Author: C. P. Lawrence

A Deep Dive into Artificial Intelligence

by C. P. Lawrence

A Deep Dive into Artificial Intelligence:

What is Artificial Intelligence (AI)? According to NASA, AI “refers to computer systems that can perform complex tasks normally done by human-reason, decision making, creating, etc.” NASA states that there is “no single, simple definition” regarding AI and that is because it is changing and growing constantly. 

As I speak with people on the topic, I tend to receive two responses: one of fear and one of reckless abandonment. There are those who are extremely concerned about AI and what it will do to us as human beings. Then, there are those who can’t wait to open Pandora’s Box and see all the wonderful benefits waiting to be used. 

In the little research I have done about AI, I have discovered that, in general, there are three fundamental components of all AI Systems. There is Data, which is how a system learns and makes decisions. Without large quantities of data, there are no decisions. There are Algorithms. These are sets of rules systems use to process these large quantities of data. Then, there is Computing Power. AI systems need computing resources to process these large quantities of data through their complex algorithms. As you can imagine, there are needs for large quantities of power to run these AI systems.

As far as the history of AI, the groundwork for the idea began in the early 1900s, but the largest advances are recent. Alan Turing began exploring artificial networks in the 1950s; he published a paper entitled, Computer Machinery and Intelligence, in which he proposed a test of machine intelligence. He called this test the Imitation Game, which eventually became the Turing Test. This was a watershed moment as AL technology began to develop rapidly after this point.

Computer development began with increasing processing speeds in the 70s and 80s, producing faster, cheaper more accessible computers. During this time, the very first AI language was created, but computers were still too weak to demonstrate any kind of intelligence. The 80s were a time of growth and of increased interest in AI, and this was due, in part, to breakthroughs in research, which increased funding opportunities. The 90s produced the first functioning AI systems: the first AI to defeat a world champion chess player, AI robots, AI self-cleaning vacuums, and AI speech recognition software. In the late 1990s and 2000s, there were significant advances in AI. Automation and machine learning were used to solve problems in academia as well as in the real world, which brings us today.

There are AI systems all around us and their use continues to increase daily. Ai is used in law, medicine, education, engineering, science and more. There are enormous benefits to its use. It can solve problems and diagnosis diseases, but like anything else, with the benefits come the detriments. There are detriments, even though I have spoken to several who see none. I have my own concerns, but for today I will just address one: entropy. 

AI systems are created with entropy in mind, but it is the entropy found in thermodynamics. The second law of thermodynamics states that the entropy of an isolated system can only increase or remain constant; it never decreases. As great as AI is, it is still a created system, and it still must deal with entropy. I tend to look at entropy and its relationship with AI from the perspective of physics, which indicates that the tendency of systems is to move towards a greater state of disorder and randomness and not away from it. If I am right to look at entropy’s relationship with AI this way, what does it say about AI’s future? Is it endless? Is it immune from entropy? 

As AI becomes more a part of its own data, and by data, I mean that content which it creates that is added to the data to which it has access, what will happen to its state of entropy? Will it decrease or increase? I believe it will most certainly increase. I do see, in the distant future, an ancestral relationship with its data when its data base moves past a 50% bifurcation point. What I mean by this is that at some point in the future I see AI creating so much data that become part of the data base ( the internet) that it begins to use its own created data to make decisions. Will this matter?

I do think this will matter. What will it do to its ability to think and reason? Here is a harder question, will it be too late? What I mean by that question is will it be too late for us at this future date due to our conditioning and dependence on AI systems? If, at a future date, this ancestral state of entropy is reached and it results in AI systems suddenly providing some false information or some untrue truth, will we be able to recognize this information as false or will we be too far gone? There are hard questions not being discussed regarding AI that need to be discussed. Will we take the time to discuss them or are we too in a hurry to usher in AI as the solution to all our problems. When that day comes, AI will be the least of our worries. Until next time …  

Deconstructing Deconstructivism: Part IV

by C. P. Lawrence

Deconstructing Deconstructivism: Part IV

            We have examined deconstructivism, but there is one question that remains: how are we to respond to it? I would suggest that any response begins by, first, coming to an understanding of instability as it is defined by deconstructivism. There are questions that come with any speculation of instability as an organic state of language. What if its organic state was, instead, something else? What if instability was merely the tension of determination? Derrida provided some support for this type thinking when he referred to the openness of instability as “aporia,” describing it as a puzzle or quandary (Jackson & Massei, 2012). What if “aporia” was that which was imposed over meaning by deconstructivism? Nothing is for certain and should not be thought of in those terms.  

Let’s begin this post, instead, with some hard truth; instability is a part of life, but it is a part of life we fight against. No one wants to be unstable, even when it comes to language. We seek clarity not confusion, especially in our communication. What do we do with confusion? We look for ways to clarify it and eliminate it, and yet deconstructivism seems, to me, to seek to keep it. I see it seeking to be the means of clarity. Do I dare go further? I think it goes beyond clarity and seeks to be “the” means of meaning. What other purpose would it have for keeping instability alive, especially in language? Let’s back up a bit and look at what instability does, if left on its own. Simply, it destroys stability. As we have studied deconstructivism, we have referenced its interaction with norms. Instability undermines stability, especially when it comes to stable norms. Derrida advocated that an important part of the process of deconstructivism was to keep asking questions, which is a theoretical device used to keep meaning and language from falling into a sameness, which is never seen as a critical tool of analysis or as positive. Sameness is never welcomed in critical analysis and always viewed with suspicion and as bias. 

Derrida saw both language and thought as living in what he called binary opposition, which he suggested was a confirmation of the instability of language. He saw language relying on opposing concepts like good/evil, true/false and happy/sad to sustain itself. He did not see these as part of the natural state of language but as constructions imposed on meaning and language by human beings. What is language if not a tool of communication for human beings? I do not see language as entity unto itself; I see it strictly as a tool used by human beings to communicate. In my reading of Derrida, I did not get the sense that he saw language in the same light as I see it. He saw these binary oppositions as existing within a dangerous possibility: that one term would be given the privileged status over the other term, thus affecting the natural state and balance of language. He claimed that this privileged status (one term over the other) prevented meaning from “disseminating out beyond its initial intended meaning” in multiple directions, which assumes language is not a tool but an entity unto itself. One question I have regarding binary oppositions is this one: do they not define each other? Is not dark the absence of light? Is not false the answer that is not the right answer? What is the alternative if these binary oppositions are removed? I don’t see them as constructions of human beings but instead, as observations of human beings. Human beings did not create dark or truth or even good. They observed its presence or its absence through, in many cases, its binary opposite.

When it comes to communication, I do not seek to protect two binary opposed meanings, at least not when I am seeking to be clear in my communication. Communication, for me, is determining shared meaning for the purposes of effective and clear communication. It is understanding meaning and embracing the same meaning. Did Derrida see language impacted by context or was he afraid of the impact of context? I am not sure. Derrida claimed to have seen language and thought as indecideable (his word), a term he used to describe meaning as having no clear resolution, which, from my perspective, leaves language in one place … in a state of confusion, which could also be referenced as instability. Is this what he saw or is this what he needed language to be for deconstructivism to grow and thrive? How we see and respond to deconstructivism will do one of two things: it will either feed it or starve it and kill it. 

Deconstructivism if often referenced with terms like unpacking, destabilizing and undermining in regard to its interaction with norms, which it would define those that are stable as assumptions, as binaries and as privileged. These are intentionally negative terms designed, in my opinion, for them to be unpacked or destabilized. But, again, what if the theory of deconstructivism is wrong when it comes to norms? What if instability is not a natural state but instead, one created for the purposes of destabilizing those norms that are stable? If this is the case, then we would need to confirm through a dialectic method whether deconstructivism is viable or not. When it comes to literary theory, deconstructivism operates in literary theory by encouraging us to read literature closely but with skepticism, questioning binary oppositions, resisting final interpretations and embracing ambiguity. When we put all these words together—skepticism, questioning, resisting and ambiguity—what do we get? These words encourage doubt, challenge authority and embrace uncertainty, which could be summed up in one word, instability. The question then becomes does deconstructivism identify instability or produce it? 

Considering this question, I think we must, first, understand deconstructivism for what it is. I am not advocating that it produces instability, but I am say that there does exist a possibility that it does. Therefore, we cannot assume that it does, nor can we assume that it does not. It is important to understand that any disagreement with its principles—its skepticism of fixed meanings, rejection of absolute truth and tendency towards destabilizing established frameworks—if not done critically and constructively will be engaging it in the very manner being criticized and result in confusion or ambiguity, which is exactly what deconstructivism wants and, in many ways, needs. In this series, I have tried to provide a picture of this theoretical position from different angles for the purpose of understanding. Ignorance is offering criticism of that which we do not understand without understanding; analysis is offering constructing critical analysis in a thoughtful, respectful and knowledgeable manner. Back to our question, how do we respond to deconstructivism?

Let’s begin by seeking to understand what we believe and subjecting our own beliefs to the same analysis to confirm whether our beliefs are true or not. So many of us are unwilling to do that but must be willing to do that if we are seeking truth. We must, next, understand that our perceptions, as right and as true as they feel, are only our perceptions. They are not reality or even true, at times. Sometimes they are true and other times they are not. Most of the time they are built and re-enforced by someone else’s perceptions, which should be analyzed as well. For example, I have been advocating in this series in subtle ways that one of the weaknesses of deconstructivism is its lack of focus on the pragmatic reality of communication. To communicate, we need “shared linguistic and cultural frameworks,” and my example of that is language. English speakers do not communicate well in other parts of the world if they are monolingual or unwilling to engage in the language of the region in some way. If they expect everyone to speak English and have a very superficial view of communication, then they will struggle to communicate because they are allowed instability to reign and seek no action to clarify. There are other aspects of communication like culture, attitude, countenance and a willingness to engage and communicate. If none of these are engaged, communication will be lacking and remain ambiguous and confused. That sounds nothing like the state of communication needed to effectively communicate, and yet, that is a practical example, albeit simple, of deconstructivism at its simplest level.   

