We welcomed a new intake on our Postgraduate Certificate in Teaching and Learning in Higher Education course. Over Tuesday and Wednesday evening 36 lecturers and post-doctoral students arrived with a range of expectations, hopes, and concerns.
Whether career progression was a motivating factor or not, all sought some support to develop their teaching skills and knowledge. Some would arrive explicitly aiming to grapple with theories of teaching and learning. All would hope to leave the course with new ‘tricks and tips’, practical techniques that they could employ in their classes NOW.
But ‘tips and tricks’ is a misnomer, since it suggests a separation from theory (and that theory is somehow separate from practice). Kurt Lewin, a scholar of very practical inclinations, is reputed to have said that,
there is nothing as practical as a good theory
In outlining the curricular intention of the course we exposed the underlying constructivist philosophies of learning, modeling the method we hoped our colleagues would adopt in relation to their own practice. Why?
The title of this post paraphrases a comment by Parker Palmer about the nature of teaching. In his inspiring book ‘The Courage to Teach‘ he espouses a manifesto for a heartfelt practice of teaching – teaching as service (as distinct from service teaching). Part of his thesis is that technique alone is never enough. We can deploy the most sophisticated or engaging methods, but if they are devoid of a wider purpose they are likely to fail. The reality is that when we experience a good teacher this wider purpose may not be clearly articulated (to us or to themselves). So this is not a call to theory dominated teaching. Rather it links to the questions I think Gert Biesta asks when he seeks to reprieve the language of teaching that seems often neglected by constructivist philosophies. He asks us to think seriously about what it is we think we teach.
Because our license to practice as university teachers is the PhD (or other similar qualification) we are actually licensed to research. We are comfortable with our domains and communities of knowledge. Consequently, we can be mistaken in thinking that what we teach is our subject. But, Biesta and others suggest, what we teach are views of the world and how we engage with that world.
On the course we expose the underlying constructivist beliefs in order to demonstrate how these weave in and through the techniques we use in class. The fact that we construct the course around a small number of key concepts (rather than a list of content); that we privilege reflective modes of inquiry; that we promote dialogical engagement are all enactments of the underlying view of knowledge and the knower. We do not do this in order to recruit them to these philosophies. Instead, we want them to consider the authenticity of what they do.
What is meant by authenticity here?
Going back to the way we try to model the practice we encourage our colleagues to adopt, we are also hopefully modeling an authentic practice. Its authenticity does not derive from its proximity to constructivist approaches to teaching, but to an openness to being questioned. If we want our students to conceive of themselves as makers of the world rather than mere consumers, to be open to different perspectives, to be attentive to the values that underpin and guide their behaviours, then our teaching needs to model that in some way (and in imperfect ways). We need to teach in ways that show the limits of our practice.
So, why Axelrod, why paracetamol?
A previous post introduced the idea of me using this blog to develop and rehearse my thinking leading to an academic article (hopefully), inspired by my observation of a pharmacology laboratory practical class. The focus of this class was a test of the toxicity of paracetamol solutions. This has a very practical rationale because paracetamol poisoning is so common, hence the importance of those dispensing the drug having a proper understanding of its adverse effects.
As I observed the students engaging in the ‘paracetamol array’ I was taken by the performative character of the activity. The activity was ‘staged’ in the sense of being performed in a particular setting that gave the activity certain meaning. Imagine this cluster of young people dressed in white lab coats conducting this test in the student bar? In being wrenched from the lab its ‘meaning’ would change, there would be an ‘out-of-placeness’ about it; the authority and legitimacy of the activity as SCIENCE would be in question. WHERE the array was conducted was important. There was a distinct patterning to the movement of the students between paper, apparatus, chemical compound, and back to paper; or between the pairs of students working together (?) at their bench.
This notion of performance is important here as a key concept in posthuman understandings of science, indeed of helping me understand the activity as science.
So, in what sense might we say these students were engaged in science?
