuals come to a greater awareness of who they are in respect to the forces that enact violence, the possibility for systemic change also emerges.

Emerging research areas The existing body of literature on violence and learning begins to address some of these important issues. It is, however, only the beginning. The literature does take a critical view of psychology’s pathologized approach to the effects of violence on individuals and to the notion that violence is a phenomenon that only needs to be explored and addressed at the individual level, but its scope remains limited. This is because the populations that have been included in the research have been limited to learners within either literacy or ESL classrooms. Research needs to examine the broader effects of systemic oppression and exclusion. In the case of the aboriginal population, there has been a historicization of violence. The result of this historical violence has been the breakdown of community and family structures. For many aboriginal people, their education in the residential schools was an experience of state violence (Haig-Brown, 1988). The broader experience of assimilation led to poverty and social exclusion, experiences which had a direct link to the appropriation of land and resources. This violence in respect to the appropriation of land has impacted the way that aboriginal people learn (Wilson, 2003). We see this issue in the global context with the interconnectedness of occupation and violence. Women living under the conditions of occupation and resettlement are not perceived as having acquired significant learning, instead, they are looked at as having deficits and needing education (Mojab, 2006: 173). It will be important for research to continue to explore issues of occupation and violence and its relation to learning in order to understand the investment of aid organizations as well as the attempts of governments to resettle displaced people. We propose that there is a need to engage with these concepts and conduct more empirical research on the relationship between informal, formal, non-formal, lifelong learning and violence. Further empirical research on forced migration, displacement, land occupation and social exclusion will contribute to our theoretical analysis of the relationship between learning and violence. Given the current global political climate, where citizens are classed, raced, gendered or divided based on religion, ethnicity or sexuality and categories of ‘exotic’ or ‘trouble’ are constructed, we should draw on theoretical approaches that explain the interaction between violence and learning in a comprehensive manner. Critical adult education approaches that incorporate feminist, anti-racist and anti-capitalist analysis have the theoretical rigour to push our thinking and practice beyond a normative, individualized or pathologized mode of analysis. Research on violence and learning has implications for civic education and citizenship learning. Awareness of the root causes of population movement and deeper knowledge of transition processes can potentially assist us in rethinking the integration and the creation of social cohesion. This revised methodology could also be conceived as innovative approaches to civic engagement. It is important for adult educators to pay attention to emerging research in other fields of study, in particular memory studies and cultural studies, and to look for places where concepts, theories and research areas intersect. Memory scholars examine areas such as memorialization and commemoration, which can be contested events especially in the aftermath of a war or a natural catastrophe (Edkins, 2003: 1). They are interested in the space that the country of resettlement can provide for individuals and communities to process the trauma caused by the acts of violence and to learn new ways of resisting state-sponsored 271

Shahrzad Mojab and Bethany J. Osborne

violence (Espinoza, 2004; Herman, 1992; Osborne, 2010). They ask questions that are of interest to adult educators, such as: What role does memory play in resistance?, How is agency restored in people who have experienced trauma?, What roles do public proclamation and memorialization play in restoring memory and agency for individuals and collective groups of people who have experienced trauma? To conclude, in this chapter we have recognized the important contributions of the field of adult education to the theorizing of learning and violence. We have argued that the first step in navigating the challenges that learner’s experiences of violence face, is to recognize and name the violence. Learners who have experienced violence, and the trauma that follows, have survived to tell their stories. Within their stories are strategies on how to survive and resist and from them we can discern more effective strategies that will help us in our own active resistance against violence in its various forms. However, a more critical theorization of the intersection of violence and learning can contribute to theorizing the relationship between consciousness and practice. Allman suggests that ideological thinking is expressed in written and spoken word as well as in the way that people behave – the ways that they relate to other people, species and objects – and that education can be an important vehicle for the dissemination of ideology (Allman, 2007: 40). And, as people learn, they develop their potential, collectively becoming more fully human and more fully in control of their own development and of the progressive development of humanity.

Note 1 To pathologize is to characterize as medically or psychologically abnormal. In her work, Jenny Horsman suggests that learners are often pathologized because of the symptoms of their experiences of violence (1998: 16).

References Alayarian, A. (2007). Trauma, Resilience and Creativity: Examining our therapeutic approach in working with refugees. European Journal of Psychotherapy, Counselling & Health, 9(3): 313–24, London: Routledge. Allman, P. (2007). On Marx: An Introduction to the Revolutionary Intellect of Karl Marx. Rotterdam, The Netherlands: Sense Publishers. Ballinger, P. (2003). History in Exile: Memory and Identity at the Borders of the Balkans. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Bannerji, H., S. Mojab and J. Whitehead (eds) (2001). Of Property and Propriety: The Role of Gender and Class in Imperialism and Nationalism. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Battell, E, S. Hornstein, J. Horsman et al. (2008). Moving Research about and Addressing the Impacts of Violence on Learning into Practice. Edmonton: Windsound Learning Society. Benard, B. (1991). Fostering Resiliency in Kids: Protective Factors in the Family, School and Community. Portland, OR: Northwest Regional Educational Laboratory. Brookfield, S. D. and J. D. Holst (2011). Radicalizing Learning: Adult education for a just world. San Francisco, CA: JosseyBass. Burstow, Bonnie (2003). Toward a Radical Understanding of Trauma and Trauma Work. Violence Against Women, 10(11): 1293–1317. ——(2005). A Critique of Posttraumatic Stress Disorder and the DSM. Journal of Humanistic Psychology, 45(4): 429–45. Canadian Centre for Victims of Torture (CCVT) (2010). ESL Curriculum. Retrieved on October 28, 2010 from www. ccvt.org/programs.html. Carver, C. S. and M.F. Scheier (1999). Stress, Coping, and Self-regulatory Processes. In Handbook of Personality: Theory and Research, eds O. P. John and L. A. Pervin. New York: Guilford Press, 553–75. Chester, B. (1990). Because Mercy has a Human Heart: Centers for victims of torture. In Psychology and Torture, ed. P. Suedfeld, Washington, DC: Hemisphere, 165–84. ——(1992). Women and Political Torture: Work with refugee survivors in exile. Women and Therapy, 13(1–2): 209–20. Edkins, J. (2003). Trauma and the Memory of Politics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Enloe, C. (1988). Does Khaki Become You? The Militarisation of Women’s Lives. London: Pandora Press.

272

Learning and violence

——(1989). Bananas, Beaches and Bases: Making Feminist Sense of International Politics. London: Pandora Press. Espinoza, A.E. (2004). Trials and Tribulations for Social Justice. In Public Arts and Desires: Curriculum and Social Change, ed. E. Meiners, 56–66. Florence, KY: Routledge. Freire, P. (1973). Pedagogy of the Oppressed. New York: Seabury. Gordon, L. (2001). Protest Movements. In Encyclopedia of Sociology, 2nd ed. New York: Macmillan Reference. Gowen, S. and C. Bartlett (1997). Friends in the Kitchen: Lessons from survivors. In Changing Work, Changing Workers: Critical Perspectives on Language, Literacy and Skills, ed. G. Hull. Albany, NY: SUNY Press, 141–158. Haig-Brown, C. (1988). Resistance and Renewal: Surviving the Indian Residential School. Vancouver, BC: Arsenal Pulp Press. Hajdukowski-Ahmed, M., N. Khanlou and H. Moussa (eds) (2008). Not Born a Refugee Woman: Contesting Identities, Rethinking Practices. New York: Berghahn Books. Hall, B.L. (2006). Social Movement Learning: Theorizing a Canadian tradition. In Contexts of Adult Education, ed. T. Fenwick, T. Nesbitt and B. Spencer. Toronto: Thompson Educational Publishing. Hall, B.L. and D.E. Clover (2005). Social Movement Learning. In International Encyclopedia of Adult Learning, ed. L. English, 584–89. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Herbst, P. (1992). From Helpless Victim to Empowered Survivor: Oral history as a treatment for survivors of torture. Women and Therapy, Vol. 13 (1–2): 141–54. Herman, J. (1992). Trauma and Recovery. New York: Basic Books. Hirschmann, D. (1998). Civil Society in South Africa: Learning from gender themes, World Development, 26(2): 227–38. Horsman, J. (1998). But I’m Not a Therapist: The challenge of creating effective literacy learning for survivors of trauma. In Australian Council for Adult Literacy 21st National Conference: Literacy on the Line: Conference Proceedings. Adelaide: University of South Australia. ——(1999). Too Scared to Learn: Women, Violence and Education. New Jersey: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, Inc. ——(2002). Literacy Learning for Survivors of Trauma. In Violence Against Women: New Canadian Perspectives, 263–72. Inanna Publications and Education Inc. ——(2005). Creating Change in Literacy Programs: Taking account of violence. In Portraits of Literacy Across Families, Communities and Schools: Intersections and tension, eds J. Anderson, M. Kendrick and T. Rogers. New Jersey: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, 2005. Isserlis, J. (1996). Women at the Centre of the Curriculum. In Making Connections: Literacy and EAL Curriculum from a Feminist Perspective, ed. K. Nonesuch, 13–14. Toronto: Canadian Congress for Learning Opportunities for Women. ——(1999). Mental Health and the Adult Refugee: The Role of the ESL Teacher. ERIC Digest: 8. ——(2001). Trauma and The Adult Education Language Learner. ERIC Digest: 4. Jarvis, P. (2001). The Changing Educational Scene. In The Age of Learning: Education and the Knowledge Society, ed. P. Jarvis. London: Kogan Page Limited, 27–38. Kerka, S. (2002). Trauma and Adult Learning. ERIC Digest, 8. Kilgour, D. (1999). Understanding Learning in Social Movements: A theory of collective learning. International Journal of Lifelong Learning, 18(3): 191–202. Knowles, M., E.F. Holton III and R.A. Swanson (2005). The Adult Learner: The Definitive Classic in Adult Education and Human Resource Development (6th edn). Burlington, MA: Elsevier. Koczka, W. J. (1992/93). Presentation to the Canadian Panel on Power and Control Against Women. Women’s Education Des Femmes, 10(1): 27–28. Light, D. (1992). Healing Their Wounds: Guatemalan refugee women as political activists. Women and Therapy, 13 (1–2): 297–308. Littlewood, W. (1985). Communicative Language Teaching: An Introduction. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lowenstein, A. (2007). Teaching Writing in Prison. In Writing in Prison, 34–48. Magro, K. (2006). Overcoming the Trauma of War: Literacy challenges of adult learners. Education Canada, 47(1): 70–74. ——(2007). Exploring the Needs and Challenges of Adults from War Affected Backgrounds. In Adult Education Research Conference (AERC) Proceedings. Magro, K. and Polyzoi, E. (2009). Geographical and Psychological Terrains of Adults From War-Affected Backgrounds. Journal of Transformative Education, 7: 85–106. Merriam, S.B. (2001). The Changing Landscape of Adult Learning Theory. NCSALL The Annual Review of Adult Learning and Literacy. Retrieved 29/10/10 from www.ncsall.net/fileadmin/resources/ann_rev/rall_vol4_ch6.pdf. Merriam, S. B. and R.S. Cafferella (1999). Learning in Adulthood. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Mezirow, J. (1996). Contemporary Paradigms of Learning. Adult Education Quarterly, 46(3): 158–72. ——(2007) Adult Education and Empowerment for Individual and Community Development. In Radical Learning for Liberation, eds B. Connolly, T. Fleming, D. McCormack and A. Ryan. Maynooth: MACE, 10–23. 273

Shahrzad Mojab and Bethany J. Osborne

Mohanty, C.T. (2003). Feminism Without Borders: Decoloninizing Theory, Practicing Solidarity. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Mohr, W. K., J.W. Fantuzzo, and S. Abdul-kabir (2001). Safeguarding Themselves and Their Children: Mothers Share Their Strategies. Journal of Family Violence, 16(1): 75–92. Mojab, Shahrzad (2000). Vengeance and Violence: Kurdish Women Recount the War. Canadian Women’s Studies Journal, 19(4): 89–94. Mojab, Shahrzad (2006). War and Diaspora as Lifelong Learning for Immigrant Women. In Gender and Lifelong Learning: Critical Feminist Engagements, eds C. Leathwood and B. Francis. New York: Routledge, 164–75. Mojab, S. and Abdo, N. (eds) (2004). Violence in the Name of Honour: Theoretical and Political Challenges. Istanbul: Bilgi University Press. Mojab, S. and S. McDonald (2008). Women, Violence and Informal Learning. In Learning Through Community: Exploring Participatory Practices, eds K. Church, N. Bascia and E. Shrogge. Toronto: Springer Science and Business Media, B.V. Osborne, B. J. (2010). The Survival and Resistance of Iranian Women. In Women, War, Violence and Learning, ed. S. Mojab. London: Routledge. Rebick, J. (2005). Ten Thousand Roses: The Making of a Feminist Revolution. Toronto: Penguin Books. Riaño-Alcalá, P. (2004). Encounters with Memory and Mourning: Public art as collective pedagogy of reconciliation. In Public Arts and Desires: Curriculum and Social Change, ed. E. Meiners. Florence, KY: Routledge, 164–87. Rogers, K. L., S. Leydesdorff and G. Dawson (eds) (1999). Trauma and Life Stories: International Perspectives. New York: Routledge. Rosenwasser, P. (2000). Tool for Transformation: Cooperative inquiry as a process for healing from internalized oppression. In AERC: An International Conference. Vancouver: University of British Columbia. Rundle, L. B. and N. Ysabet-Scott (1995). Violence: A barrier to our education. Women’s Education Des Femmes, 11(4): 5–11. Schiraldi, G. (2009). The Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder Sourcebook: A Guide to Healing, Recovery, and Growth. New York: McGraw Hill. Schwartz, M.A. (2005). How Posttraumatic Stress Disorder Affects Writing and Learning: What Neuroscience Suggests About the Memoir Assignment. Unpublished MA Thesis. Department of English and Linguistics, Indiana University-Purdue University Fort Wayne. Shalhoub-Kevorkian, N. (2005). Voice Therapy for Women Aligned with Political Prisoners: A case study of trauma among Palestinian women in the second intifada. The Social Service Review, Vol. 79(2): 24. Shay, J. (1994). Achilles in Vietnam: Combat Trauma and the Undoing of Character. New York, Touchstone. Stone, N. (1995). Teaching ESL Survivors of Trauma. Prospect (The Journal of the National Centre for English Language Teaching and Research, Macquarie University), 10(3). Tisdell, E.J. (1996). Creating Inclusive Adult Learning Environments: Insights from Multicultural Education and Feminist Pedagogy. Darby, PA: DIANE Publishing Company. Turshen, M. (1998). Women’s War Stories in eds Turshen, M. and Twagiramariya, C., What Women Do in Wartime. London: Zed Books. Ungar, M. (2008). Resilience across cultures. British Journal of Social Work, 38(2): 218–35. Ungar, M., M. Brown, L. Liebenberg et al. (2007). Unique Pathways to Resilience across Cultures. Adolescence, 42 (166): 287–310. United Nations UN) (2010). The World’s Women 2010: Trends and Statistics. New York: Department of Economic and Social Affairs, Statistics Division, United Nations. Welton, M.R. (1995) In Defense of the Lifeworld: A Habermasian approach to adult learning. In Defense of the Lifeworld: Critical Perspectives on Adult Learning, ed. M.R.Welton. Albany, NY: SUNY Press, 127–56. Werner, E.E. and Smith, R.S. (2001). Journeys From Childhood to Midlife: Risk, Resiliency, and Recovery. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Wilson, Kathleen (2003). Therapeutic Landscapes and First Nations Peoples: An exploration of culture, health and place. Health and Place, 9(2): 83–93.

274

29 An aesthetic education An education in aesthetics in the setting of a Danish folk high school through the theatrical arts Lars Ilum

Animals fill themselves; man eats. The man of mind alone knows how to eat. Brillat-Savarin, The Physiology of Taste (1825), trans. Fayette Robinson

This chapter has been written on the basis of experiences and ideas about modern life learning, which have been important for the establishment of the Performers House Folk High School. The section also includes reflections that form part of the process of evaluation that has taken place over the course of the three years and more for which the school has now existed. This chapter constitutes a case study about this form of learning that is getting the students of Performers House to learn to take action through art and to experience and reflect through aesthetics. This learning process has an existential aim, seeking to train our students both in theatrical art-skills and personal lifeskills. My thesis therefore claims that the aesthetics have certain extraordinary learning possibilities and that this learning very much is connected to how the learner is consciously able to deal with the aesthetic experience: an experience that offers the learner an interaction between senses and analysis. The extraordinary learning therefore starts when I observe that I’m observing, and through this position am able to interact with my expression and the community. As a consequence – in my terms – aesthetics should be understood broadly, and in this context as distinct from art. Aesthetics must therefore not be understood as learning about art history or about the sublime in art. On this basis, aesthetics is to be understood as a universal human language that includes a sensory, emotional, intellectual element and a form element. It can be used to formulate thoughts, insights and knowledge that cannot be formulated through discursive language.The aesthetic offers no fixed right answers, but a multitude of possibilities outside absolute models of interpretation. Aesthetics are distinguished by the interaction between me and my memories/experiences and formulation/expression and a receiver/community. Aesthetics are marked by a desire to discuss, to meet. Regardless of form and expression, aesthetics are marked by a wish for communication and interaction. It is in the synergy between experience, reflection on our experiences and the specific actions through which these are expressed that make up our transitory formation of identity. Therefore aesthetic life learning means looking at oneself while one looks – listening to oneself while one listens – tasting while one tastes – in brief, rediscovering the sensory dimension or the aesthetic experience in life. I stress, 275

Lars Ilum

rediscovering. For me, the aesthetic means seeing the basic, latent possibilities in people, where significance and meaning are linked to values and norms, which are in turn linked to religion and the prevailing power structure. Even though the aesthetic is highly fashionable today, it is not a new solution to all our problems, but rather a possible means of experiencing ourselves and the world around us. One of today’s great drama teachers and directors, Augusto Boal (2000): writes as follows, going right to the heart of the matter of why it is meaningful to use the aesthetic process in a reflective, awareness-forming and educational context: Theatre is mankind’s first invention, and it paves the way for all other inventions and all other discoveries. Theatre was born in the moment when mankind discovered that one could observe oneself. Observe oneself while acting. Discover that one can observe oneself in the action of observing. Observe oneself as an observer. Observe oneself in a situation.1

The ideals and motivations behind the education we provide The former paper mill in Silkeborg, which is today home to Performers House, was founded at the end of the 1840s. At that time Denmark was undergoing a transition from a distinctly agrarian economy to being a country with a blossoming industrial sector and new democratic movements. The first folk high school was also founded during this period – in 1844. Just as the founders of the folk high school movement must have done, I would like to consider the nature of our times and the prospects for the future, and thus to describe Performers House as a learning project firmly rooted in the context of the present. How are we to describe our present situation? What trends for the future can we see? What significance can we see in art and aesthetics? It is surely true to say that our culture is no longer dominated by the concept of a universal authority that can ensure that we hold to the paths of truth and righteousness. Our lives are no longer anchored in stable absolutes that can provide answers to all our existential questions. Finding answers to questions about who we are, how we should behave and what we should do now requires personal input and effort. We can of course point to different types of organisation that can provide us with a framework within which to find a sense of identity. We can join a political party, give our allegiance to a religious movement, put our faith in science or be members of a bikers’ club or a sports association. But, whatever our choice, it is only our own personal conviction that convinces us that West Ham is the world’s greatest football team, or whatever it is we believe. Others will feel that their convictions are right, and ours are wrong. It is thus possible to create a framework, a type of order, for ourselves – but not to claim that it is universally valid. In brief, philosophy, sociology and our own everyday experiences all tell us that our lives are not bound by absolute rules as to what a person can, should and must do. Our days are marked by a lack of clarity. It is no longer self-evident who we are, why we are here and how we should behave. Things are just the same in our working lives. The key concepts here are to be flexible, creative and innovative, to think creatively for the advantage of the company, 24 hours a day. Lifelong learning from cradle to grave is essential. On one hand you could say that part of the potential of our times lies in the fact that aesthetics and art are constantly being linked to other areas. This applies, for example, to teaching, to employee development and to development of organisations, to leadership performance and every possible other kind of performance, all with the goal of furthering the creativity and innovation that are seen as being so crucial if society is to develop and if we are to take the lead in this era of creativity and aesthetics. On the other hand it is important to understand that the focus of the learning project that we are developing at Performers House lies not in creating flexible and creative employees destined for the fast 276

An aesthetic education

lane of business life, where the aim is one of constant innovation and change. Instead, we see the potential of art and aesthetics in their appeal to the individual student and his or her ability to tackle the complexities of our modern era, his or her ability to cope with life and live it to the full. At the same time, I am convinced that this aesthetic training project is to the benefit of all society – including business.2 My mission is therefore rather to promote what one might call a form of self-education. This might be described as ‘Learning to be yourself without being self-centred’. Or, as the German professor and philosopher Thomas Ziehe put it, ‘To be able to find something in yourself other than yourself.’3 What I am saying here is that we go to the limits of what we can do in our reflective behaviour. This is what is contained in the notion of an aesthetic education. At the centre of an aesthetic education based on experiences lies the challenge of the formation of tastes and of the appreciation of ways of living and perspectives on life. It involves going beyond the self, while at the same time still recognising the self as oneself. At Performers House, the basis for such a modern life learning project is an emphasis on making connections across borders – both the borders between disciplines and borders of other kinds. I believe that the meeting between art forms and between global and European cultures that we have at Performers House gives significance to and highlights the differences and similarities that form the framework for our individual existences. We are not talking here about integration, then, the notion that everything should be the same, but rather of the fact that differences as disturbances actually nourish the learning that occurs in meeting. Our desire to use theatre, dance and music both as forms of expression and as learning processes is rooted in everyday life and fellowship. In the full spirit and tradition of folk high schools, the artistic/ aesthetic process gives opportunities for interaction between handiwork and action, the physical and the bodily, communication and expression, feelings and the immediate surroundings, the musical and the poetic, and the community and the individual. The essential element in this interaction is the opportunity for our students to learn that the artistic process (artistic action) has a number of essential prerequisites that are complementary to the conditions of life of postmodern mankind. The personal life-skills that we are aiming at through the training in the artistic/aesthetic process could be listed as:  Presence – understood as the ability to be present, to create in the present on the basis of personal experiences and memories, to involve the past in the here and now.  Change – to be able to react in relation to what has been planned, the prearranged, both in relation to what is going on in the present instant and to the opportunities (or necessity) for change that are constantly with us, and in interaction both with the other participants in the artistic process and with the audience, thus involving the past in the present.  Individuality and the community – to be able to focus on the personal process and at the same time to accommodate an awareness of contact with the surroundings in terms of fellow actors and the audience. This involves a training that simultaneously accommodates both ‘inner’ and ‘outward’ dialogues, and promotes the ability to use the present situation to examine oneself from the outside, reflectively and within a context. It is important for an understanding of the whole aesthetic education project to make clear the distinction between art and aesthetics. Art is the outward expression, while aesthetics is the inner existential space of experience. Art involves the deliberate shaping that goes into making a work into reality. Technical skill, use of one’s hands and reflection upon what constitutes good handiwork are important elements. Through his or her handiwork, the artist is able to express the most complex concepts through a universal idiom that can span time and place. The aesthetic becomes an artistic expression. Aesthetics concerns the sampling of all the many sensory possibilities in our existence. It embraces the sensory reality of fellowship, of process, indeed of all participation – the involvement of the body, the 277

Lars Ilum

liveability of life, a great sensitivity to our surroundings. At the same time it must be emphasised that the skills and techniques that are associated with artistic expression are involved in enabling the meeting with the other participants in the process – fellow-actors and the audience. The interaction that arises from the encounter with the audience and one’s fellow actors increases the opportunities for reflecting the process/ product in the surroundings (that actors can communicate with one another and that the whole expression can make contact with the audience), and thus in the final analysis strengthens the learning project. It is therefore essential that the aesthetic and the artistic dimensions do not stand alone. They work best in a situation of reciprocity. Working with the technical competences of art means involvement in the process of examining and interpreting the surrounding world, and vice versa. This is how art and aesthetics are to be understood in this chapter. It makes no sense to formulate a clear delineation between the two dimensions in relation to aesthetic education. In the following I discuss how the present, change and the relationship between individuality and fellowship contain the key to understanding the artistic and aesthetic process as the basis for our education project. How and why can the artistic and aesthetic disciplines at Performers House be linked to modern life learning, and how is this achieved in practice? I describe aesthetic education in four sections – as communication, as hope and memory, as space and, finally, as process.

Aesthetics as communication Birds sing without knowing anything about music. Singing forms a part of their activities as animals, like eating, drinking and mating, and their singing never varies. A nightingale will never try to sing like a swallow, or a thrush like a lark. In contrast, humans are able to sing and to observe themselves while they sing. A warning scream from an African ape will be clearly understood by an Amazonian ape of the same species, whereas the word that signifies a warning – ‘Danger!’ – spoken in good Portuguese will never be understood by a Swede or a Norwegian – who nevertheless will be able to understand the warning from the signals conveyed in the face of the person shouting.4 Or, in other words, from the mode of speaking the word. (Boal, 2000: 27–8) What does it mean that communication has meaning and that this is linked to what I have taken a word from the theatre to call the subtext (the mode)? When we use the word subtext in connection with communication, this implies that there must be something above. What is above is what we call the text – the words and symbols that normally constitute the form of the message. Text and subtext thus signify what could be called the outer and the inner elements of communication. In theatre, this construct is also linked to those physical actions that can quite reasonably be termed the subtext of the action (the purpose).  Selection of information is part of the outer element of communication, which is therefore associated with the text and the action (the form).  Feelings, senses and vocal expression (mode) belong to the inner element of communication (see Figure 29.1).

Communication What is special about aesthetic communication is that, at one and the same time, we work with the sensory and the meaning aspects of symbols, and consciously use the sensory and meaning-forming patterns that exist within language quite independently of the cognitive truth value or normative correctness of the message. Feelings are the prerequisite for aesthetic communication. The question is whether feelings are not always a prerequisite for every communication. This is not to be understood as meaning being under the 278

An aesthetic education

Communication Subtext

Text

Inner element

Outer element

Figure 29.1 Communication as form and mode

control of our emotions. Reasoning and analysis are always present as important factors. The interaction between sender and receiver that takes place around the symbols or form of the message in the public space (the outer element) is the primary goal of the communication as such. It is also here that interference is greatest, which constantly leads to new choices and adaptations by sender and receiver through the inner aspect of communication in the form of reflection, analysis and sensibility to bring order to the system. This relationship – this interaction – is what I term the aesthetic experience.5 In a psycho-physical learning perspective, I wish to focus further on aesthetic work in an area that I have termed the ‘pre-context’. If I am to make a serious attempt to isolate the meaning of the aesthetic, I believe it is important to try to describe the process that goes on before the symbols or the work are published to the surrounding world. In placing the aesthetic experience within the inner element of communication, Figure 29.2 presents a development regarding the content of the subtext. In contrast to Figure 29.1, which reflects a traditional view that the subtext is associated with the feelings and the senses, the presence of analysis together with

Sender Choice of subtext Intuitive adjustment in the “pre-context”

Inner element Feelings/senses

Analysis/reasoning

Outer element

Form/symbol Receiver

Figure 29.2 Communication in ‘the pre-context state’ 279

Lars Ilum

feelings as part of the inner element of communication represents a development of the traditional view of the subtext. In contrast to current views that perceive feelings and reasoning as meeting consciously in the context, Figure 29.2 suggests a continuous interaction between feelings and reason that makes possible an adjustment of choices in a ‘pre-context state’. The need to make adjustments can be linked to interference from voice quality, experiences, or memories (inner pictures) related to the subject, and may thus be linked to both feelings and reasoning. From our own experience in dialogues, we recognise the preliminary ‘Er … ’ or the lowering of the eyebrows as signalling the moment before information is conveyed to the public sphere through the message. This suggests that the interaction between form (inner pictures) and analysis takes place in the ‘precontext’, before the action and symbols are presented, and that the emotional quality of the communication thus lies in the choice of memories and objectives, in the vocal quality of the sender and the receiver, and the circumstances under which the communication takes place.

Aesthetics as hope and memory My description of aesthetic communication and my subsequent attempt to identify the aesthetic as an existential space for experience involve the question of what comes before feelings, so that these are available and ready as a precondition for the appearance of the aesthetic experience and the subtext of the communication. The function of feelings can be described as being the conveyor belt for communication and its solid basis – the sensory layers of meaning in the meeting with reasoning, in the creative present. Feelings arise as a result of the sender’s memories, which take the form of pictures, senses, emotional memories, purposes – in brief, as the subtext of the music score, manuscript or movement. This individual process is constantly in play in the creative present in the meeting with the receiver and the other actors. The individual process is thus continuously affected by fellowship, which at the same time is itself changing through the meeting with the sender’s individual expression. This means that feelings are in a constant state of flux, and consequently a performer can never repeat (copy) an expression, but must recreate the expression in the present moment. In condensed form, I would put this as follows: the receiver sees what happens and hears what is said through reasoning; and through feelings the receiver ‘reads’ the subtext of the action and the words. The presence of feelings is linked to memory, which through creative action – the creative present – is linked to the future. In this way, change and development are characterised by their accommodation of both past and future – a contradictory concept which the Danish writer Johan Fjord Jensen called rather poetically hope and memory.6 In hope lies the possibility for change and action, and in memory is hidden experience and knowledge/professional competence; both these concepts are contained within the framework of the present (action) – the creative present. The challenge in working with feelings and sensations lies in the assumption that the emotional state is not subject to our will. An aesthetic education demands a degree of sensuality for being able to work with these processes, and this often means a change at the level of identity. Consequently, I will describe two paths in relation to memory – two paths that constantly overlap and interfere with one another. The two paths provide an understanding of how one can consciously work with feelings and the sensory, both in artistic expression (recreatively) and in an authentic aesthetic situation:  Memories as involuntary associations – ‘the intermittences of the heart’,7 as Marcel Proust called them. Tripping over a stone recalls memories of a holiday. The taste of a cake brings back a childhood experience. In this way it is possible to recreate a forgotten time in a new time; and in order to hold on 280

An aesthetic education

to those memories, they must be recreated in an art work – a kind of recycling. Creativity is thus tightly bound up with memory and the senses. This type of intrusion of memory is characterised by:  

occurring constantly, and thus having a large influence on a person’s voice (which has the side effect that the emotional state has significance for the ‘pre-context state’, and thus also on the choice of information and subtext in the message or form of expression); the fact that it cannot be worked on through practice of technique.

 Memory as a deliberate choice – the securing of selected memories (highly selective recall).8 Securing memories involves an ability to associate new operations until the memory is found. These memories are a condensation of previous operations. The memory is thus not the entire preceding operation, but a distillation – a type of memory ‘light’. The selective memory is characterised by:  being part of a selected feeling;  belonging to both the ‘pre-context’ and the public space of communication;  the observation of observation constantly being part of the process of the selection of recall;  the presence of feelings and recognition as complementary objects;  the fact that it can be worked on through practice of technique.

Aesthetics as space When the message is produced in the public space, it is often in a consciously determined form. That the form of the message is consciously determined means that the message in the public space is part of the staging, but it can, however, be easily dominated by a search for the perfect form and hence an exaggerated focus on the technical skill of the performer. I will try to explain more clearly through a couple of examples. One of the distinguishing features of our time is a desire for authenticity in relations with the world. There is talk of authentic leadership, of authentic teachers, salespeople, politicians, etc. – but if the form is deliberately chosen, can it at the same time be authentic? I will try to answer that question with a counter-image. The authentic is also a current ideal for expression within various art genres, for example Dogme film. In this connection, reference is often made to the English director Mike Leigh’s ‘method’ of building up dialogue. It is important to emphasise that the authentic is a consciously targeted form that can only be achieved through great (professional) artistic skill. When there is emphasis on the process, the process comes to underlie the expression (the form). The expression is then rather the opposite, and occurs in an unconsciously chosen, unintended form. The result is then an authentic form that directly reflects the individual’s personality. It is still a mask, but not one that is determined by requirements for a perfect mode of expression or technical skill. By separating the aesthetic experience from an aimed-for form, the aesthetic space becomes accessible to everybody. That is, for me, the crucial point if aesthetics is to be involved in the way in which we communicate and transform ourselves – in brief, in aesthetic learning. A folk high school is for all adults of 18 years or over, and should be seen as a free space for learning, fellowship and education. There are no auditions or entry tests, and a folk high school is a totally examination-free zone. The ultimate togetherness that is found in the boarding school format creates unique opportunities as a framework for both non-formal learning and the informal, self-directed learning that goes on the whole time among the students. The factor that all students have in common is that they have chosen to attend the school entirely of their own free will, motivated by the subject areas and the fellowship that each separate folk high school offers. For these reasons, Performers House places emphasis on the aesthetic and the authentic, but in interaction with the discipline of art. 281

Lars Ilum

Aesthetics as process and product It is important to understand the aesthetic as more than party games, entertainment or breathing space, but to take it seriously, if it is to be used in an awareness-building and learning context. One must take aesthetics seriously and not simply be satisfied by the fact that it certainly does also involve play, entertainment and freedom. Of all the aesthetic processes, it is the theatre that comes closest to and most easily approaches life as we truly live it. If we compare theatre with dance and music, we see that dance and music involve an additional dimension of abstraction or stylisation in their expression (for example, dialogue is sung in opera, and movements are strictly choreographed in dance) in comparison with the theatrical tradition. These three forms are further differentiated from literature or the visual arts, which lack the direct interaction between the sender (the artist or work) and the receiver (the audience). It is my belief, however, that if one is aware and deliberate in one’s choice of form of expression, these differences in forms of expression need not have great significance in a context where the aesthetic serves as a platform for learning. On one of the first evenings after the arrival of a new group of students, we present our particular folk high school and the whole folk high school tradition. I take the opportunity to explain why we have called our folk high school ‘Performers House’ and not, for example, ‘Performance House’. I explain that, here at Performers House, the focus is on the individual performer – not because the individual as a performer should sit and contemplate his or her own navel all the time, but because the individual has an obligation to make an effort, and to prepare as well as possible for the encounter with the community through artistic/aesthetic work and through the opportunities for communal living offered by the residential nature of the school. I also make clear our performance concept: performance is carrying out a specific action, under specific circumstances, as precisely as possible. The specific action is associated with knowledge of the discipline, handiwork, the technical skills of art – being able to carry out precise movements in dance, to play the right notes at the right time in music, etc. The specific circumstances involve everything that pertains to the specific action: the performer’s voice and physical condition, the same factors for co-performers, whether or not the audience are attentive or are taking the opportunity for a short nap, the inevitable coughing that comes in at the most sensitive moments, the physical setting, the acoustics of the space, the distance to the audience, etc. When, as a performer, a person is able to tackle the specific circumstances of the action, it means that, even on ‘bad days’, when the circumstances seem to frustrate at every turn, there is a high basic level of performance. The performer has become professional. It is as in life, when a person is able to tackle any situation when life keeps constantly playing tricks. That person has become a survivor, capable of functioning in life. The specific circumstances are therefore the real focus of our performance training. ‘As precisely as possible’ means that our definition of performance has no bottom line or examination. The aesthetic cannot be weighed and measured in the traditional sense of a measurable result. It is about making an effort; if our students make an effort, they cannot do better.

Product as process All the longer courses at Performers House conclude with a major project – a performance or a concert, either based on one discipline or on some form of interdisciplinary cross-over. A final project is the ultimate product; the product is the process. The function of the teaching staff in the project is like that of a Board of Directors; they use all their artistic knowledge to set the project on its feet as a worthwhile experience for a broad public. The target audience goes beyond the participants’ friends and family, and thus their normal comfort zone. Our final projects are typically presented four to six times for different target groups. It is important to emphasise that the process of preparing for the final encounter involves a number of presentations related to intermediary 282

An aesthetic education

projects and café evenings. The aim of these is to create a performance culture wherein people dare to perform even when they doubt their own abilities or are unsure of the quality of what they have to show. The overall goal of our final project is to experience the significance of the specific circumstances. It awakens reflections in our students on what it means to perform – on recreating rather than repeating, on what made the performance a good one or not a good one. The reflections of the students on themselves and on the specific circumstances are what make evident the significance of the circumstances of the performance. Part of our evaluation therefore involves creating a communal framework for our students within which they can share their reflections.This process in relation to a specific product gives rise to the opportunity for two encounters.

The ‘encounter with one’s self’ A person does not just wander in off the street and create an aesthetic experience or a work of art. First of all, the process involves creating trust between the participants and  the director, so that the participants are ready to accept that an external observer is a facilitator and a creator of a framework, both for the performance as a whole and the contribution of each individual;  the other participants, so that the community forms a secure framework within which the fear of failure and the risk of being exposed to ridicule are minimised. In fellowship (‘we stand together’) there is the opportunity for individual participants to be strengthened and thus in a position to make an extra effort, to the benefit of themselves and for the group. This crucial trust is naturally bound up in the communal way of life of the folk high school, and it is also built up through a series of aesthetic/theatrical experiences for the students throughout the course, which are ‘tuned’ in relation to the students’ self-awareness, and current challenges and changes that emerge into the ‘spotlight’ during the course. In the meeting with oneself – between the past/memories and the current context – the learning that is achieved through the other parts of the high school stay is reflected in the realisation or ‘action’, which is so important when one participates in the aesthetic process. The whole ‘training element’ is a precondition for participants’ ability to ‘appear’ in an aesthetic space and thus to become co-creators of the content framework.

The ‘encounter with the audience’ The encounter with the audience involves a paradox: the greatest resistance and the greatest driving force. This paradox is at the same time a precondition for release and forward-directed energy. The resistance arises from a fear of being unable to make an impression and a doubt that the performer can manage to interest anyone in the presentation as a whole. In consequence, doubt arises as to whether the whole has any meaning at all. It is impossible simultaneously to both be a participant in and experience the whole, and this can create a lack of confidence in the director and the process. In consequence, students often question whether the project is viable at all. The driving force lies in the ambition to do things as well as possible and to make a difference. In this lies belief in the future. The more students approach their encounter with the audience with fear and trembling, the more (self-)disciplined they become and focused on achieving the best possible results. The release comes when both the results of the whole and the work of the individual participants are seen reflected in the reactions of the public. The spectators cry, the spectators laugh. They applaud long and loud, and the students react immediately to the recognition. If the audience fall asleep or even leave, the frustration that this provokes will form a part of the specific circumstances. For the students to deal 283

Lars Ilum

with the frustration and gather themselves again for the next performance will require work, and reflection on one’s own performance and that of the others.

Process as product Improvisation is the ultimate process wherein the product is the process. Improvisation takes place in an interaction between music, dance and theatre. The student is thus challenged to improvise on the basis of a discipline that is not his or her own. The improvisations vary between more abstract content and more concrete offerings, whereby students can express themselves in forms that can directly translate the dilemmas and beliefs arising from the complexities of their everyday lives. An informed (situationally determined) judgement is about improvisation, where the quality lies in the process as a method of working and developing, and not in some predetermined final product! Making a proper assessment means partaking in the process – participating in life! There are a small number of prerequired factors that must be exhibited/practised when working with improvisation:    

The ability to work together requires trust (and give and take). The ability to participate in the process requires courage (to give up the concept of a final product). The ability to make the right choices requires a concept (permission to be wrong). The ability to create growth requires passion (faith in one’s own abilities, experiences and memories, and in those of others).

On the basis of these skills and prerequisites, a feedback culture is built up within the improvisation, with the simple rule of play, that one may not say no – since this would destroy what is in process. One must always agree to join in! An informed, situationally-determined assessment. Participants may seek conflict and dilemmas without blocking everything with a refusal – the participants are obliged to go along with the situation, to join in, and so move onward. When musicians improvise together, they must simultaneously listen to themselves and to the others, and be attentive to what the other players ‘are at’ and when to let go of the musical figures one is working with and that one offers to one’s fellow musicians. There is not necessarily a score that determines what one plays. An experienced musician has many patterns and figures in his or her repertoire and can use them to create structure and meaning in what the uninitiated see as a random chaos of notes. In the same way, socially competent people have many ‘patterns’ for what it means to be human, and are in a position to combine and move between different perspectives until they hit upon a tone that makes it possible for a group to develop – and to swing.

Conclusion In my introduction I claim that the language of aesthetics has special cognitive functions and potential. This special ‘something’ that we offer in the meeting with our students is to challenge them to educate themselves and learn about life on a meta-level within the artistic/aesthetic process as a method of approaching the great questions of life. As participants in the artistic/aesthetic process, they must interpret existence and the world around them in order to express themselves. This involves metaevaluation. This process involves at all times their interrelationship with individuals and groups in close interaction, essential to one another. Artistic/aesthetic expression is performing communication with community and society. So their experience is to participate as both a duty and a right in the artistic/aesthetic process in a democratic society. Aesthetics as Hope, Memory and Space is learning by doing and reflecting: It is learning to be your self without being self-centred, using and developing art and aesthetics as life competences. 284

An aesthetic education

From my point of view, the level of meta-learning is therefore crucial, for you to be able to define that a learning process has taken place. The learning relation is always moving and changing and therefore it is at the same time a relation defined by insecurity, possibilities (choices) and instinctive actions. Somehow, the meta-level is embracing that a developing process has been going on and points towards an existential life education, so to speak: to deal with life as a process, and taste that you taste, observe that you are observing.

Notes 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

Boal, Augusto, 2000: Lystens regnbue, pp. 27. Hansen, Finn Thorbjørn og Dupont, Søren, 1998: Antologien: Eksistenspædagogik – på vej mod en ny voksenpædagogik? Larsen, Steen Nepper, 2003: ‘Dannelse og refleksivitet’, Asterisk 10/2003, p. 2. Boal, Augusto, 2000: Lystens regnbue, pp. 27–28. Thyssen, Ole og Stjernfelt, Frederik (red), 2000: Æstetisk kommunikation, pp. 180–186. Jensen, Johan Fjord, 1998: Frirum, pp. 80–81. Segal, Hanna, 1958: A Psycho-Analytical Approach to Aesthetics, pp. 131–133. Keiding, Tina Bering et al., 2002: ‘Hvor gør man af følelserne’ in Luhmann anvendt, p. 130.

References Boal, Augusto (2000) Lystens regnbue, Forlaget Drama. Fjord Jensen, Johan (1998) Frirum, Klim, redigeret af Horn, Finn. Hansen, Finn Thorbjørn og Dupont, Søren (1998) Antologien ‘Eksistenspædagogik – på vej mod en ny voksenpædagogik?’, FOFU, RUC. Hermann, Stefan, Learning Lab Denmark 2/4, December 2002, artiklen ‘Begræns Kompetence-udviklingen’. Keiding, Tina Bering et al., 2002: ‘Hvor gør man af følelserne’ in Luhmann anvendt, p. 130. Larsen, Steen Nepper (2003) Dannelse og refleksivitet, Asterisk 10/2003, Copenhagen: Danish Pedagogical University. Segal, Hanna (1952) A Psycho-Analytical Approach to Esthetics, oversat af Ørum, Tania in Tidsskriftet Perspektiver. Thyssen, Ole og Stjernfelt, Frederik (red) (2000) Æstetisk kommunikation, Copenhagen Buisness School Press, 1. udgave 2000.

285

Part 4

Learning and disability

30 Learning, sensory impairment, and physical disability Joanna Beazley Richards

This has not been an easy chapter to write, because we cannot generalise about disabilities, nor about their effects on people, and we certainly cannot generalise about the way that people who have disabilities learn. In fact, as Lynne emphasises later in this chapter, uniqueness is a central feature of having a disability. It may also be why people who do not have a disability frequently have problems responding to disability appropriately; we are scared of difference. We often just do not know how to relate to people with disabilities, and that includes those responsible for providing them with what they need in order to be able to learn to the best of their ability. We need to let go of our assumptions about the cohesion of the grouping of disabled people and open out a much richer range of explanatory possibilities. This means looking seriously at the diverse, discrete and interconnected worlds of unique individuals (Corker, 2000).

Types of impairment People may be impaired in a number of areas. They may have one or more senses working in a way that is limited, or not at all. They may have been impaired since birth, or have acquired impairment later. They may have part of their physical body that is different, and that may work poorly, or not at all.

Sensory impairments. People may have been born without sight, hearing, a sense of touch or sensation, taste or smell, or their sensory impairment may be partial. Others will start off with their senses working, but lose sensory ability later. I lost two of my senses 20 years ago, in an accident. One problem for people with sensory impairments is that they are not usually obvious at first, and the process of revealing their disability can cause, at least, embarrassment and, at best, some hilarious situations; ask any group of blind and partially sighted people (Shepherd, 2001). Robert describes below his experience of learning as a deaf person. Robert: I am a 50-year-old male and was born with a moderate–severe bilateral sensorineural hearing loss. I was lucky in being born to a mother who had two previous babies with normal hearing. She knew what was usual in terms of babies’ responses to noises around them and additionally was not the sort of person to allow her concerns to be ‘fobbed off’. 289

Joanna Beazley Richards

The effect of these two factors was that my hearing loss was picked up and diagnosed very early [3 months] and I was later referred to the Royal National Throat, Nose and Ear Hospital in London and was fitted with hearing aids at the age of 3 years. I have been a patient of this hospital ever since. My good fortune extended to being a member of a family that spoke audibly and clearly and my parents ensured that they spoke to me and read to me a lot. I benefitted by developing tone-normal speech and good communication abilities, and this includes some skill in lip reading. I feel lucky when I meet others with similar degrees and types of loss who have developed ‘flat’ sounding speech. My hearing loss means that, without aids, I can only communicate with people I know well and whom I can trust to make allowances to accommodate my disability. Engaging with others in a hearing world often means my having to make repeated requests to remove hands from mouths; to face me when speaking; to not whisper in my ear in noisy places – I then lose the ability even to lip read and to repeat things. Dealing with all of the above requires a degree of ego strength and confidence, something I have only developed and learnt in my later life. As a child, struggling with these difficulties in school was at best tolerable. With the benefit of experience I believe that I would have benefitted had the normal class teachers had greater awareness of the issues. Class teacher support in ensuring that I could hear what they were saying, had understood what I’d been asked to do and was not being expected to be able to cope unaided with exercises that required the ability to hear well would have been helpful. In later years my hearing has proved less of an issue: I have learned ways of managing the responses of people towards me; generally others have a greater awareness and tolerance of disability. I have worked in several blue-chip organisations, including at senior level.