As we engage deconstructivism, and you will engage it, it will be helpful to you to recognize it. How will you do that? Let’s start with its tendency to blur all distinctions. Not only will it seek to destabilize stable norms, but it will blur clear distinctions which tend to lead to relativism, which is another sign of the presence of deconstructivism. Where do we see this? Right now, the most prominent place we are seeing this is in the blurring of the genders, male and female. This is clear indication of the presence and the impact of deconstructivism, but it is also an opportunity to address deconstructivism’s weakness when it comes to practicality and real-world applications. While there is a blurring of the genders (per deconstructivism) there is not a blurring of the product of this burring, which is contradictory and an opportunity to determine its validity that we need not miss. Again, our response depends on our ability to identify the presence and impact of deconstructivism and then respond respectfully and lovingly to it inside its own theoretical methodology. This means we must understand it, something most of us are unwilling to do. It is helpful and intelligent to read and study both sides of an issue. As difficult as this is to do, to really understand and respond well, we must do this. Another tendency of deconstructivism is its push towards ambiguity, which is not applicable in several vocational situations, especially in areas like medicine and engineering. We should not blindly and emotionally reject deconstructivism outright because of these two examples but use them by applying them back on top of deconstructivism as a means of pointing out weaknesses, gaps and breakdowns and asking questions.

Deconstructivism is a critical theory that is used in academics effectively in micro-situations, but its struggles, like most academic theory, begin when it is applied in culture in real-world macro-situations or used to push an agenda and change behavior. Any theory, good or bad, if applied in similar situations, will produce similar results. We should respond as civilized respectful human beings with a critical eye towards its application in wrong settings to learn more about it and use it to pursue truth. In the right settings, it is effective in rooting out bad theory and paving the way for good theory, but in the wrong settings, it quickly becomes a hammer akin to propaganda used by those with malicious intent to inflict their ideas on others via power, and that is not considered ethical nor critical analysis.  This concludes this series on deconstructivism. I hope you enjoyed it. Until next time …     

Derrida, Jacques. (1988). “Derrida and difference.” (David Wood & Robert Bernaconi, Trans.). Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press. (Original work published 1982).

Deconstructing Deconstructivism: Part III

by C. P. Lawrence

Deconstructing Deconstructivism: Part III

In this post, I jump back into the rabbit hole known as deconstructivism. Let me begin with this statement: the process of deconstruction is not the opposite of anything, but instead, it is a means of instability. This one statement will color everything else in this post. This much I know—deconstructivism is prevalent in our culture. It perceives any control or order outside of itself as detrimental, unnatural and as a threat to itself. It is built to attack all of this for the sake of its own preservation. A word of caution before reading this post … it is longer that usually and that is due to jumping into the world of philosophy. In that world, language’s importance cannot be understated. It is the primary tool through which philosophical thought is communicated, analyzed and debated. I do not plan to go down into the depths necessary to adequately explain language’s importance to philosophy, but I do plan to dig a little deeper than normal. So, let’s get started. 

When discussing deconstructivism or any other philosophical theory, the role of language must be addressed. Language is a communication system that involves words and systemic rules that organizes those words for the purpose of communication. We need language but so does philosophy and its theories. Language, as one of the main forms of communication, is important to philosophy, but before we get into why we need to understand the configuration of language. Language, as a form of communication, has specific components; two of the most important ones are a lexicon and a grammar. A lexicon refers to the words used by the given language. These words have meaning which must be understood to communicate. The grammar is a set of agreed-upon rules used by the lexicon to convey meaning. Without an agreed-upon lexicon and grammar, all communication would be ineffective. Therefore, language is used by philosophy as vehicle of change to deliver its theories and communicate them; deconstructivism, however, took this idea to another level, as we shall see. Over the next several paragraphs, I hope to accomplish two tasks. First, I hope to address how deconstructivism delivered this change, and second, I hope to address the change that was delivered. 

How does deconstructivism deliver change? You have probably already presumed that language was involved in some way, and you are correct. Deconstructivism, like all other theories, uses language as means of delivery, but deconstructivism does something no other theory has done … it goes beyond using it for communicative purposes and challenges its authority, or its grammar, by way of tension. It posited that the natural state of language was not fixed or absolute but unstable and fluid. This one fundamental belief does a lot of heavy lifting for deconstructivism. It provides a posture of change in both the lexicon and the grammar of language. Most philosophers assume a prejudice of general language to justify creating their own language. There are many reasons for this; some pure; some not. My point is that when they do this, they assume control of the language and the power associated with it. Deconstructivism is similar in approach but different in scope. It did create some of its own language, but it did this to control all of language. Language is its means of delivering change, but unlike other theories, the scope of change extends beyond its theory and to all of language and culture. It sought to position itself to be the lexicon and the grammar of all language for the purpose of culture coming under its control. How did it do this? 

It began with an attack on norms. Any past or pre-established norm was considered a threat to deconstructivism due to stability. Deconstructivism posited that stability is not a norm’s natural state but is, instead, a sign that a norm has moved away from its natural state of instability. The first battle began with language. Is there any bigger norm out there? If it could deconstruct language and re-create it in a way under its control, then, nothing was out of its reach. Culture, in many ways, is defined by its norms, and there is no other factor as impactful as language. We may quibble over whether it is a norm or not, but it does color the culture in which it lives. Norms along with language are two of the standards that define culture. If we understand this, we may better understand some of the political battles taking place and why the fight is so intense. What is at stake? The answer is our norms. They define our culture, and they define us. 

Norms are norms because they are behaviors or mindsets considered acceptable by most people of a specific culture despite their own individual beliefs. Norms that are stable define our culture and define who we are, but stable norms are under the constant attack of deconstructivism for one simple reason: stability threatens deconstructivism. Why? We only need to go back to the first paragraph and remember that deconstructivism is not the opposite of anything, but instead, it is a means of instability. Norms that are stable produce consistency, sameness and constancy. Stability is often seen as the opposite of change, and when it comes to human behavior, stability is seen as the neurological basis for consistent habits which involve the stabilization neural information. Stability makes change more difficult, and it makes control next to impossible. For deconstructivism to impact culture, it needed instability to be a norm and then it had to become “the” norm of all norms. How did it do that? It created cultural instability and then became the stability in the instability. Establishing instability as the natural state of language allowed language to be the vehicle of change. It was language that did the work of deconstructivism; it was language that delivered instability to culture. 

Deconstructivism still had to address those norms that were most dominant. Deconstructing any norm requires the general population of the culture in which it lives to embrace the change. Support for a change to something stable will only be accepted if there is initial suspicion of the norm. This suspicion flows out of the instability of the norm, which would have been established by deconstructivism. When a tried-and-true norm is perceived as unstable, our human condition takes over rendering us suspicious of it. We begin doubting it and the other norms associated with it. You have experienced it over the last several years … removing statues of past leaders, attacking the integrity of institutions put in place to protect and serve and even promoting bias and oppression as good. This is how deconstructivism delivers the change it needs to live. It has changed you and me, and it is fundamentally changing culture.   

What change has deconstructivism presented as normal? That one is easy; it is instability. Instability comes in many forms. It is tension and doubt. It is skepticism and isolation. What do these things do to us? Well, they weaken our foundations and punch holes into our existing norms, reducing everything to its lowest form, which makes us doubt everything.  When we do this everything is vulnerable to the dominant idea of the day, which would be, you guessed it, deconstructivism. Norms are not just commonly held beliefs; they are guard rails of the highway we call culture. Removing them does not bring freedom but danger. A culture without norms was what Derrida wanted because he wanted deconstructivism to be the guard rails of culture. He would call such a state the “absence of presence” or the “already-always present,” and he would embrace it because it would be a culture of instability. Derrida would refer to such a situation as “trace” and see it as a means of stripping away the “supposed” contradictions of language, opening it to new “true” meaning. He would call it “the absent presence of imprints on our words and their meanings before we speak about them” (Jackson & Mazzei, 2012, p. 19).

This is deconstructivism in its truest form. It is “the norm” that defines all other norms by pushing every other one to instability while it remains as the lone stable dominant norm. We see and experience it every day. It is present in our media and especially in our government. If you listen, you will hear it. Truth is no longer that which is true, but that which is repeated and situational. Any belief in anything stable is to be challenged because everything must be unstable. The media is no longer the watch dog of the people but the mechanism of manipulation and change. Anything presented as an absolute is attacked, viewed with suspicion and perceived in negative ways for one simple reason: it is a threat to instability. Then, there is suspicion—we have become suspicious of everything. This is the impact of deconstructivism.

Suspicion is only a short path to the cliff of paranoia. Those who are suspicious of everything eventually doubt everything, which is a form of paranoia. What do you trust in culture? What do you know to be true in culture? Are you concerned that there are no longer real answers to these questions? This is deconstructivism. It works by giving everyone access to itself through suspicion brought on by instability. Someone said to me, but we have community, don’t we? We are told that we have community, but what we really have is isolation. Our “community” is no longer in-person but one of technology. We text, tweet, post and email more than we talk in person; that is not community. That is living inside instability and calling it other things: individualism, preference, perception and self-preservation. Make no mistake, these are not elements of community but elements of instability and deconstructivism.

