The Undivided Life: Part Two

Last week I posted some of the insights of Parker Palmer from his influential book The Courage to Teach that have helped me to think in a more holistic way about the art of teaching and the outcomes of a liberal arts education (see "The Undivided Life: Part One"). In this post I discuss a few concepts from some of his other writings. As with his other writings, Palmer's insights derive from a rich understanding of what it means to be fully human based largely on the wisdom of biblical teaching as understood in the Quaker tradition.

Building on the ideas in his earlier work, in The Heart of Higher Education: A Call to Renewal (2010) Palmer promotes what he calls “integrative learning” which is learning that is grounded in his holistic view of the human person. Recognizing the challenges facing higher education, and the ways it sometimes falls far short of its ideals, he asks:

"How can higher education become a more multidimensional enterprise, one that draws on the full range of human capacities for knowing, teaching, and learning; that bridges the gaps between the disciplines; that forges stronger links between knowing the world and living creatively in it, in solitude and community?" (2)

As he makes his case for what can foster such a multidimensional academic approach, Palmer explains that the type of change that is needed is one that is not a simple administrative or structural fix. He writes:

"The change we seek within the academy is not one that flows from administrative mandate, but one that arises in the energized space between caring and thoughtful human beings. When personal agendas subside, and genuine interest in the other is established, then a quality of mutual attentiveness emerges that can become the safe harbor for the new and the unexpected that may become a seedbed of educational renewal." (12)

While administrative mandate cannot bring this kind of cultural change about, there are ways that structures, policies and procedures can be developed and aligned in ways that support and encourage this kind of genuine interaction. If there is one thing I have encountered in my own experiences of higher education it is a multitude of “caring and thoughtful human beings.” Many thoughtful and caring people are drawn to education and one of the things I love about working in higher education is getting to work among such wonderful people. Higher education attracts people who are passionate about their particular area of study and are experts in it, and who are also passionate about seeing others learn and grow. What can be lost at times amid the institutional and cultural pressures of our higher education system are the concern for others and the inspiration that caused us to pursue advanced study in our academic areas of interest in the first place. In the midst of such pressures Palmer promotes the recovery of wonder and humility:

"A mode of knowing steeped in awe, wonder, and humility is a mode of knowing that can serve the human cause, which is the whole point of integrative education." (22)

This sense of awe, wonder, and humility around discovery is something that both faculty and students need, and is something that integrative learning can help foster. And as valuable as that is inherently, it also has value for humanity as it opens up potential for serving others. With this recognition Palmer points to the idea of education serving the needs of humanity—a notion which is also a feature of any education grounded in the liberal arts.

This idea of serving others also comes out clearly in the two audio-books I recently listened to about vocation and the inner life. Palmer writes about the need to connect “soul and role,” in order to integrate who we are with what we do in our professional and public lives of service. In Let Your LifeSpeak: Listening for the Voice of Vocation (1999), he writes:

“Our deepest calling is to grow into our own authentic self-hood, whether or not it conforms to some image of who we ought to be. As we do so, we will not only find the joy that every human being seeks--we will also find our path of authentic service in the world.”

Along similar lines, in An Undivided Life: Seeking Wholeness in Ourselves, Our Work, and Our World (2009) he cites Frederick Buechner: 

“Vocation is the place where our deep gladness meets the world's deep need.”

In Palmer’s work I find encouragement to be present in the world in a thoughtful way that recognizes that I have something to give others, and that this something comes from being who I truly am. I also find encouragement to be in the world with a deeper awareness of the dignity of all people and the inter-connectedness of all of us.

To me these ways of thinking about life and vocation are central features of what a liberal arts education provides for those who embrace it. And particularly a liberal arts education at a Christian college or university that is grounded in the centuries old tradition of wisdom, of faith seeking understanding, and the sacredness of all of God’s creation.

A complete list of Parker J. Palmer’s books can be found here. If your library has any of them and if you are looking for a reliable and also challenging guide for the inner journey, I highly recommend his work.