Physical disabilities People may be born with some parts of their body underdeveloped, or partially developed. Or, they may have some part or parts that have developed differently to other people, or indeed different to another part of themselves, as in people with one leg that is like other people’s and one that is not. Or, they may start off life with their bodies like those of others, but have a disease or an accident that changes their body. Or, they may have part removed in an accident or surgery. Parents may have to make early, agonising decisions about the removal of a malformed limb, in order to maximise their child’s future learning and success. My friend has no leg below one knee. Her parents agreed to its removal, because it would have been impossible to fit a prosthetic lower leg to the distorted one. She is grateful; she was able to learn to run and be physically skilful, and was sports captain at her school. She knows people who have a grossly malformed limb still in place, which impairs their mobility and is always visible. People may have different neurocognitive development, which may impair learning (Dennis et al., 2006), or may develop different learning strategies (Duff and Gordon, 2003; Edelstein, 2004). We see from Lynne’s account, below, how having a serious physical impairment affects most aspects of learning. Lynne: I am 62 years old and work as a counsellor, psychotherapist, trainer and supervisor. Before that, I taught English for a number of years in the secondary and FE sectors. I have also worked as a professional actress. I was born without legs, with a dislocated right hip, a finger missing on each hand and with malformation of both elbows, so that the left elbow does not flex at all, and the right only partially. I walk with prosthetic legs, which, as I often say as an ice-breaker, when meeting people for the first time, belong, officially, to the government. I have walked thus all my life: it is probably rather like walking on stilts. I have to pay attention all the time to keeping my balance, and I tend to keep my eyes on the 290

Learning, sensory impairment, physical disability

ground as I walk, in order to be aware of any obstacles, unevenness, etc., that could make me fall. This makes me seem unobservant to some people, since I can’t always pay attention to everything else that is going on around me. I would guess that, early on, this may have impacted on my ability to take in information, and my natural curiosity, but to what extent, I cannot say. Prosthetic limbs are heavy and I use a lot of energy up walking, therefore get tired quickly. Again, the extent to which running out of stamina has impacted upon my learning can only be guessed at. I have never used a wheelchair. When people ask, as they do more often than might be considered polite, ‘What happened to you?’ I have no easy answer. I have no peer group. I am, as a specialist once told me, attempting to make it sound like a really good thing, entirely unique. There is no one else exactly like me in the world. I have never met or seen anyone else whose disabilities are exactly the same as my own. When, many years later, in therapy I was introduced to the idea that ‘we are all unique’, my struggle, and my learning, was to take on board that this can be a positive thing. In childhood I experienced it only as a negative. As the only one of my kind, I experienced a unique kind of loneliness. I had no one to learn from, or measure myself against, except the ‘normal’ children I mixed with. I learned that I needed to be strong, and use my brains, and that to get by I should look and act as ‘normal’ as possible. At primary school and later at grammar school, I had to get on with it. No special adaptations or concessions were made for me. I climbed stairs to classrooms, joined in the class gym sessions as best I could, which I loved (health and safety probably wouldn’t allow it now!) and, where I couldn’t do things, such as netball, the schools attempted to find me worthy alternatives, such as being the umpire. I had no interest in games whatsoever and would sneak off with my cronies as soon as I could, to play the piano in the music room, or smoke a cigarette in the toilets. Educationally, my parents made the right decision. I did well academically and passed the 11-plus, winning a scholarship to the local girls’ High School, a Girls’ Public Day School Trust school. I was able to go on to higher education, which made it possible for me eventually to take control of my working life and to work when, where, and at a pace that suited me. In terms of my psychological and emotional development I had to learn how to protect myself against teasing and being stared at (my approach was to stare back hard, till they looked away) and, as the only one of my kind, to find ways of belonging. In class I ‘belonged’ with the ‘bright’ children, but in the playground I was often isolated and paralysingly shy. My schools were not equipped to help me with this. My solution at primary school was to be in control: I collected the little boys in my class together and told them I was their teacher and they had to do what I said. Curiously, some of them went along with this! Only as I grew older did I understand that there are other ways of belonging. Perhaps I only really got it about 16 years ago, when, as a trainee therapist arriving slightly late at a workshop to meet a new group of people, and experiencing that familiar lurch of anxiety in the stomach, I suddenly realised that I could just go in, include myself and nothing more. I was OK. A member of the human race. Unique. Like everyone else.

Learning and disability People with impairments from birth have to learn what other people do and how they do it, and then endeavour to fit in to a world which was designed by people who do not have disabilities, do not know what it is like to have one and, in many cases, have to design things for the majority of people, who of course are not disabled. People with sensory and physical impairments are on a continuum of cognitive ability from those with multiple disabilities, both physical and intellectual, to those who have a physical disability, but are geniuses, like Stephen Hawking. Some may have particular learning differences because they have an inherited syndrome that affects physical and intellectual development. 291

Joanna Beazley Richards

People with disabilities that develop later in life, or are acquired suddenly, as in an accident, do already know how to do things as a non-disabled person, but now have to learn how to do them as a person with a disability. Robert lip reads because he always had to. My grandmother, who became deafened in later life, had to learn it from scratch. I lost two senses when I was 42, and have had to learn how to do things using the other three. I am constantly struck by the degree of motivation of people with disabilities to find creative solutions so that they can do things, and their tenacity in doing it. When I worked for SKILL, I worked with a man with no arms or legs who drove himself to work, got out of the car and went into the office, with no help from anyone. What people with disabilities need, as unique individuals with unique challenges, is a physical and social environment that enables them to maximise their potential in their own way. People want to fulfil their potential; they just need a chance to do so.

Interactions So, for people with disabilities, who are unique individuals, there are a number of factors that will work together to influence their learning:          

their sensory or physical impairment its severity the age of onset of the disability the person’s personality their intelligence how other people view their disability and relate to them about it the physical environment in which they live, learn, work and relate to others the culture in which they live the physical and practical aids and other assistance available to them whether or not they experience neglect, abuse or trauma.

Andrew’s story, below, illustrates this clearly. Andrew: At the time of writing this, I am in my late forties, and my mobility and coordination are compromised by cerebral palsy. I work in the NHS as a counsellor in a Community Mental Health Team, which are now referred to as Recovery Teams. I am going to reflect on some aspects of my education, connecting them experientially with my physical disability. Prior to going to school, I suppose my disability was not too apparent to me. I played alone, or with friends from my close neighbourhood. When I started school, things changed. In the light of teasing, name calling and other comments, my difference from the other children became apparent. To begin with, I had to learn to hold two opposing messages alongside each other: the first being ‘You are different’, and the other, ‘You are the same as everyone else.’ My parents fought and succeeded for me to go to mainstream school; it was their belief this would give me the best life chances. Although, in that there was a denying of the true extent to which I was different. This was also played out at home, where my difficulties were rarely referred to and I was treated very much like my elder brother. Of course, I became drawn into this complicity, and things were rarely discussed, and to my recollection never on an emotional level. Also, I think my schools joined in the complicity. So, two parts of my personality started to pull against one another: one side being, ‘I am and want to be like everyone else’, and the other, ‘I want people to see how difficult this is.’ In secondary school, these aspects of my personality pulling against each other manifested in my venting my frustrations by a type of bullying, where I could be spiteful and hurtful towards my classmates, leaving 292

Learning, sensory impairment, physical disability

them in a position from which they felt unable to retaliate. I did not do badly academically. Again, as time went on difference became more apparent, not being able to take part in games, and feeling unattractive and awkward around girls. As academic pressures became more intense in upper school, my slow and not-so-neat handwriting became an issue. The physical act of writing brought new frustrations. My concentration became poor, and any motivation I had to learn was greatly diminished. I would talk in classes and get in trouble. My teachers, I guess, were frustrated by me, and I experienced myself as misunderstood, and my underlying anger becoming more apparent. Consequently, the outcomes of my first set of exams were poor. On leaving school, I went to Technical College for a year to study computer programming. In this focused, more mature environment I flourished and sailed through my City and Guilds, and earned a place at Polytechnic, where I gained a Higher National Diploma in Computer Studies. I went on to enjoy a fulfilling 17-year career in IT, which I left 10 years ago to develop a new career.

Influences on how people with disabilities learn a) What we know from evolutionary biology We can learn much from evolutionary biology when we look at how we have come to our current situation, where people with disabilities are internationally disadvantaged in terms of opportunities to learn. Evolutionary biology shows us that the development of our neocortex, our social brain, which we need for most of our learning, developed alongside the growth of our social groups. It has also shown that, what humans perceive as attractive is pretty standard over the millennia and across cultures. What we like is symmetry, with a touch of asymmetry (Cyril Hoschl (2010) calls it a pinch of asymmetry). This also applies to music, where we like rhythm with a pinch of irregularity (Bidelman and Krishnan, 2009). Perfect symmetry is considered boring, and extreme distortion is a threat; it represents illness and disease and, at a biological level, species shun and avoid it. People with disabilities are frequently deprived of the socialisation they need, usually just because they are different. Social groups often exclude people who they see as different, which means that many people with disabilities don’t receive the social grooming and resulting sense of inclusion that is a fundamental need for all human beings, indeed all primates. b) What we know from attachment theory People with disabilities from birth are disadvantaged from the start. For normal brain development, they need physical and emotional responsiveness so that they can form secure attachments (Bowlby 1997: 1998), or they will just not develop a functional neocortex, and will lack a sense of self, sense of other people and an ability to relate fully. They will not, without a good attachment base, have the internal working model that will enable them to develop a theory of mind, reflective functioning and the sort of problem-solving ability that they will need to learn what they need. We know that babies with sensory and physical impairments are likely to lack the attuned, rhythmic responsiveness required for a secure attachment. This may not only be from their primary caregivers, but if they have special help in special facilities, or operations, they may be retarded in their neurological development. Trauma as well as a lack of attuned responsiveness or actual neglect will all impede good neurological development (Schore, 2003). Children who lack a secure attachment relationship are at greater risk for extreme dysregulation of affect in the face of trauma and the development of enduring symptoms (Sroufe, 2005). Conversely, the presence of a secure attachment relationship can buffer the adverse effects of disability related trauma and provide the safety and nurturing that allows the child to process any disturbing events and return to a sense of safety 293

Joanna Beazley Richards

and wellbeing. Secure attachment bonds serve as primary defences against disability-related psychopathology in both children and adults (Finkelhor and Browne, 1984). In children who have disabilities, the quality of the parental bond is probably the single most important determinant of ability to learn well (McFarlane, 1988). Children form an internal working model of themselves and of the world around them through their experiences in primary attachment relationships. Self and world views are undermined by negative responses to their disability, for example, teasing and shaming, hostility and fear. Insecurely attached children lack protection in their most important relationships and, if exposed to trauma, their limited coping abilities are more likely to be completely overwhelmed by stress, and their learning capacity diminished. Coping alone, with few options or resources, disabled children may respond with hyperarousal or dissociation. Since reciprocal, supportive interactions within secure attachment relationships appear to be the primary vehicle through which children learn to regulate internal state changes (Putnam, 2003), the negotiation of interpersonal safety needs to be the first focus of learning and teaching (van der Kolk, et al., 1996). c) What we know from neuroscience We now know that brain development continues after a child is born and that early experiences shape the development of the central nervous system and the child’s sense of self. This can be seriously impaired if the child experiences trauma, such as an operation, or the abuse and neglect that so many children with disabilities suffer on an international scale. People who acquire their disabilities later may also have neurological disadvantages if their impairments are associated with emotional or physical trauma, such as an accident. Trauma means that the vagus nerve, or cranial nerve X contracts, which shuts down the neocortex. People may be thought to be intellectually impaired when this happens; what they need is attuned, respectful, person-centred help. Children with disabilities are very vulnerable to abuse (Westcott and Jones, 1999), a fact known to many children’s charities (Horwath, 2001). Recent research has shown that as many as 80% of abused infants and children have disorganised/disoriented attachment patterns, including unpredictable alterations of approach and avoidance toward their mothers, as well as other conflict behaviours (Lyons-Ruth, 1991). Early childhood trauma also contributes to adverse adult outcomes, including depression, post-traumatic stress disorder, substance abuse, health problems (probably related to increased stress and wear and tear on the immune system) and decreased occupational attainment (Harris, Putnam and Fairbank, 2004). People with a disability are at increased risk of trauma (Westcott and Jones, 1999). As stated above, growing up with a disability can be related to psychological trauma. This in turn affects the ability to learn. Disabled children and adults are often subject to bullying, mockery, and social isolation, as well as having frequent exposure to potentially traumatising physical examinations, medical procedures and operations (Kennedy and Kelly, 1992). Early trauma, particularly trauma at the hands of a caregiver, can markedly alter a child’s perception of self, trust in others and perception of the world (Terr, 1992). This can undermine learning thereafter. Disabled children who are abused often come to believe that there is something inherently wrong with them, that they are at fault, unlovable, hateful, helpless and unworthy of protection and love. These feelings may create a victim state of body, mind and spirit that leaves the person vulnerable to subsequent trauma and revictimisation, and disadvantaged in terms of healthy learning (Westcott and Cross, 1996; Westcott and Jones, 1999).

The role of motivation Motivation is the engine that drives learning, and support and encouragement is the lubricant. Robert said of his learning that discouragement is like adding sand. I am constantly in awe of people, often with quite 294

Learning, sensory impairment, physical disability

severe disabilities, who seem to steam on into learning situations, apparently flattening each obstacle to achievement as it arises. The Paralympics are a case in point. Judi describes her progress to competing for Great Britain despite her progressive disability. Judi: One day, in 1957, a small 10-year-old girl sat reading her Pony Magazine, in the waiting room in the Department of Rheumatology, at The Hammersmith Postgraduate Hospital in London. Professor Bywaters, the expert in juvenile arthritis, approached her and her mother; peering over his spectacles, he shook his head and said gently that she would have to give up riding. I was that small girl and, from that moment, I learnt that you did not have to believe everything that a doctor told you. On that day the diagnosis of acute juvenile ankylosing spondylitis (AS) was confirmed, which was to change my life. At the age of 15, I was allowed to have a pony of my own, Kerry, whom I saved up for. My father was a Bank of England official and taught me so much and encouraged me all the way. So I embarked on my O-level year with a new pony, and my very competitive character emerged. I became a West Kent Pony Club member and, for the first year, all went well, but due to loss of hip movement, riding became more difficult. Peter Felgate, my Pony Club instructor, suggested that I tried a side saddle, at a time when most of them were relegated to the loft! I arrived at Pony Club camp having taken delivery of a side saddle, which arrived at the Bank and was brought down on the commuter train from the City by my father earlier in the week. By the end of the week my pony Kerry and I were invincible, and we won the end of camp event, storming around the cross country course. I had learnt to be a serious lateral thinker, aided by my father. If something stops you from doing something you want to do, never give up: there is always another way. During my second A-level year I had another serious flare up of the AS and spent 12 months in hospital in Taplow. During that year in hospital I became almost obsessional in exercising, walking further up the corridors on my crutches each day and taking myself out of the hospital in my wheelchair, so I could see normal people. Occasionally, I was allowed home for a weekend and, after the first, on my return, I was asked how the riding went. No-one had dared say I couldn’t, and I didn’t ask! My reply was, ‘Wonderful thanks!’ My parents had helped me up from my wheelchair onto the saddle. In spite of my AS and the multiple hip surgery which ensued, I have had two wonderful sons, and when they became of an age to learn to ride, I was able to provide them with ponies, and to begin with I did ride out with them. When this became impossible, I remembered a comment of Peter Felgate’s that there was always driving. … Since having Shandy, the boys’ pony, broken to drive, my driving career took off. I have competed both at club level, National Horse Driving Trials, in Germany where we were posted with the Army, and many times for the British Para-Equestrian Driving team. As a result of my driving exploits and my attitude to my disease, I counsel patients from the rheumatology unit, now at Wexham Park Hospital, particularly those who are to have a Girdlestone procedure and who feel rather low at the prospect. I have learnt that, if you really want to do something, never give up, there is always a way. I hope that I have been able to give something back to the community, and another way I do this is to run a driving group (Stella Hancock Driving Group) within the Riding for the Disabled Association as Chairman and an RDA whip, and hope I am able to show some of my disabled drivers that there is a sport in which I see only Ability, and not disability. After 25 years walking on crutches, a wonderful surgeon has rebuilt my pelvis, reversed the Girdlestone, and reinstated a total hip replacement. The result is just one stick, and often without – truly a modern medical miracle. 295

Joanna Beazley Richards

Optimising learning for people with disabilities Our understanding of human learning is enhanced by the studies of learning by people with disabilities. From the literature, we learn that certain aspects of teaching and learning assist people with disabilities to learn, although there will be enormous individual differences. I summarise these below:  For people with a disability to achieve optimal learning, it is helpful if anything offered is intensive, individualised, and highly concrete.  Periodic and ongoing long-term support will be helpful to maintain skills, and both the maintenance and generalisation of new learning will be helped by teaching in real-life settings, for example someone’s own home.  All learners will need an environment in which distraction (physical and emotional) is kept to a minimum. Learning when there is no distraction results in better retention.  The goals of any teaching need to be clearly specified and individualised. Information should be presented in small, discrete and concrete steps.  People with previous negative learning experiences may have problems with sequencing, which affects their ability to organise themselves and to set up time and task sequences.  Consistent routines need to be established and tasks need to be broken down into smaller subtasks. Visual material helps learning when used either as a way of presenting information or as prompts or cues, particularly where a person’s reading skills are limited.  Learning will be hampered if different professionals say, do and teach different things or in different ways, particularly in the early stages of learning.  Once information or new skills have been learned, they need to be maintained over time. This is particularly important in relation to practical skills.  Professionals should provide a résumé of any new learning in a simply written document containing visual prompts. In summary, information should be imparted simply (verbally and in writing) and in an individually paced manner. It is important to check that people have fully understood what is taught and that it is repeated and reinforced over time. When training in practical skills, it is helpful to model new skills to promote learning, as well as providing verbal instruction, and to ensure that there are opportunities to practise new skills in a variety of settings to promote generalisation.

Acknowledgements Grateful thanks to those people with sensory and physical impairments who were so willing to help me to prepare this, in particular, to Andrew, Judi, Lynne, and Robert for their personal stories. There have been many others, too, who over the years have shared their struggles with me when I was trying to help educational establishments to provide for people with particular needs. Also, thank you to Hannah Droscher, who assisted with finding up-to-date research, and was a great help, and Dr Andrew Arthur, who helped me to keep the word count down.

An apology I have endeavoured to use as up-to-date language as possible, and to phrase things respectfully. I am aware, however, that people with disabilities have often experienced others as phrasing things insensitively, or in a way that shows disrespect. I may have made mistakes in this chapter, and in the way I put things. If I have, I did not mean to, and would be happy to hear from you about how I could have put things in a way you would find more acceptable. 296

Learning, sensory impairment, physical disability

References Bidelman G.M. and Krishnan A. (2009) Neural correlates of consonance, dissonance, and the hierarchy of musical pitch in the human brainstem, J Neurosci, October 21; 29(42): 13165–71. Bowlby, J. (1997) Attachment and Loss Volume 1. London, Pimlico: Random House. Corker, M. (2000) The UK Disability Discrimination Act – Disabling Language, Justifying Inequitable Social Participation. University of Central Lancashire. Dennis, M., Landry, S., Barnes, M. and Fletcher, J. (2006) A model of neurocognitive function in spina bifida over the life span, Journal of the International Neuropsychological Society, Vol. 12, No. 2. Duff, S., Gordon A. (2003) Learning of grasp control in children with hemiplegic cerebral palsy, Developmental Medicine and Child Neurology, Vol. 45. Edelstein, K., et al. (2004) Motor learning in children with spina bifida: Dissociation between performance level and acquisition rate, Journal of the International Neuropsychological Society, Vol. 10, No. 6. Finkelhor, D., and Browne, A. (1984) The traumatic impact of child sexual abuse: A conceptualization, American Journal of Orthopsychiatry, 55: 530541. Harris, W.W., Putnam, F.W. and Fairbank, J. A. (2004) Mobilizing trauma resources for children, Paper presented in part at the meeting of the Johnson and Johnson Pediatric Institute: Shaping the Future of Children’s Health, San Juan, Puerto Rico, February. Horwath, J. (2001) The Child’s World – Assessing Children in Need. London: Jessica Kingsley Publishers. Hoschl, C. (2010) Prague Psychiatric Centre and 3rd faculty of medicine. Art and Neuroscience: On evolutionary meaning of art and its neurobiological relevance. July [lecture], Prague: Charles University. Kennedy, M. and Kelly, L. (eds) (1992) Abuse and children with disabilities, Child Abuse Review, 1(3). [Special issue]. Lyons-Ruth, K. (1991) Rapprochement or approchement: Mahler’s theory reconsidered from the vantage point of recent research in early attachment relationship, Psychoanalytic Psychology, 8, 123. McFarlane, A.C. (1988) Recent life events and psychiatric disorder in children: The interaction with preceding extreme adversity, Journal of Clinical Psychiatry, 29 (5): 677690. Putnam, F.W. (2003) Ten year research update review: Child sexual abuse, Journal of American Academy of Child and Adolescent Psychiatry, 42 (3): 269278. Schore, A.N. (2003). Affect Regulation and the Repair of the Self. New York and London: W.W. Norton and Company. Shepherd, I. (2001) Providing Learning Support for Blind and Visually Impaired Students Undertaking Fieldwork and Related Activities. Gloucestershire: Geography Discipline Network. Sroufe, A. (2005) The Development of the Person; The Minnesota study of risk and adaptation from birth to adulthood. New York: Guilford Press. Terr, L. (1992) Too Scared to Cry: Psychic trauma in childhood. New York: Basic Books. van der Kolk, B.A., Pelcovitz, D., Roth, S., Mandel, F., MacFarlane, A. and Herman, J.L. (1996) Dissociation, affect regulation and somatization: The complex nature of adaptation of trauma, American Journal of Psychiatry, 153 (Supplement), 8393. Westcott, H.L. and Cross, M. (1996) This Far and No Further: towards ending the abuse of disabled children. Birmingham: Venture Press. Westcott, H.L. and Jones, D.P.H. (1999) The abuse of disabled children, Journal of Child Psychology and Psychiatry, 40(4): 497–506.

297

31 Autism spectrum conditions and learning Mary Watts

As John walked among the trees and bushes he stopped often and placed his fingers on the leaves to stroke them. On one occasion he took my hand. Placing two fingers on the leaf he moved them up and down in a gentle stroke. He said not a word, nor did he look at me. I took him up to bathe him and as he climbed into the bath he lifted out several foam letters and numbers, naming each accurately. I was stunned. He rarely uttered a single word and I pondered on his learning. I had thought that I had a reasonably good understanding of learning and development in its various forms, both from a psychological and a social perspective. John’s behaviour was causing me to question this. I had known he was different well before his second birthday.

John1 was a very easy baby. He seldom cried and was happy with his own company. When he went to a play park with his older brother he avoided the company of the other children, preferring to run up and down the perimeter fence, up and down, up and down, steadfastly avoiding the gaze of anyone who looked his way. When he was not running up and down, he would jump up and down, up and down, flapping his arms in a tireless way for great lengths of time. He still does this wherever he is and also now jumps tirelessly on his trampoline. He has fixations for sameness and, for a period, would always take two toys out with him and always of the same colour – or it might change and then, for a prolonged period, they would always be of the same two preferred colours. If one became mislaid he would be inconsolable. Another would not do. He made no effort to relate to those around him unless he wanted something, and then he would often take a hand and move it to what he wanted. His mother once said, ‘I’m sure he can hear me, but it’s as though he just doesn’t understand’. He did, however, have ways of making his desires known, especially to his mother. At meal times, for example, he would eat exactly the same for each breakfast, day after day, and the same applied to lunch and tea. His diet was severely limited and, if at lunch time she put something on his plate that should have been for tea, he would not touch not only that item, but everything else on the plate – even though that same item could be eaten for tea. At Christmas he ate exactly the same as always for lunch, choosing to sit separately from everyone else and creating a boundaried area for his play. He was generally a happy boy, unless routines were changed and there were unexpected occurrences. Before his fourth birthday John had been diagnosed with classic autism (APA, 2000), manifesting the key diagnostic features of significant social communication difficulties, narrow interests and repetitive actions, and language delay. Language delay is defined as not producing single words by the age of two, or 298

Autism spectrum conditions and learning

phrase speech by the age of three. In classic autism, IQ can be anywhere on the scale and, as he develops, it will become clearer where John’s lies. In contrast, an individual diagnosed with Asperger syndrome would share the first two key features but show no language delay and have at least average intelligence. For further, more detailed profiles of individuals with autistic spectrum conditions read Baron-Cohen (2008), Frith (2008), Notbohm (2005). In both autism and Asperger syndrome, aspects of learning and development are atypical. Before moving on to look more closely at autism spectrum conditions (ASCs),2 a few salient points from Jarvis’s work on learning are highlighted here and returned to at the end of this chapter in light of the issues raised. In his early work, Jarvis defined learning as ‘the transformation of experience into knowledge, skills and attitudes’ (1987: 8). This then broadened to ‘the combination of processes throughout a lifetime whereby the whole person – body (genetic, physical and biological) and mind (knowledge, skills, attitudes, values, emotions, meanings, beliefs and senses) – experiences social situations, the content of which is then transformed cognitively, emotively or practically (or through any combination) and integrated into the person’s biography resulting in a continually changing (or more experienced) person (Jarvis, 2009: 25). In his current work Jarvis reconceptualises learning as ‘the way that beings respond to their wider environment’. Critically, he goes on to argue that, ‘all learning must be conscious but what is recognised is that the level of awareness of the situations in which learning takes place can differ and different levels of awareness might produce different learning outcomes’. Jarvis concludes that ‘learning is the processes whereby a being consciously experiences and responds to the wider environment’ (Unpublished paper). A key distinction that he makes in his elaboration of learning, based on the work of Tomasello (1999): is that between imitation and emulation. Imitation, he suggests, is not simply copying behaviour, but is an attempt to ‘copy the adult’s intentions and the methods by which these are fulfilled’, whereas emulation ‘does not require that the learner seeks to understand the intentions of the person being copied. … ’ (Jarvis, Unpublished paper – personal communication 2010). He concludes that, during the first three years of life, there are considerable changes in the brain and that this is the period when the social brain is built as a result of the infant’s involvement in culture. Three key elements of Jarvis’s work are of particular interest in relation to autism – first, learning as a response to the wider environment; second, that learning must be conscious, but the level of consciousness can differ, leading to different learning outcomes; and third, the distinction between imitation and emulation, with the latter not requiring understanding of the intentions of the person copied. Implicitly and explicitly recognition is given to the importance in learning of the ‘social brain’ and involvement in culture.

What we know about autism and Asperger syndrome There is no longer any doubt that autism spectrum conditions are biological in origin and there is strongest evidence supporting the genetic theory … . Theories suggesting that autism is caused by purely psychological factors have been refuted by a large body of biomedical research revealing a large set of differences in the autistic brain. (Baron-Cohen, 2008: 85–86) Baron-Cohen also states that autism runs in families, with the chances of a second sibling having an autism spectrum condition being about 5–10 per cent and he clarifies that there is no credible evidence that autism is caused by vaccination damage. The incidence of autism in Britain would appear to have increased dramatically over the last 30 years, rising from 4 in 10,000 to 1 in 100 today. Thirty years ago autism was little known and few diagnoses were made. Also, a categorical definition of autism was used, and only extreme cases were given the diagnosis. Today it has been recognised that the attributes of autism fall on a spectrum or continuum, 299

Mary Watts

which also includes Aspberger syndrome and milder forms of autism (Wing, 2003; Frith, 2008; Baron-Cohen, 2008). Many of us in the population show some of the traits of autism – it is not a category of symptoms that sits outside of and separate from the ‘normal population’. It is clear, however, that the symptoms manifest by many in the population cause them distress and disadvantage in very many ways. To assist in making an autistic spectrum diagnosis a number of screening measures have been developed, based on the criteria found in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders 1V (APA, 2000). A number of tests devised by the Autism Research Centre and used in their research can be found at www.autismresearchcentre.com. A diagnosis of classic autism is made for four males to every one female and of Asperger syndrome for nine males for each female. This suggests that sex-related biological factors are linked with the manifestation of autistic traits, possibly connected to pre-natal testosterone levels, but further research is needed before we can move from speculation and theory to a real understanding of the male:female ratio (Baron-Cohen, 2008). Following a diagnosis of autism or Asperger syndrome (the latter does not usually occur until six years of age and frequently very much later) it is important to keep an open but positive mind regarding potential learning and achievement and not to create ‘glass ceilings’ that serve to inhibit an individual’s development and life chances. These can easily occur due to a lack of understanding of the strengths and difficulties associated with ASCs. The social difficulties reflected in the diagnosis of autism are likely to include extreme lack of interest in others and a preference to be alone. Linked to this are significant difficulties in knowing how to understand others in terms of their thinking, motivations and moods, that is to say, understanding others as intentional agents. Tomasello (1999) speaks of the nine-month revolution, at which time human infants begin to demonstrate early understanding of the social aspects of their world, and in particular to engage in joint attentional activities, such as following the gaze of another and pointing. Children with autism have difficulty with joint attention and perspective taking and engage very little in symbolic or pretend play. Both of these require an understanding of others as intentional agents. This lack of understanding makes it very difficult for autistic children to culturally learn from others, which inevitably impacts on how they learn to relate to others and also learn to think about themselves. A range of behaviours may be manifest, reflecting the social and cultural difficulties summarised above. Eye contact may be non-existent or invasive and the capacity to understand and comfort another may be lacking or lack spontaneity. There is also likely to be difficulty in, first, understanding and second, accepting another’s perspective. In terms of language, in addition to the delay in classic autism, there will be a strong tendency to literal understanding of speech; speech may be considered inappropriate to the social context; phrases used by another may be echoed (echolalia); and idiosyncratic words, rather than conventional names for things may be used (neologisms). The latter two are more common in classic autism (Baron-Cohen, 2008). Repetitive behaviour and narrow interests are common in Asperger syndrome and classic autism, although behaviours such as repetitive jumping and arm flapping such as shown by John, described above, are more common in classic autism. Obsessional interests and highly repetitive behaviour are common and may include watching the same part of a film over and over, putting things in neat lines, collecting very narrowly focussed articles and becoming totally immersed in the activity of the moment. An autistic person may have tantrums or extreme distress if confronted by unexpected changes, or if they are prevented from engaging in repetitive and obsessive behaviour. On the positive side, the capacity for concentration and accuracy relating to very focussed and repetitive tasks is considerable and could be an asset in many situations. Memory can also be unusually good, very often in specific areas such as numbers and dates, names and events. It is interesting to note, however, that the ‘Cognitive Interview’, which is a particular approach to interviewing witnesses to crime that has been demonstrated to effectively increase the number of correct details recalled, has the reverse effect when the witness is on the autistic spectrum (Maras and Bowler, 2010). This is likely to reflect the different information processing and learning styles of those with an ASC compared to neurotypicals. 300

Autism spectrum conditions and learning

In addition to the above, many with ASCs have increased sensitivity to smells, tastes, sound, touch and temperature. It is easy to overlook these, yet the distress caused by enhanced sensitivity can be considerable. John went to a pantomime and thoroughly enjoyed the first half, but then the music grew louder and there were loud bangs and explosions. At this point he buried his head in his hands, covering his ears tightly crying ‘turn it off, turn it off, it’s hurting my ears’. He chose to leave, with his mother, having enjoyed the first part of the show. He still talks with great enthusiasm of his trip to the theatre and can’t wait to go again. His sensitivities were taken seriously and he was empowered to manage them. Having his hair cut has also always been an ordeal, especially at the hairdresser. Clippers terrified him, both the sound and the feel, so haircutting happened at home, in an amateur way, but in a ‘John-friendly’ way. True, he looked a little scruffy, but he happily communicated ‘John likes scruffy hair’. When he was ready, he chose to go back to the hairdresser and he was prepared in advance by knowing where he would sit, who would cut his hair and what they would use. The hairdresser was also fully briefed and allowed plenty of time for this particular cut. Communication, the magazine for the National Autistic Society, has published an excellent guide for parents/carers and hairdressers (Seyedi, 2010: 41). These examples are important. It is very easy for neurotypicals to be judgemental about the lack of understanding and awareness of others shown by those diagnosed with autism, but neurotypicals, who neurologically have a greater capacity to understand the world of another, frequently do not make the effort to understand those with an ASC. There can be an unspoken rule that others should be like us and that any help and opportunities for learning are designed to ‘make the autistic person more like us’. There may be no, or very little, attention given to understanding the world of the autistic person. Baron-Cohen (2008: 46–48) draws attention to the difficulties that may be experienced by a university student with Asperger syndrome whose learning style is more suited to private study using journals, books and electronic media than to lectures and seminars. The latter will involve social groups of varying size, noise and other distractions. They will switch topic and room frequently and require the student to record in edited form what is being said. The student with Asperger syndrome may prefer to work in silence and away from distractions, focus for hours on end on one topic, become very anxious at taking only limited notes and become irritated and anxious by a very social and informal approach to learning. Those with Aspberger syndrome will be discriminated against if their style of learning is marginalised in favour of group work, shared experiential learning and other social learning experiences. Wherever possible, those with ASCs should be supported in meeting course learning outcomes in ways that draw on their strengths and complement their personal learning styles. An article in Communication by Rob Crowe (2010: 34–35), a thirdyear politics student with Asperger syndrome, draws on his experience and outlines for others with an ASC how to deal with and survive freshers’ week, which he describes as the biggest single challenge he experienced socially at university. Crowe demonstrates considerable insight when he draws attention to the importance of knowing your enemy, knowing the rules and knowing how to cope and socialise. In particular, he states that ‘in order to deal with the typical fresher student, you need to understand his/her mindset’ – sound advice not only to those with an ASC, but also to the many other students who find freshers’ week a terrifying ordeal. Notbohm (2005) published ‘Ten Things Every Child With Autism Wishes You Knew’. The mother of a son with autism, her writing speaks with a child’s voice. She brings to life the many characteristics of autism but adds the additional dimension of the ‘whole child/self esteem issue’. Successes, she writes, are: firmly rooted in that solid sense of self esteem. Every last person on the planet is a package deal. We want to be accepted and appreciated for what we are as a whole, not a bundle of traits and quirks to be cherry picked at will by others. The child with autism does need skilled guidance to achieve a comfortable place in the larger world, but working towards that goal with positive energy and optimism is not the same as ‘fixing’ the child. They already possess much that can be celebrated: we must 301

Mary Watts

now go out and live and guide them with the same acceptance of whole self that we want for ourselves. (Notbohm, 2005: xviii) Notbohm says that, when neurotypicals frame the challenges of autism in neurotypical terms, they unwittingly close the door to the alternative thinking that has everything to do with how far those with ASD can go (Notbohm, 2005: xiii). She asks us to focus on what the child can do, rather than what they can’t do, reminding us that no child can learn in an environment where they are constantly made to feel that they are not good enough and need fixing. We are asked to view autism as a different ability rather than a disability – for example in regard to the capacity for attention to fine detail and extraordinary focus. In the child’s voice she writes, ‘I might be the next Einstein. Or Mozart. Or Van Gogh. They had autism too.’ (Notbohm, 2005: xxxi). In looking at learning and autism it is important to consider learning in its widest context, including very particularly learning for healthy and happy living. Autism is a biological, not a mental, health condition, but, because of the nature of autism, it is all too common for individuals to develop mental health problems. Some 70% of children with autism develop mental health problems (Kemp, 2010).

Psychological theories of autism and Asperger syndrome Although it is now recognised that autism is a neurobiological condition with genetic routes, it is also recognised that social and psychological factors can combine with the predisposing genetic factors to influence the actual manifestation of the condition. It is also likely that other factors such as nutrition and environmental factors have a part to play in exacerbating or relieving symptoms. However, much at this stage is speculation rather than proven. A number of psychological theories have been put forward to explain the major behavioural characteristics of ASCs, but before elaborating further it is important to remember that these are just theories, not proven facts. In some ways the theories are more like descriptive models, emphasising different aspects of the social and psychological manifestations of ASCs. They do, however, provide a number of useful insights that can help us understand better some aspects of behaviour commonly linked to ASCs. In Kellian terms (Kelly, 1955), these models enable us to behave ‘as if’ they are true – constantly testing and refining our assumptions about autism in the light of our ability or failure to successfully understand and predict the behaviour of those with an autistic spectrum condition. As well as it being important to link these theories to neurophysiology, it is equally important to develop linkages to learning theories and models. A number of links are made in the remainder of this chapter, but considerably more work is required in this area. The mindblindness theory of autism (Baron-Cohen, 1997) has a particular focus on the social and communication difficulties central to ASCs and proposes that children with ASCs are delayed in developing a theory of mind. As already outlined earlier in this chapter, this means they are unable to put themselves in another’s shoes and to imagine what the other person may be thinking or feeling. This has serious consequences for predicting the behaviour of others and also for managing self in relation to others. The behaviour of others is frequently seen as unpredictable and frightening, whether occurring in real life or in books and films. In contrast to the mindblindness theory, the weak central coherence theory takes account of the narrow interests and restricted behaviour common in ASCs, acknowledges the preference and strengths shown in very detailed information processing and understanding of the parts of something, but also draws attention to a weakness in understanding the wider context or Gestalt. The executive dysfunction theory focuses on the ‘getting stuck in a routine’ behaviours, as well as the lack of inhibition that can occur. It suggests that there is a fault in the executive, high-level decision-making part of the brain found in the frontal lobes which impacts on the capacity to change from routine activity to mindful, carefully thought-through, situationally appropriate activity. Among other things, this can result in a lack of mental 302

Autism spectrum conditions and learning

flexibility. Frith (2008) links the various models by suggesting a mismatch between ‘top-down and bottom-up processes’. The ‘bottom-up’ element, she suggests, refers to the delivery or action system and is led by the back part of the brain, but, to be effective, it relies on the ‘top-down’, front region of the brain to make decisions, plan action and to communicate this effectively to the back-end delivery system. The top-down element she likens to the self, suggesting that in autism there is an absence of self. Bearing in mind, however, the perspective of autistic conditions being on a spectrum, then presumably there are varying degrees of absence of the self. An alternative, but not mutually exclusive, perspective is encompassed within the empathising–systemising theory (Baron-Cohen, 2008), which aims to link the non-social elements of strengths and to broaden the concept of theory of mind to include an emotional reactivity element. This theory attributes social and communication difficulties in ASCs to delays and deficits in empathy, but proposes that intact or superior skills in systemising are reflected in areas of strength. The Empathy Quotient (EQ), established through completion of a questionnaire that has adult, child and adolescent versions (www.autismresearchcentre. com), takes account of cognitive and affective empathy. A further questionnaire is used to establish the systemising quotient. It is the discrepancy between E and S that signals a likelihood of autism or Asperger syndrome. Systemising relates to the capacity to analyse and construct systems. Baron-Cohen suggests that ‘just as a spider cannot help but spin webs – that is what they are evolved to do – so (according to this theory) the person with autism or Asperger syndrome just has to systemize everything. That is how their brain works. The content of their narrow interests reflects how they are strongly drawn to systemizable information’ (Baron-Cohen, 2008: 69). The empathising–systemising theory reconceptualises repetitive behaviour and narrow interests, seeing them as intelligent and purposeful behaviours and potential strengths. Central to this is a reconceptualisation of ‘learning style’ and cognitive style in ASCs. Those with ASCs have different, but equally valid, learning and cognitive styles. The empathising–systemising theory predicts that, over time, given the opportunity to observe and control all of the variables in a system, excellent understanding of the whole system can be achieved. ‘Seen in this light, it is the neurotypical person who has a difficulty, skating over differences that might be very important. … Premature generalizing is a sign of an unsystematic mind’ (Baron-Cohen, 2008: 70–71). The empathising–systemising theory can also encompass the extreme male brain theory of autism, since there are clear sex differences in empathising (females perform better) and in systemising (males perform better). Autism and Asperger syndrome can be conceptualised as reflecting the extreme end of the typical male profile (Baron-Cohen, 2008), that is to say, showing a particularly high score on the systemising scale and low on the empathising scale. This may also account for why more males develop ASCs than females. In keeping with the focus on strengths, the ‘Single Attention and Associated Cognition in Autism’ theory (SAACA), developed by Lawson (2011), focuses on the capacity of AS individuals to focus exclusively and for long periods on a single object or activity. She sees this as a strength, but also believes that it is not a choice for AS individuals to do this, rather it is the way their brains are wired. They have to do it. She distinguishes between the monotropism – single interest and attention – of AS individuals and the polytropism – capacity to focus on multiple things at the same time – of neurotypicals. She believes that the products of monotropism are literality, thinking in closed concepts, lack of appreciation of context and scale, difficulties with timing, sequencing and forward thinking, and inappropriate non-social priorities. She suggests that, as a result of SAACA, individuals learn differently and that to teach them as though they learn in the same way as neurotypical individuals is likely to cause more confusion. ‘The more parents struggle to assist their AS individual in typical ways the more demand the individual may perceive and the higher the distress levels become for all concerned’ (Lawson, 2011: 163). There is a considerable need for research that elaborates further on the specific learning styles of AS individuals and identifies the most effective ways to help them learn. 303

Mary Watts

Many interventions have been developed and publicised for supporting and working with those with an ASC. Some of these will have a good track record in terms of effectiveness and evidence to support this. Others will not and may even be harmful. The charity Research Autism has created a website (www. researchautism.net) that lists interventions, giving each a rating based on rigorous evaluation. The list includes interventions such as art and music therapy, speech and language therapy and a wide range of educational services. These include intensive behavioural interventions such as ABA (Applied Behavioural Analysis); TEACCH (Treatment and Education of Autistic and Communication-Handicapped Children); social skills teaching; and mindreading. A particularly popular approach to teaching mindreading to children is the use of The Transporters DVDs, in which the main characters, vehicles that move in systemised ways, each have facial expressions of emotions (Baron-Cohen, 2008). Much has been written by Attwood on the development of skills by those with ASCs. One particularly important area that he addresses is those skills needed for the development of friendships (2002). What the above models show us is that the challenge to learning theorists is to develop theories and models of learning that take account of individual differences, including the extreme differences in learning and cognitive style manifest by those with an autism spectrum condition. Such models, as well as being inclusive of the autistic population, are also likely to take better account of the vast differences among neurotypicals. Experience tells us that we all sit somewhere different on the theory of mind continuum as we do in relation to information processing, analytical and critical thinking and system building, for example.

Maximising learning To maximise the learning opportunities for those with an ASC requires that good services are available and that the underpinning mindset of carers, educators and the wider community is inclusive and non-prejudiced. Inclusive in this context does not mean that all with an ASC should go to mainstream schools rather than have specialist facilities available – it means that the approaches to learning and teaching adopted, including the philosophical, social and psychological underpinnings, should take account of the needs and strengths of those with ASCs. It also means that the models of learning developed by educators should have equal meaning and worth to those with an ASC as to neurotypicals. This should apply to learning opportunities in all contexts, not just formal school, college and university education and should, for example, include workplace learning, of both a formal and informal nature. In a work setting, as in others, it is important that learning opportunities should be designed to bring out the best in everybody – to play to the strengths of individuals rather than their weaknesses. Everyone needs to be valued for who they are and what they can contribute, and appropriate learning opportunities, including appropriately taylored coaching, should be available for those on the autistic spectrum (Barnett, 2009). In 1922 Rudolph Steiner (2004) gave a series of lectures at Mansfield College, Oxford relating to the ‘Spiritual Ground of Education’. On August 31st, after the conference was over, The Guardian reported: Dr. Rudolf Steiner’s lectures, for which we express our very special thanks, brought to us in a very vivid way an ideal of humanity in education. He spoke to us about teachers who, freely and unrestricted by external prescriptions and regimentation, develop their education methods exclusively out of thorough knowledge of human nature. He spoke to us about the kind of knowledge needed by the teacher, a knowledge of the being of man and the world, which is at the same time scientific and also penetrates into the most intimate inner life, which is intuitive and artistic. (Steiner, 2004: vii) In his lectures Steiner spoke of the kind of knowledge that assures genuine insight into the inner texture of childhood life, suggesting that devoted, unprejudiced observation of life goes a long way in bringing about 304

Autism spectrum conditions and learning

such understanding (2004: 5). His words will resonate with many educators, but, in terms of inclusiveness, they must apply equally to all children, including those with ASCs, wherever they may be learning. Children and adults with ASCs are likely to have learning styles that do not conform to the average and in many cases they will be sufficiently extreme to be unfamiliar to the teacher. Personal conversations with teachers providing special support to those with ASCs suggest that there are still far too many teachers who have no special knowledge or patience with these pupils and who believe that their standard approach is acceptable for all children, including those with ASCs, who must conform and adapt to this.