This world of deconstructivism is a strange world. It is a world where everyone is king. The problem is that when everyone is king, no one is king, except the one who made everyone king. We embrace and encourage selfishness. We no longer talk about integrity and honor. Difference is a means to an end, and we have eviscerated any idea of excellence by calling it intolerance. Everyone has become a judge without ever looking in a mirror. Integrity has been pushed aside and replaced by self-preservation and empathy for others has evaporated into the air. Hard work is viewed with suspicion and all forms of submission are labeled as oppression. We choose criticism over encouragement, negativity over positivity, selfishness over selflessness and materialism over minimalism. This is our world. How are we to respond to it? That is for another day and another post. Until then …  

  Derrida, Jacques. (1988). “Derrida and difference.” (David Wood & Robert Bernaconi, Trans.). Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press. (Original work published 1982).

Deconstructing Deconstructionism: Part II

by C. P. Lawrence

Deconstructing Deconstructivism: Part II

Looking at the process of deconstruction through the lens of deconstructivism is a bit like looking at the world through the eyes of Alice as she looks at the world through the looking glass; you can see shapes and colors, but nothing is clear. Derrida explained the process of deconstruction in a curious way when he stated that, “[it] acquires its value only from its inscription in a chain of possible substitutions, in what is too blithely called a context” (Derrida, 1985, p.2). Derrida presented deconstructivism as an organic act of creation found inside language, but he also presented it as that which was only determined by the context of its use. It is this one word, “only” that provides deconstructivism its protection, which is its ambiguity. Contexts are different and always changing. If deconstructivism is creation determined by the context with which it interacts inside language, then it is never the same and always evolving into something different. My point is that the process of deconstruction is an action of instability acting on that with which it interacts. This we do know. What we do not know is whether its interaction is an act of imposition or of revelation? 

I would like to suggest that the use of the term “organic” is an intentionally heavy term, and more calculated than not. Derrida claimed that he did not create deconstruction but found it as it was, always “going on around us,” which, interesting enough, was in the same state in which he claimed to have found language and meaning. They both, according to Derrida, were found … as unstable in their natural and true state, which begs the question: is instability their nature and true state? Were they found unstable before their interaction with deconstructivism or as the result of their interaction with deconstructivism? This is an important point because we know that there is instability in the world; what we do not know is whether this instability is organic, manufactured or a combination of both, especially when it comes to language?

Each morning, you and I awake to an unstable world. You can feel it just like I can. I am old enough to remember the stability of the world years ago. Sure, there were issues but there was decency and common sense; there is now tension and instability in their place. Both are now norms, replacing the stable ones of the past. It is disconcerting to me that stability is now perceived as a negative in relation to language and meaning. Words have meaning and will always have meaning. That should never change and yet, it has. In the next several paragraphs, I will present a case that deconstructivism, like its cousins, Marxism and Critical Theory, is intentionally providing the means to deconstruct stable norms and replace them with unstable ones for one reason: power.

Jackson and Mazzei, in their book, Thinking with Theory in Qualitative Research, describe their views of deconstructivism, which are directly linked to Derrida’s views. Jackson and Mazzei quoted Derrida when they wrote, “Deconstruction in a nutshell is the tension between memory, fidelity, the preservation of something that has been given to us, and, at the same time, heterogeneity, something absolutely new, and a break” (Derrida, 1997, p.6). The process of deconstruction is now an accepted part of qualitative research. It creates tension which allows it to be analytical, but it also needs this tension for itself. The process of deconstruction required tension to become an organic part of language, but to maintain this status it also needed man to be perceived as a threat to it because, like every other theory, there will be men and women who challenge it, as there should be.

Derrida thought—and I think he is right on this— that we (human beings) perceive tension as negative and seek to move away from it or eliminate it whenever we can, which would be detrimental to deconstructivism. Derrida understood that, as people, we tend to reject tension and seek stability, especially in our language. This would destroy the process of deconstruction. Derrida wanted tension … he needed tension, and he needed it to be embraced and accepted as a natural part of meaning and language, but he knew that would only happen if instability was language’s true and natural state. Jackson and Mazzei posited that deconstructivism’s presence will be where we find “unsettling,” or a “ruffling” of current normative structures (Jackson & Massei, 2012). This is part of the analytical nature of research, and part of the process of deconstruction, which began as theory, but has now extended into everyday life. Tension and instability, which are part of our world, are presented as evidence of the presence of the process of deconstruction, which I acknowledge, but what I struggle to acknowledge is that both are also presented as evidence of the true and natural state of language. 

What I believe instead is that the process of deconstruction is acting upon language, producing both tension and instability. It would be akin to me making the case that all trees exist in the natural state of being cut down, which I label as downcut. When they stand erect and grow, I label this as an imposed will upon them and not organic to them; instead, their natural and true state is downcut. My evidence in support of my theory is my ability to take my ax and chop down a tree. As the tree falls to the ground, I present it as evidence of the presence of downcut and as evidence of a tree’s natural and true state. Is that evidence of its natural state or of me (downcut) acting upon that tree with my ax? Is this unsettling or ruffling of a stable norm an indication of the presence of the process of deconstruction or is it simply change, adjustment or the imposed will of the process of deconstruction on that with which it is interacting? This is the confusing world of deconstructivism and why it is worth exploring. It is a roller coaster ride with plenty of ups and downs. There is much more to address. Please come back for the next post as I continue to try and deconstruct deconstructivism. Until then … 

Derrida, Jacques. (1988). “Derrida and difference.” (David Wood & Robert Bernaconi, Trans.). Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press. (Original work published 1982).

Deconstructing Deconstructivism: Part I

by C. P. Lawrence

Deconstructing Deconstructivism.

Deconstructivism, another theory critically aimed at the norms of culture, is a theory that has impacted all of us and yet, most of us have never heard of it. To understand it is, at best, to attempt to understand it because, be warned, it is ambiguous and vague. It is like nailing Jello to the wall; once you think you understand it, it interacts with something else and changes. Deconstructivism is change and difference and criticism and tension all rolled up into what I see as varied disparity. It first appeared in a 1967 book entitled, On Grammatology, and has grown in reference and documentation ever since.

Let’s begin with a quote. Jacques Derrida, in his article, Letter to a Japanese Friend, explained deconstructivism to his friend by insisting that it is “an event that does not await the deliberation, consciousness or organization of a subject or even modernity” (Derrida, 1985, p.2). If this seems a rather odd way to describe an event, you are right, but it is not an event that he is describing; it is deconstructivism. Inside that seemingly innocuous description is affirmation to deconstructivism’s metaphysical reality. Derrida stated to his friend (Professor Izutsu) that to define it or even translate the word “deconstruction” would take away from it, which is a suggestion to its nature and to its protection. How does one disagree with that which cannot be defined or translated? The answer is simple: one does not because one cannot.

Derrida, in my opinion, was stating that deconstruction was a notion of a reality rooted in situational agency. It was designed to avoid the confined corner; to avoid the proverbial box or the closed door and to assert its own agency in interaction with individualism (or context) as a means of truth. According to Derrida, it was and is a critical methodology that analyzes how meaning is organically constructed and deconstructed within language, which we all understand to be the primary means of communication between human beings, and yet it is not language that seems to be under attack. Instead, language seems, to me, to be the vehicle of delivery for deconstructionism.

Let’s be clear; deconstructivism is not a form of Marxism nor of Critical Theory, but it is related to both, although indirectly. The process itself claims to reveal the instability of language, which it presents as language’s true and natural state. Is language unstable or is language, as my cynical mind suspects, being pushed to instability by deconstructionism? I would like to posit a question: if instability were not language’s true and natural state, could deconstructivism determine language’s state or would it, instead, change its state? I am not sure, but I look forward to exploring that possibility and others. I do know this; its existence depends on instability of language and meaning.  

Back to this question, is language unstable? Yes and no! I think language is like anything else; it works from instability to stability. I know I seek clarity in my communication and one of the ways I do that is to ensure that meaning is consistent with those with which I am communicating. How is language unstable? I believe language is unstable if meaning inside language is unstable. How does that instability remain and not work towards stability? One of the methods of maintaining instability is through addition. When other meanings are added to true meaning, clarity is not produced but instead, instability is maintained.  Addition, for me, creates instability, especially when it comes to language. If we have found instability as a state of language and this discovery was the direct result of deconstructivism’s interaction with language, then, there is another more difficult question to consider. Is the instability of language its true and natural state or is it a direct result of deconstructivism’s interaction with language? 

Deconstructivism claims that one of its goals is to push meaning to its “natural” limits and expose its “true” nature which, according to Derrida, is instability heavily dependent on difference (addition). I am not a big fan of coincidences and see them as problematic. Here is my issue. If language is considered unstable in its natural state and deconstruction is instability in its interaction with language, is this a coincidence? Again, I don’t really buy into coincidences. I do know that when instability interacts with stability the results will generally be less stability. We know this through the study of physical systems, biological systems and even social systems. We also know instability manifests in three ways: gradual change, sudden transitions and oscillations, and there is nothing to indicate that when instability is introduced to a stable system, that stable system stays the same or even stays stable. It always changes; at times, stability may eventually be achieved again but not before the system goes through a period of instability. My point is that I am not convinced that the natural state of language is instability. There is a solid case that the instability of language is due, in part, to its interaction with that which is unstable. Are you confused yet? Buckle up because this roller coaster ride is just beginning. This post is the start of a deep dive into the world of deconstructivism. Stay tuned for my next post in this series. Until then … 

Derrida, Jacques. (1988). “Derrida and difference.” (David Wood & Robert Bernaconi, Trans.). Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press. (Original work published 1982).

