Tag Archives: Science

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Storms in all Teacups: The Power and Inequality in the Battle for Science Universality

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The great blog Genealogy of Religion posted this video with a somewhat approving commentary:

The video started off with panache and promised some entertainment, however, I found myself increasingly annoyed as the video continued. The problem is that this is an exchange of cliches that pretends to be a fight of truth against ignorance. Sure, Storm doesn’t put forward a very coherent argument for her position, but neither does Minchin. His description of science vs. faith is laughable (being in awe at the size of the universe, my foot) and nowhere does he display any nuance nor, frankly, any evidence that he is doing anything other than parroting what he’s heard on some TV interview with Dawkins. I have much more sympathy with the Storms of this world than these self-styled defenders of science whose only credentials are that they can remember a bit of high school physics or chemistry and have read an article by some neo-atheist in Wired. What’s worse, it’s would be rationalists like him who do what passes for science reporting in major newspapers or on the BBC.

But most of all, I find it distasteful that he chose a young woman as his antagonist. If he wished to take on the ‘antiscience’ establishment, there are so many much better figures to target for ridicule. Why not take on the pseudo spiritualists in the mainstream media with their ecumenical conciliatory garbage. How about taking on tabloids like Nature or Science that publish unreliable preliminary probes as massive breakthroughs. How about universities that put out press releases distorting partial findings. Why not take on economists who count things that it makes no sense to count just to make things seem scientific. Or, if he really has nothing better to do, let him lay into some super rich creationist pastor. But no, none of these captured his imagination, instead he chose to focus his keen intellect and deep erudition on a stereotype of a young woman who’s trying to figure out a way to be taken seriously in a world filled with pompous frauds like Minchin.

The blog post commenting on the video sparked a debate about the limits of knowledge (Note: This is a modified version of my own comment). But while there’s a debate to be had about the limits of knowledge (what this blog is about),  this is not the occasion. There is no need to adjudicate about which of these two is more ‘on to something’. They’re not touching on anything of epistemological interest, they’re just playing a game of social positioning in the vicinity of interesting issues. But in this game, people like Michin have been given a lot more chips to play with than people like Storm. It’s his follies and prejudices and not hers that are given a fair hearing. So I’d rather spend a few vacuous moments in her company than endorse his mindless ranting.

And as for ridiculing people for stupidity or shallow thinking, I’m more than happy to take part. But I want to have a look at those with power and prestige, because they just as often as Storms act just as silly and irrationally the moment they step out of their areas of expertise. I see this all the time in language, culture and history (where I know enough about to judge the level of insight). Here’s the most recent one that caught my eye:

It comes from a side note in a post about evolutionary foundations of violence by a self-proclaimed scientist (the implied hero in Minchin’s rant):

 It is said that the Bedouin have nearly 100 different words for camels, distinguishing between those that are calm, energetic, aggressive, smooth-gaited, or rough, etc. Although we carefully identify a multitude of wars — the Hundred Years War, the Thirty Years War, the American Civil War, the Vietnam War, and so forth — we don’t have a plural form for peace.

Well, this paragon of reason could be forgiven for not knowing what sort of non-sense this ’100 words for’ cliche is. The Language Log has spilled enough bits on why this and other snowclones are silly. But the second part of the argument is just stupid. And it is a typical scientist blundering about the world as if the rules of evidence didn’t apply to him outside the lab and as if data not in a spreadsheet did not require a second thought. As if being a PhD in evolutionary theory meant everything else he says about humans must be taken seriously. But how can such a moronic statement be taken as anything but feeble twaddle to be laughed at and belittled? How much more cumulatively harmful are moments like these (and they are all over the place) than the socializing efforts of people like Storm from the video?