Positive psychology Notbohm reminded us of the importance of self esteem for learning. This is reinforced by Goodchild (2009), who in a captivating way describes his own journey as a ‘soul with autism’. He brings to life the tragic consequences of late diagnosis (he was not given his diagnosis of Asperger syndrome until in his 40s), suffering, being humiliated and permanently feeling an outsider with his parents, at school and every other walk of his life. He learnt to ‘act’ normal when with others, taking on the persona of others, but the mental and physical exhaustion this produced led him to the verge of suicide. Mental health problems scarred him physically and mentally, and it was only after his diagnosis, when he learned that he had a valid personality type and learning style and that he was not alone with this, that he could start to celebrate who he truly was. Socially and psychologically Goodchild’s experience of life was tragic and avoidable. The positive psychological experiences that research (Seligman, 2002) has shown us we all need were sadly lacking to the extreme in his life. We all need these positive experiences, but the challenges to achieving them through living and learning for those on the autistic spectrum are multiplied. They need parents, carers, teachers and others, including those they meet in a casual day-to-day way, who accept them, value them and help to promote their learning, both formal and informal, in constructive and humane ways. Many prominent psychologists have focussed on what is now the subject matter of positive psychology. An excellent review can be found in Boniwell’s book, Positive Psychology in a Nutshell (2008). Positive psychology is a distinct move away from the predominant focus for many years on abnormal psychology and mental illness. Instead, it researches the value of nurturing strengths and positive experiences, which can have a long-lasting effect on our personal growth and development (Fredrickson, 2001; Seligman, 2002). Optimism, hope, self-acceptance, autonomy, positive relationships and a purpose in life can all contribute to a sense of personal wellbeing and happiness and act as buffers against the difficulties in life that put us at risk of mental and other illnesses. They can open the door to positive learning experiences, but, most importantly, they can also be the outcome of them. There is still much to be learnt regarding how to live our lives in a psychologically positive way, and those with ASCs need particularly skilled help in doing this. There is a need for further research and training that can be applied by all those involved in supporting the learning of those on the autism spectrum. Raising children, I knew now, was far more than just fixing what was wrong with them. It was about identifying and amplifying their strengths and virtues, and helping them find the niche where they can live these positive traits to the fullest. (Seligman, 2002: 28)

Living in flow Core to positive psychology is the concept of ‘flow’. Initially researched and written about by Csikszentmihalyi (1992), it was later widely publicised and applied by Seligman to the achievement of positive emotions and happiness. 305

Mary Watts

The state of flow occurs when we find ourselves doing exactly what we want to be doing and never wanting it to end. Challenge and skills are well matched, so that we are neither bored nor anxious. We have deep and effortless involvement requiring our full concentration. We have a sense of control, our sense of self vanishes, and time stops. Salient by its absence on the list of essential components is positive emotion. Whilst these may be mentioned in retrospect, during a flow experience there is an absence of emotion and any kind of consciousness. Gratification dispels self-absorption, and the more one has the flow that gratification produces, the less depressed one is. (Seligman, 2002: 119) Jarvis also refers to the state of flow – ‘In the state of flow individuals are in such harmony with their external world that they do not need to worry about it – they feel “at home” – and so they can concentrate entirely on their immediate tasks’ (2010 unpublished paper – personal communication). One way of construing the habitual and repetitive behaviours common to those with ASCs is to consider them to reflect a state of flow. Flow experiences are gratifying and can have very positive outcomes, but can have addictive qualities. However, Csikszentmihalyi (in Boniwell, 2008: 28) was aware of the dangers of flow and wrote ‘enjoyable activities that produce flow have a potentially negative effect: while they are capable of improving the quality of existence by creating order in the mind, they can become addictive, at which point the self becomes captive of a certain kind of order, and is then unwilling to cope with the ambiguities of life’. For individuals who experience acute ambiguity and confusion in their everyday living, flow-inducing activities will be likely to play a critical role. They have a purpose and to overlook these in an attempt to remove what could be construed as purposeless and unsociable behaviours could put at even greater risk already very vulnerable individuals. This comes through very strongly in Goodchild (2009) when he describes his huge need to engage in behaviours that he knew were totally unacceptable to those around him.

Concluding thoughts Finally, returning to Jarvis’s definition of learning and the three key points raised earlier, we can see that it has relevance for understanding and working with those with ASCs, taking account of a wide spectrum of similarities and differences. Like the definition of autism now being seen not as a definitive category of ‘being’, but a wide spectrum of personality and learning type, the same applies with learning. The criteria outlined by Jarvis create a wide spectrum on which we can all be placed. Our level of consciousness/ awareness of different situations will vary and this can be biologically as well as socially influenced. Likewise, the level of social development and knowing will vary. To imitate rather than to emulate another person becomes very difficult when you are unable to understand the intentions of the other, so there is likely to be greater emulation – as seen in echolalia for example – shown by those with ASCs than by the wider population. Returning to the life of Goodchild (2009), he had become a very skilled emulator, but at great personal cost. A superficial, behavioural fix-it approach to learning provided short-term utility, but taken alone was limited in value and even dangerous. As we have seen above, construing those with an ASC as being in ‘flow’ in respect of many of their naturally occurring behaviours indicates the care that must be taken in understanding these and in seeking ways to help the individual to select and learn safe and fulfilling alternatives. This must be done in the context of recognising and valuing an individual’s strengths and building on these, whilst paying attention to the whole person and working positively to support the development of a happy and fulfilled individual. 306

Autism spectrum conditions and learning

In conclusion, the words of Gillibrand (2010) are turned to. Gillibrand is the father of a son severely disabled with autism and in his book on the implications of autism for philosophy, theology and politics he challenges Feldman’s statement and vision of what humanity is – ‘The belief in human beings as social individuals, beings for whom both sociability and individuality are essential parts of their make up, is ultimately a deontological belief (Feldman, 2002 in Gillibrand, 2010: 172). ‘This notion is totally alien to Gillibrand, who states that it belongs to a different world to the one that he inhabits. Bearing in mind that Feldman’s statement was made in the context of ‘human rights’, it is perhaps not surprising that Gillibrand should draw a sharp distinction between that which disables his son and that which belongs to his disability. In the foreword to the book, Dr Rowan Williams (2010: 9–10) states that: This is a book about living at the edge of what makes sense. … much of our language about human dignity and human value still carries a coded assumption about what a human being ‘really’ is, … refusing to accept our failure to make sense is what damages our thinking and feeling about people like his son, Adam. … we jeopardise human dignity most when we try to bind it to the characteristics we can recognise and value and understand as mirroring only our own faces. … The harder labour is seeing ourselves in the person who is genuinely and painfully other. As educators and learning theorists, it behoves us all to remember this.

Notes 1 John’s name has been changed. Thank you, John’s parents, for allowing me to use this information. 2 When using my own voice, I use the term autism spectrum conditions (ASCs), as used by Baron-Cohen (2008), in preference to autism spectrum disorders. It feels a presumption and a value judgement to consider all on the spectrum to be disordered. Reference to a condition is a more neutral statement.

References American Psychiatric Association, (2000) Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (4th rev. edn). Author, Washington, DC. Attwood, T. (2002) The profile of friendship skills in Aspberger’s Syndrome. Jenison Autism Journal, Vol. 14, No. 3, Sage Publications, USA. Barnett, A. (2009) Coaching and Aspergers: The benefits of an alternative perspective. Unpublished paper, Cass Business School, London: City University. See: www.andybarnett.co.uk. Baron-Cohen, S, (1997) Mindblindness: An Essay on Autism and Theory of Mind. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. ——. (2008) Autism and Asperger Syndrome: The Facts. Oxford; Oxford University Press. Boniwell, I. (2008) Positive Psychology in a Nutshell, second edn. London: Personal Well-Being Centre. Crowe, R. (2010) Surviving fresher’s week. Communication, Autumn, 34–35. The National Autistic Society, London. Csikszentmihalyi, M, (1992) Flow: The Psychology of Happiness. London: Rider. Feldman, D. (2002) Civil Liberties and Human Rights in England and Wales. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Fredrickson, B.L. (2001) The role of positive emotions in positive psychology: The broaden-and-build theory of positive emotions. American Psychologist, 56: 218–26. Frith, U. (2008) Autism: A Very Short Introduction. New York: Oxford University Press,. Gillibrand, J. (2010) Disabled Church – Disabled Society. London and Philadelphia, PA: Jessica Kingsley Publishers. Goodchild, C, (2009) A Painful Gift: The Journey of a Soul with Autism. Darton, Longman and Todd Ltd. Jarvis, P. (1987) Adult Learning in Social Context. London: Croom Helm. ——. (2009) Learning to be a Person in Society.London: Routledge. ——. (2010) Learning & Living: Exploring the Parameters of Learning. Unpublished paper/personal communication. Jarvis, P. (Unpublished paper) Learning to Do. Kelly, G.A. (1955) The Psychology of Personal Constructs, Vols 1 and 2. New York: Norton. Kemp, M. (2010) Editorial. Communication, Autumn, 03. London: National Autistic Societyn.

307

Mary Watts

Lawson, W. (2011) The Passionate Mind: How People with Autism Learn. London and Philadelphia, PA: Jessica Kinglsey Publishers. Maras, K.L. and Bowler, D.M. (2010) The cognitive interview for eyewitnesses with autism spectrum disorder. Journal of Autism and Developmental Disorders. Springer Science & Business Media, LLC. Notbohm, E. (2005) Ten Things Every Child With Autism Wishes You Knew. Arlington: Future Horizons Inc. Seligman, M. (2002) Authentic Happiness. London: Nicholas Brierley Publishing. Seyedi, C. (2010) Short Cuts. Communication, Autumn. 41. London: National Autistic Society. Steiner, R. (2004) The Spiritual Ground of Education. Great Barrington, MA: Anthroposophic Press. Tomasello, M. (1999) The Cultural Origins of Human Cognition. Cambrige, MA: Harvard University Press. Williams, R. (2010) Foreward, in Gillibrand, J, (2010) Disabled Church – Disabled Society. London and Philadelphia, PA: Jessica Kingsley Publishers. Wing, L. (2003) The Autistic Spectrum. Robinson Publishing.

308

32 Reading disability Julian G. Elliott and Elena L. Grigorenko

As modern civilization started teaching most of its citizens how to read, it became evident that there is a tremendous amount of variability in how people acquire and practice reading. This chapter focuses on the lower tail of the distribution of this variability, i.e. reading disability (RD).

What is reading disability? Much debate in the literature surrounding issues concerning reading difficulties is a result of a degree of conceptual confusion, whereby a variety of terms are employed to describe the same, or closely related, literacy problems. These include such terms as learning disability, (specific) learning difficulty, (specific) reading difficulties, reading disorder, (specific) reading disorder, (specific) reading retardation and dyslexia. Some writers use these terms interchangeably, while others consider them as describing different conditions, a situation that often leads to no little confusion. This differing use of terminology partly reflects the differing focus and interests of various academic disciplines, professions and lobby groups. For the purposes of this chapter, the term reading disability (RD) will be used as synonymous with these other terms. Thus, it will depart from the position of those who contend that RD should be differentiated from dyslexia, this latter term sometimes being employed to describe a smaller subset of reading-disabled individuals with particular profiles of underlying difficulty (Elliott and Gibbs, 2008; Elliott and Grigorenko, in press). A further complication concerns which aspects of reading should be considered to be covered by the term reading disability. For some, the term should be reserved to describe those with severe difficulties of single-word-processing accuracy (i.e. decoding and/or recognition). Others, however, argue that, while some with RD can overcome their decoding/recognition problems, they may continue to experience problems of word processing fluency. This position is particularly evident in relation to transparent languages such as Finnish, German or Italian, where accuracy difficulties are rare, but problems are manifested by slow and laborious reading. While those experiencing problems of accurate and fluent word processing are very likely to encounter difficulties in taking meaning from text, comprehension problems are not considered to be markers of RD. A key element of RD has been the notion that it is a condition that is often found in children with sound abilities in other cognitive and academic domains. In line with such thinking, a distinction has been made between those with general reading backwardness (where reading performance is at a level that would be expected on the basis of the individual’s IQ) and a more specific disability (e.g. specific 309

Julian G. Elliott and Elena L. Grigorenko

reading retardation, as per Rutter and Yule, 1975) where word-processing skills are much weaker than would be predicted on the basis of IQ. The idea that RD reflected a discrepancy between IQ and reading performance was challenged on the basis of reviews of discrepancy studies (Fletcher, Lyon, Fuchs and Barnes, 2007; Stuebing, Barth, Molfese, Weiss and Fletcher 2009; Stuebing et al., 2002) that have shown that dividing poor readers into IQ-discrepant and non-discrepant groups provides no meaningful information for diagnosis or intervention. Such studies have now resulted in widespread acceptance that IQ tests have little value in diagnosing RD (Vellutino, Fletcher, Snowling and Scanlon, 2004), although resistance to this general consensus continues amongst some researchers and clinicians (Stanovich, 2005).

Incidence, prevalence and prognosis RD is generally conceived of as a condition that lies along a continuum with no clear-cut distinction between typical and atypical (disabled) readers. This contrasts with a categorical distinction, whereby one either has or does not have a disability. As a result, prevalence estimates can vary substantially depending upon where the cut-off point is applied. Shaywitz (2005) provides a figure of 17.5%. A similar figure is provided by the US National Institutes of Health; RD is thought to affect at least 10 million American children, or approximately 20% of individuals under 21 years of age. Others argue that it is preferable to talk of a much smaller group with severe reading difficulties that prove tough to overcome. In some instances, this group is described as dyslexic, with prevalence rates typically in the range of 4–8% (Hulme and Snowling, 2009), although others prefer to see dyslexia as synonymous to RD and thus describing a significantly larger proportion of poor readers. Recognising the difficulties involved in arriving at a clear consensus, Fletcher and colleagues (Fletcher et al., 2007) suggest a prevalence of RD of between 6% and 17% of the school age population, depending upon the definitions and cut-off points selected to differentiate individuals with RD on the reading performance distribution curve. There is some disagreement as to the proportion of males and females with RD, with gender ratios varying according to the differing definitions and measures employed. Generally, it is considered that there is a higher prevalence of males, although earlier estimates of 3 or 4 to 1 have now been seen to be somewhat excessive. It has often been noted that the proportion of boys is higher in clinical than epidemiological samples. This appears to reflect the greater tendency of teachers to refer boys to support services as they are also more likely to display other co-morbid externalising disorders (Pennington, 2009; Shaywitz, 2005). In contrast, girls often demonstrate a comparatively higher proportion of internalising disorders that are less obtrusive in school settings. Most commentators now estimate a true reading-disabled ratio of males to females as approximately between 1.3:1 and 1.5:1 (Fletcher et al., 2007). For many, RD can last throughout the school years and even have lifetime effects, with as many as 80% of those identified as having RD in childhood continuing to experience significant reading difficulties in adulthood (Rutter, Kim-Cohen, and Maughan, 2006). However, for many individuals, improvements in accuracy can be made as a result of sound instruction, yet difficulties persist in fluency, often coupled with poor spelling and slow writing speed (Bruck, 1990). As is noted below, there appears to be a group of poor readers (sometimes described as treatment resisters) comprising about 2–5% of the general population, for whom best intervention practices appear to be ineffective.

The aetiology of reading disability From its introduction into the literature in the late nineteenth/early twentieth century, RD has been considered a familial condition, i.e. it was noticed that reading difficulties run in families. This observation triggered research into the environmental and genetic factors clustered in families that seemed to underlie these difficulties. 310

Reading disability

The investigation of environmental factors has resulted in the identification of so-called ‘risk or protective’ factors for reading difficulties that tend to be associated with RD statistically. Among these factors are socioeconomic status (SES) (Nicholson, 1997), family traditions and values concerning education and literacy (Kamhi and Laing, 2001), exposure to printed material (Cunningham and Stanovich, 1997) and protected time for reading (Carter, Chard and Pool, 2009). When ‘low’ or ‘weak,’ these factors are considered to be risk factors, when ‘high’ and ‘strong’ – protective. None of these factors is considered to be causative, yet they appear to be important modulators of genetic risk factors. Genetic factors predisposing for RD are studied both at the levels of the genome and the brain. Such a multi-level approach is warranted by the fact that the human genome does not contain specific genes that code for reading. What the human genome contains is the potential for a complex system of reading to arise as a result of the emergence of the so-called reading brain, i.e. the human brain that can read. The emergence of such a brain assumes that the specific brain structures involved in the cognitive processes required for reading are intact, functional and properly connected with each other. The structural development of the brain, its maturation, and its acquisition of connectivity are orchestrated by the human genome. Correspondingly, when genetic bases of RD are investigated, the assumed emergent structure is three-layered, from the genome, to the brain, and then to reading. However, researchers, for reasons of theoretical and experimental simplicity and economic frugality often focus only on two layers, connecting the genome to reading and the brain to reading. Studies connecting the genome to reading have resulted in the following observations (Grigorenko, 2007; Grigorenko and Naples, 2009; Scerri and Schulte-Körne, 2010). First, the familiality of RD is explained, to a substantial degree, by the fact that reading (i.e. both the ability and disability, as well as the cognitive processes underlying reading) is heritable. Although heritability estimates vary across languages, samples and specific assessment instruments, most of them converge within the range of 40–60% (Grigorenko, 2004), indicating a substantial role of the genome in building the machinery utilized in reading. Yet, the transition from these statistical estimates of the genome’s involvement to the identification of particular genetic mechanisms and the specific genes that are involved in the realization of these mechanisms has been difficult. Currently, the field is considering about a dozen genes that have been nominated as candidates involved in these mechanisms, but the research is still too much in progress to put forward a comprehensive hypothetical model for such a mechanism. Yet, there are specific hypotheses, which cover the components rather than the whole system of reading mechanisms. These specific hypotheses are directly related to the structure and function of the brains of individuals with RD. For example, it turns out that at least four of the currently studied candidate genes (DCDC2, ROBO1, KIAA0319, and DYX1C1) generate proteins that participate in various stages of neuronal migration (Galaburda, LoTurco, Ramus, Fitch and Rosen, 2006). This hypothesis is supported by the observation (although obtained on a very small number of postmortem brains of individuals with reading difficulties) of heterotopias, which can arise as a result of deficiencies in the process of neuronal migration. Another specific hypothesis connects the candidate genes for reading to specific areas of the brain that seem to substantiate the machinery of reading biologically (Paracchini, Scerri and Monaco, 2007). Thus, based on recent reviews (Price and Mechelli, 2005) implicating specific areas of the brain (i.e. the fusiform gyrus – roughly the ventral portion of Brodmann area (BA) 37; the posterior portion of the middle temporal gyrus – roughly the ventral border of BA 21 with BA 37; the dorsal border of the superior temporal sulcus, the angular gyrus – BA 39; and the posterior portion of the superior temporal gyrus – BA 22) as key in the brain anatomy substantiating reading, researchers are currently investigating which of these candidate genes are expressed in these areas and at what intensity.

Cognitive processes in reading disability Although the earliest accounts of RD in the late nineteenth century assumed that the core problem concerned visual processes, research during the past four decades has increasingly emphasised that the 311

Julian G. Elliott and Elena L. Grigorenko

problem has a linguistic, rather than a visual basis (Vellutino et al., 2004). Since this time, the dominant theory has been the phonological deficit hypothesis (Stanovich and Siegel, 1994). While there is debate about which cognitive processes are most appropriately covered by this term (Nicolson and Fawcett, 2008), the three most commonly identified elements are phonological awareness, verbal short-term/working memory and rapid retrieval of phonological information stored in long-term memory, as exemplified by rapid-naming tasks (Wagner and Torgesen, 1987).

Phonological awareness Phonological decoding is an important process for reading unfamiliar words and involves a process of mapping speech sounds onto patterns of letters. According to the phonological deficit hypothesis, children with RD are hindered by faulty representation of speech sounds and this leads to difficulties of phonological awareness, alphabetic knowledge, letter-sound mapping and associated skills such as orthographic awareness (Vellutino et al., 2004). Phonological awareness, the ability to detect and manipulate the sounds of language, operates at both phoneme and syllable levels within words. Phonemic awareness (the ability to segment spoken words into phonemic elements) is a key factor in reading, for weaknesses in this are likely to result in failure to discover spelling-to-sound relationships and, consequently, the acquisition of adequate alphabetic coding skills. Recognition of the importance of these processes grew from studies of young children that have demonstrated that phonological awareness, together with letter-sound knowledge, is one of the strongest predictors of early reading development (National Early Literacy Panel, 2008). Poor phonological awareness has consistently been found to be a feature of most RD children, although the predictive ability of phonological measures appears to be stronger for reading ability than disability (Scarborough, 1998). While findings that phonological interventions for early readers improve subsequent reading ability (Bradley and Bryant, 1985) have strengthened claims for a causal relationship, it appears that the relationship is bidirectional (Castles and Coltheart, 2004). Thus, experience of reading will impact upon children’s phonological skills, and early experiences at home and at school are likely to play an important role (Corriveau, Goswami and Thomson, 2010). One of the most common criticisms of all cognitive and sensory accounts of RD is that none of these can explain the problems of all children who struggle to learn to read. Not all children with RD experience a phonological deficit (Castles and Coultheart, 1996), and children with poor phonological abilities can nevertheless develop good reading skills. Phonological problems also seem to be less important in respect of other more transparent languages (Pennington, 2006), where reading fluency is often the key outcome measure. Here, rapid naming appears to be a more important predictor, although, for such languages, phonological awareness continues to be seen as key for spelling.

Rapid naming While phonological awareness difficulties appear to be highly significant for many with RD, there appears to be another group for whom rapid naming is particularly problematic (Wolf, 1991). This idea arose from experimental studies that required participants to name, as quickly as possible, a series of familiar items such as letters, colours, or everyday objects placed in front of them. Performance on such tasks has been found to be problematic for both children (Wolf, Bowers and Biddle, 2000) and adults (Pennington, van Orden, Smith, Green and Haith, 1990) with RD, although it should be noted that this problem is more closely associated with reading fluency than single-word decoding (Manis, Doi and Bhadha, 2000). It is for this reason that rapid naming is seen to be particularly relevant for transparent languages, in which the major presenting problem is slow, laborious reading (Torppa, Lyytinen, Erskine, Eklund and Lyytinen, 2010). 312

Reading disability

According to the double-deficit hypothesis model (Wolf and Bowers, 1999), those with RD can be divided into three groups: those with phonological difficulties, but with average naming-speed ability, those with a rapid-naming deficit, but average phonological skills and those with both phonological and rapid-naming difficulties. This last group typically experiences the greatest difficulty in learning to read. It is important to emphasise that, for Wolf and her colleagues, the study of rapid naming is primarily a means to help gain an understanding of underlying processes. Fluent reading, she contends, requires the ability to integrate a range of perceptual, attentional and naming mechanisms that enable the matching of visual representations to phonological codes, precisely, and at speed. Thus, problems of rapid naming do not concern a single isolated problem, but rather a number of difficulties involving several high- and low-level processes. This difficulty points to the need for intervention targeted at multiple levels of language. While the presence of rapid-naming problems in RD is widely accepted, the double-deficit hypothesis has been criticised for being insufficiently explicit to enable experimental evaluation of the theory (Vellutino et al., 2004) and there continues to be considerable uncertainty about the cognitive processes that underpin naming speed and its relationship to reading. Debate has also concerned whether naming speed should be considered as an aspect of phonological processing, with some holding this position (Snowling and Hulme, 1994; Wagner and Torgesen, 1987) and others (Jones, Branigan, Hatzidaki, and Obregón, 2010; Wolf and Bowers, 1999; Wolf et al., 2002) arguing that these should be considered as independent processes.

Short-term and working memory When one considers the various demands of the reading process it is hardly surprising that memory is often identified as a problem for those with RD. While there has been some interest in long-term memory processes (Menghini et al., 2010), most research has focused on short-term or working memory, processes that have been consistently demonstrated as poor for many with reading disabilities. Both types of memory involve holding information for brief periods of time; however, working memory involves both storage and processing. Much earlier research focused upon verbal short-term memory and, although a relationship with RD was sometimes found (Wagner and Torgesen, 1987), other studies did not find strong effects (Savage, Lavers and Pillay, 2007). More recently, interest has shifted towards the more complex tasks that are seen as tapping working memory. Studies have now accumulated a strong body of evidence demonstrating that working memory is an important factor in RD (Alloway, Gathercole, Kirkwood and Elliott, 2009), with this and short-term memory both showing independent variance when comparisons are made with normally achieving children (Swanson and Hsieh, 2009). As is the case for rapid naming, there is some debate as to whether short-term verbal memory should be incorporated within a broader phonological deficit model, or should instead be seen as a separate element within a broader working memory model. Studies comparing verbal and visual-spatial forms of short-term or working memory have tended to indicate that it is the former domain that is most problematic for poor readers. Such findings are unsurprising, given that RD is largely conceived of as a language-based disorder. However, research studies have provided a mixed picture, with some reporting normal visualspatial functioning in reading-disabled individuals (Schuchardt et al., 2008) and others citing weaknesses (Menghini, Finzi, Carlesimo and Vicari, 2011). In part, this discrepancy is explained by differences in the nature of the samples, measures and methods employed. Recent meta-analyses of reading-disabled groups (e.g. Johnson et al., 2010) have, however, supported the suggestion that visual working memory is related to reading difficulty, albeit not as strongly related as verbal working memory. It is important to note that, while memory problems are a feature of many who experience reading difficulties, there remain a significant proportion of this group who appear to have no memory-related 313

Julian G. Elliott and Elena L. Grigorenko

problems. Others have also pointed to the less powerful predictive aspects of working memory when compared with measures of phonological processing (Savage et al., 2007). Working memory has been seen to play an important role in reading comprehension (Swanson, Howard and Sáez, 2006). However, difficulties in taking meaning from text are generally differentiated from the decoding and fluency problems that are seen to lie at the heart of RD.

Auditory and visual processes In recent years, there has been a resurgence of interest in the role of auditory and visual processing in RD, with some evidence found of a relationship between these and reading difficulties. Estimates suggest that an auditory processing difficulty can be found in approximately one-third of reading-disabled samples (Boets et al., 2007), although the variation across studies is considerable. Several studies have also indicated a variety of visual-processing problems in those with reading disabilities, although, as is the case for auditory processing, difficulties are not found in all those with RD and it is possible that such problems co-occur, rather than play a causal role (Pennington, 2009). A further visual explanation for reading difficulty is that of visual stress, a condition where reading can become physically discomforting, with reports of sore eyes and headaches or visual distortions and illusions (Singleton, 2009). This may render extensive examination of text unpleasant and result in a disinclination to read. The condition is variously known as visual discomfort (Conlon et al., 1999), scotopic sensitivity, or Meares-Irlen syndrome (Irlen, 1991), with claims that it may affect as many as one in five of the general population (Jeanes et al., 1997). While the condition may impair reading fluency to some degree, it would not appear to explain the problems of those who present with the complex decoding difficulties of those with a RD (Wilkins, 1995).

Intervention Despite the vast numbers of studies, across many disciplines, that have sought to examine the underlying biological and cognitive bases of RD, our understanding as to how to overcome this problem in its most severe form is still rudimentary, and there remains a small group of poor readers (sometimes known as treatment resisters) whose progress in reading and spelling is still highly problematic. Perhaps one of the most important lessons from scientific research has been that, unlike speech, reading is not naturally acquired (Liberman, 1999) and, for those with RD, highly explicit instruction is required. Eschewing the notion that children with RD can discover letter-sound knowledge as a result of reading, Torgesen (2004: 363) stressed the importance of explicit instruction: that does not leave anything to chance and does not make assumptions about skills and knowledge that children will acquire on their own. Hitherto, many children with RD were ill-served by the widespread employment of the whole-language model of the teaching of reading that enjoyed fluctuating ascendancy in many English-speaking countries during the latter half of the twentieth century. This approach led to a widespread belief on the part of teachers that structured approaches involving the systematic teaching of phonics was sterile, unmotivating and ignored the importance of context in reading (Elliott and Grigorenko, in press). However, the growth of rigorous scientific investigations during the 1990s established that it was those who experienced greatest difficulties in learning to read who most needed explicit instruction in letter–sound relationships. While the systematic teaching of phonics was seen as an important component of a balanced approach for all readers (National Reading Panel (NRP), 2000), the need for heavily structured approaches may, however, be less important for young children with strong early reading skills. 314

Reading disability

In general, children with RD do not require very significantly different reading instruction from other children. All beginning readers require input on print-related concepts, phonological awareness, phonics, the development of reading fluency, vocabulary, spelling, comprehension, and writing that is weighted according to their individual needs and will maximise their interest and motivation. However, in comparison with their peers, children who struggle to acquire reading skills will typically require more individualised, more structured, more explicit, more systematic and more intense inputs. There is now a large body of research showing the powerful benefits of interventions with young children deemed to be at risk of reading failure (Scanlon et al., 2005). The introduction in many countries of a response to intervention (RTI) model, in which children receive additional, highly structured support in small groups, or even individually, as soon as difficulties are noted, has helped to ensure that appropriate intervention is not delayed unduly. This approach is not without its critics, who argue that knowledge of RTI procedures is still rudimentary and contend that its focus upon intervention at the level of academic content can result in an unhelpful neglect of underlying cognitive processes (Reynolds and Shaywitz, 2009). In response to such critiques, proponents of RTI argue that there is little evidence that cognitive profiling can inform individualised reading interventions (Fletcher and Vaughn, 2009). While appropriate interventions in the early years can resolve the word reading problems of most children (Torgesen, 2005), there remains a small proportion who continue to fail to make adequate progress, or who drop back when they reach the age of eight or nine, a time when reading demands increase significantly (Vellutino et al., 2008). Estimates of these ‘treatment resisters’ vary but, in the USA, these tend to be around 2–6% of the school population (Vaughn and Roberts, 2007). Unfortunately, research evidence for the effectiveness of interventions for older students identified as having a RD is weaker than that for younger children considered to be at risk (Elliott and Grigorenko, in press), and interventions with older primary school children often result in only modest gains (Wanzek and Vaughn, 2007). In adolescence, the picture becomes even more complex, as the precise nature of students’ problems becomes more diffuse. Some students will continue to require help at the letter-sound level and others will have few problems with single-syllable words but encounter difficulties when words are multisyllabic. Some will have made significant gains in basic word decoding but continue to struggle to read fluently. These students can be greatly hindered by the consequences of years of struggle, often resulting in limited vocabulary and concept knowledge, problems with reading comprehension and reduced motivation (Biancarosa and Snow, 2006). Attempts to help those with the greatest difficulties to read with greater accuracy and fluency have largely proved to be disappointing (Scammacca et al., 2007) and, beyond calling for more intense and individualised approaches, it appears that researchers continue to struggle to find effective forms of interventions.

Looking to the future Despite the significant gains made in genetics, neuroscience, cognitive science and education, reading-related problems continue to present a major barrier to learning and blight the lives of a significant number of people. Notwithstanding our best efforts, we continue to struggle to find interventions that can fully overcome the problems of those with the most severe forms of RD. It is to be hoped that advances in each of these disciplines, together with the deployment of increasingly sophisticated forms of assistive technology that enable electronic reading of text and input via speech recognition software, will help those who struggle with reading to fulfil their learning potential and ultimately lead more enriched and fulfilled lives.

References Alloway, T. P., Gathercole, S. E., Kirkwood, H. J. and Elliott, J. G. (2009). The cognitive and behavioral characteristics of children with low working memory. Child Development, 80: 606–21. 315

Julian G. Elliott and Elena L. Grigorenko

Biancarosa, G. and Snow, C. E. (2006). Reading next: A vision for action and research in middle and high school literacy. A report to the Carnegie Corporation of New York, 2nd edition. Washington, DC: Alliance for Excellent Education. Biofeedback, 35: 25–27. Boets, B., Wouters, J., van Wieringen, A. and Ghesquière, P. (2007). Auditory processing, speech perception and phonological ability in preschool children at high-risk of dyslexia: A longitudinal study of the auditory temporal processing theory. Neuropsychologia, 45: 1608–20. Bradley, L. and Bryant, P. E. (1985). Rhyme and reason in reading and spelling. Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press. Bruck, M. (1990). Word recognition skills of adults with childhood diagnoses of dyslexia. Developmental Psychology, 26: 439–54. Carter, D. R., Chard, D. J. and Pool, J. L. (2009). A family strengths approach to early language and literacy development. Early Childhood Education Journal, 36: 519–26. Castles, A. and Coltheart, M. (2004). Is there a causal link from phonological awareness to success in learning to read? Cognition, 91(1): 77–111. Castles, A., and Coultheart, M. (1996). Cognitive correlates of developmental surface dyslexia: A single case study. Cognitive Neuropsychology, 13: 25–50. Conlon, E. G., Lovegrove, W., Chekaluk, E. and Pattison, P. (1999). Measuring visual discomfort. Visual Cognition, 6: 637–63. Corriveau, K. H., Goswami, U. and Thomson, J. M. (2010). Auditory processing and early literacy skills in a preschool and kindergarten population. Journal of Learning Disabilities, 43: 369–82. Cunningham, A. E. and Stanovich, K. E. (1997). Early reading acquisition and its relation to reading experience and ability 10 years later. Developmental Psychology, 33: 934–45. Elliott, J. G. and Gibbs, S. (2008). Does dyslexia exist? Journal of Philosophy of Education, 42: 475–91. Elliott, J. G. and Grigorenko, E. L. (in press). The dyslexia debate. New York: Cambridge University Press. Fletcher, J. M. and Vaughn, S. (2009). Response to intervention: Preventing and remediating academic difficulties. Child Development Perspectives, 3(1): 30–37. Fletcher, J. M., Lyon, G. R., Fuchs, L. S. and Barnes, M. A. (2007). Learning disabilities. New York: Guilford Press. Galaburda, A. M., LoTurco, J. J., Ramus, F., Fitch, R. H. and Rosen, G. D. (2006). From genes to behavior in developmental dyslexia. Nature Neuroscience, 9: 1213–17. Grigorenko, E. L. (2004). Genetic bases of developmental dyslexia: A capsule review of heritability estimates. Enfance, 3: 273–87. ——(2007). Triangulating developmental dyslexia: Behavior, brain, and genes. In D. Coch, G. Dawson and K. Fischer (eds), Human behavior and the developing brain. New York: Guilford Press, pp. 117–44. Grigorenko, E. L. and Naples, A. J. (2009). The devil is in the details: Decoding the genetics of reading. In P. McCardle and K. Pugh (eds), Helping children learn to read: Current issues and new directions in the integration of cognition, neurobiology and genetics of reading and dyslexia. New York: Psychological Press, pp. 133–48. Hulme, C. and Snowling, M. J. (2009). Developmental disorders of language learning and cognition. Oxford: Wiley & Blackwell. Johnson, E. S, Humphrey, M., Mellard, D. F., Woods, K. and Swanson, H. L. (2010). Cognitive processing deficits and students with specific learning disabilities: A selective meta-analysis of the literature. Learning Disability Quarterly, 33(1): 3–18. Irlen, H. (1991). Reading by the colours. New York: Avery. Jeanes, R., Busby, A., Martin, J., Lewis, E., Stevenson, N., Pointon, D. and Wilkins, A. J. (1997). Prolonged use of coloured overlays for classroom reading. British Journal of Psychology, 88: 531–48. Jones, M. W., Branigan, H. P., Hatzidaki, A. and Obregón, A. (2010). Is the ‘naming’ deficit in dyslexia a misnomer? Cognition, 116: 56–70. Kamhi, A. G. and Laing, S. P. (2001). The path to reading success or failure: A choice for the new millennium. In J. L. Harris, A. G. Kamhi and K. E. Pollock (eds), Literacy in African American communities. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum, pp. 127–45. Liberman, A. M. (1999). The reading researcher and the reading teacher need the right theory of speech. Scientific Studies of Reading, 3: 95–111. Manis, F. R., Doi, L. M. and Bhadha, B. (2000). Naming speed, phonological awareness, and orthographic knowledge in second graders. Journal of Learning Disabilities, 33: 325–33. Menghini, D., Finzi, A., Benassi, M., Bolzani, R., Facoetti, A., Giovagnoli, S. et al. (2010). Different underlying neurocognitive deficits in developmental dyslexia: A comparative study. Neuropsychologia, 48: 863–72. Menghini, D., Finzi, A., Carlesimo, G. A. and Vicari, S. (2011). Working memory impairment in children with developmental dyslexia: Is it just a phonological deficit? Developmental Neuropsychology, 36(2): 199–213. 316

Reading disability

National Early Literacy Panel (2008). Developing early literacy: Report of the National Early Literacy Panel. Washington, DC: National Institute for Literacy. National Reading Panel (NRP) (2000). Teaching children to read: An evidence-based assessment of the scientific research literature on reading and its implications for reading instruction (NIH Publication No. 00–4754). Washington, DC: Government Printing Office. Nicholson, T. (1997). Social class and reading achievement: Sociology meets psychology. New Zealand Journal of Educational Studies, 32: 105–8. Nicolson, R. I. and Fawcett, A. J. (2008). Dyslexia, learning, and the brain. Boston, MA: MIT. Paracchini, S., Scerri, T. and Monaco, A. P. (2007). The genetic lexicon of dyslexia. Annual Review of Genomics and Human Genetics, 8: 57–79. Pennington, B. F. (2006). From single to multiple deficit models of developmental disorders. Cognition, 101: 385–413. ——(2009). Diagnosing learning disorders: A neuropsychological framework (2nd edn). New York: Guilford Press. Pennington, B. F., van Orden, G. C., Smith, S. D., Green, P. A. and Haith, M. M. (1990). Phonological processing skills and deficits in adult dyslexics. Child Development, 61: 1753–78. Price, C. J. and Mechelli, A. (2005). Reading and reading disturbance. Current Opinion in Neurobiology, 15: 231–38. Reynolds, C. R. and Shaywitz, S. E. (2009). Response to intervention: Prevention and remediation, perhaps. Diagnosis, No. Child Development Perspectives, 3(1): 44–47. Rutter, M., Kim-Cohen, J. and Maughan, B. (2006). Continuities and discontinuities in psychopathology between childhood and adult life. Journal of Child Psychology and Psychiatry, 47: 276–95. Rutter, M. and Yule, W. (1975). The concept of specific reading retardation. Journal of Child Psychology and Psychiatry, 16: 11–197. Savage, R. S., Lavers, N. and Pillay, V. (2007). Working memory and reading difficulties: What we know and what we don’t know about the relationship. Educational Psychology Review, 19: 185–221. Scammacca, N., Roberts, G., Vaughn, S., Edmonds, M., Wexler, J., Reutebuch, C.K. and Torgesen, J. (2007). Reading interventions for adolescent struggling readers: A meta-analysis with implications for practice. Portsmouth, NH: RMC Research Corporation Center on Instruction. Scanlon, D. M., Vellutino, F. R., Small, S. G., Fanuele, D. and Sweeney, J.M. (2005). Severe reading difficulties: Can they be prevented?: A comparison of prevention and intervention approaches. Exceptionality, 13: 209-27. Scarborough, H. S. (1998). Predicting the future achievement of second graders with reading disabilities: Contributions of phonemic awareness, verbal memory, rapid naming, and IQ. Annals of Dyslexia, 48: 115–36. Scerri, T. and Schulte-Körne, G. (2010). Genetics of developmental dyslexia. European Child and Adolescent Psychiatry, 19: 179–97. Shaywitz, S. E. (2005). Overcoming dyslexia. New York: Alfred Knopf. Schuchardt, K., Maehler, C. and Hasselhorn, M. (2008). Working memory deficits in children with specific learning disorders. Journal of Learning Disabilities, 41(6): 514–23. Singleton, C.H. (2009). Visual stress and dyslexia. In G. Reid (ed.), The Routledge Companion to Dyslexia. New York: Routledge, pp. 43–57. Snowling, M. J. and Hulme, C. (1994). The development of phonological skills in children. Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society, 346: 21–26. Stanovich, K. E. (2005). The future of a mistake: Will discrepancy measurement continue to make the learning disabilities field a pseudoscience? Learning Disability Quarterly, 28: 103–6. Stanovich, K. E. and Siegel, L. S. (1994). Phenotypic performance profile of children with reading disabilities: A regression-based test of the phonological-core variable-difference model. Journal of Educational Psychology, 86: 24–53. Stuebing, K. K., Barth, A. E., Molfese, P. J., Weiss, B. and Fletcher, J. M. (2009). IQ is not strongly related to response to reading instruction: A meta-analytic interpretation. Exceptional Children, 76: 31–51. Stuebing, K. K., Fletcher, J. M., LeDoux, J. M., Lyon, R. G., Shaywitz, S. E. and Shaywitz, B. A. (2002). Validity of IQ-discrepancy classifications of reading disabilities: A meta-analysis. American Educational Research Journal, 39: 469–518. Swanson, H. L., Howard, C. B. and Sáez, L. (2006). Do different components of working memory underline different subgroups of reading disabilities? Journal of Learning Disabilities, 39: 252–69. Swanson, H. L., and Hsieh, C. J. (2009). Reading disabilities in adults: A selective meta-analysis of the literature. Review of Educational Research, 79: 1362–90. Torgesen, J. K. (2004). Lessons learned from research on interventions for students who have difficulty learning to read. In P. McCardle and V. Chhabra (eds), The voice of evidence in reading research. Baltimore, MD: Brookes, pp. 355–82. Torppa, M., Lyytinen, P., Erskine, J., Eklund, K. and Lyytinen, H. (2010). Language development, literacy skills, and predictive connections to reading in Finnish children with and without familial risk for dyslexia. Journal of Learning Disabilities, 43: 308–21. 317

Julian G. Elliott and Elena L. Grigorenko

Vaughn, S. and Roberts, G. (2007). Secondary interventions in reading: Providing additional instruction for students at risk. Teaching Exceptional Children, 39(5): 40–46. Vellutino, F. R., Fletcher, J. M., Snowling, M. J. and Scanlon, D. M. (2004). Specific reading disability (dyslexia): what have we learned in the past four decades? Journal of Child Psychology & Psychiatry & Allied Disciplines, 45: 2–40. Vellutino, F. R., Scanlon, D. M., Zhang, H. and Schatschneider, C. (2008). Using response to kindergarten and first grade intervention to identify children at-risk for long-term reading difficulties. Reading and Writing, 21: 437–80. Wagner, R. K. and Torgesen, J. K. (1987). The nature of phonological processing and its causal role in the acquisition of reading skills. Psychological Bulletin, 101: 192–212. Wanzek, J. and Vaughn, S. (2007). Research-based implications from extensive early reading interventions. School Psychology Review, 36: 541–61. Wilkins, A. J. (1995). Visual Stress. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Wolf, M. (1991). Naming speed and reading: The contribution of the cognitive neurosciences. Reading Research Quarterly, 26: 123–41. Wolf, M. and Bowers, P. G. (1999). The double-deficit hypothesis for the developmental dyslexia. Journal of Educational Psychology, 91: 415–38. Wolf, M., Bowers, P. G. and Biddle, K. (2000). Naming-speed processes, timing, and reading: A conceptual review. Journal of Learning Disabilities, 33: 387–407. Wolf, M., O’Rourke, A. G., Gidney, C., Lovett, M., Cirino, P. and Morris, R. (2002). The second deficit: An investigation of the independence of phonological and naming-speed deficits in developmental dyslexia. Reading and Writing, 15: 43–72.

318

33 On becoming a person in society The person with dementia Kay de Vries

Remember we are struggling to still be the people we have spent our lives becoming. (Quote from a younger woman with dementia (Harris, 2002)).

Introduction Historically, the subject of dementia has suffered from poor awareness and understanding, combined with the stigma attached to both mental illness and old age. The stigma of a diagnosis of dementia causes complex emotional responses, and people may go through stages of emotional response to their diagnosis, including: not noticing symptoms, noticing and covering up, or noticing and revealing; confirming or shock; denial, crisis or maximising; disorganisation or adaptation. Emotional responses are frequently the result of fears of loss of autonomy, sense of control, self-esteem, competency, valued lifestyles, social roles or relationships; and one of the most feared losses in dementia is the loss of sense of identity. The organic disease model recognises that brain dysfunction is extremely varied and extensive. It can be caused by brain injury and from a variety of neurological disorders, and it may be genetic or environmentally induced. In the event of a neuropathology that leads to the loss of cognitive function, biochemical changes that occur vary, depending on the area of tissue that is affected and the cause of that effect. Mechanisms in this process include tissue destruction, compression, inflammation and biochemical imbalances. Dementia, therefore, is not a disease in itself, but a neuropsychological deficit that has occurred as a result of chronic brain disease or encephalopathy (Cheston and Bender, 1999; Wilcock et al., 1999; Neary, 1999). Dementia is used as a specific term indicative of a variety of pathological disorders and is a term related to symptoms, rather than to a specific disease. There are over 100 types of neurodegenerative disorders that may primarily or secondarily affect the brain and cause a dementia syndrome. However, there are four main forms of dementia that are a focus of much of the literature and research: dementia of the Alzheimer’s type; vascular dementia; Lewy-body dementia; and frontotemporal dementia. Dementia symptoms are usually of a chronic or progressive nature. There is a disturbance of multiple higher cortical function, including memory, thinking, orientation, comprehension, calculation, learning capacity, language and judgement, but consciousness is not clouded. Impairments of cognitive function are commonly accompanied, and occasionally preceded, by deterioration in emotional control, social behaviour or motivation (WHO, 1993). 319

Kay de Vries

The impairment of memory typically affects the registration, storage and retrieval of new information, but previously learned and familiar material may also be lost, particularly in the later stages. Dementia is more than merely a naturally poor or an impaired memory or general intellectual impairment, there is also impairment of thinking and of reasoning capacity, and a reduction in the flow of ideas. The processing of incoming information is impaired, in that the individual finds it increasingly difficult to attend to more than one stimulus at a time, such as taking part in a conversation with several persons, and shifting of the focus of attention from one topic to another (WHO, 1993).