My Two Cents … on Poetry!

by C. P. Lawrence

Poetry has always fascinated me, and yet, I admit, it is not something I understand or even do a lot. Yet, I still desire to “do” poetry, if that is a proper way to address it. I don’t think you write poetry; I think you “do” poetry as it is, for me, beyond writing. It is another realm, a different world, if you will.

The ancient Greeks—they are involved again—considered poetry as an art in which human language is used for its aesthetic qualities. The Greek word (poieo) literally means “I make or create.” There are many forms of poetry and, to be honest, I don’t understand all of them or even know all of them. I admit that I have written some, but none of it is very good. This post is not to educate you on poetry. This post is just me thinking out loud about the role poetry plays in who we are as beings.

While I am no good a poetry, I do love certain poets and I love them because I like poetry. I love Frost, Keats, Shelly, Hughes, Blake, Longfellow and even some of Donne, who I rarely understand. What makes me love these poets? I love their poems, but I will stop there because I think it is that simple. I don’t want to get into analysis even though I would love to jump in with both feet. I can’t because I don’t understand poetry. I just know I like it.

I recently read an article about the ten greatest poems ever written. Now, understand, that this is one man’s list, but from my perspective, it is a solid list. The greatest poem for this man was written by Shakespeare, with which I can’t argue, but his second greatest poem was written by Donne, which I already admitted, I struggle to understand. Below, I have pasted Johne Donne’s poem, Death, Be No Proud, which is second on his list.

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul’s delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell’st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.

I readily admit that this poem does not make my list of top ten poems, but does that make it any less great? Poetry has, at its heart, creation. The poet is said to be one who creates and the poem is what the poet creates. This idea of creation is foundational to poetry, but what makes it different than any other thing done? I can create a rule at work or write an article for a magazine, but neither of those would be considered in the same light as poetry. They were created by me, but they are not poetry.

While Donne does not move me; Blake does. Below, you will find The Tiger by Blake. It was the first poem that I read and immediately liked and understood.

Tiger Tiger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, and what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp,
Dare its deadly terrors clasp!

When the stars threw down their spears
And water’d heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tiger Tiger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

What about this poem spoke to me more than John Donne’s poem? I can’t really tell you, but I will tell you that whatever it was, it is part of what makes me a human being and not an animal. I don’t know a lot about poetry, but I do like it enough to dabble. I am content to dabble with my own poetry, even if it is just to pull them out every now and then, read them and remind myself of who I am and what moves me. This one aspects makes poetry unique from other forms of literature. I don’t pull out a policy and read it again and again. Why is poetry different?

I am not sure, but it is and for me this is enough. Something about poetry appeals to our human nature, and maybe, something about poetry adds to our human nature, if I can be so bold. I am not sure of much when it comes to poetry, but I am sure of this. The kind of poetry created and enjoyed will tell us about who we are as human beings and where we are as human beings. Orwell speaks of this very issue in his book, 1984. Remember, in 1984, poetry is a tool of totalitarian control and Ampleforth, who manipulated poetry for the good of those in control, is arrested for leaving “God” in a poem.

Poetry, which I struggle to understand, still fascinates me, and I still read it not because I understand it, but because I marvel at it as a product of creativity. May this desire never leave me or you. Until next time …

Epistemology: Knowledge, Understanding or Both

by C. P. Lawrence

Epistemology: Knowledge, Understanding or Both

Have you ever said, “I do not understand?” I am sure you have, but have you ever thought about what it means to understand? It seems so basic a concept that everyone should understand what it means to understand, but do we? Do we understand in the same way as we used to understand? Is understanding someone the same as understanding something? This post explores understanding through the lens of philosophy.  

It is fascinating to read that this concept of understanding, in philosophy, has been “sometimes prominent, sometimes neglected and sometimes viewed with suspicion,” as referenced in the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (SEP), which was my main resource for this post (Grimm, 2024). As it turns out, understanding, or as it is known in philosophical circles, epistemology, differs depending on time frame. Who knew? 

Let me start with the word “epistemology,” which was formed from the Greek word episteme, which, for centuries, was translated as knowledge, but in the last several decades “a case has been made that ‘understanding’ is the better translation” (Grimm, 2024). This is due, in part, to a change in the semantics of the word “knowledge.” That change was prompted by a shift towards observation as the primary means of obtaining knowledge, which is not so much a change in understanding as it is in the semantics of knowledge. But, should that change how we define understanding?

The SEP references theorist Julia Annas, who notes that “episteme [is] a systematic understanding of things” as opposed to merely being in possession of various bits of truth. We can know (knowledge) what molecular biology is, but that does not mean that we understand molecular biology. There is a clear difference between knowing something and understanding something, or at least there used to be. Both Plato and Aristotle, according to the SEP, considered “episteme” as an “exceptionally high-grade epistemic accomplishment”. They both viewed episteme as both knowing and understanding. The Greeks and most of the Ancients valued this dual idea of understanding and yet, according to the SEP, subtle changes in the semantics of the word took place over time, moving the semantics of episteme from knowing and understanding to just knowing, which, in my opinion, allowed observation a more prominent role regarding understanding. The question is, did observation improve our understanding of understanding? 

There are many theories on why this shift in the semantics of understanding occurred, but it did occur. My concerns do not center on the “why”, but instead, they center on the impact of this shift on present understanding. The idea of understanding went through a period in the past where its overall importance diminished and was replaced by the idea of theorizing, which is not understanding but speculation. According to the SEP, theorists throughout history have proposed various theories about understanding, and most theories did two things: they pulled us away from the original idea of understanding and pushed us towards a focus on self. It was self that was understanding’s biggest threat in the past and it is self that continues to be its biggest threat presently.

When I read that understanding was neglected in the past, I struggled to make sense of why it was neglected. Who would not want to understand? It was only when I understood that, at the time, understanding was thought to be primarily subjective and psychological, with a focus more on an understanding that was familiar, that it made more sense to me.  Familiarity is the idea of being closely acquainted with something or someone. Regarding familiarity’s impact on understanding, it pushed it towards self and away from the dual idea of knowledge and understanding. This push mutated understanding into what equates to an opinion, making it foundationally subjective, that is, until it bumped into science. In the world of science, understanding, or as it is often referenced, epistemology, was forced to move away from subjectivity and towards objectivity to interact with positivism, which was foundationally dominate in science until recently. 

According to the SEP, the notion of a subjective understanding inside epistemology was, rightfully, downplayed in the philosophy of science due, in part, to the efforts of Carl Hempel (Grimm, 2024). Hempel and others were suspicious of this “subjective sense” of understanding and its interaction with science. According to Hempel, “the goodness of an explanation” had, at best, a weak connection to understanding, especially regarding real understanding. Hempel’s point was that a good explanation might produce understanding but then again, it might not but it would still be familiar and seem like understanding. That was not objective, which was needed in science. The work of Henk de Regt made a distinction between the feeling of understanding and real understanding. He argued that “the feeling is neither necessary nor sufficient for genuine understanding.” His point, which seems straightforward, was that real understanding had little to do with feeling. Feeling is not scientific nor is it objective. It is always rooted in self, which is not understanding. 

Understanding is thought to be a deep knowledge of how things work and an ability to communicate that knowledge to others. This presented a question: what is real understanding? According to the SEP, there are multiple positions regarding this one question. It is interesting to note the presence of “luck” in positions of understanding, with one position asserting understanding as akin to full blown luck (the fully externally lucky position). This is where I defer from the SEP and dismiss the idea of luck altogether. These positions assert, in subtle ways, understanding as a pragmatic product-oriented method; all that seems to matter is that you understand, which, by all indications, would not be true for true understanding. True understanding is being able to explain to others in detail the understanding you understand. The fully external lucky position is rather pragmatic and contrary to this idea of understanding. It seems to stop at one’s understanding and does not consider that to truly understand, one must be able to pass on the understanding one understands to another. 

The contrasting position argues that one needs to understand in the “right fashion” in the right manner to understand again, and for me, the word “again” is key. In other words, understanding, to be considered as understanding, always needs to be replicated in a way that can be communicated to others so that they understand, and to do that one must understand the process every time and not just one time. The first position, for me, violates the duality of understanding and knowledge. This is important because, for me, it is the duality that completes understanding. To understand a concept, one must know what the concept is and understand how it works. The first position, the fully externally lucky position, blends knowledge and understanding into something that loses the semantics of both, pushing understanding into a pragmatic area where understanding becomes almost tangible, discounting the process in favor of it as product. This is not understanding but a lower form of knowledge. True understanding is always a process that explains how the product became, how the product works and how the products is applied. 

There are those who argue that understanding does tolerate “certain kinds of luck.” These philosophers hold positions that understanding can be “partly externally lucky.” Is it me or does luck have no place in understanding? If luck has any place in understanding, then that understanding is not understanding but a stumbled upon form of knowledge. No one stumbles onto a medical degree nor the knowledge needed for it. Most would not equate this as the proper application of their position, but understanding builds on itself, and if it does that, then, this application is not as stretched as it would seem. I believe the idea of understanding goes beyond the discussion in this post. It is an esteemed element of our humanity. It is who we are as human beings, and a large part of what makes us a human being.  

There are those—and the number grows daily—who no longer value understanding nor want to spend energy doing it. They consider it an antiquated process and no longer needed because we have technology, specifically, we have AI to do all our understanding for us, right? But do we? Does AI help us understand or does it only provide explanations? Are explanations understanding or are they something else? I believe understanding is distinctly human. I believe it is how we interact and build community. Maybe we don’t need to understand chemistry (I think there will always be a need to understand chemistry and everything else.), but we will always need to understand each other because we all are different. 

