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Teaching heroics : identity and ethical imagery in science education Robeck, Edward C. 1996

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T E A C H I N G HEROICS: IDENTITY A N D E T H I C A L I M A G E R Y I N S C I E N C E E D U C A T I O N by E D W A R D C. R O B E C K B. Sc. University of Nebraska, Lincoln, 1984 M . A . University of Nebraska, Lincoln, 1991 A THESIS SUBMITTED I N P A R T I A L F U L F I L L M E N T O F T H E R E Q U I R E M E N T S FOR T H E D E G R E E OF D O C T O R OF P H I L O S O P H Y i n T H E F A C U L T Y OF G R A D U A T E STUDIES Department of Curr iculum Studies We accept this thesis as conforming to the required standard T H M ^ J M V T ^ S I T Y O F BRITISH C O L U M B I A November, 1996 © Edward C . Robeck, 1996 In presenting this thesis in partial fulfilment of the requirements for an advanced degree at the University of British Columbia, I agree that the Library shall make it freely available for reference and study. I further agree that permission for extensive copying of this thesis for scholarly purposes may be granted by the head of my department or by his or her representatives. It is understood that copying or publication of this thesis for financial gain shall not be allowed without my written permission. Department of Cucrie J u *w S-t-ud'iVs The University of British Columbia Vancouver, Canada Date Now^Uir 2% 1<\U Abstract In what follows, I address ways in which science education can influence personal identity and social relationships. I do this through a consideration of the ideological implications of science as it is constituted in science education. In this situation, I consider science to be a symbolic system—emanating from socially derived meanings. I begin with the premise that any symbol system is permeated wi th ideological elements. To highlight the ideological elements of science in science education, I use another more explicitly symbolic system as a comparative framework. That system is epic heroism, primari ly as Joseph Campbell (1949) describes it in The Hero With A Thousand Faces. The discussion of science education is given a practical grounding using transcripts from interviews wi th twenty Grade 10 students and many of their teachers undertaken in the 1993-1994 school year. I used epic heroism as a framework for initiating interpretations of broad themes from the transcripts, but also read the transcripts in relation to aspects of epic heroism, including existing critiques of Campbell's work and heroism more broadly. Specific quotes are included to illustrations of various points. M y particular focus here is on ideological elements that can be associated wi th racism, sexism, and other social relationships that are collectively referred to as relations involving divisive bias. In particular, two ii themes are discussed extensively. The first is the theme of identity formed through separation, which results in the promotion of reductive and individualistic identities. The second theme has to do wi th the role of boundary imagery in the formation of relationships, which establishes difference hierarchically. Both of these are pervasive in divisive bias and in the imagery of epic heroism. Ways in which they can pervade practices in science education are also discussed. The central argument of the thesis is that science education, when undertaken through practices that incorporate themes of separation and boundary imagery, perpetuates relations of divisive bias. To forestall this, I suggest that science education can be approached in ways that incorporate what is referred to as an ethic otplenishment, which strives to promote expansive identities through a proliferation of interpersonal associations. iii Abstract ii Table of Contents iv Acknowledgements viii I. Introduction 1 II. Symbol Systems and Ideas 13 Chapter Introduction 13 Symbol Systems 14 The Symbolic Constitution of Science In Science Education 15 Heroism As An Ideological Narrative 19 The General Elements of Epic Heroism 22 Narrative In Moral Reasoning 25 III. The Call To Adventure 28 Chapter Introduction 28 Beginning the Hero's Journey 29 Alienation In The Call To Adventure 36 Curricular Adventurers 39 Power To Guide 48 Pedagogical Imperatives of a Discourse of Choice 59 Departing from The Path 62 Threshold of Disregard 73 Separate—More or Less 76 Narratives of Caring 87 IV. Between Self And Others 92 Chapter Introduction 92 iv Boundaries As Barriers 93 Academic Boundaries 96 Establishing Difference 99 Structuring Relationships 101 Emblematic Privilege 106 Abstract Difference 112 Identity: Portrayal and Betrayal 114 Right Up Front 118 Inversions 123 Seriously, Just Kidding—I Mean It 126 V. The Hero's Deeds 135 Chapter Introduction 135 "Truth As He Finds It" 136 Canonical Authority 138 General Knowledge 144 Gender Lore: Science in Public Discourse 150 Circulation of Selves 156 For the Good Of 163 The Hero In Action and Public Inaction 169 Moving Right Along 171 Good, For The Future 175 Promises of Privilege 181 Pedagogy of Guilt; Pedagogy of Privilege 193 VI. Living The Heroic Life 198 Chapter Introduction 198 Ideal Heroism 199 v Glorious Humility 202 The Busy-ness Ethic 205 School Busy-ness 211 When Neglect Precedes Necessity 217 Of Darkness And Light 221 Melodrama In Rationales for Science Education 224 Diminishment as Violence, Violence as Sacrifice 227 Exchange Metaphor and Threats to The Good 231 Extraordinary Science 236 Defining Associations 244 VII. Plenishment 247 Chapter Introduction 248 Thinking Through the Binary of Sustenance and Sacrifice 249 An Ethic of Plenishment 251 Ordinary Practice: Prudentialized Charisma 255 Identity In Community In Association: Civil Society 264 Bound And Determined 266 Plenishment of Identity: "Border Consciousness" 275 Plenishment as Transformative 279 Pedagogical Political Culture 281 Caring and Commemoration 287 A Plenishment of Heroism 297 vi Bibliography 306 Appendix 1: Notations Within Transcripts 324 Appendix 2: The Heroic Narrative 325 Appendix 3: Narrative of Success 326 vii Acknowledgements It is a great pleasure for me to acknowledge that this thesis is, in many-ways, the product of many people. The students who offered their ideas, the teachers in the school, the professors wi th whom I worked, and the many present and past graduate students in the Department of Curr iculum Studies and elsewhere at U B C all added to this work. I am indebted to them all , and can only hope to share wi th others the good w i l l and warmth I have been shown. In particular, I want to thank my committee members for their diligence, patience, and flexibility. Jim Gaskell, Gaalen Erickson, Pamela Courtenay-Hall, and Tony Clarke each provided her or his own special guidance, and were each a part of this work in a unique way. I cannot thank them enough for making it possible for me to carry on wi th the ideas I struggled wi th here. Their faith and helped me through the moments of doubt, celebration, and other feelings that are part of work such as this. I also want to thank a number of others who shared their time, support, and ideas wi th me. John Wil l insky and Wi l l i am Pinar each taught me a great deal about the social and personal potentials of curriculum, and each became a trusted and supportive friend. Clare Brooks, Peter Chin , Renee Fountain, George Frempong, Gary Hepburn, Garry Hoban, Gary Rasberry, and many other fellow graduate students made this an enjoyable and growthful time—during which I not only learned scholarship, but also the meaning of community. I w i l l always have a warm place in my heart, too, for Har i viii Koirala and his family. They gave me and my family many special memories. M y time at U B C was also spent, in large measure, working on the Third International Mathematics and Science Study. The many people I met in that work became as much a part of my network of support as anyone. I shared many happy and satisfying moments wi th Beverley Maxwel l , Katy Ellsworth, Winnie Wong, A n n Travers, and others who worked on that study. I thank David Robitaille, especially, for his personal and professional support, trust, and collaboration. I learned a great deal from each of them. Of course, more than anyone, I must thank my wife and my sons for their vital part in this. They were, and are, the greatest sources of beauty, richness, peace, and love in my life. To these people, and to many others unnamed here, I am forever grateful. ix I. Introduction A n d for a long time yet, led by some wondrous power, I am fated to journey hand in hand with my strange heroes and to survey the surging immensity of life, to survey it through the laughter that all can see and through the tears unseen and unknown by anyone. Nikolai Gogol Dead Souls In the interplay of the always-shifting images one has of self, others, objects and relationships, individuals form and re-form their identities. It is through these identities that human experience and relationships are interpreted. Science education is one of the many endeavors in which such images are brought together. In the case of science education, these images are brought together with regard to a diverse set of practices, ideas, and institutions referred to as "science". What is taken as science is, therefore, significant in the formation, and re-formation, of identity. In this document I address interactions of science education and identity, as wel l as the implications of those interactions for social relationships. In it I begin wi th the premise that neither human identity nor science—nor any of the other images that contribute to and are 1 derived from these—are ever fixed in terms of the possibilities for interpretation. While there are limits on interpretive potentials, these are set primarily by conventions established with respect to socially shared meanings. They are, therefore, symbolically constituted. In what follows, my foci w i l l be the symbolic constitution of science in science education and its potentials for influencing the possibilities students understand for their identities and social relationships. To both provide an initial focus for the issues I w i l l consider, and to illustrate the issues in practical terms, I make ongoing reference to a series of interviews conducted in the 1993-94 school year in Vancouver, British Columbia. The twenty Grade 10 students who were interviewed were taking part in an applied research study about gender equity in science education conducted from November to M a y of that academic year by their science teacher and four university-based researchers, including myself (Gaskell, Hancock, Hepburn, Robeck & Segal, 1994). The student interviews were augmented by interviews wi th several teachers, classroom observations, and artifacts collected during an instructional phase of the study (e.g., tests, timed writings, student reports). Of the data collected in that project, the student interviews are the primary focus of attention in what follows, 1 although other data collected for that project, especially interviews with several teachers, are also addressed. It is to a See Appendix 1: Notations Within Transcripts. 2 large extent the issues that emerged during my reading of these transcripts and other data that determine the concerns that I raise i n what follows. Owing to a study design that emphasized the importance of context on social issues, the scope of the student interviews was broad. The students discussed many aspects of who they were, who they would like to be, how they related to others, and how they were influenced more or less directly by their experiences in school and in science education. The students, most of whom were first generation Canadians of Asian descent, spoke not only about issues of gender, but also about how their relationships were inflected by culture, race, ethnicity, and social class. These elements were addressed to some extent in the first and second interviews, conducted i n November and March. The range of elements that were discussed with the students was expanded considerably when I conducted additional interviews wi th eight of the students and several of their teachers in M a y in an effort to check some of the ideas that had emerged in my reading of the data that had been collected up to that time. With in the students' statements, then, are many opportunities to consider the personal and social implications of science education as it has been experienced by those students. As well , despite the fact that these students were in a separate program within the school that emphasized more academically challenging work, their statements also provide opportunities to explore the implications of certain practices in science education that may be found more or less generally in other settings. The 3 practices that w i l l be addressed include many aspects of science education, but the most sustained attention is given to how science education is promoted to students and the assumptions that manner of promotion incorporates about the ways society is and should be organized. It was wi th respect to this aspect of science education that the most significant questions emerged regarding implications for relationships. Broadly speaking, therefore, this w i l l be a consideration of the ethical implications of science education as it promotes some aspects of identity and some kinds of interpersonal relationships over others. Specifically, in what follows I consider ways that science education can focus attention on two specific themes: identity formed through separation and social relationships articulated wi th reference to boundary imagery. Identities formed through separation are highly reductive, emphasizing a few attributes while diminishing or excluding others. Also , when relationships are articulated i n relation to boundary imagery that structures understandings of human difference and affiliation, they tend to maintain dominant norms while devaluing others. The impact of such reductive identities and boundary-driven relationships w i l l be discussed in personal and social terms. Collectively, these themes and their implications are what I w i l l address as providing a foundation for specific aspects of racism, sexism, class bias, and other relationships in which inequality and the subjugation of one person or group by another can come to be considered normal, and 4 even natural. I w i l l refer to these relationships generally as those based on divisive bias. A n important component of my central argument is that, to the extent that these themes are assimilated into conventional practices of science education, science education can be seen as undermining its own democratic potential and as supporting the perpetuation of divisive bias in social relationships. In what follows, I adopt a literary motif, the imagery of epic heroism, as it is outlined by several writers, and by Joseph Campbell (1949) in particular. I turned to epic heroism as a metaphorical scheme on which to base this work because I felt early on in my reading of the student interviews that several comments by students seemed to incorporate features that could be figuratively associated with epic heroism. A s this work progressed I found that this a useful device for considering themes of divisive bias in these data because these themes are profusely evident in the imagery of epic heroism. The image of a hero who protects a person or group against some villainous onslaught or stands as a paragon whose virtue is confirmed through confrontations wi th evil is an intensified illustration of the reductive identity, separation, and boundary imagery that can underlie divisive bias. It is through an outline of epic heroism, therefore, that I consider the ethical implications of the students' statements, and other aspects of science education. The affiliations between epic heroism and divisive bias are incorporated into what follows 5 as the interlinkages between them, and between each of them and science education are discussed. Relating the students' comments to the imagery of heroism performed a generative function, as well . While I began wi th a treatment of themes that emerged as students' statements coalesced around various topics related to their personal identities and relationships, I often found myself returning to the data to consider issues that were suggested by extrapolations along the lines suggested by epic heroism. The development of this thesis involved an iterative process through which my discussion came to extend well beyond the students' statements and other data. In those instances I made the effort to draw connections wi th science education by relying on references to both science and science education from other sources. Therefore, this thesis is more of a conceptual work than it is empirical, despite the frequent use of student transcripts. The manner in which this thesis was developed results i n the need to acknowledge that the directions in which I found the ideas I discuss moving may or may not be the directions the students intended. While in most instances, the students' statements provided the points of departure for the arguments I develop, I also include somewhat more speculative extrapolations based on other materials, and especially critiques of epic heroism. This means that it may or may not be the case that the students' own reasoning might have led to the conclusions I draw. Also , it cannot 6 necessarily be said that these students w i l l take part in any particular kinds of relationships suggested by my arguments. In both instances, too much that is not addressed here w i l l impinge on those ideas and relationships for the concerns I raise to be taken as predictive in particular cases. I do argue, however, that the parallels between the students' statements, the approach to science education in the school, and the imagery of heroism are more than coincidental. Rather, they are generally indicative of a shared set of fundamental ethical stances that are consistent wi th the themes underlying divisive bias. In that, the students' and teachers' comments provide points of illustration, clarification, and contrast wi th those stances as articulated in the discourses of schooling. While I w i l l use the imagery of epic heroism i n what follows to promote a critical consideration of science education there is an underlying assumption in some articulations of epic heroism, and especially Campbell's work, that I do not share. In particular, the form of myth interpretation that Campbell undertakes assumes that heroes are at once and everywhere a part of human culture. His is, therefore, a psychoanalytic approach in that it holds that heroism is an aspect of unconscious human life (Watt, 1996, p. 229). This is a claim that is definitively structuralist, as can be recognized in the example given by Pinar, Reynolds, Slattery & Taubman (1995) of one form of structuralism: In other words, the content of stories from different cultures or different communities may differ, but the structure—such as "the 7 heroic quest"—is invariant and gives meaning to what otherwise would be chaotic, dispersed, and meaningless events, (p. 457) While Campbell 's prodigious reading of the mythologies of many cultures may provide reason to consider the extent of these ideological elements, it is not necessarily the case that heroism is a fundamental component of culture as his account implies, nor that other ways of symbolically conveying cultural norms should be neglected. It is only through attention to certain protagonists at the exclusion of others, and i n certain situations, that Campbell is able to maintain his claim for the ubiquity and universal importance of heroic imagery (Morgan, 1989). Others have found Campbell's work to be far more a statement of dominant ideologies than of universal patterns. Robin Morgan (1989), for example, puts forward the argument in her critique of Campbell's work that he is speaking from an androcentric model that is consistent wi th the masculine structuring of experience in Western societies. He is, she argues, neglecting the much more complex relationships exemplified by cultural icons, especially those who do not match his model. Others agree, arguing that this is only one possible construction of heroism and proposing that there are, for example, both feminine and feminist forms of heroism (Doty, 1993; Tuttle, 1988). Overall, the critiques of Campbell's work suggest that there is no specific universal form of heroism. The imagery of epic heroism that I apply here is approached as a socially derived assemblage of elements 8 applied to particular circumstances and events, either fictional or actual, and in ways that promote the ideological features inherent in the social traditions from which they are derived. There is no implication that these are to be found in any underlying substructure of human consciousness and/or culture. The features of epic heroism on which I rely are used as devices for presenting issues in science education that were raised by my reading of the student interview transcripts on which this work is based. I use these features because those issues can be presented in relation to the ideological components heroism implies, and from that can be drawn suggestions as to the implications of those issues for relationships beyond the science class and school. Further, in that my consideration uses epic heroism to raise questions with regard to certain practices and approaches in science education, my discussion also raises questions with regard-to epic heroism itself. Important among the effects of raising such questions is that it provides an approach to what Dingwall (1992) refers to as an ethic of "fair dealing" in research. Dingwall suggests that the questions should be asked of any study: "Does it convey as much understanding of its villains as its heroes? Are the privileged treated as having something serious to say or simply dismissed as evil , corrupt or greedy without further enquiry?" (in Silverman, 1993, p. 45). In this case, I do not maintain this "fair dealing" by treating villains and heroes evenly, but by demonstrating ways that the 9 boundaries of those categories, and the easy acclaim or condemnation that might accompany them, are less distinct than the imagery of heroism would indicate. In that, it w i l l be apparent that as the classical definition of heroism is applied to the students' situations, it sometimes becomes difficult to identify which students are being cast as the heroes. This is as it should be because, as I w i l l show, the category of hero is far too reductive to cope wi th the complexities of l ived experience. While it is a convenient fiction for the construction of specific narratives, it is unsustainable when applied to l ived experience. Efforts to sustain it, or more broadly to sustain the ideological themes that are consistent wi th it, ultimately require human identity and relationships to be carefully circumscribed, which is what I present as an important feature of divisive bias. In the end, it must be said that this thesis is as much or more a statement of my own concerns about science education as it is a statement of the concerns of the students who were interviewed or a direct comparison between science education and epic heroism. While it is difficult to trace the path that led me to these concerns, I am sure that they derive to a large extent from the many ways I have been involved in science education. Over the past twelve years I have taught science and developed science curriculum materials at many instructional levels and i n many settings, primarily in the United States. I have worked as a science educator in formal educational settings, such as a junior high school, and informal settings, such as museums and camps. I have 10 written materials for specific local projects, textbooks, and teacher's guides for national programs. I have also been a research assistant on projects of both large and small scale. Perhaps more importantly, preceding and interspersed with my professional experiences are my experiences as a student. M a n y of these roles arre ongoing, as are a number of roles that are not directly related to science education—such as those of husband, father, son, brother, and friend—that also influence my beliefs about education. The roles themselves are less important than my sense that the moments related to education that I remember as most compelling and meaningful are those I recall less i n terms of circumstances than in terms of emotions—joy, sorrow, satisfaction, acceptance, confusion and others— that I felt at the time. By that I have come to believe that the life of students in schools is much more about such feelings than it is about the development of new academic knowledge. In that such feelings are fundamental to the shaping of identity) the most important aspects of schooling to consider are, I believe, those that influence the formation (and re-formation) of identity. This belief that schooling is foremost about the formation of identity frames the pedagogical roles I see for teachers in specific ways. I have known many teachers and have seen and experienced many instances of teaching, in science education and elsewhere, that I considered truly considerate of students. A m o n g the attributes those instances seem 11 to me to share is the teacher having apparently placed high priority on the importance of her or his work with respect to student identities. That is, when the teachers saw their role as largely a matter of caring for the identities of the Others whom they taught. This thesis is an effort to contribute to teaching in a manner that is sensitive to the interplay of pedagogy and identity by inviting those involved in science education to consider the ethical imagery of science in science education, and the implications of their work for student identities. M y hope is that by situating what i n many cases appear to be mundane and even banal statements about school and science education in the imagery of epic heroism, I w i l l promote conscientious and care-ful thinking (and, perhaps, rethinking) about science education. I hope, too, that this provides some insight into the interests that are l ikely to be served by certain conventional practices in science education, and those that can be when science education takes students' identities, human relationships and, more broadly, social justice as matters of immediate and pervasive concern. 12 II. Symbol Systems and Ideas Crowds speak in heroes. Gerald Stanley Lee Chapter Introduction This chapter provides a general foundation for the associations that w i l l be drawn between epic heroism and aspects of science education. Understanding those associations calls for a general appreciation of the operation of symbol systems. While the specifics of such an appreciation is highly contentious theoretical and philosophical ground, it can be generally said that symbol systems are fundamental to meaning making, which allows communication and offers coherence to social life. Importantly, incorporated within the network of meanings that symbols provide are an array of ideological elements. Both epic heroism and science as it is construed in science education are constituted symbolically, each in ways that are, therefore, permeated by specific ideological commitments. In heroism, these elements can be recognized in the general narrative around which heroic epics are built. A s an ideological narrative, heroism can provide the basis for moral reasoning, thereby having an important influence on relationships. 13 Symbol Systems H u m a n experience, understanding, and relationships can be considered in terms that refer to the influence of symbols on meaning-making. Mach (1993) comments that: It has become commonplace that human beings are homines symbolicae, that we think and express our thoughts and feelings through symbols, and that culture is a symbolic construction. A n d yet, the concept of symbol is not clearly defined and is understood in many different ways. (p.22) He goes on to offer, however, that "the most general meaning of the word symbol is that it is something that represents something else" (p.22). The potential of symbols for evoking meaning provides a basis for communicat ion . Whatever other function sign and symbol may fulfill , it is clear that they make it possible for human individuals to send and receive messages, and therefore to establish relations between people and consequently make possible all kinds of human groupings and cultural constructions. (Mach, 1993, p.23) Thus, symbols provide not only the basis for communication, but also the basis for the kinds of sharing of meanings that are involved in cultural systems: Cul tural values, although a fundamental component of the cultural system, do not exist in any material form outside symbolic texts. 14 They can be conceived and communicated only through symbols. Therefore, the moral and ideological fundaments of social life depend on symbolic communication (p.37). This means that, in addition to representing information about concrete aspects of the world, ideas themselves with no specific physical referent, such as specific interpretations of patriotism, honor, and community can be communicated through symbols. The Symbolic Constitution of Science In Science Education For those who might refer to themselves as scientists, science can be thought of as a set of practices undertaken within more or less broadly defined communities. A t the same time, and especially for those who are not directly members of scientific communities, science is an endeavor that intersects everyday experience, but is also to a great extent apart from that experience. The part of science that lies outside common experience is constituted symbolically, based on the rhetoric and imagery used to express ideas about it. There are many ways to demonstrate the symbolic constitution of science in science education and elsewhere. For example, when children are asked to draw scientists, they often draw white men wearing white coats, mixing bubbling chemicals, and wi th generally unkept hair, or no hair at all. In addition, they often have eye glasses, pockets full of pens or calculators, or other trappings related to the mysterious and tedious 15 activities scientists are believed to undertake (Mason, Kahle & Gardner, 1991; Newton & Newton, 1992). This imagery is consistent enough to say that there is an iconography of science that is wel l established in children's minds, despite the likelihood that most of them have had limited first hand contact with people they would identify as scientists. It may be, in fact, that what students' depictions and descriptions indicate most is the manner in which they have learned the symbolic representation of "scientist-ness" within a diverse cast of socially recognized characters and characteristics that only vaguely relate to the attributes of actual scientists (Solomon, Duveen, & Scott, 1994). The meanings these children associate with science are not all derived from direct experience, then, and include meanings associated with features that have been communicated to them through a variety of media, including the textbooks, activities, and descriptions of science given by adults in science education. For example, current television shows directed at young children such as Beakman's World and Bill Nye the Science Guy perpetuate many of the features of this imagery. Physical features such as those used by students to produce representations of scientists are only a few examples of what are being referred to here as symbols. Values, emotions, ways of knowing, and so on—among which are the "moral and ideological fundaments of social life"—can all be communicated and reinforced through symbolic systems. The symbolism of science incorporates such ideological elements. 16 Children's conceptions of scientists, for example, have epistemological components such as the degree to which evidence is seen as being used in scientific work, and the products of science being right answers and certain knowledge (Solomon, Duveen & Scott, 1994). Through their roles in meaning making and communication, symbols support social life in a way that is prefigured to reinforce the meanings shared among group members: Symbolic forms like rituals, ceremonies, myths, festival, art, literature, are the way in which a group, a community or a state organizes the intellectual and emotional framework of its members' lives, confirming its value system, social norms and goals, and legitimizing social order. (Mach, 1993, p.38) As social norms are confirmed by reliance on shared symbols, the moral and ideological aspects of situations are represented in ways that reinforce a group's value system, typically making that value system seem as if it is the only correct way to view a situation. Consistent with this understanding of symbols, science educators have increasingly come to recognize the socially situated character of science as it is presented to students in science education. There has, for example, been much written about the role and impact of culturally specific forms of science in science education and the ways that science learning may be affected by the interplay between a student's culturally-derived perspectives and the perspectives that are prevalent in 17 conventional approaches to science education (e.g., Jegede & Okebukola, 1991, 1993; Rakow & Bermudez, 1993; Rampal, 1992). Science in science education, therefore, as would be expected from a recognition of it as a symbolic form, is appropriately considered as derived and communicated within culture-specific systems of meaning (Hess, 1995). M u c h has been written, too, about the ideological positions inherent in specific articulations of science and the moral stances that those articulations suggest (Harding, 1991; Hubbard, 1988; Keller 1983,1987). For example, Harding cites Galileo's statement that "anyone can see through my telescope" as indicative of an ideological premise that "people are interchangeable as knowers" (p. 51). This implies that scientists should strip themselves of their specificity prior to beginning their work. The moral position this presents is one of distrust for anyone who presents any contrast with the dominant image of science and or scientists: People who enter sciences not as individual inquiring minds but as members of social groups with political agendas (whether or not the individual members of groups such as 'women' or 'minorities' are themselves committed to these agendas) are more l ikely to bring into their work distorting social values, (p. 52) Their embodied experience is seen as a threat rather than an opportunity for expanding the scope of knowledge. Their work is suspect and must be "even more closely supervised and disciplined than the work of those who enter as disembodied individual minds" (p. 52). It can be expected 18 that the symbolic articulations of science in science education also incorporate particular ideological positions and approaches to moral reasoning. Heroism As An Ideological Narrative In the chapters that follow, epic heroism is used to explore the ideological aspects of science education. In general, the idea of heroism incorporates diverse phenomena. This can be discerned in Thomas Carlyle's (1840/1993) mid-nineteenth century lectures later collected as On Heroes, Hero Worship & the Heroic in History and i n Joseph Campbell 's (1949) The Hero With A Thousand Faces (hereafter, HTF) . In each of these heroism is analyzed wi th reference to many forms and many articulations. More recent works that address the question of heroism directly also point to the plurality of forms through which heroism is represented and emphasize the social constitution of the arhetypes (Browne & Fishwick, 1983; Morgan, 1989). For example, there have been arguments put forward that the prevalence of the masculine form "hero" misrepresents the phenomenon, since there are certainly women, both literary and actual, who have been cast as heroic archetypes (Tuttle, 1989). Underlying these latter arguments is the premise that the phenomenon of heroism is also a symbolic construction that is intimately connected wi th socially derived meanings. The meanings associated with heroism, as a symbolic system, are constituted in the social and historical 19 context of a particular group. Attributes of an individual that are considered heroic are indicated within the meaning-making system of the group. Those attributes—such as physical strength, perseverance, disaffection, humility, and/or others—have particular significance and are afforded value within the group. Wilson (1982) states this wel l in his analysis of heroism in the romantic tradition, which maintained the general imagery of epic heroism: We tend to consider heroic those individuals whose actions are not only grand but reflect our culture's shared values . . . the hero personifies or makes tangible the ideals of a culture. Hence the true hero is never the individual but the mass of humanity he represents . . . . The hero is irrevocably bound to his social order. (p!5) Different groups can hold different attributes to be heroic, which means heroes are group-specific characters, defined by the group's standards, which rely on a system of justification that is recognized and legitimated by the group. Akerstrom (1991) gives poignant examples of this group-specific constitution of heroes that illustrate the phenomenon's symbolic character. These examples come out of an analysis of public perceptions of people such as the N e w York policeman Frank Serpico who was a "whistle blower" with regard to corruption in the department, and Ingvar Bratt who likewise exposed clandestine sales of restricted arms by the Swedish 20 weapons manufacturer for whom he worked. In actual experience, Serpico was considered a traitor by many members of the police force and (prior to the book and movie about him) had no group to recognize his acts as valorous. He faded into the relative obscurity of a lone crusader. O n the other hand, along with being considered a traitor by many of his co-workers for whom employee loyalty was supreme, Bratt enjoyed the status of hero among peace organizations that used h im as a focus by which to rally support for similar acts by others (pp. 43-55). By selecting specific individuals, whether actual or fictional, as heroes, a group can convey to others its values. For example, Bob Connell (1992), in his discussion of hegemonic forms of masculinity, discusses the use of heroes as ways of conveying masculine norms. In that, he argues that particular forms of heroism are exceedingly prevalent in twentieth century popular culture: One of the central images of masculinity in the Western cultural tradition is the murderous hero, the supreme specialist in violence... (p. 178) In contrast to this, Connell notes that earlier heroes were portrayed with more ambiguous emotive qualities: It is striking that the Iliad centres not on Achil les ' supremacy in violence, but on his refusal to use it. A n d what changes his mind is not his reaction to threat, but his tenderness—his love for his friend 21 Patioclus. Siegfried and Lancelot, not exactly gentle characters, are likewise full of hesitations, affection and divided loyalties. The image of heroism in modern figures like Tarzan and James Bond is a degraded one. The capacity for tenderness, emotional complexity, aesthetic feeling and so on has been deleted, (p. 179; see also Gerzon, 1982.) Heroes are constituted intersubjectively, wi th reference to the shared meanings of the group. Heroes are symbols by which complex networks of ideas, values, and norms are communicated and shared among group members. They are not the only symbols that can perform this function, but they perform it in ways that other symbols do not, through a personification of a value system. The General Elements of Epic Heroism More than the specific heroes that are constructed within the tradition of epic heroism, the tradition itself is a symbolically constituted array of meanings. Heroes are presented in particular ways, and those presentations carry wi th them particular ideological elements. So, for example, as important as any particular hero may be is the belief that an individual—any individual—can possess attributes that personify the values of a group. This is the most fundamental feature of heroic 22 ideology, and one that requires that the hero's identity enhance those features that the group finds valuable, reducing or eliminating all others. In addition, there are other general ideological components of heroism. One such component that figures prominently i n the discussion that follows has to do with the narrative framing of the hero's experience, especially the manner in which the individual comes by those attributes that are considered heroic. It is the process by which the heroic attributes are manifested that sets heroes of epic tales apart from other cultural icons, The person that performs admirably in a chance encounter wi th extreme circumstances—acting quickly in a crisis—is not the epic hero. N o r is the epic hero a person who has been forever endowed wi th superhuman powers (often used violently but with impunity) that are turned toward establishing truth, justice, and whatever else the general public needs as is the case wi th the marvelous titans of comic book fantasies. The epic hero is presented as l iv ing a particular narrative, what Campbell (HTF) refers to as the heroic monomyth, i n which a mortal chooses adventure more or less knowledgably and wi l l ingly and, by that choice, is set apart from the rest of the social group upon returning from the adventure. 2 It is this general narrative that Campbell identifies as indicative of heroism: A hero ventures forth form the wor ld of common day into a region of supernatural wonder: fabulous forces are there encountered and 2 See Appendix 2: The Heroic Narrative 23 a decisive victory is won: the hero comes back form this mysterious adventure with the power to bestow boons on his fellow man. (p.30) Anyone who has the virtue of being independent and wi l l ing to endure what follows the choice for adventure can become a hero. The hero returns to the social group and, having recognized and found a way to overcome the weaknesses and problems of common life, offers his social group a better way to live—by his own example and/or by providing some specific benefit to the general public. This better way to live is often presented in a moment of dire need, but may also be given as a promise that w i l l be fulfilled if the hero is installed as a benevolent monarch who w i l l use the wisdom, strength, or special powers gained in the adventure to guide society to a better new world. Classical mythology is a rich source of examples of epic heroes, some of which w i l l be used as examples in what follows: Prometheus ascended to the heavens, stole fire from the gods, and descended. Jason sailed through the Clashing Rocks into a sea of marvels, circumvented the dragon that guarded the Golden Fleece, and returned wi th the fleece and the power to wrest his rightful throne from a usurper. Aeneas went down into the underworld, crossed the dreadful river of the dead, threw a sop to the three-headed watchdog Cerberus, and conversed, at last, wi th the shade of his dead father. A l l things were unfolded to him: the destiny of 24 souls, the destiny of Rome, which he was about to found . . . . He returned through the ivory gate to his work in the wor ld , (pp. 30-31) Here already can be seen key elements of heroic ideology. There is first the requirement of separation, but with the promise of eventual return. As well , there is the belief that society w i l l be "saved" by the actions of one or a few heroic individuals. From whom or what the group must be saved is clear, and there are unambiguous boundaries distinguishing them from the hero's group. These and other elements are enacted, in more or less direct ways, within the social norms that are consistent wi th this tradition. Narrative In Moral Reasoning Heroism calls for a structuring (or restructuring) of actual or fictional events around the narrative of the monomyth. The operation of narrative in understanding events in ways that are compatible wi th certain values and ideological commitments is a fundamental component of the theory of moral reasoning offered by Mark Johnson (1993). Johnson presents an argument that is based on four key points. The first, which he derives from cognitive science, is that people "are basically beings in process, synthesizing creatures, whose bodies locate us within a wor ld that is at once physical, social, moral, and political all intertwined" (p. 165). The second premise is that this synthesizing activity is undertaken by each 25 individual "within a tradition and culture that supplies a stock of roles, scripts, frames, models, and metaphors that are our way of having a world , understanding it, and reasoning about it" (pp. 165-166). Third , "moral judgments occur within this biological-cultural background and make use of these imaginative tools" (p. 166)—by which he means those devices listed in the second premise. Finally, he emphasizes the role of narrative: "As the most comprehensive synthesizing process, narrative plays a role in organizing our long-term identity and in testing our scenarios in making moral choices" (p. 166). The narrative structures that are made most accessible to individuals by the cultural traditions of a society provide the standards by which actions are judged in moral terms, providing the basis for the ethical stances taken in relationships. It becomes acceptable for relationships to be structured i n certain ways so long as they fit with the general narrative structure that is already accepted by the community. The monomyth of epic heroism represents one very general example of a narrative structuring that is coherent enough to provide an effective tool for imaginatively restructuring the understanding one has of events. A community that accepts epic heroism as a narrative that leads to celebrated outcomes w i l l tend to judge events and relationships that are consistent wi th that narrative as ethically defensible. Acknowledging that epic heroism emanates from particular cultural traditions provides the basis for considering it not only as a way of 26 synthesizing events, but also as a source of moral norms. In what follows, both the ethical implications of epic heroism and the associations that can be made between epic heroism and science, as it is presented in science education, w i l l be explored. To the extent that elements of epic heroism can be associated with aspects of science education, they are suggestive of the moral stances that are being communicated to students as acceptable and, therefore, indicate the ethical implications of conventional practices in science education. 27 III. The Gall To Adventure The longest part of the journey is said to be the passing of the gate. Marcus Terentius Varro Chapter Introduction The classic structure of epic heroism begins wi th the hero's movement across a threshold. It is by this movement that the hero's induction into heroism is initiated. The movement across the threshold is a deeply ideological metaphor. The focus of this chapter is on a particular aspect of that metaphor, the formation of identity through separation and its connection to divisive bias through alienation. The ideological implications of separation begin wi th an alienating destabilization of an individual 's experience as the basis for knowledge, social judgment, and action. Alienation is manifested personally wi th respect to curricula that lacks relevance, and socially as a call to detach from and disregard one's socially constituted identity. Wi th destabilization and detachment comes an increasing need for dependence on those who serve as the hero's guides in the realm of adventure. They are individuals who have the power to define the path that is considered virtuous, and lead travelers along it. However, the implications of separation are different for different individuals. For those whose social group promotes values consistent 28 with those called for on the journey, the separation is less radical than those whose values differ from the heroic guides. As the values of the latter are defined as inferior, which is necessary to justify the call for separation, the dynamic of divisive bias is initiated both in terms of how individuals are characterized and how social groups are regarded. Beginning the Hero's Journey In the epic tradition that I am addressing, an individual 's rudimentary potential for heroism is developed through a journey. That journey begins wi th a decision to cross a threshold of sorts, a deliberate movement onto a path of trials in which the individual is challenged, tested, and educated in ways unavailable outside the journey. The choice that one faces at the threshold, whether or not to embark on the life-transforming journey, is what Joseph Campbell (1949) refers to as the call to adventure i n his treatise on heroism entitled The Hero With A Thousand Faces (HTF) : The mythological hero, setting forth from his commonday hut or castle, is lured or carried away, or else voluntarily proceeds, to the threshold of adventure. There he encounters a shadow presence that guards the passage. The hero may defeat or conciliate this power and go alive into the kingdom of the dark (brother-battle, dragon-battle; offering, charm), or be slain by the opponent and descend in death (dismemberment, crucifixion). Beyond the 29 threshold, then, the hero journeys through a wor ld of unfamiliar yet strangely intimate forces, some of which severely threaten h im (tests), some of which give magical aid (helpers). When he arrives at the nadir of the mythological round, he undergoes a supreme ordeal and gains his reward, (p.246; there in italics) Campbell discusses at length the merits of the options that the call to adventure presents. The path that leads to adventure is from the very outset obviously more difficult than the path that wou ld keep one within the wor ld of the "commonday." He is explicit about the importance of accepting the unknown challenges that the choice to enter the wor ld of adventure presents. He is also explicit about the results of choosing not to cross the threshold: Often in actual life, and not infrequently in the myths and popular tales, we encounter the dul l case of the call unanswered; for it is always possible to turn the ear to other interests. Refusal of the summons converts the adventure into its negative. Wal led in boredom, hard work, or "culture," the subject loses the power of significant affirmative action and becomes a vict im to be saved. His flowering world becomes a wasteland of dry stones and his life feels meaningless. (HTF, p. 59) 30 This is a metaphorical crossing, then, as much as or more than it is an actual crossing. It is a decision about personal development and the direction one's life w i l l take. The decision made at this point is taken to be based on a person's character and the direction in which that character w i l l develop—the road that is taken makes all the difference. The decision to face the adventure demonstrates a willingness to face challenges, to work hard, and to give oneself over to a noble fate. This is presented as clearly the more virtuous choice, as is made evident by the admiration wi th which the hero is regarded. The decision to turn away from the adventure is an indication of a character that lacks something. Some features of virtue are missing, or are present in an inadequate form. Unwi l l i ng or unable to accept the challenges the journey presents, therefore, the person w i l l become a "victim to be saved." The imagery of heroism incorporates an intentional penetration of the imagery of the call to adventure into reasoning about "actual life." It is intended that people can gain guidance from the lessons that heroism offers. This imagery can be used as the basis for rhetorics in which individuals or groups are called on to accept challenges, and to suppress (and, it is assumed, surpass) their individual interests for the greater good. A particularly illustrative example of an application of heroic imagery at the societal level is found in John F. Kennedy's (1962) speech made while President of the United States in which he was presenting the case as to why citizens of the United States should support the fledgling 31 space program. He begins by giving a "capsule history" of the United States in which he quotes Wi l l i am Bradford who, speaking in 1630 as the governor of the Plymouth Bay Colony regarding the founding of that colony, said that "all great and laudable actions are accompanied with great difficulties, and must be both enterprised and overcome with courage" (in Book Society of Canada, 1982, p. 51). "Great and laudable actions," therefore, provide insight into the character of those people who undertake them in that those who undertake them must be enterprising and courageous. Kennedy builds on this using several examples, repeating each time the imagery of the virtue required to take the more difficult road. He also speaks to the consequences of not accepting the call to this particular adventure: This generation does not intend to flounder in the backwash of the coming age of space. We mean to be part of it. We mean to lead it, for the eyes of the wor ld now look into space, to the moon and to the planets beyond; and we have vowed that we shall not see it governed by a hostile flag of conquest, but a banner of freedom and peace. We have vowed that we shall not see space filled wi th weapons of mass destruction, but with instruments of knowledge and understanding, (p. 51) The choice, as far as Kennedy is concerned, has already been made—as a virtuous society, the citizens of the United States could do nothing other than to accept the call to adventure. The choice had already been made 32 because it was part of a pattern set by "other things" (he lists climbing the highest mountains, flying the Atlantic) that have also been difficult, and have provided the public with heroes to admire. He summarizes his argument by stating: We choose to go to the moon. We choose to go to the moon in this decade, and do the other things, not because they are easy but because they are hard; because that goal w i l l serve to organize and measure the best of our energies and skills; because that challenge is one that we are wi l l ing to accept, one we are unwil l ing to postpone, and one which we intend to win—and the others, too. (p. 52) Through the associations Kennedy uses, he builds imagery that makes the decision to go to the moon into a matter of character, a willingness to accept a task that is hard. Simultaneously, he develops imagery of the potential for helplessness (to "flounder in the backwash") and victimization (by those carrying a "hostile flag" who would fi l l space with "weapons of mass destruction"). The boons w i l l accrue too, he insists, as the space program w i l l be from the outset a "quest for knowledge and progress," which he explicitly relates to the current and future level of "scientific manpower" and major inventions including electric lights, penicillin, television and nuclear power (p. 51). Whereas Kennedy is addressing the choice that w i l l be made by a society to embark on a grand endeavor, the choice as to whether or not to cross the threshold is more often made by individuals. It signifies various 33 forms of i l lumination, awakening, or even "the coming of adolescence" (HTF, p. 51). When connected allegorically to experience, it has been associated with the decision to enter certain careers, those related to science in particular. A n example of the call to adventure that illustrates its long association between such stories and career choices is found in Valvasone's (1602) La Caccia. In this rendition, the protagonist has become lost while hunting and, facing a rocky mountain wi th a hidden cave on one side and a plain on the other, must decide how to proceed. In notes made by Olimpia Marcucci there is an explicit association made between this choice of paths and the decision to enter the sciences: The mountain, the stones, and the cave are thus the difficulties which one encounters on first entrance to the sciences. The delightful plain, which extends around them, figures delights. Our reason leaves the pleasures and enters through difficulties to understand the secrets of nature, (folio 155; cited i n Steadman, 1987, p. 202) Similarly, Francis Bacon associated science with the difficulties and rewards found in efforts to "reach the remoter and more hidden parts of nature" (Bacon, quoted in Steadman, 1987, p. 96). In each case, the more adventurous path is represented as the path that w i l l be taken by the person wi th the more virtuous character. The imagery evoked by the call to adventure as a metaphor for decisions made in life comprises a discourse of choice that incorporates 34 certain assumptions regarding the identity of the individual . Prominent among those assumptions is that the individual is able to make rational decisions that are tempered only by her or his character and abilities: The adventure is always and everywhere a passage beyond the veil of the known into the unknown; the powers that watch at the boundary are dangerous; to deal with them is risky, yet for anyone with competence and courage the danger fades. (HTF, p. 82) The choice to cross the threshold is assumed to be indicative of good character and high ability. It is further assumed that anyone who does not take up the challenge is either deficient of character or inadequate in ability. Those who don't make the choice do not have the right stuff of which heroes are made, they are destined to languish in insignificance and, perhaps, desperation. It is important, too, that the adventure is not a single episode, but a series of trials: The original departure into the land of trials represented only the beginning of the long and really perilous path of initiatory conquests and moments of illumination. Dragons have now to be slain and surprising barriers passed—again, again, and again. Meanwhile there w i l l be a multitude of preliminary victories, unretainable ecstasies, and momentary glimpses of the wonderful land. (HTF, p. 109) 35 With the successful completion of each, however, the hero-to-be gains what is needed to enter into and endure (perhaps) the next trial. The preliminary victories, ecstasies, and glimpses of the "wonderful land" reinforce the choice that was made and propel the protagonist onward. Alienation In The Call To Adventure The metaphor of a journey that is given by the call to adventure provides some insight into the social implications of the move across the threshold. In this imagery, what lies beyond the threshold "is darkness; the unknown danger; just as beyond the parental watch is danger to the infant and beyond the protection of his society danger to the member of the tribe" (HTF, p. 78). The movement over the threshold is a move into a wor ld of which one has little knowledge; no maps, landmarks, or other ways to represent her or his location in reference to other points. It is also not within the power of the traveler to generate such a map of this "dream landscape." This is because, unlike a physical landscape where knowledge gained in one excursion might be applied to allow a mapping useful in the next, the realm beyond the threshold is one of "curiously fluid ambiguous forms" where one cannot rely on what one knows from past experiences to provide points of reference. In geographic terms, the result of such inability to represent one's location, to develop a cognitive map of the space and one's place in it, is 36 what Kev in Lynch (1960) argues leads to spatial alienation. In the absence of a map, the landscape is seen as discontinuous, fragmented so that the parts must be apprehended in isolation. Judgment must forego appeals that would call on a sense of how one is situated within a broader scheme. Frederic Jameson (1991) relates Lynch's notion to a more general sense of alienation from a social totality: There is, for one thing, a most interesting convergence between the empirical problems studied by Lynch in terms of city space and the great Althusserian (and Lacanian) redefinition of ideology as "the representation of the subject's Imaginary relationship to his or her Real conditions of existence." Surely this is exactly what the cognitive map is called upon to do, in the narrower framework of daily life in the physical city: to enable a situational representation on the part of the individual subject to that vaster and properly unrepresentable totality which is the ensemble of the city's structure as a whole, (p.227; original italics) Here the "map" refers to one's ability to represent oneself in relation to the social totality of which she or he is a part. It is, as Jameson indicates, an impossible task in the most complete sense. However, the analogy holds in Jameson's more limited "situational" sense. Social relationships are guided by patterns of interaction that serve as points of reference; rough "maps" of a sort through one's social terrain. Without knowledge of those patterns, one becomes effectively alienated. 