The diagnosis of dementia The organic disease model used to explain and understand dementia has had severe consequences on how dementia is viewed within Western society. Cheston and Bender (1999) suggest a range of possible explanations of dementia that have influenced (and still do influence) our understanding and responses to people with dementia. These include dementia as: a disability; deviance; brain damage; a major functional illness; a psychosis; a subjective state; regression; loss; and trauma. This diversity of understanding and explaining dementia has led to fragmentation of academic disciplines and specialisation within fields of research and practice that Cheston and Bender (1999) suggest has hindered cross-frame work. Dementia has been primarily classified within the psychiatric systems of the International Classification of Diseases (ICD) 10 (WHO, 1993) and the American Psychiatric Association Diagnostic and Statistical Manual (DSM)–DSM IV (APA, 1994). However, actual diagnostic practices vary according to the system being used, time of diagnosis and the sociological and professional position of the person making the diagnosis (Cheston and Bender, 1999). Also, health care professionals use diagnostic labels to classify individuals for both treatment and research purposes. Despite their clear benefits, diagnostic labels also serve as cues that activate stigma and stereotypes that can have a significant and negative impact on interpersonal relationships (Garand et al., 2009). At each stage of history the medical establishment (and the population) accept the textbook definition of their time, and diagnosis depends on an arbitrary dividing line drawn on some point in a continuum of disability, which may be viewed as an evolving concept (Berrios and Freeman, 1991: 1). Berrios and Freeman (1991) propose a shift towards the ‘creational’ approach to diagnosis, acknowledging that there is ‘no such thing as the final description of a disease’. Its clinical boundaries, symptom-content and even anatomical descriptions are no more than temporary scripts, taken from the ongoing medical discourse. That is, the creation of disease can also be viewed as social phenomenon. Once a name is accepted, it quickly comes to dominate the social reality of the disease, and the flavour of the name can make a difference to how the disease is perceived and acted on (Shenk, 2001). In other words, definitions of dementia are social constructions, imposing order upon data in a particular and selective way, and these constructions act to emphasise particular ways of thinking about or addressing dementia, often ignoring other viewpoints (Bender and Cheston, 1997; Gubrium, 1986; Kontos, 2004, 2005; Sabat and Harré, 1992). Gilmour and Brannelly (2010) propose that assimilating contemporary representations of dementia requires the discarding of historically dominant elite and authoritarian accounts of the experiences of people with dementia, and possibly discarding the historically burdened term of dementia itself. It is often assumed that people with dementia are not coherent or lucid enough to be able to express a view on many aspects of their lives and are consequently marginalised and silenced. Until recently, people with dementia were very rarely asked for their opinions or judged to be fully legitimate persons, and older people with memory loss are often silenced by their own fears of humiliation. Constructions of dementia were to portray that the memory impairment caused by cognitive deficiencies will lead to a steady loss of selfhood. However, many now argue that this is inherently incorrect and that selfhood persists even with severe dementia (Kontos, 2004, 2005; O’Connor et al., 2007; Phinney, 2002). Kontos (2004) proposes that selfhood persists because it is an embodied dimension of human existence and that the insistence 320

Becoming a person in society: dementia

that selfhood is the exclusive privilege of the sphere of cognition has its origins in the modern Western philosophical tradition that separates mind from body, and positions the former as superior to the latter. Kontos (2005) challenges the mind/body dualism that underlies the assumed loss of selfhood in the current construction of Alzheimer’s disease, and advocates a theoretical framework of embodiment. She argues that people with cognitive impairment are actively involved with the world through their embodied way of ‘being-in-the-world’, i.e. they interact meaningfully with the world through activity and engagement, rather than contemplation or reflection. The central claim of Kontos’s work (2004, 2005) is that selfhood is embodied and characterised by an observable coherence and capacity for improvisation that is sustained at a pre-reflective level by the primordial as well as the socio-cultural significance of the body.

Perspectives of people with dementia Pioneers of person-centred approaches to working in the field of dementia have been instrumental in calling for recognition of an enduring personhood and arguing for the centrality of the person, providing evidence that the emotional life of people with dementia is still intact despite often severe cognitive deficits (Feil, 1993; Killick and Allen, 2001; Kitwood, 1988, 1989, 1990, 1993, 1997; Kitwood and Bredin, 1992; Marshall, 2001; Morton, 1999; Sinason, 1992). It is now recognised that the symptoms and behavioural changes associated with dementia do not arise purely from neuropathology, but from a dialectical interplay between neuropathology and the person’s interactions with others within their environments; from their personal histories; from how they themselves are perceived within their social contexts; and from sustaining a sense of continuity despite changes resulting from dementia (Hughes et al., 2006; Kitwood, 1997; O’Connor et al., 2007; Phinney et al., 2007). Narratives of people with dementia now clearly reveal them as people who are still engaged in life and have capacity to participate fully in living and enjoy meaningful relationships with others. It is increasingly advocated that a ‘first-person’ account must be taken into consideration when trying to understand the experiences of people with dementia (Keady et al., 2007a, 2007b; Page and Keady, 2010; Phinney et al., 2007). Ambassadors of people with dementia are now par for the course and have become the mouthpiece for those who have not been enabled or are no longer able to tell their stories in a public arena. Christine Bryden (2005) is one such ambassador and was one of the authors reviewed in a metaethnographic analysis of 12 autobiographies written by people with dementia between 1989 and 2007 by Page and Keady (2010). Bryden (2005) was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease when only 46 years old. For her, the prognosis was horrific and as a consequence she wrote her first book, Who will I be when I die? (Boden, 1998), in which she expresses her shock and horror at the diagnosis and prognosis, and her fear and anxiety about a disease that she believed would deprive her of her identity and personality. Rather than accepting the passive role of a person with dementia, Bryden has become an internationally recognised speaker on the personal experience of having a dementia diagnosis (www.christinebryden.com). The internet provides a vehicle for people to share their experiences of living with dementia through online journals and chat rooms and is now used widely by people with dementia and their significant others. In some studies, living with dementia is presented as a positive narrative by the person with dementia, where only minor problems are expressed and where abilities and contentment with life, and being valued, rather than losing one’s cognition or identity were emphasised as central in their experience (Steeman et al., 2007). Steeman et al. (2007) suggest that, superficially, a positive narrative may be understood as a lack of awareness or as denial due to cognitive loss. However, more in-depth analyses of these narratives reveal that people with dementia are constantly balancing their feelings of value and 321

Kay de Vries

worthlessness and struggling to remain someone of value. This struggle is primarily prompted by threats posed by progressive cognitive deterioration caused by dementia and by the person’s interactions with others (Steeman et al., 2007). The meta-ethnographic analysis of autobiographies written by people with dementia conducted by Page and Keady (2010) demonstrated how an awareness of change reflected the intuitive knowledge that something was ‘not right’, and all authors went through a process that eventually led to a diagnosis of dementia that was frequently described as ‘arduous’. They identified the need to hold on to some sense of who they were, sustaining continuity over their identity. Their presentation to others was used as a means of facing an overwhelming and common ‘enemy’ (dementia). The very act of writing their stories offered an opportunity to reposition themselves and resist the disease process (Page and Keady, 2010). In most of the autobiographies, the authors felt that they had a ‘duty’ to bring attention to the lived experience of dementia and to ‘speak up’ on behalf of others who are not able to do so (Page and Keady, 2010). This supports Phinney’s (2002) point that those who have made an effort to tell the story of their personal experiences of dementia are exceedingly aware and articulate and are able to step aside from their immediate involvements to reflect on their lives. Much less is understood about the illness narratives of those whose awareness is fluctuating, and what these narratives reveal about the meaning of living with dementia (Phinney, 2002). Narrative accounts of the experience of dementia can present as a complex mix of new, revised and disconnected storylines that combine to create a person’s sense of self and identity (Page and Keady, 2010). However, for many people, their dementia awareness fluctuates. Symptoms may be obvious, or vague and inconspicuous; symptoms may be forgotten, or they may be entirely absent for the person (Phinney, 2002). This makes it difficult for people to articulate a narrative understanding of what is happening in their lives, so the narrative of dementia becomes shared as others join in its telling (Phinney, 2002). In later stages it may become a narrative of chaos that is all but impossible to articulate (Phinney, 2002). Mills (1997) also noted that, for some people with dementia, the sense of narrative identity began to dissolve as their illness progressed and their stories faded from memory. Keady et al. (2007a, 2007b) suggest that detailed autobiographical knowledge of the person with dementia is crucial to understanding the cognitive and life changes that take place, especially when life storylines are misremembered and/or mis-sequenced. In other words, it is important that the person with dementia’s narrative identity is primarily located in the ‘here and now’, with the past subject to re-editing and revision at any time in the process of its telling. The experiences of narrative breakdown reveal that human beings are not isolated units and stories are told in and through dialogue with others (Phinney, 2002). Also, the narrative of chaos is evidence of how the experience is in some way beyond the power of language to convey (Phinney, 2002). This supports positing a shift of the discourse on selfhood in dementia towards a greater recognition of human embodiment and critically challenging the presumption of loss of agency, i.e. loss of capacity to act independently, due to cognitive impairment (Kontos, 2004). Where the person may struggle to describe their experience in words, the body’s actions may tell a clearer story (Phinney, 2002).

Dementia and loss One of the themes in the meta-ethnographic analysis conducted by Page and Keady (2010) was that of experiencing loss, where all the narratives were stories associated with the anticipated and actual loss of the sense of ‘who one is’. At the heart of dementia is loss, and the narratives of people with dementia reveal the very real experiences of loss that occur with dementia (Chesten and Bender, 1999). The many losses experienced include: losing track of conversations; losing track of time; forgetting names and events; and loss of practical skills, making it difficult for persons with dementia to understand their circumstances or to hide their problems from others, causing frustration, uncertainty and fear. 322

Becoming a person in society: dementia

These narratives also reveal transitional experiences for people with dementia and their significant others, and since the late 1980s there has been a new emerging view on the experience of dementia, where the individual perspective of the person with dementia is being stressed. Within this new perspective has come a more developed understanding of both the experiences and emotional needs of people with dementia (Kitwood 1990, 1993; Kitwood and Bredin, 1992; Miesen, 1993, 1997, 1999; Normann et al., 1998, 2002, 2006). An awareness context for people with dementia exists and can be accessed and scripted in circumstances related to care practices and a concept of loss (Miesen, 1997, 1999; Page and Keady, 2010). There is also growing literature on the applicability of attachment theory to the behaviours and response to loss and illness for people with dementia. Bowlby’s (1997) attachment theory has provided a conceptual and empirical framework for examining some behaviours of people with dementia and provides a means of interpreting them in terms of responses to loss (Browne and Shlosberg, 2005, 2006; de Vries and McChrystal, 2010; Jones, 2004; Miesen, 1993, 1997, 2006). Miesen (1993, 1997) argues that his clinical observations and research, plus the research of others, have proven that people with dementia of the Alzheimer’s type still respond to their illness, even after their ‘illness-insight’ has disappeared, i.e. emotional responses to their experiences remain throughout the dementia process (Miesen, 1999; Mills, 1997). This ability of people with advanced dementia to respond meaningfully to others in some situations has been identified by researchers in the field (Kitwood and Bredin, 1992; Normann et al., 1998, 2002, 2006; Sabat and Harré, 1992) – not only through the use of dynamic psychotherapy that has been used in research on this aspect (Hausman, 1992), but also through the ‘kind care’ that may be part of the normal practice of formal care-givers in nursing and residential homes. Treating people with dementia as legitimate persons to be validated and listened to can have an impact on a person with dementia in that some lucidity is briefly restored when the person is treated with a high level of kindness and gentleness (Normann et al., 1998, 2002, 2006). Kitwood and Bredin (1992) anecdotally report that people show ‘rementia’ when a conscious connection is established with a carer. These care events, centred on the individual, may slow down and limit the effects of the process of dementia (Kitwood, 1997). There are many anecdotal reports of carers relating episodes of the person with dementia unexpectedly speaking or acting in a way that surprises the carer and indicates that that person may be more aware of his environment and situation than assumed. Such episodes have been referred to as ‘episodes of lucidity’ (Aakerlund and Norberg, 1986; Norberg et al., 1986; Normann et al., 1998, 2002, 2006). Data from five interviews (over a period of two weeks) with a woman with dementia showed how lucidity is promoted by supporting the person with dementia using concepts of confirmation and communion. Support was given by sharing the person’s view, repeating and reformulating the person’s utterance and not emphasising errors (Normann et al., 2002). Normann et al. (2002) also showed how, when the researcher made demands on the person with dementia, the response was to go from lucidity to nonlucidity. Using this approach, communication can be understood as more than just transmission of information, but rather as a certain way of relating to the other (Normann et al., 2002). Bleathman and Morton (1992) reported experiences similar to those described above when using validation therapy with people with dementia. Examples of the use of reminiscence, where people with dementia have unexpectedly told carers something about their past that was confirmed by their relatives have been described (Bright, 1992; Sabat and Harré, 1992). Jansson et al. (1993) and Kihlgren et al. (1996) report that people with dementia revealed more of themselves to carers who spoke the person’s native language and provided them with calm, loving care. Furthermore, Normann et al. (2006) found that more residents with ‘episodes of lucidity’ participated in outdoor walks than those without, speculating that having walks outdoors with the key care provider is an activity that brings the resident close to the care provider; it most likely also implies body contact, like walking arm in arm. It also implies the possibility that experiencing the natural environment may have a spiritual component that has been as yet unexplored. Many of these studies are small, but accumulatively they provide evidence 323

Kay de Vries

that people with dementia retain emotional responses to events that occur in their lives through all stages of the illness.

Maintaining cognitive ability through education and training Although a burgeoning research literature has emerged within the field of dementia since the early 1990s, very little research has been conducted on health promotion through education for people with dementia (Richeson et al., 2007). In a study that examined the effects of a 13-week adult education class for older adults with early-stage dementia titled, Health Promotion for the Mind, Body, and Spirit, conducted in a normalised, dignified and non-stigmatised environment, Richeson et al. (2007) found that older adults with early-stage dementia were still interested in learning, growing and making connections. Despite the severity of memory difficulties, many aspects of memory remain relatively intact, particularly in the early stages of Alzheimer’s disease. The growing emphasis on early detection and diagnosis of dementia has meant that cognition-focused approaches have been increasingly adapted to the needs of people with early-stage dementia (Clare, 2003). There is a long tradition of cognition-focused intervention in dementia care (Clare and Woods, 2004) and a growing research literature on the possible value of interventions to improve memory functioning for this group. The range of specific interventions and research methodologies on improving the cognition for people with early-stage dementia is large and varied and includes approaches such as: memory intervention training (Hawley et al., 2008; Troyer et al., 2008); spaced retrieval memory training (Bourgeois et al., 2003; Cherry and Simmons-D’Gerolamo, 2004; Cherry et al., 2009; Hawley and Cherry, 2008; Hochhalter and Overmier, 2005; Hopper et al., 2010; Moore et al., 2001); computer-based memory training (Schreiber et al., 1999) and mental aerobics (Hayslip et al., 2009); episodic memory (list recall, facename association, text memory) (Belleville et al., 2006); formal-semantic therapy (Bier et al., 2008); and many more. Cognitive training using the theoretical framework of ‘errorless learning’ as a guiding principle has been the focus of a large number of such studies (Akhtar et al., 2006; Clare et al., 2000; Clare et al., 2002; Dewar et al., 2009; Dunn and Clare, 2007; Haslam et al., 2006; Haslam et al.: 2010; Jokel et al., 2010; Kessels and Olde Hensken, 2009; Mimura and Komatsu, 2007). Errorless learning concepts were adapted from research on animal models to aid learning in people with learning disabilities and people with acquired brain injury (Clare et al., 2000). Errors made during learning are strengthened in implicit memory. Normally, explicit memory serves to eliminate these errors, but in individuals with explicit memory decrements (e.g. due to amnesia, dementia, or, to a lesser extent, ageing), these errors are more likely to affect learning and memory (Jokel et al., 2010). The technique is based on the principle that it is difficult for people with impaired memory to remember and correct errors made while trying to learn something (e.g. calling someone by the wrong name and then tending to remember the wrong name, rather than the correct one). Therefore, learning is more efficient if errors can be avoided during the initial learning process (Evans et al., 2004). Mimura and Komatsu (2007) maintain that error elimination during learning sessions is essential for favourable outcomes and it has been speculated that some of this success on cognitive rehabilitation may be due to the indirect result of methods that keep errors to a minimum (Clare et al., 2000). Clare et al. (2000) suggest that errorless learning offers one important parameter that may be very beneficial for people with dementia of the Alzheimer’s type. That is, errors are avoided or minimised and participants have the opportunity to experience success at every stage of the learning process. This lends support to the findings of Richeson et al. (2007): where it was shown that providing older adults with early stage dementia educational opportunities in a normalised, dignified, and non-stigmatised environment has the possibility to influence their self-efficacy, mood and mental status. It also supports the experience of ‘rementia’ occurring in advanced dementia, when approaches to care are based on not emphasising errors and on treating people 324

Becoming a person in society: dementia

with dementia as legitimate persons to be validated and listened to (Hausman, 1992; Kitwood and Bredin, 1992; Kitwood, 1997; Normann et al., 1998, 2002, 2006). It is not possible to draw firm conclusions about the efficacy of individualised cognitive rehabilitation interventions for people with early-stage dementia, due to the lack of randomised controlled trials in this area; however, indications from single-case designs and small group studies are cautiously positive, i.e. errorless learning offers valuable benefits for at least some people with memory impairments when teaching certain types of tasks, but the benefits are not evident for all groups (Clare and Woods, 2004; Clare and Jones, 2008).

The spiritual lives of people with dementia The search for meaning and purpose during stressful life events knows no religious or spiritual borders, even among the non-religious and non-spiritual, and, for people with dementia, purpose and meaning are found in many different ways. Religion or spirituality has been found to provide solace by inspiring feelings of hope, strength, security, or guidance, and has helped with acceptance of the disease or with relieving anxiety and fears (Snyder, 2003). As discussed above, people with dementia have been shown to have rich and powerful inner lives, particularly in the realm of feeling and emotion. As already established, the core of their being (the person) still remains, and knowledge and understanding of the personal spiritual beliefs can be a way of connecting with that person. Persons with mild-to-moderate dementia have been found to have higher than average levels of religious activities and intrinsic religiosity than do persons with cancer or hypertension (Koenig et al., 1988a, 1988b) and, for people with dementia, personal spirituality was exemplified as religiosity (Katsuno, 2003). Those with early-stage dementia often find personal spirituality and its internal meanings important in coping with their life situations, i.e. spirituality is associated with their perceived quality of life (Katsuno, 2003; Page and Keady, 2010). People with early-stage dementia may retain a strong faith in God and still experience all areas of religiosity and use religion for coping with their illness and to find meaning and purpose in life (Katsuno, 2003). In most of the accounts, Page and Keady (2010) found that thoughts about death were present, often significantly so, but death itself was alluded to through the use of metaphor, and most often loss was described in terms of the loss of quality of life. The stories shared by each of the authors demonstrated that the ‘reconfigured – and reconfiguring – sense of selfhood’ appeared to be influential in retaining the possession of religious or spiritual beliefs from which the strength to stand up and bear witness was found. Over half of the authors included in the meta-ethnographic analysis expressed strongly-held religious beliefs and the narratives resonated with the humanitarian and moral beliefs of the writers (Page and Keady, 2010). In The Forgetting, Shenk (2001) reminds us that, in the case of dementia of the Alzheimer’s type, in the early stages it is not that the person with dementia forgets what they have learned or experienced, but that they do not form a memory of the event. Consequently, the person lives only in the relative now. Bryden confirms this experience when she moves from her anxious stance, early in her dementia experience, of asking; ‘Who will I be when I die?’ (Boden, 1998), to, ‘I know who I’ll be when I die’ (Bryden, 2005). She bases this on her Christian faith and also the discovery of the Buddhist principle of being in the ‘now’, a concept that became the most important (and often only) time that could be considered. ‘My spiritual self exists in the “now”, with no past or future’ (Bryden, 2005: 160). This understanding of a fundamental Buddhist concept allowed her to begin to live in a manner that she had never before considered. Her life became more focused on the meaningfulness and sensitivity of relationships, moving from the fear and anxiety of loss of control.

Conclusion Dementia remains a condition that is imbued with stigma and fear, despite the promotion of raising awareness and understanding about the illness and the development of person-centred approaches to being 325

Kay de Vries

with, and communicating with, people with dementia. Concepts of rehabilitation and person-centred care in early-stage dementia point to the need for interventions that are relevant to everyday life, with the potential to optimise functioning and wellbeing, and support selfhood and social involvement (Clare, 2003). It is important for people living with dementia to sustain relationships that are pivotal to maintaining good quality of life and assist in mediating the significant social losses being experienced in the person’s everyday life. Errorless learning may offer very valuable benefits; however, the majority of cognitive training interventions are commenced following diagnosis, and formal diagnosis, even for those who are experiencing severe cognitive loss, remains a significant problem for people living in the community (Bamford et al., 2004; 2007; Koch and Iliffe, 2010). Terms used to describe spirituality are closely linked to descriptions of person-centred approaches to people with dementia. These encompass the wide-ranging discussions on: meaning and purpose in life; connectedness (to be associated with others and the world); nature and beauty; love, belonging, respect; transcendence; belief and faith; inner strength and peace; life and spirit; and self-discovery. In the biographies analysed by Page and Keady (2010): in many research papers and in the work of pioneers in dementia research, these terms are the mainspring of the new emerging understanding of dementia as experienced by the person and support the person/relationship-centred approaches to being with, working with and caring for, people with dementia. These understandings lead to new possibilities in increasing quality of life for people with dementia through supported learning experiences.

References Akhtar S., Moulin C. J. A. and Bowie P. C. W. (2006) Are people with mild cognitive impairment aware of the benefits of errorless learning? Neuropsychological Rehabilitation. 16(3): 329–46. Aakerlund B. M. and Norberg A. (1986) Group psychotherapy with demented patients. Geriatric Nursing. 7: 83–84. APA (American Psychiatric Association) (1994) Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (4th edn). Washington, DC: AmericanPsychiatric Association. Bamford C., Lamont S., Eccles M., Robinson L., May C. and Bond J. (2004) Disclosing a diagnosis of dementia: a systematic review. International Journal of Geriatric Psychiatry. 19(2): 151–69. Bamford C., Eccles M., Steen N. and Robinson L. (2007) Can primary care record review facilitate earlier diagnosis of dementia? Family Practice. 24: 108–16. Belleville S., Gilbert B., Fontaine F., Gagnon L., Ménard E. and Gauthier S. (2006) Improvement of episodic memory in persons with mild cognitive impairment and healthy older adults: Evidence from a cognitive intervention program. Dementia & Geriatric Cognitive Disorders. 22(5/6): 486–99. Bender M. P. and Cheston R. (1997) Inhabitants of a lost kingdom: A model of the subjective experiences of dementia. Ageing and Society. 17(5): 513–32. Berrios G. E. and Freeman H. L. (1991) Introduction. In: Berrios G. E. and Freeman H. L. (eds) Alzheimer and Dementias. London: Royal Society of Medicine Services, 1–8. Bier N., Van der Linden M., Gagnon L., Desrosiers J., Adam S., Louveaux S. and Saint-Mleux J. (2008) Face–name association learning in early Alzheimer’s disease: A comparison of learning methods and their underlying mechanisms. Neuropsychological Rehabilitation. 18(3): 343–71. Bleathman C. and Morton I. (1992) Validation therapy: extracts from 20 groups with dementia sufferers. Journal of Advanced Nursing. 17(6): 658–66. Boden C. (1998) Who will I be when I die? HarperCollins. Bowlby J. (1997) Attachment. Pimlico: London. Bourgeois M. S., Camp C., Rose M., White B., Malone M., Carr J. and Rovine M. (2003) A comparison of training strategies to enhance use of external aids by persons with dementia. Journal of Communication Disorders. 36(5): 361–879. Bright R. (1992) Music therapy in the management of dementia. In: Jones G. M. M. and Miesen B. M. L. (eds) Caregiving in Dementia. Research and Application. (Volume 1). London: Routledge, 162–80. Browne C. J. and Shlosberg E. (2005) Attachment behaviour and parent fixation in people with dementia: The role of cognitive functioning and pre-morbid attachment style, Aging and Mental Health. 9(2): 153–61. ——(2006) Attachment theory, ageing and dementia: A review of the literature. Ageing and Mental Health. 10(2): 134–42. Bryden C. (2005) Dancing with Dementia. London: Jessica Kingsley Publishers. 326

Becoming a person in society: dementia

Cheston R. and Bender M. (1999) Understanding Dementia. London; Jessica Kingsley Publishers. Cherry K. E., Hawley K. S., Jackson E. M. and Boudreaux E. O. (2009) Booster sessions enhance the long-term effectiveness of spaced retrieval in older adults with probable Alzheimer’s disease. Behavior Modification. 33: 295–313. Cherry K. E. and Simmons-D’Gerolamo S. S. (2004) Spaced-retrieval with probable Alzheimer’s. Clinical Gerontologist. 27(1/2): 139–57. Clare L. (2003) Cognitive training and cognitive rehabilitation for people with early-stage dementia. Reviews in Clinical Gerontology. 13: 75–83. Clare L., Wilson B. A., Carter G., Roth I. and Hodges J. R. (2002) Relearning face–name associations in early Alzheimer’s disease. Neuropsychology. 16(4): 538–47. Clare L., Wilson B. A., Carter G., Breen K., Gosses A. and Hodges J. R. (2000) Intervening with everyday memory problems in dementia of Alzheimer type: An errorless learning approach. Journal of Clinical and Experimental Neuropsychology. 22(1): 132–46. Clare L. and Woods R. T. (2004) Cognitive training and cognitive rehabilitation for people with early-stage Alzheimer’s disease: A review. Neuropsychological Rehabilitation. 14 (4): 385–401. Clare L. and Jones R. S. P. (2008) Errorless Learning in the Rehabilitation of Memory Impairment: A Critical Review. Neuropsychology Review. 18(1): 1–23. de Vries and McChrystal (2010) Using attachment theory to improve the care of people with dementia. International Journal of Work Organisation and Emotion. 3(3): 287–301. Dewar B. K., Patterson K., Wilson B. A. and Graham K. S. (2009) Re-acquisition of person knowledge in semantic memory disorders. Neuropsychological Rehabilitation. 19(3): 383–421. Dunn J. and Clare L. (2007) Learning face–name associations in early-stage dementia: Comparing the effects of errorless learning and effortful processing. Neuropsychological Rehabilitation. 17(6): 735–54. Evans J. J., Levine B. and Bateman A. (2004) Errorless learning. Neuropsychological Rehabilitation. 14(4): 467–76. Feil N. (1993) The Validation Breakthrough: Simple Techniques for Communicating with People with ‘Alzheimer’s Type Dementia’. Baltimore, MD: Health Professions Press. Garand L., Lingler J. H., Conner K. O. and Dew M. A. (2009) Diagnostic labels, stigma, and participation in research related to dementia and mild cognitive impairment. Research in Gerontological Nursing. 2(2): 112–21. Gilmour J. A. and Brannelly T. (2010) Representations of people with dementia – subaltern, person, citizen. Nursing Inquiry. 17: 240–47. Gubrium J. F. (1986) The social preservation of mind: The Alzheimer’s disease experience. Symbolic Interactionism. 9(1): 37–51. Harris B. (2002) The Subjective Experience of Early On-set Dementia: Voices of the Persons. Presentation at the 55th Gerontological Society of America Annual Meeting, Nov. 26, 2002 Boston, MA. Haslam C., Gilroy D., Black S. and Beesley T. (2006) How successful is errorless learning in supporting memory for high and low-level knowledge in dementia? Neuropsychological Rehabilitation. 16(5): 505–36. Haslam C., Moss Z. and Hodder K. (2010) Are two methods better than one? Evaluating the effectiveness of combining errorless learning with vanishing cues. Journal of Clinical & Experimental Neuropsychology. 32(9): 973–85. Hayslip Jr B., Paggi K., Poole M. and Pinson M. W. (2009) The impact of mental aerobics training on memory impaired older adults. Clinical Gerontologist. 32(4): 389–94. Hausman C. (1992) Dynamic psychotherapy with elderly demented patients. In: Jones G. M. M. and Miesen B. M. L. (eds) Care-giving in Dementia. Research and Applications (Volume 1). Routledge: London, 181–98. Hawley K. S., Cherry K. E., Boudreaux E. O. and Jackson E. M. (2008) A comparison of adjusted spaced retrieval versus a uniform expanded retrieval schedule for learning a name–face association in older adults with probable Alzheimer’s disease. Journal of Clinical and Experimental Neuropsychology. 30(6): 639–49. Hawley K. S. and Cherry K. E. (2008) Memory interventions and quality of life for older adults with dementia. Activities, Adaptation & Aging. 32 (2): 89–102. Hopper T., Drefs S. J., Bayles K. A., Tomoeda C. K. and Dinu I. (2010) The effects of modified spaced-retrieval training on learning and retention of face–name associations by individuals with dementia. Neuropsychological Rehabilitation. 20(1): 81–102. Hochhalter A. K. and Overmier J. B. (2005) A comparison of spaced retrieval to other schedules of practice for people with dementia. Experimental Aging Research. 31: 101–18. Hughes J. C. Louw S. J. and Sabat S. R. (eds) (2006). Dementia: Mind, Meaning, and the Person. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Jansson L., Norberg A., Sandman P. O., Athlin E. and Asplund K. (1993) Interpreting facial expressions in patients in the terminal stage of Alzheimer’s disease. Omega. 26: 319–34. Jokel R., Rochon E. and Anderson N. D. (2010) Errorless learning of computer-generated words in a patient with semantic dementia. Neuropsychological Rehabilitation. 20(1): 16–41. 327

Kay de Vries

Jones G. M. M. (2004) The loss of meaningful attachment in dementia and behavioural stage-specific implications, in Jones, G. M. M. and Miesen, B. M. L. (eds): Care-Giving in Dementia: Research and Applications, Vol. 3, Hove: BrunnerRoutledge, 261–84. Katsuno T. (2003) Personal spirituality of persons with early-stage dementia: Is it related to perceived quality of life? Dementia. 2(3): 315–35. Keady J., Williams S. and Hughes-Roberts J. (2007a) ‘Making mistakes’: using co-constructed inquiry to illuminate meaning and relationships in the early adjustment to Alzheimer’s disease – a single case study approach. Dementia. 6(3): 343–64. Keady J., Williams S., Hughes-Roberts J., Quinn P. and Quinn M. (2007b) ‘A changing life’: co-constructing a personal theory of awareness and adjustment to the onset of Alzheimer’s disease. In Nolan, M., Hanson, E., Grant, G and Keady, J (eds), User Participation Research in Health and Social Care: Voices, Values and Evaluation. Maidenhead: Open University Press, 69–88. Kessels R. P. C. and Olde Henskena L.M.G. (2009) Effects of errorless skill learning in people with mild-to-moderate or severe dementia: A randomized controlled pilot study. NeuroRehabilitation. 25: 307–12. Kihlgren M., Hallgren A., Norberg A. and Karlsson I. (1996) Disclosure of basic strengths and basic weaknesses in demented patients during morning care, before and after staff training. analysis of video-recordings by means of the Erikson theory of ‘eight stages of man’. International Journal of Aging and Human Development. 43: 219–33. Killick J. and Allen K. (2001) Communication and the Care of People with Dementia. Buckingham: Open University Press. Kitwood T. (1988) The technical, the personal and the framing of dementia. Social Behaviour. 3: 161–80. ——(1989) Brain, mind and dementia: with particular reference to Alzheimer’s disease. Ageing & Society. 9: 1–15. ——(1990) The dialectics of dementia: With particular reference to Alzheimer’s disease. Ageing & Society. 10: 177–96. ——(1993) Towards a theory of dementia care: The interpersonal process. Ageing & Society. 13: 51–67. ——(1997) Dementia Reconsidered: The Person comes First. Buckingham: Open University Press. Kitwood T. and Bredin K. (1992) Towards a theory of dementia care: Personhood and well-being. Ageing & Society. 12: 269–87. Koch and Iliffe S. (2010) Rapid appraisal of barriers to the diagnosis and management of patients with dementia in primary care: A systematic review. BMC Family Practice. 11: 52–59. Koenig H. G., Kvale J. N. and Ferrel C. (1988a). Religion and well-being in later life. The Gerontologist. 28: 18–28. Koenig H. G., Moberg D. O. and Kvale J. N. (1988b). Religious and health characteristics of patients attending a geriatric assessment clinic. Journal of the American Geriatric Society. 36: 362–74. Kontos P. C. (2004) Ethnographic reflections on selfhood, embodiment and Alzheimer’s disease. Ageing & Society. 24: 829–49. ——(2005) Embodied selfhood in Alzheimer’s disease: Rethinking person-centred care. Dementia. 4: 553–70. Marshall M. (2001) Care settings and the care environment. In Cantley C. (ed.) A Handbook of Dementia Care. Buckingham: Open University Press, 173–85. Miesen B. M. L. (1993) Alzheimer’s disease, the phenomenon of parent fixation and Bowlby’s attachment theory. International Journal of Geriatric Psychiatry. 8: 147–53. Miesen B. M. L. (1997) Awareness in dementia patients and family grieving: A practical perspective. In: Miesen B. M. L. and Jones G. M. M. (eds) Care-Giving in Dementia: Research and Applications Volume 2. London: Routledge, 67–79. ——(1999) Dementia in Close-up: Understanding and Caring for People with Dementia. Translated by Gemma M. M. Jones. London: Routledge. Miesen B. M. L. (2006) Attachment in dementia: bound from birth?, in Miesen B. M. L. and Jones G. M. M. (eds) Caregiving in Dementia: Research and Applications. London; Brunner-Routledge, Vol. 4, 103–32. Mills M. A. (1997) Narrative identity and dementia: A study of emotion and narrative in older people with dementia. Ageing and Society. 17: 673–98. Mimura M. and Komatsu S. (2007) Cognitive rehabilitation and cognitive training for mild dementia. Psychogeriatrics. 7: 137–43. Moore S., Sandman C. A., McGrady K. and Kesslak J. P. (2001) Memory training improves cognitive ability in patients with dementia. Neuropsychological Rehabilitation. 11(3/4): 245–61. Morton I. (1999) Person-centred Approaches to Dementia Care. Oxford: Speechmark Publishing Ltd. Neary D. (1999) Classification of the dementias. Reviews in Clinical Gerontology. 9: 55–64. Norberg A., Melin E. and Asplund K. (1986) Reactions to music, touch and object presentation in the final stage of dementia. An exploratory study. International Journal of Nursing Studies. 23: 315–23. Normann H. K., Asplund K. and Norberg A. (1998) Episodes of lucidity in people with severe dementia as narrated by formal carers. Journal of Advanced Nursing. 28(6): 1295–1300. Normann H. K., Norberg A. and Asplund K. (2002) Confirmation and lucidity during conversations with a woman with severe dementia. Journal of Advanced Nursing. 39(4): 370–76. 328

Becoming a person in society: dementia

Normann H. K., Asplund K., Stig Karlsson S., Sandman P. and Norberg A. (2006) People with severe dementia exhibit episodes of lucidity. A population-based study. Journal of Clinical Nursing. 15: 1413–17. O’Connor D., Phinney A., Smith A., Small J., Purves B., Perry J., Drance E., Donnelly M., Chaudhury H. and Beattie L. (2007) Personhood in dementia care: Developing a research agenda for broadening the vision. Dementia. 6: 121–42. Page S. and Keady J. (2010) Sharing stories: A meta-ethnographic analysis of 12 autobiographies written by people with dementia between 1989 and 2007. Ageing & Society. 30: 511–26. Phinney A. (2002) Fluctuating awareness and the breakdown of the illness narrative in dementia. Dementia. 1: 329–44. Phinney A., Chaudhury H. and O’Connor D. L. (2007) Doing as much as I can do: The meaning of activity for people with dementia. Aging & Mental Health. 11(4): 384–93. Richeson N. E., Boyne S. and Brady E. M. (2007) Education for older adults with early-stage dementia: Health promotion for the mind, body, and spirit. Educational Gerontology. 33: 723–36. Sabat S. R. and Harré R. (1992) The Construction and Deconstruction of Self in Alzheimer’s Disease. Ageing & Society. 12: 443–61. Schreiber M., Schweizer A., Lutz K., Kalveram K. T. and Jäncke L. (1999) Potential of an interactive computer-based training in the rehabilitation of dementia: An initial study. Neuropsychological Rehabilitation. 9(2): 155–67. Shenk D. (2001) The Forgetting. Alzheimer’s: Portrait of an Epidemic. New York: Anchor Books. Sinason V. (1992) Mental Handicap and the Human Condition: New Approaches from the Tavistock. London: Free Association Books. Snyder L. (2003) Satisfactions and challenges in spiritual faith and practice for persons with dementia. Dementia. 2(3): 299 313. Steeman E., Godderis D., Grypdonck M., de Bal N. and de Casterle B. D. (2007) Living with dementia from the perspective of older people: Is it a positive story? Aging & Mental Health. 11(2): 119–30. WHO (1993) The ICD-10 Classification of Mental and Behavioural Disorders Clinical Descriptions and Diagnostic Guidelines. Geneva: World Health Organization. Wilcock G. K., Bucks R. S. and Rockwood K. (1999) (eds) Diagnosis and Management of Dementia. A Manual for Memory Disorder Teams. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Troyer A. K., Murphy K. J., Anderson N. D., Moscovitch M. and Craik F. I. M. (2008) Changing everyday memory behaviour in amnestic mild cognitive impairment: A randomised controlled trial. Neuropsychological Rehabilitation. 18(1): 65–88.

329

Part 5

Learning across the disciplines Human and social sciences

34 Human-centric learning and post-human experimentation1 Richard Edwards

Over many years, the significance of the discourse of lifelong learning has been much disputed. For some, lifelong learning is integrally linked to the project of neo-liberal economic development. For others, it is a way of framing educational opportunities for all throughout the life course. For yet others, it is a way of reframing adult and second-chance education. These debates have largely focused on the multiple purposes of lifelong learning. What, perhaps, has been less the focus of discussion has been the concept of learning itself within lifelong learning. This chapter will explore lifelong learning as a human-centric project of subjectification and will suggest that educational practices could be framed alternatively around the possibilities for a post-human condition of responsible experimentation (Edwards 2010). The chapter suggests that, while Lyotard (1984) argued that the post-modern condition of knowledge was one of incredulity to grand narratives, this can also be extended to an ontological condition, challenging human-centric ways of enacting being, including learning. This entails being incredulous to the centring of the human within our discussions of the world. Here, even as the ‘need’ for lifelong learning is articulated ever more stridently, there is an incredulity to the notion that being framed by learning is at all adequate to the socio-material challenges of the world. This arises not least because of the ecological and material uncertainties to which material existence – human and non-human – is subject. What I want to suggest is that Lyotard’s argument for the post-modern condition of knowledge points to the collapse of representationalism as an assumed way of relating the world to the word, in which learning is something that humans do in learning about the world. By contrast, I want to suggest a post-human condition of existence, wherein there is a shift from learning as a set of meanings or understandings about the world to experimenting as a conditional set of ontological practices within the world. Taking seriously human existence as part of the world raises issues for notions of learning that position humans as separate from and learning about the world. While the discussion takes as its starting point some of the prior debate about the modern and postmodern, in particular in relation to the centring and decentring of the human subject, it is important that the ‘post-’ in post-human is not read simply as ‘anti-’, or ‘after-’ human, but rather as a reframing of the human within the material world. I am therefore not using post-humanism as simply referring to a time period after-humanism or suggesting simply the death of the humanist subject. Nor am I using it to refer to those who advocate a dystopian or utopian future of genetically modified embodied technologies. In this chapter, post-humanism refers to an enactment that deconstructs the separation of subjects and objects, the human and the non-human, and with that the focus on the human subject as either a representative of an 333

Richard Edwards

essentialised human nature or in a state of constant becoming. What I am suggesting is that post-human refers to the possible end of the learning subject as the focus of educational discourses and practices. However, it is also the case that this deconstruction requires a subject and object to deconstruct. As with Lyotard’s (1992) reflections on the ‘post-’ in post-modernism, therefore, the ‘post-’ in post-humanism is constantly at play with precisely that which it deconstructs. It is not ‘after’ humanism in terms of going beyond, but in terms of offering a constant experimentation with the human (Badmington, 2003). In an over-simplified way, the argument that follows derives from a focus on ontology – experimenting/ intervening – rather than epistemology – representing/knowing. Here, the focus on ontology is not human- or subject-centric, with an interest in the practices of human learning, but points to experimenting as a condition of the entanglement of the human and non-human, as, without the non-human, humans would neither exist nor be able to act as part of the world. Here, people are taken to be part of the material, rather than distinct or separate from it. Humans are always already in assemblage within worlds: ‘humans are already congeries of things that are not us. We are not self-identical’ (Haraway, 2003: 54). In our age of ubiquitous digitalisation, this is sometimes referred to as a cyborg condition (Gough, 2004), which points to the entanglement of the fleshy and technical – the materiality of things. More fundamentally, we can claim that humans have always been cyborgs, entangled in the non-human and material. Central to this post-human condition could be entanglements in the world that entail practices of:  conditionality – what could be, rather than should be;  fallibility – intervening and the possibility of failure; and  responsibility – responding to others and otherness. (Edwards, 2008) It is these which are the practices that can be developed as a response to the incredulity there can be toward grand narratives of the primacy of human existence and the centring of the learning subject. Based upon these ideas, the claim then is that a post-human condition could point to the end of lifelong learning as a way of framing educational practices. If the practices of learning have been integral to the centring of the human subject, as argued by Rose (1998): this chapter argues that a post-human condition may not be one of learning as we have tended to understand it. This provides the basis for formulating different purposes for education, what I am referring to as ones of post-human responsible experimentation. It is, of course, too simplistic to suggest that there is or can be a simple shift from epistemology to ontology, as each entails the other. What I want to suggest is that the type of debates that have been going on about lifelong learning arise from positioning it solely within a representational binary that separates matter and meaning, substance and significance, object and subject, non-human and human, and where the latter is grounded in some sense of human nature purified of other matters. I will outline this argument in the next section. I will then go on to suggest that lifelong learning could be repositioned within a certain performative post-human ethico-epistem-onto-logy (Barad, 2007) wherein there is an entanglement of things; ‘things as question, as provocation, incitement, or enigma’ (Grosz, 2009: 125). However, insofar as they are entangled, then the practices of learning by subjects are themselves troubled as an adequate framing for education. This entails approaching what we do differently as educators.

Human learning/representing and post-human experimenting/intervening There has been sustained critique over decades now of the binaries and either–or logic that shape a crudely Western sensibility. These binaries are held to structure our ways of theorising and intervening, thereby providing the conditions of possibility and constraint for how we might act in the world. A critical philosophical binary is that between epistemology and ontology, where the former, of how we can know something, has been the primary focus of concern. Yet, such binaries already assume what they 334

Human-centric learning; post-human experimentation

produce, insofar as the focus on knowing already presumes a relationship between matter and meaning, object and subject, which themselves tend to be positioned as in a relationship of separation from each other. This is significant, as insofar as matter is assumed to be separated from meaning, the question arises over how humans can represent the former in a meaningful way. Humans are centred as knowing through representing, through talking/writing about things, and this becomes positioned as learning. Anthropologists explore these issues in their studies of cultural artefacts and their significance (Henare et al., 2007). However, meaningful is not necessarily truthful in the senses that we have come to associate with the practices of the sciences – natural and social. Much space has been given to pursuing the ways in which humans can establish the truthfulness of meanings representing matter. This in itself presumes the separation of subject from object, with the associated issue of how to fill the gap. The world is full of attempts to fill this gap, yet the gap remains. Objects remain the other to the subject, objecting (Latour, 2004), separate, to be learnt about and known. From a range of positions, the assumption of foundational separations has been subject to sustained critique. This critique entails not simply an attempt to privilege ontology over epistemology, reversing the binary, but to reframe our whole entanglements within the world. Writers associated with these moves include Judith Butler, Donna Harraway, Ian Hacking, Bruno Latour and Karen Barad. Yet, these are unfamiliar names in the writings of lifelong learning, nor do they all share the same position. Their works are distinctive, if overlapping, and can be said to contribute to what I am calling a post-human condition, wherein the knowing and learning human subject is decentred by a socio-material concern for ways of intervening and experimenting within the world. Barad (2007: 137) provides a succinct critique of the problem with a representationalist epistemology: Representationalism takes the notion of separation as foundational. It separates the world into the ontologically disjunct domains of words and things, leaving itself with the dilemma of their linkage such that knowledge is possible … representationalism is a prisoner of the problematic metaphysics it postulates. She draws upon a distinction previously Hacking (1983) between representing/theorising and intervening/ experimenting as orientations in the world, where the former has been separated out and given primacy over the latter. This separation results from and in the dividing of matter from meaning and further divides the material into, for instance, the social, the human, the natural, the technological, the cultural and the economic. These distinctions are then taken to be foundational and assumed, rather than themselves being identified as arising out of forms of intervening. These separations are the manifestation of what Latour (1993) would refer to as purifying practices associated with the failing project of modernity, whereby objects with properties are distinguished from each other as a starting point for action in the world. When separated, such objects then interact with each other, but, for Latour, they are always quasi-objects, hybrid, entangled, intraacting. This foundational separating means that, for Barad (2007: 53), ‘representationalism is a practice of bracketing out the significance of practices, that is, representationalism marks a failure to take account of the practices through which representations are produced’. Representations are taken to be objects ‘out-there’ to be represented ‘in-here’, in the human mind. This is the process of human learning. Those objects are then black-boxed and taken for granted, whereby the practices, interventions and intra-actions through which particular objects come to be are removed from scrutiny. This might look like a social constructivist view, but it is more of a performative framing, wherein meaning is not separate from matter. Indeed an assumption is that, rather than separation being foundational to enacting a purified human condition, entanglement is materially and practically fundamental to a hybridised post-human condition. In other words, separations are particular enactments of gathering and mixing. Thus, for instance: 335

Richard Edwards

to theorise is not to leave the material world behind and enter the domain of pure ideas where the lofty space of the mind makes objective reflection possible. Theorising, like experimenting, is a material practice … both theorists and experimentalists engage in the intertwined practices of theorising and experimenting … experimenting and theorising are dynamic practices that play a constitutive role in the production of objects and subjects and matter and meaning. (Barad, 2007: 55–56, emphasis in original) Things as gatherings should not be confused with a concept of separate objects with properties. Objects with properties are the ‘matters of fact’ of which Latour (2004, 2008) is critical as an adequate basis for critical political action. Matters of fact assume and enact a representationalist epistemology of separation untangled from the practices through which they are performed. They are the property of the human subject who learns and knows. By contrast, for Latour, things are gathered and negotiated as ‘matters of concern’. Etymologically a thing is a form of archaic assembly (Latour, 2005). Things are a mixing, an entanglement. They gather the human and non-human in their enactments. They are material and they matter. They cannot simply be represented as separate, as there are practices associated with their gathering or enactment, through which they become represented objects about which humans learn. In contrast to things, objects are assumed and represented as existing separate from humans, and the practices through which they have been gathered are naturalised or lost. According to Bowker and Star (1999: 299), ‘naturalisation means stripping away the contingencies of an object’s creation and its situated nature. A naturalised object has lost its anthropological strangeness.’ This loss of strangeness both enables it to be learnt about, and also emerges precisely from a learning orientation to things by human subjects whereby they become enacted as objects. What this suggests is that, within a representationalist enactment of the world, practices enact matters of fact through the representation of objects with properties by the learning and knowing subject. Within a post-human enactment of the world, practices gather different things as matters of concern through their own forms of intervention and experimentation. Things are re-presented, while objects are represented. Of course, matters of fact might be considered a particular form of gathering, a particular matter-ing (Law, 2004). Things may be gathered and separated as objects, but, in examining their gathering, objects become things. Thus, it is important not to use matters of fact and matters of concern as itself a binary. Matters of fact might be said to be a particular way of enacting concern. Here, as Latour (2004: 232, emphasis in original) argues: Matters of fact are not all that is given in experience. Matters of fact are only very partial and, I would argue, very polemical, very political renderings of matters of concern and only a subset of what could be called states of affairs. Those matters of fact are based upon drawing distinctions and objectifying the other, while matters of concern might be thought of as entailing entangling with the other through experimentation. Thus, rather than representationalist learning, practices of knowing are specific material engagements that participate in (re)configuring the world. Which practices we enact matter – in both senses of the word. Making knowledge is not simply about making facts but about making worlds, or rather it is about making specific worldly configurations – not in the sense of making them ex nihilo, or out of language, beliefs, or ideas, but in the sense of materially engaging as part of the world in giving it specific material form. (Barad, 2007: 91, emphasis in original) The enactment of education as a thing, a gathering, as post-human forms of experimentation and intervention, does not necessarily sit comfortably with the hegemonic discourse that we face in much educational 336

Human-centric learning; post-human experimentation

and other research, where the learning and knowing subject is privileged. The post-human position I am positing here would entail that we need less learning by human subjects and more gatherings through responsible experimentation. Rather than the human subject representing or learning about the object through the sense data of, for instance, observation and listening, we enter into the spatio-temporal practices of gathering and experimentation. Knowing is not separate from doing, but emerges from the very matter-ings in which we engage. This relies on apparatuses, which ‘are not mere observing instruments but boundary-drawing practices – specific material (re)configurings of the world – which come to matter’ (Barad, 2007: 140, emphasis in original). To gather is also to draw boundaries, to include and exclude. It is through the specific forms of boundarydrawing – of the bringing together and differentiating that boundary-making entails – that enactments gather the world as particular things and objects. This form of work is a way of intervening materially within the world and not simply another way of representing views about the world. Differences are not simply about matters of opinion and truth, but about ways of experimenting, intervening and gathering.