If we no longer strive to understand the things that we do not know, how will we ever understand anything or anyone? Will we even want to understand in the future if we no longer seek to understand in the present? Will we become conditioned to enjoy being isolated and introverted? That seems sad and not human. This idea of understanding is much more complex than most realize. The issue is not just one of episteme but one of humanity, at least to me it is. Think long and hard about understanding because once you lose it recovering it will not be easy. Thanks for reading! Until next time …   

Grimm, Stephen, “Understanding”, The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy(Winter 2024 Edition), Edward N. Zalta & Uri Nodelman (eds.), URL = <https://plato.stanford.edu/archives/win2024/entries/understanding/&gt;.

Zetetic Philosophy: The Pursuit of Understanding

by C. P. Lawrence

Zetetic Philosophy: The Pursuit of Understanding

I recently read an article about the pursuit of understanding related to Zetetic Philosophy. The term “zetetic” is not a term we often hear or even use, and yet it is an important one. The term is derived from the Greek word “zeteo,” which means “to search or to examine.” Zetetic Philosophy emphasizes the importance of questions and investigation over relying on preconceived notions, facts and assumptions. This sounds familiar but what many do not realize is that most philosophy today begins at a culturally- accepted position, which is preconceived. The article suggested that we should view Socrates as a Zetetic Philosopher due in part to his detailed explanation in the Republic of the ideal type of formal education. This intrigued me, but education is not the reason I read this article; understanding is. 

If you read the Republic (and I recommend that you do), you will encounter the philosopher-kings, Socrates ideal rulers. They are noble and intelligent known by their virtues who think through a certain praxis, thus the moniker philosopher-king. Socrates referred to their thinking process as the dialectic and presented it as a positive form of dialogue that incorporated “arguments in order to achieve a sure and true understanding of reality (Being).” The dialectic was a form Socrates used to test how and why things are the way they are. For Socrates, the dialectic was a method to achieve knowledge, of what he called the “Good-in-itself,” by distinguishing “the good” from everything else. Many see the dialectic as the Socratic Method. They are not one and the same but two different methods. 

The Socratic Method differed from the dialectic, in part, due to the “method of questioning,” which expressed more ignorance than understanding, which seems odd and counter intuitive. Both processed through the antithesis to confirm what is true, but only the Socratic Method embraced uncertainty as a healthy part of the process. In the Socratic Method, the teacher must hold knowledge—know something and give account of that something known—to impart knowledge or lead others in obtaining knowledge. The teacher must master both the knowledge and the method of distribution of the knowledge to move past the stage of personal ignorance to lead others to understanding. This is not a weakness of the Socratic Method but a strength. Read any of Plato’s dialogues, you will find that Socrates was this type of teacher. 

The author suggested that Socrates, as a teacher, had the following characteristics as a teacher: the desired results were met, he had the answers he sought from his students, his method unfolds in a “teleological” manner and his form of knowledge is different than the knowledge associated with the virtues he conceived. This is in stark contrast to Socrates numerous claims of ignorance, but this idea of ignorance is important or else he would not keep using it. In the Republic, Socrates denied several times that he was in possession of a certain kind of knowledge. He stated several times that he knew nothing. What is happening here? Is ignorance an important part of knowing? 

Several authors have pointed out that Socrates sought to be a co-participant in the learning process with his students, even abjuring the moniker of “teacher” as too formal to achieve equal status with his students. Was ignorance a means of this equal status? This is, in some sense, Socrates maintaining a posture of seeking and yearning for wisdom in the same manner as his students. The author implored us not to fall for Socrates trying to present himself as a radical nihilist skeptic but to look deeper, deeper into this idea of understanding as it relates to ignorance. Seeing Socrates as a zetetic philosopher is “antithetic to the philosophical ideal of the philosopher-kings of the Republic who were to lead their city-state towards that which is good and true,” or at least that was their goal?

These philosopher-kings are referred to as echonic philosophers (traditional), and Socrates never claims to be their equal. This idea of echonic philosophy, which these kings are thought to possess, is found in Book VII of the Republic and represents authenticity and proper education which was supposed to provide the possessor of both an ability to grasp what it takes to rule. Yet, the author references Socrates as a zetetic philosopher, which is a philosopher who embraces a a philosophy that is ongoing, dynamic and critical in analysis. It is one with no real answers and instead seeks to continue to inquire. Its understanding is not found in Plato’s forms but grounded in humanity and its limits and finitude. This is an important point regarding the pursuit of understanding. It is a never-ending process that is always fluid, ongoing and never ending. 

The author implies that we must learn from Socrates that real education is based on zetetic philosophy, as this is, according to Plato, a “turning around of the soul” back to itself in an enlightened state. This suggests something more about education and about understanding, especially if we look at the three moments referenced in the zetetic journey found in Plato’s Allegory of the Cave. First, there is liberation from bonds, then there is ascent upward to the light and finally there is the return to the cave. These three moments come together to fully express enlightenment or education and understanding. This idea of zetetic philosophy was thought to be that which avoided expecting absolute, irrefutable instances of truth, as if they did not exist. 

The implication is that we must recognize our ignorance and our limitations as human beings first. This is where the pursuit of understanding begins. It does not begin within the knowledge itself, but within us, recognizing first our humanness and acknowledging second our limitations. Therefore, all pursuits of understanding, as hard as this may be to understand, seem to begin within us and not within the knowledge that we seek to understand. Is this the message of Socrates? Does this make sense? I am not sure, but it does force me to do one thing … think and that is always a good thing. Until next time …   

How Do We Know What Is Real?

by C. P. Lawrence

How do we know what is real?

I took a trip back to where I was raised to visit family and friends. It was a wonderful trip but quick and too short, but that is sometimes life. It was good for my soul and even better for my mind. I loved all the conversations I had. I loved listening to how others arrived at their own points of view. Some of us still hold the same values and have adapted to life in some of the same ways. Others hold different values and have adapted to life in different ways. Why? One of the subjects that came up was reality and how many different versions of reality are out there now. As I was driving back home, a question came into my mind—how do we know what is real? —and I could not shake it. 

My standard practice when I get one of these questions is to go poking around those people I respect, read or follow and see what they think. In my latest search, I stumbled upon a reference to an article with an interesting title, so I looked it up and read it. The article was in Psychology Today, which, for me, is not one of my usual references, but the title was too inviting. The article, “How Do We Know What Is Real?” By Ralph Lewis, M.D., was well worth my time and maybe worth yours too. Before I get into the article, let me set some foundational timbers for this post.   

First, let’s be clear; we experience the world through our five senses; that is given. Second, it is best to experience the world with all five of our senses. Most agree on that point as well. It is the way most of us live and we give it little thought. We just do it. Point three: Most theorists would call this experience subjective and question its reliability, but Lewis points out that “subjective perception” is still a crucial source of data for almost everyone. We rely on it every day as we live our lives. Consider science, even its practices and methods incorporate senses, i.e., observation, which is technically considered subjective and yet still a foundationally part of the scientific method. Dr. Lewis writes, “Science is just a method to minimize the distorting effects of our perceptions and intuitions and to approximate a more objective view of reality.” This is intuition and it is and should be greatly valued. You use it and so do I. It is the primary focus of this post. Most professionals use it. They depend on their own “trained” intuition to do their job. Doctors, financial advisors, plumbers, teachers, engineers and many others, all use trained intuition to excel in their vocations. 

But here is the issue I want to focus on; trained intuition is not universal absolute truth nor is it reality. It is a form of discernment that allows us to problem solve. It is assumption and inference developed through our education and training that works with who we are to solve issues. It is also based on our ideology which is a composite of our beliefs and values. This makes it uniquely ours, and it tends to work only for us. But this means that we often see our intuition and as reality. In some respects, it is, but it is not ultimate reality for us. The more success we experience the more egocentric we become, and this puts us in a position to think our reality is everyone’s reality. It never is. Your doctor may have an intuition about why you are sick, but that is the result of his or her interaction with you and your issue. At best, it is a temporary situational reality that works for your current situation, but that is as far as it can go. As Lewis states, “But it [intuition] can be completely off base” and lead even experts astray.” Lewis continues, “We have to be aware that our intuitions and firmly held assumptions may be completely wrong.” This leads me to a question. Where does intuition lie? The answer is the brain. 

The brain is a “well-honed but imperfect virtual reality machine,” according to Lewis. We don’t have a brain; we are a brain. Our brains produce subjective perceptions which are representations of our external world—our very own form of virtual reality. According to Lewis, we can be confident that most of the time these subjective perceptions that our brains produce are faithful representations of our actual external world. Social cues are just one example of our brains making a subjective perception. In most instances, we are right, but I think we have all experienced a time or two when we were wrong. 

Our brains, according to Lewis, rely on patterns, approximations, assumptions and best guesses. Our brains often take shortcuts, fill gaps and make predictions and all of these things are based upon our intuition which flows from those subjective perceptions. Lewis is clear; subjective perceptions are real, but they are not what they seem, even to those of us who own them. The brain is a “confederation of independent modules,” all working together. Lewis writes regarding this, “The vastly complex unconscious neuronal determinants that give rise to our choices and actions are unknowable to us.” 

The brain just works, and it works well due to the subjectivity of our experiences, but, as real as they seem, they are not reality for us, and they cannot be reality for us. The more successful we are the more our tendency will be to think that our reality is everyone else’s reality, which, again, is when we get in trouble. When we push our intuition as if it is reality, then we will think it is reality. When this happens, we merge our intuition with our existing ideology, and they become one. We will always find others who share and reinforce our ideology, then it is our ideology that becomes our reality. This tends to isolate us inside our ideology which becomes our ultimate reality. This is the Land of Oz and not reality at all. This is where real issues arise in the form of narcissism and nihilism.