So, I should probably explain why this is so brainless. First, we don’t have a multitude of words war  (just like the Bedouin don’t have 100 or even 1 dozen for a camel). We just have the one and we have a lot of adjectives with which we can modify its meaning. And if we want to look for some that are at least equivalent to possible camel attributes, we won’t choose names of famous wars but rather things like civil war, total war, cold war, holy war, global war, naval war, nuclear war, etc. I’m sure West Point or even Wikipedia has much to say about a possible classification. And of course,  all of this applies to peace in exactly the same way. There are ‘peaces’ with names like Peace of Westphalia, Arab-Israeli Peace, etc. with just as many attributive pairs like international peace, lasting peace, regional peace, global peace, durable peace, stable peace, great peace, etc.  I went to a corpus to get some examples but that this must be the case was obvious and a simple Google search would give enough examples to confirm a normal language speaker’s  intuition. But this ‘scientist’ had a point to make and because he’s spent twenty years doing research in evolution of violence, he must surely be right about everything on the subject.

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Now, I’m sure this guy is not an idiot. He’s obviously capable of analysis and presenting a coherent argument. But there’s an area that he chose to address about which he is about as qualified to make pronouncements as Storm and Minchin are about the philosophy of science. And what he said there is stupid and he should be embarrassed for having said it. Should he be ridiculed and humiliated for it the way I did here? No. He made the sort of mistake everyone makes from high school students to Nobel laureates. He thought he knew something and didn’t bother to examine his knowledge. Or he did try to examine it but  didn’t have the right tools to do it. Fine. But he’s a scientist (and a man not subject to stereotypes about women) so we give him and too many like him a pass. But Storm, a woman who like so many of her generation uses star signs to talk about relationships and is uncomfortable with the grasping maw of classifying science chomping on the very essence of her being, she is fair game?

It’s this inequality that makes me angry. We afford one type of shallowness the veneer respectability and rake another one over the coals of ridicule and opprobrium. Not on this blog!

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UPDATE: I was just listening to this interview with a philosopher and historian of science about why there was so much hate coming from scientists towards the Gaia hypothesis and his summation, it seems to me, fits right in with what this post is about. He says: “When scientists feel insecure and threatened, they turn nasty.” And it doesn’t take a lot of study of the history and sociology of science to find ample examples of this. The ‘science wars’, the ‘linguistics wars’, the neo-Darwinst thought purism, the list just goes on. The world view of scientism is totalising and has to deal with exactly the same issues as other totalising views such as monotheistic religions with constitutive ontological views or socio-economic utopianisms (e.g. neo-liberalism or Marxism).

And one of those issues is how do you afford respect to or even just maintain conversation with people who challenge your ideological totalitarianism – or in other words, people who are willfully and dangerously “wrong”. You can take the Minchin approach of suffering in silence at parties and occasionally venting your frustration at innocent passerbys, but that can lead to outbreaks group hysteria as we saw with the Sokal hoax or one of the many moral panic campaigns.

Or you can take the more difficult journey of giving up some of your claims on totality and engaging with even those most threatening to to you as human beings; the way Feyerabend did or Gould sometimes tried to do. This does not mean patiently proselytizing in the style of evangelical missionaries but more of an ecumenical approach of meeting together without denying who you are. This will inevitably involve moments where irreconcilable differences will lead to a stand on principles (cf. Is multi-culturalism bad for women?) but even in those cases an effort at understanding can benefit both sides as with the question of vaccination described in this interview. At all stages, there will be temptation at “understanding” the other person by reducing them to our own framework of humanity. Psychologizing a religious person as an unsophisticate dealing with feelings of awe in the face of incomprehensible nature or pitying the atheist for not being able to feel the love of God and reach salvation. There is no solution. No utopia of perfect harmony and understanding. No vision of lions and lambs living in peace. But acknowledging our differences and slowing down our outrage can perhaps make us into the better versions of us and help us stop wasting time trying to reclaim other people’s stereotypes.

Storm in a teacupCreative Commons License BruceW. via Compfight

UPDATE 2: I am aware of the paradox between the introduction and the conclusion of the previous update. Bonus points for spotting it. I actually hold a slightly more nuanced view than the first paragraph would imply but that is a topic for another blog post.

