Exploring Interdisciplinarity

the question I wrestle with is about agency–when it comes to technology, how much agency do we have? 

For me, being a professor is very refreshing. It is an occupation that never gets stale. For, even when I work with the same material year after year, I get to share it with a new class of students each of whom has unique interpretations to offer. If I am too provocative, or appear too certain, no doubt I will be challenged. Questioning whether my thoughts and ideas hold up in the face of this kind of scrutiny, I am thoroughly reengaged.

In the Communication Culture and Technology Masters Program, at Georgetown University, the topics I most frequently address revolve around technology. More specifically, the question I wrestle with most is how much agency do we have? At what points are technologies brought into question, and how can they be influenced most effectively?

This question has dominated my thinking ever since my days at the Office of Technology Assessment, when I first read Langdon Winner’s opus Autonomous Technology. Technics-out-of-Control as a Theme in Political Thought (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press 1977). Surveying the range of positions that major thinkers have adopted with respect to the march of advancing technologies, Winner challenges us, not to be technology somnambulists, but rather to develop our own philosophical positions with respect to technology. I try to pass this challenge on to my students.

I am a Technology Whore (courtesy of Theiss)

To be sure, developing a coherent philosophy of technology requires a sound theoretical understanding of the relationship between technology and society. This relationship is the focus of my CCT course Technology and Society. In this class, we employ different theoretical lenses through which to consider how technology affects society and vice versa. In examining these theories, I encourage my students to approach them the way they select their clothes–that is to say, try them on for size. Each theory has its own strengths and weaknesses, but some are more suitable than others for the purpose at hand.

The Dressing Room (Courtesy of Eric Photostream)

Thus, for example, theoretical approaches associated with technology determinism, such James Beniger’s The Control Revolution, can help us understand the big picture–that is, what underlies technological momentum and unintended consequences, but it says little about how and by whom technology decisions are actually made. On the other hand, while the SHOT approach (Society for the History of Technology) hones in on how concerned interests and decision-makers arrive at a consensus, it give short shrift to the role of power and the institutional and cultural environment in which decision makers act. Like the SHOT approach, Actor-Network Theory (ANT)–developed by French philosophers Michel Callon and Bruno Latour, discounts the social frame of reference. Its focus, instead, is on how actors (including technology) employ their power and resources to create networks in support of technology outcomes. Most comprehensive of all is evolutionary theory, which conceives of technology outcomes as emergent and indeterminate –the product of complex, cumulative forces.

Teaching a class on Technology and Society, I want to be able to assure my students that–yes–they can make a difference.

Teaching a class on Technology and Society, I want to be able to assure my students that–yes–they can make a difference, whatever their views about technology. And I certainly hope that they go on to do so. As well, I think that, when viewed together, the theoretical perspectives outlined above suggest a number of entry points where they might intervene successfully on behalf of technology-related issues. So I am not a pessimistic, technology determinist. But neither am I an optimistic somnambulist, ready to stand aside and give way to whatever forces come my way. After years of engaging with my students around these issues, I am existential in the face of technology. That is to say, I am–for lack of a better word–a technology indeterminist. Recognizing the complexity of the problem, and the unintended consequences of technology that are strewn all around us, I know I need to act, even if the outcome of my actions is uncertain. I draw comfort from the idea that, in a complex social environment, small changes at the local level give rise to large scale repercussions at the level of the whole.

On Technorati: actor network theory, Bruno Latour, evolutionary theory, Higher Education, Langdon Winner, philosophy of technology, SHOT, somnambulism, technology and society, technology determinism

The End of History

Recent events in Poland, Georgia, and Russia bring to mind Francis Fukuyama’s 1992 popular–but contentious– book, The End of History and the Last Man. In this book, Fukuyama argues that the fall of the Soviet Union and the subsequent triumph of liberal democracy was ushering in a new era of peace, in which divisive ideologies–and hence history–would be dealt a fatal blow.

Fukuyama, however, tempered his conclusion in a subsequent book, entitled Our Posthuman Future. According to Fukuyama, notwithstanding the death of ideology, the human race still faces serious challenges–in particular, coping with the rapid advance of science and technology.

In Sunday’s Outlook Section of the Washington Post, Fukuyama revisits his original thesis in the light of recent events. In a piece entitled, They Can Only Go So Far, Fukuyama warns against overreacting to the global shift towards authoritarianism. As he says: “The world’s bullies are throwing their weight around. But history is not on their side.”

“The world’s bullies are throwing their weight around. But history is not on their side.” 