Lewis goes into mystical experiences and hallucinatory or dissociative experiences to make his point. He posits that these experiences seem so real to those who have them that they believe that they have discovered a transcendental reality. They have not discovered an alternative reality. They have merely experienced the power of a chemical or drug or the power of suggestion. The brain thrives because of subjectivity, but that subjectivity makes it vulnerable to external influences like drugs and persuasion. We would be naive to assume that our subjective perception of the world was anything but that, and yet this is where many are today. There is no longer a concern about doing the right thing, working hard, having integrity, honor or even telling the truth. The only concern right now is for self … to be right. We are in a war of opinions, and everyone is armed with their own editorial comments. The battles wage because the winners get to declare what is true, until the next battle comes, and then, the cycle starts all over again. This is our world today and determining what is real is no longer determining what is true. Our elections have revealed that, have they not? How do we know what is real? I think the better question might be, do we care about what is real? Until we do, we will never determine what is real.

Education, Painted and Soiled: Part V

by C. P. Lawrence

Education, Painted and Soiled:

Part V: True Education 

In 1916, John Dewey referred to education as “a social process—a process of living and not a preparation for future living.” While I think Dewey got many things about education wrong, I think he got this one right. Education is a social process. It is life and for a lifetime, but defining it seems to limit it. Definitions are ends for the means they serve. Education, for me, cannot be put into a box, nor should it be, which suggests that I am engaged in a fool’s errand. Let’s find out. 

Aristotle implied that education was not formal instruction nor was it just knowledge; it was much more, but what was it? For Aristotle, it involved developing both intellectual and moral virtues through practice and experience, and it was for a specific purpose, to produce flourishing human beings. This idea of human flourishing was, for Aristotle, the ultimate telos, i.e., the end goal, for all human beings, but this telos implies something else about education.

In this post, I will look at education from one last angle with the hope that I see something that makes sense to me. I want to look at education from the perspective of how we experience it. One author I recently read referenced Erich Fromm and his distinction between having and being. This is as good of a lens as any other to use. Fromm defines “having” and “being” as modes of existence and as different ways of understanding ourselves, the world in which we live and those living in this world with us.

According to Fromm, “having” is concerned with ownership and possession with a focus on controlling; “being,” on the other hand, is rooted in love and concern with a focus on shared experience and productive activity. Being engages the world while getting seeks to possess and control the world. Fromm saw these as two modes of human existence: the mode of having and the mode of being. The mode of having perceives everything as a potential possession while the mode of being perceives self as the carrier of certain properties and abilities.

Fromm thought “having” emphasized a duality between the owner and the thing owned. It was a view of the world with self at the center and all other things arranged in a circle around self. They are distinct from self and their relationship to self is only through their ownership by self. Being is about those qualities that merge with our existence … skills that belong to us that we can exercise, but these skills cannot be taken from us. They are part of us. They are ours. What Fromm proposed was that we have a choice on how to live. Do we live lives having or being? Fromm emphasized that there was a difference between a society set to live for people or for things. Where did that difference take root? I think you know the answer. 

Looking at education through the ideas of “having” and “being” clarify some things for me. In one sense, education can be something possessed as in, “I have a degree.” In this sense, education is one of those things to be possessed by self. It is part of the circle of stuff surrounding self, but then in another sense education can become part of us in the sense of “being” educated. If education is merely a paper on a wall, then, yes, there is a chance that I could lose that piece of paper, but if I am educated and continue to be educated then I lose nothing and gain everything. 

This approach forces me to confront my pursuit of education. I have been looking at education as something to define, but I have learned that such an approach is misaligned and the pursuit untenable. Education is not a thing to possess but instead it is a part of being, of who we are, or at least it should be. If education is as Dewey says—a social process—then we must treat it as a social process. Education, then, is like other aspects of our social world. It is akin to the interaction of family. It is friendships and courtships. It is an evening with friends, a day at work or even a family vacation. How do we define these things? The quick answer is we don’t because they are part of who we are as social beings. We learn these things over the course of a lifetime, starting as children. We are taught by our parents, progress into school and then into college. We eventually have our own children and start the cycle all over again. 

If education is “being” then it will define who we are more than we care to admit. It is not a neutral process but one that will impact us. In the same way that our parents defined who we are as children, education will have the same impact if we grant it the right. The push to educate your children at younger ages—there are many K4 programs out there—is a push to replace your impact on your own children with an educational one. This impact is masquerading as knowledge, either a core body of knowledge or a survey of chosen content. There is a hidden curriculum inside this content, and that hidden curriculum is this: every teacher and school teach from a perspective of the world which they will present to your children as true and right. Do you know what perspective of the world your school presents to your children as true and right? Many schools will claim that their focus is only on knowledge and content. Well, that is a perspective of the world, is it not? Shouldn’t you be the one who defines what is right and true for your four-year-old?  Do your beliefs and values align with the beliefs and values of the school your children attend? These are good questions to have on your mind when considering educational choices.

As I close this series on education, let me sum up what I have learned. First, education is not just content. It is so much more and no matter how hard we try to make it just about content, it will never be just about content. Two, education is not one dimensional. It is multi-dimensional, and it is always social. Aristotle presented the idea that education is about the posture of wisdom, heath and morality and a lifetime of movement, and there are implications if he is even a little right. Third, the foundation of education is morality whether one cares to admit that or not. Fourth, education will change culture. If we do not understand this aspect of education, then we are doomed to be overrun by those who do. To change culture, you must gain control of the schools. History tells us that there are many who have understood this and used this understanding to their benefit. Fifth, with great wisdom comes great responsibility. One does not gain education for only knowledge’s sake. Education provides power. Finally, education is a social process. It is akin to life and something we should engage for our entire lives in a manner akin to friendships, marriages and families. We work at these over the course of our lifetimes. We should do the same in our educational interactions. 

There is much more to address inside this topic of education, but for me, this concludes this series on education. Remember, thinking matters and so does education. Until next time …   

Education, Painted and Soiled: Part IV

by C. P. Lawrence

Education: Painted and Soiled

Part IV: More of Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics  

A clearer picture of education is beginning to emerge. One that is more removed from current views, which is not really a surprise. As I dig a little deeper into Aristotle’s views, I must confess that I have not been Aristotelian for much of my life, but in the later years, I have seen the errors of my ways and come to him. It is projects like these that add to my appreciation of him and his work. 

I begin this section with a quote. Aristotle, in his Metaphysics, wrote, “It is through wonder that men now begin and originally began to philophise … he who wonders and is perplexed is ignorant; but, to escape ignorance [that] men studied philosophy.” The word “escape,” in this instance, is an infinitive which binds itself to ignorance. Ignorance, in this quote, is presented as that which is common, normal, pedestrian and functions more as a trap. The takeaway is that ignorance, to Aristotle, required escape; without escape, every human being was vulnerability to its enticement. Wonder, however, was a door away from ignorance and to philosophy, but be warned, Aristotle understood that wonder would perplex us, especially without philosophy (education). It would become ignorance which would be there waiting to ensnare us if education were not our guide; it would always be waiting for us, to settle, to take the easy way out, to be stagnate—it would always be there to accommodate us if we ever left education. Nothing much has changed.  

Aristotle believed that philosophy (education) was the love and pursuit of wisdom, which destroyed ignorance which he saw as temptation in the forms of apathy and sedentary. It was philosophy (education) that was different, but it required pursuit which was proactive action on the part of the human being. It suggested that the nature of education was fluid and active and not stagnate and sedentary. It would have to be pursued and it would demand our work and commitment. Wonder was the key to all of this; it would draw us deeper into the process. It would be there when we were weary or tired. Wonder was always the beginning, suggesting something important. Wonder was the antithesis of ignorance. It was protection and philosophy’s beginning but never its end. We wonder and risk ignorance the moment we stop. Wonder is also education in every sense of the word. It is wonder that prompts us to know. It is wonder that keeps us knowing and learning. Aristotle considered wonder necessary for both the learner and the teacher.

Aristotle saw the process of instruction as rooted in thinking and learning. It was a series of steps that must be taken by both the instructor and the learner with wonder as the first step in each series. To begin instruction, wonder must be present. It was necessary and if not present, the teacher was to create it for the learner must enter the learning process with curiosity (or wonder). But both the teacher and the learner were responsible for the own posture, and part of their postures was always to be wonder. Both were to enter the encounter curious as to what awaited them. They were to be eager in anticipation of the things they would learn. They were also to understand that they needed each other, and that education could not happen in isolation. It isolation it would always be limited.   

Aristotle’s second step, “individualized” instruction, rested in his belief that each student harbored unique talents, interests and preferences, which demanded a personalized approach to learning. For education to take place, the teacher had to know the learner, but the learner had to know the teacher and had to want to know the teacher. He posited that curiosity, critical thinking and individual inquiry in a student must all be reinforced through the personal guidance and support of the teacher. The role of the teacher was crucial to the success of the student, but the teacher’s role was tied to the learner’s attitude and posture. If the learner did not enter the interaction curious, ready to learn and seeking to know the teacher then the teacher’s role was limited. Education was threatened and ignorance was possible.  

His third step is more well known, The Socratic Method. Aristotle borrowed this concept from Plato and expanded on it. It is a cooperative form of dialogue based on thought-provoking questions and guided reflection thought to produce meaningful learning outcomes. Aristotle encouraged open dialogue between students and teachers for purposes of collaboration and discovery, but they were not to be equal participants. They must respect each other and their respective roles. It was up to the teacher to walk the learner through a process rooted in rigorous debate, which exposed erroneous reasoning leading to deeper understanding. The process was continuous and balanced, and it required both the learner and the teacher to embrace it and respect it.   