37 This alienation is not the same as simply entering into an entirely unknown territory. In that case one might expect to be unfamiliar with the landscape. It is instead an expectation of the potential for familiarity that brings on the vertigo of alienation. The opportunity for growing familiarity—a sense that implies that one should be able to, over time, identify where one is in relation to aspects of where one has been—is being violated as expectations from past encounters cannot be used to inform the next. The power of alienation is particularly disorienting, therefore, when it is exerted through this progressive estrangement, an eroding of one's faith in her or his ability to learn the social terrain independently. In the call to adventure, alienation develops through an ever-expanding tension between familiarity and novelty. Campbell speaks of "unfamiliar but strangely intimate" forces (p. 246). This is not, therefore, a matter of stepping into oblivion, but of destabilizing the relationships between experience and knowledge. The past experiences one has had with other people and wi th objects become necessarily suspect as a basis of judgment. Each person and/or object may behave in ways that, at any time, have no relationship wi th what may have been known of them previously. O n his trip to speak with his dead father, for example, the classical hero Aeneas has no way of knowing how to gain entry to the underworld. H o w would he know from his prior experience that on an otherwise 38 typical tree grows a golden branch, and that showing this branch to the ferry pilot, Charon, w i l l gain passage across the underworld river? While he has had experience with people and objects in situations that were apparently similar, those were experiences in the land of the l iv ing and, therefore, were of little use to Aeneas on this adventure. Only his guide, the Sibyl, can tell h im how to proceed, which she does by instructing him at each step on his journey. Left to his own devices, he wou ld be unable to trust his past experiences as a source of direction for how relationships should proceed in this odd, new setting. Curricular Adventurers If the call to adventure is taken as a metaphor for science curriculum, then an analogy wi th the representational properties of a "map" indicate how students can become alienated from what they are to learn. The tension between familiarity and strangeness is maintained when students think of science as pervading their lives, but in ways that keep it, always at least in some ways, unfamiliar. David: I guess [science and math] are the most technical ones. They like, you apply to everything. Because like for social studies you are learning about like history and stuff, but then if you go out into like the real world and [pause] what are you going 39 to use that for? You 're going to know about the past, but 1 don't know, I can't see it ever being applied to anything. Do you think science can be? Yeah. For, well science, yeah I think so—/ just feel it's the most relevant, that you use like every day in some way or another. Can you give me an example of that? No, I don't know a specific example. Kathleen: . . . a lot of science things do relate to our lives, we just don't realize. Kathleen-HJ16 Miz: I don't think it really relates to my daily activities or anything —Even though it does. Miz-HJ09 Unfamiliarity ("we just don't realize") and intimacy (applies "to everything, " it is "the most relevant," something a person w i l l "use, like everyday") are juxtaposed in a way that mystifies the student's place among the ideas of science. Unable to represent themselves in relation to science in any substantive way, students can become alienated from the very knowledge to which they are supposed to be becoming accustomed. To the extent that this knowledge does relate to everyday experience, those I: David: I: David: 40 experiences also become increasingly removed from what the student might call on as the basis of knowledge. If alienation becomes the typical, and then anticipated, manner of relating to science knowledge, especially as it pertains to experience, there may come to be little expectation for the intimacy to become any less strange. There is, then, little expectation or need for there to be an explicit understanding of the direct connections between science and anyone's particular experience: /: Is that stuff important to learn? Karen: In a way it is but, then in a way it isn't because I don't really think I need to know about electricity to basically have electricity or — just because I can just flip a switch and turn on the light and, wow, the light's on and I don't need to know about, well, the electrons are negatively charging and [laugh]. Karen-ER09 I: Are there things out there that you would be interested in studying? In a unit on electricity. Karen: I don't know. I haven't really sparked an interest in anything. I: What are some of the things you use at home, that use electricity? 41 Karen: Alarm clock, [laugh] Or — /: Do you know how it works? Karen: [laugh] No not really. You push the button. I: [laugh] Yeah. Do you care? Karen: No not really. It's just there. Karen-ER09 I: When you think of the science that you learn in school, do you think of it as being useful to you in your life? Kathleen: I think some things are. I think chemicals, I don't think they are important. I'm not sure, but then I'm not really going to, like okay say I'm cooking something. Okay say I use baking soda right, and I'm not like 'oh what's this made of?' I will just plain use it. Kathleen-H)16 To consider schoolwork as analogous to a hero's movement over the threshold to adventure has implications for the students' response to cur r icu lum. 3 While there may be a hope of motivating students wi th a sense of excitement that comes from a challenging new course (or unit), embarking on such a course becomes associated wi th the alienation brought on by the disorientation required for initiating the adventure. This alienation can be considered in more practical terms, as an aspect of the relationship between the student and the purposes of the curriculum. See Appendix 3: Narrative of Success 42 Schwalbe (1992) provides a way to consider the practical aspects of alienation as he traces it to a "denial of the aesthetic experience" (p.98). In this model, the aesthetic experience is associated with a person who is taking action (the "producer") "understanding and appreciating the relationship between the means and ends of an activity" (p.97). These are not the distant, ultimate ends, but the more immediate ends that can be traced as a fairly direct extension of one's own activities. In terms of the map metaphor, alienation is the product of a dissociation between the routes (activities) wi th which one is familiar and the destinations (goals) one might choose to reach. In alienated activities, therefore, the individual 's judgment cannot be applied effectively. This is not a matter of total detachment from the goal, in which case there would be no expectation that any particular goal would be reached. Instead, it is the sense that there is a valued goal to be reached, but the process by which it can be attained is mystified. Activities are performed because they are prescribed by someone perceived to have such authority, and/or habitually with the expectation that they are somehow connected to some useful end. Alienating activities are out of the control of the individual and are routinized to the point of requiring little imagination or creativity. In addition, the process by which a product is generated is fragmented in that tasks, whether performed by different actors or by a single actor at different times, are completed in isolation from each other and without an explicit understanding of their relationship to the product. 43 Consider Aeneas again. In the story he must do exactly what the Sibyl tells h im to do in order to reach his father. He must find the golden branch, show it to Charon, repress his own judgment to flee from the horrors he sees and hears as he nears the passages of the underworld, tie the branch to a wal l at the fork of two passages, and so on. His own interpretations of what he experiences on the adventure are useless since his impulses must be repressed in order to comply with his guide's advice. As wel l , as in Schwalbe's description, the connection between the acts he is asked to perform and the goal he seeks is obscured. He could not have known, for example, how the golden branch might be useful, only that he was told to find it and carry it with him. If students are considered in the position of the person taking action in Schwalbe's model, the relationship of the students to the work they are doing can be considered in similar terms. Alienation results, then, from students not having control over the work they are doing and their inability to find an explicit connection between their own purposes and the homework, course material, or other activities associated wi th learning science knowledge. Axlene: Because then, well sometimes it doesn't seem like the course matters that much. And if you really don't like it, you're not going to try that hard, no matter what. And if you force 44 yourself you're going to go to a breaking point and you're just going to give up. Ailene-KI07 Manuel: Well, my personal opinion is that the unit we are on now I chemistry], that is, we've been doing it since grade 8 and every year I don't understand it. Every year I think it's pretty pointless and boring, has no purpose. Manuel-KI07 Do you think it's important that things that you learn in school relate to what you're doing outside of school? Yeah it does. Because otherwise there's no point in doing them at all. Karen-ER09 Do you think that it's important that you be interested in learning? Claudia: Yes, I do. Because, because if we don't see the point in learning, in doing what we're doing then, then we don't have like - personally, I, if I don't see a point in doing an assignment, then I don't do it or I don't do it well and I don't commit myself to doing it. Because if it doesn 't interest me, and I don't see how it can help me , then it's hard to actually, to commit myself. Karen: 45 /: What are most assignments useful for? Claudia: Useful for? I have no idea {Laugh]. You can ask my teacher. But if they're interesting you know, then I tend to do them well. If they interest me. Claudia-ER07 Judgments such as those made above such as work being "boring" or "interesting" become important as a response to curriculum. This, too, can be associated with a person's aesthetic appreciation of her or his own efforts. Pinar, Reynolds, Slattery and Taubman (1995) have considered the curricular implications of ideas such as Jameson's argument, which they identify as bringing a postmodern perspective to curriculum. They associate this wi th the postmodern experience in which art is "no longer unified or organic, but now a virtual grab-bag or lumber room of disjoined subsystems and random raw materials and impulses of all kinds" (1991, p.224). From this, they state, discussions of "the beautiful" are replaced by "aesthetic reactions such as 'interesting' or 'boring,' the former suggesting the deconstructionist notion of an evocative text, the latter, suggesting a kind of avoidance behavior which can now be articulated" (p.474). Students use similar terms as they discuss their responses to curricula. /: You've talked about boredom a couple of times. What do you mean by that? What is it? 46 Maverick: It is un-interesting to you. Like you see it as irrelevant to your life so you see no point to either talk or learn about it. Maverick-ER317-PST What stands out for you about science in school? Well, it's boring. Boring, well, I shouldn't say boring. Sometimes it's boring, sometimes it's exciting. Science is so diverse, it depends on what you are talking about. Manuel-KI07 Michelle: I hate Physics . . . it gets a bit tedious . . . and it's kind of drab. And I don't really understand it, I don't think, very well . . . . We did it for awhile actually but I can't remember anything at all about it. Michelle-HJ09, Through alienation brought on by the loss of the aesthetic experience, the evocative potential of the curriculum that might allow flexible, creative responses on the part of the students is replaced by a routinization of learning. Opportunities to learn are particularized, becoming tasks to be performed either in isolation or wi th only presumptive and unarticulated relationships to other elements of schoolwork. The sense of schooling as meaningful wi th in the matrix of day-to-day concerns is given over to meaningfulness wi th in a system that I: Manuel: 47 becomes justified by some greater, ultimate goal, but without an explicit understanding of the connections between the work done and the goal sought. This is metaphorically consistent with the alienation required of the hero's movement into the unknown realm of adventure. Power To Guide Aeneas' experience with the Sibyl raises the issue of the role of the guide in heroic adventures. Mov ing in a terrain that is known to be filled with challenges, but i n which one cannot know for oneself how to behave can be dangerous. The traveler is effectively disempowered to move of her or his own accord in ways that w i l l yield desired results. In epic tales, however, both the danger and disempowerment are mitigated by relationships with beings found there. Campbell states that after having crossed the threshold an important set of relationships is formed and these are essential to the adventure: The hero is covertly aided by the advice, amulets and secret agents of the supernatural helper whom he met before the entrance into this region. Or it may be that he here discovers for the first time that there is a benign power everywhere supporting h im in his superhuman passage, (p. 97) There must be a trust in the relationship wi th the agents who are to help one through the trials—a trust that their advice, coupled wi th the would-be hero's personal character, w i l l lead to success. The traveler does not 48 always understand the advice given. It may seem capricious, but it must be trusted as a necessary response to the enigmatic powers met along the way. The traveler is, to an extent, dependent not only on her or his own propensities, but on the good will of the "agents" and "benign power" that provide guidance on the journey. A relationship constructed around the guidance of someone who is alienated—as one person leading another through an unfamiliar terrain—shifts a great deal of power to the guide. The traveler must have faith in the one who will lead the way. The traveler cannot judge where turns might lead, whether or not there is a more desirable route to follow, or what responses will be effective. To fulfill the adventure the traveler must comply with the guide's directions, facing the trials that the route presents, and trusting that the goal of the journey will be accomplished. Taking the role of guide, teachers have a similar power. They provide the means by which one finds her or his way through the curricular terrain, including those aspects by which the curriculum takes on social significance. Teachers must be trusted to give advice and assign tasks that will ultimately lead to success, since the students cannot judge for themselves how to accomplish the goal, whatever that may be, of schooling. Michelle: That's what I figure is like when a teacher gives you an assignment they give it to you for a reason and I figure if I 4 9 start doing it, and I might not even like it but if I do it maybe I'll see what their reason is and if I appreciate it or not you know, but most of the time after you see it's like well okay that wasn't so bad. Like I trust the teachers 'cause you know I might not like them or whatever, but I trust, see, I basically trust the fact that, oh they got the job and they must be smart enough in this and that's why they're here. You know, even if I don't like them or something I'll do the assignment and if I get something out of it then great. And I'll see something their way. If I don't get something out of it, oh well. I'll get the marks for it. And like marks aren't that important for me, but if they're going to give me assignment, give me easy marks or something, why not? Michelle—MC From a student's perspective, the way to succeed is to do the tasks— homework, projects, and other assignments—that the teachers place before them, whether or not the work is apparently meaningful of its own accord. It is also important to maintain a good relationship with the helpers. When Aeneas and his men found themselves shipwrecked on Carthage, Aeneas developed a relationship with Dido, the founder and 50 ruler of that city state. He remained with her just long enough to gain the provisions he and his men needed to continue his voyage—which he d id only as she made the resources available to him. Then, knowing that she would not want him to leave, Aeneas prepared to depart in secrecy. His relationship with the powerful Dido was instrumental; necessary as a way to take the next step of his adventure. Teachers, with their power to assign and evaluate work, are central figures in the adventure that is schooling. Students are placed in a position in which the relationship they have wi th the teacher can be seen as every bit as important as any tasks they complete. This relationship is maintained by doing as the teacher says, perhaps only for the sake of complying wi th their instructions. /: What does it take to get a good grade [in science]? Claudia: Umm. [pause] I guess you have to kind of know the stuff and ." hand in assignments. Basically that. I: Yeah. Claudia: You don't really need that much class participation actually, you know, in class. I: So do you think the kids who get high marks and the kids who don't get as high marks—are they different in some way? 51 Claudia: I think the difference is basically. The kids who don't get high marks don't hand in their things. Like their assignments. I: Yeah. So it's a matter of— Claudia: Just doing. Just handing the assignments in. Claudia-ER09 Han: . . . Grades don't mean anything, they're just letters. Like all you have to do to get a grade is either suck up to your teacher or do your homework, [pause] I: One of the two? Han: Yeah. I: So those are the two ways? Which do you think most kids do? Han: None. Well, some, I guess it's a lot easier to suck up, right? But most kids just don't do their homework. And they skip. I: Why not? Why don't they do their homework? Han: Well, actually my friends do their homework and they suck up. I: You're going to have to fill in "suck up" for me. What does that mean? Han: It's sort of like, almost flirting with your teacher so that you'll get on their good side. You know, like personal relationships 52 with them. Like, a more than student relationship, student/teacher relationship with them. I: Uh hum. You're aware of doing that? Han: Yeah. I mean I guess I suck up sometimes. Everybody does. Han-ER16 Pamela: I think what happens to a lot of people is if they're not interested or they don't know how to apply what they learn in science class to their own life and gain that understanding of the world they live in then it becomes for marks, and it's very easy to get lost in jumping through hoops for marks and getting marks in going through the curriculum. Which, I think probably has its foundation in people who mean for students to understand. Like, I think when they originally wrote the textbooks they meant well—let's give them some useful information, let's help them understand general, a" general, give them a general, basic understanding of science, but let's set it up on a marking scale that can be easily monitored by teachers, and I think the monitoring system to check that everybody is understanding can conceal or confuse the actual intentions of the course. Pamela-MC 53 Rather than facilitating learning, doing the homework and maintaining a relationship with the teachers can themselves become the foci of attention and the way that "success" is achieved. In this, too, process and product become fused into the series of trials that Campbell refers to as typical of the hero's adventure. It is a sequence of tasks that extends onward indefinitely, but presumably toward some desired goal. Aeneas had to endure the storm that took him to Carthage, live there for a time to regain the necessary provisions, and later descend to the underworld to speak with his father. These are only a few, though, of the many tasks he had to perform before he could lead the Trojans to a new home. Yet, the completion of each minor plot plays into the greater scheme and can be seen as an adventure on its own. Similarly, doing homework, going to class/and especially earning marks are no longer just aspects of the process by which one learns science; they are also the reasons for learning science, at least in the short term. They are, then, each their own isolated element, serving and becoming their own purpose, but also allowing one to continue along the path along which the doing of tasks is more important than what one learns from having done them: Oswick: I think a bit about science outside of school but not this . science. This science is science to prove a point. Yet science where you like turn the page in the book the answer is there 54 and the only reason you're doing this is not to actually sort of learn something new or discover something but just sort of so that the teacher can prove, a like a theory or a formula or whatever. Oswick-ER09 Han: It's [science] not something I think about really. I: When you say it's not something you think about, what are you talking about? Han: In, in general you know, like in life and stuff. Only when I have to think about it—then. I: And you have to for? Han: Like science homework or something. Han-ER16 David: Well, when I get out of school, it's like coming to school six hours a day, and when I get out, I just, I don't want to think about it. Just do my homework and that's it. Put it aside. David-ER09 I: Yeah. Do you think about science when you're not in school? Karen: No not really, [laugh] No. I: You don't think about the things you learned? 55 Karen: Homework, [laugh] I don't know. I don't really. Like I can see how science would relate to other things, but with things we just learned in school I don't really think about that. I don't think about it until the next class. Karen-ER09 I: Do you care about grades? Do you care about marks? Pamela: On a certain level, yes, as far as what my grades turn out on my report card I do care because I've landed myself in a lot of trouble this year and was not bothering during the year to hand in assignments and things. And basically [pause] that's actually something I've sort of applied to my life. It doesn't work that well if you just say it's not that interesting, I'm not getting anything out of it, then I won't do it. That's something I sort of tend to do and [pause] for marks. The system is very dependent on marks to evaluate an assignment, to evaluate understanding. So even though I can do well on tests and things when they ask me to demonstrate that I understand, but when it comes down to actual marks I often do very badly. That's one of the reasons. Pamela-MC Pamela's statements indicate the dichotomy that she felt had been set up between learning for marks and learning for understanding. In her 5 6 estimation it was the former that overwhelmed the latter. The teachers guide students to do homework, by which they earn points, marks, and ultimately diplomas (not to mention staying out of "trouble"), all of which are vested with symbolic importance within "the system" but are seen by the students as insubstantial outside of that system. These become the symbolic rewards that replace goals focused on practical, aesthetic, or other results that focus attention on what is learned—results that the students might have some direct involvement i n determining for their own purposes in the near term. Science education can become a "land of trials," therefore, as it is seen as a series of challenges that provides progressively more general emblems of accomplishment. Good grades ("preliminary victories") on tests contribute to good course marks ("unretainable ecstasies") that are needed to take the next course (HTF, p. 109.) A n d all this contributes to the credentials that are needed to go on to the next level of trials in this case, university entrance and then entry into a "good career." /: [pause] But it doesn't sound like you're saying that kids are getting good grades because they feel like this is stuff that's important for them to learn. Han: Yeah, I'm not saying that. I'm just basically saying that everybody wants good grades cause they want to go to university, and then after university they want a good career. 57 /: Have you made any decisions about what science you're going to take next year? Holiday: Yes, biology and chemistry. I: Biology and chemistry. Why those? Holiday: Because I need biology for psychology, because it's one of the requirements . . . * . . . And I want to take chemistry as a back, up for the medical—medical career. I: So both of those are career-related reasons? Holiday: Yes. I: Do you think about taking science for other reasons? Holiday: No, just for career. I: Would you ever take science just because you like it? Holiday: I haven't yet. Focusing on the ultimate rewards—the promise of a "good" career—maintains rather than challenges the alienating strangeness of the content as that strangeness lingers throughout the journey called school. The strangeness of the content leads to this relationship being permeated by a sense of dependence. Students must rely on the teachers, who have the power to recognize what must be done in order for success to be achieved. The students must perform these tasks for reasons known only to the powers within the realm of adventure. The work may be significant in the context of daily life, but students are unable to play a part in the 58 assignment of that significance. They may not do badly in relation to the significance provided by "the system." As long as they accept it as desirable and maintain the relationships it implies they can consider themselves successful for the time being and, hopefully, in the end. Pedagogical Imperatives of a Discourse of Choice From the "helper's" perspective, the relationship implied by the call to adventure includes a pedagogical role of guidance. However, there is an important difference between the role of the hero's guide and the role that is often taken by teachers. In the case of the former, while there has been some commitment made to help the hero, the guide is ultimately indifferent toward die result. The hero may succeed, but she or he may also fail and without the guide necessarily suffering any consequence for that failure. For teachers, such indifference would violate the conventional expectations of the relationship. Teachers may feel responsible for and/or may be held accountable for the success of their students. The teacher's pedagogical role can be seen as including an imperative not only for guidance toward a positive (heroic) goal, but also for protection from victimization. For teachers who take this role, these imperatives ultimately focus on guiding the student to take up the challenge presented by the call to adventure to the greatest extent possible. They thereby facilitate the students' movements on the path toward 59 rewards and away from the inevitable victimization that they would experience down other paths. In the school where the students were interviewed, the most valid path was seen as that which would lead to post-secondary school, university in particular, and then on to careers that required that level of education. That this is the case can be recognized in the students' comments above, and in several comments made by teachers. In one interview, the school's Lead Teacher was describing the success of the special program in which the students who were interviewed were taking part. This program was based on a school-within-a-school model in which one class of students in each grade formed a consistent cohort in their academic core classes. These students took many of their classes in a segregated part of the building with teachers who worked only with the students in this program. The idea behind this program was that wi th this arrangement students could be given more challenging assignments, such as those that might cross traditional subject boundaries. While the goals of the program were many and varied, the lead teacher made comments that indicated that a priority of the program was preparing students for university. He (LT) illustrated the program's success by citing the high percentage of students who have gone on to post-secondary school: 60 LT: I mean percentages show that last year and the year before close to 90% went on to post-secondary. I: Really got in, I mean, didn't just want to? LT: No, they were in. We phoned and found out, 90%. I think it was 87%, and 85% the year before. I: Where were the rest? LT: Good question, I would have to look. "The rest" that he d id not know about were students who d id not share the presumption of the value (virtue) of school in general, or for some other reason d id not go beyond secondary school. Al though this was an academically-oriented program, by his accounting some 10-15% of the students d id not take that path. It was clear, though, that there had been somewhat less thought given to that smaller group: /: How do you approach kids who just don't seem very interested in post-secondary? LT: Well, as I say to them, I mean our goal here is to help them, or give them, or introduce them to the tools, the skills necessary to bring them to the scholarships and to bring them on to post secondary if they want to go. I mean they don't necessarily have to go and there are some who decide to do college or not to curry on, but the majority of them I think in 61 their mind think that post-secondary is where they would like to go. I mean, what do we do with them? I mean, I don't know, I don't know what you mean by that. D e p a r t i n g f r o m T h e Path A m o n g the students, at least two, Kei th and Pamela, could be seen as fitting in the group who might not see themselves as going on to .university. The responses of the teachers to those students can be seen as illustrations of the assumptions made within the discourse of choice, and the options for pedagogical relationships thereby presented. Keith was the student in this group who was most open about his disinterest in school in general. Two years prior to being interviewed, he had chosen to enter the special academic program in which all of the students interviewed were taking part. His teachers at that time had recommended h im for the program, reportedly because he was seen as articulate and very bright. By the time he was interviewed, Keith was not putting forth a great deal of effort to excel in that program. He certainly d id not see himself going to university, and the program's emphasis in that direction was not a motivation for him. Keith stated that "grade 12 is a requirement for most jobs," but he meant this in terms of a grade 12 diploma and no more. 62 Keith: No, a couple of my friends ask me . . . why I don't want to go to university. It doesn't interest me, because I couldn't see, hum, me in university. Because I have a hard enough time seeing myself in school. I strike myself as more someone who's out working, doing a job or something than you know just, probably, I'm in it so long as just, to come to school to say hi to my friends. But university, because, I still don't know, I mean there's still some ideas on what I want to be in terms of occupation or career but then I'm not quite sure. Like I don't have a definite answer. Because I'm sure you know that the average, average teenager or whatever, changes occupation back and forth over and over, so I'm still not sure which one actually suits me the best, because I'm looking for one that suits me the best, and which is easier to get to. Because if I want to go into business and, that was say my main goal, or I'm working as say a garbage man. If I like those two, I would probably go to the garbage man first because it would be easier for me, it's an easier start I don't have to struggle. Hum, university, because it's, I'm basically sure by grade 12 I won't have like scholarships or anything to cover some of the costs, it's expensive, it's a lot of pressure. I can handle pressure but then it's a lot of like responsibility. You know, like basically you don't have your parents waking 63 you up in the morning. You know, I'd have to do it myself, but I don't know about that. And it's, uhm, just, 1 guess you could say it's not me. Keith-MC The teachers were well aware of his feelings about school and had discussed his reasoning with him at some length. For example, the Lead Teacher in the program—who was also Keith's social studies teacher—was aware of Keith's consideration of options similar to those taken by Keith's father, a truck driver. LT: He's said that, "I'll be driving truck and I'll be making $80,000 a year." And I say, fine. His father is now receiving disability money. He hurt himself, or something, fell off a tractor, or truck, whatever they call it. So he's at home and he's been at home for almost a year. The part that plays in anything I don't know, but that's what he figures I guess. He figures he can work with his hands, drive a truck, doesn't need schooling to help him succeed in life or to be successful and I think that's what he's working from. He's also into acting and he's caught up in Hollywood and he figures that's another path that he can pursue. . 64 For a time, Keith had effectively concealed his departure from the path set out by the school. Rather than openly defying school authority with an announcement of his intentions to limit his involvement with school to what was minimally required, he began finding ways to avoid the work that was assigned to him. One of the strategies for which he had become well known was giving excuses that were sometimes quite involved, especially for not handing in homework. Those excuses had themselves become the stuff of legend among the teachers, and anecdotes were shared on many instances when Keith was being discussed. These excuses, many of which Keith admitted were fabricated, sometimes implicated Keith, such as him saying he had forgotten, but also included those that placed the blame elsewhere, such as claiming the teacher had lost his paper. Among the more colorful were those related to technology, such as explaining that his computer hard drive had crashed. His science teacher said that this had occurred repeatedly, and usually in the day or two before a major assignment was due. Keith also had a relationship with teachers that differed from the type that some of the other students had with teachers. Rather than trusting the teacher to give assignments that should be done as a means to success, his relationship with them was far more adversarial: Keith: If they said, 'Look this stuff needs to be done, if you don't do it, to put it bluntly, you'll fail. There's no question, but if you 65 get this, if you keep doing your work there is a big chance that you can at least pass this course,' I'd take them seriously. If they come down hard and they're just like kind of overpower me, I mean not to be cocky or anything but it's, for a teacher to actually and try and overpower me and change my will, like if I was, if, it's just you know, like one of those things, well I'm not trying to be cocky but a teacher can't come up to me and overpower me. I can't, I can't, I might be able to overpower them but then I get sent to the office, but I can stand up to them and I can look them in the face and say, 'You know, I know you're serious but so am I and you have to look at this from my point of view too, I won't back off—' But you're saying that somebody, that they have to say— Someone has to at least say something but then don't try and overpower me and say, 'Look I'm bigger, I'm stronger, you have to do this or else.' I would just be like 'Well, then I guess I'll look forward to not seeing you next year,' because if that's their attitude you know I'm sure they'll be happy if that's my attitude as well, cause that's, I think that's the way a lot of teachers see me, is that, I guess you could say, arrogant, uh, cocky. It's just, I don't know, it's just the way I am, it's the way I'm.used to talking. I haven't had anybody say, 'You're 66 so cocky, you're such a jerk.' If they have I say 'well just listen— Keith-MC The teachers' responses to Keith's situation fit one of the characterizations implied by the call to adventure. Campbell's references imply that those who do not accept the call to adventure are characterized as in some way inferior to those who easily embark on the adventure. The stragglers are either deficient in character or inadequate in ability. For the person whose abilities are deemed inadequate for the undertaking, the pedagogical task is to develop the abilities as much as possible. Keith was seen as a very able student; there was no indication that any of his teachers thought otherwise. Alternatively, as is more consistent with Keith's situation, the person's character itself may be considered to be the major factor. Here, the pedagogical task implied by heroism is to buttress and ultimately change the person's character so that she or he will see the ultimate good in going on in the more virtuous direction. The teachers made many attempts to get Keith to take up the path sanctioned by the school. They had developed various consequences for truancies or missed work and were trying to truncate his options for perpetuating the patterns of behavior that worked against the directions they wanted him to take. For example, his science teacher had simply stopped taking any excuses for missed work, which was intended to put an end to his attempts to use progressively more elaborate reasons for not 67 having it done as a way to put it off or avoid it altogether. Further, she had already decided in the fall term that she would not give him the approval he would require to retake science class in summer school, since she felt that the year before he had used the option of summer school as a way to avoid attending to the course requirements during the regular term. He procrastinated, so they would not accept late work. He lied, so they would not accept excuses. He avoided responsibility, so they would not give him options that made such avoidance possible. A l l of these were designed to keep him on the path they felt was best for him; but none of these had resulted in any long-term compliance on Keith's part. Keith's career choices were also seen as attempting to find success in other, unrealistic paths. The image presented by his being "caught up in Hollywood" suggests that he is the victim that has been captured by the influence of an unrealistic option. Certainly, it was seen as such by Keith's science teacher: T: Sometimes I find Keith's attitude to be extremely annoying. The fact that he missed the first, missed the first week and a half of classes this year because he was being a movie extra, and you know this is a kid who went to summer school because he failed one of the courses that he took but also, the others if you get above a certain mark on the final exam then 68 you pass. I mean, to have Keith's mother come and tell me how wonderful it was that he went to summer school.— J: You're saying his mother did come in and say those things? T: His mother said those things. He made $600 in that time that he missed. Obviously that was felt to be more important than to be there. I: Was it the money that motivated the—? T: No, he aspires to be an actor. I: Oh, does he? T: But so far it's, it's, he's not got involved with any of the school drama. But he's been an extra. And the money is part of it. Rather than portraying this as an attempt by Keith to pursue his chosen path toward a career in acting, his science teacher considered it as having little real value, other than as an opportunity to rebuke school for the sake of a short-term financial gain. In this case, the fact that he had not become involved with the drama department was used as evidence that his interests were insincere. O n the other hand, with respect to Pamela, the science teacher had spoken about her involvement in the school's drama productions as something that indicated a problem. The teacher often referred to the "drama vortex" in the school with which Pamela had become involved. 69 The imagery is v iv id ; drama is something that students get sucked into and are then powerless against. It victimizes them. It wou ld not be ethical for the teacher to allow the student to pursue a path leading to victimization. This is victimization from a particular stance, however, and one that is based on particular values that the student may or may not share. Campbell tells us, too, that there may be those who begin the journey, but do not succeed at it: The mere fact that anyone can physically walk through the temple guardians [and across the threshold to adventure] does not invalidate [the guardians'] significance; for if the intruder is incapable of encompassing the sanctuary, then he has effectually remained without, (p. 92) The teachers could only try i n their role since, whether it be a matter of character or ability, the students can only go to the extent that their attributes ultimately allow. There are always those who w i l l fail. They may not have the mettle to make the journey, or they may be seduced along the way to linger too long in distracting delights, thereby ending their quest before the rewards have been won. Or they may have other character flaws, such as being fearful to continue—fearful of their own empowerment. Pamela was portrayed by the teachers i n ways that fit wi th these latter descriptions, as was stated well by her English teacher: 70 / think she is an underachiever. I think she has trouble with focus. She runs to things to save her. Almost from herself. For example she's really heavily involved in drama. I think it's truly a passion. I wonder if that's for now. I wonder if some of that's rebelling against Mom and a fear of really achieving and being branded a nerd or something in this school. To be fair, she is, although this is a little overstated, I would say, self destructive. Not in an overly dramatic way. She's a perfectionist in a certain sense. She wants to be caught by the idea and do it in a very original and creative version. [For] example, she has a record of not handing assignments, so she often uses, I think, this is a slightly critical interpretation, that she uses her sense of what is really top quality work and what would be an excellent way of approaching an assignment. And the challenges that presents and the extra time that would involve would be an excuse not to do it and never hand it in. It blossoms into so much and she never gets down to completing anything. Similarly, her science teacher said that although she was "a very bright gir l ," she had done poorly in science because she was "too heavily involved in drama." In effect, the feeling was that Pamela had a tendency to digress from the journey the school promoted—perhaps for fear of 71 succeeding—into the realm that had become for her "truly a passion," and thereby effectively turn away from what was seen as the more legitimate adventure of learning academics. The teachers had a less coherent response to Pamela than to Keith. They voiced concern, but offered little in terms of strategies that had been tried except for repeatedly pointing out to her that her involvement in drama might well be her undoing. A constant theme in the relationships between these two students and the school is the inability of the school personnel to address the aspirations of these two students within the framework provided by the school's school-university-career narrative of success. Both Keith and Pamela withdrew from the narrative of success presented to them by the school, and in that way both retained a focus on what they considered to be their own aspirations. At the same time, each of them gave up the support provided by the institutional infrastructure of the school and its links to systems of reward outside the school. In the terms used by the teachers, Pamela's and Keith's aspirations were, in each case, defined as inferior from the outset—unrealistic, self-defeating, escapist. The sincerity of the students' statements concerning their own goals were, at best, suspected of being ways of concealing an ulterior motive, which was purportedly to avoid crossing the threshold and taking on the hard work of school. This, too, is explicitly defined as a refusal of the call to adventure: 72 The myths and folk tales of the whole wor ld make clear that the refusal is essentially a refusal to give up what one takes to be one's own interest. The future is regarded not in terms of an unremitting series of deaths and births, but as though one's present system of ideals, virtues, goals, and advantages were to be fixed and made secure. (HTF, p. 60) The more virtuous choice is, therefore, to give up one's own "interest" in favor of the ambiguous (but, presumably, inherently worthwhile) rewards to be gained from the journey. These are the rewards that the guides know and w i l l take one to if she or he is wi l l ing to follow. One's own "virtues, goals, and advantages" are already defined as less valuable. It is the presumption of the relative value of the individual 's goals and those known by the guides that justifies whatever is done by the guides in order to get the traveler to move onward. Threshold of Disregard The power of the guide to define the adventure is vital to the articulation of heroism in practice. It is through this definition that the social implications of heroism become most pronounced. This is because in the requirement that the would-be hero enter the wor ld of adventure, where one cannot depend on her or his own judgment, there is also a requirement for separation from what one has known before. This includes a separation from the knowledge that is developed through one's 73 interactions with a particular social group. This suggests that the social group is regarded—or, rather, disregarded—in particular ways. To the extent that identity is constituted within a social group, this implies yet another aspect of alienation. Lise Noe l (1994) writes, "the very meaning of alienation is that it estranges people from themselves" (p. 79). In saying this, she is assuming that one's social group has a fundamental role in the formation of identity. Heroic imagery actively devalues associations between self, one's goals, and the others by whom identity is in part constituted. The crossing of the threshold is represented as a necessary separation from one's social group, a casting off of what are considered the impediments presented by social ties which are assumed in epic imagery to be necessarily detrimental. This is alienation i n the manner discussed above i n that, by this, one's knowledge of social relationships, which is dependent on connection wi th the group within which that knowledge was developed, can no longer be considered useful. In social terms, the metaphorical map is comprised of the "imaginative tools" that the group provides to each member and on which moral reasoning is based (Johnson, 1993, p. 166). The traveler is left without such "tools," having left them at the threshold, and is, therefore, without the means by which to effectively judge the ethical propriety of different ways of relating to others. 