The Unconscious Reality

The second slippery aspect of the question do we know all of Reality refers to how we conceive knowledge. If knowledge is something conscious and mostly intellectual, then I don't think we can know all of Reality, or even much of Reality. In other words, we have experiences of the Real that we are not conscious of and can hardly represent in any language. We engage and know many things with our minds and bodies long before we become conscious of them, if we ever become conscious. For instance, if you breathe in an unhealthy swarm of influenza virus, your immune system will know it and begin mobilizing a defense long before you are conscious of the infection. Or ask a gifted soccer player how he knows where the ball will be two touches before it arrives, and he likely cannot tell you, but he knows to be at that spot on the pitch anyway. Intimations of things long before we are conscious of them are a common experience in life.

We all know this, but we educators often behave as if we don't. We assume that, and behave as if, knowledge is strictly referential, based solely on our representations, descriptions, images, or mathematical formulations, to use Nicolescu's list. Knowledge is something we can put on the test next Tuesday. It isn't (you'll get a much better discussion of the issues with representational views of knowledge from Stephen Downes' blog Half an Hour). Knowledge extends beyond conscious knowledge.

But is this extended view of knowledge useful to education? I think it is extremely useful for those who envision education as a complex process of traversing networks—not as a walk to be taken (traced), but as a walking (mapping). I'm playing here with ideas that I've gleaned from Morin and Deleuze and Guattari.  Morin's concept of interdisciplinary research suggests that the path to knowledge is not followed, it is forged. He amplifies this idea with a line I've often quoted in this blog: we must learn to define from the inside out, not from the outside in. Deleuze and Guattari suggest that engagement of the rhizome, the Real, is a process of mapping structures and pathways, not tracing given structures and pathways. To my mind, these ideas position the Knower at the center of the zone of engagement as a knowmad who chooses to engage some aspect of the rhizome. Or not.

This tack positions me with the knowmad and suggests questions about what prompts a knowmad to engage or disengage some aspect of the rhizome. This reverses the usual pedagogical question of how to motivate students, as if motivation is a trigger we can pull, a response we can stimulate. I'm not sure it is. What then prompts a student to engage a teacher, a given curriculum, and a class? Where does this come from? And is there anything a teacher can do to facilitate that engagement?

Let's ask from the knowmad's point of view: why would a twenty-year-old studying to be a physical therapist want to engage a sixty-year-old in a course about writing? Why would they want to avoid such an engagement? In his book The Art of Changing the Brain (2002), James Zull says that most students unconsciously decide within the first 30 seconds of entering a class whether or not they will like it. Or like me. I probably know within the first 30 seconds whether or not I will like a particular class. These largely emotional engagements with the Real set the parameters of the Reality of the class, and they are difficult to change, in large part because we never quite make them conscious, or explicit. We just have a feeling that some classes work and some don't. However, some very heavy, precise neurological sensing and cognitive processing has gone on underneath the conscious surface to cause this particular Reality to emerge in the zone of engagement I and my students call Composition 1. Peering into the collective unconscious of the class to determine why a class is not working is more work than most of us care to take on, but it is extremely important for the success of the class.

There are plenty more questions to ask from the view of the knowmad: does this twenty-year-old have any sense of where I want to take them in the class? And do they want to go there? Do they have any hope of success? Any desire for success? Does this connect in any way with the path they are already on, or is this a side-trek they had just as soon avoid? And mostly: do they really want to connect to this sixty-year-old, short, white guy with his corny jokes told in a slightly southern accent?

The willingness to engage always comes from the knowmad themselves. The knowmad must see some path worth traversing, because mapping the rhizome is hard work. And it is the rare knowmad, especially young knowmads, who know why they want to engage or not. Much of our willingness to engage or not with a particular aspect of the rhizome, the Real, is decided prior to or completely outside of consciousness. As educators, we overlook this unconscious aspect of reality at our peril.

Why Rhizomatic Learning, Pt. 2 #etmooc

In my last post, I said that networking is the lens through which I see most everything, or at least I try. I confess that I still have some old habits of mind, mostly that I'm unaware of, but when brought to mind, I do try to address them. I quoted Olaf Sporns comments that science is increasingly using the networking metaphor to guide both its subject matter and its research. I want to comment on a couple of points he made, and I quote:

Increasingly, science is concerned with the structure, behavior, and evolution of complex systems such as cells, brains, ecosystems, societies, or the global economy. To understand these systems, we require not only knowledge of elementary system components but also knowledge of the ways in which these components interact and the emergent properties of their interactions. (1)

Note first that he although he started with the term networks, mid-stream he switches to complex systems, the same term that Edgar Morin uses. In my reading, these terms have often been used interchangeably, and I will likely do so in my own discussion, unless I find some reason to distinguish between them.

