[389 words]

At this point, I’m now engaged in another MOOC, through edX (the University of Michigan is the organizing and teaching institution in this case). The title of the course: “Leading Ambitious Teaching and Learning.” Here is the link for information about the course as a whole:  https://courses.edx.org/courses/course-v1:MichiganX+LeadEd501x+1T2017/info.

Here is my reflection in response to the prompt, which asks students to thinking about what “ambitious literacy instruction is.”

Ambitious implies high expectations of students. So it is not simply instruction that “settles” for achievements or effort that are “good enough,” but that shoots for something somewhat beyond that level. Ambitious literacy instruction pushes students or asks more of students than they are comfortable with. It seeks to exceed minimal standards in literacy, in reading and understanding and being able to respond to texts.

In short, in my view, it is instruction that — in the realm of literacy, of reading, understanding and responding to texts — asks students to stretch beyond minimal goals, that asks students to move somewhat beyond their comfort zone, to confront and to wrestle with texts that are difficult, challenging, and uncomfortable to process. It is literacy instruction that asks students to engage with the texts, that forces them to ask questions of the text, that expects them to do more than attain a superficial or facile understanding of the surface of the text. It is instruction that challenges them to go beyond the apparent meaning of the text, that seeks to understand — or that succeeds at nearly fully or fully comprehending — implications and consequences of the text’s ideas and arguments.

It is instruction that prepares students to read a particular text, but that also prepares them to delve into the depths of meaning, the implications of that text. It is instruction that engages with the main ideas of texts or that elicits many questions that one may ask of it. To be honest, it is “instruction,” that is teacher-generated frameworks or teacher-suggested questions that guide students to discern the principal ideas or the principal themes of the text in question, yet that leaves the bulk of the work of deciphering and interpretation and meaning-making to the students. In my view, excellent instruction is not just “ambitious,” but it is learner-centered, as well as ambitious.

In brief, that’s what I understand in the expression “Ambitious Literacy Instruction.”

[ 1393 words]

Here is the prompt for the end-of-week-4 reflection exercise in the “What Future for Education?” MOOC on Coursera:

Create an entry in your reflective blog or journal.

• How has your experience of school shaped you as a learner, and as an adult?

• In what ways do you think your own schooling could have been improved, and what priorities do you think are the most important for schools today?

• Your entry should be a minimum of 200 words.

Starting with the last bullet point, I would say that it is highly likely for me to meet the minimum of 200 words, since the first eleven posts in this blog averaged slightly over 1000 words each. That’s because I’m a bit verbose, I know, but also because I have a lot to say. So now, in all seriousness, I’ll turn to the first two bullet points above.

My experience as a learner is not some uniform, consistent or monolithic phenomenon. There is not a single broad “experience,” but a panoply of experiences of schooling and learning, ranging from formal to informal, from closed-ended to radically open-ended, from disagreeable and counterproductive to wildly positive, fertile and creative, from rigidly imposed to fully autonomous and self-directed. If I had to generalize, what I would say is that in schools, particularly before the age of 13 or 14, I generally refused to conform to rigid learning schemes. But by high school, I had realized that it was going to be necessary to compromise with the inflexible, obligatory educational systems and to “play by the rules” so that I would be able to succeed academically, no matter how uninterested I was in the system itself or in much of the content that it foisted on me. In the end, after some starts and stops, I finished my undergraduate education and received an undergraduate degree in English, which interested me greatly, and Communications, a field that interested me only slightly (although it was “practical” and allowed me to get a job immediately after finishing my university studies). To make a long story short, I completed my undergraduate diploma approximately two years later than my peers, in part because I suspended my postsecondary education a few times to work full-time while reflecting on what I truly wanted to do. Ultimately, somewhat late, I completed my studies, received my diploma, got a job and worked for about one year in two different jobs that I did not particularly like and in which I could hardly imagine a productive and happy future life. After considerable thought, I abandoned my very short career in radio and changed directions completely, applying to graduate school in a completely different field, French, which I had only begun to study as a beginner about three years earlier. But… it was what I wanted to study. It was meaningful to me. Fast forward by a few decades to find me working as a tenured Assistant Professor in that field. Today, I pursue interdisciplinary research and teach both discipline-specific and interdisciplinary classes.