74 This separation is in many ways definitive of the hero. In this regard, Ortega y Gasset (1961) writes: To be a hero means to be one out of many, to be oneself. If we refuse to have our actions determined by heredity and environment it is because we seek to base the origin of our actions on ourselves and only on ourselves. The hero's w i l l is not that of his ancestors nor of his society, but his own. This w i l l to be oneself is heroism, (p. 149) As Ortega y Gasset implies, this separation is a conscious move away from a socially constituted identity, which is seen as potentially encumbering the movement of the hero. That is, the characteristics that are definitive of heroic virtue are considered to be constituted individual ly, not socially. A n effect of this separation is to place priority on individualistic assessments of character and ability. These assessments begin, as has been shown, wi th the decision at the threshold. It is assumed that to cross the boundary one must become complete within oneself. A t the same time, to maintain a connection with one's social group precludes the crossing, and forces one into the role of the victim. In either case, however, whatever may have brought the person to the threshold and whatever limitations there are on the person, it is assumed that this choice is made freely by the individual . Johnson (1993) reviews this as the Enlightenment view of moral agency: 75 The self (as this free autonomous being) is defined prior to its ends and independent of the contexts it comes to inhabit. As free, a moral agent can choose which, if any, contextual features it w i l l allow to influence its deliberations. Thus, the moral agent purports to choose freely what aspects of its physical, social and cultural environment it w i l l permit to have an effect on its actions, (p. 150) If social connections constrain the traveler's choice—and her or his heroism—it is because that person chooses to allow them to do so. Here arises the paradox of heroism. The hero must ultimately undertake the adventure for the sake of the group, but must separate from the group in order to do so, thereby transcending the flaws of the group's ideology. This paradox is resolved, however, by the recognition that to move onto the heroic path requires only a temporary separation from the group for the duration of the adventure. The promise of ultimate reunion with that group (in a much-exalted role) being part and parcel of the hero's role. Separate—More or Less Both what is considered crossing the threshold and the rewards for doing so are socially constituted. While in epic tales, there is a promise of ultimate return with universally recognized rewards gained along the way, in practice the rewards that are gained have very different currency in different social groups. If the guides offer assistance wi th respect to some 76 rewards but not others, then the significance of choosing to undertake the adventure w i l l be very different for people from different social groups. This can be recognized by contrasting the options Keith faces with those of David . The science teacher described Keith and David as "best buddies" among the students interviewed and, considering their different approaches to school, remarked that she had "never been able to understand" the friendship between the two boys. Dav id expressed his views regarding schooling clearly as a narrative in which science education had an instrumental influence on a specific version of success that was consistent with the credentialing process promoted by the teachers: /: Are you going to take some science [next year]? David: Yeah. Maybe all three, but probably at least two. I: Why do you think you'll take them? David: Just university. You need, you need like quite a few things to get in there. I: Why do you think—you said that you think you might be somebody who might go into a science career? David: I don't know about science career, but, like in university you have like the science and the arts. I'll probably go into the science department. 77 /: Where do you think you got the idea that you should go to college, university? David: I don't know. I just want to have a good career so life can be easy. I: And that will happen if you go to university? David: I think so. Cause then you get, like a career that you like, so that work will be like, like play. It will be fun for you. David-ER09 While David knew that some people did not agree with his decision to definitely go to university, he found their reasoning difficult to grasp: David: I have a couple friends and they are saying, like they don't even want to go into university. That's not even like in their view. They just want to finish high school, then just like get . a job. I: Does that surprise you? David: Yeah. I: Why? David: Because I can't see, like how can you go ahead like that? Because you're just making enough money to pay the rent and that's it. You're never going to get anywhere. David-ER09 78 In contrast to David's emphasis on the need to comply with the narrative offered by the teachers (heroic guides) that led from high school to high paying careers, Keith emphasized the need to establish himself as independent. He would accept help toward such an end, but was most concerned about assuring self-sufficiency as immediately as possible: Keith: Maybe a vocational, too, say for, if I wanted to do anything like business and they wanted me to have a certain business degree, if they paid my way through university then I would go. But if I paid, and if I paid my way through university and I had a business degree, I mean there's no option for me and I had to turn and go, I'll just use garbage man because it is the first thing that came to mind, and I either did that and say worked in a concrete company, which I'd need a class 1 license for if I don't, if I have my business degree that I worked so hard for and there's no open doors for me and they're I walk, and I scrape, and I scratch, and I still can't get in, what's the point of getting my degree because it hasn't gotten me anywhere so far. I: What about self-fulfillment? Keith: I think I can become self self-fulfilled zvithout university. Keith-MC 79 Keith: I see myself struggling [between] independence or, dependence, because [pause]. Put it this way legally, you cannot get rich over the course of like, you know, I couldn't get rich. Well unless I won the lottery or something, but just working alone. I couldn't get rich if I were living on my own, with an apartment with a job that say pays $2000 or $3000 a month. If you have insurance for the car, bills, electricity, everything. It's pretty hard unless you save every single penny. I would put, I would actually bet that no one in that class would be doing that; not going out on the weekends, staying home, cooking up like instant noodles that are 38 cents a package and just saving this big pile of cash and then say, 'I'm rich now.' Look what you had to do to get to it, you know. You've lived the prime of your life in just, you lived the prime, the peak of your life doing nothing. You had no fun, you were eating cheap food and you were living, in you know a cheap place but now you're rich and say you're 40, 50, or say you're even 30. That ten year, that, for males, 18-30, 25, whatever, I'm not sure, that's like the best part of your life. Keith-MC 80 Keith's values were not idiosyncratic. It has already been pointed out that he related his decision to the lifestyle of his father. His mother, too, was reportedly generally supportive of his aspirations. In addition, the lead teacher indicated that he had a circle of friends wi th similar values: LT: He's attracted by a lot of things that aren't supported by school; and the peer group he hangs out with, they're also not that interested in school. More broadly, the position that Keith voiced in these statements is very much like those described in Paul Wil l i s ' (1977) research wi th working class "lads." Wil l is characterized the perspective of the students in his study as emanating from a community that was generally untrusting of established authority, obedience to which was signified by credentials: In particular this involves a deep seated scepticism about the value of qualifications in relation to what might be sacrificed to get them: a sacrifice ultimately, not of simple dead time, but of a quality of action, involvement and independence, (p. 126) While each of the boys' expressed ideas that indicate that rewards awaited them at the end of his chosen path, the teachers were only 81 prepared to support one of those directions. While David might have to separate from his group for a time (i.e. spend time doing his homework rather than socializing) in order to complete his studies, he could count on the support of his guides in doing so. Keith, on the other hand, could count on no such support for his choices, regardless of what he might be able to offer others as a result of fulfilling the direction he was undertaking. The paradox of heroism involves much more than a temporary separation from the social group, then. It also involves the extent to which heroism calls for autonomy from the social group while also demanding dependence on the guides. There are intricate interactions between existing social relationships, identity, and the discourse of choice. Maintaining one's identity within those relationships involves operating within the "map" that one's social group provides. The rhetoric of heroism demands that one forego the use of such a map, the tools of moral reasoning that the group provides, in order to establish autonomy. Yet, once this has been done, heroism demands faith in the judgment of the guide, which implies dependence rather than the autonomy of the hero. It is the guide who will determine what is right, wrong, or a combination of the two. Who, then, is more heroic, the person who complies with the guides or the person who does not and thereby maintains autonomy? The answer is less important than the fact that the question arises at all, 82 because within that question is the recognition that these two boys faced very different choices when their identity is considered with reference to their broader social groups. Therefore, despite the assumption that is inherent in the heroic discourse of choice that all students are faced with the same set of options, it becomes clear that they are not. David was able to take a path that, while challenging, was more closely aligned to the values of his social group, suggesting a less alienating position. The choice he faced was very different, then, from that faced by Keith, who would have had to move further from the values of his group in order to accept the path delineated by the teachers. The same could be said of Pamela who also appeared to be more alienated from the activities of science education than were some of the other students. For students whose values do not fit well with those assumed by the adventure there is an intensification of alienation thatstems from the further undermining of their own judgment. This undermining extends beyond knowledge gained from personal experience to the point that they cannot, it is presumed, trust members of their social group or the knowledge they have gained from their social group for direction. This alienation is reinforced, too, by the shifting of attention to the guide, whose directions may, as in the case of Keith, run contrary to those given or implied by the values of the social group. 83 As the role of the guide is challenged by the values of the social group it becomes impossible for the guide to disregard that group. The reaction of the guide to that group may be increasingly negative, even reaching the point of hostility. The only times that Keith's social group became the subjects of the teachers' comments were when they were described as affecting him negatively, not as a matter of how his decisions might be affecting the social group, nor as of the social group having a potentially positive influence on him. This was also true in the case of Pamela, such as when the English teacher spoke of Pamela's desire to rebel against her mother's influence. In both cases, the student's parents, and especially the mother, were responsible for the problems the students were having. Keith's father became an example associated with public assistance rather than with the vital role trucking plays in North American economic systems and his mother was seen as enabling his poor choices: LT: We [school personnel] worked with Keith trying to have him submit his work through the last couple of years and we were hoping that Keith would somehow turn around. He has not. Now his mother feels that he should be more of a philosophy or an attitude that for every action there should be a consequence. For example, if he doesn't do his homework we should come down hard on him. I say, wait a minute here. I mean it seems that the finger is being pointed at us rather than at, at, at Keith and she thinks nothing of 84 pulling him out [of school] to act. . . . she thinks nothing of defending any action he does and I can understand. She has two other sons who both dropped out of school. This is her last son going through the system and I can see she's trying to throw all the life preservers she can into saving this kid in the long run. Apparently, however, Keith's mother is seen as throwing to him the wrong kind of life preservers. It is the school that can truly save him. The school and his mother are, therefore, cast as adversaries in this struggle over the direction Keith should take. This, too, fits with Campbell's analysis of heroism as he states that the problems that one faces in life come from attempts to "remain fixated to the unexercised images of our infancy, and hence [the person is] disinclined to the necessary passages of adulthood" by trying "not to mature away from the Mother, but to cleave to her" (HTF, p. 11), Beyond, this, the mother's influence on identity is symbolic of the harmful effect that comes from association with the social group in general: The hero, therefore, is the man or woman who has been able to battle past his personal and local historical limitations to the generally valid, normally human forms. Such a one's visions, ideas, and inspirations come pristine from the primary springs of human life and thought. Hence they are eloquent, not of the 85 present, disintegrating society and psyche, but of the unquenched source through which society is reborn, (p. 20) Separation is called for, then, because there is presumably some fault with the social group from which one currently derives identity. Family, friends, and general social group that are perceived of as complicit in what is considered the individual's latent delinquency. The guides in the adventure are placed in the position of caring for the traveler who has left the mother/social group. Those guides can provide a form of caring that is superior to the presumably flawed (and, perhaps, insidious) caring offered by the mother and the social group she is associated with, and of which she is definitive. To redeem oneself requires a separation from the path the influence of the social group would support. It is a separation that is alienating, but promises such great reward as to make it worth the struggle to cross the threshold and go on. In this the individualism of heroism is maintained through a call to adventure which is also a move away from a more socially situated basis for identity and decisions. In their certainty as to the correct course to take, the adventurer's guides automatically cast dispersions on any person or group who would hamper progress along the heroic path. Similarly, in disregarding the socially constituted character of identity, schools can establish the conditions of divisive bias in which an individual's non-compliance with 86 dominant norms come to be taken as indications of character flaws at individual , familial, and social levels. A t each of these levels, there is an assumption that the non-dominant Other is inferior. This becomes a justification for domination. Narratives of Caring If Noblit t (1993) is correct, and caring in education is "about the ethical use of power," then what begins to enter into the dynamic between the teachers and the students is the manner in which the teachers determined what uses of their power were ethical. Johnson (1993) argues that determinations as to what is Or is not ethical are made against a backdrop of socially constituted synthesizing forms that provide a sense of coherence to the interpretation of events. As one of the most effective of these forms, narratives play a significant role in this reasoning. These are not simple narratives, however, but well-elaborated systems of ideas, providing a foundation for social understanding and moral reasoning. The narrative that could be used to legitimate the teachers' actions can be seen as also being constituted out of a selection of real social conditions, values-driven premises, and patterns that had been validated by their own experience in a variety of ways. The result is a narrative that gives high regard to a credentialing process that includes science course taking as a prerequisite for entering university, and thereby gaining access to certain careers. The teachers showed their concern for the students 87 through judgments made in relation to this narrative. They supported the decisions they saw students making that would lead to empowering outcomes, and d id not support those that they understood would lead to the students being positioned as victims of the exigencies of capitalist society. Teachers can do little else as caring professionals than follow the mandates of the narrative that tells them what w i l l be best for the students they teach. If, therefore, the values prevalent in the school indicate that truck driving is subaltern and a career in acting is unrealistic, their most ethical response would be seen as working to dissuade students from those directions. It seems perfectly rational to behave as they d id in an effort to perform their work in a caring way. Reliance on such narratives can become a matter of habit as much or more than a reasoned choice. Questions about the origins of habits are usually not asked. In common social interactions, the habits themselves are taken as authoritative and little else can be said, or needs to be said, in justification of them as norms. Their rationality and authority is take to be self-evident. In time, the reasons behind habits and customs of tradition may be lost, but the activities are nonetheless carried out, because they come to be seen as both normal and natural. Ultimately, the rationality and authority is mystified. This mystification of authority may not be recognized immediately, since the role of conventional behavior in society may be known. For example, heterosexual teenagers may dress in conventional masculine and feminine ways. In a proximal assessment, 88 one might legitimately say that they are doing so, among other reasons, to be attractive to potential partners. Pressing the assessment of meanings to a more distal extent begins to shift attention to the origins of the differences observed. H o w and why d id the different styles for men and women emerge? W h y are they seen as attractive? They can be explained as being a matter of a the normal gendered (heterosexualized) differences between men and women. But on what are those norms based? The authority to enforce such styles is lost unless the claim is made that the differences are also matters of natural preferences in some ways. Since clothing styles change rapidly, this is a difficult contention to maintain on naturalistic grounds. This is, instead, a social phenomenon that has come to be taken for granted. What this points out is that "rationality is the vital by-product of social participation" as much and often more than it is a product of objectively reasoned assessments of situations (Gergen, 1991, p. 78). That is, the rationalization for the norms that emanate from dominant narratives is that the value of those norms is obvious. This rationalization holds within a social group that already accepts it. As correct as any given rationality might seem, however, there are always alternatives for which an argument can be made. For example, earlier I mentioned the different rationales used by two students, David and Keith, in their reckoning of choices in science education. David maintained, along with the teachers, that secondary school science courses 89 were vital for getting into university, which is vital for a good career, which is vital for a comfortable life. Keith argued that a comfortable life could be had even if one opted out of the credentialing process before post-secondary, education. Keith's position was rationalized by the example of his father and others he knew who had taken that direction. O n the other hand, one might argue that the direction given by David and the teachers had a broader rationale. That is, it could seem as if they were functioning within a realistic assessments of current economic conditions. The focus at the school was on the entrance requirements that must be met for university. Those entrance requirements are very real. University was then considered the pathway to a successful career. Certainly the teachers took that path, and they probably know many others who d id and are happy for it. It is true that there are benefits in terms of lowered chances of unemployment and generally higher income that come with university education (OECD. 1995, pp. 228-237). However, in Canada only about two thirds of the population graduate from secondary school at the expected age (68.4%) and less than one third of the population aged 25-34 hold Bachelor's degrees (32.2%) (OECD, 1995, pp. 214-218). Wi th more than two thirds of the population not earning Bachelor's degrees, the rationale for the singular focus on post-secondary school is difficult to maintain. Even in the special school program from which a majority of students go into post-secondary education, it seems untenable not to have a deliberate approach to those 90 who w i l l not go in that direction. Without such an approach, the school is effectively defining them as inferior, inevitable failures, or victims; certainly having to proceed without the benefit of guidance from the school. As wel l , the ample regard given to career concerns was not matched by concern for other aspects of the students' lives such as enhancing their abilities as family members or their capacity to appreciate natural, cultural, or technological aspects of their worlds. The careerism of that narrative is itself a values-based position. Taken together, these points indicate that the underlying narrative used in this school to promote science is rational, as is any narrative, within the context of the premises that establish the rationality by which it is judged. It is based on a particular set of values that put priority on some contingencies and make it seem necessarily correct to do so. A t the same time that the narrative that the school personnel were relying on made their actions seem rational, it also made the interests stated by Keith, Pamela, and other students who d id not accept the higher education narrative seem necessarily irrational. This irrationality can be portrayed in a variety of ways from the inherent contradiction of being "self-defeating" in pursuit of an unrealistic option, to demonstrations of the duplicity and necessarily flawed rationality of insincerity. Such are the causes for the traveler's irrational choice to refuse assistance in embraking on the heroic call to adventure, and thereby accept victimization. 91 IV. Between Self And Others Oran is a great circular yellow wall covered over with leaden sky. In the beginning you wander the labyrinth, seeking the sea like the sign of Ariadne. But you turn round and round in pale oppressive streets, and eventually the Minotaur devours the people of Oran; the Minotaur is boredom. Albert Camus "The Minotaur" Chapter Introduction In the preceding chapter, the separation required to cross the threshold to adventure was linked to alienation. In terms of curriculum, that separation involves alienation of one's priorities from the knowledge to be learned. In social terms, it calls for alienation from one's group in order to take up the path that is held as virtuous. Divisive bias ensued for those who express priorities or values that differ from the dominant path. In this section it is argued that the ideology of separation is maintained and extended in ways that intensify divisive bias. This occurs through reference to the imagery of boundaries. The threshold that the hero crosses is the most overt of those boundaries. What the preceding discussion indicates, however, is that this threshold signifies not one, but 92 a variety of boundaries—around self, around groups, around what is considered right, and around what is considered wrong. Boundaries structure relationships in many ways, often defining asymmetries of social power. This gives boundaries the potential to promote, and at times enforce, many kinds of relationships. These may be collaborative relationships, or apprenticeship relationships. However, boundaries can also be used to establish relations of privilege and domination, and to establish difference as immutable. They thereby provide the means by which identities can be defined simplistically, and manipulated in ways that allow the continuation of divisive bias. Boundaries A s Barriers Epic heroism gains much of its coherence from references to boundary imagery. The threshold signifies this imagery most dramatically i n that it is a boundary between the old world of the commonday and the new world of adventure. It is a boundary, too, between a socially constituted identity and one that is ostensibly individualistic—but only if the role of the guide is disregarded. Boundary imagery relies on symbolic forms to establish relationships and identities that are coherent because of their separation from others. In this way, boundaries are synonymous wi th barriers, or that is at least their intended function. Anthony Cohen (1985) states that a symbolic boundary "encapsulates the identity of the community and, like 93 identity of an individual is called into being by the exigencies of social interaction. Boundaries are marked because communities interact in some way or other with entities from which they are or, or wish to be distinguished" (p. 12). Jennifer Nedelsky (1990) explores this imagery in relation to identity and relationships, stating that boundary imagery "focuses the mind on barriers, rules and separateness, perhaps even oppositional separateness," promoting the view that "security lies in walls" (p. 175; see also, Jones, 1993, p. 191). In such imagery, autonomy is gained through protection against intrusion; "it invites us to imagine that the self to be protected is in some crucial sense insular, and that what is most important to the preservation of such a self is drawing boundaries around it that w i l l protect it from invasion" (pp. 168-169). While the threshold to adventure is portrayed as the crossing of a boundary into unknown perils, it must be remembered that to not cross the boundary is already represented as undesirable. Campbell tells the story of K i n g Minos who ascends to the throne of Crete after Poseidon sends a great white bull to intimidate the other contenders. Rather than fulfilling his promise to return the bul l to Poseidon in a sacrificial ceremony, thereby proving that he had crossed into a state of heroic virtue, Minos keeps it in his herd. It is this bul l that later sires the frightful Minotaur, for which he has Daedalus design the labyrinth as an eternal prison. In this story Campbell finds the lesson that follows the refusal of the call to cross the threshold: 94 Whatever house he builds, it w i l l be a house of death; a labyrinth of cyclopean walls to hide from h im his Minotaur. A l l he can do is create new problems for himself and await the gradual approach of his disintegration, (p. 59) Minos ' ordeal is turned outward, however, so that the lesson can be taught in terms of the importance of such decisions to enjoying the prime of life. As the story goes, the Minotaur came to be a beast to which youth and beauty had to be sacrificed in the persons of fourteen young Athenians each year. O n one occasion the traveler and hero Theseus, having reached Athens a few days earlier, volunteered to take the place of one of the youths. Ariadne, daughter of K i n g Minos, fell in love with Theseus whose motive in taking part was to destroy the Minotaur. Ariadne became Theseus' guide in his adventure and, after extracting a promise of marriage from him, provided h im with the means to survive the ordeal: Ariadne turned for help, then, to the crafty Daedalus, by whose art the labyrinth had been constructed. . . . Daedalus simply presented her wi th a skein of linen thread, which the visiting hero might fix to the entrance and unwind as he went into the maze. (HTF, p. 23) Wi th that aid, Theseus was able to slay the Minotaur and follow the thread to escape the labyrinth, becoming the hero that both delivers and avenges. A refusal of heroism leads to the sacrifice of youth, which 95 becomes trapped within the boundary of the labyrinth. Only by heroism can youth be released to fulfill its potential. Academic Boundaries Science education contributes to the formation of a symbolic boundary when its primary role becomes making it possible to cross into other areas of life, such as university, and ultimately certain kinds of careers. Taking science becomes the crossing of the first of several thresholds, which together form a narrative of success attained through careers that require university entrance, which requires science course taking. 4 This is not a neutral boundary. Science education is promoted by presenting the rewards of taking science as enticing and the consequences of not taking it as undoubtedly aversive or injurious: /: You said that it was important to keep taking math and science. Why do you think it's important? Claudia: job. I: Oh yeah? Claudia: For a job. Yeah. They gave us—at the workshop I went to they gave us a sheet and they listed, oh I don't know—about over one hundred jobs you could take, or that you couldn't 4 See Appendix 3: Narrative of Success 96 take without science or math. If you didn't pass math or science—so ugly. Claudia-ER07 A n d , reiterating this in a later interview: Claudia: I keep reading everywhere that you need this and this, this job because you cannot get this and this job because if you don't' graduate from science and math . . . * . . . and that scares me because like, that would be pretty limited, like my life would be pretty limited if I didn't take science and math. I didn't really read through the jobs actually, I just remember this big poster had a whole bunch of jobs right . . . . I just thought, I guess what I thought was that you know, there must be something in there that could be good for me, right, even though I didn't really read through it. It just scared me that I might lose this job just because I didn't take science and math right, and I figured just for insurance. I think that's it. I don't know, I never really, it never really crossed my mind. I just thought I should take science and math because of this and that. Claudia—MC The boundary generated in promoting science education—such as on the classroom poster to which Claudia referred—is the division 97 between two that lie across the boundary from each other. In that, one is positioned as necessarily better than the other. O n one side of the boundary is the promise first of being able to develop one's potential, and ultimately of the rewards of heroism. On the other side of the boundary are "the walled in boredom" and the loss of "the power of significant affirmative action" that are the result of not answering the call and that ultimately makes life feel "meaningless" (HTF, p. 59). /: Why do you want to go to university? Han: Well I want to get a good job. I want to have like a real career or be famous or something. And just for the experience, because university is another one of those memories. I: When you talk about a real career, you said, "Like a real career," what's a real career like? Han: I don't know, a writer or a doctor or a journalist. Not something like a secretary or an assistant thing. Just actually having a career, not just a job. I: Can you generalize that a bit. What's the difference between those that you said that you would like and those that you said that you wouldn't like? Han: I guess what I would like is something that's, where I'm doing it for myself, independently, versus something like I'm working for someone else, like a secretary or a librarian or 98 something. You know what I mean? One of those kind of stupid, boring jobs. I would rather be something, you know something where I could, where, something, something renowned, you know. Like a doctor or something— Han-MC,p. 18 There is a sense of safety to be gained by crossing the threshold. The path may be difficult, but it is certainly better than being surrounded, and in the end consumed, by boredom, or meaninglessness, or whatever apparitions most haunt the traveler. A s wel l , the wor ld of adventure includes a horizon of possibility—a future in which it is possible to become whatever one may choose to be. This is, therefore, the establishment of a basic hierarchy—the two of which one is better. Establishing Difference The hierarchy established by the boundary imagery of the threshold is maintained in the choices made by both David and Keith, although it is differently constituted in each case. It is assumed by each of these boys that the domains reached by each path are separated from the other. For each, the boundary allows entry into what is desirable, which is defined in opposition to what is considered undesirable, and even threatening. David's comments indicate that the boundary is between work that offers a pleasant and socially mobile future and (in opposition to) a future of 99 endless drudgery (in which work is not "like play"). The boundary is crossed and the separation maintained by certain credentials. For Keith, the boundary is between independence, which allows self-actualization, and conformity, which puts off the best of l ived experience until it is too late to enjoy it. For him, the boundary is crossed and the separation is maintained by repeated assertions of personal independence. This imagery is supported by the discourse of choice that neglects the interactions between the individual and the social group in the development of autonomy. Here, too, separation from others is important as definitive of what is to be found on the desirable side of the boundary. One may become something truly special, something "renowned" by "doing it for myself independently, versus something like I'm working for someone else." This is sense of identity formed i n the way that Nedelsky refers to as a "splitting it off from, and setting it up in opposition to, the integration, interpenetration, and unity that are also part of our humanness and without which our capacity for action would not exist" (pp. 182-183). This capacity for action is to a large extent established by the meaning-making resources provided by the social group—whether actions are consistent wi th or extend beyond those. Nedelsky (1990) writes that "one of the general problems with the boundary metaphor, like all metaphors that are so deeply established that they appear natural and obvious, is that it obscures the question it was intended to answer, it closes down rather than invites inquiry" (p. 175). 100 To open up this inquiry, one can ask, for example, Wi th whom is it that the power to establish the threshold in the heroic monomyth rests? In epic stories, there is a sense that the threshold is set by forces that are far outside the control of the individual who must decide whether or not to cross it. The power dynamics of this boundary-setting are mystified. The wor ld of adventure is, by definition^ a wor ld that pre-exists the traveler and is beyond her or his comprehension. That portrayal obscures the social dynamics by which the choices are determined, as wel l as how the relative value of each is assigned. Han's reference above provides a practical illustration: D i d the secretaries of whom she speaks have a voice in setting the boundary that casts them as victims caught in "stupid boring jobs"? Or, for that matter, d id Han? Or, addressing the mythology by which science education is promoted: What role are any of the students given in determining which paths w i l l be considered val id and which w i l l not? To what extent do the value premises on which those determinations are made precede the students' entry into the situation, and then neglect their aspirations as the premises are automatically perpetuated? Structuring Relationships In each case given above, what can be seen is that boundaries structure relationships. While Nedelsky (1990) allows that some sense of boundary-making is essential to a relationship—a sense of limits on 101 behavior is necessary to privacy, security, and open, trusting relationships—these are not boundaries imposed unilaterally on one by another. They are developed with mutual participation and wi th some sense of understanding as to how establishing the limits on the relationship in some ways facilitates it. That is to say that such mutually determined boundaries are open to inquiry and potentially to revision. Nedelsky writes, however, that "the boundary metaphor consistently inhibits our capacity to focus on the relationship it is in fact structuring" (p. 171). The boundary takes on a power of its own; it is meant to be crossed or maintained for its own sake, rather than facilitating the relationship. The case in point here is the boundary represented by credentials. A t their most basic level, credentials represent relationships between people and ideas. These are relationships between people that are in some way dependent on ideas, such as the relationship between a master and apprentice or a client and expert. Credentials gained through science education may wel l have, at some point, served a role in facilitating relationships. They may, for example, have been useful in challenging boundaries set by patronage as the means to university entrance, thereby allowing the formation of relationships (e.g., between professor and student) for those to whom they had previously been denied. A person could, by earning a credential, show that they had developed the knowledge necessary to. take part in other kinds of relationships. Yet, by becoming also the purpose of learning, credentials 102 obscure the very processes, attributes, and relationships that they are meant to facilitate. One could say that a credential indicates that a relationship has been formed wi th the credential, rather than the credential indicating that relationships have been developed with others with reference to certain kinds of ideas. When crossing a boundary allows one to do things and form relationships that could not be done or formed before, the boundaries become sources of social power. There are legitimate rationales for the power conferred by some boundaries that are represented by credentials. It makes sense, for example, for a patient-doctor relationship to be structured around limits that take into account the doctor's specialized knowledge in wellness, diseases, and treatments of the body, as wel l as the doctor's commitment to certain standards such as confidentiality. This knowledge is balanced by the patient's knowledge regarding her or his body and lifestyle. In the most mutual form, it wou ld be understood that the doctor cannot effectively practice medicine without the participation of the patient. There would necessarily be, then, a merger of information between doctor and patient. Each is able to take part in the relationship, and is essential to it, using the power conferred by the expertise each has that pertains to the situation in one way or another. The power is different for each, derived from different sources, but the source is in each 103 case legitimated by a reasonable connection to the questions and concerns at hand. There are boundaries, too, regarding what issues each can appropriately address in the relationship. Wi th the goal of the relationship being to help the patient maintain or regain good health, there are reasons why the patient should not be allowed to prescribe some kinds of medication for herself or himself. Likewise, it w o u l d be inappropriate for the doctor to disregard the patient's wishes wi th respect to trade-offs between quality of life and various courses of maintenance and/or remedy. Still , while the patient's expertise in the situation is obvious (or should be) in that it relates to her or his own body, the doctor's must be assumed based on the symbolic authority of the credentials that apply. Importantly, the expertise of each can be questioned even as the relationship that depends on its acknowledgment is maintained. Although the credential can be taken to indicate expertise, there is for the patient an option to do some degree of checking regarding the quality of previous relationships (i.e. the doctor's record wi th medical agencies, results wi th former patients), and thereby corroborate the authority that the credential represents (cf. McCa l l , 1995). As well , the doctor can inquire as to symptoms and habits in a way that can substantiate what the patient has said. The authority of each is open to inquiry within a relationship that acknowledges asymmetries of power. 104 Recognized asymmetries of power are the essence of collaboration. Collaboration, then, does not imply equality of power, but that power differences are used in ways that are legitimated by the exigencies of the relationship. Collaborative relationships can be usurped when legitimate connections between expertise, power, and the mutual intentions of the relationship are truncated. For example, by focusing on credentials in and of themselves, as the students had learned to do, relationships become derived bureaucratically, rather than through a willingness to encourage a particular manner of interacting wi th others or with ideas. Power gained through bureaucratic assertions of credentials or, more broadly, emblems of authority (e.g. awards, rank, and even the trappings of a particular office or position) can become associated with aspects of relationships that are not actually involved i n the relationships that the credentials represent. A t that point, gauging the appropriate extent of power which is already difficult and inexact at best, becomes virtually impossible. Social power conferred emblematically may, therefore, permeate relationships in ways that are either loosely related, or entirely unrelated, to any legitimate rationale for the greater power of one over another. A t this point, the power can be seen as a matter of privilege, which is the exertion of unearned social power. 105 Emblematic Privilege When power is gained through credentials or other emblems that assert boundaries in ways that cannot be interpolated, it can easily become an articulation of privilege. In relations of privilege the boundaries that separate members of different groups can be used to enforce positions of power that cannot be legitimated without recourse to arguments that are both circular and teleological. That is to say the argument becomes, "I am powerful because I am a group that is meant to be in power," which is to say that having the emblem that group members share is enough to place one in a position of power. The power dynamics established by such arguments are examples of the divisive bias by which one group (or person) comes to dominate in illegitimate ways. These arguments may extend the reach of power wi th in otherwise legitimate relationships, or they may establish relationships that are entirely unjustifiable. Teachers, for example, have power that is legitimate when used in ways related to pedagogy. Yet, their power over students may move into the realm of privilege when it is asserted beyond what can be justified in terms of the teacher's role and knowledge as a teacher. They can, for example, come to assert authority over students regarding, for example, the students' decisions that do not relate to the teacher's course (e.g., judging the kinds of activities i n which it is good for the student to take part outside of school.) One can imagine a teacher asserting power over students not because they are able or wi l l ing to take 106 part in a relationship with students in some particular pedagogically sound ways, but because he or she is "the teacher." That is, whether someone is able to teach effectively or not, wi th "effectively" defined in terms both the teacher and the student consider legitimate, the position one gains by having the credentials of a teacher is defined as giving one power over students. Credentials are, of course, not the only ways by which privilege is gained emblematically. Biological sex, "race," socio-economic class, and sexuality are all effectively emblems that establish boundaries that define differences of power, and along which divisive bias can operate. For example, Keith's approach to occupational choices and statements about independence and his assertions of independence can be understood as expressions of his masculine identity. Again , Keith's views are consistent with Wi l l i s ' (1989) observations of young working class males for whom "the (male) wage is still the golden key (mortgage, rent, household bills) to . . . the separate home . . . and its promise of warmth and safety" (p. 8; cited in Weis, 1993, p. 248). This focus on the male wage informs Keith's views on a proper home life. Keith: My standard on where women and men should be is, I guess, a lot of people say sexist, but I believe it's the way it should stay, is that you have the male, [he] doesn't have complete dominance but he is, I guess you could say the leader, or the 107 person with a little more power, who goes to work, the wife stays home. That's the way I think it should be, people have their places because if me, I couldn't handle being a house husband, while my wife went out to work and paid for the bills and I'm still home, whether I'm looking after the kids or cleaning up or making dinner. I: Can I say that the, again the argument is sort of the same as to the one with culture, that some people would say that the reason you think that's the way it should be is because that places you in sort of a privileged position? Keith: I think if I were a woman I would rather be at home. I would rather be at home. Keith-MC The man in the relationship is placed in the position of power, without the need for a reference to anything other than his (emblematically powerful) maleness that might legitimate that power. Yet, in order to provide the appearance of legitimacy for that male power, Kei th must then neglect the differences he assumes as he goes on to reason from the premise that he can know the place of women wel l enough to offer a pseudo-first-hand perspective of what a woman wou ld want. Aware enough of his own sexism to mark it as sexist, but none the less committed to it, Keith moves from his own opinion to an assertion that a "woman" (meaning all women) would make the choice to stay at home. 108 The self-privileging paradox inherent in his statement is striking here. By allowing himself to take the perspective of the woman, Kei th is able to define the boundary by which power is asserted prior to the involvement of any particular woman. He can thereby claim that it is legitimately what any woman would want. The limitations that this would place on a woman in a domestic relationship with h im are significant. Keith I feel they [women] should have the opportunity but then I wouldn't want to [pause] I don't want to come home to an empty house, put it that way. I wouldn't want to come home to an empty house. I: So as long as they can still be there— Keith: As long as they can be there. If they can be there when I get home then that's OK. I understand that it's, to a lot of people sexist, and well I apologize for being that way in front of them, but then other than that, no it's just the way I am, it's what I believe in. Keith-MC This illustrates, too, how a discourse of choice, which assumes free agency, operates within boundaries that effectively constrain choices in practice. Yes, this reasoning goes, women should have opportunities to choose, but only within the boundaries that are already assumed to be in place. A 109 woman in a relationship with Keith can work, but only after answering to his desire for a male-dominant household in which his power is obviously greater. While arguing for choice and limitations on choice simultaneously may seem contradictory, the apparent contradiction is reconciled for Kei th in his statement that "people have their places." The boundary separating men and women is assumed in the k ind of argument that is typical of privilege. It is in reference to this boundary that the hierarchy priorit izing the interests of men above those of women is determined—and then assumed to be correct beyond question. Sedgwick (1993) explores the potential of this one-sidedness, referring to what she calls the "privilege of unknowing" (p. 22). The privilege of unknowing allows those in dominant positions to maintain the priority on their interests despite—and actually because of—having limited knowledge, or no knowledge of the specific interests, needs, or desires of others in the situation. She gives the example of a conversation between two people; one of whom is bilingual and the other being monolingual. In such a situation, the conditions of any conversation between them that might take place are already determined by the ignorance of the monolingual speaker—it w i l l be in the common language, even if that leads to the bilingual person having to struggle for a means of expression in a second language. Sedgwick then goes on to broaden this argument so that what is true for language is reflected in epistemological systems. In the case where 110 different epistemological systems are brought to an encounter by individuals, it w i l l be the less knowledgeable person whose epistemological system w i l l be used as the common means of interaction in a relationship. Such "epistemological asymmetries" confer privilege, particularly when some epistemologies are promoted preferentially by existing power structures (p. 23). The abuses that this can lead to are clear: The epistemological asymmetry of the laws that govern rape, for instance, privileges at the same time men and ignorance: inasmuch as i t matters not at all what the raped woman perceives or wants just so long as the man raping her can claim not to have noticed (ignorance in which male sexuality receives careful education), (pp. 23-24) It is not ignorance of others entirely that produces this privilege, but ignorance of their unique experience of the circumstances that are shared. When Keith offered an opinion for women, that they "would rather be at home," he assumed that all that was called for to understand the situation was his knowledge of it. This was true, in his estimation, both for his part of the relationship and for the abstract woman of whom he spoke. In this epistemological privilege, the oppressor's version of truth is considered sufficient, and the boundaries that the oppressor's truth recognizes are immutable. I l l Abstract Difference Emblematic identity can, as has been seen, provide the basis for positions of privilege and for subjugation when boundaries propel oppression through a process of abstraction within hierarchies. While Keith provides an example of a particular biased relationship, sexism, his perspective can be extended into other relationships in which subjugation of one person or group by another can come to be considered normal— that is to say, in relationships of divisive bias. In the excerpt above, Keith is not, of course, referring to any particular woman who would "rather be at home" but assumes that this is the case for all people whose identity he symbolically constructs around female-ness. Sex becomes "an abstract symbol of an entire group's identity" to which Keith assigns certain meanings to women, and by which Keith assumes his authority (Noel, 1994, p. 109). The result is to simplify the existence of women to the point that their worlds are a singularity. "Woman" becomes an abstraction that is accessible to him, and within the control of his judgment. The abstraction replaces the need for relationship, since Keith does not have to relate to any particular woman in order to assert that he already understands all women. This pattern of abstraction serving to replace relationships is repeated in many forms of group oppression: Hav ing stripped his victims of any individuali ty of their own, summing them up in a few general characteristics, the oppressor 112 has an even better claim to relegate them to intellectual confines if he believes that he has defined the boundaries of their essence. The definition of the dominated proposed by the dominator w i l l always be simple and reductive. (Noel, p. 109) Personal characteristics are used as the symbolic basis for subordinate placement i n relation to boundaries that hierarchically structure relationships. Sex and race are two major characteristics that have been used in this stigmatizing way, but handed-ness, hair color, age, deformities and other characteristics may be attributes that are taken "as revealing an identity that is itself stained and compromised" (p. 111). There are subtler forms, too, such as obvious mental illness and dialects of speech, that provide the basis of an assumed subordinate status for the individual . While visible forms of difference provide easy references for divisive bias, invisibility, Noe l explains, presents a different problem. Homosexuals, for example, who can conceal their difference by feigning a dominant identity, can only do so by eliminating any overt association with their socially subordinated identity. Thereby, for those who are not prepared to be openly gay or lesbian, the possibility of openly affiliating with others who might more directly understand their experience is curtailed. They can become alienated from their identity without that identity even being known publicly. 