Second, Sporns captures neatly the distinction between the reductionist, mechanistic clockwork type of science with its focus on "knowledge of elementary system components" and the evolutionary, organic networking type of science with its focus on "knowledge of the ways in which these components interact and the emergent properties of their interactions." This shift in metaphors, or paradigms if you prefer, is extremely important for me.

Although Sporns and I do not share similar disciplines—he studies and teaches neuroscience and I study and teach writing and literature—his work has a critical, core benefit for me: Sporns insists and demonstrates through exhaustive research that cognition is a network phenomenon. I accept his argument, as I have not found a better, more detailed, more precise description of how the brain works. I was pleased, then, to read James Zull's educational book The Art of Changing the Brain (2002) which applies the networking paradigm to learning and draws out some implications for teaching and pedagogy. Networking, of course, is at the heart of Connectivism. Throughout his writings, Stephen Downes makes a number of statements that express knowledge and learning as network phenomena. For instance, in the 2011 post What Networks Have In Common, Downes says, "the state we call 'knowledge' is produced in (complex) entities as a consequence of the connections between and interactions among the parts of that entity." I could no doubt find even more pointed pronouncements in Downes' writing, but this is sufficient. In his online book Knowing Knowledge (2006), George Siemens says, "Knowing and learning are today defined by connections ... connectivism is the assertion that learning is primarily a network-forming process" (15).

For me, then, learning is the ability of an entity to recognize, build, and traverse networks. Moreover, the tools entities use to recognize, build, and traverse networks are themselves networks, and knowledge is an emergent property of the interactions among and across those networks of neurons, sensory organs, sound waves, light waves/particles, classrooms, social groups, languages, the Universe … as far out or in as you wish to take it.

Anyone who has read Downes and Siemens will see that nothing I say here is new. Those fellows have already said it, and in general, I agree with them (details are always problematic, but that doesn't concern me here). Learning is networking across multi-scale networks, and that has huge implications for the way we teach, but is learning rhizomatic? Perhaps a better way to ask this question is what does the concept of the rhizome as developed in Deleuze and Guattari's book A Thousand Plateaus bring to connectivism that it doesn't already have? This is similar to a question I have heard Siemens ask of Cormier in some of our previous MOOCs, and it merits an investigation, if not an answer. I'll try to do that. Tomorrow.

Rewiring the Classroom

In the last 5 chapters of his book The Art of Changing the Brain, Zull suggests the practical implications of neuroscience for the classroom, beginning with the use of sensory experience:

• SENSE LUSCIOUS: Using the power of the sensory brain to help people learn – The brain is wired for sensory experience, and while sight is the most powerful of the senses for most people, sensory experience involves the total body. In general, the more senses a lesson can engage, the better. Too many teachers seem to believe that their lecturing is a sufficient sensory experience for student learning. Lecturing is, in fact, a sensory experience, but when I think back to most of the lectures I endured, then I realize how displeased my senses were with the experience: a droning voice, dry, dusty chalk smells, drab rooms and lecture halls, an aching ass from sitting too long (I have lower back problems), my bouncing legs, the unexpected discovery of discarded chewing gum. The lecturer's words were seldom engaging enough to overcome all those other sensory impressions. The world simply drowned out the droning don, and god forbid a pretty girl should be in class—then I couldn't even take notes. If the lesson is not engaging the student's senses, then the class will. Fortunately, my writing classes have a built-in sensory experience: writing. Unfortunately, that doesn't work for everyone, so I use texting, drawing, discussing, games, reading, contests, group work, and more to engage students' senses. My classes are noisy, bordering on happy. This has troubled some of my superiors.
• WAITING FOR UNITY: Helping people comprehend their experience - "Reflection is searching for connections—literally!" Students need time to bounce their experiences around in their heads to build the connections necessary to integrate information into their own neural networks. This is how we create knowledge. Knowledge is not imparted, given, or transferred. That's a harmful metaphor. Knowledge is not even in our brains—that's an even more harmful metaphor. As Diane Laflamme says in her essay Ethics and the Interplay Between the Logic of the Exluded Middle and the Logic of the Included Middle (in Basarab Nicolescu's Transdisciplinarity: Theory and Practice, 2008), "The body does not contain consciousness" (150).  Rather, consciousness and knowledge are emergent properties, epiphenomena, of the interplay of neural networks. Better: it's what emerges when our brains fire in synchronicity with our body's sensing and acting within a rich ecosystem that is also firing. This bubbling of concepts is called reflection. The brain is looking for useful, recognizable patterns in its sensory data to integrate with the patterns that it already has. Even dreaming is an important part of reflection, but since we can't use dreaming as an instructional strategy in most classes (most of us work hard to counter daydreaming), then we use language for reflection. Actually, we should be encouraging our students to use language through discussion and writing, rather than falling into the easy habit of us talking all the time. Again, my writing classes have a built-in advantage, but only if I'm giving my students time to reflect on a lesson's sensory experience. 
• THE COURAGEOUS LEAP: Creating knowledge by using the integrative frontal cortex - Though related, short-term memory and long-term memory are not the same, nor are they necessarily linked. We can sometimes hold prodigious amounts of information in short-term memory without transferring that information to long-term, and sometimes we transfer powerful experiences directly to long-term memory, bypassing short-term. Students must be allowed to form their own long-term memory ideas, and this takes time and ownership. Short-term memory is powerful, but limited and easily replaced with new sensory data; thus, we cannot overload short-term with too many facts or too much feedback. To learn, students must hold limited information in short-term memory, and then have time to manipulate and play with that information to form connections in their own minds. Teachers who are in a briskly-paced rush to cover the material seldom allow the time and conditions for students to build the connections necessary for moving raw data from short-term memory into the knowledge centers of long-term memory. Students must have time and activities to attend to relevant bits of info and organize the learning task, task management, for themselves. They must develop a sense of probability, or an innate sense of statistical reasoning. This is critical thinking, and without it, most students don't learn, especially those who do well on the test.
• TEST BY TRIAL: Using the motor brain to close the loop of learning - Learning is active, action. Learners must be able to test their ideas to see if reality pushes back, or in Nicolescu's terms if reality resists our ideas. Good ideas bump up against something real, bad ideas don't. As Zull puts it: "It is this encounter with the reality of the world that leads to learning. The magic isn't in the action; it's in the testing" (219). What is active learning? "asking questions, drawing, writing, taking notes, checking out a reference, taking a test, and even reading. Anytime a learner tests out her ideas, she does it through action, and that action generates learning" (218). This is a good, educationist way of talking about Deleuze and Guattari's concepts of cartography, mapping, and decalcomania. This is perhaps the weakest part of my writing classes. I need to find ways to incorporate real-world writing into my classes: real writers writing to real readers about issues that are important to them. This is a tough one, and I welcome your suggestions.
• WE DID THIS OURSELVES: Changing the brain through effective use of emotions – Learning must involve the emotions. Engagement is an emotional response, depending on the learner's feelings about the importance and relevance of the lesson. We encourage engagement through arranging for success. When people repeatedly fail, they disengage; whereas, success (but not too easy) engages people. The balance between too easy and too hard is where the teacher's art comes in. Also, we encourage engagement when we enable a sense of control (emotional base) in students. Self-evaluation and ownership of task engage people emotionally; whereas, loss of control disengages people. When students have no control, then we teachers must resort to extrinsic motivations (which at heart are always violent uses of power) to get them to perform, and the performance is seldom satisfying.

I'm confident that I will refer to Zull's work a great deal in the future, and I recommend it to anyone interested in education.

Rewiring Student Brains

James Zull's book The Art of Changing the Brain contends that neuroscience can guide our teaching practice by revealing to us how our brains actually learn. I think his insight is reliable, and I'm particularly satisfied that he views the brain as a complex, multi-scale network and learning as changing, extending, and strengthening the connections within those networks. This fits quite nicely with connectivism, which defines learning in similar networking terms.

This definition of learning puts the student/learner at the center of the learning process, unlike traditional education, which puts the teacher/authority at the center of the learning process. Why? Because if learning is the development of new connections within existing neuronal networks, then learning depends overwhelmingly on the engagement of the student. No teacher can directly touch a student's brain. Development of neuronal networks absolutely depends on the student exercising her own brain, and her teachers cannot do it for her, any more than a fitness trainer can exercise her muscles for her. The student must sweat and exert herself and must want to sweat and exert. If the student is emotionally, physically, or intellectually incapable of learning a given lesson at a given time, then there is little the teacher can do. At best, teachers can create an environment that is engaging for a student and that encourages them to exert themselves, but the teacher cannot do it for them.