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Sunsets, horizons and the language/mind/culture distinction

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For some reason, many accomplished people, when they are done accomplishing what they’ve set out to accomplish, turn their minds to questions like:

  • What is primary, thought or language.
  • What is primary, culture or language.
  • What is primary, thought or culture.

I’d like to offer a small metaphor hack for solving or rather dissolving these questions. The problem is that all three concepts: culture, mind and language are just useful heuristics for talking about aspects of our being. So when I see somebody speaking in a way I don’t understand, I can talk about their language. Or others behave in ways I don’t like, so I talk about their culture. Then, there’s stuff going on in my head that’s kind of like language, but not really, so I call that sort of stuff mind. But these words are just useful heuristics not discrete realities. Old Czechs used the same word for language and nation. English often uses the word ‘see’ for ‘understand’. What does it mean? Not that much.

Let’s compare it with the idea of the setting sun. I see the Sun disappearing behind the horizon and I can make some useful generalizations about it. Organize my directions (East/West), plant plants to grow better, orient how my dwelling is positioned, etc. And my description of this phenomenon as ‘the sun is setting behind the horizon’ is perfectly adequate. But then I might start asking questions like ‘what does the Sun do when it’s behind the horizon?’ Does it turn itself off and travel under the earth to rise again in the East the next morning? Or does it die and a new one rises again the next day? Those are all very bad questions because I accepted my local heuristic as describing a reality. It would be even worse if I tried to go and see the edge or the horizon. I’d be like the two fools who agreed that they would follow the railway tracks all the way to the point they meet. They keep going until one of them turns around and says ‘dude, we already passed it’.

So to ask questions about how language influences thought and culture influences language is the same as trying to go see the horizon. Language, culture and mind are just ways of describing things for particular purposes and when we start using them outside those purposes, we get ourselves in a muddle.

Great Lakes in Sunglint (NASA, International Space Station, 06/14/12) NASA’s Marshall Space Flight Center via Compfight

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Framing and constructions as a bridge between cognition and culture: Two Abstracts for Cognitive Futures

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I just found out that both abstracts I submitted to the Cognitive Futures of the Humanities Conference were accepted. I was really only expecting one to get through but I’m looking forward to talking about the ideas in both.

The first first talk has foundations in a paper I wrote almost 5 years ago now about the nature of evidence for discourse. But the idea is pretty much central to all my thinking on the subject of culture and cognition. The challenge as I see it is to come up with a cognitively realistic but not a cognitively reductionist account of culture. And the problem I see is that often the learning only goes one way. The people studying culture are supposed to be learning about the results of research on cognition.

Frames, scripts, scenarios, models, spaces and other animals: Bridging conceptual divides between the cognitive, social and computational

While the cognitive turn has a definite potential to revolutionize the humanities and social sciences, it will not be successful if it tries to reduce the fields investigated by the humanities to merely cognitive or by extension neural concepts. Its greatest potential is in showing continuities between the mind and its expression through social artefacts including social structures, art, conversation, etc. The social sciences and humanities have not waited on the sidelines and have developed a conceptual framework to apprehend the complex phenomena that underlie social interactions. This paper will argue that in order to have a meaningful impact, cognitive sciences, including linguistics, will have to find points of conceptual integration with the humanities rather than simply provide a new descriptive apparatus.

It is the contention of this paper that this can be best done through the concept of frame. It seems that most disciplines dealing with the human mind have (more or less independently) developed a similar notion dealing with the complexities of conceptualization variously referred to as frame, script, cognitive model or one of the as many as 14 terms that can be found across the many disciplines that use it.  This paper will present the different terms and identify commonalities and differences between them. On this, it will propose several practical ways in which cognitive sciences can influence humanities and also derive meaningful benefit from this relationship. I will draw on examples from historical policy analysis, literary criticism and educational discourse.

See the presentation on Slideshare.