113 Identity: Portrayal and Betrayal Abstraction provides the means for boundaries to structure relationships even before they begin. It allows oppression to begin prior to an individual 's entry into a relationship by establishing a definition that is consistently reinforced within society. Goffman (1979) states, for example, that: What the human nature of males and females really consists of, then, is a capacity to learn to provide and to read depictions of masculinity and femininity and a willingness to adhere to a schedule for presenting these pictures . . . . One might just as well say that there is no gender identity. There is only a schedule for the portrayal of gender . . . . There is only evidence of the practice between the sexes of choreographing behaviorally a portrait of each other, (p. 8) Han's references to "librarians and secretaries" that were cited above can be understood in this regard in a way that shows the complexities of oppression. It appears that Han is using a simple and reductive definition of those professions to define them as "stupid and boring." However, it may wel l be that it is not so much the professions themselves that Han is arguing against, but the stigmatization that has come to be associated wi th being female. She is positioning herself to avoid being associated with a stigmatized femininity that comes from taking traditional female roles. In 114 doing so she is at once denying the stigmatizing power of sexist discourses over her as an individual , while at the same time invoking them wi th reference to others. Johnson (1993) gives the example of this double-bind wi th reference to a child born into a particular family: She finds herself thrown into the role of a daughter, a role that involves social constraints she d id not make and perhaps cannot alter. A n d 110 matter how much she may try to rebel against that particular role and her particular history, her very act of rebellion, her attempt to cast off that unwanted role, and her attempt to forge a new one all presuppose the prior existence of a socially defined role of 'daughter' within that cultural setting. Consequently, the decisions she makes are always framed within, or played off against, a highly complex, radially structured category of 'daughter.' (p. 150) Johnson's ideas about decisions to "cast off" particular roles fits several students in this group well . Several of the girls, for example, voiced aspirations that were structured i n very explicit ways as oppositional to traditional female roles: Claudia: . . . I want a career. Because I don't want to be like the housewife, although you know [laugh] I could be an [Inaudible] no, not for me. I don't [Inaudible] you know passed my own tests, you know, personally—// / was just 115 going to be a housewife I'd have to know [Inaudible]. F02ER07, p.3 A n d in a later interview: / don't want to come out of school all educated and being equal to the men in my field and having them get all the good jobs and the girls not getting the jobs just because they are females you know. I am not like a harsh feminist but I do care about that. I think that is important. Claudia-ER317.PST Ailehe: I think society is changing so when it's the time I'm getting a job it's not going to be, right, I'm not going to have to be a secretary or whatever the typical female occupation is because they'll open then. I could be a doctor or a lawyer or whatever, 'cause that's how we're all raised. Where like you have all this equality and stuff so—it won't be a problem then. F10GS316.PST, p.10 Within these girls' statements is a sense that they have learned that there are alternatives to a "typical female occupation" and that these alternatives are more highly regarded. Still , by positioning themselves with reference to the boundaries set by sexist appraisals of the value of 116 professions, they reinforce the boundaries defining the desirability of those occupations. By assessing value hierarchically across boundaries, even in untraditional ways, eventually some (one?) w i l l be dominant and all others w i l l be subordinate. The players may shift, but the roles remain the same. Ci t ing the work of Helen Cixous, Drucilla Cornell (1991) refers to this as the "law of reversal" and, in the case of sexism, writes that "the law of reversal only puts women where men have been, in the role of domination. But the sado-masochist machine continues to run" (p. 174). As wel l , Wi l l i s (1977) addresses the contradiction of conforming to the dominant mythology in terms of class. By accepting a credentialing system based on hierarchically organized groupings, members of socially subordinate classes who strive to "get ahead" reinforce the ideologies that keep others, and perhaps themselves, down: These things [certificates and diplomas] act not to push people up— as in the official account—but to maintain there those who are already at the top . . . . A few can make it. The class can never follow. It is through a good number trying, however, that the class structure is legitimated. The middle class enjoys its privilege . . . by virtue of an apparently proven greater competence and merit, (p. 128) 117 The narrative of success, therefore, is not only a matter of the sequence of institutional relationships in which one is to take part. It also involves movements across boundaries by which abstracted identities are determined in relation to hierarchies. Certain identities are lauded, and invested wi th social power, while there is an inherent devaluing of other identities and narratives as leading to what would necessarily be considered inferior results. These results are abstracted from any individual 's experience and predefined in a way that celebrates some, while stigmatizing others. By this, some of what are apparently paths of resistance become nothing more than another way to confirm the power of the dominant assessments of worth (e.g., that occupations that are predominantly taken by women are inferior to those traditionally taken by men). Right U p Front Boundaries can be maintained and reinforced, too, when overt depictions of identity are managed in ways that obfuscate their influence on relationships., While rhetoric that challenges traditional norms with respect to alienating discourses gives reason for hope, there are questions as to whether these are truly indications of changed attitudes, or an updated "schedule for the portrayal of gender." These schedules are associated with specific social settings. What might be proper i n one setting might not be so in another. 118 In contemporary society, for example, there are settings in which it is the overt presentation of traditional sexist and racist views that may be stigmatizing. To avoid the negative consequences of displaying such views in these settings, alternative portrayals of identity can be crafted. So long as relationships do not call for too much spontaneous or personal disclosure, the veneer of social acceptability can remain intact. This is the strategy of the stealth candidate who wins popular support, and social position, through associations with one set of views only to later use the power of that position against those same popular opinions. That this image management occurred among the students in this group can be illustrated in several ways. In an instance related by both the science teacher and the English teacher, one of the boys, Maverick, had reportedly written a theme paper in the group's English class that had contained openly sexist language and imagery. The response from the girls in the group had been vociferous. The episode extended over several days. In the end, Maverick had recanted, saying that he was only using a literary characterization; he denied that they were his views. However, in interviews, Maverick had made some of the most consistantly sexist statements given by any of the students. (e.g., I don't mean to be sexist or anything, I just think the female gender is inferior to the male gender . Maverick-ER317.PST) 119 Apparently, from incidents such as this in which some of the boys had been challenged by others, especially girls, with respect to their sexist views, several of the boys had learned to manage their self-presentations carefully so as not to signal their sexism. They were able to maintain the right k ind of public front to avoid trouble, but discussed and enacted very different views in more private and spontaneous situations. One of the most prevalent strategies for this management was seen in comments such as the one quoted above from Maverick, in which boys had said something to the effect of "not to be sexist" just prior to making some of their most blatantly sexist statements. Keith: I mean whether it is sexist or not I feel that even in a relationship the male, you should be on an equal basis but then the male should be the dominant one. Keith-ER316.PST Keith: I guess a lot of people say sexist, but-1 believe it's the way it should stay . . . Keith-MC Danny: I'll try not to be sexist, but like I think like a car, handling a car is like a guy's thing. Danny-GH315 .PST Maverick: For girls, not to be sexist or anything, maybe it would be more inclined to be Home Ec, Maverick-M05 Following the last instance, Maverick was asked about this prefacing of his comments, and he offered an explanation that demonstrates his 120 awareness of the consequences of openly stating certain of his views, and a sense that he was constantly under surveillance. /: / have to notice, that you said that ["not to be sexist or anything"] a couple of times, but just before you said kind of sexist things. It's almost like you're apologizing for what you are about to say. Maverick: Well, it's not, what's the term for it, "politically correct" I don't think it's all right for you to say sexist things anymore. Like I might be sort of traditional. Like, in a household, I think the guy should, you know, go out and provide for his family and the wife should stay at home. People might be offended by my views. So it's like, "Well this is my view, you don't have to get offended; all riled up about it." I: Why would they be offended? Maverick: Because, like, it wouldn't jbe their view. They'd think that I'm being narrow minded and that I'm not opening myself up to the different suggestions and stuff, and they'd think that I'm staying in the dark ages, I'm not progressing along with the rest of society, (his emphases) Apparently Maverick, and probably the other boys, felt they would be less likely to invite an open challenge as long as they showed themselves to be aware of the impropriety they were about to articulate—to express it as a 121 personal opinion. To challenge their sexism at that point could be considered a violation of the boy's right to his own opinions. Questioned further, Maverick gave an explanation that indicates an even more elaborate positioning of his views that could be used to intensify the apparent impropriety of any challenge. That is, he stated that his views were constituted in a different social setting—his family. To challenge his views would be to challenge his connection with his family. /: Do you think you have opened yourself up to other possibilities? Maverick: Yeah, because, I'm just a traditional guy. I: Why do suppose that is? Maverick: I think it's mainly because of the way I was raised. In my family, family honor is really a strong thing. I was raised to . be, like, the m a n of the house, and I'm supposed to carry on . the family name since I'm the first born child. It's just the way I was raised and the way my family acts. My Mom, she like wouldn't mind having a job, but she's happy and she's satisfied just staying home. My Dad, he goes out and he works and the impression I get is that, or the impression I would have gotten is that every family is like this. But every family isn't like this, but that is the way I was raised and that's just, not really my opinion of the way things should be, it's just something I'm used to. 122 /: What is your opinion about "the way things should be?" Maverick: I think things should be, I don't know, this might get a little dangerous, what I'm going to say now. I don't know, like, in a family I have an idea that it should have been like, in Medieval times, where the man goes out and does some chivalrous thing, like a blacksmith, and the wife stays home with the kids, and the kids are brought up to respect the rules, respect their elders, not talk back, things like that. Inversions By positioning his sexism as a matter of maintaining his relationships with his family, Maverick is able to deny responsibility for his views, and for the limitations they necessarily place on others. By this, Maverick hints at the consequence of asking h im to give up his sexism. To ask h im to be anything other than sexist would be to insist that he give up his family honor. What he suggests is more than a reversal. It is an inversion of the perception of who is being included and who is being excluded. By his portrayal, to challenge his sexism would be tantamount to persecuting h im and making h im the victim. Inversions such as this are common in relations of domination and they can become quite explicit. "To justify his radical control of his victims," Noel writes, "the dominator must be able to accuse them of an absolute crime" (p. 132). Whether it is through age, infirmity, appearance, 123 gender, sexuality, or any other stigmatized trait, the difference which makes one already a victim of oppression can be redefined as disrupting the boundary by which general peace, harmony, and order of society are maintained. The oppressor becomes the victim. Noe l explores this theme through several generations and societies, demonstrating the many ways in which the oppressed have been placed on the defensive, having "to withstand criticism for allegedly oppressing those of whom they believed themselves to be victims" (p. 138). The justification given for an incident recorded among the students during the period of classroom data collection indicates the potential such an inversion holds for providing a facade of legitimacy for the privilege to use violence. Keith had been observed by one researcher making comments to a girl in his working group that included implied threats to the effect of "I know which way you walk home, I know where you live." Circumstances were such that this was not addressed at the time. However, Kei th was asked about this in an interview sometime later. When the interviewer focused concern on the girl in the incident, Keith diverted attention from her feelings by placing the event into an alternative narrative. /: Well, I wonder how she felt about it. Keith: They know I'm not going to stalk them or anything because I have a lot better things to do than to stalk a person on my 124 spare time. I don't, I don't, in most cases I don't mean what I say. I say it to get off topicr to get concentrated on what we were saying. I: So it's a way of controlling the situation nonetheless, right? Keith: Yeah, If I'm arguing with someone and they're really, you know they're doing a really good argument and then I start arguing back it's back and forth and then we start getting to little details, like nit picking; 'Well, you forgot, you misspelled this.' I'll just say "whatever," stop, you know, whatever, stop listening. It's when it gets really picky if we're working big bold topics, like [they say], "but this was forgotten and I thought you were working on this," back and forth, "but then I had to do this," and we're working this out, but if they say, 'Yeah well you forgot to bring in that page for me so that means I don't have to.' Then I'm just like, that's getting out of hand. I don't know, that's what I say, OK, don't forget I know where you live, don't tempt me, and then that's, then it gets them off topic and then they'll say Oh, well whatever you say, but then I'll say, 'But anyways—' and then that's when we start getting back to work. What it does is it's, it's throwing a rock in the gears that stops it and then the gears get stopped, you take, the rock out and get some work. Keith-MC 125 The narrative structure on which Keith's retelling relied effectively inverted the roles of oppressor and oppressed, victim and victimizer. In Keith's retelling, the girl was the one who was cast as the threat to the group's progress and it was Keith who overcame the threat by an act in which violence was necessary in order to get her attention (made to seem less morally reprehensible, perhaps, as it is metaphorically portrayed as an act of violence against a machine rather than against a person). With in Keith's moral reasoning, the girl's actions threatened to victimize the welfare of the entire group. Lest he become a victim, he had to act. Her actions were, therefore, represented as deserving of the violence of his response. The violence of Keith's response is, on an interpersonal scale, an enactment of the manner of the hero—"Only heroes are strong enough to establish a virtuous society through bloodletting" (Saul, 1993, p. 338). The hero slays the dragon, he does not entreat wi th it. The hero overpowers the cataclysm, he does not avoid it through foresight. The violence of the hero is made necessary, tolerable, and even celebrated by the demands of the mythology of heroism. Seriously, Just Kidding—I Mean It The inversion of roles does not have to be so complete as to establish a hero-villain dichotomy, however, in order for the violence of 126 dominant discourses to be perpetuated at least symbolically. Keith's saying that the girl (or, girls?) knew he didn't "mean" what he was saying gives some insight into another approach that can be and often is taken to conceal symbolic violence in a way that dissuades interpolation. With in a discourse of choice, what weighs heavily in assessments of moral propriety is the intent of the actor. When behaviors are not undertaken wi th the intent to harm, they are considered somehow less reprehensible. It is the intent of the action as much as or more than the action itself that is being challenged when divisive bias is called to task. If divisive bias can be presented in a way that suggests an innocent, naive, or even beneficial intent, then challenges can be dissuaded. This is effectively what is done when comments expressing divisive bias are presented and responded to through an affect that signals humor: Han: Say someone in our class were to say something sexist and either the girls would make fun of the guy or we would make fun of the guy amongst ourselves, or we would start an argument. But that doesn't usually happen . . . . We're sexist, too. Like the girls are sexist against the guys, too, because we have our prejudices here, you know. And— /: Can you tell me about some of those? Han : I don't know. Like, I think [pause] you know, "Girls in the class are more mature," or something. You know we have a 127 little, it's a two way thing you know, it's not only them. We can be ethnocentric, too, cause we're all Asian. So we can be ethnocentric and you know whatever, but our class generally knows it's not, it's nothing serious because we know each other pretty well and it's nothing serious you know. We don't take them seriously and if someone takes offense then you know we apologize and stuff but usually that doesn't happen because we know that it's—we're only kidding. I: Can you tell me a little more about the ethnocentrism, what you mean by that? Han : Well I guess we're sort of anti-Caucasian sometimes. We're all Asians so you know we're into that, "Oh yeah, we're Chinese, and it's the best." But we make a big joke out of it, though. There is, it is implied, no serious intent to hurt the subject of the humor. Yet, wi th in these "humorous" presentations and responses, the discourses of divisive bias are still being perpetuated. [Claudia described herself as Chinese.] Claudia: There are lots of racial slurs around and even I use them occasionally you know. It's not like I have anything against them but sometimes when you 're joking with your friends it just comes out. And there's things like 'Hongers'—people from Hong Kong. Japanese are like, they have a bunch of 128 names, there's 'Nips' and 'Japs' and Italians are like 'Wops' and stuff like that. There are like lots of them. Even White people are called like 'honkies' and stuff and there are funnier things, too, like if a Black person wants to be a White person we would either call them a 'nonkie' which is a 'nigger' and 'honky' or I don't know. There are whole bunch of things like— I: What are people doing when they do that? Claudia: For some people it's really, I guess for some people it's like intentional to hurt them, but I don't think from these people, like from me I just joke around about it. It's like I wouldn't call a person that in front of their face unless I knew them really well and they were my friend and they knew that I was joking and I don't want to be racist or I don't want to be discriminating or anything. But I guess there are people who don't like certain people out there. Claudia-MC [Keith described himself as White.] Keith: Everybody will crack White jokes, I even crack a few myself, but we don't really worry about it, it doesn't matter. Keith-MC 129 Humor, as presented by the students here, is used in opposition to what is serious, intentionally hurtful, derogatory, or any indication that the speaker really has "anything against" the person being spoken of in such ways. By this use of humor, there is a denial of intentional involvement with racism, sexism, or other forms of divisive bias by both its subjects and objects. Han and her friends "make fun" of the ridiculous, foolish boys who say sexist things. It "doesn't usually happen" that the statements are seen as serious enough to start an argument. The terms Claudia listed just "slip out"; she doesn't "want to be racist" or "want to be discriminating or anything." Though epithets may be portrayed as something approaching terms of endearment, they still reinforce the boundary ideology that unblematically?? separates and establishes differences in status between the speaker and person or group who are the object of the term, and do so in ways that don't seem all that bad. This may also provide a response to the divisive bias of others. To portray others' racist or sexist statements as humor allows one to deny any i l l intentions on the part of the speaker, thereby allowing the relationship to continue without the need to confront the bias that permeates it. [Michelle described herself as Oriental.] J: Do you think that [being "Oriental"] has had an effect on you? Michelle: I mean it was so culture shock, like when we went to Victoria. Because those people look at you weird if you're not 130 White because there's not a lot of non-White people there. And it was so funny because everyone, those tour guides would ask sometimes (words in Cantonese) and we were like, 'What, what, no, no.' And we were like, it just got so bad and like I, I shoved it off, 1 laughed it off you know, and that's how I am. I guess that's how I deal with it, is that you know, I, yeah and I make fun of them you know with my friends and stuff. Michelle-MC [Pamela described herself as Caucasian.] Pamela: They [the other girls in the class whom she described as "all Asian"] will have conversations about Asian culture or running jokes that I'm not in on because either I don't understand the humor in it or it's just, I mean I haven't quite figured it out but I'm aware of the fact that it's there. See this is the thing, I don't think any of them are really racist, but because I am a very, I was in a very small minority there were little jokes and things. Like 'guiy lo is a term which means 'ghost man; it's not derogatory but it's just like saying 'honky' and it was a running joke between—it wasn't meant with any ill intentions,,as a racial slur. It was just like a term, it's Cantonese . . . . It wasn't meant with any mean 131 intention but it wasn't really explained to me for a long time what guiy lo meant, the exact translation, so I didn't know what it meant and little phrases and things that I didn't understand because I don't speak the language. I have never encountered a situation where I've been shut out of a conversation because they're speaking a different language; however, little catch phrases or like inside jokes that I don't understand, that I don't understand because of the language, not because I wasn't there for the joke or kind of thing. Stuff like that. Pamela-MC Over time, a pattern is set up in which the masking of the demeaning discourse through what is portrayed as humor effectively diffuses the fervor of the response. Han: If I were a guy I would be a bad athlete. But yeah I would probably— /: Are guys supposed to be good athletes? Han: No. Well our gym teacher says that guys are generally better athletes, but he's kind of sexist. But girls like him stillP 5 From an interview with the students' gym teacher: GT: Girls, how do you say it? The sexes are equal but they're equal in different things. There's no way a woman can compete on muscular strength and speed and those athletic abilities. That shows up. Not all, but generally it's true enough; if you get your best male athlete and best girl athletes, they ain't going to be on the floor playing basketball. Fact of life. If you 132 /: Why do they like him if he's sexist? Han: I don't know, I don't like him. Well, he's okay sometimes but I don't. He's an idiot. I: What makes him an idiot? Han: He's sexist and he thinks he's being funny. I: When he's sexist or always? Han: Always, well, it's nothing really. It's just that sometimes when he's sexist, like you know, it's, he makes it seem like he's being funny: I: Is it? Han: Sometimes, but a lot of the time it's not. I: Do you ever say anything to him about it? Han: Well you know we do have little garbs, 'Oh yeah, you're being sexist,' and then he just laughs it off and we laugh it off too. I: So he goes on? Han: Yeah. take your best in anything the girls would not be able to be competitive. You call gender equity—it's a farce as far as I'm concerned. I: Do the girls, do you think the girls get a sense of themselves as athletic [when they are always seen as a problem for the class]? GT: No. They know the boys are better. Without a question. And if they say anything different, they're just taking the sport that they're good at. "I can play with the good—I can play softball with the boys," because she played softball this summer and made the all stars, so she wants to get in and play with the boys, in her sport. But pick another other sports that she's not too good in, she don't want to play. You take the boy, he'll play in soccer and softball and he'll play the other sports the girls want to play whether he's, not outside at all. There's a, there's a definite difference. 133 /: When you say you do your little garb, what does that mean? Han: Well you know, 'That's not true, blah, blah, blah. We're better, blah, blah, blah. ' You know. The usual half lying, half indignation. I: Yeah. Is there any real indignation in it? Han: Not any more I don't think. Well, no [pause]. No. The capacity for anger, indignation, resentment or any response that openly addresses the divisive effect comes to seem ineffective and may even recast the victim as the vi l la in (i.e., attacking someone who is doing something ostensibly positive—just trying to lighten things up for the group). If it were clear that a violation had taken place, the passion might be revived. Waiting for such clarity leads to frustration and ultimately paralysis, as an appropriate response to the ambiguous intent is difficult to gauge. Whether intended or not, however, such practices maintain the boundaries, and the hierarchical positionings, on which divisive bias is based. 134 V. The Hero's Deeds: Inez: (Speaking to a companion in the after life.) . . . For thirty years you dreamt you were a hero, and condoned a thousand petty lapses—because a hero, of course, can do no wrong. A n easy method, obviously. Then a day came when you were up against it, the red light of real danger—and you took the train to Mexico. Garcin: I "dreamt," you say. It was no dream. When I chose the hardest path, I made my choice deliberately. A man is what he wills himself to be. Inez: Prove it. Prove it was no dream. It's what one does, and nothing else, that shows the stuff one's made of. Garcin: I died too soon. I wasn't allowed time to—to do my deeds. Jean-Paul Sartre No Exit: A Play In One Act Chapter Introduction In that the boundaries crossed to enter and continue on the heroic adventure are metaphorical, they do not take their power from their physical impenetrability, but from their ideological potency. That potency derives from the presumed superiority of the hero's knowledge in all 135 matters of public concern. On the adventure the hero is to gain boons to share wi th the public in the form of skills and knowledge necessary to guide public affairs. Wi th that knowledge, the hero becomes the self-justifying designer of social change. Because of the presumed superiority of the hero's knowledge, too, there can be no critique of the hero, nor can their be any blame assigned to the hero for doing what heroic judgment deems necessary. To the extent that the politics of heroism provides opportunities for any participation of those in non-dominant positions, it is an inevitably tokenistic form of inclusion. This is considered justified by the apparent lack of need for negotiation regarding public policy—the hero already knows what the outcome of such negotiations shou ld /wi l l be. It is also justified by the apparent lack of need for action on the part of members of the public. The hero is not only the designer of social change, but also its sole agent. Passive acceptance of the hero's boons initiates relations of entitlement and privilege which set the conditions for the continuation and deepening of divisive bias. Truth As He Finds It" Discussing the role of heroes in public life, Campbell refers to the story of Daedalus' part in Theseus' resolution of the problem posed by the labyrinth: 136 It is, indeed, very little that we need! But lacking that, the adventure into the labyrinth is without hope. The little is close at hand. Most curiously, the very scientist who, in the service of the sinful king, was the brain behind the horror of the labyrinth, quite as readily can serve the purposes of freedom. But the hero-heart must be at hand. For centuries Daedalus has represented the type of the artist-scientist: that curiously disinterested, almost diabolical human phenomenon, beyond the normal bounds of social judgment, dedicated to the morals not of his time but of his art. He is the hero of the way of thought—singlehearted, courageous, and full of faith that the truth, as he finds it, w i l l make us free. (HTF, p. 24) The political logic of heroism is that the hero is able to provide for the public what the public is not able to provide for itself. In the monomyth, the hero traverses the world of adventure and af some point "the hero comes back from his mysterious adventure with the power to bestow boons on his fellow man" (Campbell, p. 30). What the hero ultimately offers is truth; about what is right, what is wrong, and how to live in a way that promotes the former over the latter. The version of truth that the hero knows is taken to be superior because it has been won through the adventure of enlightenment. Trial by trial, the hero's vision becomes clearer in its increasing separation from 137 any corrupting subjectivities, until finally there is nothing to obscure truth: As he crosses threshold after threshold, conquering dragon after dragon, the stature of the divinity that he summons to his highest wish increases, until it subsumes the cosmos. Finally, the mind breaks the bounding sphere of the cosmos to a realization transcending all experiences of form—all symbolizations, all divinities: a realization of the ineluctable void. (HTF, p. 190) Campbell 's interpretation of the story of K i n g Minos provides insight into the epistemological privilege that arises wi th heroism, and the role science can have i n that. He takes Daedalus' support of the hero Theseus as the model of the relationship between science and society. Daedalus d id nothing more than provide Ariadne wi th the linen thread and the advice that she should convey to Theseus, but that was enough. The "truth" is qualified in an important way in this narrative. It is truth "as he finds it" that is supposed to free the public from their problems. Gaining this truth—certain knowledge—and returning so as to use it to guide society is the ultimate task of the hero. Canonical Authori ty The authority of the hero's knowledge is what Ormiston and Sassower (1989) refer to as classical canonical authority: 138 In whatever form it takes, [classical canonical] authority is understood as rendering the final word on a particular subject or point of contention. Its word is absolute; it has become canonical, (p. 92) It was Bacon's intention to demonstrate that science could provide a basis for such canonical authority through the inductive scientific method he d id so much to promote: Bacon does not appeal to the genius of a method that is his own or anyone else's. Instead he appeals to the scientific, method as such: " . . . the course I propose for the discovery of sciences is such as leaves but little to the acuteness and strengths of wits, but places all wits and understandings nearly on a level." Like the deductive method of inquiry, the scientific method proposed by Bacon claims universal application: "as the common logic, which governs by the syllogism, extends not only to natural but to all sciences, so does mine also, which proceeds by induction, embrace everything." (Ormiston & Sassower, 1989, p. 93—original italics; quoting Bacon, 1620/1985) In this, the scientific method becomes the path of the quest, existing scientific knowledge and instruments are the weapons, tools, and amulets of power; and intellectual certainty is the object to be sought after—it takes the part of the grail that w i l l unite its holder wi th infinite knowledge (cf. Rosaldo, 1993, p. 171). 139 Science can be, and has been, positioned as producing certain knowledge. For example, science can be, and has been in some circumstances, considered the ultimate arbiter of questions involving natural systems. When social issues are presented as questions of nature, science has been used to address them as well . The theories of Charles Darwin, for example, pertaining to natural selection and adaptation were applied to social questions of class and race as those were conceptualized as matters of the natural propensities of groups. In that, they were used as the basis for eugenics movements such as those in England, the United States, and Canada in the early part of the twentieth century (McLaren, 1990). Those movements were buttressed by the rudimentary notions of inheritance that were emerging from the new science of genetics. Although for the most part misapplied or simply wrong, these ideas were considered authoritative because they were scientific. They were, thereby, used as the basis of legislation calling for such acts as forced sterilization and restrictions on immigration, and as the basis of court decisions that allowed the human rights of groups considered inferior to be systematically denied (Gould, 1981; Wexler, 1995). The positioning of the authority of science has also included the presumed ability to address questions having to do wi th its own authority. Such a positioning establishes a recursive form of logic that has been referred to by some as scientism—"science's belief in itself—or the conviction that we can no longer understand science as one form of 140 possible knowledge but rather must identify knowledge wi th science" (Habermas; quoted in Proctor, 1991, p. 162). In this recursion, any questioning of the authority of science must be made by invoking the authority of science being questioned, thereby both reinforcing it and l imit ing the possibilities for critique. To avoid the inherent tautology, though, one need only maintain that, rather than generating its own original knowledge, science is translating what nature might say if it could only speak in a language humans could readily understand. The political investments of a particular approach to science itself are made apparently unimportant, or non-existent. Nature, though ruthless at times, must be considered ultimately impersonal and, therefore, quintessentially just. There have been many challenges to the notion that there can be genuinely disinterested science, however, or that science can simply be a conveyance for knowledge that already exists in nature (Harding, 1991). The general argument of these challenges is that in whatever ways science is describing natural propensities, it does so using the language and conceptual schemes of the human translator. That the translation is usually consistent with the dominant androcentric and Eurocentric discourses makes the interests they serve difficult to detect amid a background of dominant social relations that are based on similar rationales. Hess (1995) discusses science as a form of culturally-based knowledge, demonstrating the parallels between social tendencies and the 141 structuring of scientific theories. He writes, for example, that "the emergence of an analytical and empirical approach to nature that broke it down into corpuscles, elements, and other small units is similar to the ideology of individualism in theories of society" (p. 68). He also demonstrates associations between "the "Western' style of constructing science" with its "fascination wi th the idea of natural laws that govern the circulation and mechanical motion of bodies: celestial bodies, terrestrial bodies, animal bodies, economic bodies, social bodies" and the work of social contract theorists such as John Locke who argued for laws of the state "governing the actions of individuals much as God's natural laws governed the actions of individual plants and atoms" (p. 68). Science is and has always been a field of endeavor that, in whatever way it is constituted in a particular time and place, reflects and serves socially constituted biases. Stephen Jay Gould (1981), for example, provides a rich account of the interests that are served by race science. A long these lines, Gou ld demonstrates that the premises of race science were organized in such a way as to establish a "great chain of being" that placed all forms of life on a continuum that pointed to God . A m o n g l iving things on Earth, Caucasians were closest to a Judeo-Christian God, and all other races fell into a position somewhere below them, but somewhere above other animals. Of course, these were the constructions of Caucasian scientists whose social milieu already held to be true what science was "objectively" confirming. Likewise, Carol Gilligan's (1982) In 142 A Different Voice, one of the most generative works in this regard, provides evidence for the particularly androcentric point of view in the work of Lawrence Kohlberg that necessarily cast women as morally inferior: In the research from which Kohlberg derives his theory, females simply do not e x i s t . . . . Al though Kohlberg claims universality for his stage sequence, those groups not included in his original sample rarely reach his higher stages . . . . Prominent among those who thus appear deficient in moral development when measured by Kohlberg's scale are women, (p. 18) Gil l igan put forward an analysis that demonstrates how the sexist interests of men were served by what was said about women. The inherent bias could be missed as long as one assumed from the outset a male standard as the appropriate basis of the rationale for the research. Such critiques have been offered with respect to many other groups (e.g., Harding, 1993). Kenneth Gergen (1991) summarizes the general point as he discusses the contribution of social influences to knowledge formation: These decisions [about the accuracy of theoretical perspectives] may be properly traced to various social processes. Scientists exist in communities, and what is taken for "truth" in these communities depends primarily on social factors such as power, social negotiation, and prestige. (Gergen, 1991, p. 92; see Said, 1979, p. 10) 143 General Knowledge In science education, the counterpart to canonical truth is the notion of "general knowledge." This is knowledge that is considered the generic foundation of other knowledge, and of action. Joan Solomon (1994a) provides an example of how this can be articulated as she describes historical issues in science education in Britain. She writes that by the 1960's and 1970's it had become a common practice to put paragraphs on "the applications of science" at the end of sections of "pure" general science knowledge in textbooks. These paragraphs "served to increase respect for science and its knowledge, which was thereby shown to be not only certain but also useful and beneficial" (p. 7). By this, too, science came to be seen as "a trail of unmitigated progress and triumphs" (p. 7). General knowledge is canonical because its positioning as fundamental to other knowledge is unqualified, as is its positioning as vital to understanding specific situations in ways that wou ld allow action. Whatever else one may learn must be consistent wi th the basis this general knowledge provides. It is the foundation on which other knowledge is built. /: Is it important that you understand things in science [class]? Karen: Yeah, it is. [laugh] Because, you know, as [another student] said before. If you don't understand something like the first thing, then it's really hard to understand the next thing 144 because you need the preliminary knowledge or whatever to get onto the next step, [laugh] I: Yeah? Karen: Yeah. It's kind of like yeah. I: And what do all the steps lead to? Karen: Wherever; [laugh] I don't know actually know; whatever I decide to go into. Karen: Just because. It's just, you know, general knowledge about things and you can relate that with other sciences you know. Karen-ER09 I: Do you think that science is going to be something that's useful to you [ in the future]? Han: Yeah, probably. I: Do you have any idea how? Han: No, not really, but. You know, it's good to have a general knowledge about every, you know all aspects of things right. Just for life and stuff. Han-ER16 Oswick: Okay. I don't think the science in the school is important outside of school. It's just sort of there to—it's just sort of there to give you a basic science background and if you've got 145 that background, you don't have to apply it to anything; you just sort of have to have it for provincial exams and then that's it. Oswick-ER09, p.9 I: What sort of things do you think are useful? just a couple of things that you've found useful in some way? Amy: Well, just like the basic general things, and then when you go more in depth into the topic, then you wouldn't really need it unless you're going to do something with science. Amy-HJ14 Within the general knowledge doctrine there is an unquestioning acceptance that abstractions are adequate representations of experience and phenomena. There is no provision for the specificity of knowledge. Students do not necessarily even know where the knowledge they are learning came from. I: The ideas that you are learning in science, where did those come from? Manuel: Well scientists. I don't understand your question. I: You don't understand the question. All right. All right, you've got this stuff you're learning, right? Manuel: Yeah. 146 /: Where does that come from? Manuel: From the text book. I: From the text book? Manuel: Yes. I: How does it get into the text book? Manuel: The person who writes text books decides that you should know this and I don't know, and then the Ministry of Education says that all teachers have to teach it. So I guess it's based on [pause] I don't know . . . . So you would have chemistry and biology and physics in equal measure and they try to use examples to make it really interesting. Manuel-MC Claudia: The science that we're learning? It comes from . . . people who found out all this stuff . . . I don't know, the people who wrote the text book . . . and they got it from the people who found out all this stuff, the old . . . scientists who do all those experiments I guess. I: Do you think you could ever come up with new science ideas? Claudia: Me? Probably not. [laugh] No . . . I don't think I'm that kind of a person . . . . I don't think I'm going to be very, you know, Einsteinish. I: So does it take an Einstein? 147 Claudia: I think it does. 1 think everybody is an Einstein I guess . . . except for me. [laugh] Claudia—MC Pamela: I think originally somewhere back in the 50s there was, or before that, there was someone who decided, 'Well these are what, this is the stuff we need to teach students at the high school level about these areas and let's divide it up into these, into physics and chemistry and biology and just general sciences, and this is what's important for them. This is what's important in math and in English they need to know this and develop it in these stages.' And it's a logical process and it's a general overview because they know that when you go into university that's when you start pursuing more specific areas, and I think that was the intention. Pamela-MC "Scientists who do all those experiments" provide this knowledge, which can be uncritically accepted as the basis for "pursuing more specific areas later." This is consistent with Bacon's intention to provide objective knowledge through the "scientific method." Margaret Benston (1989) has reviewed feminist critiques of the scientific method and, while she agrees that there is no possibility for detached enlightened objectivity that some have hoped for and even claimed in science, she goes on to say, 148 Even if objectivity were real, however, it would still be unacceptable to feminists, since it is this assumption of isolated rationality that leads to the systematic treatment of other human beings as objects and, indeed, that allows scientists to take no responsibility for the uses of science in any area. (p. 70) To treat other human beings as objects is, among other things, to deny that they can generate meaningful knowledge. This has been the experience of women, as Hekman (1990), states: "Because only subjects can constitute knowledge, the exclusion of women from the realm of the subject has been synonymous with their exclusion from the realm of rationality and, hence, truth" (p. 94). In more concrete terms, this has led to the exclusion of women, and others in subjugated roles, from science. This objectification of women was achieved through a dichotomization of rationality and emotionality, and an association of men wi th the former and women with the latter. The concern that was expressed was that the emotionality of women would introduce biases into the results. This was considered an inherent weakness in scientific findings produced by women . Alternatively, rather than seeing the introduction of biases as a weakness, Rosaldo (1993) contends that devotion to an objective scientific method as a calling in the pursuit of a single truth provides an "overly constricted definition of legitimate sources of knowledge": 149 Victims of oppression, for example, can provide insights into the workings of power that differ from those available to people in high positions. The welfare mother and the chief of police surely differ in their knowledge and feelings about state power, (pp. 172-3). Although Rosaldo is referring to social analysis, inasmuch as the development of scientific knowledge (science literacy) is justified in terms of its applications to human affairs (e.g., Kyle , 1995; Shamos, 1995), an association can be made between Rosaldo's point and science as it relates to human experience more generally. Trust in a generic, disinterested scientific method, or generic certain knowledge, suggests that it is not only possible but also sufficient to speak in terms that are removed from any direct association wi th human experience. The context in which the knowledge is produced is unimportant, and it is either assumed to be disinterested, or the question of its political investments doesn't come up. Gender Lore: Science in Public Discourse As it is used in public discourse, science provides the guidance that is expected from the hero. Despite critiques and arguments that it is only one form of knowledge, science in modern culture has achieved what Ballard (1983) refers to as "mythic investiture" (p. I l l ) in its ability to guide public affairs. Public life incorporates a popular scientized discourse that equates science with knowledge itself. For example: 150 Advertising copywriters exploit the present religiosity of science with their inspired creation of the concept of a scientific fact. 'It is a scientific fact. Bufferin works three times faster than any other leading aspirin' . . . . Used freely in hundreds of advertising campaigns, in everyday conversation, in social science colloquia, the scientific fact expresses present consciousness about science perfectly. A scientific fact is a fact that is unchallengeable, (p. 187) The manner in which the scientific knowledge is gained is not addressed. It is as if it does not matter who was taking the aspirin, or for what purposes. The particulars of the knowledge are lost as the conclusion is assumed to be generally trustworthy. Similarly, as reports of innate differences in character and ability are published (e.g., Herrnstein & Murray, 1994), their general conclusions circulate among members of the public, carrying wi th them the authority of science. These become the basis of authority on which opinions of the significance of sex, "race," and other human features can be based: Keith: What was the statistic? For women to have the same rights in their work force as the men it would take over thousands years. And for women to have the same place in the political structure it would take 250 or 500 years. I can't remember, I read it at the hospital. Keith-ER315.PST 151 Michelle: I think it's almost like and like I'm not sure right. But I think I read somewhere that—like I guess guys. Like their brains. They have more um I don't know. Left or right side but it's the logical side. Michelle-GH09 Osivick: Like I think a little while back there was some study that showed that like men have like, it was something like half of a percentage that are scores in motor skills tests than women. I'm not sure if that was the exact thing but something along those lines. But this was in a study done, done with like ten thousand people . . . . It was just an on average when you added all the scores up the men's were a slight bit higher. And in the individual study there were actually like a lot of women who would have done better than some of the men and vice-versa. Oswick-ER315.PST The "scientific" information on which these students relied was conveyed to them through a variety of sources. Typically, students state that they get information about science from television, magazines, and their friends (Solomon, 1994b). Those sources become the "somewhere" that was vaguely remembered that gave "something like" the details the student could not quite recall specifically, but that the opinion could rely on still. 152 The informal manner of its transmission led to this type of information being referred to as "gender lore" among the researchers involved in the Ministry study for which the students were originally interviewed. In these instances of gender lore, science is invoked as general knowledge to answer questions about where the boundaries between men, women, and others can be placed. This general science knowledge is all the more satisfying, of course, when it confirms what one already knows. This lore is used in support of opinions, not to introduce uncertainty. It reinforces existing norms with the authority of a general science that seems universally applicable. The power of informally transmitted knowledge to enforce existing boundaries between groups is stated well by Cocks (1989): In modern times, power most characteristically works through "normalization" rather than through sovereign rule. The body of the individual is forced by power to speak the truth, not of crime and the law but of deviation and the norm. The forcing is done not primarily through state coercion but through the collusion of scientific knowledges, "normalizing institutions" (the army, prison, school, psychiatric clinic, family), and, we could add, the typifications produced and disseminated by the massive centers of public culture . . . . The truth of the norm is publicized to the population at large through advertisements, bowdlerized scientific 153 reports, social survey results, "popular" films, magazines, and self-help books, (p. 55) In the most explicit sense, it is not what is currently being taught as general knowledge that is reinforcing boundaries, but what is being left to silence. By not attending to issues in ways that directly respond to the claims made in the service of divisive bias, science education that proffers general knowledge allows the boundaries to stand where tradition has placed them. A t the same time that such science education provides students with an image of science as authoritative about the wor ld in general, it simplifies the process by which scientific knowledge is gained: So it is the process of the fabrication of knowledge, wi th its boldness, detours, contradictions and negotiations, that is masked. Should we be surprised that the students [in their study] think that producing scientific knowledge is only a matter of putting empirical evidence into numbers or words? (Larochelle & Desautels, 1991, p. 386). As certain knowledge appears easy to come by, the authority of the "evidence" that is used to define the abstracted image of people in groups is reinforced. As well , general knowledge has no history that can be resurrected and critiqued for its political investments. Whatever investments it does have are included uncritically i n what then becomes general knowledge. 