My general experience of school was rife with difficulty and my academic performance was problematic at best. It’s not that I had cognitive problems. It’s that I did not want to do what teachers required of me in many cases. Sometimes I did the obligatory work and earned good grades. Sometimes I simply refused to do what was asked of me. I neglected to do homework, performed poorly on some tests, etc. The underlying reason for my erratic performance was lack of interest and lack of motivation. In those years when I had a teacher or two who appealed to me or excited my curiosity or inspired me, I enjoyed learning. When I found most of my teachers “boring” (as I thought of it then) or when they condescended or lacked enthusiasm for their teaching, I disengaged and received poor grades as a result.

That formal experience diverged significant from another category of life experiences. In part, because both of my parents were medical doctors and valued learning and because they provide a large variety of learning tools and experiences at home, I had an exciting, vibrant and highly productive life as a self-directed learner. My family possessed a copy of the Encyclopedia Britannica, along with a multitude of dictionaries and other reference works. I used them regularly to learn on my own. I read a great deal and used a dictionary constantly. I wrote poetry and fiction and used the encyclopedia to add detail and texture to my stories. I took part in a rocketry club and learned a bit about telemetry. I loved documentaries (being secretly in love with Jane Goodall) and watched Sesame Street and Electric Company. I developed the habit of reading newsmagazines, particularly Time and U.S. New & World Report, around the age of 10 or 11 and I sometimes asked my parents to explain current events, like the Vietnam war, Nixonian politics or the Apollo missions. I had a lot of tools for autonomous learning, like anatomical models of the human body, self-quizzing tools in a range of disciplines, and math puzzles. I had chemistry sets, electronics kits, science magazines. In short, as a kid, I had a lot of rich and satisfying learning experiences outside of school.

The contrast between unsatisfying school life and heady, joyful self-directed study on my own or with my siblings and friends at home formed my tastes and preferences in learning. To this day, I like to learn on my own. My graduate work included a lot of autonomous, self-directed learning, as does my work as a tenure-track faculty member. Indeed, even now, I love to do research and “library detective work.” I take MOOCs and read a great deal. I prefer autonomous learning to highly structured learning activities, especially those where I am asked to do activities in lockstep with others. I do enjoy collaboration and collaborative learning (cMOOCs, for example). However, a teacher- or leader-directed activity that is rigidly structured and leaves me little discretion or freedom to manage my own learning turns me off. I am certain that it is because of this background and this experience that I am a “distributed individual” learner who enjoys takings MOOCs like “Leaders of Learning” or “What Future for Education?”

Connected learning, which can combine autonomous and self-directed learning with digitally-mediated collaboration, generally engages me and captures my interest, particularly if the learning project piques my curiosity or resonates in meaningful ways with questions that I believe are good to ask. Even in my own teaching, I tend to make my lessons learner-centered and collaborative. I allow learners to share in the selection of readings or development of activities. I have learners develop discussion questions or co-manage online discussion forums in collaboration with me. I try to make my learners active. I try to foster autonomy and self-responsibility. I show my enthusiasm and passion. I try to model the best of what I’ve picked up from self-directed learning, but also the best parts of my school experience with engaging, inspiring teachers.

How could schooling be improved for learners like me?  Allow and empower greater autonomy; support self-directed learning. Get rid of drab, rigid, square classrooms. Offer bright, airy, cheerful spaces with flexible and mobile furniture. Enable collaboration. Make learners responsible for their learning, but don’t impose impose structures or timetables for every step. Set high expectations, then empower learners to learn at their own pace to meet them.

