Paper on Professional Practice In Experiential & Outdoor Education
AssignmentCritically examine the statement below and discuss its implications
for your professional practice as an outdoor educator:
“But for all your stimulation and guidance the creative impulse towards growth comes from within, and is intensely characteristic of the individual. Education is the guidance of the individual towards the comprehension of the art of life; and by the art of life I mean the most complete achievement and varied activity expressing the potentialities of that living creature in the face of its actual environment.” (The Aims of Education, Whitehead, 1929, p. 39).
Abstract
Claims in the education realm regarding “potentiality” are often ambiguous or contradictory in nature. The author uses an exploration of these paradoxes to highlight tensions that exist in outdoor education theory and practice. In the process of this exploration, he notes key implications for professional practice and emerging outdoor education directions.
'POTENTIAL’S’ IN THE EYE OF THE BEHOLDER”
Dustin Kunkel
Dustin Kunkel
Introduction
Whitehead’s definition (1929, p. 39) uses ambiguous terms which cloud his point—or is it points?—regarding education: What is “guidance” of the individual?” What is “complete achievement?” What is “varied activity?” What is “potentiality?” For example, the word “potentiality” rests on paradoxical assumptions: both in its roots in educative theory and present usage in outdoor education (OE). A further corollary is that OE practitioners may say one thing about “potentiality” but consistently do the opposite. This paper cannot explicate Whitehead’s vast definition—that took him an entire book. Instead, I use the concept of “potentiality” as a trailhead into the forest of professional practice in OE, seeking implications for my own professional practice. [I place “potentiality” within quotes to designate its problematic identity].
A generic definition of “potential” is “the capacity or ability for future development or achievement” (1999). When applied to Whitehead’s definition, the paradoxes lie in assumption of “capacity or ability:”
1. That which is not present—or at least not seen or measurable--is considered to be present in some form.
2. Though Whitehead claims education is “intensely characteristic of the individual” there is the contradictory need for another outside the individual to “guide” or notice the individual’s “potential.” Some might include “measuring” in this noticing of “capacity or ability.”
I am not prepared to argue the existence of these paradoxes to which there are devoted entire realms of philosophy since Plato (Bigge, 1982; Russell, 1961; Thomas, 1957). In fact, I am not arguing against the concept of “potentiality” at all. What I hope to illumine is the ambiguous—and sometimes contradictory—usage of the concept, which leads to problematic professional practice.
The historical paradox of potentiality: some examples
The word “potential” carries its own attendant baggage in a western cultural milieu. The term, as used primarily in the sciences since Newton (in particular, physics) is centred on the power of forces operating in nature—“Energy stored by an object by virtue of its position” (Potential Energy, 2005). It is appropriate to question whether in its educative use “potentiality” carries some of those same connotations. Do we regard learners as forces with potential energy? What happens if we assume some learners have more “potential energy” than others? If “potentiality” is all about position, does education equal manipulating positions? And, perhaps the most fundamental question, how do we as educators practically access this hope in something which is not seen—this “potentiality?”
Whitehead’s “art of life” is predicated on “potentiality,” so it might be instructive to engage a historical perspective from art:
Michelangelo differed in this respect from many Renaissance theorists, who argued that art should reproduce nature. Da Vinci believed that "the most praiseworthy painting [was that] which has the most conformity with the object imitated" (Clements 147) . . . . One of the methods Alberti employed to achieve such an end was a process of mathematical averaging. . . .Michelangelo's theory . . . was in opposition to these theories. He was often criticized for not faithfully representing his subjects. (Vess, 2005).
We might say Michelangelo saw something of potential within the block of stone whereas Leonardo and others were trying to replicate exactly what they saw represented in nature. The heart of the paradox is that “potentiality” exists more in Michelangelo than in any block of stone. It might be further suggested that the same applies on some level to Da Vinci—what did he see in the Mona Lisa?
With his definition of “the art of life” and “potentialities” Whitehead brings this wider debate straight into education, although he is not the first. Rousseau, from whom came a number of “schools” of educative philosophy (Bigge, 1982, Rousseau, 1888) also engages a fundamental paradox on “potentiality:” the only way to raise Emile in true freedom is to remove him from society’s mores—yet this act requires the intentional hand of a firm tutor, whom we assume, comes from society (Rousseau, 1960). Emile is not raised by wolves, but by a man. Even more problematic is Rousseau’s strongly advocated prescription late in life for the centralized and autocratic education of Poland (p. 191). One is forced to accept one of two possibilities: Rousseau either went through a polar mental leap sometime after he wrote Emile or his “child-centred” approach is part-and-parcel of a highly controlled nationalistic school system. Gatto believes that,
Rousseau showed the world how to write on the empty child Locke had fathered . . . he is to be emptied in preparation for his initiation as a mindless article of nature . . . Emile is to find negative freedom—freedom from attachment, freedom from danger, freedom from duty and responsibility, etc. But Rousseau scrupulously avoids a question anybody might ask: What is this freedom for (2003, pp. 270-271)?
