Two or three months ago in Qualitative II class, we watched a short clip https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tno6oG9KRFY
introducing Karen Barad. Andreas Roepstorff said in (1:17) “what it is like to create knowledge” and it struck me like a lightning in a clear sky: What? We can CREATE knowledge?
Until now, I realized, I thought knowledge is something that simply IS. It is neither created nor changeable. To get it, people must reach out and grab it when they want to or need to. It is like the fabric of cosmos. Neutral, ever present, yet obscured unless specifically sought out or accidentally encountered.
Perhaps, this explains why I personally never had issues with passive learning? I grew up blindly believing in the authority of teachers. They are servants of knowledge, the sages who have been trusted the secrets of the Universe. Yet, I always was intrinsically motivated to learn actively: receive what is being taught, then go get some more on my own.
Hopefully, I will make sense of this rambling somehow, but I had to get it off my chest.
So now that I heard that knowledge can be created, where does it leave me in my epistemological beliefs? Well, first of all, I submissively receive this statement as a bit of knowledge: I just have been handed a key to unlock yet another cosmic secret. SO. Knowledge CAN be created…
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12 hours later, after I had a few more minutes to think about this while waiting in pickup line for Danny:
I think I differentiate between “knowledge” as an abstraction and “knowledge” as a concrete concept (“I know you like this…”). Growing up in USSR, the concept of “knowledge” (as an abstraction) was well-nourished. On Septemeber 1 of each year, all children would start school. We called it the “Day of knowledges.” All students would dress up in “parade uniform” (girls white aprons, boys always wore suits with a white shirt anyway), and bring flowers to the teacher. There would be happy kid music blasting, and everyone would gather in the courtyard for a ceremony: first-year students would be welcomed, graduates-to-be would be wished well; there would typically be a speech from a respected member of the community–a WWII veteran, or a “Hero of Labor.” The principal would say something, too. In the end, a male representative of the graduating class would put a randomly picked (usually the smallest) first-grader (we did not have kindergarten) on his shoulders, and make a lap in the inner circle of the gathered crowd of students. The little one would ring a hand bell as a signal of the beginning of the first period of the new school year. The first lesson in each grade was a “Peace lesson” where students would discuss the importance of world peace. The day was always short so that in the afternoon students could go out to the city’s parks, carnivals, movies, and other entertainment spots to enjoy deep admission discounts. The entire country celebrated the “Day of Knowledges!”
Then I thought that my father, who taught auto engineering for 30+ years, would be called an assistant or associate professor, but in Russian, his position translated as “senior giver” (as in someone who “serves” or “presents” knowledge). The term “instructor” was reserved strictly for those who taught skills, such as “swimming” or “nursing” instructor. I think the power structure and the culture of passive learning in the classroom setting was built into our lives in many ways, including the linguistic channels.