Let me begin with a very brief description of the setting (though I will give more detail of the activity later).
The space within which the activity took place was undoubtedly a ‘laboratory’ something like this,
with approximately 50 students wearing white lab coats. It had all the semiotic clues that would lead most observers to conclude that what was going on in this space was science. The benches and the other non-human artefacts – measuring instruments and machines, as well as water and various chemicals function both as ‘tools’ that enable the practices of scientific endeavour (and science education in this case) but also as ‘signs’, signaling a particular meaning to the practices undertaken in this space.
This sense of scientific activity immediately begins to break down the distinctions between science as knowledge and science as practice. And it is this latter sense of scientific endeavour that has preoccupied the work of Andrew Pickering. Andrew Pickering draws attention to the cultural portrayal of science as primarily cognitive, certainly a conception carried in higher education:
Scientists feature as disembodied intellects making knowledge in a field of facts and observations (and language, as the reflexivists remind us)Andrew Pickering (1995) The Mangle of Practice: Time, Agency, & Science, Chicago: Chicago University Press (see also here)
Through a series of studies Andrew Pickering deconstructs the cultural motifs of scientific work and demonstrates the folding together of human and non-human activity, and in going beyond ‘science-as-knowledge’ he argues that this takes us to an understanding of science-as-performance.
This performative understanding of science turns many common-sense notions on their head. Such notions can lead us to perceive the world as one where ‘facts’ and ‘events’ are there to be found and observed respectively. Instead, Andrew Pickering conjures up a world of agency – human and non-human.
He uses the example of the weather to illustrate this. Weather acts upon us without us willing it. Our response to weather is not purely cognitive, but requires non-human materiality in the form of clothes and shelter. But clothes and shelter have to be understood as not simply extensions of human thought and action, as things that emanate from a human origin (usually understood as cognition). While cognition plays a part, our responses cannot be reduced to the purely human realm. Also, the non-human material world does not act simply as ‘tools’ (as things to keep us safe from the weather). The constituent elements that make up clothes and shelter will continue to ‘do things’ – that is have effects regardless of human action. It is not the clothes and shelter that have material agency, but the physical and chemical properties of their constituent elements. However, conjoined with human action and thought they may have particular effects, which then impact upon human action and thought – human behaviour and thought changing as a consequence of new capabilities afforded by clothing and shelter. It seems common-sense but for the fact that this understanding often appears missing in everyday language – including academic and scientific.
This is best illustrated with reference to the relationship between scientific knowledge and scientific apparatus/machines, and especially the concept of temporal emergence. But before I do that I need to briefly outline the process the students followed in the lab:
The students were required to conduct a colorimetric assay of a paracetamol solution in order to determine the therapeutic/toxic concentration.
The assay involved the students following a procedure similar to this below:
Preparation of a series of paracetamol solutions (some with known concentrations and some ‘unknown’) for comparative purposes involving processes of measuring (weighing and liquid measures), use of various apparatus (pipettes, including eppendorf pipettes, flasks, vortex machine for mixing, spectrophotometer), and a number of chemical compounds (water, sodium nitrate, sodium hydroxide).
Based on the reading from the spectrophotometer the students then had to construct a standard curve (based on Beer’s Law) and determine the concentration of paracetamol in the samples of ‘unknown’ toxicity.
Pickering’s discussion focuses on the relationship between scientific thought, practice and the apparatus (or machines) in the particular examples he investigates. Scientific ‘machines’ work to inscribe material (non-human) agency. He explores how in practice the development of scientific knowledge and practice operates like a ‘dance of agency’ between human and non-human with machines mediating this.
Let me try to illustrate this dance of agency as it might appear in the observed pharmacology lab by trying to distinguish between the moments of human and non-human agency:
[during this period it is the material agency of the mixture that takes the lead and the students can do nothing but wait.]
It is within this dance of agency that something called learning occurs.