The fourth step was theory and practice. For Aristotle, the two came together as one. As I have referenced, he believed that for learning to happen theoretical knowledge and practical application must interact. He saw understanding as requiring both. He wrote, “For the things we have to learn before we can do them, we learn by doing them, e.g. men become builders by building and lyre-players by playing the lyre.” Aristotle often encouraged his students to apply theoretical concepts to practical problems because he believed, in doing so, his students would develop practical wisdom, improve critical thinking and become better problem solvers. For Aristotle, doing was as important as listening and studying. Process was important and could only be learned by doing repeatedly.   

Aristotle believed in many formats and methods. His lectures were thought to be littered with quotations, references, examples and images as he acknowledged the power of enhancing understanding through additional means. His goal was always to engage his students in the best possible ways, and he was always seeking new modes of engagement. As Aristotle taught his students, he understood that learning extended into the cultivation of virtue and morality in students. He sought to nurture individual virtues through his teaching. He believed that to live a fulfilled life we must be morally upright and virtuous. We must put these virtues into practice, or we could not be considered educated. He wrote, “These virtues are formed in many by his doing the actions … The good of man is a working of the soul in the way of excellence in a complete life.”

Aristotle was always faithful to what he called “the mean.” The mean was a balanced approach to life. It was not being over strenuous or excessive nor overly simplistic, superficial or sedentary. His answer was living a life of “harmonious balance,” which he saw as wedded to learning. The Mean or, as it has also been called, the Golden Mean, is moral behavior between two extremes: excess and deficiency. As people, he thought the proper way to live was to find a moderate position between two extremes and live that position to the best of our ability. Aristotle saw right living as living morally upright, which was to live a life faithful to the mean. 

According to Aristotle, education was that which equipped human beings to live such morally upright faithful lives. Education, to provide the means to live such a life, had to be active, moving and an active pursuit. It was not easy, not stagnate and not reactive but it was intentional. It was a process that rested with the learner and the teacher, and both must enter the interaction willing, fully committed and exerting ample effort or very little learning would take place. Virtue, morality, personal responsibility … all of these were important parts of education to Aristotle and marks of an educated life.

I have found that this idea of education is not simple. It is more complex than imagined but it is well worth my efforts and time. Until next time … 

Education, Painted and Soiled: Part III

by C. P. Lawrence

A Portrait of Aristotle

Part III: Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics  

In his Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle presented four principles that I believe clarify his thoughts on education and provide more information in my quest to discover what education truly is. It was Aristotle’s belief that through these four principles human beings think and learn and would think and learn “all the more.” A picture of what education is supposed to be is beginning to form. Let’s get started. 

The first principle he called Anamnesis, which loosely translated means reminiscence or recollection. In the Greek, it is literally “a calling to mind.” As a concept, it suggested that we acquire knowledge externally, but we also have it inherently within us. Both were important and both were meant to interact with each other. Therefore, processes of introspection and reflection were considered important as both were manifestations of this interaction. These processes today are considered higher ordered thinking, but to Aristotle, they were foundational and necessary to all learning. Anamnesis, for Aristotle, was many things but it was primarily for the sake of remembering; he also thought it had secondary uses, as also that which facilitated, perceived, imagined, thought and understood. The proper aim of Anamnesis was the establishment of a truthful relationship between the representation (present) and the represented (past) through the interaction of the external and the internal leading to “the” truth. 

The second principle was termed Experience, which was thought, by Aristotle, to be required for understanding. A person with experience was one who had acquired external knowledge through interaction over time with one’s environment. It was one who engaged in the education for life. Experience was also that which developed coping skills, an appropriate attitude and a sense of the situation. Experience, to Aristotle, was not a knowledge of universals that could be memorized and applied but instead it was a knowledge of particulars, specifics, much like theories or axioms, regarding the way the world work. Aristotle saw culture and the environment through a lens of particulars and not universals, which speaks to his views on both. Experience, for Aristotle, took the form of the recognitional and the practical. It was not one over the other; it was both. He saw experience as compatible with general facts and was clear; understanding cannot be obtained through reason (inherent) alone; it required more. This idea of experience was not limited to the cognitive (inherent); it also required the engagement of one’s entire being (external), and the interaction of the two. 

The third principle was habituation (ethos). This is an important principle as it reflects Aristotle’s belief that we are what we repeatedly do. Aristotle believed that learning, like life, was a process that was active and moving. He argued that virtuous behavior—he saw life as needing to be lived in virtuous ways— was not just something learned, a good idea or even an intellectual pursuit; it was living through consistent practice, moral training and learning, which he thought required intentionality. We live according to what we believe, and we tend to act according to those beliefs with intent. There is personal responsibility applied to each of us and it flows out of our intent. This idea of intentionality was prominent in Aristotle’s thoughts on education and in his other areas of study as well. Believing alone was not sufficient; reactions and feelings were not sufficient. According to Aristotle, we must be actively engaged with and ultimately embody the values we believe. We must live them and be them or they do not exist in us and are not us. They instead become items we carry like luggage and apply situationally. Values alone without consistent application were more emotion than education, more ideas than virtues. To be educated, Aristotle believed one must live that which they believed, which he saw as living virtuously. The implication was that if we did not live the values we believed, then we did not really believe them or worse, they were not worthy of emulation. Living a life without virtues was living uneducated, less civilized and more barbaric.  

The fourth and final principle was practical wisdom. Aristotle believed that sound judgment and ethical decision making are the products of a synthesis of theoretical knowledge and real-world application. Practical wisdom was the manifestation of being an educated being. This was a blend of the cognitive (inherent) and the physical (external) coming together in the form of experience, which Aristotle saw as habitation manifesting as deliberation. This was education to him. Deliberation is long, conscious and careful consideration; it is applying those principles that you believe are true and right, that you have become convinced over time through scrutiny and analysis are true and right. Practical wisdom requires deliberation to discover the best course of action for a given situation. It is not a reaction or a quick decision. Deliberation was the result of the first three prior principles applied in full. To deliberate, Aristotle believed, was to function as an educated person.   

As I examine Aristotle’s ideas on education I see a balance between two conflicting concepts: theory and practice. Aristotle believed that true education required engagement with knowledge inherent (internal and a priori) and knowledge external (experience) to become wise, but dwelling only in one area or the other was not wisdom to Aristotle. Wisdom was a balance between the two; knowing something was not the same as living the something that you know. We find these same beliefs present in his ideas on pedagogy. He believed teaching required personalized instruction, active engagement, and the cultivation of wisdom; all focused on the learner and not the teacher and yet, he considered the teacher vital to the learning process. 

To many of us, these concepts are strange. Our perception of education is as a door. Education is the key that unlocks that door and on the other side of that door is a wonderful world of opportunities that await us. But that is not the picture that Aristotle paints. Education for him, was much different. It seemed more like maturity or growth, more a norm than a privilege. It seemed to be something common and necessary to human beings much like food and water. It was individual but for the sake of community. It was almost as if community would not happen without it. There is more to explore and discover as this quest for the origins of education continues. Until next time …   

Education, Painted and Soiled: Part II

by C. P. Lawrence

Raphael’s The School of Athens featuring Aristotle and Plato and many others!

Education: Painted and Soiled

Part II: Aristotle  

That nagging question has not gone anywhere. Back peddling to the 16th century helped but not nearly enough. If going back the 16th century helped, then it can’t hurt to go beyond the 16th century, to Aristotle and his views on education. Aristotle lived in the 4th century BC; he was born in Athens in 382 BC and lived until around 322 BC. He studied and wrote on many topics, education being one of those. 

The first Aristotelian idea I bumped into related to education was the idea of hexis, which is “a readiness to sense and to know.” This was a posture of sorts referred to as an “active condition” of a human being. Aristotle saw this condition as acquired and not innate, which is a statement about his thoughts on education. Aristotle borrowed this term from multiple sources, the Greeks and Plato to name two. The importance of hexis was its emphasis on habitation. Aristotle believed that one’s virtues were one’s habits and living a good life depending on living a life of virtuous habits. The adage, you are what you do most, comes from Aristotle’s thoughts on habits.  

For Aristotle, hexis was a constant disposition composed of character, heath and wisdom. It was a blend of personal responsibility, cognitive development and the environment, i.e., the educational process. It was a “habitual state of having” and was something uniquely human. According to Aristotle, it was this “active condition,” this continuous “having (or wanting),” that positioned human beings to live in wise ways with other human beings. This wise way or posture was perceived as education and as communal. The theme of unity and community, found here, is also found in the Latin and in other ancient ideas of education. There was an connotation; it was not as clear, but it was there. It was this idea that education cannot be education in isolation or in selfishness.

Aristotle referenced another important concept in his writings on education, a “guiding eidos,” referring to it as a leading idea. Eidos was the Greek word for “form,” and Aristotle used it to describe the essence of things. Aristotle believed that all physical objects are made of both eidos (form) and hule¢ (matter), two contrasting notions that he saw as necessary in the making of things. This eidos, for Aristotle, prescribed the nature of a product; he used it to describe his thoughts on education, which reveals some of his beliefs and thoughts on education. This “eidos” was a state of being, an attitude, a disposition when referenced regarding human beings … It was a suggestion that human beings live to be happy and to flourish and that both could only be reached together. Aristotle suggested that one of the best ways for them to come together appropriately was inside the process of education. 