The Undivided Life: Part One

Years ago I read Parker J. Palmer’s The Courage to Teach: Exploring the Inner Landscape of a Teacher’s Life. I recall being struck by his approach to teaching that honored the humanity of the teacher as well as the learner. In that volume he described teaching as a deeply human kind of encounter between teacher, learner, and subject. In 2014 I came across his book The Heart of Higher Education: A Call to Renewal, and I wrote a blog post about what Palmer referred to as “integrated learning.” This past month I was pleasantly surprised to discover by accident that my public library had a couple of Parker Palmer’s books as audiobooks available on the Overdrive app, so I’ve been listening to them on my commute. To top it all off, I’ve now heard two faculty members quote Parker Palmer within the last month. I am now convinced that it is time for me to explore some of the lessons I’ve learned from his writing and see what connections remain to be explored. For reflecting on the inner life and its connection to one’s vocation in the world, Parker Palmer is a trustworthy guide.

Here I want to provide a few quotes from his work that have wider applicability and that illustrate his approach. From The Courage to Teach:

“Good teaching cannot be reduced to technique; good teaching comes from the identity and integrity of the teacher” (2).

This central idea is at the heart of most of Parker Palmer’s writings. This notion of identity and integrity draws on Palmer’s Quaker spiritual roots which take seriously an understanding of the presence of God within us. For Palmer this is a radical commitment to the biblical idea that every person is created in the image of God and a corresponding belief in the possibility of finding “that of God in every person” (Hidden Wholeness, 180) including oneself. In this light the journey to discover one’s true identity is not a narcissistic detour or self-absorption; instead the inner journey is a journey toward knowing God as we discover the unique ways God has shaped us and speaks through our lives. Incredibly, the God who created the universe is the God who dwells within and speaks within our own souls. This foundational Quaker belief is part of what makes Palmer’s work on teaching and learning so distinctive and also so attractive.

With this rich view of self, Palmer advocates bringing our “whole selves” to our work of teaching. As it turns out, we all do so either consciously (with awareness of both our gifts and limitations, our light and our shadow sides) or unconsciously (lacking that self-awareness and unaware of how our limits and potentials, our light and our shadow, are affecting us and those around us). Palmer explains, “Teaching, like any truly human activity, emerges from one’s inwardness, for better or worse” (2). In the end, as Palmer explains, “We teach who we are” (2). This is a recognition of the importance of owning our identity and embracing the reality of who we actually are, rather than who we wish we were or think we should be.

In addition, it can also be said paradoxically that “we are who we teach.” In other words, our identity is also being shaped through our encounter with our students who themselves are people of identity and integrity, whole selves with gifts and potentials just like us. Together in the classroom or university, we are whole, individual selves. But we are also individual selves in community. Along these lines, Palmer writes:

“Our equal and opposite needs for solitude and community constitute a great paradox. When it is torn apart, both of these life-giving states of being degenerate into deathly spectres of themselves. Solitude split off from community is no longer a rich and fulfilling experience of inwardness; now it becomes loneliness, a terrible isolation. Community split off from solitude is no longer a nurturing network of relationships; now it becomes a crowd, an alienating buzz of too many people and too much noise” (68)

For my part, as an introvert I find that I am much more naturally drawn to the solitude side of the paradox. Yet I at least mentally assent to the importance of community and would certainly name the fostering of a vibrant academic community as one of the primary goals of my service as a dean. Revisiting Palmer's work has given me some richer context for seeing the importance of both solitude and community, and of the need for solitude in order to be able to promote true community.

Here is one final quote from The Courage to Teach: 

“In the undivided self, every major thread of one’s life experience is honored, creating a weave of such coherence and strength that it can hold students and subject as well as self. Such a self, inwardly integrated, is able to make the outward connections on which good teaching depends.” (16)

To me, this description sounds not only like what we as educators wish for ourselves. It is also what we hope for and believe that a transformative liberal arts education will enable for our students: an inwardly integrated self that is able to make the outward connections on which good living depends.