In short, based on my experience, I would like to introduce some informal character into formal education. I developed into a serious intellectual and a committed lifelong learner largely in opposition to formal educational systems and processes, rather than in harmony with them or supported by them. Given that background, it is understandable, I think, that I would like for education to allow greater learner autonomy. The educational system(s) ought to teach teachers to motivate, guide, mentor and accompany learners, instead of directing or commanding them. Institutions and schools ought to figure ways to provide digital tools and resources, then let the learners pursue their interests in a way that meets learning goals, as part of the curriculum if not as its whole substance. Generally speaking, those kinds of innovations would be the major elements in my plan to improve education. I think that it’s important to focus on learner autonomy and self-responsibility, with high expectations, but flexible pathways for meeting learning goals.

That’s it in a nutshell.

[ 878 words]

In the fourth week of the “What Future for Education?” MOOC, participants are invited to reflect on “good” schools that they have encountered and to reflect on what about them was valuable. Here is the exact prompt:

Reflect on:

• your own schooling, did you go to a “good” school? What “residuals” did you take away from your schooling, and how has it helped you subsequently.

• Finish the sentence: “A good school …” and post your idea to the AnswerGarden here.

I can honestly say that I have seen examples of what seems to me to be good schools, but I cannot endorse any of the schools that I actually attended or declare one or more of them as “extremely good.” Most of them seem to have had competent staffing, sufficient resourcing, facilities that were in line with expectations of their times and a generally appropriate process for managing the number and diversity of children in their charge. However, to say that they were “very good,” at least in my experience of them, would be an overstatement. There are some aspects of schooling that did appeal to the learner in me.  I remember, for example a public school in Evanston, Illinois, on Main Street, where I first experienced rocketry, which sparked my interest in math, science and technology. At the same school, I remember enjoying mathematics lessons. At the same time, I did not feel safe at the school, since I was bullied and mocked by some of my peers. So, all things considered, it was not a very good learning environment for me. At Andalusia High School, in Covington County, Alabama, I had learned how to fend for myself, which made it a bit easier, and I even took on some bullies who mistreated other kids. I earned respect and had a stable and enjoyable circle of friends. I learned a useful skill (typing, which came in handy since personal computers were emerging around this time). I further developed my taste for science, particularly biology and chemistry, along with creative writing and, in my final year, I was “turned on” to American history. All in all, it was a decent learning experience, even though the school was not particularly well endowed and some of my teachers were relatively poor performers. I would say that it was more the teachers than the school that gave me the most positive learning experiences. And I’d say that in most cases it was because they set the bar high, then helped me figure how to meet those expectations. One other school, Roycemore, a private, independent K-12 school in Evanston, was quite good. It was small and it had fairly talented teachers, including one of my favorites of all, a science teacher who had a great sense of humor and continually told jokes, even during his lessons. (He did not remain in teaching very long and, ultimately, he had a long career as a writer and standup comic.) Still, he really stoked my enthusiasm for the life sciences and it was at Roycemore that I began doing serious reading and research in what was called “ecology” at the time. It was also at Roycemore that I had an English teacher who recognized that I needed a different kind of teaching or instructional supervision. She allowed me to pursue independent learning/reading/writing projects, where I am certain that I accomplished more than I would have if she had forced me to “get with the program.” I believe that Roycemore, more than the other schools I attended, allowed teachers to exercise discretion in the way that they worked with learners to attain “growth” learning goals, rather than sticking to a rigid curriculum where all students march in lock-step. For that reason, it may have been the best school for me.