Then, each student comes with different neuronal networks. We teachers can often rely on rather gross similarities among student perceptions, neuronal processes, and responses, but the multi-cultural, inclusive nature of many modern classes shows how unreliable our dependence on these gross similarities can be. Our brilliant lectures and lessons, then, may engage one student and not the next. Neuroscience tells us why. If learning is a process of developing existing neuronal networks, then learning must start with each student's existing neuronal networks, and they ain't all the same. Some are positively alien, and ALL are different from the teacher's. Ground Zero for learning is NOT the teacher's knowledge, then, but her students' alien neuronal structures.

Traditional education views the teaching/learning process as a teacher writing a concept on the chalkboard of the student's mind. This is a radically false notion of education, and yet it is still the basis for too much instruction, even if the chalkboard is now a computer screen and the lecture involves a PowerPoint. The teacher's job is crucial but not essential to learning. The skillful teacher can create an environment that focuses, encourages, and enables students to stretch their minds to create new neuronal networks, but the teacher cannot create those neuronal networks for the student.

Moreover, the teacher cannot prevent students from learning. Most of the stuff that I remember learning in middle school—dealing mostly with sex—was never taught in the classroom. I suspect that most of what is learned in school is never taught from a lesson plan.

So what's the lesson for this teacher? First, I must start with the student and with their existing neuronal networks. That means that each program of study should begin not with what I know (the course content) but with what they know. I must build in to my classes time to discern what my students already know and do not know. The flipped classroom and just-in-time teaching techniques allow for this, and I use them.

Second, given the variety of neuronal structures I'm likely to encounter in any class, I must create a flexible environment that allows for a variety of engagements, processes, and responses. There is no one-size fits all. I know where I want my students to end-up, but I cannot assume one highway to travel or one vehicle. Some come from the cane fields near Belle Glade, some from the tenements of Lake Worth, and quite a few from Haiti, Jamaica, and Europe. Some take the bus, some walk, and some drive different cars. Some are here in a few minutes, some drive an hour or more each way. Getting everyone to West Palm Beach is a very messy business, and many teachers simply don't want to take that on. I think that's why they focus on simply delivering their content. It's much easier. It's also largely ineffective.

Third, I must monitor frequently, and not only to discern what they are not learning, but also what they are learning. I must check their progress along their different highways, monitoring where they are going and how fast they are travelling. If a particular lesson calls for a very specific destination, then I must be able to encourage those on-track to continue even if they can't see the destination, and I must be able to nudge those off-track to make new turn. If a particular lesson has no specific destination, as is the case with many cMOOCs, then I must delight in learning where they are going and encourage them to share their snapshots with me.

Rewiring Our Feelings

James E. Zull's book The Art of Changing the Brain makes a very useful connection between emotions and learning. Traditional education and scholarship has worked hard to minimize emotions within the Academy, and if Zull is correct, then this is most unfortunate. Our brains are wired for emotions, and teaching and learning suffer when we ignore or minimized emotions both in teachers and students. Humans cannot help but respond positively to things that enable pleasure and control and respond negatively to those things that enable pain and loss of control. Learning involves emotions. As Zull says, "Not only is knowing a feeling, getting to knowing [italics in original] is a feeling" (73).

Our feelings determine our attitudes about a teacher, a class, a subject, and those feelings are fixed by the brain before we are even aware of them. Zull explains how sensory impressions bypass our conscious brain and go straight to the amygdala, where they are assessed for threats. For anything that threatens pain or loss of control, the amygdala throws us into fight or flight mode, immediately and without question. The resulting feelings are very difficult to change through the conscious mind. If we don't like a class, teacher, or subject, then we just won't like it.

The problem is that the brain is a battleground for competing attention centers, and reason does not compete so well with emotion. It is hard to attend to a lesson when the amygdala senses loss of control or painful experiences ahead. We teachers can help a student's brain focus its attention through pleasure and movement, connection with people, awareness of the relevance of the material to the brain's identity, a sense of control, and other techniques. People can respond when, first, they are not distracted by threats of failure, pain, and loss of control, and second, when they sense relevance, control, joy, and play in what they are asked to do.

This suggests to me that my classes should begin with some task high in sensory input and something that students can almost certainly achieve, will want to achieve, and will enjoy achieving. I've been starting my writing classes by having students send text messages to someone outside of class, telling them what they are doing. The replies are often humorous, and the task is delightfully unexpected by the students. It demonstrates that they already know how to use writing as a tool for communicating with others. Now, they just have to learn how to use writing in a different, more academic context. I should be able to think of other opening tasks. Any suggestions?