154 More implicit ly, student comments that they d id not see the purpose of science, but still consider it important generally, indicate a reliance on normalized authority in their responses to curricula. Alienation associated wi th normalized authority signals the connection between these issues and curricular decisions. A s wi th issues of social boundaries, normalized authority mystifies the power by which curricular decisions are made, and the power by which they are enforced. That these decisions are made within intersections of tradition, values, and existing social power becomes obscured as they are taken as nothing other than the way things always have been, and always should be. This authority is made all the more salient as it is empirically confirmed by the symbolism displayed in everyday l iving. That is to say that normalized authority "asserts itself as an empirical truth revealed through the observation of behavior, the interpretation of talk, the statistical analysis of social tendencies" (Cocks, 1989, p. 57). This has two important effects. First, it means that science, wielded uncritically, w i l l provide the evidence for the correspondence between the norm and "human nature." That is, for example, women and men w i l l confirm the "naturalness" of their roles as evidence is collected as to the roles they typically take. As science "speaks for" nature regarding what might have preceded culture by looking at the enactment of culture, it is speaking with the voice of tradition. "Nature" and norm become inseparable as normalizing authority is both displayed on and read from the body of the 155 common citizen through clothing, speech, movement, gesture, and daily affairs. The very existence of most citizens within the norm becomes a confirmation available to all onlookers of the accuracy of the premises on which the normalized authority rests. Circulation of Selves Normal ized authority and institutional power interact to propel and organize social relations in ways that take on official status. Institutions such as schools, colleges, universities "which together, and as a result of technical advances in record-keeping, communications, and transportation, can 'cover' massive populations with great breadth, consistency, and attention to detail" enforce normalized authority (Cocks, 1989, p.57). With in these institutions, relations wi th official status come to govern the circulation of social goods and are, therefore, broadly speaking, the basis of economic systems. They are matters of judgment which— while being inflected by scarcity, inherent qualities, capabilities, and so on—are based to a large extent on assigned values by which the exchange value of goods can be determined. Stephen David Ross (1995) provides a general argument in which he positions economics as dealing not only with capital, but also wi th judgments about circulation of material goods, women, children, men, other animals—in general, all concrete and abstract aspects of the world , including what might be considered social goods by any group (p. 13). The structures by which these judgments 156 become enacted in societies, by which opportunities and access are obtained or constrained, by which expertise is recognized or ignored, and by which, overall, character is judged, within his argument, are economic structures. Beyond that, though, in that all of these influence the manner in which people are allowed to, forced to, or restrained from controlling their own circulation, these are judgments about social relationships and the circulation of selves. While taking too much for granted and thereby invoking imperialist discourses in the specifics of his arguments, Richard Posner's (1981) general formulations about the social aspects of economics provide an instructive framing of these issues. One example he provides concerns the issue of age grading—such as when "child," "adolescent/ teenager," "adult," and "senior citizen" become normalized categories. In age-graded social relations, age becomes a surrogate measure for a person's general or specific capabilities. In general, a child is assumed to be unable to do many things a teenager can do, and the latter is assumed to be unable to do many things that an adult can do. Maturational effects that support the validity of these measures in some applications (e.g., gross cognitive and physical differences between young children and adults) come to be extended in a variety of indirect ways (e.g., assuming that children's l imited language ability is indicative of a similarly limited ability to take sophisticated moral and philosophical stances—for a contrast see Matthews, 1984; Pritchard, 1985). Also , the normalized patterns of socialization provide empirical 157 support for the authority of what is considered the appropriate set of activities for people at each age. So, for example, jobs that call for a certain amount of physical strength, ski l l , or particular personality characteristics may be offered only to adults (or men, or people of certain backgrounds) because they are assumed to have the necessary capacities that teenagers (or women, or people of certain backgrounds) are assumed to lack. In effect, "they economize on the information required to make an assessment of individual strength, ski l l , and character" (Posner, p. 169). This is an application of a principle known as "information costs" which can be used both in a l imiting way and as the rationale for policies that are considered progressive by their proponents. The ethical questions that arise become apparent when one realizes the power dynamics that an emphasis on information cost analyses invoke. In these analyses, much information about individuals is deemed unimportant by people who are in positions of power and are not the ones who are likely to be adversely affected by the judgments. Social relations that are enacted along these lines presume the significance of normalized differences. Thus, differences are constructed symbolically outside of any direct experience, since judgments that strive for efficiencies in information cost precede direct experience. The symbolic significance is used to regulate access to and opportunities within the social structures. That is, difference becomes the basis for exchange relations. Symbolically significant attributes thereby become the basis of the regulation of selves. 158 Attributes of identity become normalized hierarchically, in that some provide more access than others to certain kinds of relationships. History has shown that systematized regulation of opportunity can have the effect of stemming domination (e.g., child labor laws that assume it is inappropriate for children to work in physically demanding or dangerous conditions), but may also facilitate it (e.g., laws restricting women's access to jobs that are physically demanding or dangerous), such that such regulation cannot be considered as having a single ethical character in practice. Yet, in that it is assumed that it is more important to get the job done (whatever that may be) than to do it wi th information about individual circumstances, information cost analyses utilize the pragmatism of crisis thinking, which when no crisis exists is translated into nothing more compelling than an urge to efficiency. More complex determinations, even when they are possible, are disallowed. The sense that there is a need to check assumptions is eliminated: "Everybody knows," for example, that women are fearful and easily inclined to attacks of nerves or tears. Precisely because they are considered effeminate, homosexuals do not inspire much confidence in those with whom they might have to face a common danger; thus, the police and the military prefer to dispense with their services. (Noel, 1994, p. 122) The situation can be interpreted as providing benefit to those who are excluded, by providing health and safety, for instance, i n exchange for 159 truncated opportunities. Here, too, normalizing authority operates in concert with a discourse of choice to reconfirm what seems so obviously normal : Confronted with control that the dominator claims is for their own good, the oppressed are trapped in total alienation. Apparently gaining in security what they lose in autonomy, they can no longer imagine any other type of relationship than one that renders them subordinate. They end up "consenting" to their condition and to the way they are portrayed by the dominator. (pp. 122-123) A similar dynamic can be recognized in the use of science courses as a criterion for entrance into post-secondary programs. Because it may be assumed within a normalized discourse that most if not all students w i l l want to continue into post-secondary (and probably university) education, courses can be set up wi th that in mind without reference to what any particular students might want for themselves, or for the network of concerns they bring to the decision. In schools, the student's presence is all that is required for the program defined by normative authority to be initiated along the rationales presumed to correspond to a student's signified identity. Co-optation comes to be taken as compliance, and compliance is taken as consent, to the point that any distinction becomes virtually meaningless. The message to students is simple: since you are 160 here, it must be that you are consenting to what the school's authority would say is right for you. Of course, if students dissent—would rather have their schooling operate for them in a different way—it is assumed that they simply do not understand the situation; they are being irrational. Their irrationality is confirmed by their compliance in other ways wi th the normative authority that provided the basis of the judgment against their rationality. By being like a conventional student in some ways, they confirm the rationality of what student-ing should be about in other ways (based on the dominant rationality) and is assumed to be from a normalized perspective. It may also be assumed that they are unable to go along wi th the correct program either for reasons of inability or lack of fortitude (i.e. cowardice in the face of the heroic choice.) Either way, whether the student is unwil l ing or unable to follow the path that schools have set, it is considered to be the student's problem. Further, as alienation makes the situation for those who differ from the norm increasingly untenable, they may wel l remove themselves from the situation. This again confirms their paths as those of failure, and the social disadvantage at which they are thereby placed becomes evidence that desperation and victimization are the results of turning away from the path to socially approved norms (which are cast as the heroic adventure.) It may be within this context that the significance of Pamela's decision to leave the special program in which the students were taking 161 part when the interviews began and Keith's decision to drop out of senior secondary school altogether during Grade 11 can best be understood. They both become evidence in the normalizing narrative, as had Keith's brothers before him, of what befalls one who does not follow the path that the school's certain knowledge of the best way to proceed into society supports. For the Good Of It is not just certain knowledge that the hero is expected to have then, it is knowledge that is certainly above critique because its truth is obvious within normalized experience. It is only such knowledge that can be so readily taken as the basis for uncompromising action. A n d it is uncompromising action that provides resolution to social problems in the heroic wor ld . Considering how a critique of a hero's certain knowledge might occur can provide insight into the political dynamics of heroism. Such a critique might begin with a realization that "what is 'objectively' true depends, then, not on correspondence to reality—yielding some universal objective truth—but on the community i n which one happens to participate. Objective truth is, to a great extent (though not absolutely) relativized. What this implies is that in light of the increasing attention given to other voices, there is also an increasing range of other truths (Gergen, 1991, p.94). For voices of others to be granted political rights, there 162 would have to be some way to critically evaluate, and perhaps contradict, the findings of the dominant authority. One way for people in dominant positions to approach this would be to consider the issue from the perspectives of the Others. Assuming such a movement were possible, the response would be seen as coming from a less virtuous position than that being critiqued, and would therefore already be suspect (Harding, 1991, ch. 3). In general, there is a presumption that those who wie ld the dominant discourse have a privileged vantage point from which to see the flaws in the Others' critiques—which is to say they can see the Others better than the Others can seem themselves. This places dominant voices in the position of deflecting critique, but more generally of providing a point of view that encompasses everyone. They may use this point of view, as Kei th d id with reference to women, to insist that their own understanding is correct, and the only point of view that must be considered. The dominant authority presumes the capacity to represent Others better than the Others represent themselvs. From a privileged position it may also be assumed that it is to the benefit of the Others to have social decisions made with the clear picture of the situation, and of themselves that they cannot provide for themselves. Edward Said (1978) provides a discussion of the social relations that emerge when the power for representation (i.e., presentation through a .constructed image) is taken away from those being represented. He sees this as the relationship between several European countries and the 163 societies they were colonizing, which led to what he refers to as "Orientalism." The discourses of Orientalism were produced within a set of social power relations in which European scholars were assumed to be able to accurately represent the Orient. Said makes this point through a literary analogy: The Orient was Orientalized not only because it was discovered to be "Oriental" . . . but also because it could be—that is, submitted to being—made Oriental. There is very little consent to be found, for example, in the fact that Flaubert's encounter with an Egyptian courtesan produced a widely influential model of the Oriental woman; she never spoke of herself, she never represented her emotions, presence, or history. He spoke for and represented her. He was foreign, comparatively wealthy, male, and these were historical facts of domination that allowed h i m not only to possess Kachuk Han em physically but to speak for her and tell his readers in what way she was "typically Oriental." M y argument is that Flaubert's situation of strength in relation to Kachuk Hanem was not an isolated instance. It fairly stands for the pattern of relative strength between East and West, and the discourse about the Orient that it enabled, (p. 6) A l l that was necessary of Kachuk Hanem was her presence. The rest could be told by Flaubert as he "spoke for" her. 164 This speaking for is clearly a matter of speaking instead of Others and also on behalf of Others. The legitimacy of this speaking on behalf of is assumed to emanate from the dominating role wi th its presumed heroic, benevolent certain knowledge. With.respect to the relationship between domination and alienation, Noel states (1994): Far from aspiring to wrong the dominated, the oppressor assures them that he is doing these things for their own good. If he subjects the dominated to his control, it is precisely wi th this objective in mind. Can human beings who, by nature, are not always aware of their own interests be left to their own devices? In short, subjugation is also a form of protection, since the dominator knows better than the dominated what is good for them." (p!25; original emphasis). The oppression and control that are exerted over less powerful Others are justified by the belief that it is "for their own good" and, in heroic fashion, "for the good of" all of humanity (Morgan, 1989, p. 59). This is also a modernist perspective in that it incorporates an agenda of progress that motivates programs of deliberate social refinement, for the good of all (Le Rider, 1993). A t this point, speaking for becomes a rationale to make political decisions for, in the assumption that the Others w i l l not know how to act in their own best interests. It is assumed that, although Others may be invited (or forced) to become like the dominant standard, they w i l l need constant tutelage since they are 165 inherently imperfect in their ability to reach that level. Gi l l igan (1982) showed that to Kohlberg, for example, women would always be imperfect at reaching the standards of men. This identification wi th imperfection supported their subordination on the basis of a presumed need of protection and guidance. Likewise, Gou ld (1981) showed that, to Eurocentric science, indigenous peoples of colonized lands wou ld always be considered imperfect culturally, and also intellectually. Similarly, Le Rider (1993) argues that this was the relationship of Jews to Western Europeans who invited Jews to assimilate but assumed their inability to do so. In each of these instances, and many others, the affairs of the less powerful are placed under control of the more powerful for the presumed good of all. This control of Others is considered a burden that the dominant group or person has to endure selflessly i n the role of benevolent caregiver (Noel, p. 125). Although there is an impulse toward homogenization in this, it is not an urge toward equality, but a matter of confirming the power of dominant position. The inclusion of Others' concerns by a protectorate is tokenistic in that it only serves to reinforce the dominant voice, which effectively forecloses politics by continued or deepened silencing and marginalization of Others (Yeatman, 1993, p. 235). M c G o w a n (1991) writes that when there is no opportunity to "vitiate the [repressive] agent's single-mindedness" the "strategy entails not only the control of internal ambivalence and conflict, but also the establishment of the agent's goals as 166 superior to the different goals of other social actors, as above the requirement to take them into account" (p. 19). Those wi th the power for such leadership are, in effect, speaking for Others in the assumption that the authority of their rationality is a superior means for determining what should be done. A t the same time, though, those with power to produce images of Others are, in a way, speaking for those who would consume the images as well . They are effectively taking the heroic position because the situation is represented as so very severe as to make dictatorship necessary (or, in some cases a coup d'etat). They presume that their vision is so clear, their sources of knowledge so complete, that they can and must presume an "automatic echo of public opinion" because the exigencies of the moment demand it (Noel, 1994, p. 117; see also Saul, 1993, p. 335-337). Therefore, the solution to the problem may be accomplished through whatever means necessary because those means are considered to be already justified by the imperative of the ends. This includes, of course, the right to use violence. The use of violence for the good of society, such as "the physical elimination of impure citizens," is a recurrent theme of heroic leadership in Western history according to Saul: This sort of extremism had once been proper to the defense of religious doctrines. In the twentieth century, we have seen Heroic leadership on the Right and the Left justify the taking of lives on 167 the basis of everything from racial purity to economic and social methodology, (p. 118) this, then, is what the dominated have to look forward to when the hero returns with dertain knowledge to offer on the public's behalf—the benefit of being the objects against which social correctives are wielded. The hero is entitled to define boundaries and empowered to enforce those that are ostensibly meant to keep the public safe. This safety is from all the apparitions that are assumed to exist outside the boundaries, and are embodied by those who must be excluded. These are the same boundaries, therefore, that provide the basis for divisive bias. These boundaries structure the relationships between members of the public, but also between the public and the hero. The Hero In Action and Public Inaction Recognizing the social significance given to the hero's return indicates that what heroism is ultimately about is a model of social change. Thomas Carlyle (1840/1993), in his series of lectures on heroes and hero worship, points out that while the specific manifestation of the hero may differ (e.g. monarch, priest, magician, warrior), it is consistently the role of the hero to guide human affairs with certain knowledge. In his final lecture in the series, Carlyle addresses the "Hero as K i n g " who is "practically the summary for us of all the various figures of Heroism" (p. 169, original italics). What this hero offers is " g o v e r n m e n t . . . . The 168 business, wel l or i l l accomplished, of all social procedure whatsoever in this world!" (p. 169). In whatever manifestation it may take (but especially as the hero-king), the hero returns with that knowledge to guide the public who, therefore, are relieved of the responsibility to exert judgment (which would be inferior to the hero's anyway). The authority of the hero's canon provides the sense that what the hero decrees (ordains, commands, conjures) can be trusted absolutely: "what he tells us to do must be precisely the wisest, fittest, that we could anywhere or anyhow learn" (p. 170, original italics). The public is important in heroic narratives, but in a way that maintains an asymmetry in the relative importance placed on the hero and the rest of society. Saul (1992) argues that individuals who align themselves wi th heroic imagery become "capable of superhuman feats and weaknesses that destroy the power and self-respect of the citizen" (p.319). The hero is known and known to be heroic; the public is anonymous and is to be anonymously appreciative of the hero's largess, not to mention being obedient to the program the hero conveys as the path to social betterment. It is the role of the hero to find solutions, discoveries, cures, for what may worry the public. Public attention to issues and problems—to social policy in general—is attention directed through the hero. Therefore, it can become the perception that attention to the hero is attention to public issues. Indirect attention can be perceived as synonymous with indirect involvement, which is nonetheless 169 involvement, and involvement is sufficient in place of action. The hero that is acting on behalf of the public is also acting in place of the public. There is nothing more needed of the public in response to issues than their continued adoration of the hero and, since they are definitively non-heroic, that adoration is all they are capable of. In the end, the most adored hero is the one that has the power to take over the greatest part of the public burden (and power) and thereby allows the greatest passivity on the part of the public. Saul (1992) relates such passivity with respect to social issues to a shift in which "for both the N e w Right and the middle-class liberals, individual ism has come to mean self-indulgence" (p.337). This self-indulgence intersects wi th ideology, producing different but still passive results. For the liberal middle class, self-indulgence has come to mean personal freedom redefined "as the privilege not to give of themselves when it comes to protecting or advancing the public good" (p.337). A t the same time, wi th respect to members of the N e w Right, Saul writes, Throughout the West they have gradually withdrawn from public life, claiming that politics is too damaging to their private lives. These lives tend now to be devoted to careerism, travel, holidays, sport, exercise and the caressing of a private state of mind which might be described as an obsession wi th the personal wel l being, (p.337) 170 Moving Right Along It might seem that science education, with its relevance to so many aspects of life, would inevitably invigorate debate about social issues by presenting a challenge to passivity. It is, after all, with respect to the role of a well-informed public that science education is often justified (e.g., A A A S , 1990, p. xiii). However, in several ways that can be linked to the ideology of heroism,. the manner in which science education is organized allows, if not promotes, passivity in regard to democratic processes. A m o n g the ways that science education contributes to passivity on the part of citizens is to focus on issues as aspects of human experience that are apparently not in the immediate wor ld of the student. For example, discussing British approaches to what is now termed "Science-Technology-Society" science education in the early 1980's, Solomon (1994a) states that "problem solving in a Third W o r l d context soon became a popular activity in science lessons at some British schools, perhaps, because of the high moral implications of 'doing good' for the unfortunate in less developed countries" (p. 7). In such an approach, the problems of the wor ld are obviously far away. There are, however, somewhat less obvious ways in which to establish a sense of distance between students and issues that might call for their direct action. The separation of the science curriculum into discrete units is one way that students can be given the impression that issues are not all that 171 immediate. During the unit on electricity taught in the study for which these students were originally interviewed, the students d id projects that called for research on the generation and consumption of electricity. These projects were designed to highlight social and environmental issues related to electricity. Immediately after the unit on electricity, several students indicated that they would change their behavior in ways that wou ld be more Powersmart, the local term for being conservative in the use of electricity. However, two months later many of the same students indicated that those issues had been eclipsed by other concerns: Bradley: Well, I don't really think about the environment; well 1 Bradley: Well, right now I'm committed to getting my driver's license. Bradley-NIC might recycle once in a while but it's not really a big deal for me. I don't really think about it. I: . . . Are there other things you're committed to? I: You said that you thought that you were being more aware of being Powersmart and I was wondering now, a month or somethinglater— Han: Oh, I've forgotten all about it. Really I have. I: Yeah, why do you suppose that happened? Han: I guess it's just the momentum you build during the project, you know about being Powersmart and stuff. I guess it just 172 loses itself and then you just forget about it. Yeah, you know and you're busy with your life and stuff. I mean I guess it's not hard to be Powersmart but not like a primary concern . . . . Yeah, so I guess I've kind of forgotten about it. What would be your primary concerns? Like current projects in school; . . . the [local professional hockey team] going to win the playoffs. Han-MC So, do you think that after this unit, . . . you think about electricity any differently than you did before the unit? Manuel: No, not really, [pause] No. I suppose I should but I don't. I: Why should you? Manuel: Because now I know where it comes from, and it doesn't just come out of the wall and it's important too; but I don't find myself Powersmart or conscious of electricity, so no. I. don't look at it very differently. . . . It's not number one on my priority list. I: What is number one? Manuel: Making a lot of money. I: Oh yeah? Manuel: That's number one on everybody's priority list. I: Oh yeah, why is that? I: Han: I: 173 Manuel: Because money makes the world go round; everybody knows that. I: What does it mean, make the world go round? Manuel: Well, obviously the world is based on the economy and that controls everything else. I: Yeah? Manuel: That's true. Everything, the government/the military, it's all controlled by the economy. Manuel-MC I: Do you think that [the issues raised in the unit] are still on your mind? Keith: Uhm, in some cases, yes, I mean I still think about it; I don't think about it when I turn on the lights now. I mean I still, I'll still turn off the TV when I'm done, but it isn't very embedded in my mind as much as it was; it's just that the topic's over, now we have other things to concentrate on, like genetic engineering, so that's more our main concern. It's just we go from topic to topic, you don't have time to relate to the other. You just have to focus in on what you're doing. Keith-MC Keith's statement that "we just go from topic to topic" implicates the conventional organization of science curriculum i n the process of making issues seem less immediate even as they are addressed in the curriculum. 174 While the curriculum focuses attention on these issues, it does so in a manner that makes one constantly aware that this too shall pass. There is a distance maintained between the student and the issue. It is a distance that allows one to look at the issue, but then close the book, or go on to the next unit whenever the teacher, curriculum, or change of term says it is time to do so. Good, For The Future The alienation that was discussed earlier contributes to this passivity as well . Science education, as was made clear by the students, is not about their lives in the present. It is about the future; university and careers in particular. That being the case, whatever action one might be called on to take can be deferred until the future as well . Keith: I don't, I'm not an environmentalist; I don't like really thinking about the environment; it's not one of my favourite things to do. I guess as selfish as it may seem, one of my other friends does the exact same thing. As long as there is enough power, food, money, you know, in the world, maybe, enough that we can survive, or at least enough that we can be happy, then we're happy. You know, we can't concern ourselves with everybody because if you concern yourself with everybody then you might end up with nothing because 175 you're worried about everybody else. I'm not a big, I'm not a big environmental person. Like I mean I wouldn't throw, I don't use aerosol cans just because of the effects of, on UV rays, but then I don't use sunscreen, unless I'm going to the beach for a long time, but I don't wear it daily. I don't know, I'm just not an environmental person. You know if I start, if I start to see that it's dying, I mean maybe, maybe it's just I'm too young for it right now. I don't know. I: "Too young for it right now" What does youth have to do with it? S: It doesn't concern me, concern youth as much as it would, I mean as much as we are the, quote the, ah, "tomorrow's generation," or tomorrow's adults, I think until we reach adult we're not going—people say, 'Yeah, we have given us a start, now we have to take action.' How much action is being, you know, taken right now? It's just—and then as soon as we become adults it will be like, you know, our children will be like, 'We have to take action,' and it's going to be a continuous cycle. It's not going to, the world isn't going to become a better place over night. It will take a long, long time. Keith-MC Being "too young" indicates that a sense of separation from issues can be reinforced even if the issue undeniably affects an individual 176 personally. Saul (1993) writes of heroic leadership that "so long as [the hero] is there to protect them, the citizenry may continue to be childish" (p.338). This statement's meaning relies on an understanding of "childish" as implying availability for a custodial relationship, not ready (or needing to be ready) to be responsible for one's own affairs. There are many ways that childhood can be, and has been, understood as a period in human life. The conceptions and roles of people below the age of twenty in Western cultures have changed markedly in the last several centuries (Schwartzman, 1978; Suransky, 1982) and appear to be changing in contemporary Nor th American societies as well (Postman, 1982). Such changes indicate that the social aspects of childhood and adolescence are configured in relation to social norms that are historically specific. This being the case, the students' understanding of what it means to be a teenager can be seen as constituted discursively in relation to a variety of social relationships and institutions: Manuel: People expect teenagers to be more open minded, rebellious, so I guess you could do things when you're a teenager that you couldn't do when you're an adult. Manuel-MC Claudia: Because, I always believe in the philosophy that while you're in school that's the most fun you're going to have in life. I've always kind of believed in that even though I try not to think about it that way right because I'm not really having 111 fun right now in class. Because I kind of believe in that but I don't want to, I don't want to go; it's hard to take the step and, from being a teenager into being an adult because you have to face the real world, so-called right? And I don't know, I don't think that you should have to go from childhood to adulthood, right? So there has to be a period in between called teenage, [laugh] That's where I am and I think that's when you have the most fun, so I think you should enjoy being a teenager while you can before you become an adult. Like there's no rush in growing up. Claudia—MC Being a teenager can be articulated in opposition to both childhood and adulthood. In relation to childhood, the teenager is more capable in many ways, but in relation to adulthood the teenager is identified as unready or unwil l ing to "face the real world." Personal involvement in issues can be put off until such a time as responsibilities must be taken up i n what is perceived as the natural course of life. In societies where few formal rites of passage exist, the time or process by which adult responsibilities are taken on becomes uncertain: /: How do you know when [you have become an adult]? Han: When you start realizing your responsibilities I guess. Han-MC 178 /: When do you become an adult? Claudia: I think when you're ready to take on the responsibilities that an adult has to take on. That, there are like a tremendous difference from being a teenager where you didn't have all these responsibilities to think about. I think when you're ready to take on all those responsibilities you're mature enough to become an adult. I: Okay. What are those responsibilities that you don't have that adults do? Claudia: Your responsibilities to your family and, and or maybe your potential family. Like your wife and kids and stuff like that and responsibility toward, I guess just like you have more burdens as an adult than you do, than you have as a teenager because then you have, I guess you have like all those bills to take care of. That kind of thing. Taxes and everything, right? Claudia—MC Removed both from responsibility in general, and from the process by which social issues might be addressed, students can be reassured that they w i l l some day "take on the responsibilities" i n their turn, but it is not their turn yet. 179 But the logic by which adulthood is identified is circular; you become ready to take on adult responsibilities when you are ready to take on adult responsibilities. One could conceivably avoid responsibility indefinitely by arguing that she or he is not yet ready. In addition, statements such as not being "an environmentalist" suggest that the rationales for avoiding facing social issues can involve aspects of identity that may be unlikely to shift with increased age. Involved in this, too, is what David Orr (1994) refers to as "the idea of cheap citizenship": The idea of cheap citizenship is founded on the theology of the lottery: that one does not reap what one sows. It follows, then, that one need not sow at all, and that reaping is only a matter of luck, chicanery, or happenstance, not hard work, ski l l , and obligation. The mind-set of cheap citizenship is attributable, in part, to decades of televised bamboozlement. Some of it reflects the lingering effects of self-indulgences past, notably those of the 1980s. But the idea that one can get something for nothing is also built into the modern mind, which believes in nothing quite so zealously as it does in the heroic power of technology to absolve us of ecological malfeasance and ineptitude. The students indicate that they could choose to become involved i n issues, and science knowledge would help if they d id , but they do not choose to. Its not that they won't ever choose to, they just don't choose to, yet. 180 Despite knowing that there are negative effects to certain actions in the present, which can presumably be felt somewhere, whatever must be done can be done later. For the present, since nothing in their immediate wor ld seems to be involved, and action is not something that is wi th in the purview of the young anyway, other matters can move to the forefront. In this way, science education becomes complicit with the self-indulgent attitude described earlier, certainly not challenging that attitude. Promises of Privilege Being able to "flip a switch and turn on the light" and know that the lights w i l l in all probability turn on provides the privilege of a choice as to whether or not to be concerned about conservation. This sense of privilege—the opportunity that heroism creates for passivity—-when applied to social relations of divisive bias disfigures human experience. The notion that one can choose the issues one addresses suggests a choice that can be made only from a social position that allows one to have a sense of disaffection (Alcoff, 1992, p.24—see also Roman, 1993). This does not preclude involvement, but it insulates one from an imperative for involvement. Of course, in a manner of speaking, the students cannot choose not to be involved in the environmental issues that were raised in the electricity unit. In one way or another, more or less directly or indirectly, they are involved at least as much as everyone in their 181 community is involved. They can, however, choose to accept the i l lusion that those issues are elsewhere, being dealt with by someone else if necessary, not needing to be addressed by them yet, and/or not calling for attention until things become much more severe. Considering this in terms of identity can be related to what Cornel West has said regarding people who have l ived the realities of racism, sexism, poverty and imperialism. These people "cannot not know" what those realities entail (West in Stephanson, p. 276). The notion of "choice" is strained by the recognition of constraints placed on One's potential positionings. Choice within those constraints is allowed, but choice to be within those constraints is effectively denied. Those who are undeniably in those constraints cannot choose to be passive about issues of divisive bias; they can only choose, to some extent, the manner i n which they w i l l be involved. They can choose to be involved in a way that challenges divisive social conditions. Or they can choose to be involved in a way that accepts, and even intensifies, the boundaries that establish the parameters of privilege of a few over the many. Such an intensification is integral to the dynamics of heroism. With in the dynamic of heroism, the boundary between the hero and the public is reinforced and strengthened. The public comes to be positioned as increasingly powerless in the face of social issues, and the hero is perceived as having a monopoly on something that is considered vital to the public wel l being. By that, the hero becomes a dominant figure 182 in society. Michael Walzer (1983) has described the relationships by which monopoly becomes a system of dominance in social relations: Monopoly describes a way of owning or controlling social goods in order to exploit their dominance. When goods are scarce and widely needed, like water in the desert, monopoly itself w i l l make them dominant. Mostly, however, dominance is a more elaborate social creation, the work of many hands, mixing reality and symbol. Physical strength, familial reputation, religious or political office, landed wealth, capital, technical knowledge: each of these, in different historical periods, has been dominant; and each of them has been monopolized by some group of men and women. A n d then all good things come to those who have the one best thing. Possess that one, and the others come in train. Or, to change the metaphor, a dominant good is converted into another good, into many others, in accordance wi th what often appears to be a natural process but is in fact magical, a k ind of social alchemy, (p. 11) The public may accept the hero's dominance in a particular area, but the "social alchemy" by which social goods are converted one into another obscures the limits of that dominance. The public can no longer choose to accept the hero's domination in some limited areas because the hero's domination extends across social life. Privilege becomes a fact of social life—a key feature of the ways in which relationships are organized. 183 It is the inclusion of heroism as a model of social relations that is an important part of Saul's (1993) concern about heroes, is that a benevolent hero is only "preparing the way for another who wou ld do evil with greater ease" (p. 319). He makes a distinction between "real" and "false" heroes but finds in both a deformation of the democratic process resulting from their imagery and promises of efficient, effective action. The imagery of heroism "rwist[s] public opinion into adulation" for what the hero is able to do (p. 319). This association between power and adulation can be turned back on itself, making adulation itself the source of power. Saul writes that: [Contemporary politicians in heroic guise] are attempting to turn themselves into freestanding public objects which require no supporting walls or cables such as party, policy, beliefs or representative responsibilities. They wish to transform themselves into this freestanding monolith so that the public w i l l come to them in admiration, without intermediaries or conditions. Not admiration of anything in particular, such as a policy or action. Just a warm imprecise admiration tied to personal characteristics—being tough, for example, or loving or caring or familiar or awe inspiring. (p.336) This "warm, imprecise admiration" becomes the basis of social power for both the hero and the false hero, which are by now indistinguishable. Whatever abilities the public might have seen in an individual i n a 184 particular context that led to that person being considered heroic become associated with other, and eventually all contexts of public life. Even if the power of the hero has been earned in some area, it now becomes extended through adulation to other areas. By this, what the public lose, too, is their power to choose which issues to leave to the hero. Power is relinquished along with the power to act on issues in a progressively more general sense. A t the same time, the hero's privilege through unearned social power increases. This is not to say that the public gets nothing in return. Presumably there is some benefit that the public has been unable to gain in any other way. If nothing else, the hero provides the sense that the boundaries of security are intact. This is a dynamic of entitlement. The public are supposed to be wi l l ing to support the hero so that they can be given a benefit for which the hero, not the public, has worked. Members of the public are entitled to the hero's boon as a result of their adulation. The hero is entitled to social power in many areas of social life as a result of having provided the boon needed in one. The relationship becomes one of mutually supporting the acquisition of the unearned power that is privilege—the hero's being the power to act, the public's being the power to not have to act. Ironically, though the ideology of heroism promotes movements toward taking the role of the hero, a careful distinction must be made as to the reasons for doing so. For the one to deliberately pursue personal 185 privilege through heroic imagery is, according to Campbell , a corruption of heroism. Here again, he refers to King Minos ' betrayal of the pact wi th Poseidon by which he became king as he kept the great bull rather than sacrificing it: He [Minos] had converted a public event to personal gain, whereas the whole sense of his investiture as king had been that he was no longer a mere private person. The return of the bul l should have symbolized his absolutely selfless submission to the functions of his role. The retaining of it represented, on the other hand, an impulse to egocentric self-aggrandizement. A n d so the king "by the grace of God" became the dangerous tyrant Holdfast—out for himself, (p. 15) Minos d id not use the power Poseidon made available to h im to serve his community, but to control social goods for his own purposes. This was the ruin of his heroism, and begins instead to fit the general profile of the tyrant that Campbell (1968) offers: The figure of the tyrant-monster is known to the mythologies, folk traditions, legends, and even nightmares, of the world; and his characteristics are everywhere essentially the same. He is the hoarder of general benefit. He is the monster avid for the greedy rights of "my and mine." The havoc wrought by h im is described in mythology and fairy tale as being universal throughout his domain. This may be no more than his household, his own tortured psyche, 186 or the lives that he blights with the touch of his friendship and assistance; or it may amount to the extent of his civilization. The inflated ego of the tyrant is a curse to himself and his world—no matter how his affairs may seem to prosper, (p. 15) What matters here is whether the hero intended to work for the good of the public or for personal gain. With the latter, what might be considered heroic in other circumstances becomes tyranny, especially as apparently heroic acts are used as an instrumental path to some other social good, a good that does not necessarily follow as a consequence of what has been achieved. Pascal (1961) addresses this as tyranny in one of his Pense.es : The nature of tyranny is to desire power over the whole wor ld and outside its own sphere. There are different companies—the strong, the handsome, the intelligent, the devout—and each man reigns in his own, not elsewhere. But sometimes they meet, and the strong and the handsome fight for mastery—foolishly, for their mastery is of different kinds. They misunderstand one another, and make the mistake of each aiming at universal dominion. Noth ing can w i n this, not even strength, for it is powerless in the kingdom of the w i s e . . . . Tyranny. The following statements, therefore, are false and tyrannical: "Because I am handsome, so I should command 187 respect." "I am strong, therefore men should love me . . . .""I am . . . et cetera." Tyranny is the wish to obtain by one means what can only be had by another. We owe different duties to different qualities: love is the proper response to charm, fear to strength, and belief to learning, (p. 96; original italics—cited in Walzer, 1983, p ! 8 ) Viewed within this framework, to the same extent that science can be considered supportive of the hero, it can also be considered the tools of the tyrant. Inventions, for example, may be developed for the public good: Miz: I want to invent, like personally I would want to invent something that would really help. And I don't just mean little inventions like the television or the car or something. More along of like a cure for something for medical disease. I think that's much more important. Miz-HJ09 O n the other hand, inventing something can also be a means to a variety of other social goods. Han: I would rather be famous than happy and I would rather be rich than, no, I would rather be rich than famous and I would rather be, no wait. I would rather be famous more than anything else. Like I would sacrifice being famous for happiness and for money you know, but I might change my . mind. I don't know. 188 /: What about being rich? Han: I don't care about being rich, as long as I'm famous. I: How [are you] going to become famous? Han: I don't know. I'll figure it out though. I: Yeah? Han: Yeah. I: Is there something that's high on the list of possibilities now? Han: No. Well I could be a writer because I don't think I'm a bad writer, but I don't want to be a writer, besides writers aren't that famous, unless you're really, really good. Or, well I don't want to be, you know, an artist or whatever, artist or model or actor because I don't think that's . . . * . . . I don't think I would be a very good scientist because I don't think I'm very good at science, but just something that would make me famous. Maybe I'll invent something. Han-MC In this latter example, the beneficence of science by which its heroic character was extolled, becomes secondary to what it can do for the individual who would be the hero. This focus from general to personal good can be seen, too, as traditional "helping professions" become attractive first and foremost in terms of personal gain. Manuel: Actually, I was thinking I might go into a psychology department, because my Dad was saying that yesterday when 189 he was out at [the university] the guy in front of him was doing a psychology test. It was 300 multiple choice questions So I could live with that—multiple choice—then I could be become a psychiatrist and make good money. Manuel-KI07 Claudia: There's a part of me that wants to, you know, be [in my career] for the good of mankind or whatever, but the other part of me, you know, I want money, you know. I: And why? Claudia: Power, because money gives you power. In our society it does anyway. I: And is that important? Claudia: I think power is important because I think it has a lot to do with self-confidence. The more power you have—well, if I had power then I'd be more confident. I: What do you mean by power? Claudia: Power to influence others. Just being known as one of the capable people. I: What makes somebody capable? Claudia: Ah, if they're successful, they're seen as of capable. I: And you want to be there? Claudia: Yes I do. 190 /: Do you think it's—you said that power is having influence over people. How do people influence others? Claudia: If I knew that [laugh] I'd be a lot better off. I don't know how they influence people; I just know that people get influenced by certain people. Maybe they're rich and famous and they're successful and you want to be like them or you want to follow in their footsteps. You want to be able to do the same thing for yourself so — Claudia-ER07 A network of associations emerges wi th links running in various pathways among careers that call for science knowledge (or at least science credentials): wealth, fame, prestige, "the good life," and social power. A m o n g the students who said they were sure they would take science because they wanted to go to university, this nexus was apparent in various forms. I: Do you have any idea what you want to do? Michelle: See everyone I know says, 'You know, I can see you being the CEO of a big corporation one day, . . . just telling everyone what to do,' and I can see that happening, and sometimes I want to see that happening. I think that would be pretty cool, but other times it's like, but I want to do other things you know. Sometimes my friends are like 'you're such a politician,' and I figure sometimes I am, and I am sometimes.. Sometimes I want to be a politician, but I don't want to rule 191 the world. See I don't want to be famous. All my friends are like 7 want to be famous,' I don't want to be famous. I just want people to go "Woah!" you know, like the people that have seen me or they don't even know me. They just see my name or something, they go "Woah!" but I don't want them to know, you know, I don't want to be famous. I don't want people tearing off my clothes or anything, you know, when I 'm walking down the street. I just want people to really respect me. So there's that side of it. Then there's the other side where I sort, see I like to be running the show and that's sort of what I want to do. I want to be like a film director or something and so . . . * . . . Michelle—MC I: It seems like money is kind of an issue for you, . . . Claudia: Because I want to rule the world, [laugh] I: Yeah. Claudia: Always been my dream. Claudia—MC Manuel: I can figure out how it all works, I can make a fortune. One day I'll crack it and I'll say, 'ah hah,' and I'll make a brilliant plan and I'll control the world. One day. I: Yeah?. One day? Manuel: One day. 192 /: So if you control the world, Manuel— Manuel: Yes. I: —What would you do with it? Manuel: What would I do with it? Well, good question. I don't know what to do. I don't know is not a good answer. I would think of something by then. Manuel-MC Added to science education's support of the heroic endeavor, then, are promises of social goods—wealth, fame, happiness, respect—as ancillary benefits that accrue to those who follow the path to scientific knowledge. These are ultimately paths to social power; and power for its own sake, not for the sake of furthering any particular social ideal. The promise of these social benefits—promises of privilege—become included in the significance of science knowledge, and of science education. Pedagogy of Guilt; Pedagogy of Privilege In the heroic narrative, social power is assumed to come about either in response to virtue—in the case of the hero—or through entitlement—the public accepting the heroic boon, which they deserve for placing the hero in a position of power. A t the same time, victimization is assumed to come about through one's refusal of the call to adventure (which may be for a variety of reasons, all of which are the responsibility of the individual). Together, the assumptions of heroism give rise to what Noel (1994) refers to as the "pedagogy of guilt" (pp. 123-5), which 193 holds that those who are victims of oppression and brutality are made to feel that they "deserve" their suffering. Women are led to believe that they provoke the battering of abusive spouses. Physically or emotionally abused children believe that they have misbehaved in some way and are being rightfully punished for it. M e n who are physically or psychologically maimed in combat believe that it is fair retribution for their own complicity wi th the horrors of war. One of the most recent groups to whom such a pedagogy is being applied is AIDS patients, who might blame themselves, or be blamed by others, for having contracted the disease. It is the faltering of the common people wi th respect to the heroic program of refinement—a result of bad faith, bad ability (by nature or upbringing), or bad choices—that gives rise to whatever suffering occurs in their lives. There may even be a belief that the moral purpose (albeit often a mystified purpose) for the hardship extends beyond the realm of human understanding but is deserved still (e.g., "Like the AIDS virus, I guess. I think there's a purpose for it. I don't know why."