The second paper is a bit more conceptually adventurous and testing the ideas put forth in the first one. I’m going to try to explore a metaphor for the merging of cultural studies with linguistic studies. This was done before with structuralism and ended more or less badly. For me, it ended when I read the Lynx by Lévi-Strauss and realized how empty it was of any real meaning. But I think structuralism ended badly in linguistics, as well. We can’t really understand how very basic things work in language unless we can involve culture. So even though, I come at this from the side of linguistics, I’m coming at it from the perspective of linguistics that has already been informed by the study of culture.

If Lévi-Strauss had met Langacker: Towards a constructional approach to the patterns of culture

Construction/cognitive grammar (Langacker, Lakoff, Croft, Verhagen, Goldberg) has broken the strict separation between the lexical and grammatical linguistic units that has defined linguistics for most of the last century. By treating all linguistic units as meaningful, albeit on a scale of schematicity, it has made it possible to treat linguistic knowledge as simply a part of human knowledge rather than as a separate module in the cognitive system. Central to this effort is the notion of language of as an organised inventory of symbolic units that interact through the process of conceptual integration.

This paper will propose a new view of ‘culture’ as an inventory of construction-like patterns that have linguistic, as well, as interactional content. I will argue that using construction grammar as an analogy allows for the requisite richness and can avoid the pitfalls of structuralism. One of the most fundamental contributions of this approach is the understanding that cultural patterns, like constructions, are pairings of meaning and form and that they are organised in a hierarchically structured inventory. For instance, we cannot properly understand the various expressions of politeness without thinking of them as systematically linked units in an inventory available to members of a given culture in the same as syntactic and morphological relationships. As such, we can understand culture as learnable and transmittable in the same way that language is but without reducing its variability and richness as structuralist anthropology once did.

In the same way that Jakobson’s work on structuralism across the spectrum of linguistic diversity inspired Lévi-Strauss and a whole generation of anthropological theorists, it is now time to bring the exciting advances made within cognitive/construction grammar enriched with blending theory back to the study of culture.

See the presentation on SlideShare.

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Epistemology as ethics: Decisions and judgments not methods and solutions for evidence-based practice

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Show me the money! Or so the saying goes. Implying that talk is cheap and facts are the only thing that matters. But there is another thing we are being asked to do with money and that is put it where our mouth is. So evidence is not quite enough. We have to also be willing to act on it and demonstrate a personal commitment to our facts.

As so often, folk wisdom has outlined two contradictory dictums that get applied based on the parameters of a given situation. On one account, evidence is all that is needed. Wheras an alternative interpretation claims that evidence is only sufficient when backed up by personal commitment.

I’ve recently come across two approaches to the same issue that resonate with my own, namely claiming that evidence cannot be divorced from the personal commitment of its wielder. As such it needs to be constantly interrogated from all perspectives, including the ones that come from “scientific method” but not relying solely on them.

This is crucial for anybody claiming to adhere to evidence-based practice. Because the evidence is not just out there. It is always in the hands of someone caught (as we all are) within a complex web of ethical commitments. Sure, we can point to a number of contexts where lack of evidence was detrimental (vaccinations). But we can equally easily find examples of evidence being the wrong thing to have (UK school league tables, eugenics). History of science demonstrates both incorrect conlusions being drawn from correct facts (ether), and correct conclusions being drawn form incorrect facts (including aircraft construction as Ira Flatow showed). I am not aware of any research quantifying the proportion of these respective positions. Intuitively, one would feel inclined to conclude that mostly the correct facts have led to the correct conclusions and incorrect ones to the wrong ones but we have been burned before.

That’s why I particularly liked what Mark Kleiman had to say at the end of his lecture on Evidence-based practice in policing:

“The notion that we can substitute method for common sense, a very wide-spread notion, is wrong. We’re eventually going to have to make judgments. Evidence-based practice is a good slogan, but it’s not a method in the Cartesian sense. It does not guarantee that what we’re going to do is right.”