It might be suggested that Rousseau’s “potentiality” does not arise from within the child but rather from the tutor who has complete power over the learner. The paradox here is that despite verbiage about “learner-centredness,” “potentiality,” or “innate capacity,” we find ultimate power in the teacher, and a learner trapped in the teacher’s conception of his or her “potentiality.” It might also be suggested, given these contradictory notions of “potentiality” in the history of education philosophy, the term is one we should use with care and attention to its connotation.
Paradox and ambiguity in OE “professionalism”
Where does “potentiality” intersect with outdoor education in 2006? Perhaps emblematic of a more extensive philosophical struggle in OE, Mcdonald has questioned what he considers the highly controlled approach of Priest and Gass (1997), and (with an attitude reminiscent of Michelangelo) suggests traditional OE is an art that defies measurement (2000). To reach some conclusions about “potentiality” we must first embark on an all-to-brief perspective of OE “professional” waters:
On the surface, much OE writing seems centred on theories--constructivism, social constructionism, and symbolic interactionism, etc. (means there might be other terms for these concepts)—that attempt to resolve a disconnect between teacher and learner, between self and other (Beames, 2004; Beames, 2005; Delay, 1996; McKenzie, 2003; Quay, 2003). It is somewhat simplistic to group them together; yet, all of them construct premises on Dewey’s notion of experience and expanding circles of learning (Crosby, 1995; Dewey, 1938; Hunt, Jr., 1995; Joplin, 1995), and explore the role of the individual “constructing” his or her reality, while interacting with people and objects. In Beame’s words, “this suggests that people’s thoughts and behaviours are influenced by those around them, in a constant, dynamic relationship that shapes who they are” (2005, p. 14).
Though other environmental and OE practitioners do not reference these theoretical concepts/terms specifically, it might be suggested that many, nevertheless, operate upon this broad theoretical base (for non-exhaustive examples, see Brookes, 2004a-d; Davidson, 2001; Loynes, 2003c; Miller, 2005; & Stewart, 2003).
However, there seems to exist an “undertow” pushing the opposite direction in both writing and practice. It might be suggested even the terms (and concepts) “constructivism” and “constructionism” are not without contradictory baggage. Their association with a Western paradigm, and the “constructing” of colonial empire and capital-based industrial economy should leave them open to question (Kunkel, 2005). Do people in the West pay OE providers to construct a “big” experience like the cars and homes they own, or aspire to? Loynes has diagnosed what he calls “the algorithmic model” as being a powerful driver of OE theory and practice (2002). Higgins implicates modernity, and notices the trend away from “”broad and relatively unstructured experiences’ to either ‘highly focussed, processed’ or ‘recreational’ experiences” (2001). Is there a mechanistic constructivist undertow in OE practice? Are some practitioners saying one thing about “potentiality,” but promoting the opposite?
Boyes and O’Hare present a “model for outdoor adventure decision-making” centred on a type of process, but using a mechanistic flowchart model (2003). They tip their hand in the final paragraph when they connect “improving safety in the outdoors” with reducing “the time frame and expense needed to develop leader competency.” Among other projects, O’Hare is presently conducting research for NASA on pilot decisions and training for its safety programme (University of Otago, 2000). While it is critical to have interdisciplinary approaches to OE, it is appropriate to question what models actually fit. I am sure O’Hare’s research will be helpful to NASA, yet, how much analysis from pilot decision research generalizes to outdoor leadership?
Berman and Davis-Berman develop an “integrated approach to crisis management in wilderness settings” but actually promote “comprehensivity”--a much larger claim (2002). Wurdinger and Paxton propose an “appropriate sequence” and “four levels of experience” to “enhance learning outcomes and help promote autonomous behaviour” (2003), Bacon uses a “diagrammatic representation of the metaphoric model” as the template for outdoor decision-making (1983, pp. 11-13) and Barnes presents “complete practical theory” (1997). Many practitioners, including myself, find suggestions by these authors helpful in certain circumstances. Yet, we should be aware these approaches straddle the potentiality paradox: they assume growth in a person will be achieved by application of a better plan, programme, or model—particularly, a comprehensive application of their model to a very specific person. The subtext is that growth is maximized because the teacher (someone else) is an expert (i.e., knows which model to apply).
Even if there is no teacher involved, we are still confronted with a problem: Allison and Higgins suggest “youth expeditions are a product of modernity, globalization, capitalism and exploitation, a postmodern finishing school, a rite of passage or holidays for the wealthy upper-middle classes dressed up to be ‘educational’ to ease social conscience” (2002, p. 24). What does this say about our views of “potentiality?” Other writers question the speed-oriented approach to leadership development (McDonald, 2000) and “comprehensive” models that leave no room for generative and/or diverse epistemologies (Brookes, 2004a-d; Loynes 2002; Nicol 2003).