The end of human learning While some have experimented with post-human approaches in education, in particular, the technological extensions of the human in curriculum and pedagogy, little if any of the discussion of lifelong learning has addressed the issue beyond metaphorical uptakes of the cyborg. In this section of the chapter, I will speculate that a post-human condition cannot be one of learning, despite what is said and the extension to education to which humans are being subject by policies that promote learning across the life course. The latter rests upon and promotes a continued humanist and representationalist separation of subjects and objects, meaning and matter, human and non-human. A post-human condition could be one of responsible experimentation, of gathering humans and non-humans. This is an educational purpose beyond the representationalism that has suffused major educational discourses and practices to date. It is also one wherein the learning subject and learning itself could be displaced as a purpose of education. At the heart of much educational policy-making in Europe and elsewhere in recent years are attempts at mastery of the ‘knowledge economy’, with lifelong learning often positioned as the or one of the means to achieve this. Here, lifelong learning is the response to globalised complexity and uncertainty. The more challenges and uncertainty in the world, the more humans must learn. Learning here might be seen to reduce unpredictability across the life course by humans. Lifelong learning is represented as a matter of fact for and by humans, a way of representing the objective world to which the separate human subject must adapt. The human subject is centred as that which must learn about the world. Thus, while the discourse of learning might be argued to decentre the discourse of education (Biesta, 2006), it also centres the human subject. However, while humanism focuses on the mind and learning as a form of reflection, contemplation, abstraction and representation to establish matters of fact, the argument herein is suggesting that a posthuman condition could position education as a gathering of the human and non-human in responsible experimentation to establish and engage with matters of concern. This provides a different educational purpose to much of that which is familiar. It is not the human subject who learns through experimenting rather than representing, but a thing that is gathered from the human and non-human. Here, education is not about human endeavour alone, but about forms of worlds and the assembling of things. Here I think the works of people like Gert Biesta, Deborah Osberg and Tara Fenwick are useful, although I am stretching their work to my own purposes. All are concerned with educational purposes and responsibilities. They would not necessarily position their own work as post-human, although Fenwick (Fenwick and Edwards, 2010) does position her current work as socio-material. However, aspects of their positions can be gathered here. Thus, Osberg and Biesta (2007) suggest the need for a pedagogy of invention. Such ideas signify notions that are a far cry from any certainty about the teleological goals of 337

Richard Edwards

education, as they rely upon a form of emancipatory ignorance. However, they do remain primarily concerned with the education of the human subject and less with the post-human materiality of education for which I am arguing. Biesta’s suggestion that we adopt an approach of ‘responsibility without knowledge’ seems to have resonance here. Biesta is drawing upon Derrida (1992: 41), in particular, his argument that ‘the condition of this thing called responsibility is a certain experience and experiment of the possibility of the impossible: the testing of the aporia from which one may invent the only possible invention, the impossible invention’. Invention is based in the tension in the impossibility of mandating the future. It is also based upon a decentred human subject, as to engage with the possibility of the impossible is to experiment, and a subject experimenting with objects is left with a representational gap, while a posthuman gathering provides practices for further experimentation. A pedagogy of invention could be said to be enacted through practices of ongoing experimentation in response to others, rather than being aimed at fulfilling ultimate purposes as ends. It relies on emancipatory ignorance, invention, risk, otherness, interruption and the joint enacting and co-emergence of worlds and subjectivities. The latter in particular points to the entanglings of the human and non-human through which matters of concern can be gathered. However, when outcomes, standardisation, audit and outputs are to the fore in the enactments of education, what spaces are there for educational discourses around post-human experimentation in matters of concern? It is here that I find the concepts of fallibility and conditionality helpful. Fallibility, because it points to the notion that, even if we practice upon the basis of the best available evidence we have, we know full well it is not perfect, that we cannot ensure the outcome. This in turn results in and from a position of conditionality, that is, that we could do something rather than we should do something. Our practices are only as good as we currently can establish and they are a process of experimenting in gathering concerns, rather than any simple exercise in mastering and representing matters of fact. From the above, the normative basis for what we do becomes a more modest experimental affair (Haraway, 1997) of mixing matters. Fallibility and conditionality provide a basis for invention, for experimentation in practices, based upon how well and widely we enact things. Fenwick (2009) provides similar conclusions from her own concerns for educational responsibility. She follows the line of gathering that responsibility is about responding to others. The important thing to bear in mind is that others and otherness are not simply human subjects, but can be both human and non-human. For Fenwick (2009): educational responsibility requires that ‘educators might think of doing less rather than more: focus on the immediate, open to possibility, leap into uncertainty, care without knowledge’. In other words, to be responsible is to experiment, to risk failure, including that some matters of concern may not become a thing with which to be engaged, and that things can fall apart and become objects. For me, however unsatisfactory, I think this could be time to put an end to the discourse of human lifelong learning. On the basis of the above, in a post-human condition, we could position education as forms of responsible experimental practices around gathering matters of concern. This could take precedence over learning through the representation of matters of fact by humans. The purpose of education then would not be lifelong learning, but responsible experimentation.

Responsible experimentation Post-human experimentation, fallibility, conditionality and responsibility: these seem to be ways forward from the notion of education that centres learning and knowing subjects, and the limitations arising from the separation of subjects from objects. These things open up possibilities of course, but not on any teleological notion of mandating the future or any strong normative view about what education can achieve or how it can achieve. They put us all in a position of responsible experimenting, whether we are engaged in policy work, teaching, leading, or researching. Rather than a human condition of lifelong learning, we could enact, then, a post-human condition of experimentation that embraces risk, responsibility and emancipatory ignorance. To suggest a future for 338

Human-centric learning; post-human experimentation

lifelong education without learning and the knowing subject may seem strange. However, learning as a concept has evolved from the study of psychology, which has had at its heart precisely the centring of the human subject (Rose, 1998). In gathering a post-human condition then, we could end up sacrificing the notion of lifelong learning, as it could be that the post-human condition cannot be one of learning, lifelong or otherwise. Educational purposes would be around responsible experimental gatherings of things as matters of concern. What that would look like might be very different to that which is practised now and perhaps that is needed.

Note 1 This chapter is based upon ideas developed for a Keynote Symposium to the Annual Conference of BERA (British Educational Research Association) 2009 by the Laboratory for Educational Theory at The School of Education, University of Stirling.

References Badmington, N. (2003) ‘Theorising posthumanism’, Cultural Critique, 53: 10–27. Barad, K. (2007) Meeting the Universe Halfway, Durham: Duke University Press. Biesta, G. (2006) Beyond Learning, Boulder, CO: Paradigm Press. Bowker, G. and Star, S. (1999) Sorting Things Out, Harvard, MA: Harvard University Press. Derrida, J. (1992) The Other Heading: Reflections on Today’s Europe, Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Edwards, R. (2008) ‘Education – an impossible practice’, Scottish Education Review, 40: 4–11. ——(2010) ‘The end of lifelong learning: a posthuman condition?’ Studies in the Education of Adults, 42, 1: 5–18. Fenwick, T. (2009) ‘Responsibility, complexity science and education: dilemmas and uncertain responses’, Studies in Philosophy and Education, 28: 101–18. Fenwick, T. and Edwards, R. (2010) Actor-network Theory in Education, London: Routledge. Gough, N. (2004) ‘RhizomANTically becoming-cyborg: performing posthuman pedagogies’, Educational Philosophy and Theory, 36, 3: 253–65. Grosz, E. (2009) ‘The thing’, in F. Candlin and R. Guins (eds) The Object Reader, London: Routledge. Hacking, I. (1983) Representing and Intervening: Introductory Topics in the Philosophy of Natural Sciences, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Haraway, D. (1997) Modest_Witness@Second_Millennium.FemaleMan_Meets_OncoMouse: Feminism and Technoscience, New York: Routledge. ——(2003) ‘Interview with Donna Haraway’, in D. Ihde and E. Selinger (eds) Chasing Technoscience: Matrix for Materiality, Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press. Henare, A., Holbraad, M., and Wastell, S. (2007) ‘Introduction: thinking through things’, in A. Henare, M. Holbraad and S. Wastell (eds) Thinking Through Things: Theorising Artefacts Ethnographically, London: Routledge. Latour, B. (1993) We Have Never Been Modern, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. ——(2004) ‘Why has critique run out of steam? From matters of fact to matters of concern’, Critical Inquiry, 30: 225–48. ——(2005) ‘From realpolitik to dingpolitik: or how to make things public’, in B. Latour and P. Weibel (eds) Making Things Public: Atmospheres of Democracy, Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. ——(2008) What Is the Style of Matters of Concern? Amsterdam: Van Gorcum. Law, J. (2004) ‘Matter-ing, Or How Might STS Contribute?’ published by the Centre for Science Studies, Lancaster University, Lancaster, UK at www.comp.lancs.ac.uk/socioogy/papers/law-matter-ing.pdf (accessed 15 May 2009). Lyotard, J.-F. (1984) The Postmodern Condition, Manchester: Manchester University Press. ——(1992) The Postmodern Explained to Children, London: Turnaround. Osberg, D. and Biesta, G. (2007) ‘Beyond presence: epistemological and pedagogical implications of “strong” emergence’, Interchange, 38: 31–51. Rose, N. (1998) Inventing Our Selves, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

339

35 Piaget’s constructivism and adult learning Etienne Bourgeois

Learning theory Is Piaget’s constructivism still of any relevance to adult learning theory today? This provocative question deserves to be raised in the light of the numerous criticisms that can be – and have been – addressed to Piaget’s theory as a frame of reference for understanding adult learning. Let us remind ourselves of some of them. Piaget’s theory of intelligence implies that the most advanced stage of cognitive development, namely, the ‘formal operations’ stage, is to be attained at adolescence and that no further ‘progress’ can in fact be expected beyond this stage. This assumption has long been challenged by two major findings. One is that a more advanced stage of thinking can be observed beyond the formal operations stage, namely, ‘postformal thought’ (Baffrey-Dumont, 2000; Sinnott, 2009). Moreover, the very notion of development stages has long been questioned, at least in the area of adult education. For example, since the 1980s, the éducabilité cognitive (cognitive educability) movement has challenged the idea that the cognitive functioning of an adult at a given age can be wholly characterised by any single stage in all areas of his or her life (e.g. Paravy and Martin, 1996; Sorel, 1994). In other words, cognitive performance and development are, to a large extent, contingent to situations and activity domains. A similar argument can be found in the theory of Multiple Intelligences (Gardner, 2006, 2009). Piaget’s theory has also been criticised for its lack of consideration for the social dimension of learning, from two points of view. First, his theory overlooks the importance of social interactions in learning (and more broadly, cognitive development). This criticism has been widely developed by some of Piaget’s colleagues in Geneva and gave rise to the so-called Post-Piagetian socio-constructivism movement from the late 1970s (Darnon, Butera and Mugny, 2008; Doise and Mugny, 1981, 1997; Mugny, 1985; PerretClermont, 1979). Second, from a historico-cultural perspective, Piaget’s theory could also be blamed for taking the developing and learning individual as an abstract ‘epistemic subject’ and for not sufficiently taking the cultural dimension of learning and development into account (Bruner, 1996; Smith, Dockrell and Tomlinson, 1997; Wenger, 1998; Wertsch, 1991; Wertsch, del Rio and Alvarez, 1995). Likewise, from an activity-theory perspective (Barbier and Durand, 2003; Durand, 2009; Engeström, 2009; Engeström, Miettinen and Punamäki, 1999), Piaget’s approach could also be challenged for tending to consider the learner’s interactions with the environment and the learning process as taking place in a ‘vacuum’, disconnected from the particular activity, situation and context in which it necessarily takes place. From an activity standpoint, learning is viewed as inherent in the activity itself, not the individual; it is a property 340

Piaget’s constructivism and adult learning

(the ‘transformative dimension’) of the activity, not the individual. From a similar standpoint, questions could also be addressed to a constructivist approach to adult learning as to its relevance to workplace and organisational contexts. Whereas much of the research on adult learning today focuses specifically on such contexts, this kind of setting was far removed, to say the least, from Piaget’s experiments with children. Yet another set of criticisms would concern the lack of consideration for the psychodynamic aspects of learning in Piaget’s theory. A significant part of research on adult learning today has focused on the relationship between the cognitive dimension of learning and psychodynamic variables such as biographies (Alheit, 2009; Dominicé, 2007), self-concept and identity (Barbier, Bourgeois, de Villers and Kaddouri, 2006; Bourgeois, 2006a, 2006c; Bourgeois and Nizet, 1999; Kaddouri, 2006), emotions and body (Damasio, 1994; Dirkx, 2001, 2006) and various motivational beliefs, such as perceived task value and expectancy (Bourgeois, 2009b). Let us admit that, in the light of so numerous, varied and convincing criticisms, it may seem difficult today, at first glance, to keep claiming the relevance of Piaget’s theory for understanding adult learning. Nonetheless, we suggest that the challenge could be taken up, if we can clarify and discuss some major issues involved in those criticisms. Three of them appear to be particularly important.

The informative vs transformative learning issue As often emphasised by Piaget himself (1964), his theory of learning and development is constructivist in two ways: first, it focuses on the way in which reality is mentally constructed by the subject through his or her interactions with the environment and the role that those constructs play in these interactions (as opposed, he says, to the Behaviourist paradigm). Second, it focuses on the process through which those mental constructions that are mobilised by the individual in his or her interactions with the environment are elaborated and transformed over time in the course of those interactions (as opposed, he says, to the Gestalt Psychology paradigm). At the risk of oversimplification, the process unfolds as follows (Piaget, 1967, 1968, 1975). As a starting point, let us take an individual being confronted with a given task in a given situation (either in a formal education or training setting, in daily life or in the workplace), with a given intention (e.g. to choose and perform the adaptive behaviour and action requested by the situation). 1) He or she will activate and retrieve cognitive schemata (an implicit or explicit theory, a belief, a script, etc.) that have previously been learned and stocked in his or her long-term memory. 2) He or she will subsequently use the activated schemata as a ‘matrix’ (structure d’accueil) in order to select and organise the available information stemming from his or her interactions with the situation, with a view to making sense of the particular situation and eventually to identifying the conduct to be adopted in the situation (‘assimilation’ process). In other words, in such a process, external information is gradually ‘incorporated’ into the preexisting schemata that have been activated to deal with the situation. 3) In this sense-making process, it may happen that a discrepancy occurs between the activated cognitive schema and the information being processed through it (‘cognitive conflict’). When this happens, the activated schema is ‘disturbed’, which will engage the subject in an attempt to restore the ‘equilibrium’. It must be underlined here that Piaget clearly distinguishes between two types of cognitive conflicts (1975). One is called lacunary conflict (conflit lacunaire). This happens when the activated schema meets entirely novel information and appears to be insufficient to account for it. In this case, the pre-existing cognitive structure appears to be incomplete and therefore unable to account for the new piece of information. A very common example of this is when someone simply does not know the answer to a question that is asked of him or her. The second type of cognitive conflict (‘contradiction’) occurs when the activated schema meets a piece of information that questions its validity. In this case, the problem is no longer that the schema appears to be incomplete to account for the novel information, but that it is contradicted by it. A common example of this is a conversation in which someone deals with a partner who expresses an opinion that is opposed to his or her own. Piaget also distinguished basically two major strategies for overcoming a cognitive conflict. One is 341

Etienne Bourgeois

called homeostatic regulation strategy. It consists of managing to adapt the disturbing information to the pre-existing schema in such a way that the latter is eventually left unchanged. For example, someone may simply ignore the potentially disturbing information, or reinterpret it in a way that eventually makes it compatible with the prior schema. For Piaget, such a strategy leads to the restoration of the past equilibrium. It can therefore still be considered as a part of the assimilation process as it leads to preserving the integrity of the prior structure. Therefore, in this case, no learning has occurred, as the initial structure has not been transformed. The second strategy for solving a cognitive conflict is called homeorhesic regulation strategy. It consists of adapting the prior schema to the new information, rather than the other way round. In other words, by doing so, the individual adjusts (‘accommodates’), i.e. transforms his or her prior schema into a new, more adaptive one (équilibration majorante). Therefore, in this case (and only in this case) learning occurs. This reminder enables us to address two controversial questions that are often raised in relation to Piaget’s theory. They both have to do with the question of what is transformed in learning. In the debate over the theory of ‘transformative learning’ (Mezirow, 2009; Mezirow and Associates, 2000), it is suggested that transformative learning is a particular type of learning that is to be distinguished, by definition, from ‘informative’ learning (Kegan, 2009). Regarding the latter, Kegan considers that ‘Learning aimed at increasing our fund of knowledge, at increasing our repertoire of skills, at extending already existing established cognitive structures all deepen the resources available to an existing frame of reference. Such learning is literally in-form-ative because it seeks to bring valuable new content into the existing form of our way of knowing’ (ibid., p. 42). This kind of learning is viewed by the author as a ‘meaning-forming’ process, i.e. ‘the activity by which we shape a coherent meaning out of the raw material of our outer and inner experiencing’ (ibid., p. 44). On the other hand, so-called transformative learning aims at transforming the very frame of reference that was used to form meaning, instead of forming meaning within the pre-existing frame of reference. It is viewed as a process of ‘reforming our meaning-forming. We do not only form meaning, and we do not only change our meanings; we change the very form by which we are making our meanings. We change our epistemologies’ (ibid., pp. 44–45). From Piaget’s constructivist perspective, such a distinction is problematic indeed, in two respects. First, what is in fact at stake here is the common distinction between ‘knowledge’ and ‘representation’ in contemporary cognitive psychology (Richard, Bonnet and Ghiglione, 1993). While both are forms of mental construction, the latter (representation) refers to the local, ad hoc meaning that is ‘formed’ in and about the given situation on the basis of (1) the raw informational material provided by the situation and actually attended to by the individual, and (2) the pre-existing mental frame of reference (Piaget’s ‘schema’) that has been activated to process this information. On the other hand, ‘knowledge’ refers to the very frame of reference that has been used as a basis for the ‘meaning formation’ activity. In this sense, ‘meaning forming’ cannot be assimilated to any kind of learning at all, it simply corresponds to the understanding (sense-making) process. We will therefore speak of ‘learning’ only if the frame of reference being used as a matrix for the meaning-forming process is actually transformed as a result of the meaning formation, assuming that this may not always be the case. For example, in trying to solve a problem, I will attempt to make a diagnosis of the situation on the basis of both the information available and my relevant prior knowledge to process it. By doing so, I am simply gradually forming a meaning of the situation, which does not necessarily entail any transformation of the prior knowledge activated. In this process, I might even happen at some point to modify my initial diagnosis (for example, because some new information has been taken into account or reinterpreted), again without any subsequent transformation of my prior knowledge. In short, from this perspective, learning is by definition transformational or transformative, whereas so-called informative learning cannot really be viewed as learning. Second, we suggested elsewhere (Bourgeois and Nizet, 2005) that the schemata (frames of reference) that are activated and used in the ‘sense-making’ process can be viewed as hierarchically embedded cognitive structures, from the more specific to the more general ones. Now, referring to Watzlawick et al.’s 342

Piaget’s constructivism and adult learning

distinction between Level 1 and Level 2 types of change (Watzlawick, Weakland and Fisch, 1974), we can assume that lower level frames of reference may change (as a result of their use in ‘local’ meaning-forming activities) within higher level frames of reference. In some cases, this change at the lower level would not bring about any change at the higher level (Level 1 change), but, in other cases, they might do so (Level 2 change). In other words, the above-mentioned ‘informative’ learning (taking place within a pre-existing frame of reference without modifying it), as well as ‘transformative’ learning, can both concern frames of reference. Finally, for the same reasons, the distinction between, on the one hand, ‘cumulative’ (or ‘assimilative’, or ‘additional’) learning and, on the other hand, ‘transformative’ (or ‘transgressive’, or ‘accommodation’) learning (Illeris, 2004) does not make any more sense from Piaget’s perspective. In his model, again, learning occurs only if accommodation of pre-existing structures happens (in this sense, assimilation itself can never be equated to any learning), while accommodation (i.e. learning) can happen only if assimilation has occurred in the first place. In Piaget’s view, accommodation and assimilation are inherently interrelated; they are consubstantial, as two sides of the very same process, that is, the ‘equilibration’ dynamics.

The individual vs social learning issue As pointed out above, one of the most widely spread – and sometimes hottest – debates about Piaget’s constructivism deals with the individual–social issue. This debate basically concerns the question of who learns. From various sides, Piaget’s theory of learning has been blamed for being over-focused on the individual, but we should clearly distinguish here between two versions of this criticism. On the one hand, the ‘neo-Piagetian’ socio-constructivists (see above) agree with Piaget’s view of learning as an individual inner cognitive process based on a dynamic equilibrium between assimilation and accommodation processes, with the notion of ‘cognitive conflict’ at the core of this dynamic. However, they go a step further by emphasising the key role of social interactions as a facilitator of this process. In short, they argue that, under certain conditions, learning is facilitated by the fact that the cognitive conflict occurs in the framework of a social interaction between the learners and others (and hence becomes a so-called socio-cognitive conflict). What once was an inter-individual cognitive conflict between two partners in interaction is gradually internalised by the learner to become an inner (intra-individual) conflict, eventually bringing about internal changes within the learner’s cognitive structures.1 In keeping with Piaget’s constructivism, the neo-Piagetian socio-constructivism therefore remains individually centred. The same argument would basically apply to theories of cooperative or collaborative learning (Johnson and Johnson, 1998; Slavin, 1990). The other version is provided by other theories – mostly referring to Vygotsky – that look at learning as an inherently social process. With Vygotsky himself, the focus in learning eventually remains somewhat individual: learning is always rooted in social interactions in the first place and gradually becomes internalised by the individual. However, it is always mediated by cultural tools, or artefacts, which implies that learning, too, is always rooted in culture. In neo-Vygotskyan theories of learning, the ‘subject – mediating artefact – object’ triangle cannot be disconnected from a community of practice (Lave and Wenger, 1991; Wenger, 1998), the social network in which it takes place2 or, the activity (Engeström, 1987). In other words, learning is only a dimension inherent in a given situated activity, with its own (socially based) rules and norms, division of labour and social relationships structure, tasks, objects, culture, etc. With those more recent approaches, the shift in the central unit of analysis is gradually from the individual, to the dialogic set of partners, the community and ultimately the activity. In those radically ‘social’ approaches to learning, the latter is no longer viewed as inherent in the individual subject, but rather in the social unit and activity in which it necessarily takes place. A similar view can be found in those theories that look at learning primarily as a characteristic of organisations (Argyris and Schön, 1996; Nonaka and Takeuchi, 1997). Although Piaget himself did not happen to be particularly interested in the social dimension of learning, his model does not a priori exclude the individual’s interactions with his or her social environment, whether 343

Etienne Bourgeois

in terms of interactions with significant others (as demonstrated by the neo-Piagetian socio-constructivist approach), or position in a small group, work team, organisation, or community of practice. Nor does it of course exclude the impact of culture in the learning process. Simply, all these social interactions, which can be indeed considered as inherent in the learning process, are looked at from the individual’s standpoint, from the point of view of what happens in the individual’s inner learning process or outcomes as a result of those interactions. As a colleague of mine once put it ‘one always learns alone, but never without the others’.3 The individual–social debate about the Piagetian model is sometimes difficult, mainly for epistemological reasons. I suggest that there are basically two ways of going about this debate. One is to look at things in terms of points of view. For example, if we examine the course of a collective activity on the workplace in a given organisational context, we can either look at the learning process from the standpoint of the individual collaborator involved in the activity and look at the way the dynamics of the activity, the work team and the organisation act upon and interfere with the individual’s inner learning process. Or, we can look at what happens in the work team dynamics in terms of collective learning, in relation to both the individuals’ contribution to the collective process and the organisational context. Or else, we can address the organisational level directly, for example, by examining the organisational conditions and mechanisms through which individual and team learning contribute to organisational change. The difference between the three approaches is only a matter of standpoints, of ways of looking at the interplay between the individual and the collective dimensions of learning and activity. Lorino and his colleagues’ work (Lorino and Teulier, 2005) provides a perfect example of such an epistemological position. However, problems arise as soon as one reifies those standpoints. This would be the case, for instance, when the choice to look at what happens at the collective level (the collective activity and its social setting) would lead one to decide at some point that learning at the individual level simply does not exist at all, that learning is inherently and exclusively a social process. Or, conversely, focusing on the individual level would go along with the decision that learning is, by nature, an individual matter exclusively.

The cold vs hot cognition issue Piaget’s model clearly focuses on the cognitive dimension of the learning process as transformation of the individual’s inner cognitive structures. Little attention has been paid in his approach to the psychodynamic aspect of learning, that is, the learner’s engagement in learning. In this sense, it can be qualified as a ‘cold’ cognitive approach. In Piaget’s theory, we can see how the learner cognitively deals with a given situation, how he or she is making sense of the situation, how and under what conditions the pre-existing frames of reference that he or she mobilises may transform themselves in this sense-making process. But it does not account for why the individual has engaged in this process in the first place; why he or she has chosen to cope with this situation, rather than another one; and, once engaged in it, why, or for what, does he or she persist in his or her striving to achieve his or her goal or, on the contrary, drop out when facing a difficulty. Of course, Piaget, as a biologist, has always strongly insisted on the functionality of learning. This process is ultimately aimed at dynamically maintaining the individual’s adaptation to his or her environment, ‘equilibrium’ between his or her mental structures and the changing information that he or she is constantly confronted with. But this idea is so general that it is hardly helpful to understand, say, why specifically an illiterate person decides at some point in his or her life to enter an adult literacy programme, what he or she is looking for and expecting from such an engagement, or why, precisely, when confronted with a particular difficulty in the learning process, he or she will persist until full completion and success, or drop out on the way. Likewise, as already mentioned, Piaget insists on the fact that a cognitive conflict can be overcome either by ‘homeostatic’ or by ‘homeorhesic’ regulation but, again, this says nothing about why the individual will ‘choose’ between these two modes of regulation; or why in some cases he or she will tend to resist change and therefore turn to a homeostatic strategy that will maintain the status quo of his or her pre-existing 344

Piaget’s constructivism and adult learning

frames of reference; or in other cases, will accept the challenge of change and uncertainty. How does the individual manage the balance between the mixed feelings (attraction and repulsion, approach and avoidance, desire and fears) that he or she may experience in relation to learning? To address these questions, we need to account for the motivational dimension of adult learning, that is, to identify the motivational beliefs directly and indirectly involved in the cognitive dynamics of learning and the specific role that they play in such dynamics. We further suggest that two types of motivational constructs are of particular importance, namely, the meaning and value attributed by the individual to the learning activity, on the one hand, and his or her expectations of success in this activity, on the other (Bourgeois, 2003, 2006b, 2009a, 2009b; Bourgeois and Nizet, 2005; Bourgeois and Vandamme, 2005; Neuville, Frenay and Bourgeois, 2007; Wigfield and Eccles, 2000). In particular, such an investigation inescapably leads one to look at the relationship between the learning process and both the individual’s biographical and identity dynamics (Alheit, 2009; Barbier et al., 2006; Bourgeois, 2000, 2003, 2006a, 2006c, 2009a; Bourgeois and Nizet, 1999, 2005; Deltand, 2008; Dominicé, 2007; Kaddouri, 2006; Tesser, Stapel and Wood, 2002). Finally, it should be underlined that the motivational, biographical and identity dynamics underlying learning also involve cognitions, which, as such, can also be transformed. Hence, Piaget’s constructivism can also be useful to account for such transformations. In conclusion, Piaget’s constructivism appears to remain quite relevant for understanding the cognitive dimension of adult learning, essentially as an on-going process of transformation of the individual’s mental frames of reference underlying his or her situated interactions with the environment and changing in the course of those interactions. Although Piaget himself did not pay much attention either to the social dimension or to the psychodynamic dimension of learning, his theory does in no way exclude those dimensions a priori. In fact, our understanding of adult learning would benefit considerably from integrating these three – cognitive, social and psychodynamic – dimensions into a broader comprehensive model of learning, and from focusing specifically on the interactions between these dimensions, as already suggested, although in somewhat different terms, by Bourgeois (2009a) and Illeris (2004, 2009).

Notes 1 See Bourgeois (2004) for a review. 2 See the concept of ‘distributed learning’, in use mainly in the study of collaborative web-based learning environments. 3 Philippe Carré, personal communication.

References Alheit, P. (2009). Biographical learning – within the new lifelong learning discourse. In K. Illeris (Ed.), Contemporary theories of learning. New York: Routledge, pp. 116–28. Argyris, C. and Schön, D. A. (1996). Organizational learning II. Theory, method, and practice. Reading, MA: Addison-Wesley. Baffrey-Dumont, V. (2000). Pensée postformelle, jugement réflexif et pensée réflexive. In R. Pallascio and L. Lafortune (eds), Pour une pensée réflexive en éducation. Québec: Presses de l’Université du Québec. Barbier, J.-M. and Durand, M. (2003). Questions-débat. L’activité: Un objet intégrateur pour les sciences sociales? Recherche et formation, (42): 99–117. Barbier, J.-M., Bourgeois, E., de Villers, G. and Kaddouri, M. (eds). (2006). Constructions identitaires et mobilisation des sujets en formation. Paris: L’Harmattan. Bourgeois, E. (2000). Le sens de l’engagement en formation. In J.-M. Barbier and O. Galatanu (eds), Formation, sens, signification. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, pp. 87–106. ——(2003). La formation en situation de travail. Aspects cognitifs et motivationnels. In J.-L. Guyot, C. Mainguet and B. Van Haeperen (eds), La formation professionnelle continue. Bruxelles: De Boeck, pp. 235–58. ——(2004). Interactions sociales et performance cognitive. In P. Carré and P. Caspar (eds), Traité des sciences et des techniques de la formation (2nd edn). Paris: Dunod, pp. 301–16. ——(2006a). L’image de soi dans l’engagement en formation. In E. Bourgeois and G. Chapelle (eds), Apprendre et faire apprendre. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, pp. 271–84. 345

Etienne Bourgeois

——(2006b). La motivation à apprendre. In E. Bourgeois and G. Chapelle (eds), Apprendre et faire apprendre. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, pp. 229–46. ——(2006c). Tensions identitaires et engagement en formation. In J.-M. Barbier, E. Bourgeois, G. de Villers and M. Kaddouri (eds), Constructions identitaires et mobilisation des sujets en formation. Paris: L’Harmattan, pp. 65–120. ——(2009a). Apprentissage et transformation du sujet en formation. In J.-M. Barbier, E. Bourgeois, G. Chapelle and J.-C. Ruano-Borbalan (eds), Encyclopédie de la formation. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France. ——(2009b). Motivation et formation des adultes. In P. Carré and D. Fenouillet (eds.), Traité de psychologie de la motivation. Paris: Dunod, pp. 233–51. Bourgeois, E. and Nizet, J. (1999). Regards croisés sur l’expérience de formation. Paris: L’Harmattan. ——(2005). Apprentissage et formation des adultes (3rd edn; 1997, 1st edn). Paris: Presses Universitaires de France. Bourgeois, E. and Vandamme, M. (2005). The role of perceived instrumentality in adult student engagement in learning. In A. Bron, E. Kurantowicz, H. Salling Olesen and L. West (eds), ‘Old’ and ‘new’ worlds of adult learning. Wroclaw: Wydawnictwo Naukowe DSWE TWP. Bruner, J. S. (1996). The culture of education. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Damasio, A. R. (1994). Descartes’ error. New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons. Darnon, C., Butera, F. and Mugny, G. (2008). Des conflits pour apprendre. Grenoble: Presses Universitaires de Grenoble. Deltand, M. (2008). Configurations identitaires de professionnels enseignants: le cas des musiciens. Unpublished PhD thesis, Université catholique de Louvain, Louvain-la-Neuve. Dirkx, J. M. (2001). The power of feelings: emotions, imagination, and the construction of meaning in adult learning. New Directions for Adult and Continuing Education, (89): 63–72. ——(2006). Engaging emotions in adult learning: a Jungian perspective on emotions and transformative learning. New Directions for Adult and Continuing Education, (109): 15–26. Doise, W. and Mugny, G. (1981). Le développement social de l’intelligence. Paris: InterEditions. ——(1997). Psychologie sociale et développment cognitif. Paris: Armand Colin. Dominicé, P. (2007). La formation biographique. Paris: L’Harmattan. Durand, M. (2009). Analyse du travail dans une visée de formation: cadres théoriques, méthodes et conceptions. In J.-M. Barbier, E. Bourgeois, G. Chapelle and J.-C. Ruano-Borbalan (eds), Encyclopédie de la formation. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, pp. 827–56. Engeström, Y. (1987). Learning by expanding: an activity-theoretical approach to developmental research. Helsinki: OrientaKonsultit. ——(2009). Expansive learning. Toward an activity-theoretical reconceptualization. In K. Illeris (Ed.), Contemporary theories of learning. New York: Routledge, pp. 53–73. Engeström, Y., Miettinen, R. and Punamäki, R.-L. (eds). (1999). Perspectives on activity theory. Learning in doing: social, cognitive and computational perspectives. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Gardner, H. (2006). Multiple Intelligences. New horizons (1993, 1st edn). New York: Basic Books. ——(2009). Multiple approaches to understanding. In K. Illeris (Ed.), Contemporary theories of learning. New York: Routledge, pp. 106–15. Illeris, K. (2004). Adult education and adult learning. Roskilde: Roskilde University Press. ——(2009). A comprehensive understanding of human learning. In K. Illeris (ed.), Contemporary theories of learning. London: Routledge, pp. 7–19. Johnson, D. W. and Johnson, R. T. (1998). Learning together and alone: co-operative, competitive and individualistic learning (5th edn): Merrill. Kaddouri, M. (2006). Dynamiques identitaires et rapports à la formation. In J.-M. Barbier, E. Bourgeois, G. de Villers and M. Kaddouri (eds), Constructions identitaires et mobilisation des sujets en formation. Paris: L’Harmattan, pp. 121–45. Kegan, R. (2009). What ‘form’ transforms? A constructivist-developmental approach to transformative learning. In K. Illeris (Ed.), Contemporary learning theories. New York: Routledge, pp. 35–52. Lave, J. and Wenger, E. (1991). Situated learning: legitimate peripherical participation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lorino, P. and Teulier, R. (eds). (2005). Entre connaissance et organisation: l’activité collective. L’entreprise face au défi de la connaissance. Paris: La Découverte. Mezirow, J. (2009). An overview on transformative learning. In K. Illeris (ed.), Contemporary theories of learning. London: Routledge, pp. 90–105. Mezirow, J. and Associates (eds). (2000). Learning as transformation. Critical perspectives on a theory in progress. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Mugny, G. (Ed.). (1985). Psychologie sociale du développement cognitif. Berne: Peter Lang. Neuville, S., Frenay, M. and Bourgeois, E. (2007). Task value, self-efficacy and goal orientations: impact on self-regulated learning, choice and performance among university students. Psychologica Belgica, 47(1–2): 95–117. 346

Piaget’s constructivism and adult learning

Nonaka, I. and Takeuchi, H. (1997). La connaissance créatrice. Bruxelles: De Boeck. Paravy, G. and Martin, J. (1996). Médiation éducative et éducabilité cognitive. Paris: Chronique Sociale. Perret-Clermont, A.-N. (1979). La construction sociale de l’intelligence. Berne: Peter Lang. Piaget, J. (1964). Six études de psychologie. Paris: Denoël. ——(1967). Biologie et connaissance. Paris: Gallimard. ——(1968). La naissance de l’intelligence chez l’enfant. Paris: Delachaux et Niestlé. ——(1975). L’équilibration des structures cognitives. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France. Richard, J.-F., Bonnet, C. and Ghiglione, R. (1993). Traité de psychologie cognitive, Tome 2. Le traitement de l’information symbolique. Paris: Dunod. Sinnott, J. D. (2009). Cognitive developement as the dance of adaptative transformation. Neo-Piagetian perspectives on adult cognitive development. In M. C. Smith (ed.), Handbook of research on adult learning and development. London: Routledge, pp. 103–34. Slavin, R. E. (1990). Cooperative learning. Upper Saddle River, NJ: Prentice Hall. Smith, L., Dockrell, J. and Tomlinson, P. (eds). (1997). Piaget, Vygotsky and beyond. Future issues for developmental psychology and education. London: Routledge. Sorel, M. (1994). Pratiques nouvelles en éducation et en formation: l’éducabilité cognitive. Paris: L’Harmattan. Tesser, A., Stapel, D. A. and Wood, J. V. (2002). Self and motivation. Washington, DC: APA. Watzlawick, P., Weakland, J. and Fisch, R. (1974). Change: principles of problem formation and problem resolution. New York: W. W. Norton and Co. Wenger, E. (1998). Communities of practices. Learning, meaning, and identity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wertsch, J. V. (1991). Voices of the mind: a sociocultural approach to mediated action. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Wertsch, J. V., del Rio, P. and Alvarez, A. (eds). (1995). Sociocultural studies of the mind. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wigfield, A., and Eccles, J. S. (2000). Expectancy-value theory of achievement motivation. Contemporary Educational Psychology, 25: 68–81.

347

36 Psychoanalytic perspectives on learning and the subject called the learner Linden West

Introduction In this chapter I explore the contribution that psychoanalytic perspectives, mainly object relations theory, can make to a richer understanding of learning, in all its dimensions, as well as to theorising the subject that we call the learner. I draw on in-depth auto/biographical research used to illuminate micro-level processes in learning and teaching, including in informal settings. The research is to be understood by reference to a continuing neglect of the visceral, embodied aspects of learning and the marginality of psychoanalytic perspectives in thinking about learning and educational processes more widely (Hunt and West, 2006, 2009). However, the neglect does not go unchallenged: Tara Fenwick, for example, in applying complexity science to experiential learning, notes the potentially important contribution of psychoanalytic learning theories, in that analysis of learning ‘should focus less on reported meanings and motivations’ and more on what is happening ‘under the surface of human encounters’, including ‘the desire for and resistance to different objects and relationships’ (Fenwick, 2003: 131). The resistance to psychoanalytic ideas in relation, for instance, to adult learning – or indeed learning across the lifespan – may partly stem from the continuing influence of cognitivist approaches. The same could be said for theorising learning and subjectivity, at least in the Anglo-Saxon world, primarily in terms of cognition and cognitively driven, information-processing subjects (Hollway and Jefferson, 2000). Of the three domains of learning – the cognitive, the social and the psycho-emotional – the latter remains most often neglected, including in learning psychology (Illeris, 2002). However, as the Enlightenment project wanes, a stronger challenge has emerged to a disembodied Cartesian cognition and mind/body dualities. More holistic, post-structuralist, feminist but also psychoanalytically informed sensitivities are emerging (Hunt and West, 2009). Psychoanalytic ideas, it is suggested, offer new insights into what may be happening ‘under the surface of human encounters’ and in diverse contexts, when people learn.

Resistance The contribution of psychoanalytic perspectives to illuminating learning is recognised, to an extent, in certain literatures, for example, adult education, including the insights of founding fathers such as Freud, Erickson or Jung (Clarke and Dirkx, 2000; Tennant, 1997). Using Freud, Tennant, for instance, has written of how anxieties experienced by adults in learning can be rooted in childhood as teachers become, 348

Psychoanalytic perspectives on learning

unconsciously, objects of infantile hopes and desires: they ought, for example, to be able, magically, to expel frustration and helplessness in learning. Teachers, in turn, may be narcissistically seduced into omnipotence or omniscience: unconsciously, teachers (like doctors) may be driven by a pervasive sense that they should always know or be able to cope in relation to their students (West, 2001, 2009a). They can become entangled in such infantile reactions and become overly apologetic or find it difficult to criticise learners’ work as a result (Tennant, 1997). Nonetheless, the contributions made by some influential schools of psychoanalysis, like object relations, are conspicuous by their absence in most educational literature. Among some educators there is concern that psychoanalysis, of whatever school, is socially conservative in its implications: preoccupied, in effect, with getting people to adjust to a status quo, rather than challenge it (Tennant, 1997). Psychoanalysis is seen to pathologise people in highly individualistic ways, as well as to hold overly essentialist views of the human subject (Tennant, 1997). Tennant cites Erik Erikson, for example, as suggesting that mental health emanates from successful adjustment to the demands of society, without reference to the fact that some forms of social organisation may be unhealthy and alienating (p. 34). Tennant concedes that some recent psychotherapeutic theorising, influenced by feminism, for instance, has a potentially more radical, questioning, socio-cultural edge: when, for instance, challenging the gendered construction of important parts of human experience, as for instance in the sometimes literal and often emotional absence of the father in processes of family life (see Sayers, 1995: for example). But he largely neglects the contribution of, for instance, object relations theorists who suggest that various forms of social organisation are alienating and emotionally unhealthy, while others can be more liberating. The socio-cultural order matters, in other words, for psychological health (Frosh, 1991), while learning in therapeutic contexts is partly about recognising oppressive social norms, around gender, race or class, for example, and how these can be played out in individual lives. It is interesting that the reservations of adult educators like Mark Tennant resonate with very recent critiques of what is termed ‘therapy culture’, to which psychoanalysis is seen to have made a fundamental contribution. Educators and education have, in these terms, according to a number of writers, lost their way in a messy swamp of ‘therapeutic education’, while an older idea of disciplined intellectual immersion in a subject, fuelled by commitment to reason, science and progress is now submerged in a tsunami of emotionalism. Rational humanism and education, grounded in a critical yet dispassionate engagement with knowledge has, in other words, been substituted by a pernicious subjectivism. Kathryn Ecclestone and Dennis Hayes (2009) argue that therapeutic education, under the influence of, among other things, psychoanalysis, is far from progressive or benign and derives from a diminished and fragile view of the human subject who is in need of therapy from cradle to the grave. Therapeutic education, so the argument proceeds, abandons the liberating project of education altogether. A curriculum of the self – supported by an army of peer mentors, life coaches, counsellors, psychologists and therapists – has replaced a curriculum derived from a canon of rigorous knowledge and sustained engagement with it, led by subject specialists confident in their discipline. Therapeutic education brings an agenda of social engineering or control of citizens, who are to be coached to feel better about themselves as well as to prepare for the labour market, rather than encouraged to think critically and rigorously about the social order. This argument appeals to certain educators precisely because of its anti-therapeutic, anti-psychologising stance. A number of educators, under the influence of post-structuralism, also continue to argue that the preoccupation with subjectivity and emotionality – pre-eminently the territory of psychoanalysis – can serve, via diverse ‘educational’ practices, to discipline the subject to behave in socially acquiescent ways (Usher and Edwards, 1994). There is in fact, in some of the European, including British, literature resistance to psychologising the human subject at all, on whatever terms, partly as a reaction to the strong, sometimes dominant, psychologistic, individualistic and ahistorical tendency in North American research and writing on learning (West, 1996). Of course, such critique and concern are open to many counter arguments, not least a tendency to elide everything, from psychoanalysis to notions of emotional literacy, under the same 349

Linden West

therapeutic education banner. There is danger of relegating the internal world, and psychological processes more widely, including learning, to a simple epiphenomenal status in which we passively internalise social scripts, most famously in the idea of shifts from false to critical consciousness. To repeat, object relations theory barely gets a mention in much of the literature. This matters, because in its emphasis on intersubjectivity, object relations makes it more possible to integrate, in a bipolar and dynamic way, the sociocultural with the psychological in thinking about learning and change processes (Hollway and Jefferson, 2000; Merrill and West, 2009).