Rewiring the Neuron

My good friend Bruce recommended that I read James E. Zull's book The Art of Changing the Brain (2002), and I'm glad that I followed his advice. The book has some important implications for connectivist, rhizomatic thinking.

The first section of the book establishes a direct correlation between brain form and functions and teaching and learning. As Zull says in the very first sentence: "Learning is about biology." For Zull, learning is the process of changing neuronal structures, and good teaching is aware of and works with the brain's innate structures and functions to enable those changes. I'm a bit uneasy about reducing learning to physical changes in the brain, but I can accept this as a useful focus for better understanding this aspect of learning. So what does this connection between brain structure and learning imply for connectivism and rhizomatic learning?

First, Zull understands the brain as a network. This is implicit in the first part of his book, but he later makes it explicit, devoting Chapter 6 to an exploration of neuronal networks. Moreover, he conceives the brain as a multi-scale, complex networking structure. For instance, individual neurons are networked to process certain sensory inputs, but then those individual networks are networked into larger networks to perform various integrative and meaning-making functions. Zull does not extend those networks into the larger networks of the body or our social and natural ecosystems, but that may be a result of his particular focus for this book rather than a specific belief. I find nothing in what he says that would exclude such an extension of our neuronal networks. It's easy for me to say, then, that Zull, like connectivists, sees learning as a network phenomenon. For Zull, learning is the process of shaping neuronal networks that map more or less well to reality. This process of neuronal mapping is quite compatible with Deleuze and Guattari's notions of decalcomania and cartography, and network structures are at the heart of both connectivism and the rhizomatics.

Zull provides some specifics about neuronal processes that are useful for connectivism and rhizomatics, that make cartography and decalcomania more practical. First, he outlines the basic sequence of learning:

1. sensing,
2. integrating (2 parts), and
3. acting.

For Zull, then, learning is grounded in sensing the physical world, integrating those sense impressions into our existing neuronal networks first through reflection and then abstraction, and then acting on, or testing, that new knowledge. This is a dynamic, complex process because the results of acting/testing is then fed back into the loop as we sense the consequences of our actions/tests, integrate those consequences, and act/test again. Through this process, our brains develop themselves, strengthening those neuronal networks that lead to somehow satisfactory results and weakening those networks that lead to unsatisfactory results. Of course, the loop is not this simple. We humans are often confused about which neuronal networks map satisfactorily to reality and which don't, and our brains can create and adhere to some awful mappings, but mostly it seems to work for us, and according to the latest neuroscience, this is the process most of us use.

The takeaway for me is that the educational process is improved if it begins with a concrete, sensory experience, includes time for reflection and abstraction of the experience, allows for action/testing of the new knowledge, and allows for feedback of the testing results into the loop. A teacher doesn't need to know anything about connectivism or rhizomatics to follow this teaching process, but this process can usefully inform connectivism and rhizomatics.

First, at the start of any lesson, students favor concrete, sensory experience. This is what they are learning. Unfortunately, that means most of our students are learning whether or not they like their teachers, whether or not the teacher is boring, whether or not the classroom is comfortable, whether or not this class fits into their eating schedule, and so forth. Our brains are wired this way, and our brilliant lectures can seldom overcome this sensory bias. Perhaps, then, we should capitalize on the sensory bias, and begin there. For instance, in my writing classes, I could start by having my students text someone on their smartphones about what they are doing in my class, and then launching into a classroom discussion of why people write to each other.

Second, students need time to integrate their new sensory experiences into their existing neuronal networks. Implications: if we march tenaciously through the content, we will lose most students. At best they will manage to register the content into short-term memory, which is a necessary step in learning, but hardly sufficient for any useful learning. The brain quickly flushes short-term memory to make room for the next short-term memory. Reflection and abstraction are the neuronal processes that move sensory experience into long-term memory and integrate it into existing neuronal networks. Most of the classes that I took provided little to no time for reflection and abstraction or for feedback of tests; thus, I have forgotten most of what I learned. What a sad waste of everybody's efforts and investments. So in my writing classes, I might allow my students to blog about the concepts I'm trying to teach, encouraging them to make the connections between the new stuff and what they already know. Class discussion is also a good tool for this reflection. I might encourage abstraction by having student bring in writing assignments from other classes and plan in groups how they might solve those assignments. We might also allow for feedback from those assignments, assuming there is time.

Then, short, shared writings in class are a good way to test new knowledge and feed the results back into our brains. Actually, I don't see why this wouldn't work in most any class. Maybe I'm just biased, but I think that writing is one of the best tools we have for integrating new information into our existing neuronal networks, thereby turning it into knowledge.