—Bradley, M C ) . Alternatively, the positive aspect of the relationship, by which entitlement is established, can operate to foster oppression as well . As a result of that relationship, and for no other reason, there can be an expectation of social goods within the system that enacts the normalized authority. Here is where the pedagogy of guilt turns to a pedagogy of privilege in that there is no expectation of reciprocation for that to which 194 one is entitled. In some heterosexual relationships, for example, it has been documented that the female partner may be much better at recognizing, articulating, and acting in response to the male partner's emotional needs (or those of her children) than she is in response to her own. In addition, she may be expected to respond to the male partner's needs even before he is explicitly aware of them, or lose his interpersonal support (Dupuy, 1993). That is to say that the male partner may feel entitled to the female partner's responsiveness, and she may be expected to selflessly respond. This selflessness can be seen as going to the point of not being able to articulate her own needs at all. A t an interpersonal level, she is demonstrating the virtues required of the hero (certain knowledge of what the other needs, provision of a social good—nurturance), and the male is playing the role of the appreciative public. He may adore his partner, but in his adoration he may come to expect all the more from her. Even if his adoration should stop, inasmuch as the hero is not supposed to provide the boon as a result of any particularly contingency, the sense of entitlement w i l l continue. The costs of l iv ing within a subservient role are many and varied. Remaining wi th the example of a woman who works in the home, the costs can be recognized in the slow eroding of selfhood that many women have identified as a result of l iv ing always "to the rhythm of others" (Olsen, 1989, p. 68; in Wear, 1993, p. 4). The "nurturing validation" of self becomes secondary, or may be eliminated altogether from the repertoire of 195 one's responses (Wear, p. 4). While women's subordination has been seen as the basis for their moral sense of connectedness (Gilligan, 1982, p. 16), it can also lead to a range of self-effacing relationships ranging from enforced victimization to the intense dependence that co-opts one into the perpetuation of abuse. The justification for the subservience is given by the normalized authority as nothing more than the proper product of one's role. A n y further rationale is deemed unnecessary in its mystified but empirically-supported omnipresence in social relations. This sense of entitlement can be used to explain results of surveys in the United States regarding public attitudes about science. For instance, in 1992 only 22% of adult members of the public reported that they were very wel l informed about new medical discoveries (with television being the major source of information), 17% said that they were attentive to this area, and 7% saying they were attentive to new scientific discoveries i n general (National Science Board, 1993, pp. 199-200.) A t the same time, 40% or more believed that i n the next 25 years there would be a vaccine for y (40%), a 90-year age expectancy (44%), and cures for common forms of cancer (45%) (p. 204). Faith in medical science outstrips both the attention it is given and the level of informedness. As wel l , 73% said that the benefits from science exceed the harm that was generated (p. 206). This can be seen as an instance of a sense of entitlement in that while members of the public expect to benefit from medical science, the do not feel it is necessary that they attend to it, nor that they become informed about it. 196 With in the ideological elements of heroism, therefore, are fundaments of social life that establish conditions amenable to divisive bias. As science education approaches these elements, its democratic potential is weakened. In both the typical organization of science courses, which maintains a sense of distance between students and issues, and in the manner in which science education is promoted as a vehicle for social status, science education can be seen as incorporating these elements. Social and personal change come to be organized in ways that are consistent wi th a reliance on heroism, and/or the boons that the hero provides, thereby removing any sense of there being an imperative for public action. That imperative is replaced wi th a sense of passive entitlement that lingers as long as the hero stays. 197 VI. Living The Heroic Life Made still a blund'ring k ind of melody; Spurr 'd boldly on, and dash'd through thick and thin, Through sense and nonsense, never out nor in , Free from all meaning, whether good or bad, A n d in one word, heroically mad. John Dryden Show me a hero and I w i l l write you a tragedy. F. Scott Fitzgerald Chapter Introduction After returning from the adventure, the hero does not provide the boons gained in the land of trials and then depart. Rather, the hero stays among the public, and maintains heroic stature. As the hero's role is to provide the symbolic function of embodying the ideals of the group, the hero must be the paragon of virtue—personifying virtue in the extreme. Heroism is, therefore, a reductive identity. What matters are the heroic attributes—those that can be most easily contained within the 198 bounds of the hero's social role. A l l other attributes must be excised for the sake of those that are deemed, for once and always, the ideal traits of the hero. However, as the ideals of epic heroism are pressed to the extreme in a drive toward purity, heroic imagery becomes infiltrated with expectations that support divisive bias. The reductive quality of heroism is also expressed in social relations. Heroism depends on spectacular, focused, and temporary attention and action. To achieve that degree of focus, the needs and interests of some must be neglected in order to address those of others. This neglect feeds back into the heroic narrative by generating an even greater need for attention, this time on the part of those who have been neglected. Social relations perpetuate the need for heroism move toward a simple, melodramatic binary. Identities and relationships are increasingly characterized in the most readily definable terms, and those that do not threaten the expectations provided by the hero's knowledge. Ideal Heroism The hero, having returned from the adventure, becomes the personification of virtue in the ideal. Yet, the attributes of epic heroism, when pressed to ideal, close rather then open any space that might be found between virtue and vice. The ideology of separation, boundary imagery and reductive character of heroism become intensified in ways that make the specific, and contextual quality of "virtue" undeniable. 199 In considering the features of heroism in the ideal, some guidance can be given by what has been referred to as heroic nature—an aesthetic device that has been used in various art forms, especially in painting and poetry (Spencer, 1973). The role of heroic nature in art is to move beyond the limits of realistic portrayals, offering a more highly perfected image than nature itself could provide. Kathleen Raine (1967) writes of the classical antecedents of this device: Plato, Plotinus and all who have followed their doctrine have known that to copy from a mental form, an idea, is to come nearer to perfection than to copy nature, which is itself only a reflection, image or imprint of an anterior pattern. The artist must look to the original, not to the copy. (p. 165; in Spencer, p. 10). Paintings and poetry in this tradition intend to show a natural scene that is more than a setting for some other foreground subject. It is a statement in and of itself about what nature could be if all of its imperfections were removed. Elements of nature such as trees, hills, mountains, and sky could be "rearranged to achieve a more aesthetically satisfying form" (Spencer, p. 3). The result is what Kenneth Clark (1961) has referred to as "the landscape of symbols" (p. 1), calling attention both to the role of natural elements in representing the supernatural wor ld and the removal of the element from any necessary identification wi th a particular thing that has ever existed i n some known place. Instead, objects are manipulations of ideals intended to represent a category generally. Trees, 200 for example, as elements of nature, are depicted in idealized representation of what a tree should look like in relation to the event being represented, not what any particular tree does look like. For example, an event such as a funeral might be portrayed with natural elements that heighten the sense of grief, or the contrast between death in the foreground and continued life elsewhere in the painting (Clark, 1961). The elements of heroic nature in painting and poetry are more than perfected images. They are intended to be deliberately emotive, using consummate forms to communicate moral standards. In the following stanzas from "Upon the H i l l and Grove at Bill-borow," Andrew Marvel l provides an idealized portrayal of the estate of Lord Fairfax: See how the arched earth does here Rise in a perfect Hemisphere! The stiffest Compass could not strike A Line more circular and like; Nor softest Pensel draw a Brow So equal as this hi l l does bow. It seems as for a Model laid, A n d that the Wor ld by it was made. Here learn ye Mountains more unjust, Which to abrupter greatness thrust, That do with your hook-shoulder'd height 201 The Earth deform and Heaven fright. For whose excrescence i l l design'd, Nature must a new Center find, Learn here those humble steps to tread, Which to a securer Glory lead. (stanzas i - i i ; in Spencer, 1973, p. 59) In the idealization of the h i l l that rises "in a perfect hemisphere," the poet tells us that it seems a perfect "model" has been "laid." This is the essence of heroism. Upon returning from the adventure, the hero is set as an ideal to provide a model for the rest of humanity. These are the models that some argue are so sorely missed in the wor ld today (Roche, 1987) and that others argue are needed by individuals as they strive to understand and come to terms wi th events in their own lives (Pearson, 1989). Glorious Humility Marvell 's poem provides a lesson regarding an important attribute of heroism that was alluded to in Campbell's treatment of Minos ' lapse. The poet calls to the great but unjust and frightful mountains beyond the estate to learn from the lowly but ideal hi l l . Here is the specific moral message of the poem, which is made explicit in the final two lines of the second stanza: glory is secured through humility. 202 In like manner, the ideal of the hero is to provide the boon while maintaining a humble desire to serve the community's interests. The hero obtains public rewards unintentionally. This is consistent with the associations made in the previous sections between heroism and tyranny, in which the latter is a self-conscious use of heroic imagery for personal gain. The true ends of heroism are altruistic contributions made through selflessness, Campbell insists. The task of the hero is to be open to the ways in which the public can best be served, and to then submit to that venture on an ongoing basis: The hero is the man of self-achieved submission. But submission to what? That precisely is the riddle that today we have to ask ourselves and that it is everywhere the primary virtue of the historic deed of the hero to have solved, (p. 16) The submission and humili ty called for i n heroism are not just matters of putting others before self, but ideally involve a wi l l ing denial of self altogether. The hero is to become radically detached from the human wor ld so that he or she may be consumed by the powers that guide heroic fate. Thus, heroism involves turning oneself over to some force (e.g., the powers of "destiny," the characters inhabiting the realm of adventure) that moves one in ways that cannot be understood and promise to take one in a direction that is "right." Campbell writes that this detachment parallels 203 what psychoanalysis suggests is the message of the dreams of a common person. The images in dreams are: dangerous because they threaten the very fabric of the security into which we have built ourselves and our family. But they are fiendishly fascinating too, for they carry keys that open the whole realm of the desired and feared adventure of the discovery of the self. Destruction of the wor ld that we have built and in which we live, and of ourselves within it; but then a wonderful reconstruction, of the bolder, cleaner, more spacious, and fully human life—that is the lure, the promise and terror, of these disturbing night visitations from the mythological realm that we carry within, (p. 8) Ultimately, the imagery of heroism is that "the passage of the threshold is a form of self-annihilation" (HTF, p. 91) and even as the hero returns, the selflessness must be maintained. Thus, heroism calls for a level of selflessness that is tantamount to a willingness, even a desire, for an absolute detachment from life by which an existence that transcends human limitations is achieved: This death to the logic and emotional commitments of our chance moment in the wor ld of space and time, this recognition of, and shift of our emphasis to, the universal life that throbs and celebrates its victory in the very kiss of our own annihilation, this amor fati, 204 "love of fate," love of the fate that is inevitably death. (HTF, pp. 26-27) More importantly for social life, he also argues that various rites of passage gain their moral force as enactments of this "destruction of the world" into the matrix of the community. In these rituals "the mind is radically cut away from the attitudes, attachments, and life patterns of the stage being left behind" and the "adventurer" undergoes a process by which the "initiate w i l l be as good as reborn" (p. 10). Campbell argues that the self destructive tone of this drive toward selflessness is the first step to the epitome of ongoing community service. In this service, humili ty becomes connected wi th devotion to a community goal that surpasses concern for self to the point of excluding self altogether. The Busy-ness Ethic A s the ideal of humility through loss of self is maintained after the hero returns and is once again among the populace, it comes to influence the social relationships in which the hero is involved. Morgan (1989) gives an extreme example of where the exclusion of self can lead when played out in social relations. She relates the willingness for self-annihilation that such devotion calls for to the state of mind of terrorists. After demonstrating the many parallels in the demographic characteristics of Campbell's heroic archetypes and international terrorists (age, sex, motives, familial background, etc.), she writes, 205 [The terrorist] is idealistic, brave, and self-disciplined, yet can find no way out of guilt, grief, and impotence until he encounters his mentor/leader/god. He then is made ready to follow the road of self-abnegation. He breaks all other human ties. He is aware of the risks, but his obsession to save or avenge his cause, together with his having contracted a love of his tragic fate, seal his doom. He takes up the gun. (p. 67) Of course, to equate the selflessness of heroism with the self-annihilation of terrorism and warfare is an extreme and literal reading of the ideal of humili ty and the devotion that ideal entails. A s with various rites, there are other less dramatic ways to accomplish the separation and ultimate denial of self that parallels the selflessness and devotion. Thus, this ideal can be infused into social relations that become the standard manner of everyday encounters. Morgan (1989) offers a thought experiment that demonstrates how easily the themes of self-lessness, separation, and devotion can be recognized in less extreme circumstances than those of the terrorist. She bases this on the wri t ing of Carlos Marighella (n.d.—mid-twentieth century) in the Handbook of an Urban Guerrilla. In that work Marighella extols the attributes of the terrorist, characterizing the guerrilla as needing to exhibit traits such as bravery, moral superiority, and the ability to be in command of any situation. Morgan begins by quoting a passage from his work: 206 Revolutionary leaders are not often present to hear their children's first words; their wives must also share in their sacrifice if the revolution is to reach its goal; their friends are to be found only among their comrades in the revolution. For them there is no life outside the revolution, (quoted in Morgan, pp. 74-75). Morgan then suggests this: Substitute the words "religious" and "religion" for "revolutionary" and "revolution" in the above quotation, and notice that it still makes unsettlingly familiar sense. N o w substitute the words "corporate" and "corporation." N o w "military." N o w "national" and "nation." N o w "tribal" and "tribe." N o w "professional" and "profession." It works terrifyingly wel l . (p. 75) Rosaldo (1993) recognizes a similar dynamic in M a x Weber's (1958) "Science as A Vocation." Weber writes, Ladies and Gentlemen. In the field of science only he who is devoted solely to the work at hand has 'personality.' . . . A n inner devotion to the task, and the task alone, should lift the scientist to the height and dignity of the subject he pretends to serve." (p. 137, original italics) Weber's statements are not idiosyncratic. For example, there are stories along these lines—probably allegorical but, therefore, even more relevant— of Anaxagoras, whose work in the classical wor ld twenty-five centuries ago is often referred to as having initiated the inductive inquiry 207 of the scientific method. His devotion to his methods led h im to hold "that experiences of day-to-day life have no intrinsic value at all , good or bad" (Gershenson & Greenberg, 1964, p. 3). He became so detached, the story goes, that "he received the report of his son's death calmly and without emotion, wi th the simple statement that he had known his son was mortal from the day of his birth" (p. 3). A l o n g these lines, John Burroughs (1957) has written that the scientist's work "takes h im away from himself, away from human relations and emotions and leads h im on and on. We wonder and marvel more, but we fear, dread, love, sympathize less" (p. 152). This image of science became so prevalent that Wi l l i am Beveridge (1957) was compelled to end his work, The Art of Scientific Investigation, which a chapter on "The Scientific Life" in which he reassures the "young scientist" that his description is "a counsel of perfection and one can become a good research worker without sacrificing al l other interests in life" (p. 203). Later, though, in his Advice to a Young Scientist, Peter Medawar (1979) writes in a manner that echoes the implications of Morgan's thought experiment: M e n or women who go to the extreme length of marrying scientists should be clearly aware beforehand, instead of learning the hard way later, that their spouses are in the grip of a powerful obsession that is likely to take the first place in their lives outside the home, and probably inside too; there may not be many romps on the floor with the children and the wife of a scientist may find herself 208 disproportionately the man as wel l as the woman about the house. . . . Conversely, the husband of a scientist must not expect to find gigot de poulette cuit a la vapeur de Marjolaine ready on the table when he gets home from work probably less taxing than his wife's, (p. 22—original italics) Rosaldo (1993) finds Weber's ideal still prevalent in contemporary academic circles, to which he responds, Weber's ethic both inspires people to rise above themselves and proves impossible for anyone but the virtuoso to live up to. In mythic terms, Weber's ethic has a venerable genealogy that extends back to quest stories about the pursuit of the unobtainable (say, the H o l y Grail) and chivalric romances about absolute devotion to the unattainable (say, the beautiful p r i n c e s s ) . . . . The masculine heroics of science as an ascetic calling socialize people for service i n latter-day warrior priesthoods as the modern state and its military, religious, corporate, educational, and other bureaucratic regimes. Yet, he argues that the habits implied by such heroic devotion become commonplace and easily recognizable within a variety of settings. Rosaldo provides an anecdote that relates this to life in contemporary universities: [The standard Weber sets for devotion to research] now survives in the daily lives of academics as the "busy-ness ethic." One friend says to another, for example, "Let's get together to'talk," whereupon the 209 two of them deploy an obligatory gesture . . . they pu l l out their appointment calendars. When the appointed hour on the appointed day arrives, they greet one another breathlessly, converse for a while, and excuse themselves, saying they're already late for an important meeting. For many of us, wi l ly-ni l ly caught in this ethic, the central drama of our all-consuming professional lives has become how-busy-I-am. Woe to those who simply do their jobs without subscribing to the self-aggrandizing, meaning-giving "busy-ness ethic." Neither their colleagues nor their deans w i l l take them seriously, (p. 172) The strand that associates this singular focus with the busy-ness ethic is picked up and advanced by bell hooks (1994) as she addresses the dominant expectations she found for both professors and students as she entered academic life: Being smart meant that one was inherently emotionally unstable and that the best in oneself emerged in one's academic work. This meant that whether academics were drug addicts, alcoholics, batterers, or sexual abusers, the only important aspect of our identity was whether or not our minds functioned, whether we were able to do our jobs in the classroom, (p. 16) If the anecdotes offered by Rosaldo and hooks can be taken to suggest that "academic" and "university" can be added to Morgan's list of replacement terms in Marighella's passage, then it also implies that many other terms 210 can be added as well . Together, such additions lead to this pattern becoming a banal fact of life in many institutions. To an extent, any occupation can become all-consuming in this way (including the scholastic life of a student) and thus take on this reductive character of heroic identity. School Busy-ness The presentation of scientists in textbooks can be read as supporting this expectation for a devoted and unidimensional personality. In the text that the students were using at the time of the study (Bullard, Cloutier, Gore, Gurney, Madhosingh, & Millett, 1984), several people are specifically mentioned as "scientists" i n the unit that included the electricity chapters the students were focusing on at the time. For each of the seven people mentioned, the extent of the personal information is the same: name, period in which he (6) or she (1) l ived, nationality, area(s) of professional emphasis, major scientific findings. Two had relationships mentioned that involved other people in their lives; Wi l l i am Gilbert was associated with Queen Elizabeth I as her physician, and Rudolph Roland (incidentally, the only twentieth-century example) was listed as leader of a research team (see pp. 6-63). Both of those references are, however, incidental. As they are presented to students, the scientists' identities by-and-large exclude any information other than that which is immediately pertinent to the science topic being discussed. Their science-related 211 identity is sustained while other aspects of identity are diminished to the point of exclusion. The pattern of the busy-ness ethic can also be established in science education through a focus on careerism. The separation between the goals of the curriculum and the immediate wor ld of the students is given its justification by an ultimate gain that is to be achieved (i.e., university entrance, getting into a "good career"). The alienation discussed earlier is equated wi th deferred relevance, just as passivity becomes faith in the return to connection wi th mundane life in some unknown tomorrow. There is a general belief that one is on the path to adventure that w i l l eventually lead to one's own elevation to heroic status. A l l can be put right then. Students, for example, w i l l understand why they have taken subjects that for now they find pointless and, in the words of several student, "tedious." They w i l l , so the thinking goes, thank their teachers for this someday. Wi th in this ethic, even the opportunities that are presented to take part in activities that have an immediate social impact become refocused as opportunities to further one's future career aspirations: J: Have you decided what courses you are going to take next year? Keith: I was going to take Chemistry and Biology and I didn't want to take Chemistry. I like Chemistry hut I didn't want to do it because I am working on a Career Prep Experience Program 212 which is 100 hours of community services and take a certain number of courses and then you get a certificate to put on your resume and you get I guess more chances in a certain field. Claudia: I think it's important to be involved and to know what's going on around your community and I would hate to be one of those people who sit around and watch TV and do their homework every day because that's got to be like the worst life you can have, right? At least have a social life, right? [laughj And so I think, I think like if you're involved in your community and you have something to contribute somewhere, like someone will recognize it and something will look good on your resume. Claudia-MC In addition, science education can take on its own form of a curricular busy-ness ethic. Students are invited to learn about the wor ld , but the curriculum does not allow time to give attention to their worlds: /: Should science be useful to you in life? Oswick: [pause] To me myself or just to people in general? I: To you. Oswick: Yeah, I think Science should be useful to me in life. I: Is that whether or not you'd become a scientist or—? 213 Oswick: Yeah, probably. Even if I wasn't a scientist I'd still like to see useful stuff coming out of science. There probably is quite a lot of it already; it's just like, sort of, it's not very noticeable. I: That's interesting. Why isn't it noticeable? Oswick: Well, because sort of. No one ever really goes around saying it was this discovery by so and so that led to you say you being able to make plastics. Which are what? And that leads to your pen and if it wasn 't for this you'd have to write with a pencil. And things would take a lot longer. Because almost all of the stuff sort of can be related back to science in some way. It's just that no one. No one ever sort of a like goes around saying that about everything. Oswick-ER09 Do you, do you think that you could generate the knowledge in class or does it have to come from a text book? [pause] Like through problem solving and developing the ideas and things? Yeah. I think it takes longer. I think that it should be there for interest but it does take more time to develop the curriculum—the concepts the curriculum presents—if it's given to the students to develop than if its handed to them in a textbook. But it's like borrowing, it's like the difference 214 I: Pamela: I: Pamela: between sitting through a lecture in class and borrowing notes from a, borrowing extensive notes taken in that class from a friend. You don't get the same interaction, you don't get the same understanding as you do if you were actually there. It's possible but it's more tedious. Could it be that science education is obsessed wi th a mission that gives it more important things to do than relate science to the lives of students and allow them to generate knowledge in a way that situates it within their own circumstances? Perhaps it wou ld take too long. The class must move on to the next (generic) lesson in order to prepare them for what is to be in years to come: university, career, the future. In a more general way, too, the image of science itself is presented in a way that selects what features w i l l be emphasized and which w i l l be diminished. Hess (1995) points out, for example, that the "scientific revolution" is typically portrayed in a narrative i n which "a few bold and courageous thinkers in sixteenth- and seventeenth-century Europe rebuilt the entire edifice of ancient theories on nature and the universe" (p. 59). Hess outlines the conventional features of the narrative: First, it tends to tell the story in intellectual terms. The social is filtered out, except when it is useful to construct science as a triumph over superstition. Society figures in the background as a source of secondary characters; enlightened princes who support 215 science and dogmatic church leaders who oppose it. Second, the story focuses on Europe, and it is told in the form of a dialogue between the O l d Europe (ancient thinkers) and the N e w Europe (modern thinkers). What goes on during the time between the O l d and new Europe, not to mention what happens before the O l d Europe, is basically put into a black box. Exchanges between the West and the rest are written out of the narrative or relegated to secondary plot status. Third, the story is told as an event. A scientific revolution occurred. It is a dramatic change, not a gradual evolution, (p. 63) Hess critiques each of these features pointing out, for example, that the advanced technology of China had not only been documented by that time, but that there was also evidence that " in many cases it is very likely that inventions and discoveries were made first in China and then transferred to Europe" (p. 63). This is a critique that could well be applied to the telling of these events in the students' text (Bullard et al., 1984). The scientific revolution was, in that telling, a sequence of events that took place in Europe, and involved fewer than a half a dozen people (p. 100-102). Other aspects of the history of science, such as early work in chemistry and electricity, are told in a similar fashion. In such tellings there is an amplification of the image of scientists as singularly possessed of their work. The issue that Hess raises is that there 216 is a silencing here of non-Europeans who were associated wi th the work later assigned to Europeans, a silencing of those doing work that could not be specifically applied to European priorities, and a silencing of less powerful workers on scientific teams. This becomes a pattern of social relations that extends to friends, family members, and others who must be left behind in the glorious detachment called for by obsessive, heroic, humble devotion. When Neglect Precedes Necessity In interpersonal terms, what can be seen here is that the more extreme the articulation of heroic selflessness, the more focused one becomes on the work that calls for separation from others out of devotion to a distant goal. There is a presumed justification for this separation in an ultimate concern for the others from whom one has withdrawn. The expectation is that a connection with concrete experience w i l l be reinstated and even enhanced, but not until the hero is able to return, once again, with "some elixir for the restoration of society" (HTF, p. 197). A t that point, all that has been silenced and left to degenerate while the adventure is undertaken w i l l be restored, and even enhanced. The intensification of this general sense of detachment from concrete experience (or perpetually deferred attachment) in favor of devotion to an abstract goal becomes associated with a lack of empathetic consideration of others in the present. Morgan (1989) associates this with 217 an androcentric politics of disconnection, which can lead to the invisibility of suffering such as, in her example, can be found i n the circumstances of women: It's easier to face terror and feel united with secret abstract "causes" than to hazard pity (in its oldest sense of compassion and caritas) and risk encountering and uniting with the specific human sufferer. Androcentrics seem to have taken as a motto the bitter old line "I love humanity; it's people I can't stand." (p. 53) Robert Lewis Stevenson (1881) hints at the effects of diligence turned into the heroic devotion found in the busy-ness ethic as he states that "perpetual devotion to what a man calls his business, is only to be sustained by perpetual neglect of many other things" (in Bartlett, 1993, p. 587). Out of neglect of small needs generally comes necessity for some more pronounced action. Waiting until later—until things get really bad (when one can, in Keith's words, "see it dying") leads to a pattern that makes a virtue out of neglect. The stage is set for social power to be expressed in a way that fits what Kathleen Jones refers to as "pyrotechnic definitions of heroism" (p!16). Neglect leads to crisis, and crisis sets the stage for the charisma of exceptional acts—"the 'anxiety and enthusiasm of an extraordinary situation' that gave birth to the hero in the first place" (p!14; quoting Weber, 1978 (II), XIV, 6,1120). Here Jones is addressing the dichotomy that she finds in the work of Max Weber between the 218 charismatic and the mundane: "The collective orgiastic 'high' of charisma stands as an alternative to the mundane, tedious, and Weber thought, ultimately soulless 'duties of occupation and family'" (p!14). When "progress" is represented in terms of changing ("advancing") technology, the social context of that progress may be neglected. Wi th this neglect of the social context of technology, problems such as environmental degradation, which is fundamentally a social problem, may be neglected until it is imperative to call on the heroic power that w i l l then set everything right. It may be the same hero that neglected the problems when they were small that must come in and repair the damage, or it may be another hero that is called on. Either way, though, the ideal of heroism that calls for singular devotion not only defines heroism, it also reinforces the need for heroism. This can be associated wi th a variety of features of everyday life. For example, it can be seen as the pattern played out i n a diagnostic-prescriptive medical model that, rather than maintaining wellness on an ongoing basis, waits until an illness develops before acting (usually through drugs or surgery) to produce a cure. Similarly, economic models may be instated by which the immediate needs and interests of subjugated people are neglected. The assumption here is that benefits w i l l eventually trickle down. When they don't the government that put the model in place is then in the position of providing relief (to those who, it is argued, are responsible for their own poverty) in a heroic program of relief. The 219 incremental development of social and material infrastructure by which collective courses of action could be initiated are neglected. They can, according to this approach, be left to crumble since they w i l l be built back up wi th an infusion of attention at some later point. Sustained engagement wi th the concerns of the mundane wor ld are exchanged for a concentrated, energetic, heroic event that w i l l be initiated sometime in the future. In a student's (or scholar's) terms, this pattern of pyrotechnic charisma involves putting off work and study until the last minute before some event requires it to be done (e.g., due dates, tests, presentations). The busy-ness ethic provides the pattern that leads to a need for the all-or-nothing last ditch effort, the last-minute save, and the all-night writ ing session. There can be wars on poverty, wars on drugs, or wars against nations. A n d ultimately each is the result of a politic of neglect that allows some relationship to devolve until exceptional action seems to be the only effective course—the only manner of acting in the wor ld that is valued. This is, however, only possible within a perception of relationships that implies that one can forego engagement for extended periods. A take-it-or-leave-it corollary applies most of the time. One can study this, or one can study that, or not. Since there is no particular connection to one's own affairs, or any concrete circumstances, there is no particular mandate for ongoing attention or for ongoing action, at least not on any given day more than any other, until the situation becomes dire. 220 Of Darkness And Light It can be seen, therefore, that the ideals of heroism are permeated by images in their extreme. It is not only help that the hero brings, but salvation. The humili ty of the hero is not only being mindful of one's frailties, constraints, and limitations; it is an annihilation of self altogether. As well , the force that is opposed to the hero is capable not only of oppression, but of the obliteration of the world . For the individual , diis is death, against which the hero offers the "indestructible essence of existence"—immortality (HTF, p. 173). It is also ignorance, against which the hero offers the wisdom won through the series of trials in the adventure. The hero is the ultimate good positioned in opposition to the ultimate evil. Heroism is, therefore, a narrative framing of circumstances as a binary opposition that is essentially a melodramatic presentation. Here I am referring to the use of the melodramatic i n the manner Peter Brooks (1976) describes with respect to literature: With in an apparent context of 'realism' and the ordinary, [melodramas seem] in fact to be staging a heightened and hyperbolic drama, making reference to pure and polar concepts of darkness and light, salvation and damnation, (p. ix) The simplicity of the narrative makes the wisdom, righteousness, and necessity of the subordinated cause seem obvious. The audience of melodrama knows clearly who/what is virtuous and who /wha t is clearly 221 villainous. Vi l la iny must be overcome by heroism so that virtue can be restored to its proper, dominant place. The evocative potential of melodrama makes it a favored device in many retellings of events when some sort of action is hoped for. In the social sciences, for example, Rosaldo (1993) provides a discussion of the work of E. P. Thompson regarding working-class history in England. Through Thompson's melodramatic telling of the life and times of Thomas Hardy, Rosaldo asserts, Thompson leads his readers to develop a sentimental connection wi th not only the protagonist, but the plight of the working class as a group; "readers cannot help but feel sympathy for a common man who has been so brutally wronged by the state" (Rosaldo, 1993, p. 139). In this use, the evocativeness of melodrama comes from its reliance on the "magic of the extreme" that is a feature of what Hawkesworth refers to as the rhetoric of oppression (1988, p. 447). This rhetoric often uses v i v i d stories of real harm done by some to others, making the ultimately sinister character of the violence and victimization unmistakable. The rhetoric is set up so as to "preclude indifference as a possible response to its imagery" (p. 447). Melodrama can be applied in many ways, but in each the effect is the same. There is an implicit or explicit imperative to act in a particular way to overcome what is apparently an impending threat. The textbook chapter being used by the students who were interviewed demonstrates the subtlety of some expressions of melodrama. 222 Over the course of the several weeks between the first and second interviews, the students in this group were studying electricity. In the text they were using (Bullard et al., 1984), the chapter covering current electricity opens with a large photograph. Looking at the photograph one sees a saturated blackness interrupted only by a rough band of small white rectangles and streaks that abstractly define the outlines of buildings and streets. It is a photograph of a city surrounded by darkness that contrasts with the glow of electric lights (p. 16). The caption is a single question: "Where wou ld we be without electricity?" Reading this as melodrama, the darkness (villain) is in conflict with, and held in abeyance by, the electricity (hero). The question then becomes, Where would we be without the heroic technology that science creates? What the imagery of the photograph illustrates too, though, is a move from the mundane to the extraordinary that is necessary for melodrama to do its work on the imagination. Electricity is a part of everyday life. But in the rendition given by the photograph, and the text that follows it, the everyday-ness is not a matter of the mundane. Instead the everyday-ness of electricity is something that people virtually cannot do without. Because electricity is given as indispensable, knowing about this kind of everyday-ness can take on the charisma that comes from connection wi th the extraordinary. 223 Melodrama In Rationales for Science Education There are many ways in which mundane aspects of life can be presented in a way that makes them seem so exceptionally important that they are pressed to melodrama. Earlier there was a reference made in a quotation from Claudia to a poster on which students were told they could "say good-bye" to a vast array of careers if they d id not like mathematics and science. The poster provides a melodramatic rationale for science education—take science or be absolutely excluded from all of these areas listed. Many statements giving rationales for science education can be read in a melodramatic way. For example, Jacob Bronowski (1956) relied on a literary allusion and the imagery ahe argued that "Science must become as a subject part of our culture, or we shall fail, not to train scientists, but to preserve our culture" (p. 712). He ends on a somber note that implies two diametrically opposed outcomes: "This is the force of my argument here, to make the language of science part of the education, the cultural education, of the young who w i l l have either to make or suffer 1984" (p. 712). This melodrama has been reflected, too, in more recent discussions relating to what has been referred to as scientific literacy. In a recent editorial, Wi l l i am Kyle (1995) addresses the fact that there are diverse ideas regarding definitions for scientific literacy. He begins by briefly reviewing several historical debates regarding the importance of science knowledge 224 in society (see Shamos, 1995). He then turns his attention to what seem to h im to be the important concerns in contemporary society: The present debate, however, must focus upon the following questions: What constitutes literacy, in both the sciences and the humanities, as we prepare students to lead fulfilling lives in the 21st century? H o w should we assess whether students have acquired the knowledge and skills associated with citizenship and social responsibility? A n d , of particular concern among science educators: H o w can we ensure that students develop the scientific and technical literacy for self- and social-empowerment? (p. 895) The general notion of ensuring that students get what they need for empowerment is an unassailable goal in a democracy. Yet, there is something more to be said about what constitutes the specifics of scientific literacy, and the lack of a clear consensus regarding these specifics troubles Kyle . He quotes Morris Shamos (1995) who sees this lack of consensus as the reason for the reports of poor scientific knowledge among the general public in the United States. He then calls for a "dialogue regarding the why of science education" and ends wi th a touch of melodrama of his own as he asks, "How many lost generations can we afford before we critically analyze what we mean by achieving scientific literacy?" (p. 896). The melodrama of the last passage can over-simplify what wou ld be entailed in coming to a consensus regarding scientific literacy that would then inform science education. If it is a matter of losing a generation or saving 225 it, there is little doubt as to the general consensus. O n the other hand, if a diversity of ideas regarding scientific literacy has led to a lack of consensus, then what would become of that diversity if the quick and singularly definitive answer called for by melodrama is accepted? There have, in fact, been ongoing discussions regarding the meaning of scientific literacy for at least the past four decades. Douglas Roberts (1983) traced the early history of the term "scientific literacy" in Nor th America to the late 1950s, with one of the first published references being made in I960.6 Roberts makes no attempt to synthesize the various positions that have been put forward into a single definition, but instead discusses the many meanings that have been, and can be, assigned to the term and the many rationales that have been given for teaching science. Even wi th this diversity, though, Roberts asserts that something akin to the rhetoric of binary oppositions is evident in debates regarding the most appropriate emphasis for science education: Unfortunately, when reform movements are initiated they typically call for a shift to a single emphasis which is being neglected. Once a significant amount of support develops for the new emphasis . . . , the usual demeanor of educational rhetoric is to cast the chosen emphasis as "good" and "modern" and "innovative," while al l others are "inadequate" and "traditional" and "out of date." The 6Roberts writes that "one of the earliest (1960) published uses i n the United States of the phrase "scientific literacy" occurs in the volume Policies for Science Education produced by the Science Manpower Project at Teachers College, Columbia University. 226 implications for practice which flow from such bandwagon rhetoric suggest throwing out the baby with the bathwater—i.e., excising all remnants of the older emphases from textbooks, teacher education programs, etc. (p. 257) In each case, therefore, some singular conception of scientific literacy is championed to the exclusion of others that are then presented as having pernicious attributes. As Kyle's reference to the importance of scientific literacy to "fulfilling lives in the 21st century" indicates, the need to know science is seen as going beyond academic purposes in most or all conceptions, influencing the manner i n which students w i l l l ive their lives in society. In this melodramatic narrative, those who teach, direct, and encourage science education are furthering the heroic program, therefore, by which the lives of individuals w i l l be, not just enhanced, but saved altogether. Diminishment as Violence, Violence as Sacrifice If the program by which one is saved is known, then there is no need to discuss options—everyone must take part in that program. The point was made above that the rationality of social relations in academic culture assumes that a single aspect of identity, one's professional role, w i l l be sustained at the expense of others. Those others are diminished in importance and neglected until a crisis calls attention to them. This demonstrates again how a choice regarding acceptance of the dominant 227 perspective, in this case the busy-ness ethic, is presumed when one enters the social setting. This pattern of diminishment is not only allowed but expected by an institutional culture—what hooks refers to as a "culture of domination"—that is built around a disregard for any aspect of one's life outside of those that are directly important to the institution. This is the case, though, for any singular conception of what a good life entails. The rest of one's life is structured—is expected to be structured—in a way that will support the one aspect that is valued. It is not simply diminishment itself that is at issue here. Throughout life, people choose the aspects of their identities they will sustain and develop further and those that they will allow to pass, which could be seen as diminishing them. What is important about the diminishment of all other aspects of life in favor of one (that is defined by the heroic program as superior) is that it is structured as a necessary part of participation in a social setting. Prior to the person's entry into the circumstances it is decided which attributes will be held with high regard, and which will be diminished. At the same time, any visible resistance is, therefore, seen as defiance and even insurgency. In this case, compliance may be enforced and diminishment achieved through violence—where violence is taken to mean a use of power that distorts, excludes, neglects, or otherwise violates aspects of a person's life. What is commonly referred to as violence—acts of interpersonal physical battering—refers to a neglect of 228 one's right to physical safety. However, in addition to being expressed physically, as in the case of acts of racist or sexist aggression, violence may also be expressed through emotional, psychological, cultural, or other means. These are acts that violate the l ived experiences that include the aspects being diminished, but neglect or exclude them in order to cohere with the dominant program. Violence toward the aspects of that l ived experience that are, thereby, made subordinate. This is what occurs when a subordinate group is included tokenistically in decision making. That is, the power of a dominant group is used in a way that distorts the subordinate group's interests and experience so as to appear to already conform to the dominant structure. This distortion can be seen as an act of ideological violence. Recalling the work of Moran, an important aspect of violence can be seen i n a distinction that can be made here between terrorism and the heroism of the busy-ness ethic. In Morgan's explanation of terrorism, one could argue, terror is evoked not simply because of violence perpetrated at a particular place and time, but because that violence is random. It violates not only in the act itself, but also in that it diminishes the overall sense of security that is considered vital to a congenial society. It is, therefore, fairly easy to raise a public outcry against what is generally considered terrorism. O n the contrary, violence such as is invoked in the name of a heroic program tends to be (but is not .always) carefully structured, often scrupulously so. The structuring of violence does not 229 make it any less violent, but it justifies the violence as sacrifice. In sacrifice, heroism demands that people offer some part of themselves, sometimes including the whole of themselves, to the project defined by the hero. This sacrifice often falls disproportionately to those in subordinate positions, since it is through embodiment of the dominant ideology that the hero is installed. The more polite form of violence demanded as sacrifice is little comfort to those who have to endure it. The imagery of heroism can be seen as enacting a tendency to diminish difference by demanding sacrifice at multiple sites of human difference. When the path to the good life is known, all other paths can be sacrificed to achieve it. When the attributes that w i l l help one achieve the good life are known, all other attributes can be sacrificed so that one can be developed. When it is clear who the hero's public is, there can be a sacrifice of the moral regard for anyone outside that group (i.e., the enemy, the culprit). When it is clear which attributes can establish a valued identity within a group, all other attributes can be sacrificed in favor of that identity. This listing can go on. With in heroic imagery there is, overall, a diminishment of opportunity, diversity, and possibilities in both individual experience and collective interactions. There is an impulse toward homogeneity and monologic discourse that may be attained by enforced sacrifice in favor of the goal that is established wi th (heroic) certain knowledge. 