Others diagnose the issue as attributive to deeper presuppositions about human nature. Richardson points out that the usage of “potentiality” within the genetic nativist view--i.e. genetic makeup equals “potentiality”—is endemic throughout psychology and education (1998). He suggests, “it can be argued that the gene doctrine has repeatedly re-emerged precisely to reinforce a Platonic ‘social-rationalism’, in which the state is run on genetically determined principles, and under which everyone accepts their predetermined place” (p. 35). Thus, socio-biological philosophy makes the assumption that “potentiality” means “innate genetic determinism” which easily becomes “my allotted fate”--determined by whoever is best able to measure my “capacity or ability for future development or achievement.” Potentiality is in the eye of the beholder, which seems a rather frightening paradox. Delay “[asserts] that many experiential programs have a latent behavioralism embedded in the program or teaching styles” (1996, p. 78).
With these examples in mind, it might be suggested that OE does not stand apart, but is embroiled in an ongoing debate in education and culture. Most OE practitioners seem to agree on the existence of this “unseen thing called potentiality.” However, is “potentiality” a force that exerts itself given the correct application of power and manipulation of the environment, is it the predetermined (and mysterious) genetic makeup of each individual, or does the human capacity transcend—or subvert--or skirt--such notions? It might be suggested that practitioners advocating “comprehensive” approaches and/or “speeding up leadership development” through programmes are utilizing “force-full” concepts of potentiality based on positioning (see the physics definition); others may falsely assume a “genetic potentiality set-point.”
“Potentiality” paradox in practice: two examples
If Richardson and Delay are right, then one might expect to find the “potentiality” paradox inadvertently in evidence in the OE field. That is just what I stumbled upon while reading Hovelynck and Peeter’s paper on “the role of humour in learning and facilitating” (2003). They relate an experience of getting antagonistic “clients” involved in “working, playing and learning” (p. 172) through the use of humour. However, the subtext raises some ethically problematic questions about the roles of the practitioner and how the “client” is viewed.
The stage: a “multinational production company” arranges for “a one-day team-building program” for their managers, who, when they arrive, “made it clear that they did not intend to participate in the outdoor program that no one had asked their opinion about until the program started” (p. 172). It seems clear that in the minds of the writers, a divergence in aims existed. At this point, with the “potentiality” paradox in mind, it might be helpful for the practitioner to ask some questions: Who am I serving? Whose “potential” am I interested in? Does payment by a corporation to enhance the “team” aspects of its managers decide how the “learning” is framed?
Hovelynck and Peeters do not give many follow-up details. They use the episode primarily as evidence for their point on humour. Yet, the lack of attention (in an episode that took two-thirds of a page) to the ethical issue raises a flag. The episode ends with a one-sentence capsule of the day: “we discussed their and our difficulty with the way the program was set up and started our day of working, playing and learning.” It is so brief, we can only speculate as to whether the facilitators were open to the “potentiality” that the managers wanted to learn something other than “team building”--by inference, corporate “fine-tuning.” Or did humour make the ensuing “team-building” palatable?
Gair asks a question that, framed by the humour episode, is illuminating: “ . . . if industry and commerce put such store in team working and invest considerable funds in outdoor training and consultancy, why do we not use exactly the same techniques with our young people . . . to give them a competitive head start in the employment market” (1997, p. 139)? It is not wrong, of course, to ask such questions. However, they highlight the fact that “potentiality” in young learners can be viewed as “potential” to be human resources in the employment market. “Human resources” are a very different concept than “humanity.” As an OE practitioner seeking congruity, it might be suggested that owning up to this “potentiality” paradox in our verbiage and practice is a small step towards professionalism.
Sharp, Green and Lewis illustrate a recurring issue in the broader world of education that remains problematic 30 years after they conducted their research: a disconnect between teachers and administrators who claim to be “progressive,” and utilize “experience as the teacher,” and the communities they serve. Despite claiming an experiential “learner-centred” approach, the headmaster of a “progressive primary school” believed parental and child aspirations towards excellence in education were very low (1975, p. 65) and needed “help.” The researchers found the opposite to be true regarding parent and child aspirations. They also found similar attitudes present among many of the staff, who on one hand, advocated the excellence of their approach while believing their students (from a low-income, working class catchment) were “emotionally deprived” due to family circumstance (p. 71). Were they assumed as “low potential?” Is this akin to being a great gardener with a rich garden but only a handful of “low potential” seeds from last year?