We can perhaps view this as patterned activity in the sense of a grammar of practice where this grammar does not provide us with the specifics of each articulation. While there will be a grammar to the students’ practice in the lab, we cannot know in advance what the particular articulations of learning will be in the interaction of human/non-human. In this regard, learning objectives simply outline the teacher’s (or scientist’s) intentions, but in the end learning will be emergent often relating to specific tasks and problems; learning cannot be predicted other than in the doing of the array. Learning is an accomplished activity rather than a simple acquisition of external knowledge or cognitive activity. Learning is something that occurs in the completeness of the doing, and embodied and situated accomplishment (this will be explored in a further post).
Temporal emergence, then, might be seen as relating the students’ emergent learning outcomes (ELOs). These ELOs might develop in real-time (hence the emphasis on ‘temporal’) shifting from a concentration on the knowledge domain, to the need to align their partner to the task-in-hand, to just ‘getting through the day’, to recognition of a psychological resistance to some element of the course.
As part of the temporal emergence of their learning the student might usefully be seen struggling with aligning themselves to the task-in-hand, of applying the necessary protocols (following the instructions for measuring and mixing) for the array and their conceptual understanding (of chemical processes and their practical application). There could be an iterative relationship between the grasp of the process and their conceptual understanding. This would mostly likely be more visible or pronounced when something didn’t work (requiring a process of reverse engineering to see what happened).
I will come back to this idea of the way the materiality of the lab and the practical actions of lab-work ‘carry’ knowledge and understanding in another post.
Here, I have tried to relay my current understanding of a complex interpretation of scientific practice through a posthuman lens and its possible application to higher education learning.
Further posts in this series will explore the materiality of lab-work and how this ‘carries’ learning; the organised nature of learning as a social activity of alignment.
In the writing of these posts I am struggling with ideas that take me beyond my habitual zones of practice. By the time I write another iteration of this it is likely that I will have altered some of my understandings. It should go without saying that any comments and suggestions from readers would be vital in this process.
Models, illustrations and diagrams serve, together with mathematical signs, as basic epistemological tools in science
(Cathrine Hasse 2008 Postphenomenology: Learning Cultural Perception in Science)
Recently I had the pleasure of observing a pharmacology lab practical. As a neophyte academic developer I felt that it was important to familiarise myself with what ‘teaching’ meant in different disciplines, and so not rely solely on my own disciplinary perspective and theory. And this is where pharmacology comes in.
My own academic background is in education, and more specifically the sociology of education, and in recent years in the study of higher education. Although my move into academic development is requiring a re-forming of my structure of knowledge and practice, I am still operating in familiar landscapes. Recognising that many of my colleagues who participate in our courses do not approach this domain with familiarity – of concepts, language, genre of writing, etc., I wanted to put myself in situations where I had to struggle to become familiar.
And so, I found myself in a crowded chemistry laboratory, a guest of the pharmacology department.
As I stood there observing the activity I found myself making mental notes that related to two sets of literature that I had been engaging with – practice theory & posthumanism. I have written previously about my interest in practice theory and how this could inform academic development. So I was intrigued about how knowledge and learning was embedded in and across the varied practices the students were engaged in, and how this worked against a view of learning that placed undue attention on the purely cognitive. Simultaneously I was taken with the ‘dance of agency‘ between students and the non-human – the way we might understand how ‘doing’ science may be ‘unthinkable’ without also considering the active role of the apparatus the students engaged with and the chemical compounds they relied upon in the lab activity. That is, the way the students’ knowing and learning was essentially mediated by and entangled with apparatus, technology and chemical compounds.
As I observed the way pairs of students sought to align each other and align themselves with the apparatus, technology and chemicals, an idea slowly emerged. And this idea is taking the form of some ‘continuous publishing‘ whereby I will use this blog to develop and rehearse my thinking with the intention of writing an article over the coming weeks.
I begin by sharing with you some initial notes from my research journal.