230 Exchange Metaphor and Threats to The Good Diminishment returns to the extremes of melodrama and together they lend themselves to the constitution of opposition in an exchange metaphor. In that metaphor, all that matters are the two things that are seen as involved in the exchange. In order for them to be exchanged, they must be separate and each must have a bounded and stable identity by which determinations of proper exchanges can be made. A n exchange requiring sacrifice is called for most dramatically when there is perceived to be some threat to the good life that the (heroic) one offers to all. That one must be sustained, and all else sacrificed in favor or it. Walzer (1995) addresses the social dynamics that arise from a singular focus on the good life. There are several versions of the good life (e.g., the good life found in political citizenship, or in a cooperative economy) but in each one is being held as paramount i n opposition to all others. Promoting that one produces a sense of an imperative that can be used to justify sacrifice of what might contribute to other versions. For example, in a nationalist response to questions about the good life there is a "firm identification with a people and a history" (Walzer, 1995, p. 14). Activities that contribute to the nation (or similarly broad collective) can be sustained, and all else can be diminished. A threat either to the physical safety of citizens or to national autonomy can intensify the expectation of diminishment of other concerns in favor of concern for the group; "when nations find themselves ruled by foreigners," Walzer states, "then 231 nationalism requires a more heroic loyalty: self-sacrifice in the struggle for national liberation" (p. 15). This is suggestive when considered, for example, in terms of The Science Counci l of Canada's (1984) statements that "Canadians must act [on the recommendations of the Council] now —any delay in renewing our science education systems threatens Canada's capacity to participate in a changing world" (p. 11; original emphasis). A l l other concerns, the consideration of which might cause a "delay," must be put aside in order to answer the implied threat. Consider, too, the following statement made in a document published in the United States jointly by the American Federation of Teachers (AFT) and the National Center for the Improvement of Science Education (NCISE) for the America 2000 project, an initiative of the United States President's office and the state governors: The President and governors fully recognized the l ink between students' performance and success in school and the contributions they w i l l ultimately make to their communities and the nation as a whole. In order for the United States to remain internationally competitive—and for American families to raise their standard of living—businesses must be able to hire youngsters wi th the knowledge and skills necessary to compete in today's global economy. ( A F T / N C I S E , 1994, p. iv) This statement is made with respect to education in general, but it is in a document prepared to define "world class standards" in Biology. Later, 232 after citing several reports of the low science scores of American students in international comparisons, the authors repeat a similar argument, this time referring explicitly to science education: A t a time when the global economy is becoming more and more dependent on scientific research and technology, we simply cannot afford such low levels of science achievement in our schools, (p. v i i i ) These statements can be read as suggesting a nationalist response to questions of the good life that focuses on science education as necessary for participation in the nation's business—which "we simply cannot afford" not to sustain. In this case, there was a sense of threat developed when U.S. interests were contrasted with an increasingly competitive "global economy." To stay that threat, America must "remain competitive." This can be compared to a statement by Judith Maxwel l , Chairperson of the Economic Council of Canada, who states that "to meet increasing global competition Canada's quest for productivity improvement must focus on technological advance and the skil l needs of the knowledge economy" (in Crocker, 1990, p. vii). Economic needs are met wi th a response that is likewise based on economics. Education becomes a tool i n an economic competition cast as struggle across a binary of the nation against global Others. The identity of the Others may change, but the boundary imagery that sets one in opposition to Others (comprising all else) remains constant in many statements giving a rationale for science education. This 233 is not education for mundane economic activity, but for the sake of making a contribution in exceptional ("increasingly competitive") circumstances. Another example comes from an elementary science teaching methods book that was published about the time the students who were interviewed would have been entering the intermediate grades (Jacobson & Bergman, 1987). This example illustrates the effect that the separation between the mundane and the extraordinary can have on political discourse. The chapter opens with a discussion of science education that uses terminology that is associated with epic imagery generally, and then moves to a melodramatic presentation regarding the importance of science. The authors address the question, "Why science for children?" with a description that makes overt reference to the quest narrative: A child is born, and it cries to help start the breathing mechanism that w i l l keep it alive. But look at the baby soon after birth and it already seems to have its own individuality. It has embarked on its great adventure. This is the adventure of learning to understand itself and to interpret what happens in its environment. . . [this book] is part of our answer to every child's quest to know. But science is also humanity's quest to know . . . . (pp. 1-2; emphases added) In that portrayal, a "quest to know" is connected wi th individuali ty and the authority of nature. People "embark" on the "great adventure" even 234 before they are conscious of it, just after they have drawn their first breath. The quest for scientific knowledge is as natural as childhood. The authors go on to assert that science is not only a natural part of life, but also a necessary part: "Why science for children?" From decades of experience wi th science for children in homes and schools, it is now possible to be more explicit about the purposes of science for children. Wi th these experiences, lives can be enriched. Without these experiences, children's growth w i l l be stunted, (p. 3) Science education moves toward the point of being a moral imperative. Adults , especially educators, face a choice between what w i l l "enrich" children and what w i l l "stunt" them. This dichotomy is then extended: But children are also surrounded by antiscience, and some aspects of antiscience can be harmful. The forces of antiscience may suggest that we should order our lives according to the configuration of the planets, the periodic appearances of the zodiacal constellations, or the claims of those who w i l l not offer evidence to substantiate their claims, (p. 4) Children are "surrounded" by the potentially "harmful" "forces of antiscience" that seek to encroach on "our lives" wi th an imposed "order." Again , the alternative to science, antiscience, is clearly undesirable, and completely so. 235 Alternatively, it can be science knowledge itself that is given as the threat. The Science Council of Canada (1984) writes: In an age of technology, this goal [of science for the informed citizen] for science education must be among the most important. If we as a society fail to understand the interaction of science, technology and society, we surrender control of the most potent forces shaping our wor ld to a technocratic elite, (p. 13) Here the threat is from a "technocratic elite" to which the Counci l does not think society should "surrender". In many ways, then, science education can be positioned in opposition to that which is considered quintessentially undesirable, and even heinous. The choice is clear, and is for all practical purposes already made by the presumption that the one-of-two in the binary that is considered good must be sustained. Extraordinary Science The compelling character of a threat can be seen as due to its position as an epitomization of the extraordinary. Kathleen Jones' (1993) reference, addressed briefly above, to the "diametric opposition between charisma and the mundane" that allows the heroic leader to emerge becomes particularly important (p. 114). Charisma, addressed in this way, is the ability to control or overcome extraordinary circumstances. It is not always an overt threat, however, that moves discourse into the realm of the extraordinary. Whenever some act or some area of knowledge is 236 established as vitally important, then the conditions that facilitate that act or knowledge are also vitally important. If science knowledge is shown to be vitally important in one way or another ("the most potent forces"), then science education—seen as the conditions in which science knowledge is gained—is also vitally important. For example, the statement above from the Science Counci l of Canada that refers to a "technocratic elite" is addressing one of four goals the Council gives for science education. For each of its other three goals the authors are silent as to what w i l l happen if students do not learn science, focusing instead on the need to learn science and the benefits they w i l l gain from doing so. In terms of both the needs and the benefits, science becomes an exceptional factor, especially in determining future opportunity. The Science Council argues for a goal of "science for the wor ld of work" by asserting such premises as "technology w i l l be a key factor in the future employment of large numbers of our present school children" (p. 15). A l lowing the assumption that science education does or can prepare students for jobs that call for technological expertise, the idea of the "key factor" role of technology in future employment is based on a particular conception (prediction) of the future: Students need [training for work in technology-related careers] for their own benefit. A n d society requires it, for among these students w i l l be found the individuals who w i l l be tomorrow's entrepreneurs and technical innovators. Indeed, the Science 237 Counci l has often highlighted the importance of technological innovation in the development of Canadian industry and the critical role played by individual innovators, (p. 15) This can be read as a rationale for science education within a cooperative economy in the style of Marx, "where we can all be producers, artists (Marx was a romantic), inventors, and artisans. (Assembly-line workers don't quite seem to fit.)" (Walzer, 1995, p. 11). Marx need not be the referent, however. There are many ways of theorizing an economy that wou ld be supportive of technical innovation. Sti l l , the question can be asked: W h y is technological innovation necessarily seen as important? The obvious response is already given; because industry requires a constant infusion of new ideas. W h y does industry need an infusion of new ideas? The questioning can go on virtually endlessly, wi th the result being that each response is a different articulation of "because with things in society being as they are, or because of how they will be, it is important." These can be taken as arguments from reality—but realities are constituted through specific historical contingencies, accepted uncritically here as something to be perpetuated into the future. This is, therefore, another articulation of normalized authority that presumes its own certainty. Cou ld an alternative future be envisioned? Perhaps it would be one that, instead of being silent on environmental and social degradation that may accompany many uses of technology, considers that degradation and 238 emphasizes ameliorating it prior to implementing the technology? Why is this, too, not an explicit part of the call for improved science education? Attention to technical innovation is also part of a conception of the good life that focuses on social interactions as a series of changes (often in response to issues) and the valued role of the individual as being in some way in control of those changes. This is often expressed in terms of learning science so that individuals can solve problems or make decisions. In the science text that the students were using during the time of the study, there is a letter from the authors to the student at the front. In it the authors write: Research and discoveries never cease . . . .Every day, new facts are found and new tools are invented; old theories and old inventions are no longer useful. However, the scientific methods of research and analysis w i l l never grow dul l wi th time: the more they are used, the sharper they become. [This book] is designed to help you acquire the skills and knowledge that you w i l l need to make decisions about many complex matters affecting our world. (Bullard, et al. 1984, p. viii) The imagery in this latter excerpt is that of science knowledge as something exceptional; it is a tool that is sharp and that grows sharper through use. That exceptionally sharp (never dull) tool is to be used (made more sharp) in decision making. Later, at the end of the unit the 239 electricity chapter is in, the students are asked to consider the "issues and controversies" related to nuclear power: This generation [presumably meaning the students] has a responsibility to make intelligent decisions about nuclear energy. Like many issues today, the answers are not easy. Some people are convinced that humans w i l l survive only if the use of nuclear energy for both military and civilian purposes is abandoned. Others do not believe it is possible to eliminate all the uses of nuclear energy. Instead, they feel efforts should be directed toward making it as safe as possible. What kinds of questions has [sic] led to both viewpoints? (Bullard, et al., 1984, p. 90) The issue is a matter of whether or not "humans w i l l survive," and the answer is presented in terms of a decision as to whether nuclear energy should be "abandoned." It is a question of whether it is possible to "eliminate" all uses of nuclear energy, or make it "as safe as possible." The students are then given a number of questions to address to understand "both viewpoints"—a binary opposition. Mak ing "intelligent decisions about nuclear energy" is presented as a matter of sorting through a choice between extremes—an exceptional role for anyone. Leading the society through its changes, making decisions about social issues, solving problems—all of these are associated with the "required proofs" of heroic charisma (Jones, 1993, p. 115), which is based on the separation between the mundane and the extraordinary. 240 In the most recent document to be released in the United States (National Research Counci l , 1996), the extraordinariness of science is established in a way that does not focus on a single emphasis, but promises to address many, if not all, of them: W h y is science literacy important? First, an understanding of science offers personal fulfillment and excitement—benefits that should be shared by everyone. Second, Americans are confronted increasingly with questions in their lives that require scientific information and scientific ways of thinking for informed decision making. A n d the collective judgment of our people w i l l determine how we manage shared resources—such as air, water, and national forests. Science understanding and ability also w i l l enhance the capability of all students to hold meaningful and productive jobs in the future. The business community needs entry-level workers wi th the ability to learn, reason, think creatively, make decisions, and solve problems. In addition, concerns regarding economic competitiveness stress the central importance of science and mathematics education that w i l l allow us to keep pace wi th our global competitors, (pp. 11-12) In an apparent effort to be inclusive of all rationales for science education, the authors of this document position science as essential to all aspects of life. There is no singular view of the good life promoted here, but 241 whatever the good life may be, science knowledge is essential to it. While these inter-relationships among personal fulfillment, decision making, collective judgment, meaningful jobs, economic competitiveness, and science may have some basis in practice, that is not elucidated here. It is enough to assume that such inter-relationships exist, and that science education is, therefore, necessary. Science education becomes extraordinary i n that, if it is not the one that can be exchanged for all in the dynamics of privilege discussed above, it is at least a necessary component of those dynamics. It is a necessary component in ways that need no further argument or legitimization. Without such argument or legitimization, the binary returns. There is only having scientific literacy or not having it. A n y differences in how science might be known, how those different ways of knowing science might affect capacities, ways of interacting wi th others or wi th the world , or social participation are left as already understood. These various claims for what science literacy offers become indistinguishable as they include many aspects of life in general, but none in particular. H o w is "personal fulfillment and excitement" the same as, different from, or otherwise related to, for instance, "informed decision making"? A statement that seems to encompass too much is, in its incapacity to display more than presumed associations, primarily a vague statement of what is threatened b y not having science literacy, which is itself a vague concept. 242 That the N R C Standards (1996) promote science as exceptional without articulating how is pointed out by a critique of that and other recent policy documents in the United States provided by Eisenhart, Finkel, & Mar ion (1996). It has already been noted that, in the rhetoric of its introductory message, the N R C document promotes science for a variety of reasons. The same is the case for documents published by the American Association for the Advancement of Science (1993) and the National Science Teachers Association (1992). Yet, Eisenhart et al. examine the changes that the documents actually promote, concluding that: The work of science in school remains virtually unchanged: to acquire the tenets of established science and to ignore or put off their use in real-world or "mature" contexts. The basic conceptual and methodological tools of science inquiry have not been affected. The ways of talking about the characteristics of good scientists and distinguishing them from other are unaltered. N o new ways of talking about how or why women and minorities are good at science are offered. N o valued image of a mature, science practitioner who is not a scientist, has been developed. In other words, the means of pursuing scientific literacy suggested by current reforms to not seem to anticipate diverse groups of people who put science to use in broader, different, or socially responsible ways. (p. 281) 243 This last point, the lack of attention to socially responsible science in the documents, is particularly troubling in light of its relationship to the rationale given for scientific literacy. Without an articulation of how science can be used in socially responsible ways by students, the reasons for promoting science knowledge become shrouded in the same alienating manner that was discussed above wi th reference to the students who were interviewed. There is an assumed general usefulness to science, but the specific applications in the students' lives are left dormant. Defining Associations Documents such as these either implici t ly or explicitly present science education as an endeavor that has profound consequences for the good life. Further, the existence of the documents implies an argument that there is a need to control those consequences. A t its most exceptional, the control offered by science knowledge is exerted in the face of impending disorder (social chaos, urban blackout, nuclear meltdown, unemployment, economic stagnation) that seems either possible or imminent. Science education is needed to stave off these consequences. This sense of the exceptional need, threat, or uncertainty is developed within binary oppositions that demand separation, hierarchical evaluation, and the exchange metaphor enacted between diminishment (often sacrifice) and sustenance. In decision-making, uncertainty is presumably exchanged for certainty as options are separated, weighed, and 244 selected; in problem solving, the problem is presumably exchanged for the solution; in innovation, the old is exchanged for the new. Science education promises a life in which all that is chaotic, uncertain, and unfulfilling w i l l be exchanged for certainty, order, and fulfillment—an ever-changing and ever-improving life through science knowledge. Science knowledge provides a means of leadership, then, in the Western tradition in which "the foundation of legitimate rule is the ruler's possession of, perhaps even monopolization of, knowledge about the 'good society"' (Jones, p. 122). It provides the means by which people w i l l be able to enjoy their lives and fully enact their capacities as citizens. The exchange metaphor inherent wi th in binary oppositions suggests an understanding that can be described in economic terms. When science knowledge is seen as a part of, necessary for, the good life, it is itself a social good. Science knowledge is exchanged for other goods. But this is not a general, open set of exchanges. It is a social good that is involved in the exchanges that take place to establish the good life, for one and all. When the role of science knowledge is established in a conception of the good life that is pre-specified, or vague but still implicit ly exclusive of some relationships, restrictions are placed on which meanings, associations, knowledges, and identities have currency and which do not. A l l people can be included in these exchanges, as is indicated by many policy documents ( A A A S , ; N R C , 1996) as long as they accept the rules that have been set. These rules need not be set at the policy level. As was seen 245 with David and Keith, they can be set at the school level, or the classroom level, or even the individual level if the teacher's institutional power is used to specify what w i l l be considered valued knowledge wi th reference to a particular conception of a good life, which it is, after all , the hero's duty to exemplify and provide. 246 VII. Plenishment Oppositional strategies can no longer be framed through an identification with a spectacle of opposition, but must begin to acknowledge a heterogeneity of difference which lies below the mirrored surface of homogeneous culture . . . .As producers and consumers of culture, we stand at the crossroads of the technological conquest of representation. We can resign ourselves to a nihilistic interpretation of its will to power or we can begin to cross-examine our own construction of identity as a complex nexus of identifications and complicities, of mediations and lived differences. But in choosing the second option, in choosing cross-examination over individualized despair, we must confront our own desire for mastery, our own fears of a heterogeneity that would fundamentally challenge the social and political structures of a First World which constructs identity as an identification with homogeneity. Dot Tuer Heroics: A Critical View 247 Chapter Introduction What heroism calls for is a maintenance of binaries, and more generally a reliance on the ideological components of separation, boundary imagery, and reductive identities. These have been presented as sustaining divisive bias. To adopt other ideological components in an effort to overcome divisive bias runs the risk of doing no more than reinvoking the method of reversal, which depends on the very same components to isolate the one that would be exchanged for the other. Heroism is, after al l , an ideology of exchange through substitution of what is valued for what is devalued. However, exchange does not have to be understood as binary replacement. It can also be read as bringing about change through interdependent movements. These movements wou ld recognize what is being taken and what is being given, but without establishing a hierarchical boundary between them. This leaves the potential for interchange open for more than what is already defined, because the boundaries of those definitions are seen as malleable, and even permeable. That is, exchanges can be undertaken as movements within and around but also in excess of boundaries. These movements are transformative in ways that maintain, but also relinquish what is already established. The prejudicial character of divisive bias—by which alienation, dominance, subordination, and privilege are pre-assigned—fades into a shifting horizon of social possibility and expansive personal identity. 248 T h i n k i n g Through the Binary of Sustenance and Sacrifice I n the p r e c e d i n g s e c t i o n s , I h a v e d e m o n s t r a t e d w a y s t h a t a s p e c t s o f s c i e n c e e d u c a t i o n p a r a l l e l the i m a g e r y a n d i d e o l o g i e s o f e p i c h e r o i s m . I n t u r n , I h a v e a s s o c i a t e d e p i c h e r o i s m w i t h t h e m e s s u c h as s e p a r a t i o n a n d b o u n d a r y i m a g e r y t h a t a r e f u n d a m e n t a l a s p e c t s o f d i v i s i v e b i a s . T h e r e i s n o r e q u i r e m e n t t h a t s c i e n c e e d u c a t i o n o r o t h e r s o c i a l r e l a t i o n s h i p s b e u n d e r s t o o d i n t h e s e t e r m s . It i s p o s s i b l e to t h i n k a b o u t r e l a t i o n s h i p s , i n c l u d i n g t h o s e a s s u m e d a n d p r o m o t e d i n s c i e n c e e d u c a t i o n , i n w a y s t h a t d o n o t p e r p e t u a t e the i d e o l o g i c a l t h e m e s o f h e r o i s m , o r a n y s i n g u l a r r a t i o n a l i t y t h a t c o u l d t a k e i ts p l a c e as t h e f o u n d a t i o n o f a h e r o i c p r o g r a m . B y t h a t r e t h i n k i n g , d y n a m i c s c o u l d b e e s t a b l i s h e d t h a t a r e l e s s a m e n a b l e to d i v i s i v e b i a s . Y e t , r e t h i n k i n g s c i e n c e e d u c a t i o n o u t s i d e o f b i n a r y o p p o s i t i o n s c a n n o t b e p r e s e n t e d as a n a l t e r n a t i v e to t h e i m a g e r y o f b i n a r i e s , o r i t w i l l i t s e l f t a k e o n t h e c h a r a c t e r o f an e x c h a n g e — t h e o l d f o r the n e w — r e i n v o k i n g b y r e v e r s a l t h e i m a g e r y i t i n t e n d s to r e p l a c e . I n s t e a d o f a n e x c h a n g e t h a t i s r e s t r i c t e d to a n e i t h e r / o r r e p l a c e m e n t , I w i l l s u g g e s t a r e t h i n k i n g o f s c i e n c e e d u c a t i o n t h a t d o e s n o t d o a w a y w i t h c u r r e n t i m a g e r y t h r o u g h e x c l u s i o n , b u t n o n e t h e l e s s f u n d a m e n t a l l y a l t e r s i t . T h a t r e t h i n k i n g w i l l a l t e r i t b y i n c l u d i n g t h e t h e m e s s o f a r d i s c u s s e d , b u t i n a m a n n e r t h a t p r e s s e s t h e m to e x c e s s , s u r p a s s i n g t h e l i m i t s t h e y t y p i c a l l y assert . B o u n d a r i e s , f o r e x a m p l e , m a y s t i l l describe b u t t h e y w i l l n o t contain t h e m e a n i n g s u n d e r s t o o d f o r s c i e n c e e d u c a t i o n a n d t h e 249 rationales for undertaking it. Exchanges would take place, but within a field that does not have a pre-existing hierarchy, nor impermeable restrictions as to what identities and relationships have currency. This rethinking would , therefore, transform from within as wel l as from without, to the point that the arbitrariness of in-out distinctions wou ld become overt, and an asset to the manner in which identities and relationships are formed. This transformation would take place through movements that are, therefore, in excess of the imagery of oppositions, rather than as a replacement for it. Importantly, there is in this rethinking a recognition of the undetermined character of symbols, of understanding, of meaning making, and of the associations that, therefore, follow from using those meanings in experience. Symbols themselves are ambiguous, but they are not meaningless. The exact meaning of any particular symbol held by one interlocutor cannot be known by another, although it is some degree of intersubjective agreement that allows communication. Where heroism strives to contain that ambiguity introduced by less than heroic aspects of identity—the rethinking that I am proposing w i l l strive to exploit it. Moments of uncertainty can become opportunities for extending meaning and identity, rather than demands to conceal what cannot be contained. 250 A n Ethic of Plenishment The rethinking can begin by recognizing, and pressing to an extreme, the boundaries set. by sustenance and diminishment in order to rethink through them, again and again, to an excess. In the extreme, diminishment moves to sacrifice, and sacrifice in the extreme is death. It is the self-annihilation, the glorious suicide, that was seen in heroism. Having seen that such self-effacing sacrifice can lead to the profound neglect of others, reliance on the good/bad binary leads to an urge to exclude sacrifice from relationships. Sacrifice is cast as the action of the bad. However, Ross (1995) presents the case that sacrifice can also be the action of the good: To undertake the good is to face unceasing sacrifice and loss: the deaths of some that others may live, the suffering of some that others may know joy . . . .Sacrifice never escapes from the contamination of injustice. Responsibility for sacrifice refuses every comfort in the name of the good. (p. 1) The binary quivers as the separation between the good and the bad is exceeded so that they disperse into and through each other. Arbitrary distinctions, made from a particular, but still protean, perspective can maintain the separation, but then only temporarily. 251 As this side of the binary is exceeded, so is the other. Sacrifice is included in sustenance, and sustenance pressed to an extreme moves to what Ross refers to as cherishment: Cherishment is inclusion, includes the heterogeneous things and kinds of the earth, expresses the call of the good. Yet, this sustenance requires for some, at times, i n some ways, sacrifice, (p. 2) Cherishment cannot be maintained for all , nor even for one since what that one is now cannot be held, sustained, against its own changing. To stop something from changing, which would be required to have certain knowledge of it, is to k i l l it. This is murder (cf. Daignault, 1992). The binary quivers again, and in that unsettled movement, the spaces are opened by which thinking can exceed it even further. Science educators must, for example, give up some options for directions to take wi th students in order to pursue others. Every question, every issue, every topic cannot be addressed at once, or even at different times, since new ones continue to emerge at every moment. To sustain some pursuits, others must be set aside. The question is, therefore, what to include in the curriculum, and what to exclude for the moment, and how that can be determined. There are, too, degrees of inclusion, and indirect inclusion. Cherishment and sacrifice, too, need not be held in absolute contrast. The binary of sustenance and diminishment, pressed to cherishment and sacrifice, and then exceeded is plenishment: 252 Plenishment is the crossing of cherishment and sacrifice, inhabiting their borders: an inexhaustible concern for heterogeneous things and kinds together wi th endless impossibilities of fulfillment, producing boundless possibilities of love and joy, still haunted by memories of disaster. A n ethic of plenishment includes the different things of the earth in their heterogeneous plenitude, none excluded from the good, but knows sorrow at the inevitability of loss, mourns the suffering and passing away of creatures and kinds, and knows joy at the goods that emerge from this painful place, a joy bearing an unlimited responsibility for the good. (p. 2) Plenishment exceeds the boundaries that would be formed if diminishment and sustenance were seen as a binary. It exceeds the power of the rules set by that binary, rules that would be structured wi th in an exchange that relies on fixed definitions. These are the rules of a restricted economy. In a restricted economy inclusion can occur through homogenization (exclusion of difference) or through addition (allowing some difference to be added to an otherwise untransformed dominant identity.) In this case, inclusion does not press to excess the boundaries by which restriction operates, but enforces them, al lowing them to contain meaning. Containment within a restricted economy allows absolute definition, and definition sets the conditions for the mastery which is the domain of certain knowledge. Mastery excludes all that cannot be defined 253 and controlled—what cannot be mastered. More than that, it enacts the imagery by which exclusion is rationalized in many ways, in many relationships: A mastery culture is a restricted exchange economy. But there are other exchange economies that divide in pairs, binaries, in which mastery may not be predominant, perhaps gift economies. Even so, where knowledge and truth divide into true and false, scientific and unscientific, legitimate and illegitimate, mastery predominates by exclusion. Similarly, Western culture seems to understand ethics, politics, and culture as divided by one form of exclusion after another, by legitimate and illegitimate power, acceptable and unacceptable desires, by codes of conduct and by the possession and use of animals. (Ross, 1995, p. 93) To think in terms of plenishment is to think outside of mastery, to exceed its imagery at the points where the boundaries are set that a l l o w -even expect and demand—separation, boundedness, and exchange within hierarchies. In plenishment, though, mastery is included, too, even as it is exceeded and it is transformed by excessive rethinking. The curriculum of science, when considered from within an ethic of plenishment is not, therefore, cannot be, pre-defined. To do so would be to imply that there had been mastery achieved over the possibilities that science education presents. Instead, those things not considered appropriate, possible, worthy of inclusion, and necessary have to be 254 considered, and always reconsidered. This is true in relation to the topics addressed, but also in the manner in which they are addressed, the connections made between them and students' lives, and the limits that are placed on them for the purposes of placing them in a class called "science." It may be important to include what is "unscientific" perhaps because it is not considered scientific, and the lessons that offers about the social understanding of science. For instance, what can students learn about the relationship people have with science from magazine advertisements? From fictional stories written for children? From poetry, art or music? From business, theater, or truck driving? What can be learned about hills and mountains by looking at a painting that depicts them in the most "unscientific" ways? What can be learned not simply because these impressions are "wrong", but because they are "right" in ways that ask for a consideration of them that exceeds the literal. A great deal, perhaps—for now. But such inclusions too (if they were included, and to the extent that they already are) could not be (cannot be) considered permanent either. There are always other reasons to include, and exclude, some of the many possibilities. Ordinary Practice: Prudentialized Charisma To begin this rethinking within science education, then, is to exceed the boundaries set by the conceptions of the good and bad, worth teaching/learning and not, when they are imagined in the logic of binary. 255 A n important place for this to happen is to rethink the binary that is often maintained between the mundane and the exceptional, between the charisma of exceptional acts that are seen as bringing order in opposition to chaos and those acts in which relationships are maintained in very ordinary ways. These latter acts can also be seen as charismatic, but the charisma is of a different kind. This is what Kathleen Jones (1993) contrasts with Max Weber's (1978) version of charisma: The Weberian elaboration of charisma has left us wi th a legacy that identifies the phenomenon wi th the most striking actions of those who are most graphically distant and different from us. The creative force of charisma, according to Weber, derives from its ability to distinguish itself from the ordinary plodding of ordinary people, (p. 115) In contrast, she offers prudentialized charisma, which is connected to the ordinary wor ld of everyday attachments, family life, occupation, community, neighborhood and others. But this is neither b l ind obedience nor uncritical acquiescence. It is a persistent movement within, but also in excess of the power that wou ld structure mastery over / in life. That is to say that prudentialized charisma "makes its way through the mundane without simply conforming to the immediate demands of the everyday" (p. 116). Jones cites Hanna Arendt (1970) as she describes prudentialized charisma as being able to "remind us of the action we are capable of by 256 virtue of having been born" (p. 117). She uses the phrase "grace under pressure" as she connects this with the work of Bettina Aptheker (1989), through which she associates prudentialized charisma wi th the experience of women's resistance. Aptheker writes that women's resistance is not . out of a particular political movement that could be represented within heroic imagery, but out of the "dailiness of women's lives": Too often we have not seen this k ind of resistance or appreciated its cumulative effects because we have been looking for social movements as these have been traditionally defined, and we have looked for the historical moments when these movements have reached their apex, making sweeping social change. To see women's resistance is also to see the accumulated effects of daily, arduous, creative, and sometimes ingenious labors, performed over time, sometimes over generations, (p. 173) This resistance comes out of sexual difference that has been constructed to define women as subordinate to men, but also "assigns to women responsibility for sustaining the lives of their children and, in a broader sense, their families, including husbands, relatives, elders, and community" (p. 173). These sustaining acts are performed in connection with others, but the connections are ordinary. Of course, they are ordinary in a most exceptional way. This is an exceptionality, however, that extends beyond the limits of a single momentary spectacle and into the 257 ordinariness of everyday life. It is articulated so that both the ordinary and the exceptional can be valued as the distinction between them fades. Could there be a rethinking of science education as prudentialized learning? Perhaps Aptheker's remark quoted above offers, as wel l , a sense of what we might look for in schools. It would be a prudentialized learning wi th cumulative effects rather than an exclusive focus on learning that has reached its apex—when the student has become a graduate/college entrant, scientist/doctor/lawyer/professional, or political operative. That is, it is learning that maintains an ongoing connection with the everyday aspects of identity, rather than measuring results in terms of sweeping personal change. To see prudentialized learning, then, is also to see "the accumulated effects of daily, arduous, creative, and sometimes ingenious labors, performed over time, sometimes over generations." If mastery is exceeded through prudentialized charisma, then a plenishment of science knowledge can be found in the dailiness of students' lives. This would be, however, found in a way that cannot be anticipated, nor contained by what is already known of science knowledge. This plenishment wou ld be promoted as science knowledge comes to be seen as significant wi thin responses that cannot be known in advance, whether by way of policy or curriculum or testing or even a teacher's experience with former students, but could ultimately apprehend some parts of all of them in the work that is done. The curriculum in science 258 education would be made to deliberately and necessarily intersect the students' lives, providing opportunities for the sustained engagement with their experience that is allowed to be absent from instruction by a doctrine of general knowledge. This does not mean that the knowledge that has become standard within curricula would be abandoned, only that its boundaries would be exceeded. A n illustrative analogy can be drawn here wi th music. A piece of music is composed, and it is written onto a score. The music can be known from the score. But the score underdetermines knowledge of and experience wi th the music: Only those aspects of musical communication which are amenable to visual representation and rational manipulation—the 'melody, harmony, and rhythm' which can be depicted i n western notation and which usually serve as a formal definition of 'music'—are taken seriously i n those institutions which preserve and reproduce the dominant 'classical music' tradition of modern western societies. . . . this is an absurd and troubling state of affairs, for music is primarily and essentially a sonic means of communication which affects us in ways that are simply not reducible to visual or verbal representations. What western notation cannot deal wi th— the specific timbre of individual voices or instruments, for example, or the minute and often irregular variations of both pitch and rhythm which are characteristic of most non-western musical 259 styles—are precisely those elements which give musical communication its intensity and immediacy, and, for Shepherd, its importance. (Martin, 1995, p. 134) If science is analogous to music, what is analogous to the score? A policy document with its curriculum framework? The textbook perhaps? The activities the teacher knows from past lessons? If so, then the concepts, analogies, examples, and other devices used to communicate science are the "formal definition" of science. What can the analogy of "notation," in science education not "deal with?" If music is "sonic" communication, then what k ind of communication is science? H o w is it that this form of communication "affects us in ways that are simply not reducible to visual or verbal representations?" What wou ld be analogous wi th the "timbre of individual voices?" What is it that gives science knowledge its "intensity and immediacy" and "its importance?" There is no need to answer these questions now. The answering, if thought of within an ethic of plenishment, w i l l come as science is encountered in the mundane, the ordinary "dailiness" of students' lives, but in ways that make them, in their way, exceptional. Another association, maybe (but maybe not) closer to science can be found in the simple experience of holding a stone. H o w does it feel to hold a stone? What does it bring to mind? These are, admittedly, mundane questions. H o w did it get to be as it is—in shape, texture, color, place on the Earth? What makes it exceptional even as it is so very 260 ordinary? What places, events, even people, does one become associated with by the simple act of holding this stone? Imagine answers to these questions, then give the rock to someone else. Ask the same questions. The answers w i l l not be the same. This is plenishment. It is cherishment, too. But it is also sacrifice. The mundanity of the experience belies the associations that can be made with it. If it is a piece of the geologic formation known as the Canadian Shield, for example, one becomes associated wi th rocks that cooled some 3.8 bi l l ion years ago—about the time of the first life on Earth, and some of the oldest rocks on the surface of the Earth; with the Laurentide ice sheet that scoured the Northeastern parts of Nor th America some twenty thousand years ago; w i d i the Iroquois, Huron, and other nations that l ived in the forested lake country that emerged on it; with the British, Dutch, and French traders who brought European cultures and economic systems to the land now known as Nor th America; and more, some of which cannot be anticipated since they derive from the personal experiences of students. Returning to Aptheker (1989) and Jones (1993), if prudentialized charisma comes out of the "responsibility for sustaining the lives" of others (Aptheker, p. 173), then thoughts about science knowledge can turn to the lives of others as well . What was given up and by whom within the histories that are brought to mind as we consider the stone and the many associations that can be made with it? H o w can learners, in a manner of speaking, sustain 261 the lives of those who may be distant from them in time and place, if not by knowing something of those lives? There is an immediacy to these questions, as well . What does someone else give up so we can have this moment to think in this way using science knowledge? It is a good moment to think of such things. But the act of the good cannot forget that something must be given up for its sake. There can be moments, too, in which what are thought about are the topics addressed i n the examples from the students' textbook: electricity and nuclear power. What do they bring to mind? What must be given up so that someone can think this way? So that someone can have electricity, nuclear power, or other products of individual and collective action to think about? Les Levidow (1987) offers an example in which a diffusion of the mundane and the exceptional occurs as science is seen through people's l ives: For most of the world's population, the 'energy crisis' has little to do wi th oil or coal, since it is experienced as a shortage of firewood, a shortage aggravated by . . . imperialist 'development projects' . . . . Meanwhile, potentially cheap, small-scale alternatives—solar power or biogas plants—are being developed on large-scale models, inaccessible to the people who most need them. Of course, the main priority for energy research continues to be nuclear power, geared to supplying electricity for urban dwellers 262 and industry. This has racist effects, not only in the global context of fuel usage and dependence on the West, but also in more specific ways. In some Western countries, immigrants are employed as casual labourers—for example, Nor th Africans in France—to perform the tasks that most expose workers to radioactivity. In the routine language of the industry, these workers are 'burnt out' to the maximum permissible limit, then replaced by others (Jungk, 1979). In India such tasks are performed by illiterate villagers whose cancer deaths years later are attributed to fate or misfortune. Even among educated professional in India, their lack of any real control over radioactivity dangers has led to a resurgence of traditional religion and superstition—an ironic result of Western-induced dependence upon dangerous imported technology (Sharma, 1984). (p. 53) What wou ld this indicate people in India have given up for electricity? What have people in France, or Nor th America given up? Electricity is mundane in students' lives, but here it is presented through circumstances that are, to North American students, exceptional in many ways. But what is exceptional to some is mundane for those who live those circumstances on a regular basis. Can the mundane in the students' lives be considered and told as exceptional in this way? Can the activities that use electricity in unexceptional ways also be seen as worthy of study? It is by such a juxtaposing of the mundane and the extraordinary, in ways 263 that are quite playfully serious—perhaps even poetic—that students may begin to find associations between their own lives and those of distant Others. Civil Society: Identity In Community In Association The associations made among the lives of students and the lives of distant others can be made with reference to many social arrangements. In Levidow's account, for instance, many associations can be made wi th reference to science knowledge: science and the workplace, science and government, the workplace and government, daily life and science, science and religion. There are, of course, many more. A l l of them cannot be known even after they have been lived. In the worlds of students, too, such multiplicity of associations can be made wi th reference to the students' lives and wi th respect (in both senses) to their social groups organized around these associations. Plenishment through prudentialized charisma calls for this respect to social groups in ways that cause boundaries to be exceeded. Identity is not sustained wi th reference to one group (e.g., males, females, Caucasians, Chinese) or one association (e.g., university attendance) or a few that are nested within each other. It is sustained within a network of overlapping and interconnected relationships—social associations. This does not mean that boundaries do not exist, only that they are not meant to contain identity, nor to compel dissociation with some aspects of 264 identity in exchange for association with those relationships through which "success" is achieved. Identity is pluralized from a single center to multiple, more or less shifting sites and across the multiple, more or less shifting fields that connect them. A n ethic of plenishment suggests, therefore, a different sense of identity and of community than those which are given by boundary imagery and exchange metaphors. In general, I find in this an articulation of Michael Walzer's conception of "civil society" which is the "space of uncoerced human association and also the set of relational networks . . . that fi l l this space" (p. 7). C i v i l society is the realm of fragmentation and struggle but also of concrete and authentic solidarities, where we fulfill E. M . Forster's injunction, 'only connect,' and become sociable or communal men and women . . . .The picture here is of people freely associating and communicating with one another, forming and reforming groups of all sorts, not for the sake of any particular formation—family, tribe, nation, religion, commune, brotherhood or sisterhood, interest group or ideological movement—but for the sake of sociability itself. (1995, p. 16) People are workers and they are parents, they are managers and they are friends, and children, and worshippers, and club members, and . . . so many more. The busy-ness ethic is exceeded as separation is exceeded by pluralized association. Associations are maintained (or not maintained, as 265 there is some sacrifice here, too) through action, directly and indirectly in daily, routine, but also exceptional ways. Communities are defined, and by that separated from others, but always in ways known to exceed their own definition as networks extend through and beyond boundaries. One who is in this community is also in that community, and known to be. Knowers, who are known for their multiple associations, are not interchangeable. Bound A n d Determined The idea of finding associations with others, and constructing an identity in this way is antagonistic to heroic identity. This identity would necessarily be expansive, constantly resetting its own limits. In a heroic program, identity is constructed reductively. Mult iple associations become challenges to complete identification wi th a group and the security that it offers. Specific symbols become icons by which identity is read on the face, the body, and the clothing, but also in the habits, language, and other aspects of behavior. Reading these symbols in relation to the idealized group attributes signals inclusion, exclusion, and various forms of marginalization and dominance. There is in this a Hegelian version of identity and freedom: For Hegel, the individual can have no identity and no purpose apart from the social order within which he [sic] exists, and thus freedom that is defined as autonomy from the social order would be 266 completely vacuous. A n individual thus freed would have no self that could act on this freedom. (McGowan, 1991, p. 50) Thus, not being recognized as being within a group moves one beyond alienation of self, to a loss of self altogether—a collapsing of difference into oblivion rather an exceeding of difference. In the inability to identify with something in particular, one becomes identified wi th what one is not, or wi th nothing: Michelle: I guess I am Canadian. I mean you know a lot of the time we're talking about this year who's, I guess more like what's a Canadian right? And it took a while for me to figure but I figure a Canadian is someone that is probably not really Canadian but then if they went back to where they were they're certainly not— like if I went back to China they would look at me like she's the foreigner, we're going to charge her extra, (her emphases) Michelle-MC What does it mean for someone to be Canadian by virtue of being recognized as a foreigner in China, but at the same time not "really" being Canadian? It suggests that the power of dominant identities is maintained as the standard that serves as the basis for the definition of all else. A n expectation of vulnerability ("we're going to charge her extra") follows if a dominant identity cannot be claimed, and an expectation of benefit, even superiority, follows if it can be: I: So, I mean how has being "Chinese" affected you? 267 Claudia: I think, I think being Chinese has helped me to be more confident than if I was a different culture because I, I don't know, growing up the way I did, being Chinese is better, like than if you were—well Chinese, or Vietnamese, or Oriental kind of—better than being White because you were singled out sometimes. Claudia : I think [growing up Chinese in Canada] made me more confident because I think. I like being Chinese , and [pause] well see if I was a different culture, I don't know, I think if I were White I wouldn't feel like I had an identity. I: Tell me more about that, can you? Claudia : Because [pause] they kind of associate White with being Canadian right and if you're, if you're Chinese and you live in Canada you're a Chinese Canadian or Canadian Chinese and you kind of have a more distinct culture. Kind of have a more distinct identity. I think if I were White I would be too, I don't know, too, I don't know, too, [pause] bland. Claudia-MC Importantly, however, a consciousness of placement in relation to dominant positionings is more important for someone whose personal iconography includes the potential for being defined as outside the norm. 268 That is, someone who could be excluded from the security of a socially powerful group. For those whose physical iconography signals their placement in dominant positions, however, not having a specific identity is less of a threat. The three Caucasian students in this group, for example, were not prepared to discuss their cultural associations in definitive terms: Pamela: I don't think I've grown up with any particular culture because I've been raised in North America by two parents who are from Britain but who really weren't part of the cultural, the cultural mesh there so I sometimes, like I say I've grown up without any culture but I've got to have some, I really do. Pamela-MC [Manuel, who selected his own pseudonym, is a U.S. born Caucasian student] I: What's your culture? Manuel : My culture, I don't know. Good question. Well I don't know. What is my culture? Manuel-MC I: What is your culture? Keith: I'm not too sure. It's, the closest thing I guess you could say is Australia because it's under the British Commonwealth, 269 because I am, [pause] part Scottish, a little Irish, British, or English, or American, or whatever, White. I: White? Keith: Quote "White." I suppose, yeah. Yet, there are also ambiguities in identity—they need be neither entirely dominant nor entirely subaltern. For those who may potentially find themselves in subordinate positions, one way to resolve any ambiguity in identity while maintaining boundary imagery is to structure identity as nearly as possible to the boundaries represented by definitive attributes. Variation, difference, or lack of an important attribute are managed or excluded so that they do not become a threat to inclusion, or to one's social positioning. There is an urge toward congruity wi th the group norm and, by that, a willingness to relinquish uniqueness that derives from being associated wi th others in a novel combination of ways: Han: Well this is the thing, I mean I'm half Asian, well I'm half Chinese and half Laotian but I don't think that, I don't feel like I have any culture 'cause my friends have a lot more culture than I do and I'm sort of in between. I'm still kind of, I'm still Asian in general. I: Okay. When you say Asian in general it sounds, were you born in Canada then? 270 Han : No. I: No. Okay, so did any, do you have any memories of living some place else? Han: No because, well we came to Canada when I was like 30 days old. So I was practically born in Canada. Han-MC Bradley: Most everybody [at school] has adopted a kind of Western kind of culture and other cultures are like disappeared, I feel, like myself, I don't know much about my background and I feel like I'm more Westernized than, you know— Well it doesn't matter but [pause] but if I feel like I'm Chinese right, then I feel like I should like know my culture, even though I live in Canada I should still keep my culture because that's part of me. Despite having grown up almost entirely in Canada, speaking primarily Laotian in the home as a child, and not taking part in Buddhism—the religion she indicates most Chinese people in her community follow— Han identifies herself as Chinese. Bradley feels that being Chinese is "part of" h im, even though he feels more "Westernized" and does not know the language of his Chinese ancestry—still, he feels he is "Chinese." 