Harking back to his arguments in The End of History, Fukuyama differentiates today’s autocrats from those in the past based on their lack of ideology–that is to say, their lack of passionate and compelling ideas–as defined by Fukuyama. Because they have no real ideology, these autocrats–according to Fukuyama–cannot attract a following, and hence are not a real threat.

What might the Georgians and the Poles say to that?

What might the Georgians and the Poles say to that?

Russia on the Border with South Assetia

To seek assurance from Fukuyama’s words, we must believe that world conflicts will subside as ideologies converge, and we all become capitalists, enveloping our actions in democratic platitudes. This argument presumes that ideas and ideologies are the only thing worth fighting for. What about other forces, such as greed, racism, hatred, and imperialism? Will their appeal disappear along with conflicting ideologies? Consider the United States, for example. Even from this most favorable vantage point, we see that capitalism and democracy are compatible with violence, environmental destruction, poverty, and war, itself. (See, for one discussion, Robert Kagan, Dangerous Nation: America’s Place in the World From Its Earliest Days to the Dawn of the Twentieth Century, Knopf, 2006).

Equally questionable is Fukuyama’s claim that history plays favorites, and that, when it comes to ideology, the West’s version of capitalism will be the unchallenged winner. For a cautionary tale, recall that Hitler, Mussolini, and Tojo all believed that their causes were destined for success. No doubt, history matters as Douglass North is the first to point out. But history is not predictable. As we learn from evolutionary theorists, history is emergent–the product of an ongoing cumulative process comprised of multiple variables that co-evolve in highly complex and, therefore, indeterminable ways. Moreover, as Paul Pierson tells us, history follows a path dependent trajectory that is influenced not only by specific events, such as the collapse of the Soviet Union, but as importantly, by the timing, sequence and circumstances in which such events occur. Ideologies, if they are to be relevant, must coevolve along with the full array of these historical forces. The winner depends on the way that history unfolds.

Fukuyama looks for security in ideological consensus. However, when history is conceived of as a on-going and very uncertain process, consensus may lead to untold disaster. As Geoffry Hodgson has argued, survival in a complex world environment depends on adaptation–and more specifically on the innovation and competitive selection of new ideas. In turn, the generation of new ideas requires a wide variety of ideological building blocs. Fortunately, we have not seen the end of history, so a continuing variety exists. As Fukuyama, himself, points out in Our Posthuman Future, there are today many technical and scientific challenges that lay before us. Surely, these will engender new competing interests and with them new competing ideas and solutions for future survival.

On Technorati: Douglass North, end of history, Fukuyama, Georgia, Hodgson, Pierson

Whatknow’s comment on Wesch’s YouTube movie,
A Vision of Students Today, which I posted on Back to School, got me thinking about the Communication Culture and Technology Program’s orientation, which takes place tomorrow.

I had been pondering the situation, wondering what is the right chord to strike? 

I had been pondering the situation, wondering what is the right chord to strike? How might I best introduce the Program; characterize its unique, and very special aspects; as well as set the new students on the right path? Whatknow’s comment on my Blog gave me a great idea!

In his comments, Whatknow identified himself with many of the students in Wesch’s film. He comes to class, much as they do, together with all of his digital artifacts. These allow him to multitask and draw on resources from a wide array of sources–all the while class is in progress. But Whatknow’s purpose is not to undermine authority, nor to question and/or diminish the content provided by the professor. To the contrary, his aim is to enhance his learning, by bringing multiple and diverse information sources to bear, and allowing them to converse–in real time–with one another. Isn’t that what learning is all about?

Grateful Dead in Central Park

When reading Whatknow’s comments, the process that came to mind was that of JAZZ IMPROVIZATION. Pursuing the metaphor, I found that organizational theorist Karl E. Weick has actually used the metaphor of Jazz to analyze organizational improvisation and change. As Weich characterizes the similarities, both jazz and organizational adaptation require a rigorous and common grounding in skills, routines and structures, which then allows participants the wide-ranging freedom to build around them, develop themes and variations of their own, and then to rejoin one another in a greatly enhanced, and far more innovative, output. As the musician Ken Peplowski describes this process:
 

We name the key, count off the tempo and start the song and it’s the first time that we’ve ever played together. But the reason we can do this is that we have a common vocabulary, and we listen and react to one another.

Like Jazz players, who discover their ideas and new approaches in the very process of playing their music and getting constant feedback from others, students in the CCT Program try out different venues, build on them in creative ways, and then encounter the curriculum and research that is right for them. The underlying CCT structure, which allows students this flexibility, is a commitment to interdisciplinarity, a sound theoretical grounding in multiple disciplines, strong methodological skills, a modular curricula, a knowledgeable and creative faculty, helpful mentoring, and a collaborative and interactive student body. As is the case in any jazz group, The CCT Program, taken in its entirety, comprises an adaptive, on-going, interdisciplinary, community of practice, with each member doing his or her own thing–in delightful harmony with others.