My approach in this paper is ‘posthumanist’ and ’emergent’ in orientation. As such it differs in emphasis to more traditional, humanist accounts of learning in higher education. It touches directly on constructivist theories of learning which are distinctly humanist. As I will argue, my approach does not discount the importance of human agency in the learning process, but it does displace such agency as the final point of analytical reference. Instead, I extend constructivist understandings so that we consider the way human actors, processes, concepts, and non-human materials are intimately related. I argue that understanding, knowing and learning are effects of this entanglement of human, discursive and non-human. In doing this I am deeply influenced by the practice turn in social theory, especially the idea of knowledge as embedded in practice. Consequently, learning is viewed performatively, as an emergent quality, as something that emerges from practice and is not exterior to it.
Over the coming days I attempt to clarify my understanding of the two main literatures of posthumanism (as related to science and learning) and practice theory. The entries will, of necessity, be disjointed, provisional, EMERGENT.
The other day I took part in my first ‘Twitter Journal Club’ (#TJC15) facilitated by Laura Gogia from Virginia Commonwealth University’s AltLab. The experience was exciting, disruptive, thoughtful. Lots of things. You can see the various streams here.
This TJC event occurred at a moment when I am re-thinking my sense of being an academic. Indeed, the term academic sometimes feels awkward, especially, as Pat Thomson forcefully notes, at a time when scholarship as inquiry is increasingly being forged into the language of ‘brand’, and particularly the way academic CVs are ‘managed’ so that they contribute more directly to the (business) strategy of our institutions. Like Pat I am about to work with a group of colleagues on developing research career strategies. She asserts that she is not a BRAND and in doing so is working against the current flow in higher education. Let Pat talk for herself:
Brand, narrative, what’s the difference really? Yet it still feels that the idea of a narrative is not the same as the idea of a brand. The terms come from somewhere different, and that matters. A narrative doesn’t emanate from a market even if it’s been put to work in one. And a narrative is perhaps not simply a one-thing, but is able to hold together in some tension different aspects of an academic life. It’s not homogenous. It doesn’t represent a singular product or self, if you like. And maybe the idea of narrative opens up more room for the interpreter too – the listener or reader who makes their own mind up about what a narrative means. Maybe a reader is a bit different from being a customer who buys something – or not. Maybe the interpreter is a role description which encompasses broader social and institutional politics and personal idiosyncracies.
Let me step back to the Twitter Journal Club for a moment.
In this space we co-created, we engaged in practices that were not bounded by the culture of ‘managed CVs’. Yet, the practice was scholarly. Indeed PRACTICE is the key term here, both in relation to the content of the paper we were discussing (such an interesting verb when used in relation to Twitter) and the activity we were engaged in.
Journal Clubs are part of ‘normal’ academic business, particularly within certain disciplines in the sciences. One key rationale for such an activity is to bring doctoral students and faculty together around a number of central academic functions such as:
But there was something refreshingly NOT NORMAL about our venture in the twittersphere.
Talking to some colleagues about how journal clubs are used in their disciplines/departments one theme often emerges – that it confronts students with the ‘reality’ of scholarly practice, of the “cut and thrust” of debate, of having to “defend oneself”. Admittedly some colleagues refer to this culture as one that is not conducive to producing the kind of graduate attributes that they value, especially notions of openness and sharing of work. Others, though, see it as a necessary part of the socialisation of students into ‘normal’ scholarly practice.
So let me focus a little bit more on PRACTICE in this context.
There is an interesting strand within scholarly reflections on PROFESSIONAL EDUCATION that are framed by sociocultural perspectives. Again, it is best to let folks speak for themselves on this, then I will add my own spin on it:
It avoids treating material things as mere appendages to human intention and design, or as traces of human culture. Among perspectives that seem to be part of this pervasive shift, the material world is treated as continuous with and in fact embedded in the immaterial and the human. Therefore in this discus- sion, the term ‘sociomaterial’ is used to represent perspectives that are argued to form part of this shift.