About two years ago, when I took a MOOC on edX.org titled “Leaders of Learning,” I saw many examples of schools and learning environments that I wish had been part of my experience and that, I’m pretty sure would have been very good schools for me. Nearly all of the schools that I actually went to were characterized by rigid, squared-off learning spaces, with desks neatly aligned. They were not particularly comfortable or welcoming environments. Collaboration and informal exchange during class were not particularly encouraged. Nearly all lessons were teacher-centered and ignored learning differences. In other words, pretty much everything about my formal schooling (except maybe typing classes, art classes, chorus) tended to be boring, one-size-fits-all and disheartening. In only a few cases did certain teachers help me forget the oppression of the “classroom,”  (both the dreary, constrained physical space and the “classroom” modality of a desks aligned to face the teacher, who was the center of attention). In science classes, we often had “hands on” and collaborative activities in the “lab.”

I think that a lot of schools do things differently today (vibrant colors, open spaces, mobile and adaptable furniture, opportunities to work collaboratively), but when I was in school, it was mostly a grind and a bore — both the process and the environment. So to say that any of my schools was truly outstanding would be dishonest. At best, I’d say that Roycemore was good and Andalusia High School was slightly better than mediocre.

[777 words]

If you have been reading this blog, you know by now that I distinguish between “education” and “learning,” valuing the latter more than the former. It’s not that I dismiss the necessity of education for the good of society. Rather, it is because I have been disappointed in the systems and curricula that made up the greatest part of my own “education.” In many ways, except for my work in graduate school, a significant portion of which was self-directed (an M. A. thesis that became a book, a doctoral dissertation that I’m mining for articles), my self-directed learning has been more productive and helpful than the learning I did within the educational systems that I progressed through. If you have read a number of blog posts, you will also know that I focus more on teaching than on teachers and I truly focus on teaching as a complex process of fostering learning, not on teaching as the “transfer of knowledge” from teacher to student. In other words, I focus on learning, more than on teachers and teaching.

Still, during my long years of formal education, I encountered a few teachers who had a particularly significant impact on me and I would like to talk about them collectively. I am not talking about larger-than-life or miracle-working teachers. I generally do not believe in the sustainable reality of “magically effective” or “superhero” teachers, no matter how inspiring they might be in movies. (I’m thinking of Louanne Johnson, played by Michelle Pfeiffer, in Dangerous Minds or John Keating, played by Robin Williams, in Dead Poets Society, Glenn Holland, played by Richard Dreyfuss, in Mr. Holland’s Opus, François Marin, played by François Bégaudeau, in Entre les murs, Arthur Chipping, played by Peter O’Toole, in Goodbye, Mr. Chips, Clément Mathieu, played by Gérard Jugnot, in Les Choristes, Jaime Escalante, played by Edward James Olmos, in Stand and Deliver, and so forth.) There do exist fabulously great teachers who can change lives, yes, but most of those who have a real impact on real learners tend to be modest, down-to-earth, human beings struggling to do a good job, not epically charismatic, bigger-than-life, almost supernatural figures. Please note that that’s not to say that extraordinary teachers do not exist. It’s just that I don’t think that the “superhero teacher” a workable model for most folks who decide to teach.

The folks I am talking were extraordinary in some very humble and ordinary ways. They were conscientious and attentive. They were attuned to the body language and the needs of their students. They had genuine enthusiasm for their subject matter. They used humor, empathy and compassion to reach their students. And they focused as much on actual student learning as they did on complying with the prescribed curriculum. In short, they were teachers, yes, but they were also mentors, guides and, in an almost etymological sense, pedagogues. The accompanied learners and taught them more than just facts or specific skills. They helped them to develop as learners. Their attentions where not just on the books, the activities and the syllabi, but also on the learners themselves. They sought to foster learning by helping the students understand how to forge meaningful and lasting connections to bodies of knowledge, how to make their own meaning, discern complexities, uncover patterns, accomplish deeds. And in my case, that meant giving me the freedom to learn my way, instead of forcing me to kowtow to the curriculum.