Of course, neither is the opposite true. I’m always a bit worried about appeals to “common sense”.  I used to tell participants on cross-cultural training courses: there is nothing common about common sense. It always belongs to someone. And it does not come naturally to us. It is only common because someone told someone else about it. How often, have we heard a myth debunked only to conclude that the debunking had really been common sense. That makes no sense. It was the myth that was common sense. The debunking will only become common sense after we tell everyone about it. How many people would figure out even the simplest things such as looking right and then left before crossing the road without someone telling them? We spend a lot of time (as a society and individuals) maintaining the commonality of our senses. Clifford Geertz showed in “Common sense as a cultural system” the complex processes involved in common sense and I would not want to entrust anything of importance to common sense. But I agree that judgments are essential. We always make judgements whether we realise that or not.

This resonates wonderfully with what I consider to be the central thesis of the “Science’s First Mistake” a wonderful challenge to the assumptions of the universality of science by Ian Angell and Dionysios Demetis.

“…different ages have different perceptions of uncertainty; and so there are different approaches to theory construction and application, delivering different risk assessments and prompting different decisions. Note this book stresses decisions not solutions, because from its position there are no solutions, only contingent decisions. And each decision is itself a start of a new journey, not the end of an old one.

Indeed, there is no grander delusion than the production of a solution, with its linear insistence on cause and effect.”

All our solutions are really decisions. Decisions contingent on a myriad of factors both related to the data and our personal situation. We couch these decisions in the guise of solutions to avoid personal responsibility. Not perhaps often in a conscious way but in a way that abstracts away from the situation. We do not always have to ask qui bono when presented with a solution but we should always ask where from. What is the situation in which a solution was born? Not because we have a suspicious mind but because we have an inquisitive one.

But decisons are just what they are. They are on their own neither good or bad. They are just inevitable. And here I’d like to present the conclusions to a paper on the epistemological basis of case study in educational policy making I co-wrote a few years ago with John Elliott. It’s longer (by about a mile) than the two extracts above. But I highlighted in bold the bits that are relevant. The rest is there just to provide sufficient context to understand the key theses:

from the Summary and Conclusions of “Epistemology as ethics in research and policy: Under what terms might case studies yield useful knowledge to policy makers. by John Elliott and Dominik Lukeš. In: Evidence-based Education Policy: What Evidence? What Basis? Whose Policy?, 2008.”

Overall, we have informed our inquiry with three perspectives on case study. One rooted in ethnography and built around the metaphor of the understanding of cultures one is not familiar with (these are presented by the work of scholars like Becker, Willis, Lacey, Wallace, Ball, and many others). Another strand revolves around the tradition of responsive and democratic evaluation and portrayal represented by the work of scholars such as MacDonald, Simons, Stake, Parlett, and others. This tradition (itself not presenting a unified front) aims to break down the barriers between the researcher, the researched and the audience. It recognizes the situated nature of all actors in the process (cf. Kemmis 1980) and is particularly relevant to the concerns of the policy maker. Finally, we need to add Stenhouse’s approach of contemporary history into the mix. Stenhouse provides a perspective that allows the researcher to marry the responsibility to data with the responsibility to his or her environment in a way that escapes the stereotypes associated with the ‘pure forms’ of both quantitative and qualitative research. A comprehensive historian-like approach to data collection, retention and dissemination that allows multiple interpretations by multiple actors accounts both for the complexity of the data and the situation in the context of which it is collected and interpreted.

However, we can ask ourselves whether a policy-maker faced with examples of one of these traditions could tell these perspectives apart? Should it not perhaps be the lessons from the investigation of case study that matter rather than an ability to straightforwardly classify it as an example of one or the other? In many ways, in the policy context, it is the act of choice, such as choosing on which case study a policy should be based, that is of real importance.

In that case, instead of transcendental arbitration we can provide an alternative test: Does the case study change the prejudices of the reader? Does it provide a challenge? Perhaps our notion of comprehensiveness can include the question: Is the case study opening the mind of the reader to factors that they would have otherwise ignored? This reminds us of Gadamer’s “fusion of horizons” (“Understanding [...] is always the fusion of […] horizons [present and past] which we imagine to exist by themselves.” Gadamer 1975, p. 273).