Tara Fenwick , Monika Nerland & Karen Jensen (2012) Sociomaterial approaches to conceptualising professional learning and practice, Journal of Education and Work, 25:1, 1-13, DOI:10.1080/13639080.2012.644901
The idea of practice as the site of knowing questions the prevailing over-rationalist view of knowing in organisations by undercutting the idea that “individual subjects [are] the source of meaning and normativity” (Schatzki 2001, p. 12)…..Moreover, the inherent focus on knowing as a collective and heterogeneous endeavour establishes interesting connections between the site-based view and other approaches that understand cognition as a distributed phenomenon
Davide Nicolini, (2011) Practice as the Site of Knowing: Insights from the Field of Telemedicine. Organization Science 22(3):602-620.
What I take from these discussions is the idea of LEARNING as embedded and distributed in and across a wide array of practices, and that knowledge is accomplished or enacted in the contexts of practice rather than as something we transmit from our brains to our eyes, mouths and fingers through language – such as reading an academic article, writing notes, and speaking to the paper in a journal club. Also, knowing, learning and practice are inherently collective endeavours. Knowing as a distributed phenomena is enacted with and through the material objects our human bodies are entangled in and with.
For me, there is something distinct about the way we were coming to KNOW in the context of practice that was the Twitter Journal Club compared to how I understand journal clubs to often run. Different kinds of knowing are constituted, different assemblages of practice cohering around the collective activities, different potential ‘selves’ enacted.
There was a beautiful symmetry in the enactments we were engaged in the other day and the content of the paper we discussed. The paper, ‘Teacher Experiences and Academic Identity: The Missing Components of MOOC Pedagogy‘ dealt with the troubled identifications of a team of scholars in the context of what they call a hybrid MOOC. In the paper they discuss the way they negotiated their presence in the MOOC environment; of experimenting ‘with an ethos of scale, and with a notion of the teacher as present, but radically outnumbered’ (62); of being caught between being positioned as the locus of authority and of being lost in a distributed network of knowledgeable participants. They became aware that the teacher did not suddenly become invisible simply because the educative activity was taken out of the classroom to digital space. Contrary to connectivist theories they saw that learning and knowledge did not simply arise out of the network, but was always and necessarily situated. All participants came with histories, philosophies, dispositions. The ‘network’ was a network in a particular space at a particular time, and involved a specific arrangement of concepts, theories, algorithms, terminology and material objects (that constitute the physical structure and organisation of the digital). The specific positionings of ‘teacher’ or ‘student’ could not be prefigured by a theory but were enacted in the practices of logging in, typing, reading, as well as the keyboards, screens, cables, etc. Our identities are performed and accomplished in the doings and sayings (including text) of the MOOC environment.
For the purpose of my discussion here, though, it is important that the paper discusses the way the practice of teaching was disrupted by the specific context of enactment – a hybrid-MOOC. While the teaching team approached the practical task of running the hybrid-MOOC on the basis of collective knowledge (the inherited knowledge of what to do in this kind of situation – know-how), the hybrid nature of the enterprise and their particular philosophical approach (which inserted them as visible if uncertain actors in the MOOC) disrupted the usual ‘ongoingness’ of their practice. Suddenly the know-how was not so un-thought; they had to think about what they were doing and why.
Similarly, our Twitter Journal Club was disruptive of the collective knowledge we brought to the event. We constituted new or revised practices in-situ, in the actual typing-reading-thinking-scratching- sitting-watching; in the computational power of the algorithms that make tweeting possible. Though each individual would bring different sets of experience of tweeting and ‘reviewing’ academic texts, we brought some collective knowledge of the core tasks. However, the situation was different enough to make the process of doing very evident. We were, I would suggest, making it up as we went along. Our ‘learning’ to DO the task (a Twitter Journal Club) was distributed across a range of concepts, physical actions, and material objects that were brought together in a relatively unique arrangement. And, of course, we will get better at it, because the more we DO it, the more certain tasks become un-thought, become part of the ongoing condition of accomplishing a Twitter Journal Club.