Thank you Whatknow for your comments on my Blog. When it comes to orientation, it is always good to step back and reorient yourself.

On Technorati: education, Interdisciplinarity, jazz, organizational change

For me growing up, SOCIETY was not an abstraction: it was very real. I didn’t need to read Durkheim to understand social facts. My mother was a constant reminder. The purpose of life, she said, was to leave Society better than one finds it. And, to me, coming from her, that was a Fact!

The purpose of life, she said, was to leave Society better than one finds it. And, to me, coming from her, that was a Fact! 

No wonder, then, that–in deciding the direction of my future studies–I was drawn to the social sciences. By sampling these disciplines, I hoped to discover my true place in the world. The result? I found economics especially reassuring because, according to economists, individuals and outcomes were clearly defined and predictable. Nonetheless, I kept asking myself, where in all of this is the social order? On the other hand, my sociology courses–taught in the tradition of Talcott Parsons–were all about social order. However, the emphasis on continuity and consensus came at the expense of individual agency and the possibility for radical upheaval–a real disadvantage, given the revolutionary changes that occurred throughout the late sixties and early seventies, in which I enthusiastically took part.

A Sixties Collage

Political science seemed to me, at the time, to be the ideal discipline–the most holistic and relevant to events occuring around me. Not only did political science focus on individuals, groups, and institutions; it also characterized and sought to explain the conflict among them. Alas, however, the failure of academic political scientists to correctly interpret the War in VietNam, and to develop appropriate strategies to cope with it, precipitated the discipline’s tumultuous retreat behind the seemingly safe bastions of methodological individualism, manageable, reductionist questions, and strict quantitative analysis. Fortunately, for me, I ended up at the The Office of Technology Assessment, where addressing real-world problems took precedence over disciplinary disagreements.

In the years that followed, I discovered that finding the real me was by no means a matter of identifying the right theory. But neither was my identity a biological or sociological given. To the contrary, as I now know as a result of years of life’s experience, I am emergent: my being is constantly evolving in the context of my life experiences and interactions with others–marriage, motherhood, friendship, work and play.

To the contrary, as I now know as a result of years of life experience, “I” am emergent: my being is constantly evolving in the context of my life experiences and interactions with others. 

Imagine, then, what pleasure I had this summer reading R. Keith Sawyers book, Social Emergence: Societies as Complex Systems. In his book, Sawyer not only rescues Durkheim from his critics; he also provides a theoretical basis for the way that I now think about myself in relationship to society. Tracing Durkheim’s concept of social facts back to the notion of emergentism Sawyer contends that Durkheim has been misinterpreted by those who viewed his work through the lens of Talcott Parsons’ value integration. Sawyer argues, instead, that Durkheim, as well as Comte, conceived of ’society’ and the ‘individual’ in a complex, emergent relationship–the product of continuous interaction and reaction.

My mother’s emphasis on social facts can also be viewed in emergent, experiential terms. In her early thirties during the Depression, and her early forties, during the Second World War, my mother must have learned that the survival of SOCIETY had a lot to do with cooperative behavior, as well as sacrificing the individual for the sake of the whole.

On Technorati: Durkheim, emergence, identity, Office of Technology Assessment, Sawyer, social facts

My husband, Brock Evans, is a masterful story teller. Like Johnny Appleseed, Brock spent most of his life traipsing around the country, telling compelling environmental stories, and spreading seeds of hope and commitment on behalf of the environment where ever he went. Upon hearing these stories, people rose to the occasion: they stepped up, and spoke out on behalf of saving the local places so dear to their hearts.

Brock’s motto, “endless pressure, endlessly applied”, was a sure-fired recipe for success.

Brock’s motto, “endless pressure, endlessly applied,” was a sure-fired recipe for success. Hence, wonderful places such as as Hells Canyon, Congaree Swamp National Park, and the Alpine Lake Wilderness Area are now preserved.

Hells Canyon

What makes Brock’s stories so captivating is that they do not merely describe a place or an event; rather, they are elaborate tales that incorporate all of the complex and contingent factors on which success depends. By providing a larger context in which the story unfolds, the audience can step into the picture, experiencing it both vicariously and first hand. They can become, in effect, part of the community of practice.