Object relations It should be noted that object relations theory, like psychoanalysis more widely, perceives the emotions and relationships to be the prime driving force for learning, in earliest and subsequent experience: ‘it is not in fact the capacity for logical and rational thought that provides the basis for language acquisition. Rather it is emotional interpersonal understanding that provides the basis for meaning and is the precursor of language’ (Diamond and Marrone, 2003: 6). The interpersonal lies at the heart of object relations theories – of Melanie Klein, Donald Winnicott and Wilfred Bion, for instance – as against the more classical drive theories of Freudian psychology. The latter were more focused on intrapyschic processes, dominated by conflicts between various drives like Eros, the libidinal drive for stimulation and satisfaction, and Thanatos, with its potential to annihilate it. Object relations theorists, such as Klein and Winnicott, emphasised more of the intersubjective world and how we may internalise ‘objects’ – most famously the breast – as good or bad, a source of nourishment or its converse. Melanie Klein argued, derived from clinical observation, that selves are forged out of the way we internalise objects – whole people or parts – and absorb these as sets of fantasised internal relationships that become the building blocks of personality (Klein, 1998; Frosh, 1991). The emphasis on the interplay of inner and outer objects in the development of personality and self turned psychoanalysis, in Janet Sayers’s words, ‘inside out’ (Sayers, 2000). The self and subjectivity in this object relations perspective are conceived as dynamic, never complete products of our relationship, with actual people and diverse objects, including the symbolic. The self, in earliest experience, is absolutely dependent on others, and their responses are crucial to healthy self-development, including cultivating the appetite for learning in the sense of openness to experience. But anxiety can constrain this, generated via the individual’s vulnerability and absolute reliance on the other; but also by the capacity for destructive, hateful and envious feelings in relationships. Such feelings are forged, in some versions, in the baby’s interaction with the prime caregiver, including when hungry (the baby has no concept of time) or otherwise in need. In good enough relationships, the other’s response becomes critical in processing feelings: s/he can work to contain and feed back hateful and destructive emotions – to be thought-full, in loving ways – in what amounts to a kind of transformational interaction. Talk, making sounds and rhythmic movement combine to provide reassurance, but also the sense that things are fundamentally well. This amounts, in effect, to a prototypical conversation about the potential goodness of experience. The baby, in turn, can internalise the good object parent, creating a sense of well-being in the world, but also of thoughtfulness and desire to engage. Moreover, the baby begins to learn the power and play of language and can also experience agency through the responses of the other. We may come to realise, in the process, that the arousal of needs can be pleasurable rather than to be dreaded, offering a basic building block for relatively open forms of engagement. Yet, none of these intersubjective processes is perfect and anxiety is always present just beneath the surface of things. Klein developed the idea of splitting as defence against such anxiety: at being dependent and needy, for instance, we may split off ‘bad’ and needy parts of ourselves (when hungry for instance) from the good (when fed), for fear that the other might not be available (Klein, 1998; Hollway and Jefferson, 2000; Frosh, 1991). Such processes of psychological splitting can apply in adult life: whenever we feel vulnerable, dependent or inadequate. We may split off and project onto others or whole groups ‘bad’ or ‘good’ aspects of ourselves. 350

Psychoanalytic perspectives on learning

We may construct an idealised image of self as one who can cope, escaping, perhaps, into omniscience and omnipotence: the very antithesis of learning (West, 2001). If, in earliest experience, anxiety is considered fundamental in learning – emanating from states of absolute dependence on the other – it is being suggested that it is there too in later life, especially in periods of transition and stress. People can feel unable to cope with new ideas or change processes; past, in such situations, may elide with present, present with past, in what Melanie Klein termed ‘memory in feeling’: a deeply embodied and largely unconscious process (Klein, 1998). This can be especially pervasive for those who experienced difficult transitional processes in earlier life, in separation from prime caregivers or in going to school, for instance. Isca Salzberger-Wittenberg et al. (1999) have observed that, however mature or capable we may be, there can be continuing dread of helplessness, of feeling lost, of being overcome and found wanting in contexts requiring new learning. Salzberger-Wittenberg, in an introductory chapter, describes meeting groups of experienced educators beginning programmes at the Tavistock Clinic in London and of becoming aware of tensions in the room, during a first session. She encouraged everyone to comment on their feelings in that moment, and people talked of insecurity, anxiety and of the fear of being found wanting. The trouble, she concludes, is that we often pay mere lip service to such feelings and ride roughshod over them in educational settings. This, despite the fact that, the more unfamiliar and unstructured the situation, or the more threatening it might be to our status as knowledgeable adults – who are supposed to know and to cope – the more disorientated and terrified we can feel (SalzbergerWittenberg et al., 1999: 4–5; West, 2009b). Anxiety can also find expression in the face of a new idea, or different way of knowing, bringing fundamental challenges to our existing assumptions and sense of self, as among women learners in encounters, for instance, with feminism (West, 1996).

Connecting the social and psychological There is among many auto/biographical researchers an increased straddling of the socio-cultural and psychological in theorising, for instance, learning and meaning making, as well as the stories people tell about such processes. This reaches back to the inter-disciplinary psychosocial traditions of the Chicago School of Sociology and social psychology that got lost as sociology, becoming more positivistic and statistical, while psychology became more essentialist and scientistic (Wright Mills, 1959; Chamberlayne et al., 2004; Hollway and Jefferson, 2000; Hunt and West, 2009; Merrill and West, 2009). Feminist psychoanalysis has made an important contribution to these interdisciplinary aspirations although feminists, as Jane Flax (1990) observed, were, like many adult educators, initially antagonistic towards considering women’s oppression in psychological terms at all. Freudian psychoanalysis compounded the difficulty by placing penis envy – the idea of women desiring to be more like men and feeling inferior because they were not – at the heart of theories of loss and unconscious desire (Sayers, 1995). But writers such as Janet Sayers (1995) have shifted the attention to the importance of wider cultural imperatives in intersubjective life. Many feminists have been drawn to object relations theories precisely because of their compatibility with a constructivist model of human development and identity formation in which culture penetrates to the core of the most intimate of processes. Stephen Frosh and colleagues (Frosh et al., 2005), using biographical narrative research and drawing on object relations, have noted a greater socio-cultural awareness in psychoanalytic theorising, alongside social psychology’s willingness to engage with ‘meaning’. They explore, drawing in part on post-structuralist insights, how subjects may be positioned by powerful cultural and interpretative repertoires. Yet, they suggest, this is insufficient to explain how people may also position themselves: drawing on the work of Melanie Klein (1998): they make use of object relations, including notions of splitting and idealisation. In a study of 11–14-year-old boys, they interrogate homophobia and experiences of masculinity and interpret these in psychosocial ways. Some boys can question their positioning, and begin to reflexively learn about it, while others do not. Using biographical interviews of ‘a clinical style’ – encouraging exploration of 351

Linden West

openness, contradiction and emotionally marked material – they interrogate the processes involved in boys succumbing to or resisting and questioning homophobia. Resistance and learning, they note, can be forged through identification with significant others. In one young man’s narrative, there is strong identification with a mother, in the context of a violent father. In the interview itself – conducted by a man – a process of identification and splitting was discerned in which the ‘bad’ actual father is contrasted with the ‘good’ interviewer. The researchers conclude that social discourses around being gay and of what constitutes a good father – and learning about these – are not simply templates to be passively drawn on. Rather, dynamic intersubjective forces – such as splitting and idealisation – are in play, ‘constructing and policing certain modes of masculinity and inhibiting others’, including the capacity to think about what might be happening (Frosh et al., 2005: 53). Note has been made, in similar biographical narrative research on adult learning – using object relations to complement socio-cultural analysis – how individual responses to oppressive situations can vary, even among people from similar backgrounds (West, 1996; Hunt and West, 2006; Merrill and West, 2009). Some people, for example, seem more able to transcend oppression and remain psychologically more open to new experience, despite painful learning biographies. New trans-European research on non-traditional learners in higher education, using biographical narrative methods, is chronicling and theorising such processes (the RANLHE project: www.ranlhe.dsw.edu.pl). Interdisciplinary conversations are developing, connecting, for example, the work of sociologist Pierre Bourdieu with psychoanalytic thinkers such as Donald Winnicott. Bourdieu’s insights into habitus and disposition reveal how a learner with limited socio-cultural capital may struggle in a certain habitus, especially the more exclusive ones of some traditional universities and disciplines. Bourdieu’s structuration approach enables us to understand how, for instance, working class adult students may be positioned and constrained by a particular habitus (Bourdieu, 1988). Yet Bourdieu fails, like many sociologists, to explain how and why some students, against the norm, perhaps, find the resources and resilience to survive and even prosper in a particular habitus. Donald Winnicott’s (1971) ideas are helpful, here, especially his notion of transitional space in relationships between people. He was interested in the infant’s struggle to separate from a prime caregiver and what made this possible, in psychologically healthy ways. He was to apply the notion to processes of separation and self-negotiation in adult life too: what enabled people to move from dependency and defensiveness towards greater openness to experience and creative forms of endeavour (Winnicott, 1971). Spaces might take many and varied forms, such as being at university or in therapy. Significant others, and their responses, were seen to be important in re-evaluating self and possibility and in overcoming anxieties about whether a space might be for them. A person might come to think and feel differently towards self, ‘reality’ and future possibilities because of the responses, over time, of significant others (like a teacher or other respected professional). If people feel seen, understood and legitimised in their endeavours – in creating new stories of who they are and might be – a stronger sense of self may find expression. These processes are far from simply cognitive, but fundamentally embodied and emotional: touching the earliest and most primitive aspects of being human.

Auto/biographical research The basic argument is that object relations can help us to understand more fully the lived experience of learners and learning and in interdisciplinary ways. Object relations theory offers a more nuanced perspective on change and transitional processes; the metaphor of the theatre is useful here: we can conceive of psychological dynamics and the development of self as well as of learning as analogous to the development of a dramatic production. Some characters with whom we interact may be emotionally rigid, and even persecutory and abusive, and we can become rigid and maybe abusers too, including of ourselves. However, casts of characters can change as new people enter the intersubjective stage: people with whom we identify, whom we respect and feel respect us, yet who also challenge, like a tutor in higher education or professionals 352

Psychoanalytic perspectives on learning

in a family learning project. I want to provide two case studies of this, drawing on auto/biographical research. As suggested, a rich body of psychoanalytically informed biographical research has developed, if on the margins of educational research, over the last two decades, with diverse studies of learning and subjective experience in health care and social work, as well as in educational contexts (Chamberlayne et al., 2004; Froggett, 2002; West, 1996, 2001; Salling Oleson, 2007a, 2007b; Weber, 2007). These methods encourage story telling – by creating good enough transitional space – allowing learners to engage reflexively, with the researchers, to identify themes in material and to think about them together. The methodology emphasises the importance in research of attentiveness, respectfulness and a need to manage anxiety and to build secure, collaborative space (Merrill and West, 2009). Participants are involved, as stated, in the analysis of their material, via recordings and transcripts and, given the longitudinal design of some studies, this will include what may be difficult to say and or what might be missing from the account (West, 1996, 2001, 2007; Merrill and West, 2009). The methods help illuminate the complex interplay of desire and resistance, self and other, over time, in private and more public space. The use of the slash in the term, auto/biographical research (Stanley, 1992) emphasises the idea that research itself is a form of relationship and learning in which the self of the researcher will shape the other, and vice-versa. It is, as Roper (2003) notes, not only about generating words to do with experiences elsewhere, but also involves relationship in its own right. Such a relationship can generate, consciously and unconsciously, patterns of response, which aid or hinder understanding. Reflexivity, on the part of the researcher, becomes central to the task, including interrogating what is termed the counter-transference feelings in the researcher; in other words what the other may provoke in us, which can provide insight into the other and her feelings (Merrill and West, 2009). Such research can become a dynamic and dialogical form of learning, with researchers spending many hours with individual learners, across various research cycles. As research evolves, and relationships strengthen, issues are revisited iteratively, generating, testing and retesting hypotheses over time. Participants can become more confident and increasingly curious about their own lives: it is unusual, they might say, for anyone to be interested and to listen, respectfully, to them and their experience.

Two cases in point ‘Brenda’ (all the names are pseudonyms) was a mature woman student who was a participant in a longitudinal study of adult learners in higher education (West, 1996). She was, at the beginning of the research, a nervous, diffident woman of 52 who had underachieved educationally. She was undergoing change and transition in her life and was clinging on to an unhappy marriage. She was emotionally abused as a child and anxious about her capacity to cope and what others might think of her. She told a story, in the early stages of the research (which was to last for four years, over seven research cycles), of participating in learning as a way of making herself more acceptable to her husband and his friends. She was, she said, investing in higher education because she was fearful that her marriage would disintegrate. A process of splitting is evident in her early material, higher education represented more of a threat than an opportunity, full, as it was, of intelligent people, unlike herself, as she would often put it. She defended against thinking of herself as a learner in higher education for fear of being pushed away. She emphasised, instead, the fact of being a mother and wife participating, part-time, at university. Three years later, as she progressed towards a degree, she felt stronger and talked of herself as a student in higher education: she could express feelings and ideas – of diverse kinds – about literature, feminism, higher education and of the ambivalent experience of being a learner. This change was mainly due, she said, to the influence of significant others, including particular teachers, as well as a daughter who was also a student. She also strongly identified with a number of literary characters: carrying them around in her head, she said, such as a prostitute in a Maupassant novel. She felt like the prostitute, in that she had often felt used and abused by men. Brenda was in counselling at the time and said she felt more

353

Linden West

able to engage with thinking about the emotional aspects of her life and learning, including her capacity for self-denigration. Brenda talked of specific epiphanal moments, in the language of Norman Denzin (1989), at university – turning points – revolving around, for instance, particular lecturers and their responses in seminars. Some, she felt, simply talked past or through her. But she described one tutor who, she said, made her feel understood in her fumbling attempts to contribute to group discussion. She felt seen, in a basic emotional sense, and felt that higher education, at long last, might be for her too. This is the psychosocial territory of object relationships – of anxieties contained and of feeling noticed at a primitive, largely unconscious level – enabling more fulsome engagement and thoughtfulness (including with feminist ideas). A seminar at university might constitute some transitional space, in which significant others, and their responses, enable some gradual renegotiation of self to emerge. A person, like Brenda, came to think and feel differently towards self and the world, as a learner: more a subject in history rather than the object of others’ negative projections.

A second case ‘Margaret’ was a participant in a programme called Sure Start, similar to the American Head Start programme (there are related programmes in Australia too) (West, 2009b). She came to be actively involved in a range of family and learning projects as well as becoming an activist. These programmes are designed to break cycles of disadvantage and exclusion and Sure Start (and associated Children’s Centres) is now established in many areas in England identified as having high levels of deprivation. Sure Start and Children’s Centres vary, but may offer diverse services: child support, crèche, access to specialist services such as speech and language therapy or child and mental health, as well as varied opportunities for informal and non-formal adult and family learning. The programmes can be controversial and have been seen as overly intrusive and/or a way of disciplining morally feckless parents (West, 2009b). But rhetoric can vary, while there are a number of players as well as agendas that can occupy the space represented by the initiative. Some professionals, for example, may exploit government rhetoric – on the need to strengthen community capacity building, or improve service delivery via partnership arrangements, or nourish new forms of sustainable local development – to justify more participatory approaches to project management and community regeneration alongside more diverse and questioning forms of learning (West, 2009b). Margaret told us a story of being a child always stuck at the back of the class and rarely noticed. She struggled in a difficult, abusive family and was wrestling with an abusive relationship when Sure Start entered the psychosocial space of her life. Going to meetings, on her own, was a major step, she said. She lived in isolation, as she put it, with her young child, but found that ‘everyone was really friendly and made you feel welcome. It was relaxed. All the children were happy. It was just nice. Nice surroundings, nice people.’ She told us how she got to know people at a time when she needed to rebuild her life. She was surprised, she said, to find that ‘you did have an input and I felt involved, so … everyone was just nice and friendly, everyone was the same. They were, they really made you feel welcome. I just felt safe and relaxed.’ The quality of the relationships with senior staff in the project was central to her narrative. However the project could feel intimidating and forbidding, especially when she was encouraged to play a fuller part in developing the programme and asked to serve on a management board. Margaret did not want to say anything at first, in her encounters with professionals and representatives of diverse agencies. The people from other agencies, the ‘suits’, as she and other parents put it, ‘were there for their own agendas’. But she began to be ‘a bit of a nuisance’, by insisting, when the going got hard, that the parents should be at the heart of the programme. It helped, she said, that the Director and Chair were interested in them and what they had to say, ‘like good parents really’. 354

Psychoanalytic perspectives on learning

But the process was far from easy at times, as particular parents felt sidelined in meetings. We, as researchers, fed back some of these responses to the professionals and steps were taken to address process issues in the Management Board. Time was given to role-play and to preparing a case for particular meetings. Margaret described a kind of epiphanal moment, involving a struggle to find voice at a particular meeting where she felt strongly about issues of child protection: I was very nervous about saying it; I got it out the way and thought it wasn’t too bad … . It was about the child protection, we had the Sitter Service in and we wanted to know what their screening was, that kind of thing. One lot said that it had three stages – you could get police checks. Somebody said it was just one. I turned round and said ‘Can’t we get somebody in to explain it?’ They are going to sort that out I think or find out … I knew I wanted to say it but would it come out properly, and it did so I was happy. It was a big step for me. (West and Carlson, 2007: 104) The moment probably went unnoticed by others. For Margaret, in the totality of her life, it constituted a major step. She was a person who had been scared to speak out at school, in her family and in her adult life, in personal and public space. Her parents or others never encouraged her and yet this was changing. She felt able, in the project, to challenge dominant agendas and was no longer, as she put it, ‘simply a mum stuck at home’. When we reflected together on these change processes and at feeling more of a self in relation to others, the role and responses of key professionals came to the fore. She, too, talked of feeling seen and understood; of, in effect, being parented herself in ways that enabled her to manage her anxieties and to engage with experience, however initially inhibiting this had been. Particular professionals were alive in her story, available and respectful, as well as challenging when it most mattered. Both Brenda and Margaret talked of being more fully themselves in those moments.

A more holistic understanding I have suggested that psychoanalytic object relations theories, combined with auto/biographical research, provide rich insights into the ambivalence and relationship at the heart of learning, at least of any significant kind, and of forging a self. There is a body of clinically informed, socially aware, theoretically sophisticated work that can help us to understand how the desire for, but also resistance to, different objects, including the symbolic, find expression, including in the stories we tell (Sclater, 2004). Such perspectives offer insights into the contingent and developmental nature of human subjectivity in which primitive anxieties over the capacity to cope are never far from the surface of even the most polished appearance. Such insights help build more holistic understanding of the centrality of the emotions and bodily experience in learning, and how this might be theorised. We become more attuned to what often lies beneath surface appearances, both in ourselves as well as others, in change and transitional processes. Research itself, as described in the chapter, may also be conceived as a form of learning: representing a kind of transitional space for renegotiating self with another. Research can offer a relatively secure, playful space in which narrative risks may be taken and interviewees, over time, can come to think more deeply about experiences of learning, of relationship, including awareness of defences against new ways of seeing. Brenda came to realise how she often told stories, and behaved in educational settings to appease and even please powerful men. This included the research: we were able to explore this partly because of the quality of the research relationship and the longitudinal, reflexive nature of the study (West, 1996). Such material, in the process, offers new ways of thinking about learning and what can enhance and inhibit it, but also for conceptualising the whole subject that we call the learner, beyond surface appearance and a disembodied, decontextualised cognition. 355

Linden West

References Bourdieu P. (1988), Homo Academicus. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Chamberlayne P., Bornat J. and Apitzsch (2004), Biographical Methods and Professional Practice. Bristol: The Policy Press. Clark C and Dirkx J (2000), ‘Moving beyond a Unitary Self. A Reflective Dialogue’, in A. Wilson and E. Hayes (eds) Handbook of Adult and Continuing Education. San Francisco, CA: Josse Bass Higher and Adult Education, 101–16. Diamond N. and Marrone M. (2003), Attachment and Intersubjectivity. London: Whurr. Denzin N. (1989), Interpretative Biography. Newbury Park, CA: Sage. Ecclestone K. and Hayes D. (2009), The Dangerous Rise of Therapeutic Education. London: Routledge. Fenwick T. (2003), ‘Reclaiming and Re-embodying Experiential Learning through Complexity Science’, Studies in the Education of Adults, Vol. 35, 2: 123–41. Flax J. (1990), Thinking Fragments, Psychoanalysis, Feminism and Postmodernism in the Contemporary West. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Froggett L. (2002), Love, Hate and Welfare. Bristol: Policy Press. Frosh S. (1991), Identity Crisis; Modernity, Pscyhoanalyis and the Self. London: Macmillan. Frosh S., Phoenix A. and Pattman R. (2005), ‘Struggling towards Manhood: Narratives of Homophobia and Fathering’, British Journal of Psychotherapy, 22(1): Autumn, 37–56. Hollway W. and Jefferson T. (2000), Doing Qualitative Research Differently; Free Association, Narrative and the Interview Method. London: Sage. Hunt C. and West L. (2006), ‘Learning in a Border Country: Using Psychodynamic Perspectives in Teaching and Research’, Studies in the Education of Adults, 38(2) Autumn: 160–77. ——(2009), ‘Salvaging the Self in Adult Learning’, Studies in the Education of Adults, 41(1) Spring: 68–82. Illeris K. (2002), The Three Dimensions of Learning. Leicester: NIACE and Roskilde University Press. Klein M. (1998), Love, Gratitude and Other Works, 1921–1945. London: Virago. Merrill B. and West L. (2009), Using Biographical Methods in Social Research. London: Sage. Roper M. (2003), ‘Analysing the Analysed: Transference and Counter-Transference in the Oral History Encounter’, Oral History, 21 Autumn: 20–32. Salling Olesen H. (2007a), ‘Professional Identities, Subjectivity and Learning: Be(coming) a General Practitioner’ in L. West, B. Merrill, P. Alheit and A. Siig Andersen (2007), (eds) Using Biographies and Life History Approaches in the Study of Adult and Lifelong Learning. Frankfurt-am-Main: Peter Lang, pp. 125–41. ——(2007b), ‘Theorising Learning in Life History: a Psychosocietal Approach’, Studies in the Education of Adults, 39(1): 38–53. Salzberger-Wittenberg I. et al. (1999), The Emotional Experience of Learning and Teaching. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul (originally 1983). Sayers J. (1995), The Man Who Never Was, Freudian Tales. London, Chatto and Windus. ——(2000), Kleinians, Psychoanalysis Inside Out. Cambridge: Polity Press. Sclater S.D. (2004), ‘What is the Subject?’, Narrative Enquiry. 13(2): 317–30. Stanley, L. (1992), The Auto/Biographical I. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Tennant M. (1997), Psychology and Adult Learning. London: Routledge. Usher R. and Edwards R. (1994), Postmodernism and Education. London: Routledge. Weber K. (2007), ‘Gender, the Knowledge Economy and Every Day Life’ in L. West, B. Merrill, P. Alheit, A. Bron and A. Siig Andersen (eds) Using Biographies and Life History Approaches in the Study of Adult and Lifelong Learning. Frankfurt-am-Main: Peter Lang. West L. (1996), Beyond Fragments; Adults, Motivation and Higher Education. London: Taylor and Francis. ——(2001), Doctors on the Edge; General Practitioners, Health and Learning in the Inner City. London: Free Association Books. ——(2007), ‘An Auto/Biographical Imagination and the Radical Challenge of Families and their Learning’ in L West, B. Merrill, P. Alheit, A. Bron and A. Siig Andersen, (eds) Using Biographies and Life History Approaches in the Study of Adult and Lifelong Learning. Frankfurt-am-Main: Peter Lang. ——(2009a), ‘Really Reflexive Practice: Auto/Biographical Research and Struggles for a Critical Reflexivity’ in H Bradbury et al. Beyond Reflective Practice. London: Routledge, 66–80. ——(2009b), ‘Families and Their Learning: an Auto/Biographical Imagination’ in P. Jarvis (ed.) The Routledge International Handbook of Lifelong Learning. New York: Routledge, 67–79. West L. and Carlson A. (2007), Claiming Space: An In-depth Auto/Biographical Study of a Local Sure Start Project. CISDP, CCCU. West L., Merrill B., Alheit P. and Siig Andersen A. (eds) Using Biographies and Life History Approaches in the Study of Adult and Lifelong Learning. Frankfurt-am-Main: Peter Lang. Winnicott D. (1971), Playing and Reality. London: Routledge. Wright Mills C. (1959 and 1970), The Sociological Imagination. Hardmondsworth: Penguin.

356

37 Sociology and learning Martin Dyke and Ian Bryant

Sociology is often presented as a foundation subject for education; however, it will be argued here that learning is at the heart of a sociological dilemma. That concerns the tension between structure and agency and the extent to which external social, political, cultural and other factors constrain our practices. Text books in sociology address this tension directly; Bauman and May argued that sociology asks, ‘How do our individual biographies intertwine with the history we share with other human beings?’ (2001: 7). Giddens presents this tension between human action and social structure as an enduring area of ‘controversy or dispute’ (Giddens, 1997: 567). However, in his earlier work Giddens argued that a new consensus was emerging between most schools of thought in sociology: That is to say they are unified in their rejection of the tendency of the orthodox consensus to see human behaviour as the result of forces that actors neither control nor comprehend, in addition (and this does include both structuralism and ‘post-structuralism’) they accord a fundamental role to language, and to cognitive faculties in the explication of social life. (Giddens, 1984: xvi) Giddens’s approach to reflexivity (1984) implicitly acknowledges that the relationship between social structures and human action is entwined with human learning. Elsewhere, parallels have been drawn between sociological issues and the processes involved in human learning. Indeed Beilharz’s (2000) reading of Bauman suggests that human openness to learning is the key to understanding social change. This paper takes a similar view and argues that this is also the logic of Margaret Archer’s account of human reflexivity (2000, 2007). Learning itself is a practice. It will be argued that looking at the world through the lens of learning we get a better understanding of a key element of the subject of sociology. Adopting a learning perspective can help to unlock one of the discipline’s enduring theoretical dilemmas, that between structure and agency. Elements essential to learning provide a mediating aspect between the social structures that exist before us and the human agency that reproduces, rejects, adapts or radically challenges these structures. In turn, it is also argued that a sociological insight, what Mills (1959) referred to as the sociological imagination, or Bauman and May (2001) talk of as the sociological eye, can improve learning. Indeed, learning is central to Mills’s understanding of the relationship between private troubles and public issues (1959: 8). Bauman and May argued ‘Sociology is a disciplined eye that both examines “how” we get on in our daily 357

Martin Dyke and Ian Bryant

lives, and locates those details onto a “map” that extends beyond those immediate experiences’ (2001: 166). Extending our experience beyond the here and now, learning from others, is a key element in learning (Dyke, 2006). At times Sociology appears polarized between those who argue either for the priority of structure over agency or the reverse. We will argue that a learning perspective helps to understand the relationship between the two. Whether or not sociology informs learning, and/or a learning perspective can inform sociology, it is important to keep the learner at the centre of the discussion. To paraphrase Polanyi (1958): all individuals know more about learning than they can say; they do it every day. Indeed, it is central to how we all ‘go on’ in terms of the mundane activities of getting through the day and the more considered and ‘serious’ matter of living a life worth living. In a recent interview the sociologist Zygmunt Bauman suggests that sociology has to some degree lost its way between number crunchers and philosophers. Instead Bauman argued, ‘The task for sociology is to come to the help of the individual. We have to be in service of freedom. It is something we have lost sight of’ (Guardian, 3rd November 2010). This is a value and perspective that is shared here. This chapter makes a link between issues of structure and agency in sociology and supports Archer’s (2007) presentation of reflexivity as a mediating aspect. It will draw parallels between structure, agency and reflexivity, and elements of learning such as knowledge, practice and reflection. The paper presents the case that human learning is that key process which mediates between structural reproduction and social change. It is learning that leads to structures changing, as this changes how people decide to act in the world – to reproduce structures or challenge and change them. Human learning is the way in which we address the inadequacies both of ourselves and the world. It is how we make sense of the world that we all know and inhabit. To live in the world is to know and to find our way through it.

Agency, structure and reflexivity The fundamental problem of linking human agency and social structure stalks through the history of sociological theory. Basically, it concerns how to develop an adequate theoretical account which deals simultaneously with men [sic] constituting society and the social formation of human agents. (Archer, 2010: 225) Archer opens her seminal challenge to Giddens’s structuration theory with this acknowledgement of the enduring sociological dilemma between structure and action. Archer rejected Giddens’s definition of structure; it was argued that Giddens failed to account for the temporal nature of the relationship between structures and action. Archer noted that structures inevitably predate the human actions that reproduce or change them. Any transformation of structure must logically postdate those actions. Structural impacts, therefore, can endure over time and are not, according to Archer: changed by action in an instant (2010: 238). Structures remain a constraint on our actions with powerful social consequences. Following the financial crash of 2008 we are all keenly aware of these consequences; as Keynes is said to have noted ‘Markets can remain irrational a lot longer than you and I can remain solvent’ (Schilling, 1993). Giddens tended to emphasize the instantiation of our more reflexive times; his definition of structure suggests it has an ethereal character, ‘Structure exists only as memory traces, the organic basis of human knowledgeability, and as instantiated in action’ (Giddens, 1984: 377). Although there is a link here between this concept of structure and that of knowledge, and we would agree that knowledge is an aspect of structure, we would take issue with the ‘virtual’ rather than real and material definition of structure. As Archer argued, structures materially exist, impact on our lives and predate action. We come into a world not of our own making. Examples include various kinds of scarcity which can arise without power or normative regulation and involve nothing other than physiological signification, like famine, over-population, shortage of skills 358

Sociology and learning

or land. In what possible sense do these require instantiation? They are there and the problem is how to get rid of them or deal with them. (Archer, 2010: 232) Archer uses a Popperian analogy to provide a realist conception of knowledge and structure in a critique of Giddens: Less obviously, why should World Three knowledge, even if it lives on only in libraries, be regarded as outside time and space; it is there continuously and thus awaits not instantiation but activation. Yet when it is activated it contains its own potentials and limitations independent of the constructions and regulations imposed upon it. (Archer, 2010: 232) Again, with Archer, as with Giddens, there is an explicit link between knowledge and structure: knowledge is something that exists before us. It is both sedimented and available as secondary experience (Jarvis, 1999: 31). Most of the things we know about the world are mediated and second-hand. Personal knowledge rooted in actual direct and primary experiences appears more ‘real’, though it is often downgraded to the anecdotal (Usher, 1985). A related point is made with Young’s realist conception of knowledge (2008), which asserted that the importance of knowledge is that it exists before and beyond the immediate primary experience of individuals. In a similar vein, Archer argued that, to experience something it must exist, unless it is fantasy, prior to us and autonomous to us (2000: 154). However, knowledge and structures do not determine who we are or become, this is filtered through reflexivity and practice, which Archer presents as ‘the fulcrum of knowledge’ (2000: 9). A distinction is made, by Archer, between different forms of knowledge. The first is embodied knowledge, and we may learn without intending to do (Archer, 2000: 160); it emerges from our relationship with the natural world and includes the self-discovery associated with early childhood and continues throughout the life-course. The second is practical knowledge, which involves the ‘active process of doing since it is performative in relation to the material culture’ (Archer, 2000: 166). Practical knowledge is acquired initially through ‘legitimate peripheral participation’ (Lave and Wenger, 1991). Apprenticeship provides an example of how practical knowledge can be acquired. The third type is ‘discursive knowledge’, which is propositional, associated with the social order and may be obtained through scholarship (Archer, 2000: 167). In the field of education Jarvis uses a similar approach to knowledge and notes the tacit nature of knowledge, evident in Polanyi (1958): practical knowledge that includes ‘knowledge how’, and propositional, or ‘knowledge of’. These categories derive from (Scheffler, 1965). Jarvis argued that these forms of knowledge are ‘legitimated in at least three different ways: rationalistically, empirically and pragmatically’ (Jarvis, 1999: 41). All knowledge and all learning is situated; there is no view from nowhere (Nagel, 1986). These situations supply us with the motives for learning which over any given life-course are unique to the individual. Because these motives are linked as vocabularies of action to unique situations, they are as various as the situations in which they occur. Most psychologists may not like this, but from this perspective there are no singular motivations to learn. Indeed, ‘motivations’ as we understand them play no part in the informal learning of our native language. The problem with trying to understand learning in terms of some underlying motivation is that it simply does not apply to many cases of informal learning. All we can assert here is that, in given situations, we just ‘learn’: there is no mental clockwork that sets learning in train. We can see from this discussion that there are strong parallels between the dualisms of structure and agency in social theory, and knowledge and practice, that are evident in the educational field of literature (Jarvis, 1999). These links are implicit in the sociological theory of Archer (2000). However, it is the 359

Martin Dyke and Ian Bryant

relationship between these themes that requires further exploration. Some theoretical approaches have a tendency to emphasize the power of social structure in determining human action. From this perspective, it is society that makes us what we are: we inherit culture, tradition, habitus and reproduce it. Archer talks of this approach as ‘Society’s Being’ (2000: 86), presenting humanity as passive and moulded by the social or economic structures that form the socialization and instill the cultural traditions that precede them. Bourdieu, it is argued, provides an example of this approach: Bourdieu proposes that social divisions and mental schematic are structurally homologous because they are genetically linked: the latter are nothing other than the embodiment of the former. (Archer, 2007: 39) With such a social determinist position, where is the space for human agency for an individual’s practices to influence and shape the world? People are presented as passive, and structural conditions are thereby static. Such an approach is perhaps more suited in its explanatory power for times of social stability than our period of social change. Alternative perspectives tend to result in an emphasis on the individual’s power through action and practice to shape the world. Archer (2000) paints a picture of Modernity’s Man as a rather absurd epitome of a rational choice theorist. A similar point is made by Bauman in Modernity and the Holocaust (1989), where some variants of enlightenment thinking have produced a technical rationality that is devoid of human ethics. Although Giddens explored the relationship between structure and agency, through his approach to structuration (1984), in later writing he presents the individual as powerful and free of structural constraints. For Giddens a consequence of the rapid pace and scope of change is that tradition has been eroded and individuals have more space to construct their own identities. The self is seen as a reflexive project, for which individuals are responsible. We are, not what we are, but what we make of ourselves. (Giddens, 1995: 75) It is precisely in respect of this move toward agency and disregard for the enduring influence of structural constraints that Archer took issue with Giddens’s individualistic approach and argued for a social realist position. Archer provides a succinct definition of reflexivity, even though it begs the question as to what is meant by ‘normal’: Reflexivity is the regular exercise of the mental ability, shared by all normal people, to consider themselves in relation to their (social) contexts and vice versa. (Archer, 2007: 4) It is our capacity to think, to conduct an internal conversation in relation to structure, and our courses of action that mediates between structural circumstances and the ways in which people act in the world. The emphasis is placed on reflexivity precisely because it mediates between structural properties and social actions. The subjective powers of reflexivity mediate the role that objective structural or cultural powers play in influencing social action and are thus indispensable to explaining social outcomes. (Archer, 2007: 5) Reflexivity is a form of internal conversation in the mind that is explicitly linked to Dewey’s approach to thinking and reflection (Archer, 2007: 40–41). This is a very interesting approach from a learning perspective, as 360

Sociology and learning

it places a Deweyian sense of reflection and thinking between what people come to know about the world, how they make sense of it and how they come to act within it. Structures and situations, circumstances, influence the concerns that people have. There is a link between what Mills (1959) refers to as public issues that are not of our choosing and our private concerns. There is no cause and effect, people do not respond to events in a uniform and infallible fashion, but there are situations with which people reflexively engage to select projects over their life-course that ultimately influence their actions and practices. Reflexivity is a means by which people transform their experiences acquired, directly and indirectly, and translate them into action, practices and new forms of knowledge. It therefore closely parallels how we learn and navigate our way through our world.

The phenomenon of learning Learning is elemental and universal, an ontological condition of ‘being in the world’. It can be considered as a condition with two aspects – getting through the day and living a worthwhile life. Learning is essential to being, in terms of knowing what to do and how to act, both in ordinary routine circumstances and when faced with new situations. It has both unreflective (‘second nature’) and reflective (deliberate) characteristics. Learning is also expansive of being, a projective becoming through self-critical, contemplative and reflexive engagement with practices and values other than the familiar. It entails judgment and understanding beyond the immediate and practical. Learning is not a singular phenomenon – practices, processes, meanings, values, purposes, histories and social conditions are all implicated. It is hardly surprising therefore, that any social theory of learning would have a hard time explaining what it is that is being theorized. There is no phenomenological ‘unity’ to learning as such; it is simultaneously event, process, purpose, result. Any theory of learning would therefore have to choose what aspects of the phenomenon to concentrate on, and the history of the discipline shows both a tendency to over-theorization and perhaps mis-theorization, where there is insufficient phenomenological understanding of its elemental and universal characteristics as a ‘practice of being’.

How do people learn naturally? Sociologists and psychologists have struggled to understand the phenomenology of ‘learning’. Their explanatory models have typified learning as a complex process and have produced a mass of apparently supportable evidence, through selective measurements and indicators from captive groups in formal institutional settings. This is perhaps unsurprising given the ease of access to population data sets, institutional records and researchable subjects (especially students in classroom or training settings and their teachers). This has resulted in a discounting of learning in its universal, informal everyday contexts. Given that we are taking a learning approach to the understanding of learning sociologically, we need to understand learning as a universal primal phenomenon in its unremarkable and non-institutional contexts. We want to assert that any and every learning has practice and participation at its heart, and that it requires a number of conditions which, when present, are necessary and sufficient for learning to occur. We also want to re-establish learning as essential to the ontological status of being-in-the-world, both in the mundane sense of just ‘getting through the day’ and in terms of the value-laden project of living a worthwhile life. Essential to being-in-the-world is learning from and contributing to that world. Planned learning, i.e. that which is subject to curricula and formal institutional rules, is only one aspect, perhaps even only a minor aspect, of learning in this important sense: we are called to be ‘educated’ as a matter of public policy; we are called to ‘learning’ as a matter of being. The phenomenological essence of learning is that it is conversational, interrogative, representational, open-ended, engaging, and sedimented (as stores of knowledge). 361

Martin Dyke and Ian Bryant

The conditions for learning are those that entail practices of being-in-the-world, practices in effect of continual ‘becoming’. They require ‘engagement’, both with the world and with the self as a reflexive being, and include the following:  Knowing. As making sense of the world. The world accounts for itself, including scientific, creative, humanistic and historical accounts of how the world ‘works’ in terms of different horizons of understanding, and encompasses the relating of experiences of discovery, etc. It is important to note at this point that the self as a learner is continually engaged in having internal conversations in which she/he is simultaneously teller and audience. Our experiences are, in principle, relatable to others and to ourselves. Knowing involves a level of Scripting. This refers to processes for producing and securing knowledge in transmissible form. We ‘learn’ the means to do this (reading, writing). Through text, recorded images, artifacts and other recoverable traces – without records of the learning efforts of others – knowledge remains unsedimented, requires continual renewal and is vulnerable to extinction.  Reflection. Our biographies provide us with a unique ‘constellation of concerns’ (Archer, 2000: 190) by which we as reflective human beings come to make sense of the world. All accounts about the world, ranging from the ones we tell ourselves to those that are a matter of public record, are open in principle to challenge and to thinking, reflection and counter-argument. Knowledge accumulates through interrogation and transformation of the taken-for-grantedness of previous accounts. Critique in the form of critical questioning is essential to the process by which we come to accept ‘better’ understanding of being and of the world.  Practice. We share Archer’s (2000) position that practice is pivotal, that learning involves learning from experience. Our meanings derive from our ‘doings’ in the world. This is the position that Dewey also takes in Experience and Nature, that our propositional knowledge derives from practice and its interplay between our natural and material world. At some level we practice first and give meaning later. At the same time, ‘learning of the rules’ of a game may be important to the presentation of ‘self’ and a projective practice of being in the world (Goffman, 1959). We practice, act and impact on the world before we become self-conscious of our acting and roles; experience and practice come before interpretation and meanings – before we learn the rules of any games. As Archer concluded, ‘Our concrete practices were accorded primacy in the emergence of our selfhood and these same practices were held to be pivotal to our knowledge of the world’ (2000: 318). We may have inner and outer lives.  Engagement/interaction: The above conditions can be satisfied within the self as a learner as a reflexive being. This fourth element entails interaction with others in the forms of learning about different ways of being in the world and different interpretative horizons (Gadamer, 1975). Learning is enhanced when it is expansive, involving engagement with difference, with others unlike ourselves. Such a comparative approach has been fundamental to the social sciences and is woven throughout canonical texts. Engagement is central to committed action in the service of change.  Risking. All learning represents a process with an uncertain promise. One never knows for sure how learning will work out. In addition to uncertainty, there are stakes to ‘being’ here, such as the credibility of the self and the possibility of getting things wrong. Also, as Foucault (in his work on powerknowledge formations) and Habermas (in his understanding of knowledge and human interests) remind us, it is the interests of all the parties to any teaching/learning transaction that are implicated – in short, who and what is to be trusted? We want to assert that, when these practice conditions for ‘being’ are present, then learning will be optimized and that, conversely, without these conditions, education is impoverished. Without the 362

Sociology and learning

phenomenal conditions, no subject discipline (whether sociology, psychology, history or philosophy) can place learning or education as its explanatory object. Put another way, we need a phenomenological foundation of learning for any possible ‘social science’ of learning, rather than needing such a ‘science’ as a foundation for learning. Given our understanding of the elemental nature of learning as a necessary accompaniment to being-in-the-world, we want here to make the point that, for each individual, ‘being’ is played out differently in each case. Each person has an autobiographical uniqueness and knows tacitly that she/he is both constant and changing as a ‘self’. At any given time we can tell a unique story from which others (listeners, readers) can learn from us. Our first-hand experiences become their second-hand experiences. Much of what we know is second-hand and involves a recognition of the authority of the ‘other’ to tell of her/his own being, but to have that telling open to an alternative evaluation or challenge in the light of changing experiences. An example would be that of knowing one’s own parents in a different way after becoming a parent oneself – one ‘learns’ to be a parent in a largely unremarkable way and through personally being able to compare different generational practices. A ‘life-course’ is both something that happens and one that (especially in education) is steered within situational constraints. All life-courses are, as it were, ‘semi-open’ to both opportunity and risk. Life-course learning is both a singular problematic and a universal phenomenon (i.e. regardless of gender, or ethnic or other considerations). Learning has an inescapably temporal nature which is often missed by conventional socio-psychological models.

Dualistic misconceptions about learning Dualisms provide useful analytical tools. A dualistic conception is at the heart of the structure-agency dilemma. Dualisms also characterize the world of education. Consider the dualisms shown in Table 37.1, which constitute educators’ understandings of what learning is ‘really’ about. They are the power-knowledge formations of practitioners having particular interests in educational policy-making, teaching, management and evaluation. These dualisms saturate the everyday world of educational practitioners. They are formulated and familiarized within their own vocabularies of practice and are evident in informing institutional motivations and characteristics (Mills, 1940), so that different levels and types of education/training actually ‘feel’ different (e.g. further education compared to the university sector, private schools and state schools, liberal arts and engineering establishments, etc.). In forming the everyday conversational worlds of practitioners, they sustain the dispositional realities of practice as ‘truths’ that are hermetically sealed and self-affirming – what ‘everybody knows’. But when we unpack this performative, dualistic discourse, we can clear away some misunderstandings and elisions about ‘learning’.

Table 37.1 Dualisms about learning Dualism

Type

Formal v. informal Vocational v. non-vocational Accredited v. non-accredited Public v. private Didactic v. interactive Cost v. benefit Summative v. Formative

Form Purpose Recognition Interest Method Valuation Assessment

363

Martin Dyke and Ian Bryant

A phenomenological approach to learning is useful. Here are a couple of examples:  Consider for a moment ‘learning’ in two of its prepositional forms – ‘learning to’ and ‘learning about’. The former concerns procedural practice and offers the prospect of successful practice; it addresses ability to do. This can be taught or trained for in arranged institutional contexts. It is applicative, having performance and purpose as its rationale. It is sequential (one learns to do x before one can learn to do y) and curricular in character, having specific content. The sequence and content of learning allows it to be organized and systematically codified and delivered in educational and training institutions. The latter is more nebulous and contingent; it may be considered as a growing awareness that naturally and necessarily accompanies different modes of being in the world. It is not expressly performative or directive towards some identifiable end. An example may make the prepositional distinctions clearer. One ‘learns to’ become a banker by taking courses in banking, finance, accountancy etc. One ‘learns about’ the perfidy of reckless investment bankers in a different, non-institutional way, through becoming directly or indirectly aware of certain practices and consequences for oneself and/or others. On the one hand, one learns theories and practices of money management; on the other, one learns what it means to be perpetrator and victim. ‘Meanings’ come to us as non-instructed understandings (subject of course to critique and revision); they are slippery, resist codification and formal transmission (teaching).  There is confusion about what ought to characterize a ‘learning society’. We do not know the answer to this, save to say that it can (should?) embrace learning for personal occupational/career purposes; learning for trans-personal economic purposes; learning for its own sake; and learning for critical engagement. Policy, resources and practice promote the former two senses of learning, but not the latter two. The phrases ‘learning for its own sake’ or ‘learning for critical engagement’ can be understood as counter-discursive to learning for occupational, career development purposes or trans-personal economic purposes (e.g. national competitiveness). The fate of so-called liberal and radical education attests to the power of the latter over the former, being constructed either as an (un-fundable) private good in times of limited public resources, or dangerously irresponsible within the prevailing hegemony. The latter two senses are constructed in mainstream educational discourse as residual or troublesome in a global age of homo economicus. The position of ‘liberal’ or ‘radical’ education rests on a counterhegemonic weakness, but also a phenomenological misunderstanding. There is no such thing as ‘learning for its own sake’, devoid of purpose. The phrase suggests that learning is its own objective, as if it were hermetically sealed. Learning always serves purposes beyond itself, minimally the self as a learner, as an agent in and interpreter of the world. It is an essential accompaniment to the stasis and the dynamics of ‘being’.