271 That particular attributes are given priority in assessments of identity can be recognized in the role language played among these students. The issue of language is important to many immigrant families (Young & Gardner, 1990), and for these students, proficiency wi th Chinese language (primarily Cantonese in this case) was in many ways indicative of culture, and social position: Kathleen: [At the Saturday Chinese School where she volunteers as a Cantonese tutor] you learn how to read and write Chinese because a lot of people who came here, they lose all their culture, I think, yeah. And they don't know that much about it, and how to write it or speak it. Like a lot of Chinese people I know, they don't know how to speak Chinese, and I don't know, I don't really want to be like that. Kathleen-GH16 Bradley: I can't read or write Chinese and I feel bad for that, because that's part of my culture. Because, like I said, it's part of me, even though I live in Vancouver, Canada, I'm still Chinese inside and that's like I said, part of my culture; I feel bad because I think I should learn it 'cause I am Chinese and that's what my language is 272 and I think I should have both English and Chinese in me. BRI-MC Paradoxically, students who had moved to Canada recently from Hong Kong were regarded poorly in several ways for exceeding the limits of tolerance of difference. Language played an important role here, too, in that their reliance on their native language made them stand out against the backdrop of Canadian society. Claudia: Sometimes it really bugs me that people aren't confident enough to raise their hand in class because what's, that's not such a big risk. I: Do you think that comes, that some people don't raise their hand in class because of their culture, is that the connection? Claudia: Yeah. I was saying about the people who just recently came in, but they can't really speak the language [Canadian English]. I know that they don't raise their hands because they don't think they can speak well but I, you know, sometimes that really bugs me because, wouldn't it be better to voice your opinion anyway? Claudia-MC I: Do you think that people have [stereotyped] expectations of Asian kids? 273 Han : [pause] No, not Asian kids who aren't ESL [i.e., in English as a Second Language classes]. / think Asian people who aren't in ESL are, you know, like that's almost half the population so it's like, you know— /: Okay, so Asian kids who aren 't in ESL are treated—? Han: The same. I: And kids who are in ESL are treated—? Han: Well they're known as 'hongers'; that's the term we use for them and they're not exactly, like most people I think would ignore them. They have their own circle of friends and we have our own circle of friends so I guess there's no interaction between ESL kids and main school kids. I: And why do you suppose that is? Han: Just because you know, just because I think we are scared to talk to them and they are scared to talk to us in turn, kind of thing, because of the language barrier. You know, we wear different clothes and there's also certain stereotypes set too, when it comes to ESL kids. I: Can you tell me some of those? Han: Like you know, they're nerds. They [pause] well you know, it's the main one is that they're 'hongers', which is just like the main term meaning that they're, they're from Hong Kong which you know, I mean a lot of them are but not all of 274 them. They're, listen to like Chinese music, this and that. Han-MC The importance of symbolic boundaries in the ideology of divisive bias is demonstrated in the relationship between the ESL and non-ESL students. The language difference allows for the maintenance of a boundary, making distinct groups among students, despite their sharing many associations. It is the boundaries rather than the associations that are asserted. By that the identity of each side is reduced in ways that keep them separated from each other. Plenishment of Identity: "Border Consciousness" To think in excess of the boundaries by which reductive identities are formed wou ld be to leave intact the group distinctions by which identity is now constructed, but at the same time exceed those distinctions. It would exceed them by focusing on the associations that permeate the boundaries of those distinctions. Identity would cohere through recognition, but at multiple sites that were being constantly reconfigured. This is l ikely to call for a shift in attention from iconographies as the means by which associations are formed to identities that are structured in more overtly and deliberately political ways. When groups are formed around political moments, they form and reform for purposes, they are not arbitrary. The purposes may be reasons 275 based on ideology, passions, practices, and so on. Wi th in these purposes, as was indicated for prudentialized charisma, mundane acts and associations take on the character of resisting the homogenizing power of dominant norms. There is no single set of pre-determined attributes against which identity must be situated. Yet, the current expectations for the power of those norms provides for their inclusion (for this is not a reversal by exclusion) even as they are challenged. They are included, but they do not necessarily have greater currency than any other aspects of identity. Gloria Anzaldua refers to identity constructed across and within multiple political positionings as mestiza or border consciousness, which "emerges from a subjectivity structured by multiple determinants— gender, class, sexuality, and contradictory memberships i n competing cultures and racial identities" (Yarbro-Bejarano, 1994, p. 11). This last part, "competing cultural and racial identities" is important. L i v i n g within and between such competing identities, rather than denying and/or reducing them, makes it clear that one's identity cannot be thought of as singular and bounded. Border consciousness is a plenishing response to this inherent multiplicity of identities. In relations that promote a plenishment of identity, border consciousness would lead instead to the opportunity for multiple affiliations. The ambiguities that lead Han to feel she doesn't "have any culture" could instead be the points of departure for associations with 276 others, as could those of other students who have similar responses to questions of culture. By maintaining those ambiguities, dominant and subordinate are held in tension, and any boundary between them can no longer be definitive of a pre-established hierarchy. The tensions of border consciousness are less l ikely to arise for those l iv ing within plurally dominant positions (especially when those positions cohere to dominant patterns across several sites—gender, race, culture, class). Wi th in a society that privileges certain (dominant) identities, they (we) do not have to face, on a daily basis, the straining of identity that arises from simultaneous, multiple positionings wi th in the dynamics of social power. Can those in dominant positions exceed their identities enough to be able to share, to some extent, border consciousness? Can oppression be destabilized from the traditional center of social power as wel l as the margins? Those last two are different questions. A n answer to the first asks for too much by way of generalization, or multiplied qualification, to be of use here. Certainly, though, it cannot be answered by an essentializing politics of authenticity that, once again, is efficient in terms of information costs but does violence to individual experience. As to the second question, the work of dispersing the power by which boundaries are generated and maintained must be shared throughout the network of associations. People in both traditionally dominant and subordinate positions can undertake, need to undertake, the rethinking in excess of boundaries. M e n , for example, are 277 necessary in feminist struggle because, as bell hooks (1992) writes, they are already involved in it, and in the oppression it seeks to redress: Unfortunately, as long as individuals both within and outside feminist movement consider it to be a movement for women only or even one that primarily benefits females, men w i l l be allowed to believe that feminist struggle is not for or about them. A n d it is. It has to be, or patriarchy and male domination w i l l never be eradicated, (p. 113) "Within," "outside," "eradicated"; these suggest the boundaries that maintain the exchange metaphor that propels domination. Yet, they are used to argue in a way that explicitly questions that metaphor. " A n d it is," hooks writes, not because some would choose it to be, but because it already is, and always has been, as much about men as it is about women. However, her language also acknowledges that the process of feminist struggle is different from other positions, even when the multiplicity of positions making up identity are considered (Kaplan, 1990). Association does not erase difference, but it does radically destabilize its significance. The politics of. civi l society disrupt the formation of separated groups. Associations proliferate as one association provides connections with others with and through other people. A co-worker or classmate, or an item being studied that comes from a distant place, provides an association with that place, and the struggles and joys that are happening there. Identity can not be restricted to the good life in the marketplace or 278 in the workplace or in the school or in the nation, but in all of them and many others. It is identity within all of them, in excess of the boundaries of each. Both anticipated and unanticipated social associations can contribute to each person's conception of the good life, and of identity. Such conceptions are multiple, not singular across difference. Compare this, for example, to what is said of the work of scientists in science textbooks. There have been discoveries, inventions, cures, and classic experiments. What is known (taught) of the experiences and relationships that were involved in those? What relationships and associations were sustained by them? What was sacrificed? H o w were sacrifice and sustenance each seen as necessary for the other? Were there years of work, or days? A n d how did the work exceed the limits of that time? What do we know about the daily, plodding, repetitious circumstances of much work in science that accompanies the exceptional? What value is assigned to the mundane aspects of scientific work, and to the lives away from science that helped to sustain that work, that are talked about (or not) to students? What is known of the networks of people inside and outside of science that were in one way or another involved in and affected by the work? Plenishment As Transformative These multiple (and multiplying) associations can become the basis for a rethinking that is transformative. Associations between Western 279 science and traditional Indian beliefs, for example, can be seen as exceeding what had been the role of Western science in India. Exceeding pre-determined uses for science has led, for example, to the emergence of a "people's science" in which "the emphasis has been on critical popularization, l inking science in selective ways to popular myths and traditions and bringing scientific expertise to bear on protests against government-sponsored irrigation and forestry projects" (Jamison, 1994, p. 160). Other linkages have been formed, too, leading to environmental activism that are, for example, "challenging concepts of waste, rubbish, and dispensability as the modern West has defined them" (Shiva, cited in Jamison, p. 161). Similar transformations occur elsewhere, perhaps everywhere. Plenishment becomes generative through a rethinking in excess of those associations that appear to be the self-evident way of operating when they are read within normalized authority. It is this way for students, too. When prerdetermined approaches to science are not exceeded in science education, the stated intent of science educators can be undermined by their attempts to put that intent into action. Masakata Ogawa (1995) argues that "the science in the slogan 'science for all ' is still Western modern science, and such a slogan forces everyone to learn Western modern science alone" (p. 584). Alternatively, students can learn science in ways that exceed science as science is known in Western traditions. Students can find associations between science knowledge and their cultures, wor ld views, manners of communication, 280 and other aspects of life, but only if there is a willingness among teachers to exceed conventional instruction that was developed without regard to concrete aspects of their students' lives. Researchers have argued that science can be taught, for example, in ways that promote associations wi th indigenous cultures in Nor th America (Matthews & Smith, 1994; Smith, 1982; Snively, 1989), Africa (Jegede & Okebukola, 1991; Ogguniyi, 1988; Yakubu, 1994), and India (Rampal, 1992). It can also be taught in a way that promotes a variety of associations wi th respect to patterns of gender socialization (Grant, 1987; L inn & Hyde, 1989; Parker & Rennie, 1993). But even as research offers ideas, it does not pre-determine what should be done. There wou ld be no way for such pre-determinations to be implemented except through the efficiency of information-costed analyses. Science education undertaken in an ethic of plenishment would require the sustained engagement wi th students' lives and with curricular ideas by which multiple associations of sustenance and diminishment, sacrifice and cherishment, can be generated. Pedagogical Political Culture This thinking in excess of what is prefigured invites a return to Frederic Jameson's (1991) ideas regarding alienation and social mapping that were attended to in Chapter I. Plenishment calls for a thinking beyond maps, in excess of the boundaries, limits, borders, routes, and 281 routines that respond to a desire for an identity that is always already known. It is seeing outside what has been given attention by tradition, not knowing which of the heterogeneous possibilities for associations with others is most central to identity. Jameson refers to the art of N a m June Paik as a metaphor for this attention: Stacked and scattered television screens, positioned at intervals with lush vegetation, or winking down at us from a ceiling of strange new video stars, recapitulate over and over again prearranged sequences or loops of images which rerun at dysynchronous moments on the various screens, (p. 224) Is the task to find the screen to watch? Perhaps, the modern mind hopes, that one w i l l give sense to all Others, or make them irrelevant. Or is the task to strive "to do the impossible, namely to see all the screens at once, in their radical and random difference?" (p. 224) In social space, do we focus on one set of associations that defines the good life, or do we strive to maintain all associations? The questions move to a binary. Though it may seem as if viewing all screens wou ld provide the greatest possibility for mult iplying associations, this is is not plenishment as I am presenting it. To try to view all of the possibilities is to strive for cherishment without sacrifice. To see some screens, some associations, we must turn away from others for a time, make some central and others peripheral. There is, though, always the possibility of shifting the view. Plenishment is not an absolute commitment to sustaining al l of the 282 heterogeneous kinds, but of avoiding sacrifice that is pre-determined. Pre-determined sacrifice must also pre-determine who must do the sacrificing: The difficulty is that feminine and masculine, African and European, belong to the history of the world , work as dichotomous measures, cutting people and things off, casting them away from the good, as if the good demanded exclusion as its sacrifice. The good calls for cherishment; its work requires sacrifice. But no one, no group, no kind of creature, is obliged to bear the work of sacrifice. That is injustice. (Ross, 1995, p. 297) Rethinking in plenishment asks for an acceptance of uncertainty about such matters. With in that uncertainty, injustice that is enforced wi th reference to identity and understood within communities wi th fixed boundaries can be exceeded. This w i l l not eliminate injustice, but it would allow injustice to begin a dispersion through a more general network, rather than being permanently centered at particular sites. Likewise, science educators cannot know which associations that occur wi th science in science education w i l l be most important to a student. Nor can they sustain every possibility. But to decide in advance what associations matter (or don't)—to tell students who might find their music i n science, or their drama in science, or their dr iv ing of trucks in science, that there must only be what is already known in science—is pre-determining their sacrifice. It is doing them an injustice through the demand for pre-determined sacrifice. Pre-determining the val id 283 associations with science knowledge perpetuates injustice in the classroom and, through the imagery it insists on, supports the meaning-making resources that support injustice outside of the classroom. Without maps, though, how is one to define identity in relation to the greater social space? Isn't this alienation? Where are the scripts, the norms, the "schedule for the portrayal of gender," or culture, or race, or class that code for the discourses of identity (Goffman, 1979, p. 8) and on which moral reasoning is based (Johnson, 1993)? Learning the map of the social terrain is socialization. Socialization is comforting to some. Scripts and schedules for portraying identity may be limiting, but there is safety within those limits. Socialization gives certain knowledge of place within the social terrain, defining how one is to be with others. Plenishment would follow Jameson's postmodern social cartography: A n aesthetic of cognitive mapping—a pedagogical political culture which seeks to endow the individual subject wi th some new heightened sense of place in the global system—will necessarily have to respect this now enormously complex representational dialectic and to invent radically new forms in order to do it justice, (p. 228) These forms are not socialization that returns to a "more transparent national space, or some more traditional and reassuring perspectival or mimetic enclave" (p. 228). Nor , I am suggesting, is it simply wnmapping, but thinking in excess of maps. This may in part be linked with de-284 socialization much in the way Ira Schor (1993) found it in the work of Paulo Freire: Recognizing and challenging the myths, values, behaviors, and language learned in mass culture; critically examining the regressive values operating in society, which are internalized into consciousness—such as racism, sexism, class bias, homophobia, a fascination with the rich and powerful, hero-worship, excess consumerism, runaway individual ism, mili tarism, and national chauvinism, (p. 33) This de-socialization is thinking in excess of the boundaries of the groups with which one is associated. It is knowing how those boundaries are erected, but also what lies past them and how they can be, are already, both accepted and exceeded by daily life. There is an opening of what is known and what is being learned to critique and to review, and to a proliferation of associations. For example, for a male to de-socialize in a plenishing way from androcentric discourses that he has acquired (and that have acquired him) and perpetuates does not mean that he should strive to extricate himself from the relationships made within those discourses, but to rethink them. That is, to unsettle questions that the discourses imply are settled, and then to notice what those things that such discourses imply need not be attended to; allowing the opportunity for connections that are disallowed by what is already defined as proper for a (masculine) male, and to begin to allow some of them. Yet, at the same time, he would not 285 be denying his connections with those discourses, not separating from them, but exceeding them and by that transforming them in a way that disrupts the divisive bias they can promote. The sexism displayed by Keith, for example, can be challenged in a way that does not "unmap" his social terrain, but in a way that demonstrates that the patterns that he knows so wel l can be exceeded. He can find other ways to be with others even within the associations by which he locates his identity. He can find ways to be both independent, in a manner of speaking, but part of a system that has expectations articulated through credentials. The dynamics of power wou ld change, though, as the abstractions that provide objectified portraits of others are extended so that they are infused by the concrete experiences of those whose lives they mean to represent. These concrete experiences wou ld include not only those whose lives they mean to represent, though, because those lives are also intersected and sustained by others who would be portrayed by different abstractions. The boundaries of the abstractions wou ld be exceeded as Keith recognizes that his experience is not that of the "women" he claims to speak for, but neither is the life of any woman. Yet, a woman's experience might include aspects of that representation, but so would his. 286 Caring and Commemoration Exceeding social maps allows for an appreciation of the multiple connections that emanate from any social positioning, any identity. It is the capacity for connectivity that Robin Morgan offers as the "genius of feminist thought, culture, and action": In its rejection of the static, this capacity is witty and protean, like the dance of nature itself as reflected in the spectrum from microbiology to astrophysics. It is therefore a volatile capacity— dangerous to every imaginable status quo, because of its insistence on noticing. Such a noticing involves both attendveness and recognition, (p. 53) This is destabilizing to the status quo because of its noticing— attentiveness and recognition—that which has been excluded by the rules of the exchange. Its noticing exceeds the boundaries, limits, and restricted economy of mastery. Such noticing has been associated wi th the experience of women, and openly so at least since the publication/n A Different Voice (Gilligan, 1982). In that she described approaches to moral reasoning that were based in relationships, a recognition of needs, and responsiveness. By thinking within and in excess of her work, and the possibility that it is too essentialist, many theories of moral reasoning that incorporate this relational metaphor have been derived (Larrabee, 1993). In education, for example, N e l Noddings (1992) has articulated an "ethic of 287 care" that she argues can be the basis of a transformative approach to schooling. In its connection with women's experience, this can be seen as recalling something I stated earlier; that while there is much to be gained from learning about the lives of people who have been traditionally subordinated, what is learned does not necessarily stand as a corrective for past abuses. The opportunity to reverse the binary is not the basis of what is to be gained. Ross (1995) argues that this is what both Gil l igan and Noddings have done (p. 184). Noddings (1992) had stated previously, however, that Gil l igan d id not argue that this was an exclusively or essentially female characteristic, but many women have recognized aspects of themselves in what Gil l igan wrote (p. 21). Perhaps it matters whether or not such an opposition was intended. Perhaps it doesn't. What certainly matters is that it is not necessary to think about caring or any other ethic in terms of a binary. A n y ethic and set of ideas can be rethought to exceed whatever limits are set on them. By that they are transformed. They are transformed because whatever may have been foreclosed in advance is reopened in the dialogue called for by plenishment. I am using dialogue here in the way offered by Noddings (1992), following from Freire (1970): It is not just talk or conversation—certainly not an oral presentation of argument in which the second party is merely allowed to ask an occasional question. Dialogue is open-ended; that 288 is, in a genuine dialogue, neither party knows at the outset what the outcome or decision w i l l be. (p. 23) The open-endedness that Noddings calls for may seem like cherishment alone. Alone, cherishment is an attempt to separate from sacrifice. It is a return to a binary. Dialogue is, Noddings says, an implicit part of engrossment, which is "an open, nonselective receptivity to the cared-for" (p. 15, also p. 23). Can carer be divided from cared-for? If so, perhaps there is in this a return to the binary of power and powerlessness. Does the cared-for not also care for the carer? For Noddings, they do since "mature relationships are characterized by mutuality. They are made up of strings of encounters in which the parties exchange places; both members are carers and cared-fors as opportunities arise" (pp. 16-17). The roles of carer and cared-for extend beyond the limits they would be given i n a binary. H o w could this mutuality be expressed in science education? What "strings of encounters" would have to be allowed for in the curriculum i n order for this caring to take place? It would almost certainly require a rethinking of the traditional power relations in schools in which teachers are powerful and students are powerless. A relationship in which one is powerful and the other is powerless implies a singular asymmetry. One side is weighted heavily while the other has less, power, or none. A series of reversals, no matter how rapid, does not change the fundamental principle of domination and subordination, of restricted economy. 289 Perhaps, then, a plenishing mutuality of relationship begins, but only begins, wi th an acknowledgment that there can be many asymmetries operating simultaneously. Teachers are powerful in some ways. They have experiences and knowledge that students do not have. Those can be seen as empowering. They also, importantly, hold power that is conferred by their institutional position. If they understand their work exclusively within the restricted economy of institutional terms, then that defines the only asymmetry that matters. That is, if the institution defines the valued and necessary knowledge, the valued associations, and the aspects of student identity that matter to their work, then teachers' institutional power is singularly important. However, if teachers understand their work in terms of plenishment, i n terms of having to think i n excess of what may be defined by the institutional roles, then the students' knowledge of their own experiences, associations, prior knowledge, and so on become important, even vital to the student-teacher relationship. Between the teacher and the student there are at least two asymmetries. In one, the teacher is more powerful due to the institutional power of the teaching position. In the other, the student is more powerful in terms of the knowledge about her or his own circumstances. But this can only be the beginning. From here plenishment calls for a mutual interspersing of power. The asymmetries of power do not cancel each other, nor do they remain separate from each other. Either of these would be grounds not for 290 mutual power, but for mutual extortion. Remove one asymmetry, and the domination of divisive bias returns. Instead, from the point of thinking i n terms of multiple asymmetries, each asymmetry wou ld be thought of as exceeding its own limits. Each transforms the other and becomes part of the network of associations that connect it, through the other, to still others. The dynamics of social power are, however, transformed by this plenishment. Teacher and student can collaborate in plenishment, not within a field where no power exists, nor from essentially equal positions, but from positions that are not i n opposition and are not static, but complement each other; that are inter-dynamic. This mult iplying and merging of asymmetries provides a basis for working within heterogeneity, but it is not cherishment without sacrifice. If all were cherished, then there would be no need for power, as power implies the ability to act, or get things to occur, in some ways rather than others. There is some sacrifice, even in inclusive uses of power: The view of cherishment and sacrifice that gives rise to an ethic of inclusion pertains to our places everywhere, at rest, i n place and displace, responsible, everywhere, fulfilled everywhere through cherishment demanding sacrifice, selection and choice, because not all things are possible together. But our greatest responsibility is to refuse to undertake a destructive choice, in relation to others or ourselves, without pursuing beyond al l other pursuits the possibility of coexistence, (p. 188) 291 Power involves the opportunity to include, but when all cannot be included (always, perhaps), power also involves the opportunity to select that which w i l l not be included. The image of the screens that cannot all be watched simultaneously returns. H o w is it decided which to include? H o w is the power to select organized and enacted? Thinking in terms of plenishment, these answers are contingent, rather than general. Maintaining a field of merged asymmetries of power disperses that power to select among the protean links and positions in the network. Dispersing power does not necessarily eliminate injustice. Power is always used selectively—everything cannot be done at once. Selection remains an act of violence to some degree since it implies the non-selection of something else, and those who suffer that violence cannot be forgotten even though they may have been part of the decision. They cannot be forgotten within relations of plenishment because to select, even when it is done on the basis of a genuine dialogue, is not the same as knowing. A person is not known, not fully in view, when selections are made among the aspects of identity that influence action, association, or relationships. Both the meanings of what are selected and the overall composite of images that make up identity are underdetermined. There are always more and different screens to watch than can be counted, identified, and known. A n d those that are in view change even as they come to be known. To assume that such knowledge is complete wou ld be to compound the sacrifice by neglecting not only what cannot be included 292 in the present, but what w i l l necessarily be neglected in the unattended to future. While for the work of the good to go on, selection has to occur, an ethic of inclusion calls for commemoration of the act of selection. In commemoration, the selection can be brought to mind again and its rationality revisited. This is a disalienation—an acquainting wi th the routes by which tasks and habits lead to goals, but in a way that allows them to be questioned. The rationality can be rethought in excess of the (therefore, temporary and permeable) boundaries that it created. This commemoration occurs within dialogue in which the knowledge of everyone involved is requested, solicited, and valued. Yet, this knowledge, too, w i l l bear the sacrifice of selection. It is not so much knowing that maintains the dispersal of power through associations as the open-ness to know in an uncertain way. Commemoration of sacrifice keeps the moral reasoning open by interpolating habits that, while based on inclusive processes initially, may move toward normalized authority as they move toward being enacted habitually, and then uncritically. Commemoration disrupts the socializing effect of normative authority not only by bringing knowledge of sacrifice back into memory, but also by allowing a rethinking of habits in excess of that sacrifice. Both intentions and effects of current arrangements can be reconsidered and reconstituted, in the same and alternative ways. 293 Commemoration can be used as a way to reposition, to rethink from within, the role of policy documents, textbooks, and practice in science education. Policy documents, for example, can be seen as a prompt to remembering some (once, and/or still) valued associations between science and social life. Those associations may yet (again) be selected as valued, but that selection can occur within a field that acknowledges what has been sacrificed in order to value them. Those sacrifices can imply and propel the possibility of thinking otherwise. There is some indication that this reading is already offered by the documents. After reviewing several reasons for science education, The Science Council of Canada (1984) states its intent that science should be responsive to students' differences: We therefore endorse the concept of "Science for A l l . " This does not mean ignoring individual differences among students. These must be understood, respected and provided for. Science for all means first-class science education for every student; those in the elementary schools as wel l as those in the secondary schools; girls as well as boys; the most able students and those less able; those having special interests in science and scientific careers and those without these interests; students in all regions and provinces; francophones, anglophones, and those of native ancestry, (p. 10) 294 The N R C (1996) Voluntary National Science Education Standards has similar language (p. 20), and also addresses practice in a way that suggests constant rethinking of science education: Once teachers have devised a framework of goals, plans remain flexible. Decisions are visited and revisited in the light of experience. Teaching for understanding requires responsiveness to students, so activities and strategies are continuously adapted and refined to address topics arising from student inquiries and experience, as wel l as school, community and national events. . . . A challenge to teachers is to balance and integrate immediate needs wi th the intention of the yearlong framework of goals, (p. 30) Of course, no particular statement can be read as plenishment to the exclusion of others that cannot. The meaning found in wri t ing is underdetermined. Sti l l , some text is more easily read as plenishment than others. For example, in an earlier draft of the N R C document, the last sentence in the passage above read, " A challenge to teachers is to balance and integrate a strong student voice wi th its intentions of original goals" (NRC, 1994, p. II-7.) By removing the reference to student voices, the definition of the "immediate needs" becomes more ambiguous, thereby undermining the potential of the statement to be read as more definitively plenishing. Still , "needs" can be read as student needs, rather than as the needs of the already dominant program, which allows the possibility for this to be read as plenishing. Similarly, the report from Project 2061 295 regarding curriculum, Benchmarks for Science Literacy, opens wi th "Project 2061's benchmarks are statements of what all students should know or be able to do in science, technology, and mathematics . . . " ( A A A S , 1994, p. XI). Just below that the authors state: Curr iculum reform should be shaped by our vision of the lasting knowledge and skills we want students to acquire by the time they become adults. This ought to include both a common core of learning—die focus of Project 2061—and learning that addresses the particular needs and interests of individual students, (p. X I — original italics) With in that statement is a •suggestion of cherishment of the "common core," the boundaries of which are exceeded when "the particular needs and interests of individual students" are considered. There is much that can be done wi th such a document if it is understood in a de-socializing manner. Yet, with no attention given to sacrifice, it is left as an open question how any conflicts between the "core" and the student-based inclusions might be reconciled. Given the institutional power of such documents, it seems likely that the "core" w i l l be given priority. As wel l , the basis for determining "lasting knowledge" can be questioned. Overall, the selections made in order to generate such a document can be seen as tentative and open to a rethinking, perhaps restructuring, of the definitions (selections) that the authors place on the science that is seen as appropriate for science education. To make this 296 plenishing reading possible, each aspect of the document wou ld be read from within and in excess of the structure suggested by the document, whether that is facilitated by the document's language or not. By this, what is sacrificed by the document, what is not known, in terms of identity and associations, can be commemorated through the reading (rethinking) even if it is not commemorated through the writ ing. A Plenishment of Heroism Uncertain knowledge, exceeding binaries prudentialized charisma, uncoerced social associations of civi l society—these are all aspects of plenishment that seem to be in opposition to the heroism. They are not necessarily in opposition, however. They cannot be. Rather, they suggest some possibilities for rethinking heroism from within and from without. They offer a plenishment of heroism that may offer inspiration to a rethinking of science education. A rethinking of heroes from a perspective of plenishment can be distinguished from a rethinking that might occur wi th in a structuralist comparison. In the latter, the assumption would be that the imagery of elements remains the same, even as features are changed. For example, Campbell (1968) summarizes the hero's adventure wi th a diagram that includes many alternatives for some elements. The threshold to adventure becomes a listing that includes possibilities such as threshold 297 crossing, brother-battle, dismemberment, abduction, whale's belly, and others (p. 245). Campbell's heroic monomyth gives the general structure with many examples inserted parenthetically at each point of the cycle. The result is that Campbell offers several "transformations of the hero" in which the general elements remain the same even as they are articulated in such diverse forms of the hero as a warrior, lover, emperor and tyrant, wor ld redeemer, and saint. Phi l Cousineau (1992) summuarizes the structuralist framework Campbell used in his comparative mythology that elucidated aspects of heroism is that it also illuminated the basic features of human life: For Campbell , every modern individual is in the alternatively exhilarating and despairing position of the medieval knights of the Round Table. The mysterious Grai l of destiny has been shown to us, the challenge as been announced, the adventure into the dark forest . . . i s upon us. . . . Campbell came to consider the value of myths as our wisdom stories, spiritual clues along the tangled way that can tell us where we are on the arc of life's journey. The thrill of recognition that we feel from the reading or telling of the myths, then, is the thrill of familiarity, the sense of hearing an echo of the individual inward life, a reverberation of one's own soul's high adventure, (p. 3-4) Questions can be asked as to who is included in those "reverberations" with Campbell's archetypes. Morgan (1989) observes that: 298 Campbell is careful to state that the hero may be male or female, although more than 90 percent of his examples from myth, legend, and folk tales depict the hero as male. What Campbell does not see is that even the token female hero is an impostor in a realm created and defined by male consciousness and reinforced by male power; she is no more a true representation of most women than the airbrushed Playboy centerfold is a true representation of most women's bodies. This enforced invisibility of the real, and enforced erasure of the female, are intertwined wi th un-noticing, and lie at the very core of patriarchy, (p. 60) Recall that noticing and connectivity were the attributes that Morgan identified as most indicative of the value of feminist theory (p. 53). If heroism as Campbell portrays it is patriarchal in its un-noticing as a result of coming out of men's experience more than women's, then women who are more amenable to noticing and connection are excluded from heroism (as are men who could be described similarly). Associating her work with Gilligan's (1982), Carol Pearson (1989) attempts to overcome the exclusion of women's experience from heroism. She does so, however, by including archetypes focusing on affiliation within a framework based on Campbell. In that, her model maintains the structuralist sense of certainty as to the attributes of each type, the conception of what a good life would be in each, and social associations that are inherent in each. While the attributes of Pearson's archetypes can 299 be seen as exceeding some aspects of others, those attributes are carefully inscribed, foreclosing any further opportunity for exceeding the boundaries each sets. She also maintains an organization of dominance and subordination by insisting on the coherence of each type (which she sees as a developmental stage) that she characterizes as being separate and distinct from, and at times in opposition to, all other types. Wi th in each, some aspects of life are overcome in favor of others. In general, a set of categories, no matter how broad, pre-determines the attributes of identity that can be included in overall consideration, and in what combinations and wi th what associations. Rather than a plenishment of heroes, establishing an array of archetypes is a consolidation of difference into pre-defined categories. Also , Pearson's presentation becomes difficult to read as plenishment as long as she strives to work within rather than to exceed Campbell 's monomyth. Similarly, Campbell 's work implies that, in that the monomyth is the singular structure of global mythology, cultures are fundamentally of a single type—all of which cohere to his monomythic structure. In the very opening passage of his book he writes that no matter what myth we might listen to, from whatever source: It w i l l always be the one, shapeshifting yet marvelously constant story that we find, together wi th a challengingly persistent suggestion of more remaining to be experienced than w i l l ever be known or told. (HTF, p. 3) 300 The symbols of the heroic monomyth are universal, he argues, because since they are "not manufactured, they cannot be ordered, invented, or permanently suppressed" (p. 4). They are spontaneous productions of the psyche. It is a totalizing imagery that leaves no exit, no opportunity for difference outside that which can be expressed within the singular pattern of human myth-making. Heroism is both theory and metatheory, then, as it contains the mythologies of the world within its homogenizing boundaries. That is the message of heroism after all, that we are all already just alike; we have already submitted to the narrative of heroism before we even entered the world stage, for it is the only narrative of human experience. However, exceeding the aspects of heroism is possible. For example, if the hero is rethought in terms of Jones' (1993) prudentialized charisma, then heroism becomes less a matter of concentrated outbursts than of the accumulation of incremental effects. Further, rather than being restricted to a specific set of relationships and associations, the effects would be seen as dispersing through a generalized network such as is suggested by Walzer's (1995) notion of civi l society. As certain knowledge is exceeded into uncertainty, a hero would be less and less like the traditional leader who guides the group to a particular goal. The notion of a particular goal is exceeded by the incorporation of unanticipated associations drawing from aspects of individuals' lives. The role of the hero becomes one of contributing to the dispersal of cumulative effects through the protean 301 network of social associations that is constituted among members, but is also always being exceeded, re-constituted. Describing what may be the result of this, Jones cites Sacks (in Bookman & Morgan, 1989) as she describes the concept of "centerpeople" who are leaders within networks, but do not represent the network as a "spokesperson" in public discourse. Jones explains that thinking about leadership in terms of network centerpeople can suggest a more inclusive dynamic for three reasons. First, because this is more consistent with the experiences of traditionally subordinate people in formal institutional relationships, it is likely to validate aspects of identity that have been devalued in other arrangements. Also, in that it does not demand a single authoritative voice, the network model is "focused less on people dictating to others what is to be done than on mechanisms that construct conditions for dialogue and communication that are perceived to establish the lifeliness of the organization" (p. 119). In addition, it allows for social organizations that do not ultimately refer to a patriarchal (hierarchical) family organizations, thereby being able to include forms of relationship and association that are not pre-determined by that (or any other) traditional model. In plenishment, heroism is transformed i n a way that focuses on centerpeople rather than spokespeople, action groups over deliberative forums, and cumulative rather than decisive effects. Science education rethought in these ways wou ld be justified in terms of the multiple associations wi th others that it helps students make 302 and remake. A scientist might be seen as a spokesperson for a group, but also as one of several people associated in a variety of ways. The information offered as discoveries, inventions, and so on would be considered within and in excess of the various interests of those involved. People who were not considered scientists, and whose life might be associated with science in very mundane ways, would be as central at times as those who are traditionally placed in science-related roles. Ordinary, exceptional, and ordinarily exceptional aspects of experience would all be included in science education. In that, all wou ld be valued as providing possibilities for knowledge and connections between science and human experience. Science knowledge might be thought of as involving observation of phenomena, but also as observation that exceeds the traditional limits understood for a phenomenon. Observation could incorporate a sense of noticing in human terms, as wel l as i n terms associated wi th traditional divisions of science. The teacher might be seen less as a spokesperson for science, and more as a temporary centerperson of a network of associations between students, science and others, maintaining "conditions for dialogue" and the "lifeliness" of the pedagogy. Students, too, wou ld be centerpeople, each bringing together her or his own experience wi th that of others and with the many strands of knowledge, history, and culture that connect them, in diverse and unanticipated ways. M o v i n g toward the de-socializing aspects of plenishment, the rationales for the inclusion of 303 topics would be commemorated and revisited. Assessment of science education might exceed the general application of pre-determined knowledge to include the associations students found with it in their lives, and the lives of others. Science education would be transformed by such rethinking, in these and many other ways. As wel l , these are not the only ways of rethinking science education. I am not suggesting that they be exchanged with current approaches. This wou ld invoke the method of change by reversal and its assumptions of binary oppositions that has been discussed. There are always other ways, including those already in use. It may be that such science education is already taking place, and it probably is. Solomon (1994a) remarks that there is a "new breed" of science educators who actively address the interplay of science, technology, and society. Writ ing in a way that recalls the students' caricatures of scientists that were referred to in the Introduction of this thesis, she writes: The traditionalists argue that moral education is all right in its proper place, in the humanities classroom, but not in science. The [science-technology-society] teachers reply that citizens and future scientists alike need to marry the intellectual study of science to feelings for moral right and social justice. Science and feelings cannot just be stitched together after the uncaring cartoon image has already been planted in the minds of children, (p. 10) 304 Perhaps there are places where such science education occurs, and in ways that, for example, do not perpetuate the alienation of students from what they are learning. If that is so, then my raising these issues can be seen as an opportunity for commemoration. That is, as a provocation to revisit and rethink rationales, practices, and other aspects of science education, even in places where they do not need to be revised. In fact, it may be that even after commemorating the reasons for science education being approached as it is and rethinking through the issues I have raised (and others), the practice of science education in a particular place and time does not look all that different for the rethinking. M y argument here is that it would still be transformed by the commemorative process. That is because rethinking, if even for the purposes of commemorating its own investments of cherishment and sacrifice, necessarily transforms power relations, if not daily practices. It transforms them by generating those moments in which it is, once again, possible to introduce new possibilities that exceed the boundaries of what is already determined. Hopefully such moments of possibility w i l l at least involve some recognition of the ways that science education can be thought of as, and rethought in excess of, teaching heroics. THEEND 305 Bibliography Akerstrom, M . (1991). 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(ellipses) indicates material on the order of a phrase or sentence has been omitted ::: indicates that several passages have been omitted . . . * . . . indicates that some amount of material was inaudible on the audio tape of the in terview When passages from more than one student interview are used in sequence, they are separated by a solid line. A l l students were given the opportunity to choose their own pseudonym for the original study for which the data was collected. Several students chose a pseudonym. Those students were: Azrae l Hol iday Claudia M a n u e l Dav id Maver ick Danny M i z Oswick Other pseudonyms were assigned by the researchers in the study. Notations following interview segment (e.g., "Kathleen-HJ16") are primarily used by me to locate data. The initials "ER" in that notation (e.g., Karen-ER09) indicate that the interview was conducted by me. Other initials in capital letters (except " M C " ) indicate that one of the other three university-based researchers conducted the interview. The abbreviation " M C " indicates that the interview was conducted by me during the round of member check interviews in M a y of 1994. In that set of interviews students were asked about their impressions of my thoughts regarding the data up to that time. 324 Appendix 2 Narrative of Success Wealth, Fame, Social Power Call • To Science Education Provide Boon • Discoveries > Inventions . Threshold of Adventure 1 Return Crossing | k • Good Career • Take Science Tests • Provincial Exams • Enter University Helpers/Guides • Teachers 325 Appendix 3 H e r o i c N a r r a t i v e C o m m o n d a y W o r l d Call to Adventure Provide Elixir/Boon Threshold T Threshold of Adventure | R e t u m Crossing Tests Helpers/Guides Gain Special Abilities R e a l m o f A d v e n t u r e Adapted from Campbell, 1949, p. 245 326 


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