In a followup post, I will discuss how Palmer extends these ideas and explores their potential to shape the culture of universities in his The Heart of Higher Education (2010). I’ll also draw from two of his other books related to the nature of vocation.

Toward a Philosophy of Integrated Learning

In the first chapter of The Heart of Higher Education: A Call to Renewal, Parker Palmer outlines some elements that contribute to a philosophy of what he and others have called “integrated education.” Integrated learning models typically center on techniques and approaches to learning that can help bridge the gap between discrete disciplines and enable students to make connections across the curriculum in ways that are holistic rather than piecemeal. These models include many now familiar elements such as capstone courses, linked courses, service learning, team teaching, first-year experiences, and other creative ways of engaging students as whole persons. While the value of many of these techniques have been recognized, in his chapter “Toward a Philosophy of Integrated Learning,” Palmer addresses not the practices themselves but an underlying philosophy of education that drives the integrated education model. He does this by outlining four categories: ontology, epistemology, pedagogy, and ethics.

The “ontological reality” that Palmer discusses (pp. 25-26) is based on new developments in science that have moved from atomic theory (an understanding of reality as a bunch of individual atoms) to a quantum theory which sees each particle as existing only in relation to other particles. This more relational approach to reality leads to seeing the cosmos as “a historical community of interdependent beings” (citing Ian Barbour). This understanding supports learning that is integrated and understood in ways that are interactive and interconnected across many disciplines.

Palmer discusses an “epistemological necessity” (pp. 27-29), by which he means that “we cannot know this communal reality truly and well unless we ourselves are consciously and actively in community with it as knowers” (27). Here he draws on Polanyi’s Personal Knowledge. He also discusses the issue of objectivity and argues that one can “know a relational reality only by being in relation to it” (28). He gives a terrific example of geneticist and Nobel Prize winner Barbara McCLintock who eschews remaining distant and objective: “Over and over again she tells us one must have the time to look, the patience to ‘hear what the material has to say to you,’ the openness to ‘let it come to you.’ Above all, one must have ‘a feeling for the organism.’“ (28, citing Evelyn Fox Keller’s book chronicling her work). As a scholar of early Jewish and Christian texts, I was struck by this statement and the realization that my own study of these texts has been most enlivened when I’ve approached these texts not as “ancient artifacts to be studied” but as the words of poets and authors who wished to communicate something that was of deep significance to them as human beings.

As “a pedagogical asset” (pp. 29-31) the ontology and epistemology lead to teaching that attends to the nature of the relationships between teacher and student, student and student, and student and subject. Hospitality becomes a key feature here as space is made for safe relationships where—I was surprised to see—academic and intellectual rigor can be expected. This approach to teaching brings together the “hard” virtues of scholarship and the “soft” virtues of community so that the deepest kind of learning can take place.

The “ethical corrective” (pp. 31-33) of which Palmer writes is the result of this relational learning: it results in an engagement with the world with a moral component. Not as an “add-on” but as a natural consequence of relating to the material rather than objectively learning facts about it. Palmer gives an example of his own learning about the Holocaust (in an objective way) versus later coming to grips with the kinds of systemic practices and forces which lay behind the Holocaust and continue to shape aspects of human existence even in Palmer’s own world and own mind.

In these ways, Palmer outlines a compelling case for seeing integrative education as a model for education that accords with the latest scientific research on the nature of reality as being interconnected and relational, that aligns with the rich and deep ways in which humans can truly come to know things, that has specific implications for classroom instruction, and that leads to meaningful ethical reflection rather than an artificial, ethically-stunted distance from a given subject. Those unfamiliar with the work of Parker Palmer but who are interested in seeing their students grow and learn in ways that prepare them for lives of meaningful service beyond the walls of the university will find some welcome assistance here in understanding why those aspirations make sense and why they should not be abandoned even in the face of many other pressures.