A small handful ofe teachers, encountered in schools, colleges and universities between the ages of 11 and 20, truly “turned me on” to learning in a number of different areas (science, particularly ecology and entomology, literature, creative writing, history, philosophy, geology, media studies, communications, law). In most cases, it was because the were willing to depart from the “production line” model of moving learners through the system and, instead, engaged me on a human level, helped me understand why some subjects are worth studying, mentored me on ways to succeed within a relatively inflexible educational system and helped me pursue my own interests while doing so. For me, the great teachers who made me want to be a teacher myself were folks who modeled several fundamental human traits. Curiosity. Engagement. Seeing the big picture. A propensity for explaining well and, more importantly, giving good examples. Interest in connecting disparate ideas and data. Empathy with others. Compassion. Flexibility. Enthusiasm. Personal charm. And a willingness to guide and support learners, rather than dictate to them.

Even though I sometimes fall back to the “assembly line” model of teaching, I mostly try to emulate these good folks who helped me so much and inspired me to learn.

[797 words]

Week 2 of the “What future for education?” MOOC focuses on intelligence, a tricky and controversial topic. Here is the initial reflection prompt:

Reflect on:

• What you already know about intelligence. How do you know if someone is intelligent or not?

• Do you consider yourself to be intelligent? Why? What is your evidence for this?

• Finish this sentence: Intelligence is … and post your idea on AnswerGarden here

I will start with the third bit, then move to the first and second bullet points. On “AnswerGarden” (an online app that creates a kind of word cloud) I gave three answers:

• Intelligence is  complex
• Intelligence is a complex set of skills and potential
• Intelligence is like a garden

The first point is my own honest answer. The other two I entered mostly to “upvote” the two responses that I believed made the most sense. The largest term in the cloud (with 40 votes) was “making effective use of knowledge and skills.” For me, that has little to do with intelligence. That phrase is about competence or about self-management. But it’s not “intelligence” per se, unless you mean some kind of pragmatic, self-management-oriented version of intelligence, not generalized intelligence.

Let me explain my reasons for the responses I entered:

“Like a garden” = can be cultivated, can change with careful planning and systematic work, is productive, depends on circumstances (like climate, resources, sunshine, favorable conditions, etc.)

“a complex set of skills and potential” = intelligence is about intellectual capacity, the ability to interpret, make connections, discern, generate ideas, etc. So, yes, in a sense, it undergirds and informs skills. And it is about potential. (Again, intelligence can change over time and can rise to meet a challenge in some cases, so it’s a kind of potential and a kind of resource that informs skills.)

“Complex” = that is, it is not just one thing. It derives from a multitude of interconnecting cognitive processes and capacities. It fluctuates. Its functioning is not easily predictable.

About the third bullet point, I would say that, yes, I am intelligent. I say this for two reasons. First, I tested for an above-average Intelligence Quotient when I was young. That is, I have a good brain with good basic cognitive capabilities. But that’s not sufficient. Secondly, I would say that I also am able to use my cognitive abilities in a wide variety of circumstances. I am perceptive and discerning and I seize most information rapidly and easily. I process large quantities of data and complex thoughts without a problem. I am articulate, I read widely and exercise my brain regularly. I adapt to different circumstances and perform a wide variety of intellectual tasks well. I am reasonably creative. And, finally, many folks consider me to be intelligent. For all of those reasons, I would venture to say that, yes, I am intelligent. It’s all about my being able to exercise a wide range of highly adaptable cognitive skills and to process information rapidly and accurately. All of those things are measures of different forms of intelligence.

To that, I would add that I have a good level of so-called “emotional intelligence” or “social intelligence.” I read people reasonably well. I understand the feelings of others and am usually adept at interpreting their facial expressions and postures accurately to know the mood that they are in. I’m attuned to others.

Now, finally, how do I know if someone is intelligent or not? In general, the kind of intelligence that I am looking for is intellectual: speaking well, having a good range of vocabulary, possessing good basic knowledge, being perceptive and discerning, reasoning well, being able to engage in effective and productive dialogue, and so forth. I also tend to look for both creativity and social intelligence as indicators of a generalized intellectual intelligence, although I am acquainted with smart people who are social morons and socially adept, highly creative folks who are not very smart intellectually.