But what about LOVE?
Well, it just so happened that parallel to me engaging with the Twitter Journal Club I was reading a Hybrid Pedagogy article that spoke directly to the practices of ‘normal’ academic reviewing. This led to reading HP’s policy on Collaborative Peer Review. While some of the process, in particular making it up in-situ, was demanding, there was a real sense that all the participants CARED for each other. We weren’t dismantling the paper. Instead we mobilised it to generate discussion and lots of questions about PRACTICE. While we did not make it explicit, there was a sense in which we cared for the authors of the paper, we respected their endeavour and their invitation to think. It was a PEDAGOGICAL activity.
I give the closing words to the authors of the HP article ‘Love in the Time of Peer Review‘:
Just as in pedagogical spaces, where we learn through peering review and peer reviewing — peer review is an opportunity to learn and teach simultaneously. In this way we transform scholarship into pedagogy and pedagogy into a form of love.
There is nothing so practical as a good theory.
So said Kurt Lewin, claimed to be a founder of social psychology and action learning.
This statement expresses itself as a paradox because it works with the apparent duality between theory and practice, or to put it another way – education and the ‘real world’. In this binary construction the ‘real world’ is the location of practice, of life, in contrast to the world of education and theory which takes on a deathly pallor. Theory, then, is seen to have little use to life. Lewin’s inversion of this makes it paradoxical, subverts the ‘common-sense’ character of the original binary opposition.
So, how then to make sense of Max Van Manen’s claim that phenomenology, that exquisite family of theory emanating from German idealism, is concerned with the ‘practice of living’?
Van Manen states this in his article titled ‘Phenomenology of Practice’. In this fine piece of prose Van Manen lays claim to the usefulness of theory, simultaneously asserting the practicality of theory AND challenging the usefulness of a common-sense view of practice:
Thus, we wish to explore how a phenomenology of practice may speak to our personal and professional lives
For Van Manen theory is eminently useful and practical, enabling us to gain purchase on what our ‘practice’ may be BECAUSE phenomenology is intimately concerned with how we live, how we experience life. But, theory is not useful if it simply promotes ‘instrumental action, efficiency or technical efficacy’.
Rather, a phenomenology of practice aims to open up possibilities for creating formative relations between being and acting, between who we are and how we act, between thoughtfulness and tact.
There is an ethical content to this that can often be missing from ‘theory-lite’ modes of thinking and teaching. Here I have in mind some aspects of Action Research and Action Learning.
As noted in some earlier posts I have been engaging with these literatures in order to enrich my own professional knowledge and practice in academic development. In one sense, our colleagues want something useful – new techniques for teaching or assessment, new skills in learning technologies, tips on how to supervise more effectively. And yes, we try to do this. But we also encourage them to critically reflect on this, and to some extent to deconstruct the normative content of what they claim to ‘want’.
But much Action Research and Action Learning would claim the same. Its just that in reading some of this material I sometimes get a feeling, and it often presents itself as a feeling, of uncomfortableness. Its almost as if I want to say: “It sounds fine in practice, but what use is it in theory?”. What I really mean by this is that the variations of ‘reflection-on-practice’ and ‘reflection-in-practice’ bracket the social world, the world of power and politics. There is often a distinct absence of political economy, of gender, social class and race. This is partly an effect of the location of the practice of much of the AR/AL I have been reading – management education.
For the purpose of this entry I need to put to one side the issue of the hyperbolic claims for critical theories of education that I have been embedded within all my professional life. I do want to say that there is a rigorous discussion within management education scholarship about issues of power and privilege. Its just in reading about ‘how to’ do it (AR/AL) this is not so apparent. It kind of speaks to me as the victory of practice over theory, of unconsidered life over the considered life.