As I explored more of Aristotle’s ideas on education, I continued to bump into many subtle references to community. Community, for me, cannot be built without a concern for others, but inside this concern must be something else: a willingness to sacrifice self for the sake others. It was living away from self and towards others. Aristotle’s philosophical theory, virtue ethics, emphasized the development of moral character, i.e., virtues, for this reason. This was living ethically for others; it was living away from self and towards others. Aristotle encourage people to live virtuous lives of courage, justice, liberality, patience and truthfulness. This was a virtuous life, in some respects, for Aristotle. It was as if he saw selfishness and the lack of virtue as signs of being uneducated.

This “guiding eidos” that he referenced was a unique disposition he used in discussions associated with education; Aristotle used the term, halting in connection with it, implying that it was a characteristic of the educated. Aristotle used the term, Halting, to reference movement. He saw this movement, this halting, as a process that “had already begun and would continue” into the future. By connecting this halting to education, he was implying that education “moved” in a similar manner. It was, as processes go, movement which had already begun and would continue into the future. There were no suggestions that it would slow or even end. It was a lifelong process akin to life.

All of this, according to Aristotle, ultimately led to praxis, which was “informed committed action.” This was not reaction, selfishness nor individual pragmatism; it was educated intentional intimate action for the sake of others and eventually for the greater good. For Aristotle, praxis was one of the three basic human activities, which were praxis (action), theoria (theory), and poiesis (making). Praxis was considered practical, thoughtful activity that was to be goal-directed and voluntary, and it demonstrated human freedom. Theoriawas theoretical activity with a single purpose focused on discovering truth. And poeisis was making or productive action, and it created something new. Aristotle believed that praxis must be guided by a moral disposition for one to act in righteous ways. Why? Aristotle believed that there could be good praxis (eupraxia) and bad praxis (dyspraxia), which makes sense considering he believed that hexis and most of education was acquired and not innate. 

The modern idea of education is nowhere to be found in the etymology of the word, in the Latin or in Aristotle’s thoughts on education. Why is that? Do we have it wrong? As I referenced earlier, I believe education has been painted and soiled to the point that it is not even education anymore. It is something else. I believe this “something else” is being presented as education, whether intentional or not, and is now considered by most of us to be education. When our children walk into their schools, they assume—and we do to— that they are receiving an education, but what if they are not? They are receiving something. Are you confident that you know what it is?

There is an infamous quote attributed to Aristotle regarding education, “Education is the process of training man to fulfil his aim by exercising all the faculties to the fullest extent as a member of society.” In this quote, Aristotle’s goal of education is not just focused on man, but that man would become the best member of society that he could possibly be. This is a focus on mankind, not on self, for the sake of community. It was a thought that every man and woman would be a contributing member of society for the betterment of self and community. How could this be done? Aristotle believed that education was one of the chief manners of accomplishing this goal. Education, for him, was not to for vocation nor for self; it was for personal betterment for the purpose of communal betterment; they went together. They needed each other, but there was a danger if we only focused on ourselves, which was why he promoted a virtuous life and recognized the need for a virtuous education. 

We are just scratching the surface. There is so much more and that is if we stay with Aristotle. In my next post I explore his Nicomachean Ethics, which is where he presented more thoughts on education. Until then … 

Education, Painted and Soiled: Part I

by C. P. Lawrence

Part I: Semantics  

I have had this question about education for some time. I thought it was a simple one, but I soon found that it was not. My problem—I wanted a simple answer. But there doesn’t appear to be one. Defining education is hard. I believe it is now harder than it ever has been. Why? Well, first, I believe modern education is a painted and soiled version of itself and second, I believe it has strayed so far from its true self that most of us have no idea what it is anymore. I see modern education buried under mounds of fads and trends. I have no real rational reason to make such a statement, but, just the same, the thought will not leave me.   

The idea of education fascinates me. I still marvel at the process and recall with fondness my own educational experiences. I loved all my schooling and I have had a lot; some might say too much. I loved the small town two-room schoolhouse, my grammar and middle school experiences. I loved being bused to the large city high school, my high school experience, and of course, I loved my college experiences: who wouldn’t love those. The idea of high school has always fascinated me. Students, teachers, lockers, sports teams, class changes, hallways … the whole thing was an amazing experience for me. I saw it as its own little eco-system of which I was a part. I thought the process was as close to perfection as one could get. Then, I messed it all up and became a teacher. I went from the front of the curtain to the back of it and have never been the same. What I found behind the curtain smashed my rose-colored glasses into a thousand tiny pieces.

From my very first day as a teacher, I saw teaching as a craft and a practice; it was something to be honored and respected. I walked into that first class ready to change the world. I still remember my classroom: lots of space, large windows and a big teacher desk in the corner overlooking the student desks that sat under its shadow. That first day I learned a lot and every day after that one. I wanted to be better, and I wanted better for my students, so I read and studied. I talked to my fellow teachers. I talked with my administration. I observed those with more experience. I worked in different schools and in different roles and kept learning. As the years went by, things, both good and bad, happened to me. I woke up one morning and I realized something—this thing I was doing was not really education. It was something else.

What is this thing that I have dedicated the better part of my life to? If it’s not education, what is it? I can’t condemn it based on feelings, can I? That is not very educated of me, is it? Yet, that is what I am doing; I am acting on this sense that what I was doing was not really education but something else. It was, for me, two steps forward and two steps back. It was walking knee-deep in the mud and sense of lostness. No one cares about my opinion. No one even knows who I am. Why should I care? Well, I do. It matters to me. Should it matter to you? That is up to you, but you have experienced education in some of the same ways that I have. It has impacted who you are.  

The adage I am using, painted and soiled, is a product of my time in education and the things I have seen over the years. I believe some of what has been piled on top of education over the years has been intentional (painted) and some of it organic (soiled). Some of it was good, but a lot of it was bad. What proof do I have to make such statements? Well, none; it is only speculation right now, but I want to find out more and that means something, even if it means something only to me. Someone once told me if you want to discover hard truth, you must be willing to go backwards. Sometimes going backwards is difficult, but speculation will reign if you never go backwards. When you do stop, turn around and go backwards, you will be on a different path. That is a start. It is also a form of freedom. The process of seeking, even if you never find anything, is freedom and worth every minute you spend on it, at least it is for me. So, let’s stop, turn around and begin the back peddling by exploring education’s etymology.   

I found that this strange wonderful English word “education” is derived from two Latin words dating back to the middle of the 16th century, which is my first step backwards. The first of the two Latin words is educo, which is also found in the forms of educare, educavi and educatum. It is generally defined as “to bring up,” “to rear,” “to guide,” and “to direct.” These imply a process akin to the rearing of children either by a family or in a community. There are suggestions that this educo, as an action, has more in common with raising children than teaching children, which intimates that education, in the past, was broader and included values, beliefs and morality as part of its composite. This may surprise us, but it should not. This process was not confined to children; it was extended to adolescents and adults, especially when seeking and needing guidance, which, again, suggests something beyond subjects.

There is another idea that this Latin word conveys. While it does contrasts ideas of schooling, it also complements processes of schooling. As an idea, it is more analogous to a generation-to-generation cultural transfer of information akin to that which would be found in secluded civilizations where elders transfer their history to the next generation of leaders. This transfer is not of subjects but of beliefs, values and even traditions. It conveys a view of the world as true and right. This word, “educo,” implies an extension of learning into the broader culture and community. The use of “educo” does intimate a school setting, but, as I referenced earlier, it also intimates something beyond that setting. Its existence depends on its balanced relationship with all other learning, which is not limited to formal instruction. The implication is that learning is communal and cultural. 

There is a second Latin word found in the English word of education, and that word is educere, which is the more common of the two. It is also found in the forms educo, educere, eduxi and eductum. It is defined in the following ways: “to draw out,” “to lead out,” “to raise up,” “to bring up” and “to rear a child.” From this word, we draw closer to current semantics associated with education; one author referenced that educere presented education as “a slow and skillful process of extracting the latent potentialities of comprehension and dedication, in contradistinction with indoctrination,” which is akin to a process of teaching students a core body of knowledge. Sound familiar? This word does push back on the idea of education as indoctrination, instead, embracing the educational ideal of freedom of selection. But there is a difference. Freedom, in educere, is presented as part of the process of education; whereas today, freedom is presented and perceived as a product of education. 

When both Latin words come together to form the word, education, ideas of nourishing or rearing are more pronounced than ideas of teaching, but both are there. There is the presence of instruction, but it is systemic to the process and coupled with the idea of rearing or raising. Several authors referenced that the English word education could refer to both the process of training and the product or results of training, which has more to do with 16th century semantics than 21st century ones. The Latin also suggests that this idea of education is less formal instruction, more rearing and raising and more intimate. It is something beyond a teacher, a classroom or even subjects; it is something more relational and more familial. This paints a different picture than the education we have today, and yet, it is still not clear to me.

The etymology does go back to the 1500s and the Latin word educationem, which was defined as “upbringing or training.” It was this word that was the source of the Middle French word for education that gave rise to our English word, which entered the English language around 1530. This pulls us closer to the origins of education, but the picture is still murky. We need to go back farther, back to the Greeks, to Aristotle, and to 300 BC. Will that be far enough back? Only time will tell. Until next time … 

Another Favorite Quote

by C. P. Lawrence

One of the my favorite poets is this man, Mr. Langton Hughes. I am not much of a poet and rarely get moved by poetry, but his poetry moves me more than most other poetry. I admit, some of his poetry does nothing for me, some of it I do not understand, but then, some of it that just makes so much sense to me. To this day, I still can’t explain it.

Here is another one of my favorite quotes, which just so happens to be from Mr. Hughes. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do!

“When people care for you and cry for you they can straighten out your soul.”