In the end, intelligence is about cognitive power, about a high cognitive potential for thinking, speaking, processing information and reasoning, about perception and about articulation of thoughts. But those are simply my definition of intelligence, not signs of intelligence per se. Like beauty, intelligence is in the interpretive scheme of the beholder, not inherent in brains themselves. What we call “intelligence” is an artificial construct that we simply use unthinkingly and without critical examination. In truth, though, intelligence derives from a complex amalgam of various cognitive abilities and potentials that we generally value and derive benefit from in our social and professional lives. Intelligence is not just one thing. There are myriad forms of intelligence and a multitude of nuanced manifestations of its capacities. So… the answer to the question about how I know whether or not someone is intelligent is… “It depends.”

[2160 words]

(thoughts reiterated from an earlier FB post)

At the outset of this blog entry, I note that in one sense, I’m “cheating” by quoting myself from elsewhere. I acknowledge that this is not an entirely new or original reflection. It is an extension of some ideas that I have been following, consuming and processing while meandering through other sites. This post takes me in a new direction here, offers a new perspective. It’s a shift, a break, something intrusive in this context. It is a jumping-off point (or as I put it in my earlier post, an “on-ramp”) and it might lead to some additional strands of thought here.

The earlier post was on the page of a FaceBook Group, Rhizomatic learning – a theoretical discussion. That group had arisen out of earlier iterations of a connectivist MOOC that constituted a collective and collaborative learning effort, Rhizo14 and Rhizo15, largely organized by Dave Cormier. I stumbled into traces and archives of those phenomena, Dave Cormier’s scholarly work (along with the work of others, including Maha Bali, Sarah Honeychurch and many more) and, finally I landed on one post-Rhizo15 MOOC Facebook page, then another, then a Google Plus page on Rhizomatic Learning. All of the texts, images and suggestive videos that I’ve encountered along these lines have been resonating powerfully in my cognitive depths. Over the past year or so, I have been re-reading Guattari and Deleuze (very slowly, in bits and pieces) and I’m particularly intrigued by their model (or is it an image? metaphor? concept? intuition?) of the rhizome. Over the last year, as I investigated and reflected on connectivist pedagogy, I was struck by the many adaptations and iterations that folks have suggested on the subject of rhizomatic learning. Many of those reflections made (and continue to make) a lot of sense to me. So… here is my earlier FB post, which is, at least in part, intended as an impetus to help launch rhizo16  — or something like it — into an active learning phase.*

If one were to suggest a potential on-ramp for a ride through a rhizomatic whirl of thinking, the very notion of the rhizome itself might be a place to start. It seems to me that this broad idea is not so far from the gist of Keith Hamon’s post:

http://blog.keithwhamon.net/…/…/framing-rhizome-rhizo16.html

If I were to state my own way of thinking about (or “framing”) the image / model / metaphor / notion of the rhizome, my own thoughts would drift in two distinct directions (probably), influenced by the contingencies of this moment.

On the one hand, I would like to take a closer look at just how the rhizome figures in D&G’s accounting of the human psyche and what its relationship might be to desire, to underlying urges, to unconscious will. How effective a representation is this image, the rhizome, when considering the cognitive and emotional and social dynamics of humans acting in socially-defined or other kinds of constrained contexts?

On the other, I wonder what the rhizome has to say about revolution, or subversive effort or underground pathways for effecting change in a world that oppresses human beings, destroys psyches and livelihoods, destroys and persecutes and generally runs roughshod over peaceful beings? What is the relationship between rhizomatic thinking and democracy? What place does D&G’s rhizome have in the unfolding circumstances of human evolution (biological, cognitive, cultural)?