And that is why this article by Van Manen is appealing to me.
Thinking of the importance we give to reflection as a methodology of professional education, Van Manen directs attention to the fact that reflection was an object of theoretical interest to Husserl. Our ‘experience’ of the world as temporal, as linked, as coherent, is an effect of perception – that is we do not ‘experience’ the world as a series of ‘now’ which we can then differentiate in terms of past, present and future. In asking our colleagues to ‘reflect’ on their experience of academic practice we are actually (if I understand Van Manen and Husserl correctly) asking them to bring objects into their perceptual field, to make aspects of practice intentional objects of our consciousness. In doing this aspects of what might be considered experience ‘in the past’ or ‘in the future’ are already changed. This is because we do not retain images of past events as fixed. In attending to a direct event or object (lets say our use of presentation software in large class teaching) we are already framing it in relation to ‘past’ (retention) and anticipated (protension) events. And what memories (if indeed these actually ‘exist’) we may have of previously using presentation software is transformed by brining an immediate object within our intentional gaze. Got it? I am not sure I have quite got it yet.
Let me try this again.
In asking our colleagues to intentionally focus on their use of presentation software now, in the past, and in the future we appear to be asking them to perceive these practices as somehow discrete entities. For Husserl and Heidegger and other phenomenologists we (as observers of temporal time) do not actually stand outside of the experience of time. There is no separation between ‘us’ and time. Time is a ‘taken-for-granted’, something we experience primordially and through our bodies. The pedagogy of reflection (using learning journals for instance) jolts us out of the ‘taken-for-granted’, makes the past-present-future of using presentation software an ‘object’ that we can some how interpret ‘as if’ it was something outside of the normal flow of practice. This is rather similar to Bourdieu’s argument that in research (as a particular social practice) we wrench events out of the flow of life and make them ‘objects of study’). But this flow of practice is full of interpretation, or pre-understanding (of what teaching is, of what learning is, of what learning technologies are); understandings that are often unarticulated. The jolt to the ‘taken-for-granted’ can (and I emphasise ‘can’) make us more aware (bring into consciousness) these pre-understandings and therefore the potential for creating new meaning. The ‘meaning’ of ‘presentation software’ arises from the narrative or story in which it is situated. This might be a narrative that places learning technologies within a person’s sense of themselves as a particular kind of educator; or within a story of career progression that necessitates (for that person) getting ‘such and such’ a skill or certificate under their belt; or perhaps in a narrative of being ‘out-of-place’ in academia and so needing to ‘prove’ oneself through taking up a professional development course. It will always be this learning at this time for this person. There is never experience in a general or objective sense. The ‘meaning’ of ‘presentation software’ therefore depends on what matters at that moment for that person. Therefore, phenomenological theory directs us to the central importance of ‘practice’ shorn of its ‘taken-for-granted’ garb.
Is this the lesson from phenomenology?
From the phenomenological perspective there is no me and then the world I engage with, I am in the world; there is no learning technology with which I engage, me and the technology and my use of it are all incorporated in my practice. My practice, my sense of self in this practice, cannot be captured adequately by the language of cognition alone. Teaching, as any of us will testify if we are honest, is about mood, atmosphere, relationships – it is what Van Manen talks of as pathic (as in empathy or sympathy). The local or private knowledge of the practitioner and the public (abstract) knowledge valued by academia are melded into one experiential, lived sensibility of ‘doing’ teaching, of ‘doing’ learning technologies. The ‘I’ or ‘me’ is in the practice rather than (cognitive) observer of that practice.
In conclusion, Van Manen says:
To reiterate, we may say that a phenomenology of practice operates in the space of the formative relations between who we are and who we may become, between how we think or feel and how we act. And these formative relations have pedagogical consequence for professional and everyday practical life.
[Does that make sense? As you can see I am working this out as I go along.]
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