Conclusions We have argued for putting learning as a practice at the heart of being. At one level, ways of being are largely unconscious dispositions that we inhabit. Unreflectively, this is the world of the familiar, the ordinary, the routine and the tacit. It does not draw attention to itself. It is a world that works for us without effort. It is one to which we are accustomed. At another level, through our internal conversations, our reflexivity, we engage with different forms of knowledge about our world. We reflectively evaluate our position in the world and this in turn influences how we act within it. It is such reflexivity that mediates between knowledge and practice in learning and offers an explanatory framework for understanding the relationship between structure and agency. It is human learning that is the difference between structural reproduction and social change. An understanding of learning and reflexivity has the potential to unlock the theoretical dilemma between approaches that emphasize structural control and those that emphasize human agency. The approach is pithily summarized as ‘Men make their own history, but they do not make it as they please; 364

Sociology and learning

they do not make it under self-selected circumstances, but under circumstances existing already, given and transmitted from the past’ (Marx, 1885: 96). Anything new represents a challenge to learning. ‘What are we to make of (things that are new)?’ is a question that we routinely ask. Two general dispositions within the everyday world are possible: a) to treat the new or different as unfamiliar – for example as ‘other’ or ‘threat’ or, b) to treat the new as opportunity, enlightenment or wonder. Change calls forth dispositions out of existing social circumstances as the result of negative or positive connotations. We learn eventually, for example, whether change is a good or a bad thing for us or has neutral consequences. Since we cannot, simply as a practical matter, simultaneously attend to or make sense of all the changing events in our world we must, most of the time, choose to bracket out or disregard elements of the world. Our horizons are necessarily restricted. Learning is contingently selective. At the same time we are necessarily, as an inescapable condition of being in a dynamic world, ignorant of large parts of it. Although ignorance is understood to mean something negative in educational circles, it is a necessary condition for getting on with one’s life. It is a condition of critical reflectivity and taking charge of those local and personal aspects of the world over which we can have power. The force of learning is always felt locally and personally and its consequences are unlikely to be the same for any two individuals. We recognize that there are such phenomena as collective learning and social aspects to learning, but learning is only ever carried by and through individuals. Disregarding most of the world in our daily practices in order to concentrate on the ‘ready to hand’ (Gadamer, 1975) is required for discrimination in where to put one’s learning efforts, what is important from what is inessential to being. The social sciences nurture learning through engagement with others. Mills’s The Sociological Imagination (1959) or Bauman and May’s sociological eye (2001) both note the benefits of an expansive experience where learners actively engage with difference and broaden experience, engage with the wider social world and cultures different from our own. This is a theme that goes to the heart of the subject and its origins in the eighteenth-century Enlightenment, which championed learning from other cultures. As Porter argued ‘The philosophies mocked narrow minded nationalism along with all other kinds of parochial prejudice’ (1990: 51). Adam Smith’s Theory of Moral Sentiments (1759) noted the benefits of consulting the impartial spectator as means of gaining a comparative view of ethics. These are themes that run throughout classical sociological approaches to other cultures, such as those of Durkheim (1976) and Mauss (1972): and can be found in more recent expressions in Gadamer’s fusion of horizons (Gadamer, 1975) or the postmodern ethic of Bauman (1993). The process of learning is projective and expansive; it imagines a future state of affairs in which the agent as a ‘knower’ is more informed and thus better enabled. In coming to know more about the world as individuals, we contribute naturally to the stores of knowledge available to society. That knowledge is sedimented as both resource and constraint for future generations. It is both an aid and impediment to understanding and navigating the world. The social sciences nurture expansive learning on the one hand; on the other, an understanding of learning as the practice of being and becoming helps us comprehend key relationships in the social sciences, such as that between structure and action.

References Archer, M. S. (2000). Being human: the problem of agency. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ——(2007). Making our way through the world: human reflexivity and social mobility. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ——(2010). Morphogenesis versus structuration: on combining structure and action, British Journal of Sociology Vol. 61 January: pp. 225–52. Bauman, Z. (1989). Modernity and the Holocaust. Cambridge: Polity. ——(1993). Postmodern ethics. Oxford: Blackwell. ——(2010). The sociologist influencing Labour’s new generation, interview in Guardian newspaper 3rd November 2010 with Raneep Ramesh. Available online at: www.guardian.co.uk/society/2010/nov/03/zygmunt-bauman-ed-milibandlabour. 365

Martin Dyke and Ian Bryant

Bauman, Z. and T. May (2001). Thinking sociologically. Oxford: Blackwell Publishers. Beilharz, P. (2000). Zygmunt Bauman: dialectic of modernity. London: Sage. Durkheim, E. (1976). The elementary forms of the religious life. London: George Allen & Unwin. Dyke, M. (2006). The role of the ‘other’ in reflection, knowledge formation and action in a late modernity, International Journal of Lifelong Education 25(2): 105–23. Gadamer, H.-G. (1975). Truth and method. London: Sheed & Ward. Giddens, A. (1984). The constitution of society: outline of the theory of structuration. Cambridge: Polity. ——(1995). Modernity and self-identity. Cambridge: Polity. ——(1997). Sociology. Cambridge: Polity. Goffman, E. (1959). The presentation of self in everyday life. Harmondsworth: Penguin (1969 ed.) Jarvis, P. (1999). The practitioner-researcher: developing theory from practice. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Lave, J. and E. Wenger (1991). Situated learning: legitimate peripheral participation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Marx, K. (1885). The eighteenth brumaire of Louise Bonaparte. In K. Marx and F. Engels, Selected works. London: Lawrence Wishart. Mauss, M. (1972). A general theory of magic, London: Routledge. Mills, C. W. (1940). Situated actions and vocabularies of motive, American Sociological Review Vol. 5 December 1940. ——(1959). The sociological imagination. New York: Oxford University Press. Nagel, T. (1986). The view from nowhere. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Polanyi, M. (1958). Personal knowledge. Towards a post-critical philosophy, pp. xiv, 428. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Porter, R. (1990). The Enlightenment. Basingstoke: Macmillan Education. Scheffler, I. (1965). Conditions of knowledge: an introduction to epistemology and education. [S.l.], Scott Foresman and Company. Schilling, G. (1993). Forbes cited in Wiki Quote: http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/John_Maynard_Keynes (accessed 22nd December 2010). Smith, A. (1759). Theory of moral sentiments. Usher, R. (1985). Beyond the anecdotal: adult learning and the use of experience, Studies in the Education of Adults, 17: 59–74. Young, M. F. D. (2008). Bringing knowledge back in: from social constructivism to social realism in the sociology of education. London and New York: Routledge.

366

38 Anthropology and learning Peggy Froerer

It is often said that learning, as an aspect of knowledge acquisition and transmission, is at the very core of the anthropological discipline and the concept of culture (Friedman-Hansen, 1982: 189; Lave, 1982). While specific anthropological attention to learning is relatively recent, anthropology’s broader concern with the ways in which individuals acquire the skills, practices, values and beliefs that enable them to become productive participants in their society takes many forms and dates back to the early stages of the discipline. Anthropological theories on learning are as varied as the discipline itself, encompassing perspectives from evolutionary and biological anthropology (Bock, 2010; Flinn and Ward, 2005; McElreath, 2004; Leigh, 2001), linguistics and archeology (Locke and Bogin, 2006; King, 1999; Ochs, 1998; Schieffelin and Ochs, 1986; Crown, 2010, 2007), and socio-cultural anthropology (Lave and Wenger, 1991; Comitas and Dolgin, 1978; Wolcott, 1982). While these sub-disciplines bring a range of theoretical conceptualizations to the issue of learning, they also share common assumptions about anthropology’s approach to learning. These commonalities will be considered in the final section of this chapter. This chapter will focus on the perspective from cultural and social anthropology, whose initial engagement with the issue of learning has been hugely influenced by research in psychology. A brief overview of the theoretical trends and approaches that have informed and shaped anthropology’s interest in learning will be followed by an examination of some of the key issues and concerns that underpin anthropology’s contemporary engagement with the issue of learning.

Anthropology and learning: a brief background One of the most important theoretical trends that has informed contemporary anthropological theories of learning is the ‘developmental approach’. Based on the idea of natural growth, the most influential figure in the construction of this model of learning and cognitive development is Jean Piaget (1926, 1998), who was concerned with the growth of intelligence and children’s cognitive ability to learn and more accurately render the world around them. In brief, this theory revolved around the emergence and acquisition of mental structures or ideas of how one perceives and organizes knowledge about the world around them. In Piaget’s work, child development is characterized by a series of distinct, predetermined stages, through which children progress until they achieve adult rationality. Of interest to anthropologists was Piaget’s use of detailed observations to demonstrate that children’s ideas were fundamentally different from adults’: instead 367

Peggy Froerer

of being passive recipients of adults’ ideas, children were actively involved in constituting their own conceptions (see Toren, 1999a). But Piaget also assumed that the processes of cognitive development were universal, and that children from all cultural groups and societies followed identical stages of development. He was not interested in the cultural variations that informed cognitive development and gave little consideration to children’s social life and experiences, to the social or cultural context, or to the distinctions that these reveal in respect of the learning process. While anthropologists have appreciated the recognition given to children’s active role in the learning process, they have been very critical of the assumption of universality, and of the ways in which cultural variation and social context were given little attention. In spite of such criticisms, however, this model of learning and development has had tremendous influence on anthropology’s initial forays into the issue of learning. Around the same time that Piaget’s developmental stage theory was becoming increasingly influential in the 1930s, the American ‘culture and personality school’ (which is considered by some to be less a ‘school’ than a ‘movement’) was gaining prominence. Its origins are associated with the American linguist and anthropologist Edward Sapir: who worked in the first half of the twentieth century and argued that ‘the more fully one tries to understand a culture, the more it seems to take on the characteristics of a personality organisation’ (1985 [1927]: 594). This school of thought, best represented by the work of anthropologists such as Margaret Mead (1928) and Ruth Benedict (1934): was concerned with understanding the role that culture played in psychological development and emotional patterns. Mead, who was also influenced by Piaget’s stage theory, came to be the chief representative of the ‘culture and personality school’. While her extensive body of work revolved around teaching and child rearing more than learning, Mead was perhaps the first anthropologist to acknowledge the importance of learning as a point of anthropological enquiry into the transmission and continuity of dominant cultural forms. Owing to charges of psychological reductionism, inadequate ethnography and methodological demands that were impossible to achieve, the culture and personality school did not last much beyond the 1950s, although it did lay the basis for research into the sub-field of ‘psychological anthropology’. This school also made important contributions to the broader discipline of anthropology, including a critique of universal theories about child development and learning and, more broadly, the importance that anthropology can bring to the understanding of psychological development. This school, finally, contributed to the burgeoning sub-field of cognitive anthropology, a recognized sub-discipline within anthropology that, since the 1950s, has focused on the relationship between human culture and thought, and that is concerned with cognitive organization of material phenomena and experience. This important sub-field uses methods and theories from the cognitive sciences to explain patterns of knowledge transmission, cultural innovation, and shared knowledge over time. Unsurprisingly, anthropology’s engagement with the cognitive sciences, particularly with respect to the subject of learning, owes much to Jean Piaget’s theory of universal stages of cognitive and intellectual development. Critical of Piaget’s universalizing assumptions and inherent Western bias, anthropologists began to look at children’s cognitive development in non-Western settings (Cole et al., 1971, Cole and Scribner, 1974; Dasen, 1977). Such research found, among other things, that children in non-Western societies performed less well on formalized cognitive tasks than those in urban, Westernized environments. Explanations for these findings included unfamiliarity with test methods, inferior formal educational levels and inexperience with the discourse associated with formal education (Rogoff, Gauvain and Ellis, 1984; Lave, 1988; Munroe and Gauvain, 2010). While children in non-Western settings performed poorly in formally organized and abstracted cognitive tasks (the sort of calculations carried out in a school mathematics exam), their cognitive performance was found to be very high when measured in the context of their everyday experiences and activities (such as street vending, which requires complicated abilities to measure quantities, weights, calculate change, etc.). One of the important outcomes of this kind of research was thus the recognition that cognitive performance is fundamentally informed by the social context: children in both Western and non-Western 368

Anthropology and learning

societies demonstrated high levels of cognitive functioning, but this functioning is evident when measured in the context of the activities and skills that were practised and valued in the culture (see Munroe and Gauvain, 2010: 47). These studies also highlighted several other important features that are critical for anthropology’s substantive engagement with learning, including the need for a more explicit understanding of the learning process, the recognition of the impact of different cultural practices and values on learning, and an acknowledgment of the importance of comparative, cross-cultural studies. Finally, these studies reminded researchers of the different ways that formal school education can impact upon cognitive development and the learning process. Socio-cultural anthropologists, influenced by the culture and personality framework up to and beyond the 1950s, retained a conventional view of socialization and the acquisition of culture as a moulding process carried out by adults. Here, socialization can be defined as the process by which the cultural values, beliefs, knowledge and skills necessary for the performance of social roles are inculcated and replicated in successive generations. It is widely recognized to be an important learning process that commences shortly after birth and carries on throughout the life cycle. This notion continues to be used by anthropologists and others within the social and human sciences to describe the process by which children (and adults) learn the appropriate behaviour and skills that will enable them to participate productively as a functioning member of society. Numerous ethnographic accounts of how children acquire cultural knowledge ‘through socialization practices’ began to appear from the 1930s onward (Dennis, 1940; Firth, 1936; Fortes, 1970; Raum, 1967 [1940]; Richards, 1956; Whiting, 1941; etc.). One of the more well-known studies on socialization was spearheaded in the mid-1950s by John and Beatrice Whiting. Focusing on six different cultural settings, this project provided detailed ethnographic accounts of socialization practices and child rearing, and highlighted the varied social contexts in which learning takes place (Whiting, 1963; Whiting and Child, 1953, Whiting and Whiting, 1975). Learning wasn’t the specific focus of these ethnographies, and indeed little attention was given to the actual learning process itself, apart from the recognition that socialization and child-rearing practices led to appropriately socialized adults. Moreover, in these and classic socialization accounts that continue to be published within anthropology, it is assumed that what children learn are the categories and behaviours that are manifested in adult behaviour. In other words, ‘learning’ is not understood to entail any creative contribution, negotiation or transformation of the ideas encountered. Rather, the ideas and practices of the older generation are by implication transmitted unchanged to the younger generation. The process of socialization, then, is an essentially passive process, where the child is treated as the passive recipient of adult knowledge, rather than being thought of as actively involved in the process of making sense of adult ideas. Even in contemporary anthropological writing, socialization remains one of the dominant assumptions about how children learn: children, it is assumed, will eventually become what adults mould them to be. This is due in part to taken-for-granted assumptions that revolve around processes of ‘socialization’, whereby culturally appropriate roles and norms, bestowed upon passive, malleable children, are automatically replicated in successive generations. As Toren (1993: 461) has noted, anthropologists have regularly assumed that ‘the endpoint of socialisation is known’, and that the study of children therefore has no bearing on our analysis of the practices and beliefs that inform largely adult cultures and social relations (cf. Morton, 1996: 9; Reynolds, 1989: 1–4; Toren, 1990, 1999b). Little attention, in other words, is given to the differences or kinds of understanding that children may acquire themselves about who they are vis-à-vis others and the world they live in. Recent trends within anthropology, however, not only suggest that children do not necessarily replicate the ideas of adults, but that children can be understood as social actors whose perspectives are different from adults’, and who come to represent cultural information in their own way as they learn and make sense of the world (cf. Hirschfeld, 2002: 615). In spite of its criticisms, in other words, the concept of socialization and classic socialization studies remain important predecessors for an anthropology of learning. 369

Peggy Froerer

Indeed, contemporary work on the issue of how children become competent members of their culture has adapted an ‘interactive’ view of socialization, whereby children are seen to be active participants in the process of socialization as they contribute to and even transform this process (see Jung, 2007; Corbett, 2007; Olwig and Gulløv, 2003; Göncü, 1999; James and Prout, 1990). This growing recognition within anthropology that children must be understood as active participants in their own processes of learning has been influenced, in part, by a more explicitly cognitive developmental orientation that began to appear in anthropological studies of socialization during the 1970s. Once again influenced by research in psychology, the primary contribution here has been the work by Lev Vygotsky (1978). Writing in the 1920s and early 1930s, Vygotsky was a Russian psychologist whose work did not become translated or known outside Eastern Europe until the 1970s, after which it has had a huge impact on social and developmental theories of learning – including those within anthropology. Vygotsky was particularly interested in how child development and learning was informed by the role of culture and social interaction with significant people in a child’s life (particularly parents). Anthropologists engaged with processes of learning draw particularly on one of his most famous theories, the zone of proximal development (ZPD), defined as the distance between what a child or learner has already mastered (the ‘actual developmental level as determined by independent problem solving’) and what he or she can achieve when provided with educational support (Vygotsky, 1978: 86). Within the concept of the zone of proximal development, social interaction is thus the basis for cognitive growth and development. The basis for the attraction of Vygotsky’s theories for the anthropologist of learning, which continues today, is twofold: the fact that learning is acknowledged to be fundamentally social and the way in which learning takes place gradually, in familiar contexts.

Current anthropological perspectives on anthropology and learning As evidenced by this brief historical foray, anthropology’s interest and theoretical engagement with learning owes much to other disciplines, especially to psychology. It has only been since the 1970s–80s that anthropology began to pay dedicated attention to learning and the actual processes by which cultural knowledge, skills and beliefs, values and ideologies were understood, interpreted, and transformed by children and other learners. Current anthropological research that considers processes of learning has attempted to engage more substantively to the perspective of the learner and can be seen in a range of different work (see, for example, Willis, 1978; Morton, 1996; Foley, 1994; Toren, 1999b, 1990; Jung, 2007; Corbett, 2007; Lancy, Bock and Gaskins, 2010). Since becoming a more dedicated object of enquiry, several key assumptions have emerged to distinguish anthropological perspectives on learning from other disciplines. I consider three of these assumptions below. The first of these is that learning is considered to be fundamentally social. While the physical, neurological and cognitive capacities for learning are understood to be universal and the result of natural selection, it is largely recognized by anthropologists that the way in which these capacities develop to inform processes of learning takes place through interaction with cultural, social and environmental contexts and experiences (see Bock, 2010). Our physical and cognitive development, particularly in respect to our ability to learn, depends on cultural influence and social interaction. In other words, learning is fundamentally embedded in social processes that may not formally or obviously be geared toward learning. Within sociocultural anthropology, this kind of learning is often referred to by the categories ‘informal’ or ‘non-formal’ learning, which can be juxtaposed to the category of ‘formal’ learning. Such categories form a well-known dichotomy that continues to underpin the anthropology of learning. The assumptions that underlie this dichotomy have been a point of implicit criticism within anthropology since at least the 1930s–40s and the ‘culture and personality’ school (e.g. Firth, 1936, Fortes, 1970, Mead, 1928), and have been explicitly criticized within the anthropology of education (Akinnaso, 1992; Lave, 1982; Strauss, 1984) for being too broadly conceived, for propagating a false distinction, and for being 370

Anthropology and learning

ethnocentric. The characteristics that continue to drive these assumptions commonly correspond with the style and characteristics associated with school-based learning that were developed in and then exported from the ‘industrializing West’ (cf. Strauss, 1984: 195). With respect to ‘formal’ learning, these include ideas of the ‘deliberate’, ‘decontextualized’ form of education that is removed from the daily routine or familiar context and transmitted by trained authorities appointed by the wider social group. ‘Informal learning’ processes, in contrast, are assumed to occur in closed social networks (e.g. the kin group), embedded in the context of everyday activities, transmitted by members of the kin group and acquired through observation and imitation (cf. Akinnaso, 1992; Lave, 1982; Strauss, 1984; Pelissier, 1991: 88): the very sort detailed in the kind of early socialization studies noted above. Such forms of learning are also frequently correlated with different kinds of societies – ‘industrialized’ vs ‘non-industrialized, ‘developed’ vs. ‘developing’, ‘literate’ vs. ‘non-literate’, etc. – and give rise to assumptions about different forms of knowledge – practical or embodied vs abstract, expert or specialized. The perpetuation of this dichotomy has not been helped by the kind of societies that have traditionally attracted the most attention from sociocultural anthropologists, which tend to be those that do not possess, or have only recently come to possess, formal educational institutions and practices (e.g. schools). Lave and Wenger’s (1991) seminal work on ‘situated learning’, where learning is understood as a process that takes place in relation to participation and practice with others in different social contexts, has been the most successful in moving theories of learning beyond this traditional dichotomy. However, this problematic distinction remains very much in use throughout much of mainstream socio-cultural anthropology. A second key assumption shared by anthropologists concerns the issue of cross-cultural variation. While individual human ability to learn is universal, there is enormous variation across cultures in respect to all aspects of the learning process, including:  The specific kind of knowledge that is learned and transmitted: As anthropologists have observed throughout the history of the discipline, there is considerable variation within and between cultures’ belief and value systems, in their political, economic and cultural institutions, and in their social practices and structures. This is equally true of the kind of knowledge, skills and beliefs that are transmitted and learned within any given culture or society. This variation is also affected by how (and by whom) knowledge is understood, defined and valued within any specific culture.  The context and setting in which learning takes place: As noted above, the dominant distinction within anthropology with respect to the learning process continues to be underpinned by the ‘formal’ / ‘informal’ dichotomy. This dichotomy extends to the setting in which learning takes place, which can vary from formal contexts where deliberate, intentional instruction occurs, to more informal settings, where learning takes place incidentally or as a byproduct of another activity. Whereas the classic socialization studies mentioned earlier in this chapter focused on the latter type of setting (the home, the family, the village, the street), it is educational institutions (namely, schools) that are by far the most common setting in which formal, intentional learning is assumed to take place. Anthropological research into school education, particularly since the anthropology of education emerged as a sub-field in the 1950s (Spindler and Spindler, 2000), has contributed a great deal to our knowledge of the different ways in which learning is organized, practised and conceptualized across different contexts (see Moore, 2010).  The category of learner: Some of the variables that influence the issue of who gets to learn what may include gender, economic wealth and social status. Take gender, for example. Anthropologists have often found that different kinds of knowledge and skills, along with access to different kinds of learning processes, are determined or restricted by gender (Montgomery, 2010). Anthropological studies in both ‘traditional’, agrarian societies and more ‘modern’, industrialized societies reveal that the kind of learning in which girls and boys engage is often differentiated from early childhood. Girls will engage in learning processes and activities that are associated with the household and domestic space, and will be 371

Peggy Froerer

taught by their mothers or other female members of their kin group or community; boys will increasingly engage in learning activities that take place outside the house or village, alongside their fathers or male relatives. Anthropologists have also noted the pattern of how girls are generally expected to learn and assume greater responsibilities related to the reproduction of the household at a much earlier age than boys, who spend more of their time engaged in playing. Girls, finally, are more apt to be withdrawn from formal learning opportunities (e.g. formal schooling) at an earlier age than boys. Equally, anthropologists have often noted the advantages that those of higher social and economic status have in respect of existing learning opportunities.  The agents of knowledge transmission: The individuals through whom (or processes by which) learning takes place and knowledge is transmitted vary widely across cultures. Those who may be categorized as ‘teacher’ are often, but not always, adults or elders. But agents of transmission can also be peers, siblings or age-mates. By the same token, the period or age during the lifecycle in which learning takes place, or the period of life when certain forms of knowledge is acquired, also varies widely. For example, anthropologists have broadly found that, outside industrialized societies, the capacities for infants to learn, and indeed ideas about the abilities of infants to learn, are ignored. Instead, infants are viewed as not ‘ready’ to learn (Lancy and Grove, 2010: 147), or lacking the ability or maturity ‘to know’. Within the anthropological record, in other words, it is most common to find that learners occupy the position of ‘child’ or youth’ – categories that also vary cross-culturally. But they can also be adults, or individuals who occupy a more senior position or status within society. What anthropologists do agree upon is that – whether adult to child, elder to youth, senior to junior, peer to peer – knowledge is transmitted by those ‘who know’ to those ‘not in the know’: by the expert to the novice. A third assumption shared by different anthropological perspectives on learning relates to the way in which the learning process takes place. Learning through observation and participation in the course of everyday life is documented in virtually every ethnography produced since the inception of the discipline, and is recognized by anthropologists (along with other theorists of learning) to be a universal learning strategy during childhood and into adulthood (Gaskins and Paradise, 2010: 85; Mead, 1962; Bandura, 1977; Lave and Wenger, 1991). Such learning can be organized around ‘intentional’ or deliberate, instructional activities involving directive teaching – of the sort commonly found in school educational settings. But such learning is often ‘unintentional’: instead of taking place through actual instruction or teaching, learning is a byproduct of the child or person’s participation in other activities that are embedded in everyday life. It is partly because learning through observation involves unintentional learning that it is often difficult to identify or separate out from other activities or contexts like play or work (see Chick, 2010). The kind of learning and educational processes described in early socialization studies in ‘traditional’ societies invariably noted how learning in the context of everyday activities was geared around observation. Most importantly, however, learning through observation is socially situated and culturally varied. Some cultures, for example, provide formal settings and opportunities for learning through observation, and rely more formally on this kind of learning as a means of cultural transmission (Chick, 2010: 86). The formal school setting is one such example; initiation ceremonies and rites is another. Learning through observation generally entails some form of participation or active engagement in the learning process. In sum, anthropology’s attention to learning since the 1930s has been broadly informed by early studies of child rearing, socialization and child development. Many of these early studies depicted children as passive recipients of cultural knowledge, rather than as active participants in their own learning processes. As Wolcott (1982: 83) has observed, it is perhaps understandable that anthropologists have shown more interest in what transmitters try to transmit than in how and what learners are attempting to learn, given that the former lends itself more easily to the anthropologist’s traditional task of observation and description. Part of the reluctance within anthropology to devote its attention to such processes can also be attributed to the traditional (but outdated) discourse that, as anthropological concerns should remain at the 372

Anthropology and learning

level of group behaviour, they should leave learning – which was assumed to be fundamentally individual – to other disciplines, namely psychology (cf. Wolcott, 1982; Spindler, 1959). Indeed, where the content of learning (sometimes called ‘culture’) has been left to anthropologists, the study of the learning process has been confined to psychologists (Lave, 1982: 185), whose focus has centered on the individual. More recently, anthropological interest in learning has been influenced by research on learning and development in the cognitive sciences and development psychology. In all of this research, the importance of cross-cultural, comparative analysis has been emphasized, and there are increasing calls for a more childfocused approach that would consider children’s perspectives on their own learning process. It is worth reiterating, finally, that anthropology’s perspectives on learning revolve around the idea that the learning process is a life-long, fundamentally social process that occurs in the context of participation in both everyday, informal activities and environments, and in formally organized settings that are specifically tailored to the objective of learning. It is a process that is informed by culturally derived notions about the kind of knowledge that is learnt and transmitted, the particular context or setting in which learning takes place, and the category of learner and the agent of knowledge transmission. Whilst learning through observation is considered to be universal, the resulting knowledge that is acquired through this kind of learning is culturally variable.

Bibliography Akinnaso, F. (1992) ‘Schooling, language and knowledge in literate and nonliterate societies’, Comparative Studies in Society and History, 34: 68–109. Bandura, A. (1977) Social learning theory. Oxford: Prentice Hall. Benedict, R. (1934) Patterns of culture. New York: The New American Library. Bock, J. (2010) ‘An evolutionary perspective on learning in social, cultural and ecological context’. In Lancy, D., Bock, J. and Gaskins, S. (eds) The anthropology of learning in childhood. Plymouth: AltaMira Press, pp. 11–34. Chick, G. (2010) ‘Work, play and learning’. In Lancy, D., Bock, J. and Gaskins, S. (eds) The anthropology of learning in childhood. Plymouth: AltaMira Press, pp. 119–43. Cole, M. and Scribner, S. (1974) Culture and thought. New York: Wiley. Cole, M., Gay, J., Glick, J. and Sharp, D. (1971) The cultural context of learning and thinking. New York: Basic Books. Comitas, L. and Dolgin, J. (1978) ‘On anthropology and education: retrospect and prospect’, Anthropology and Education Quarterly, Vol. 9 No. 3: 165-180. Corbett, M. (2007) Learning to leave. Halifax: Fernwood Publishing. Crown, P. (2010) ‘Learning in and from the past’. In Lancy, D., Bock, J. and Gaskins, S. (eds) The anthropology of learning in childhood. Plymouth: AltaMira Press, pp. 397–418. Dasen, P. (1977) Piagetian psychology: cross-cultural contributions. New York: Gardner. Dennis, W. (1940) The Hopi child. New York: Appleton-Century. Firth, R. (1936) We, the Tikopia. London: Allen and Unwin. Flinn, M. V. and Ward, C. V. (2005) ‘Ontogeny and evolution of the social child’. In Ellis, Bruce J. and Bjorklund, David F. (eds) Origins of the social mind: evolutionary psychology and child development. New York: Guilford, pp. 19–44. Foley, D. (1994) Learning capitalist culture: deep in the heart of the Tejas. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Fortes, M. (1970) ‘Social and psychological aspects of education in Taleland’. In J. Middleton (ed.), From Child to Adult, New York: Natural History Press, pp. 14–74. Friedman Hansen, J. (1982) ‘Toward an anthropology of learning’, Anthropology and Education Quarterly, Vol. 13 (2): 189–202. Gaskins, S. and Paradise, R. (2010) ‘Learning through observation in daily life’. In Lancy, D., Bock, J. and Gaskins, S. (eds) The anthropology of learning in childhood. Plymouth: AltaMira Press, pp. 85–117. Göncü, A. (ed.) (1999) Children’s Engagement in the World. Cambridge: CUP. Hirschfeld, L.A. (2002) ‘Why don’t anthropologists like children?’, American Anthropologist, 104: 611–27. James, A. and Prout, A. (1990) ‘Constructing and reconstructing childhood’, Contemporary Issues in the Sociological Study of Childhood. London: Routledge. Jung, H. J. (2007) Learning to be an individual: emotion and person in an American junior high school. Oxford: Peter Lang. King, B. (ed.) (1999) The origins of language: what nonhuman primates can tell us. Santa Fe, NM: SAR Press. Lancy, D., Bock, J. and Gaskins, S. (eds) (2010) The anthropology of learning in childhood. Plymouth: AltaMira Press. 373

Peggy Froerer

Lancy, D. and Grove, M. A. (2010) ‘The role of adults in children’s learning’. In Lancy, D., Bock, J. and Gaskins, S. (eds) The anthropology of learning in childhood. Plymouth: AltaMira Press, pp. 145–79. Lancy, D., Bock, J. and Gaskins, S. (2010) ‘Putting learning in context’. In Lancy, D., Bock, J. and Gaskins, S. (eds) The anthropology of learning in childhood. Plymouth: AltaMira Press, pp. 3–10. Lave, J. (1988) Cognition in practice: mind, mathematics and culture in everyday life. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ——(1982) ‘A comparative approach to educational forms and learning processes’, Anthropology and Education Quarterly, Vol. 13 (2): 181–87. Lave, J. and Wenger, E. (1991) Situated learning: legitimate peripheral participation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Leigh, S. R. (2001) ‘The evolution of human growth’, Evolutionary Anthropology, 10 (6): 223–36. Locke, J. L. and Bogin, B. (2006) ‘Language and life history: a new perspective on the development and evolution of human language’, Behavioral and Brain Sciences, 29 (3): 259–80. McElreath, R. (2004) ‘Social learning and the maintenance of cultural variation: an evolutionary model and data from East Africa’, American Anthropologist, 106 (2): 308–21. Mead, G. H. (1962) Mind, self and society. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Mead, M. (1928) Coming of age in Samoa. London: Penguin. ——(1930) Growing up in New Guinea. London: Penguin. Montgomery, H. (2010) ‘Learning gender roles’. In Lancy, D., Bock, J. and Gaskins, S. (eds) The anthropology of learning in childhood. Plymouth: AltaMira Press, pp. 287–305. Moore, L. (2010) ‘Learning in schools’. In Lancy, D., Bock, J. and Gaskins, S. (eds) The anthropology of learning in childhood. Plymouth: AltaMira Press, pp. 207–32. Morton, H. (1996) Becoming Tongan: an ethnography of childhood. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press. Munroe, R. L. and Gauvain, M. (2010) ‘The cross-cultural study of children’s learning and socialization: a short history’. In Lancy, D., Bock, J. and Gaskins, S. (eds) The anthropology of learning in childhood. Plymouth: AltaMira Press, pp. 35–63. Ochs, E. (1998) Culture and language development. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Olwig, K.F. and Gulløv, E. (eds) (2003) Children’s places: cross-cultural perspectives. London: Routledge. Pelissier, C. (1991) ‘The anthropology of teaching and learning’, Annual Review of Anthropology, 20: 75–95. Piaget, J. (1926) The language and thought of the child. London: Kegan Paul. ——(1998) The principles of genetic epistemology. London: Routledge. Raum, O. F. (1967 [1940]) Chaga childhood: a description of indigenous education in an East African tribe. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Reynolds, P. (1989) Childhood in crossroads: cognition and society in South Africa. Capetown: Eerdmans/David Philip. Richards, A. (1956) Chisungu: a girl’s initation among the Bemba. London: Faber and Faber. Rogoff, B., Gauvain, M. and Ellis, S.. (1984) ‘Development viewed in its cultural context’. In Bornstein, M., and Lamb, M. (eds) Developmental psychology: an advanced textbook. Hillsdale, N.J: Erlbaum, pp. 533–71. Sapir, E. (1985 [1927]) ‘The unconscious patterning of behaviour in society’ and ‘The emergence of the concept of personality in a study of cultures’. In Selected writings in language, culture, and personality, ed. D. G. Mandelbaum. Berkeley, UC Press. Schieffelin, B. and Ochs, E. (eds) (1986) Language socialization across cultures. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Spindler, G. (1959) The transmission of American culture. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Spindler, G. and Spindler, L. (2000) Fifty years of anthropology and education 1950–2000: a Spindler anthology. London: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Strauss, C. (1984) ‘Beyond “formal” versus “informal” education: uses of psychological theory in anthropological research’, Ethos, Vol. 12 (3): 195–222. Toren, C. (1999a) ‘Compassion for one another: constitution kinship as intentionality in Fiji’, Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute, 5 (2): 265-280. ——, C. (1999b) Mind, materiality and history. London: Routledge. ——(1993) ‘Making history: the significance of childhood cognition for a comparative anthropology of mind’, Man, (N.S.) 28(3): 461–78. ——(1990) Making sense of history: cognition as social process in Fiji. LSE monographs in social anthropology 61. London: Athlone Press. Vygotsky, L.S. (1978) Mind in society: the development of higher psychological processes. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Whiting, B. (ed.) (1963) Six cultures: studies of child rearing. New York: Wiley. Whiting, B. and Whiting, J. (1975) Children of six cultures. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. 374

Anthropology and learning

Whiting, J. (1941) Becoming a Kwoma. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Whiting, J. and Child, I. (1953) Child training and personality. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Willis, P. (1978) Learning to labour. Aldershot: Ashgate. Wolcott, H. F. (1982) ‘The anthropology of learning’, Anthropology and Education Quarterly, Vol. 13 (2): 83–108.

375

39 Learning in a complex world Mark Olssen

Central to representing the world as a complex dynamical system is to understand it as pertaining to an interdisciplinary approach to non-linear processes of change in both nature and society. Although complexity research takes its origins from its applications in physics, chemistry and mathematics and the ‘hard’ sciences, undergoing its formative development in the early and mid-twentieth century, during the second half of the twentieth century it has exerted an effect on the social sciences as well. Today, while there exists a multitude of different approaches and research centres, across the globe, complexity research is generating a quiet revolution in both the physical and social sciences. One interest in the approach is that it liberates philosophy and social science from the prison-house of a constraining scientific past based on linear determinism, reductionism and methodological individualism. Another is that it presents a view of science that supports the social sciences claims that history and culture are important. Arguably, it permits an approach in the social sciences and philosophy that heralds the rise of a ‘third-way’ between the stark individualism of liberal philosophy, and what many consider to be the (equally) oppressive sociologicism of ‘thick’ communitarianism.1 As an offshoot of this, complexivists also claim that their new approach reinstates, and possibly elevates, a previously marginalized cadre of scholars within the Western intellectual tradition.2 In this paper my purpose is to elaborate the normative possibilities of complexity theory, first for learning theory and education, and second for a futuristic global ethics which can ground the project of life in the present horizon. Before turning to these tasks it is necessary to introduce complexity theory in order to familiarize the reader with its common features.3

An introduction to the science of complexity The core distinctiveness of complexity approaches can be seen most easily in relation to traditional mechanical models of science in relation to the particular ontology they presuppose. This is because those who first generated complexity perspectives did so in opposition to the standard model. In Newton’s science, the world is represented deterministically as a mechanical system, with parts comprised of particles subject to the unchanging influence of universal laws, and reducible to mathematical codification. Newtonian mechanics posited closed systems, where time was ‘reversible’, which meant that it was irrelevant to the laws, which were represented as capable of moving forwards or backwards, i.e. independently of time. Because Newton’s model presumed a static, atemporal view of the universe, systems were assumed to be simple, i.e. not to be affected by outside events. Laws (for example, on temperature or the movement of the planets) 376

Learning in a complex world

were held to operate given constant conditions and not subject to interference. Hence, because the axioms of such systems were reducible to physics, once ascertained, the laws constituted a basis for prediction. Causation was represented in linear terms, much as Hume described the process, which requires that a trajectory is identified where a cause can be shown to precede the effect, where ‘contiguity’ operates in time, where a ‘necessary connection’ can be established.4 In a range of publications from the 1980s to 2004, Ilya Priogine has developed a complexity formulation relevant to both the physical and social sciences. In works such as Order Out of Chaos (1984), written with Irene Stengers: and Exploring Complexity (1989), written with Grégoire Nicolis: it is claimed that complexity theory offers a bold new and more accurate conception of science and the universe. They claim that complexity theory offers a more advanced formulation of science and is superseding standard traditional models, including quantum mechanics and relativity, which came to prominence at the beginning of the twentieth century as ‘corrections to classical mechanics’ (Nicolis and Prigogine, 1989: 5). Newtonian mechanics and quantum theory represented time as reversible, meaning that it was irrelevant to the adequacy of laws.5 Complexity theory builds on and intensifies the ‘temporal turn’ introduced by this ‘correction’. Prigogine places central importance on time as real and irreversible. With Newton, say Prigogine and Stengers (1984), the universe is represented as closed and predictable. Its fundamental laws are deterministic and reversible. Temporality is held to be irrelevant to the truth and operation of the laws. As Prigogine and Stengers (1984: 11) say, ‘time … is reduced to a parameter, and future and past become equivalent’. This is to say that basic laws, such as the law of the conservation of energy, or concerning the orbit of the planets, operate independently of time, and therefore, would have so operated, in the past, or in the future. To the extent that the mechanical model presumes systems are closed and artificial, time-reversibility applies as a core dimension of the system. Prigogine’s revolution in response to the classical and quantum paradigms stated in formal terms was to challenge the principle of ergodicity, which resulted in Poincaré recurrence. This was the principle that posited, in conformity with the law of the conservation of energy, that system interactions in physics would eventually reproduce a state or states almost identical to earlier initial states of the system at some point in the future.6 It was based on such an approach that time reversibility had been defined as real, and time irreversibility, an illusion. Prigogine challenged the applicability of these assumptions as relevant to classical or quantum measurement. If systems are never isolated or independent from their surroundings, then in theory, even small perturbations or changes in the surroundings could influence the system functioning or trajectory. Even very small perturbations could cause major changes.7 ‘The consequences of this way of thinking are profound’, says Alastair Rae (2009: 113), for they replace assumptions of reversibility with irreversibility (p. 114), introduce notions of indeterminism into physics (p. 113), and project future states of affairs in terms of multiple ‘consistent histories’ (p. 122).8 Although quantum theory had introduced notions of indeterminacy, through the interaction with measurement, for Prigogine, such an indeterminism is more centrally associated with ‘strong mixing’ in initial system interactions.9 Such ideas involve a revolutionary change in the way in which science and the universe has been conceptualized, says Rae: Instead of starting from the microscopic abstraction and trying to derive laws from it that describe both the coherent evolution of quantum states and the changes associated with measurements, he suggested that we do the opposite. Why not try taking as the primary reality those processes in the physical world that are actually observed – the cat’s death, the blackening photograph emulsion, the formation of a bubble in the liquid-hydrogen bubble chamber? We may then treat as ‘illusion’, or at least as an approximation to reality, sub-atomic processes. (Rae, 2009: 136) What non-ergodicity means in less technical terms, as Stuart Kaufmann states, is that ‘at the level of the evolution of the species, of human economy, of human history, and human culture … the universe is vastly 377

Mark Olssen

non-repeating, hence vastly nonergodic’ (2008: 123; cited in Blyth, 2009: 457). Such a message was popularized recently by Nassim Taleb (2007) in his book The Black Swan in order to underscore the centrality of uncertainty and non-predictability in both science and human affairs. Although Taleb claims that traditional predictive models can be applied when predicting variables such as human weight, or height, which thus demonstrates the continued relevance of closed mechanical models, in relation to such phenomena as economies, the immune system, or the human brain, and life itself, in cases where a system of specific parts can generate complex outcomes, however, traditional models and outcomes cannot be held to apply. One of Taleb’s key points, in his book, as well as in various specialist articles (Taleb and Pilpel, 2004; Taleb, 2008), is that algorithms cannot be utilized as the basis for predicting the future due to contingent contextual conditions that are ceaselessly changing and cannot be predicted in advance. Invisible causal generators comprising the system produce different outcomes at different locations in space and time. In the 2004 article with Pilpel, they point to the problem of parameter estimates of probability distributions, and the problem of unobservable generators which, as Mark Blyth (2009: 450) puts it, ‘might produce different outcomes in the future than they did in the past’. This means, says Blyth (2009: 457), that: causes are inconstant; they change over time, and they are emergent. New elements combine to create causes of future events that were impossible before – not just impossible to foresee, since they did not exist in the prior period. In short, ‘the new’ is not necessarily an informational problem. Although regularity operates predictably for many purposes, it is thus never assured. The whole constitutes a context that is always changing and where new and unique actions and events constantly emerge. For Taleb, this means that the world of the future is not simply unknown, but unknowable, and there is no basis for predictability of events, as either visible or invisible contingent factors may derail mechanical outcomes. In more formal academic terms, a somewhat similar thesis was formulated by writers like Alan Turing and Kurt Gödel.10 Such a thesis will, as we shall see, have major implications for education. In introducing a systems perspective on science, Prigogine’s innovation to both the classical and quantum viewpoints was to distinguish macroscopic as well as microscopic processes in explaining system behaviours. Complex systems, in contrast to the classical mechanical and quantum models, are holistic in the sense that the whole is more than the sum of its parts, and where entities emerge from the interactions between part and part, and part(s) and whole. By defining order as a product of the system as a whole, as in a complex dynamical system, aspects of the system itself may affect outcomes of particular aspects of the system. In this case, the order or pattern associated with the macroscopic property of the entire system is not a property of the constituent elements of the system, yet can affect them through a variety of linear and non-linear processes involving feedback loops, ‘strong mixing’ and ‘downward causation’. Prigogine introduces the concept of bifurcation to explain the central importance of non-predictability and indeterminancy in science. When a system enters far-from-equilibrium conditions, its structure may be threatened, and a ‘critical condition’, or what Prigogine and Stengers call a ‘bifurcation point’ is entered. At the bifurcation point, system contingencies may operate to determine outcomes in a way not causally linked to previous linear path trajectories. The trajectory is not therefore seen as determined in one particular pathway. Although this is not to claim an absence of antecedent causes, it is to say, says Prigogine (1997: 5), that ‘nothing in the macroscopic equations justifies the preferences for any one solution’. Or, again, from Exploring Complexity, ‘[n]othing in the description of the experimental set up permits the observer to assign beforehand the state that will be chosen; only chance will decide, through the dynamics of fluctuations’ (Nicolis and Prigogine, 1989: 72). Once the system ‘chooses’ ‘[it] becomes an historical object in the sense that its subsequent evolution depends on its critical choice’ (p. 72). In this description, they say, ‘we have succeeded in formulating, in abstract terms, the remarkable interplay of chance and constraint’ (p. 73). 378

Learning in a complex world

λc

(b2)

(b1)

(a) Figure 39.1 Mechanical illustration of the phenomenon of bifurcation Source: Nicolis and Prigogine, 1989, p. 73.