Finally, in a nod to the departed and regretted Derek Parfit

[https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Derek_Parfit]

…does individual identity have any value relative to rhizomatic learning or rhizomatic knowledge emergence? Do individual cognitive beings have distinct value as individuals or does the rhizome move humans toward a “flattened” status as cognitive nodes or agents of equal standing. Does it matter? What motivates learning, then, if not individual curiosity or intellectual drive? What are the ethical implications of rhizomatic ways of proceeding, of knowing?

My apologies for being so long-winded here, but I’m both inspired and intimidated by D&G, by the rhizome, by the notion of rhizomatic learning and by the circumstances in which we live, many of us, in dread and in hope. Those things converged here to speak through me. Is there a conversation to be had?

Here are a few additional comments that I’ll probably try to pursue in subsequent reflections. First, one of the ironies for rhizomatic learning is that rhizo14 and rhizo15 were in some sense “organized” by Dave Cormier. The “rhizome” in the thought of Deleuze and Guattari is non-hierarchical and distributed. The very idea of a single-source “teacher” or “organizer” is somewhat antithetical to the notion of the rhizome. Dave Cormier himself recognizes this tension in one of his rhizo15 posts, dated May 6, 2015:

Week 4 – Can/should we get rid of the idea of ‘dave’? How do we teach rhizomatically?

Additionally, that same tension, that sort of question — What is the role of the individual identity, the ego, in rhizomatic learning, which is non-hierarchical and values no part more than any other part? — resonates for me with the work of Derek Parfit, both his Reasons and Persons and, more recently, On What Matters. It’s not that I know the work of Parfit well, but I find the thrust of some of his fundamental ideas important. One of those is the way in which Parfit seeks (well, sought) to reconcile deontological ethics with consequentialist ethics, partly by de-emphasizing the status of the individual and/or questioning the value of “personal identity.” That move seems to correspond in some ways to the de-centering and de-hierarchizing aspects of the rhizome. However, de-emphasizing the individual also raises issues, specifically about authority or competence for “certifying” or “verifying” learning. Those sorts of hierarchical modalities constitute significant chunks of the socially useful enterprise of schooling, so how can rhizomatic learning coexist with “education”? (I’m referring to degree certification, adherence to very strict, even inflexible disciplinary standards, the expectation that ostensibly masterful teachers will ascertain the validity of subaltern and supplicant students’ learning, and those verifications operate through mechanisms like “seat time” and teacher-constructed and teacher-controlled “tests” which remain, after all, the fundamental tools of intellectual apprenticeship in what we call education, along with other forms of extremely hierarchical approval / certification processes that undergird the functioning of schools and universities.) Is it possible to make rhizomatic efforts comply with the needs, rules and structures of educational institutions?

And more along the lines of an eventual launch of rhizo16… is the rhizome itself valid as an idea? Can we critique it? Are there ways to revise and reconstitute the rhizome? Must we accept the “authority” of Deleuze and Guattari? Or are we allowed to make of “the rhizome” what we will? How does one think about the rhizome rhizomatically? What of D&G’s project to rethink psychoanalysis and to offer an account of the human psyche that diverges from both Freud and Lacan? Where exactly does the rhizome fit into that scheme? Does it lead us to useful or productive territory for thinking about how we humans act, about how we are motivated, about what we might do under the pressure of tyranny or perceived danger or extremely discomfiting asininity in our societies? Can the rhizome undergird or facilitate or foment revolution?

Obviously, I have a lot of thinking — and reading and exploring —  to do before I can claim to have the least little idea about what “rhizomatic learning” is. What I can say is that my strong intuition is that Guattari’s and Deleuze’s “rhizome” as applied to learning is rife with connectivist and revolutionary potential.