Photography appears to be like story telling in this regard. It is inherently holistic. Although photographers may hone in on a specific target, they give it meaning–above and beyond its aesthetic value–when they situate it in the overall context that rendered its form. Georgetown’s Dean Schaefer, who teaches Looking at Photography in the Communication, Culture and Technology Program, brought this home, when he referred me to Frank Gohlke’s lovely piece, Measure of Emptiness: Grain Elevators in the American Landscape (John Hopkins Press, 1992). Describing how he became enraptured by the poetic possibilities of grain elevators, Gohlke notes:

. . .the grain elevators could not be considered in isolation from the landscape; the building and it context were inseparable. At the same time, I was beginning to realize that the landscape is not a collection of fixed objects on a static spatial grid but a fluid and dynamic set of relationships. Its appearance is the result of a multitude of forces acting in time on the land itself and its human accretions.

Perhaps it is the photographer’s holistic perspective, so well characterized by Gohlke, that allowed my friend and photographer Anna Sofaer not only to discover the solstice and lunar markings on Fajada Butte in Chaco Canyon (see my previous blog), but also to grasp–as no other scholars were able to do–the cultural and religious significance of these markings.

Just give me the facts, m'am

As any child will tell you, without stories and pictures, the world is pretty bleak. As well, it is not very informative. Remember the radio and TV show, Dragnet. In almost every segment, the star, Sergeant Joe Friday, appears at the scene of a crime, where a ‘frantic’ woman is attempting to describe what happened. Totally in command, the stoic hero, Joe, takes out his pencil and notebook, and says: Just give me the facts m’am. Have you every wondered, how Joe could possibly solve the mystery, if all he had to go on were the facts?

On Technorati: Brock Evans, communities of practice, Dragnet, Gohlke, Hells Canyon, photography

Michael Wesch’s short video, A Vision of Students Today, associates the gap in relevance between student’s interests today and educational practices at a traditional university to the widespread availability of new, and more captivating, modes of learning and interaction, now available in the digital age. My own educational experience, which began over 60 years ago, suggests that this disconnect is not necessarily a new phenomena, nor solely a product of digital technologies. John Seely Brown and Paul Duguid might agree. As they argue in a paper entitled, ” The University in the Digital Age, the weaknesses in today’s educational system are due primarily to a fundamental pedagogical failure. According to the authors, the problem is that we treat education as a matter of delivering scientifically vetted content to students, rather than engaging them in an on-going shared practice of discovery.

the problem is that we treat education as a matter of delivering scientifically vetted content to students, rather than engaging them in a situated, on-going shared practice. of discovery.

The authors’ paper certainly resonates with me personally, especially their characterization of the typical approach used to teach math. In my case, two seminal experiences come to mind. The first occurred when I was in seventh grade. My teacher, Mrs. Milford, posed the following question in our class: If an airplane is traveling at 500 miles and hour, and the wind is blowing at 40 miles an hour, how fast is the plane moving? When she revealed the right answer–540 miles per hour–I was perplexed. I asked: “If the wind is traveling at 40 miles per hour, how can it catch up with a plane flying at 500 miles per hour? No doubt, a reasonable question for a seventh grader? Not according to Mrs Milford. In response to my perceived impertinence I was sent to the principal’s office where I was assigned the task of putting the top 500 U.S. cities in alphabetical order. Talk about a disconnect! Needless to say, it was some time before I raised another math question. In fact, the next occasion occurred years later, in my college algebra class, when I asked why one could not divide by zero. The answer, I was told, was because, if I did so, I would fail. Enough said!

In their paper, Brown and Duguid describe how math might be taught in the context of a community of practice. They suggest that if knowledge is to be meaningful to students, the teacher must make explicit the thought process that he or she goes through in generating a question, and seeking an answer for it. By participating in the learning process–that is to say, the practice and, yes, the culture of doing math –students will develop an intuitive sense of how to generate solutions to such problems on their own.

By participating in the learning process–that is to say, the practice and, yes, the culture of doing math– students will develop an intuitive sense of how to generate solutions to such problems on their own.

Duguid and Brown do not discount the role of technology in the educational process. To the contrary, they consider a number of ways in which technology based tools can support their vision. Having recently experimented with “blogging,” and found it very satisfying, I too would like to build it into my classes, in the form of e-portfolios. I agree with Duguid and Brown that education should prepare students for the real world by engaging them in a form of disciplinary practice. And it would seem to me that blogging within the classroom can help students and faculty achieve such a goal. However, in an interdisciplinary educational program such as CCT, a somewhat different approach might be required. Interdisciplinarity is its own unique practice. It has no-bottom line text: rather it emerges and evolves in the process of engaging with complex problems. The kind of blogging exercise that would most be most relevant in this regard would be one that links students not solely to each other, and to their faculty, but also to the non-academic groups–outside the ivory tower–wrestling with real life problems. University roles and boundaries have traditionally been relatively fixed, so these three groups have typically been remote from one another. Were they to interact around problem solving, just imagine the practice they might engender!