The researchers pointed out that “teacher infallibility is ironic when seen in the context of the almost universal tendency to blame the home for the child’s failings but not necessarily his successes” (p. 87). In other words, “you are the problem, we are the solution.” It might be suggested that rhetoric about the “potential” of a child is questionable in that it can be used to separate the learner from his or her home environment, create a new kind of “expert” who refuses to accurately accept the familial context of the learner as part of the “potentiality,” and—most importantly—assumes a pre-set level of “potentiality” within the learner.
Sharp, Green and Lewis suggest a further contradiction: “. . . child centred education is an aspect of romantic radical conservatism which involves an emotional turning away from society and an attempt within the confines of education to bring about that transformation of individual consciousness which is seen to be the key to social regeneration” (p. 227). If this statement is accurate, then it is also paradoxical. Brookes would situate that same philosophy within OE in neo-Hahnian practice that extracts individuals from their socio-cultural context for transformative purposes --yet shows no change in behaviour post-experience (2003a-c). Loynes suggests: “these qualities can only be transforming when the experiences supporting them do not occur in the context of the market . . . the emerging paradigm is critiquing the context of experiential learning” (2002, p. 122).
Sharp, Green and Lewis further situate a “soft control” methodology as being central to a society that is becoming more, rather than less, controlling: “. . . the development of a quasi therapeutic orientation to the educational task . . . impugns those who fail in ways which are non-threatening to established interests. . . moving more and more people into soft control areas” (p. 225). It is enlightening to read current papers on “outdoor education and therapy” through this lens (Berman & Davis-Berman, 2002; Pryor, Carpenter, & Townsend, 2005). Is OE playing designated roles within a culture of “soft” control? A cursory reading of OE materials suggests the constituency is often made up of corporations paying for “team-building,” schools paying for “education,” and government-subsidised work with “at-risk youth” who need social adjustment (non-exhaustive examples include Professional Practice guest lecturers; Greenaway, 2005; Leberman & Martin, 2004; Lilley, 1999; Mathur, 2002; Wyatt, 1997). A study of OE constituency motives for using OE providers would determine if this is bias on my part.
Implications for practice
These contradictions are going nowhere soon. As illustrated in the brief look at the history of “potentiality,” the discussion extends for centuries and is not consigned solely to education. Given the problematic nature of the concept of “potentiality,” an OE practitioner might assume a state of “potentiality”-paralysis. However, “potentiality” can also provoke helpful questions and movement: The first move is to recognize the impact of the “potentiality” paradox upon my role, constituency, and practice in OE. Vokey suggests we “locate ourselves . . . within existing hierarchies of power . . .” and “not overlook how the educational institutions with which I am associated are deeply integrated within, dependent upon, and attached to the socio-ecological status quo” (1999, p. 241).
Citing what they call the “adventure paradox,” Lynch and Moore ask, “[can] the contemporary interest in adventuring . . . deliver on such promises given its fundamental alignment with the development of the modern world” (2004, p. 9)? Am I, as an educator, aware that “adventure helps to align people . . . with the capitalist dynamic of ‘creative destruction’” (p. 10)? It is almost certain that current roles in OE will remain for decades to come. Am I aware when one group with one agenda pays me to “do something” for another group with another agenda? In what ways do I recognize and attend to these competing loyalties? How can I develop a personal ethic in my practice that takes this wider context into account? Whether I accept a “potentiality” paradox or not, how do I engage the issue?
The second move is to recognize that not too long ago—150 to 200 years--education was not as mandatory or formalized, but situated in families. Learning has been split from the familial context, because extended families have been split. Richardson calls this the “cognition-culture complex:” “ . . . all attempts to understand human cognitive potential shorn from its social context are doomed to failure” (1998, p. 198). We find it easy to extract learners from their families because our culture finds it easy to extract most everything from its original environment. Still, even “algorithmic” writers have to account for the influence of families: “if the . . . family unit, does not recognize a difference in the role of the participant . . . the participant is at risk of reverting” (Bell, 2003, p. 46). A growing number of practitioners are advocating “situationist” (Brookes, 2003a-d), “generative” (Loynes, 2002), or “participatory” learning embedded in local communities (Quay, 2003). What about a re-emergence of the extended family? In what ways can the tech and web revolution bring this “old school” of learning back?
The third move is a move away from exclusive or traditional OE roles into partnerships with new constituencies: What are home-school families doing with their children? What are my local school administrator or teacher or outdoor educator doing? What about the freeschool movement in the United States? What are small (and large) religious schools doing? What are “development-resistant” people in developing nations doing? What are leaders in businesses doing? How can we ask these questions together? Ultimately, the “potentiality” paradox can provide helpful insights into professional practice, and illumine another kind of “potential:” the capacity for a re-genesis in education that may have everything to do with being out of doors with people, but may look and feel like nothing we know.
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