A schematic diagram of bifurcation appears in Figure 39.1, reproduced from Nicolis and Prigogine (1989: 73). Highlighting their thesis of indeterminacy, Nicolis and Prigogine make the following comment upon the model: A ball moves in a valley[a], which at a particular point becomes branched and leads to either of two valleys, branches b1 and b2 separated by a hill. Although it is too early for apologies and extrapolations … it is thought provoking to imagine for a moment that instead of the ball in Figure [39.1] we could have a dinosaur sitting there prior to the end of the Mesozoic era, or a group of our ancestors about to settle on either the ideographic or the symbolic mode of writing. (Nicolis and Prigogine, 1989: 73) 379

Mark Olssen

Although, due to system perturbations and fluctuations, it is impossible to precisely ascertain causes in advance, retrospectively, of course, we find the ‘cause’ there in the events that lead up to an event, in the sense that we look backwards and point to plausible antecedent factors that contributed to its occurrence. While therefore not undetermined by prior causes, the dislocation of linear deterministic trajectories and the opening-up of alternative possible pathways that cannot be pre-ascertained in open environments is what Prigogine means by ‘chance’.11 In thermodynamics, Nicolis and Prigogine give the examples of thermal convection, the evolution of the universe itself, as well as climate and all physical processes. They were also aware that their conclusions extended to the social and human sciences, embracing life and biological organisms, and to social, economic and political processes, as an illustration of non-equilibrium developments. Indeed, all systems, they say (1984: 9) contain ‘essential elements of randomness and irreversibility’. Central to such a model is the ability for new and novel developments to take place within systems through the emergence of new patterns and features. The model of explanation in complexity science places a greater importance on system effects and interactions, action from a distance, the unintended consequences of actions, the impossibility of predicting linear trajectories or the future and a restricted capacity of individual agents to understand system developments, and it conveys new understanding of ignorance, restricted cognition, novelty, uniqueness and creativity of action in open environments. Two key ideas of complexity theory on which further comments can be usefully made include selforganization and emergence. The idea of self-organization entails that systems are not organized by anything external to themselves, in the sense of a foundation or essential principle, or anything outside the system, and it also explains how systems generate new patterns of activity through dynamic interactions over time. As such, self-organization introduces the important distinction between mechanistic and deterministic approaches to science. Stuart Kauffman (1995) has argued that the laws of self-organization must supplement natural selection in order to adequately explain Darwin’s theory of evolution. Complexity theorists also typically represent the world as stratified, characterized by levels of systems or sub-systems, interconnected by interactions. Within complex systems, the interconnectedness of part and whole means that interactions of various sorts will define relations at various levels. Interactions also characterize relations within the world as we live it, both at the microscopic (organisms, cellular life) and macroscopic levels. In this sense, interactions can be of qualitatively different orders and types, both linear and non-linear, and ‘multi-referenential’ in Edgar Morin’s (1977/1992: 47) sense. For Morin: Interactions (1) suppose elements, beings or material objects capable of encountering each other; (2) suppose conditions of encounter, that is to say agitation, turbulence, contrary fluxes, etc.; (3) obey determinations/constraints inherent to the nature of elements, objects or beings in encounter; (4) become in certain conditions interrelations (associations, linkages, combinations communications, etc.) that is to say give birth to phenomena of organization. (Morin, 1977/1992: 47) It is through interactions at different levels that ontological emergence12 takes place, and it is this that defeats the possibilities of reductionism.13 At its most basic sense, emergence describes the constitution of entities through their synthetic combination in time and space. As a consequence, as Kauffmann (2008: 34) explains it, ‘[o]ntological emergence has to do with what constitutes a real entity in the universe: is a tiger a real entity or nothing but particles in motion, as the reductionists would claim?’ Complexity theorists maintain, in opposition to classical physics, that many phenomena, including consciousness and life itself, must be considered as emergent, in the sense of being historically or cosmologically constituted as well as ontologically independent (in relation to its necessary genesis) from its physical basis.14 380

Learning in a complex world

The normative consequences of complexity for learning theory Central to the complexity perspective on learning theory is its opposition to traditional empiricist and rationalist models, which assume that learning is an individual matter that is linear and non-generative. The tradition of empiricism, associated with Bacon, Locke, Berkeley and Hume, challenged Aristotle for being too unconcerned with the world and with sensory experience and too concerned with reasoning according to established and fixed principles. In Hume’s associationist psychology, simple ideas (hard, soft, round, square) are formed through basic sense impressions, which through associations form the basis of composite ideas. Central to all empiricist approaches, whether Hume, or Locke, or John Stuart Mill, is the priority on experience as the basis of ideas, that complex ideas can be reduced to simple ideas, that basic sensations lie at the foundation of all ideas and that the rules of getting from simple to complex ideas and upon which predictions are made are additive. Rationalistic approaches, as sponsored by Descartes, Spinoza and Leibniz, rejected the strong emphasis on sensory experience made by empiricism, and suggested instead that our knowledge of the world came from innate ideas, which made reliable reasoning possible. The differences between these two approaches were not as great as the similarities: both were reductionist.15 Complexity theories, while not denying a role for experience, including sensation, differ from both empiricist and rationalist approaches in that they are non-reductionist or holist. They emphasize that the system is more than the sum of its parts, and recognize system effects through ‘downward causation’ and non-linear feedback loops, as well as contingent assemblages of time and place, as being important. Learning must be seen, in this sense, as a goal-directed activity, related to the evolution and survival of life. It involves a qualitatively different type of thinking, one that recognizes uncertainty, unpredictability, novelty and openness, a balance between order and disorder, that represents discursive elements, such as concepts and words, as conventional and historical. Due to human fallibility and limitations, the type of knowledge that complex learning results in is bereft of the arrogance of the enlightenment claim to know (aude sapere) according to the new-found faith in reason. Rather, it is more modest, humble, less selfassured, recognizing ‘partial knowledge’, ‘human error’, and limited cognition. At the same time, it also encompasses processes of creativity and of possibilities of unexpected developments within situations. Complex education implies, say Trueit and Doll (2010: 138), a view of ‘education as a journey into the land of the unknown taken by ourselves but with others.’ Yet, within this paradigm, many questions are unanswerable and remain an impenetrable barrier of the human condition. Matters of determinism – free will and the existence of God – and issues of a metaphysical nature unlinked to human concerns must remain, as Vico foresaw,16 beyond the limits of positive knowledge, limits beyond which learning cannot form a bridge. Complexity’s emphasis upon the non-linearity, unpredictability and recursivity of educational processes, while not denying order, state that the policy response to uncertainty and chance should be one of coordination through institutions. This entails managing elements within a system as well as recognizing the political context in terms of which learning is situated. How we characterize the processes of education and learning, or other forms of institutionalization, is thus an important question. While we may discern some general implications from complexity of a nonnormative character, when it comes to the question of how at the policy level one ought to respond to complexity, the question is capable of eliciting varied responses. The Amish in America demonstrate one possible response, by ‘backing away’ from the hurly-burly of mainstream society in an endeavour to simplify life. In recent times, some of the educational literature has focussed upon what is termed ‘complexityreduction’ which potentially creates the view that the task of normative institutions in political society and education is to attempt to contain, reduce and even ‘tame’ the complex uncertainties of the world. The conservative politics of Burke comes to mind in such a situation. Burke endorses a conception of community as the taming of chaos, the ordering of life and the constraint of danger. His emphasis on tradition is, as William Corlett (1989: 38) notes, an act of survival, in order to escape a ‘wild and dangerous politics’, as a bulwark against ‘the terror of formlessness.’ 381

Mark Olssen

In his article ‘Five theses on complexity reduction and its politics’, Gert Biesta (2010: Ch. 2) utilizes the concept of ‘complexity reduction’, which to my mind may place too much emphasis on control. Whether Biesta would agree that he intends such a description to entail normative and political senses as I recount above is perhaps problematic. For Biesta: complexity reduction is inescapable. For him, as he states in one place, it is a claim about language use. As he puts it: Learning is neither a noun nor a verb. To use the word ‘learning’ rather means that one makes a value judgment about change and identifies some changes as valuable. Such judgments can only be made retrospectively, which means that using the word ‘learning’ is itself a form of retrospective complexity reduction. (Biesta, 2010: 11) Earlier in the same article, however, he seems to assert a different claim as a strict thesis about the use of words, and specifies it as a claim about how systems function. As he states: Complexity reduction has to do with reducing the number of available options-for-action for ‘elements’ within a system. Fast food restaurants are a good example of a system with reduced complexity, as the number of available options for action – both for customers and staff – are significantly reduced to make a quick and smooth operation of the system possible … . Education, particularly in the form of organized schooling, is another prominent example of a system operating under conditions of complexity reduction. (Biesta, 2010: 7) At one level then, Biesta (2010) intends complexity reduction as an elaboration of the way that words and concepts work, as well as of the way in which systems function. As there is an ineradicable discursive dimension to life through which the world is mediated, the consideration of the function of concepts in relation to complexity is indeed important. In addition, Biesta sees that ‘the important question [that] complexity … helps us to ask is how in a complex “universe” it is possible to achieve a reduction of complexity’ (p. 7). Education processes ‘work [ … ] to reduce complexity of human learning and bring [it] under control’ (p. 7). Although ‘the reduction of complexity is, in itself, neither good nor bad’ (p. 8), he stresses, the normative aim of educators, one must presume from all this, is to reduce complexity in good ways. Although Biesta may intend this as an elaboration of the way that words and concepts work, or system imperatives, his failure to distinguish his claims from the possible normative and political senses in which education and learning operate is problematic, in my view. Besides, he muddies the waters still further by speaking of a ‘politics of complexity reduction’ (p. 7) and states the central question as being concerned with ‘how complexity reduction is achieved. Particularly (but not exclusively) with regard to the social world complexity helps us ask who is reducing complexity for whom and in whose interest’ (p. 7). Further, he claims that ‘complexity reduction is about the exercise of power and should therefore be understood as a political act’ (p. 8). While he may intend this as a sort of Deleuzean mot d’ordre, there is a strong risk that it functions as an inserted metaphysic! My concern here is that, as he fails to distinguish the possible uses – the conceptual, the normative and the political – they therefore in his analysis risk becoming elided. We can slip quite easily, after all, from a statement about how a particular word works, to one about how educationalists do act, to another about how they must act, to how they ought to act. In addition, so long as one is pursuing ‘good’ complexity reduction, there is little doubt that it is reduction that one must pursue! Yet, even with respect to the way in which words and concepts work or operate, I would rather say that concepts like ‘learning’ (or ‘education’) organize (rather than reduce) the complexity of the world. For Biesta, the focus on ‘complexity reduction’ is of concern to the extent that it both assumes the status of a metaphysical claim 382

Learning in a complex world

(entailing an unsupported, if implicit, claim about the nature of the world) and, as a politics, which entails a conservative political organization of education, which comes to be seen as a protective institution. My own preference, here, is to speak of ‘complexity management’ as a more appropriate label in order to theorize how institutionalization ought to proceed. I think of words, concepts and discourses as organizing complexity and of actions (which are normative and end-orientated) as organizing or managing or (even) as controlling complexity. To speak of ‘reduction’ devalues diversity and difference, and prejudges policy. Given that complexity introduces uncertainty, partial knowledge, and various forms of dependence and powerlessness, the necessity of collective institutional structures to enable and facilitate learning is imperative. As the welfare state liberals in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century noted, there is a ‘social element’ in all areas of life, in that both children and adults, groups and businesses are dependent to varying extents on others and on the structures of social and community support. A century before the welfare state liberals, David Hume had appreciated that cooperation and institutional coordination constituted an essential basis upon which learning and development could proceed. In Part II of Book III of the Treatise of Human Nature (1978), Hume notes how justice is essentially a coordinative virtue, in that it is concerned with the allocation of resources. Cooperation was made possible operationally through institutional coordination, which constitutes for Hume the precondition of assuring the future of peace and prosperity. Coordination thus improves life. Institutions such as libraries, schools, universities, museums, the Internet, welfare agencies and schools are thus pivotal structures without which a learning society will be greatly diminished as a social force. Institutionalization is thus one central normative imperative for the management of a complex world. Biesta (2009) is on more solid ground when he emphasizes that a theory of learning should not be considered independently of a theory of education.17 For him, questions of learning are questions of education. While much learning takes place outside any formal education, necessarily, as part of being in the world, the issue of what sort of education is implied or suggested by complexity is still open to debate. Learning historically certainly entailed education. In this quest for ‘thinking complexly’ (Trueit and Doll, 2010: 138) education is a central institution, as was recognized by John Dewey, who explored the role and function of education in adapting to and coping with uncertainties of the environment. For Dewey (1958, 1997), education was conceptualized, not as a discipline-based mode of instruction in ‘the basics’, but according to an inter-disciplinary, discovery-based curriculum, defined according to obstacles in the existing environment. As Dewey says in Experience and Nature, ‘The world must actually be such as to generate ignorance and inquiry: doubt and hypothesis, trial and temporal conclusions.’ (1958: 41). The rules of living and habits of mind represent a ‘quest for certainty’ in an unpredictable, uncertain and dangerous world (p. 41). For Dewey, the ability to organize experience proceeded functionally in terms of problems encountered that needed to be overcome in order to construct and navigate a future. This was the basis of his ‘problem-centred’ pedagogy of learning. While it could be seen to concentrate on transferable skills from a complexity perspective of coping with an environment, Dewey can be criticized for an overly functionalist concern with system adaptation, in the same way that structural-functionalist sociologists, like Talcott Parsons, or contemporary systems theorists, such as Niklas Luhmann, can be. Focussing on a ‘problem-centred’ approach runs the risk, in other words, of neglecting the critical tasks of ideological reflexivity and criticism, which are so important to the educative tasks of myth demystification and cleansing the discursive template of history from its distorted and ideological elements. There is little in Dewey, for instance, that suggests any parallel with Gramsci’s distinction between ‘good sense’ and ‘folklore’ as the basis of a critical pedagogy. Dewey’s functionalism is further reinforced through his utilization of terms such as ‘interaction’ and ‘growth’, which run the risk of contributing to a naive enlightenment conception of ‘progress’, leading inevitably to the successful resolution of both individual and societal problems and leading, onward and upward, to ever-higher levels of experience. Yet, while Dewey runs a risk, like Hegel, of being identified with a progressive evolutionary theory of history and development, unlike Hegel, Dewey posited no end-point, or resting place; for the end of growth was more growth; and 383

Mark Olssen

the end of learning was further learning. In terms of learning theory, Dewey used the concept of ‘continuity’ in order to theorize the link between existing experience and the future based upon the ‘interdependence of all organic structures and processes with one another’ (1958: 295). Learning, for Dewey, thus represented a cooperative and collaborative activity centred upon experiential, creative responses to contingent sets of relations to cope with uncertainty in a never-ending quest. It is in this sense that the processes of iteration are central for Dewey. As such, Dewey’s approach conceptualizes part and whole in a dynamic interaction, posits the learner as interdependent with the environment, as always in a state of becoming, giving rise to a dynamic and forward-looking notion of agency as experiential and collaborative. In such a model learning is situational, in the sense of always being concerned with contingent and unique events in time. Central to such a complexity approach is that learning must deal with the uncertainty of contingently assembled actions and states of affairs, and by so doing transform itself from an undertaking by discrete individuals into one that is a shared and collective activity. In terms of navigating a future in relation to economics, politics or social decisions, it places the educational emphasis upon the arts of coordination. It is through plan or pattern coordination that institutions function and that the learning experiences of future generations are embarked upon. Because, in planning, one must assume incomplete information due to the dispersal of knowledge across social systems, such coordination can be more or less exact or loosely stochastic and probabilistic in terms of overcoming uncertainty. Learning will be invariably situational and involve experiences that are always unique. It will involve what Aristotle called phrone-sis, that is, practical judgement within a context. Such practical judgement is holistic and goal-orientated action, sensitive to the exigencies of time and place. In elucidating the tasks of phrone-sis, Aristotle emphasizes the integrity of the speaker, their skills as a communicator, the context of the message, as well as the interests and dispositions of the audience. In Biesta’s (2010) view, ‘complexity not only enables us to understand the complex character of the physical and social world, but provides us with a different understanding of those aspects of the physical and social world that are or appear to be not complex’ (p. 7). Because learning is time-dependent, and individuals and communities are always experiencing unique features of their worlds, uncertainty cannot be eliminated. Hence, all that is possible is skills of coping, problem solving, and pattern coordination in open-ended systems, where planning is formed around ‘typical’ rather than ‘actual’ features. Such plan or pattern coordination can only be a constructed order. Constructing plans becomes the agenda for education for both individuals and societies in Dewey’s sense. Dewey ultimately held to the faith that despite unpredictability and uncertainty, the macro-societal (or macro-economic) coordination of core social problems was possible. Finally, what is necessary for a theory of learning in a complex world is a normative theory and a global ethic. As Paul Cilliers (2010: viii) notes, ‘complexity leads to the acknowledgement of the inevitable role played by values’. If the world is complex and uncertain, the educational consequence suggests that education is political. Others, such as Richard Edwards (2010), have also noted that the educational implications of complexity are both moral and political. Edwards sees lifelong learning, although presently serving the neoliberal complexity reduction agendas of the knowledge economy, as potentially giving rise to ‘ethical orderings within which there is an inherent play of (un)predictability’ (p. 77), and raising questions pertaining to how we construct the future.

A possible ethical theory for a complex global society I want, in this final section, to suggest the outlines of a global ethic, or moral framework, that can perform the function in the politics of learning and education of grounding complexity perspective in terms of how complexity management should proceed. As complexity theory is based on current post-quantum models of science and evolution and the recognition, as Max Black (1990: 175) has put it, that science has ‘finally been compelled to abandon the belief in causal determinism’, we can start our search for a viable global ethic with 384

Learning in a complex world

the theory of evolution, as the idea of time, evolution and history are core matters that complexity approaches accept. In Taking Care of the Future? The complex responsibility of education and politics, Deborah Osberg (2010: Ch. 13) outlines an argument for a futuristic ethics in terms of ‘the complex responsibility of education and politics’. Her approach is developed in terms of the concept of ‘care’, which she interprets as a ‘“Prigoginian moment of freedom” in a complex moment when the system is destabilized to the point of bifurcation’ (p. 153). Such a moment of bifurcation entails ‘an undecidable choice between several possible “ways forward”’. She conceptualizes the notion of care in relation to Heidegger’s concept of Sorge, as well as the feminist ‘ethics of care’ as developed by writers like Carol Gilligan and Nel Noddings, and also in terms of the ‘imperative of responsibility’ as developed by Hans Jonas (1984). Such an ethic presupposes, she argues, a life-world of mutual interdependence where the projects of living beings are reciprocally intertwined. Responsibility, then, is to a shared future where uncertainty and unpredictability are central, and creativity and collegiality are called for. Osberg utilizes insights from the works of George Land and Beth Jarman’s book, Breakpoint and Beyond: Mastering the future (1992), as well as from Ranciere (2010) and Derrida (1992), asserting an ‘ethic of experimentation’ and a politics of ‘educational democracy’ in a context of uncertainty. My own politics of the future, encapsulated in Toward a Global Thin Community: Nietzsche, Foucault and the cosmopolitan commitment (Olssen, 2008), has drawn from somewhat different sources, although with a similar purpose. In this concluding section of this essay I want to reiterate some of the central themes that I develop there, as well as adding to them from further reading in both the Contintental and AngloAmerican philosophical traditions. My entry point here is Dewey’s concept of ‘growth’, considered above, which goes beyond Darwinian evolution in that it posits a pedagogical and epistemological conception that ties learning to a qualitative increase in value that goes beyond the mere struggle for existence based on survival of the fittest linked to self-interest and greed. As Charles Sanders Peirce also recognized, in his conception of ‘agapastic evolution’,18 survival necessitates a normative conception of well-being and is emergent, in the sense that the complexities of the human situation increasingly depend upon it, and transcends the self-interest that Darwin saw as the basis of the struggle for existence. In addition, the onset of new realities, such as climate change and population explosion, increasingly mean that individual aspirations can only be realized through new forms of collective action. This, I will suggest, requires a global ethic that once again posits a broad, robust conception of the good, or summum bonum: a good that exists at an abstract level, subject to ‘multiple realizability’ in Martha Nussbaum’s (1992) sense, yet able to justify the broad contents and methods of learning theory and education, and give a direction to the way that complexity management should lead. In a complex world, then, education must endeavour to direct evolution. This is in the sense that, as a normative institution, it seeks to specify and limit the way in which complexities are managed and through which human security and sustenance are catered for. Thus, a concern with survival directs attention to material issues of resources and rewards, in a way that deontological ethics seem frequently to avoid; it serves as being concerned with the more materialistic issues of equality and resource allocation. In itself, and in Darwin’s hands, mere survival aims too low, however. It represents only individual competition and, by treating the environment as a constant inert backdrop, Darwin failed to adequately theorize how, given conditions of complex change, relations between individuals and environment are themselves transformed. More than ever, today, individual aspirations can only be realized through the coordinated action of the local and the global. The good then, must recognize survival, but also well-being, of all life forms. Such a good need not be seen as in the classical era, as emanating from a teleology of nature, but rather as a shared or collective end, as they expand or contract in different historical times.19 Such a moral theory, it seems to me, is not inconsistent with historical or genealogical relativism. Although complexity portrays a world without ahistorical foundations,20 this very fact makes ‘taking stock of the present’, and ‘acting toward the future’ imperative. In that it posits human subjects that are the 385

Mark Olssen

product of evolution – in what can be described as a consistent (nominalist) historical materialism – intervention is necessary to seek to steer and limit the direction of evolution, and change, to the extent possible, and to steer it in ways that maximize survival and the well-being of all for the future. The identification that we are the products of history, formed through the genealogical structures of the past, while certainly suggesting a conception of relativism, is thus not incompatible with a moral theory. This is to say, at any rate, that relativism doesn’t invalidate the legitimacy of morals. Indeed, it is quite the reverse. Relativism and historicity of the past constitute a reason why a moral theory in the form of a global ethic is necessary. In selecting such a conception of ethics, it is important that it is framed constructively, rather than naturalistically, for nature is itself subject to complex evolution. This is to say that the good cannot be seen as evolving teleologically in the sense of a naturalistic unfolding of its pre-ordained telos or soul. Survival and well-being certainly work towards a goal, but must be seen as willed from the present in order that contingencies can be accounted and adjusted for, rather than as evolving through a naturalistic teleology with the implication of being set for all time. Beyond such a switch from a naturalist to a constructivist basis, many traditions can be drawn on. Much of Aristotle can be suitably ‘adapted’ in the sense that virtue ethics can serve as a veritable treasure trove of ideas. Philippa Foot (2001: 35) states, ‘that virtues play a necessary part in the life of humans as do stings in the life of bees.’ Such an insight suggests rich insights in a complexivist model. Who can deny that humility, caution, modesty and generosity are not still important values? All that differs is that the virtues receive to some degree their rank ordering and their specification from the standpoint of the present. They are contingently vetted and ranked according to the imperatives of time and place, relative to survival and well-being of each and all from the horizon that stretches out from our already existing society. Liberal ideas are also adaptable, although again their basis in natural right must be dispensed with. Rights, however, seem eminently sensible and necessary to ensure the survival and well-being of each and that all can proceed on fair and equitable grounds. Other formulations from liberalism, such as notions of liberty, the separation of powers, constitutional articulation, the rule of law and democratic justice21 are also indispensable to facilitating the continuance of life in a complex world on conditions that are fair and just for all. In my view, a complex world suits such a conception, based on ethics as an ‘art of life’ and drawn in its inspiration once again from the Greeks, and from a tradition that spanned from the Greeks to Leibniz in the Middle Ages. As Otfried Höffe (2010) says, ‘a human being is a moral being … in three respects: one has the capacity for morals, one is called to be moral, but one must develop one’s moral capacity’ (p. 41). Morals possess an ‘ought-character’ in that moral learning introduces ‘unconditionally valid claims.’ Morality aids humanity in its survival and directs us in complexity management in that it specifies the how and what of management. It also informs individual ethics. Reinstating a conception of the good, as suggested here, as being based on a philosophy of life and an art of living offers a richer and more valid conception, more akin to common sense understandings, which are the utilitarian conception of pleasure, or the Artistotelian conception of eudaimonia. In the absence of detailed arguments against these philosophies, let me just say that neither pleasure nor happiness can be represented to adequately stand for the be-all or end-all of life as survival and well-being. Both, especially Aristotle, neglect the importance of uncertainty and fate. Both are also excessively anthropomorphic in concentrating attention on subjective human interests and development, and neglecting attention to infrastructures and institutional concerns. Both also pit the good as prior to, and replacement for, any concern with right, concerned as it is with the means or methods by which various ends or goods can be realized or achieved. This implies that the right can be sacrificed for the good, or the means for the ends. Any adequate theorization of ethics must, in my view, seek a reconciliation of the good and the right, preserving the integrity of both. Right concerns the means or methods by which we get to the good. It includes rights, justice, obligations, duties and rules, which, despite contingencies, must maintain their independence and protection in reference to the good. This is to say, from the point of view of ethics, that 386

Learning in a complex world

the rightness of an act is not entirely determined by the good being sought. Methods of arbitrating between people must be fair in a way that is in important senses independent of the good.22 What is needed is a hybrid approach that recognizes both the good and the right as both mutually related, but yet procedurally independent domains. Höffe (2010: 270) himself attempts a reconciliation, claiming that ‘teleological and deontological ethics don’t have to exclude one another.’ He continues: [M]orals cannot be established without the requirement of a possible interpersonal justification. … More important is that ethics is more meaningfully, even necessarily, deontological in its foundation; and, in contrast, ethics is teleological with respect to the ‘application’ of principles to certain regions of life and concrete situations. (Höffe, 2010: 270) An earlier attempted reconciliation was made by David Ross in his book The Right and the Good (1930). Unlike Höffe, who gives priority to the right over good in cases of conflict, Ross challenged Kant’s insistence in the ‘Preface’ to the Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals (Kant, 1948: 55), on the ‘absolute necessity’ of moral duties. Ross’s attempt is more subtle and successful, in my view. He gives priority to the good, but doesn’t discount the independence of the right. Right must be altered in Ross’s view, to ‘prima facie duties’, which ‘signify an obligation that only holds subject to not being overridden by a superior obligation’ (Ewing, 1953: 78). While this marks an important advance over Kant, what is lacking here is an emphasis on the necessity of protection of right related to the law, politics and the administrative organization of jurisdictional spheres in society. Such an emphasis is sadly lacking in moral philosophizing from Kant onwards. For, if the right and the good are both to have a place, to coexist, then the right, if it is not to be absolute by definition, or alternatively to be hopelessly ‘compromised’ on the altar of the good in the cut and thrust of real political events, must be juridically protected according to public scrutinization, deliberation, decision and enforcement. Democracy, in my view, therefore, becomes the solution to the problem of the reconciliation of the right and the good. In this sense, the right is juridically protected against arbitrary ‘coercion’ or ‘trade-offs’ in the interests of the good,23 but, nevertheless, reconciliation is obtained by rejecting the strict letter of Kant’s claim that ‘a law has to carry with it absolute necessity if it is to be valid morally’ (p. 55). For Höffe: the educational imperative is to instil an ‘art of living.’ Such an ‘art of living’ specifies the content of morality for a global age, concerned with life as a whole, specific rules and an orientation towards the concrete. It requires a curriculum that emphasizes: (1) maxims and reflections from history; (2) visions of the good life, and (3) practical philosophy in the sense of a search for principles. Such an ‘extraordinary know-how requires an extraordinary art of teaching and learning,’ he says (2010: 83). Recognizing that his is a pre-modern conception, he further maintains that ‘[i]n the case of the art of living … the recommendations of the ancients are still remarkably contemporary’ (p. 84). Such a conception, in my view, suits the complex world that we are entering in the twenty-first century. As Höffe points out, his own conception, based on a resurrection of the ‘art of living’, constitutes an objective ethics and a version of ethical realism. Actions are goal-orientated and all obtain ultimate sense from the global common good. Actions, intentions and purposes are normatively defined for education and learning in that they must pertain to the construction of life on an equal and fair basis. Although this is teleological, it is only a teleology of actions, not of nature or science. In addition to a new global ethics that reconciles the good and the right, complexity posits a model of the global citizen who has knowledge of global processes, procedures and forces and well-developed agentic skills and abilities, as well as a multidimensional global identity that is both local and global. By agentic skills, I refer to such things as the capacity to understand and access global knowledge systems; the awareness of multi-perspectival orientations to self and culture, based upon an understanding of diverse human experiences; as well as the ability to construct new ideas. Cognitively and intellectually, such an education must develop a knowledge and sensitivity to global concerns and issues; an awareness of emerging conflicts and 387

Mark Olssen

disputes, issues and problems; as well as the capabilities for critical deconstruction and judgement in relation to historical documents, identities and systems. One way or another, the global citizen must learn the methods of coping with a global world. The curriculum implications are not simply for a ‘problem-centred’ approach, but one that incorporates a knowledge of new technologies and systems; includes study abroad, work placements and travel; and incorporates a knowledge of world politics, the law and international relations. Although the world is constantly changing and that uniqueness and uncertainty constitute core ontological postulates, we can still posit some educationally relevant universal postulates concerned with the ubiquity of certain types of experience that will need to be confronted, certain dispositions that will be important, and certain virtues and values that students will profit from. Such dispositions and virtues that constitute the ethics of continuance might include a will to learn, to critically engage and enquire, to be receptive, to be open, and to actively negotiate the future. Virtues might include criticality, creativity, carefulness, care toward others and the environment, courage, self-discipline, equity, equality, integrity, caution, respect, flexibility and openness. Consistent with complexity, Nietzsche stresses the limitations on knowledge and the need for caution. It was fundamentally due to the complexity of the world, and the consequent uniqueness of events and actions in time, that Nietzsche rejected Kant’s own deontological conception of ethics, as postulated in the universal principle of the Categorical Imperative. In Nietzsche’s view, this is nothing more than a consistency maxim and it specifies no content about how to live, adapted to each situation, guided solely by the dictates as to what furthers life. In this sense, it ignores the complexity emphasis on contingency and the central emphasis on uniqueness and novelty of the process of iteration in history. Hence, in The Gay Science (1974: $335), Nietzsche argues against Kant’s Categorical Imperative, that it presupposes the constancy of time and context and therefore neglects ‘that every action that has ever been done was done in an altogether unique and irretrievable way, and that this will be equally true of every future action’ and further, arguing against the very basis of Kant’s moral law, ‘that in any particular case the law of their mechanism is indemonstrable’. Such a perspective also generates insight into the types of virtues that should in the future inform ethical education. With regard to humans, we are the sorts of beings who are too prone to rush to judgement and force our opinions on situations. As Nietzsche expresses it, ‘all [our] evaluations are premature, and must be so; no experience of man can be complete. … [W]e are from the start illogical and therefore unfair beings, and this we can know; it is one of the greatest and most insoluble disharmonies of existence’ (Nietzsche, 1986: §32). As he concludes: Since man no longer believes that a God is guiding the destiny of the world as a whole, or that, despite all apparent twists, the path of mankind is treading somewhere glorious, men must set themselves ecumenical goals, embracing the whole earth. (Nietzsche, 1986: §25)

Notes 1 My own work has promoted writers like Nietzsche and Foucault as representing a ‘third-way’ between Kant and Hegel in philosophy (see Olssen, 2009, 2010). 2 Those recently identified as marking a possible elevation include John Stuart Mill, Alexander Bain, C.D. Broad, Samuel Alexander, Friedrich Hayek, Friedrich Nietzsche, Charles Babbage, George Herbert Mead, Charles Sanders Pierce, Martin Heidegger, Michel Foucault, Jacques Derrida and John Maynard Keynes, to name but some. 3 Although numerous accounts of complexity theory and Prigogine’s relevance for Education already exist, ranging from the writings of William E. Doll (1986, 1989, 1993): to the many amongst the contributors, to Deborah Osberg and Gert Biesta’s (2010) Complexity Theory and the Politics of Education, it is important to reconstruct an

388

Learning in a complex world

4 5

6 7 8

9 10

11

12 13 14

15

16

account here that specifically accommodates the purposes of this essay, as well as in order to provide the reader with an internally complete account. Always providing that Humean scepticism can be offset by the specification of the appropriate operational force – which enlightenment science was quick to do! If a film can represent motion running backwards in the same way as running forwards, then it is said in physics that time is reversible. The rotation of the hands of a clock is reversible, whereas tearing a piece of paper is irreversible. Prigogine does not deny that time reversibility has relevance, but wishes to add that, in many areas, including life itself, time is irreversible. The amount of time taken for repeatability is known as ‘Poincaré cycle time’. This is the phenomenon of ‘strong mixing.’ (See Note 9 for a definition). The main idea of the ‘consistent histories’ approach in Prigoginian physics is that new knowledge must connect with already consistent histories of possibilities in order to be taken as valid. It therefore is not just the results of ‘measurements’ as it was for the quantum theorists. Rae (2009: 123) says that it thus ‘has the advantage of being more general as well as more objective’. ‘The consistent-histories approach claims that we have reached the point where a purely mathematical map is unable to give a unique description of the physical universe. It can, however, provide a map book containing all possible histories and their probabilities. Perhaps this is the best we can expect to achieve’ (p. 127). Prigogine, says Rae (2009: 126), is also more materialist in that he is not simply concerned with how the world can be observed, but how it can be. ‘Strong mixing’ refers to the effect of influences or instabilities on a system, which is frequently chaotic, small and arbitrary. In 1931, Kurt Gödel, a 25-year-old mathematician, presented his ‘incompleteness’ theorem, which demonstrated the mathematical inability to predict future events. Alan Turing’s basic claim was that decisions regarding methodology in mathematics were always in excess of the programme or algorithm that generated them, and hence could not be determined axiomatically from such an algorithm. Turing also reiterated a point made by Heisenberg that ‘when we are dealing with atoms and electrons we are quite unable to know the exact state of them; our instruments being made of atoms and electrons themselves’ (Turing, cited in Hodges, 2000: 497). This means that there are limitations to what it is possible to compute and to know (see Mitchell, 2009: 60–70; Hodges, 2000: 493–545). At times Prigogine appears to suggest that the limitation is fundamentally epistemological, and concerned with measurement, as it was for Heisenberg. But, at other times, he notes that, as fluctuations and perturbations that occur in open environments are theoretically without limit in terms of their reinvestment within a system, the indeterminism is also ontological, not in the sense of there being no antecedent conditions, but in terms of there being alternative options available that can be determined by contingent variables. Kauffman (2008: 34) also refers to ‘epistemological emergence,’ which he defines as ‘an inability to deduce or infer the emergent higher-level phenomenon from underlying physics.’ In physics, the reductionist programme maintained that all social, biological, chemical and physical reality could be explained by physics, ultimately reducing to particles and laws. Kauffman (2008: Chs. 3–5) cites a ‘quiet rebellion’ within existing physics, and science more generally, as to adherence to reductionism. He notes various Nobel Laureates, such as Philip W. Anderson (1972), Robert Laughlan (2005) and Leonard Susskind (2006), who all argue for versions of emergentism and against reduction to physical laws in order to explain life processes, biology or forms of social organization. Anderson’s research concerned ‘symmetry-breaking’, which he concluded was emergent as ‘the fundamental laws of physics [cannot] tell us which way the symmetry will be broken’ (Kauffman 2008: 20). Laughlan argues that ‘temperature arises as a “collective emergent” property of a gas system, a property that is not present in any of its constituent particles but only in the whole. The defining character of such emergent properties is that their measurement becomes more precise as particle number increases. [ … ] For example, rigidity is not a property of a single iron atom but is a collective property of an iron bar’ (Kauffman 2008: 24–25). Susskind shows that new developments in string theory are also anti-reductionist (Kauffman 2008: 29). Kauffman stresses that, to argue for emergence does not invalidate physical laws, but simply asserts that they cannot be seen as a sufficient basis for ‘higher’ characteristics or forms (p. 24). Descartes’ (1960) reductionism is evident in A Discourse on Method (pp. 15–16), where he describes his method as being: ‘to conduct my thoughts in such order that, by commencing with objects the simplest and easiest to know, I might ascend by little and little, and, as it were, step by step, to the knowledge of the more complex’. Similarly, as Fritjof Capra (1983: 55) says, ‘Locke developed an atomistic view of society, describing it in terms of its basic building block, the human being.’ In his writing On the Study Methods of Our Time, in the context of attacking design arguments for the universe, Giovanni Vico (1965) distinguishes between the world as it is in-itself and the world as it appears to us. Knowledge of the real could only be had of artefacts and models we have made. Only God can know everything else. Vico influenced Kant who expounds a similar thesis in his Critique of Judgment. Many metaphysical issues, such as those 389

Mark Olssen

17 18 19

20

21 22 23

concerning free will and determinism, the nature of the universe, etc., are beyond the limits of what can be known. Such a view represents a cautious challenge to the arrogance of the Enlightenment. He makes a similar point in his 2004 article, where he notes that ‘something has been lost in the shift from a language of education to a language of learning’ (See Biesta, 2004: 71). The rationale of agapastic evolution described higher forms of evolution pertaining to education art, and culture (see Peirce, 1960). In Capitalism, Socialism and Democracy, Joseph Schumpeter says that, while we must reject the classical conception of good, of old, there is nothing to ‘debar us from trying to build up another and more realistic one’ (pp. 252–3). Despite his antagonism towards the classical doctrine of good, Schumpeter sees nothing amiss with representing aggregate human interests in history as common collective interests, by which he means ‘not a genuine, but a manufactured will. And often this artifact is all that in reality corresponds to the volonté générale of the classical doctrine’ (p. 263). As all is subordinated to ‘becoming,’ even matter is constantly changing in time, although the scale may be over billions of years. In addition, there are no foundations in the sense of pre-social subjects, as there were for Descartes, Locke and Kant, and no ahistorical sense of ‘nature’ or conception of a transcendent God. Justice is conceptualized simply as fairness in the appropriate allocation of rewards, resources and attention. Because it is not itself an end (in the good), it doesn’t conflict with ‘survival and well-being.’ This is something Höffe (2010: 180) says that Aristotle recognized, when he says ‘that the criterion of justice is not like other virtues, but is solely a “factual mean”’. He is citing the Nicomachean Ethics, 5.5.1131a14ff. Sen (1988) gives the famous case of a ‘trade off’ of the right for the good in his example of the Roman Colosseum, when the rights of animals and citizens are ‘sacrificed’ for the utility (greater good) of the thousands of spectators whose overall levels of happiness are thereby increased.

References Alexander, S. (1920) Space, Time and Deity (2 vols). London: Macmillan. Allison, D.B. (ed.) (1977) The New Nietzsche. New York: A Delta Book. Anderson, P. W. (1972) ‘More is Different’. Science, 177, 393. Aristotle (2001) ‘Metaphysics’, in Richard McKeon (ed.) The Basic Works of Aristotle. New York: The Modern Library. Bain, A. (1870) Logic. Book II & III. London. Bergson, H. (1998) [orig. 1911] Creative Evolution, trans. Arthur Mitchell. New York: Dover Publications. Biesta, G. (2004) ‘Against Learning: Reclaiming a Language for Education in an Age of Learning’. Nordisk Pedogogik, 24 (1): 70–82. ——‘Theorizing Learning through Complexity: An Educational Critique’. Complicity: An International Journal of Complexity and Education, 6 (1): 28–33. ——(2010) ‘Five Theses of Complexity Reduction and Its Politics’, in Deborah Osberg and Gert Biesta (eds) Complexity Theory and the Politics of Education. Rotterdam, Boston, Taipei: Sense Publishers, pp. 5–14. Black, M. (1990) Perplexities. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Blyth, M. (2009) ‘Coping with the Black Swan: The Unsettling World of Nassim Taleb’. Critical Review: A Journal of Politics and Society, 21 (4): 447–465. Broad, C.D. (1925) The Mind and its Place in Nature. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Capra, F. (1983) The Turning Point: Science, Society and the Rising Culture. London: Flamingo. Cilliers, P. (2010) ‘Foreword’, in Deborah Osberg and Gert Biesta (eds) Complexity Theory and the Politics of Education. Rotterdam, Boston, Taipei: Sense Publishers, pp. vii–viii. Corlett, W. (1989) Community Without Unity: A Politics of Derridean Extravagance. Durham and London: Duke University Press. Crocker, L. G. (1975) Diderot’s Chaotic Order: Approach to Synthesis. Princeton, NJ and London: Princeton University Press. Derrida, J. (1992) The Other Heading: Reflections on today’s Europe. Indianapolis: Indiana University Press. Descartes, R. (1960) A Discourse on Method, trans. John Veitch; introduction by A.D.Lindsay. London: J.M. Dent & Sons Ltd/New York: E.P. Dutton & Co. Ltd. Dewey, J. (1958) [orig. 1925] Experience and Nature. Mineola, NY: Dover Publications. ——(1997) [orig. 1910] How We Think. Mineola, NY: Dover Publications. Doll, W. E. (1986) ‘Prigogine: A New Sense of Order, a New Curriculum’. Theory into Practice, 25 (1): 10–16. ——(1989) ‘Foundations for a Post-modern Curriculum’. Journal of Curriculum Studies, 21 (3): 243–253. ——(1993). A Post-Modern Perspective on Curriculum. New York: Teachers College Press. Edwards, R. (2010) ‘Complex Global Problems, Simple Lifelong Learning Solutions: Discuss’, in D. Osberg and G. Biesta (eds) Complexity Theory and the Politics of Education. Rotterdam, Boston, Taipei: Sense Publishers, pp. 69–78. 390

Learning in a complex world

Ewing, A.C. (1953) Ethics. London: English Universities Press Ltd. Foot, Philippa (2001) Natural Goodness. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Hodges, A. (2000) ‘Turing: A Natural Philosopher’, in R. Monk and F. Raphael (eds) The Great Philosophers: From Socrates to Turing. London: Phoenix/Orion Books Ltd., pp. 493–541. Höffe, O. (2010) Can Virtue Make Us Happy? The Art of Living and Morality. Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press. Holland, J. H. (1998) Adaptation in Natural and Artificial Systems. Massachusetts: MIT Press. Hume, D. (1978) A Treatise on Human Nature. 2nd edition, P.H. Nidditch, ed. Oxford: Clarendon. Jonas, H. (1984) The Imperative of Responsibility: In search of an ethics for a technological age. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Kant, I. (1948) [1785] Groundwork of the Metaphysic of Morals, trans. and analysed by H.J. Paton. London: Hutchinson University Library. Kaufmann, S. (1995) At Home in the Universe. London: Viking/Penguin. ——(2008) Reinventing the Sacred: A New View of Science, Reason and Religion. New York: Basic Books. Kirshner, D. and D. Kellogg (2009) ‘Lev Vygotsky as Muse to Complex Learning/Teaching: A Response to Ton Jörg’s Programmatic View’. Complicity: An International Journal of Complexity and Education, 6 (1): 45–55. Land, G. and Jarman, B. (1992) Breakpoint and Beyond: Mastering the Future. New York: Harper Collins Publishers, Inc. Laughlan, R. (2005) A Different Universe: The Universe from the Bottom Down. New York: Basic Books. Leibniz, G. W. (1989) ‘On Contingency’ [1686], in R. Ariew and D. Garber (eds and trans) G.W. Leibniz: Philosophical Essays. Indianapolis, IN and Cambridge: Hackett Publishing Company. Lewes, G. H. (1875) Problems of Life and Mind, Vol. 2. London: Kegan Paul, Trench, Trübner & Co. Luhmann, N. (1995) Social Systems. Palo Alto, CA: Stanford University Press. Mesle, C. R. (2008) Process-Relational Philosophy: An Introduction to Alfred North Whitehead. West Conshohocken, PA: Templeton Press. Mill, J. S. (1843) System of Logic. London: Longmans, Green, Reader, and Dyer. Mitchell, M. (2009) Complexity: A Guided Tour. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Morin, E. (1977/1992) Method. Towards a Study of Humankind. Vol. 1: The Nature of Nature. New York: Peter Lang. Mullarkey, J. (ed.) (1999) The New Bergson. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Nicolis, G. and I. Prigogine (1989) Exploring Complexity. New York: Freeman. Nietzsche, F. (1974) The Gay Science, trans. Walter Kaufmann. New York: Vintage Books. ——(1986) Human, All Too Human, trans. R. J. Hollingdale. Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press. Nussbaum, M. (1992) ‘Human Functioning and Social Justice: A Defence of Aristotelian Essentialism’. Political Theory, 20 (2): 202–246. Olssen, M. (2008) Toward A Global This Community: Nietzsche, Foucault and the Cosmopolitan Community. Boulder, CO: Paradigm Publisher ——(2009) Toward A Global Thin Community: Nietzsche, Foucault and the Cosmopolitan Commitment. Boulder, CO: Paradigm Publishers. ——(2010) Liberalism, Neoliberalism, Social Democracy: Thin Communitarian Perspectives on Political Philosophy and Education. New York and London: Routledge. Osberg, D. (2010) ‘Taking Care of the Future: The Complex Responsibility of Education and Politics’, in Deborah Osberg and Gert Biesta (eds) (2010) Complexity Theory and the Politics of Education. Rotterdam: Sense Publishers, pp. 153–166. Osberg, D. and G. Biesta (eds) (2010) Complexity Theory and the Politics of Education. Rotterdam: Sense Publishers. Peirce, C. S. (1960)[1890] ‘A Guess at the Riddle’, in C. Hartshorne and P. Weiss (eds) Collected Papers of Charles Sanders Pierce, vol. vi. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Prigogine, I. (1997) The End of Certainty: Time, Chaos and the New Laws of Nature. London: The Free Press. ——(1980) From Being to Becoming. San Francisco, CA: W.H.Freeman and Company. Prigogine, I. and I. Stengers (1984) Order Out of Chaos. New York: Bantam. Rae, A. (2009) Quantum Physics: Illusion or Reality? (2nd, updated edition). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ranciere, J. (2010) Dissensus: Politics and aesthetics. London: Continuum International Publishing Group. Ross, D. (1930) The Right and the Good. Oxford: University of Oxford Press. Sambursky, S. (1963) The Physical World of the Greeks, trans. Merton Dagut. London: Routledge. Schumpeter, J. (1976) Capitalism, Socialism and Democracy. London: Routledge. Sen, A. (1988) ‘Rights and Agency’, in Consequentialism and its Critics, ed. Samuel Scheffler. Oxford: Oxford University Press. 391

Mark Olssen

Susskind, L. (2006) The Cosmic Landscape: String Theory and the Illusion of Intelligent Design. New York: Little, Brown and Company. Taleb, N. N. (2007) The Black Swan: The Impact of the Highly Improbable. New York: Random House. ——(2008) ‘The Fourth Quadrant: A Map of the Limits of Statistics’. www.edge.org/3rd_culture/taleb