On Technorati: communities of practice, digital portfolios, e-portfolios, eportfolio, Higher Education, John Seely Brown, mathematics, Paul Duguid

Courtesy of Avoire

Across the globe, the New Year is celebrated at different times of year. My own preference is to begin the New Year in September–the date used in the Gregorian, Eastern Orthodox calender; for this is the time when, everywhere, students and teachers alike, are returning back to school. To be sure, on January 1st, I never fail to make New Year resolutions, some of which I actually keep. But in September, I feel differently. Instead of focusing on self-improvement, my expectations run high when the new school year begins. Satiated with all the diverse, lackadaisical, and serendipitous happenings of Summer, I am right up there–at the gate–ready to take off. Enthused and excited, I think: A new year, a new beginning!

I attribute some of these positive aspirations to nostalgia, and my early summers spent at Lake Hawthorne. In mid-August, not long after the brown-eyed susans blossomed, the huckleberries ripened, and the katydids arrived, we would begin to plan for school. It was a memorable event. My mother would drive my sister and I in our old, maroon-colored Dodge to the nearest large town, about forty five minutes away. Wandering along the streets inhabited by white, Victorian buildings, their paint often peeling down the sides, we would shop to buy new outfits for the first day of school. The selection in this rural town was limited to say the least, but we always found something–typically a red/blue plaid dress with a white collar and ruffled sleeves. No matter, it was never the actual style of the dress that was important: Rather, it was its newness, an important symbol that conjured up for me the idea of a a fresh start and a propitious beginning. To accompany the dress, we bought very sensible shoes, the ugly, brown, lace-up type. Then, we would stop by the five-and-ten cent store–now an artifact of antiquity, to be sure–where we would very carefully finger through and select from among the wide array of three-ringed notebooks, paper, and pens. I hesitated, convinced that my choice of which items to buy would determine my academic success. Best of all, before driving home, we would visit the local luncheonette, where we sat at the counter, and slowly savored an ice cream soda. Back at the lake, I imagined myself on the first day of school, dressed in my new outfit, and armed with my ‘lucky’, hand-selected writing implements. A renewed sense of confidence came over me. I knew that I would not be shy on that first day. No, I would be thrilled to see my old friends; glad to make new ones; and–in those brown shoes–start off on the right foot with my new teacher.

More than fifty summers later, it is that time again. Time to get ready for a new academic year. Already I have noticed recent graduates stopping by the office to catch up and say their final goodbyes; new students visiting in search of housing and perhaps to reassure themselves that their investments in the CCT Program will payoff; faculty straying back from out of town with tales of their summer exploits, and, of course, the book store nagging faculty to turn in their book orders. Refreshed and stimulated by my month-long vacation, I am eager to start. However, just as I did as a youth, I follow some rituals. First, I prime my pump, putting all my recent reading materials on the floor, and slowly savoring each. Each book has become a part of me, a new window through which I can look at the world. But, my attachment to all these books constitutes a major problem for me as well: how will I ever decide what books I should assign, and which I should leave out? Without a doubt, I will include The Stag Hunt, and for sure, Epstein’s introductory chapter in Generative Social Science.. Likewise, in my discussions on networks and emergence, I will use Paul Pierson’s Politics in Time and Beinhocker’s wonderful book, The Creation of Wealth. As part of this sorting process, I fiddle, and faddle, and fiddle some more, changing the reading assignments, the sequence of classes, and even the style of the font. Having become a convert to blogging, I also integrate an on-line component into my courses. Eventually, I am satisfied–I think I have it right.

Then, before going home, I check out Howard Rheingold’s blog, and look at his syllabi posted there. In one, he includes a short film clip, produced by Michael Wesch and his students at the University of Kansas. Entitled A Vision of Students Today, the film takes me aback. It all too compellingly coveys how our traditional teaching styles are less and less relevant in today’s digital environment. I stop. I pause. Tomorrow, I determine, I will revisit my syllabus, taking this film into account. In the meantime, and just to be on the safe side, I will stop at the store on my way home, and buy a new outfit to wear on the first day of school.

On Technorati: CCT, Georgetown, Howard Rheingold, Interdisciplinarity, Lake Hawthorne, nostalgia, school, Stag hunt