As I think I made clear recently in my initial post, I believe in the value of dynamic, learner-centered, self-motivated and autonomous learning that employs dialogue and collaboration to extend and refine individual investigation and reflection. I value “learning for the sake of learning” — that is, engaging in discovery and idea formation because the content one is focusing on and/or the process of learning are fun. In my own life, that kind of learning looms much larger and has deeper resonance than learning for extrinsic motivations. To put it another way, the best learning (in my view) is self-motivated, driven by the learner’s curiosity, interest, and sense that the learning content/activity/context has relevance and meaning. In my case, learning for purely extrinsic rewards (grades, diplomas, certifications, rewards, reputation, advancement) is significantly less effective and far less enduring. Given my overarching attitude toward learning, I would say that this MOOC will offer me a lot.

Let me explain. I am interested in the future of education. I am very interested in learning theory. I believe that reflecting on these topics are highly relevant for me — and, indeed, are relevant for any curious and thoughtful person working in higher education. In other words, my motivation for engaging with the themes of this MOOC is quite high.

To that, I would add that the specific questions asked and the seemingly connectivist modalities of this MOOC are likely to work very well for me, particularly if I am able to find a few student peers whose interests and enthusiasms resonate in some way with my own, folks with whom I can engage in productive dialogue and debate. If the discussion forums ever work the way that they ought to, I suspect that I’m likely to encounter others who, like me, draw a sharp distinction between learning and education and who would be willing to explore the complex relationship between the two. I hope that I’ll be able to have some lively exchanges about learning as a driver of education in the future and perhaps even consider ways in which the enterprise of higher education, indeed, education in general, might be rethought to facilitate, guide and support learning in a more effective and sustainable way.

As I think about the future of education, I am convinced that many stakeholders in the educational enterprise will need to rethink the basics of what they are doing. Why educate? To what end(s)? What does society need education systems to do? Is education exclusively about creating competent workers? Is it exclusively about “learning for doing,” so to speak, or manufacturing, or performing needed services, etc.? Is it about “learning to be”?  Ought universities teach students to be lifelong learners? Should universities teach students to seek wisdom? Or help them learn how to balance their lives? Or exercise self-control? Or engage in deep reflection for spiritual and intellectual growth? Is it about filling brains with information?

To evoke another dimension… technology is potentially both a complicating factor and a highly effective pathway as we think about the future of education. That is, computer-mediated communication and digital tools do not constitute a solution per se. Indeed, blind or unthinking appeals to technology or imposing the use of specific apps or devices without good support or good justification are, as pedagogical choices, likely to create more problems than they solve. On the other hand, if education is understood as a process of supporting, connecting and guiding autonomous learners, then computer-mediated and digital communication, collaboration and information-sharing can potential be affirmed as a valid and valuable infrastructures and/or pathways of learning and education, if not an obligatory route. Where and how technology plays a role depends on the needs of learners, the context in which learning takes place, societal parameters, and another multitude of factors.

To do a better job of facilitating learning and creating better experiences for learners, we need to increase our understanding of the cognitive processes involved and we need to assure that educational processes, educational pathways, educational tools and teaching strategies align with how learning actually works in the human brain. We need to be clearer and more explicit about the goal(s) of education. We need to employ approaches that support those goals. Is the main goal of education the socialization of human beings into into learning communities? Is education about the acquisition of skills and socialization into professional practices? Is it about teaching individuals to assume greater autonomy for their own educational achievement and greater effectiveness in living satisfying and ethical lives? Those are three very different kinds of learning.

I do not have answers to those questions, although I have some intuitions about how we ought to think about them. At this point in my journey through this MOOC, I have begun formulating what I believe are pertinent questions about the future of education and I am pondering the relationship between “learning” and “education.” In my view, those results alone signal real promise as I begin to engage with this MOOC.

* Since writing this post (and the earlier one), I have been thinking about my intention of “launching” rhizo16 or something like it into a “active learning phase” and I realize that if one is truly talking about rhizomes and rhizomatic learning, it is ludicrous to think that anyone can “control” it or “start” it or “stop” it. So I’ll focus on my own questions and investigations to see where they take me, not rhizo[N].

-RRDaniel2