However, this could be seen as suggesting that case study automatically leads to a state of illumination. In fact, the interpretation of case study in this way requires a purposeful and active approach on the part of the reader. What, then, is the role of the philosopher? Should each researcher have a philosopher by his or her side? Or is it necessary, as John Elliott has long argued, to locate the philosopher in the practitioner? Should we expect teachers and/or policy-makers to go to the philosopher for advice or would a better solution be to strive for philosopher teachers and philosopher practitioners? Being a philosopher is of course determined not by speaking of Plato and Rousseau but by the constant challenge to personal and collective prejudices.

In that case, we can conclude that case study would have a great appeal to the politician and policy maker as a practical philosopher but that it would be a mistake to elevate it above other ways of doing practical philosophy. In this, following Gadamer, we advocate an antimethodological approach. The idea of the policy maker as philosopher and policy maker as researcher (i.e. underscoring the individual ethical agency of the policy maker) should be the proper focus of discussion of reliability and generalization. Since the policy maker is the one making the judgement, the type of research and study is then not as important as a primary focus.

And, in a way, the truthfulness of the case arises out of the practitioners’ use of the study. The judgment of warrant as well as the universalizing and revelatory nature of a particular study should become apparent to anybody familiar with the complexities of the environment. An abstract standard of quality reminiscent of statistical methods (number of interviewees, questions asked, sampling) is ultimately not a workable basis for decision making and action although that does not exclude the process of seeking a shared metaphorical perspective both on the process of data gathering and interpretation (cf. Kennedy 1979, Fox 1982). Gadamer’s words seem particularly relevant in this context: “[t]he understanding and interpretation of texts is not merely a concern of science, but is obviously part of the total human experience of the world.” (1975, p. xi)

We cannot discount the situation of the researcher no more than we can discount the situation of the researched. One constitutive element of the situation is the academic tribe: “[w]e are pursuing a ‘scholarly’ identity through our case studies rather than an intrinsic fascination with the phenomena under investigation” warns Fox (1982). To avoid any such accusations of impropriety social science cultivates a ‘prejudice against prejudice’, a distancing from experience and valuing in order to achieve objectivity whereas the condition of our understanding is that we have prejudices and any inquiry undertaken by ‘us’ needs to be approached in the spirit of a conversation with others; the conversation alerts participants to their prejudices. In a sense, the point of conversation is to reconstruct prejudices, which is an alternative view of understanding itself.

It should be stressed however, that this conversation does not automatically lead to a “neater picture” of the situation nor does it necessarily produce a “social good”. There is the danger of viewing ‘disciplined conversation’ as an elevated version of the folk theory on ideal policy: ‘if only everyone talked to one another, the world would be a nicer place’. Academic conversation (just like any democratic dialectic process) is often contentious and not quite the genteel affair it tries to present itself as. Equally, any given method of inquiry, including and perhaps headed by case study, can be both constitutive and disruptive of our prejudices.

Currently the culture of politeness aimed at avoiding others’ and one’s own discomfort at any cost contributes to the problem. Can one structure research that enables people to reflect about prejudices that they inevitably bring to the situation and reconstruct their biases to open up the possibility of action and not cause discomfort to themselves or others? We could say that concern with generalization and method is a consequence of academic discourse and culture and one of the ways in which questions of personal responsibility are argued away. Abstraction, the business of academia, is seen as antithetical to the process of particularization, the business of policy implementation. But given some of the questions raised in this paper, we should perhaps be asking whether abstraction and particularization are parallel processes to which we ascribe polar directionality only ex post facto. In this sense we can further Nussbaum’s distinction between generalization and universalization by rephrasing the dichotomy in the following terms: generalization is assumed to be internal to the data whereas universalization is a situated human cognitive and affective act.

A universalizable case study is of such quality that the philosopher policy maker can discern its relevance for the process of policy making (similarly to Stake’s naturalistic generalization). This is a different way of saying the same thing as Kemmis (1980, p. 136): “Case study cannot claim authority, it must demonstrate it.” The power of case study in this context can be illustrated by anecdotes from the field where practitioners had been convinced that a particular case study describes their situation and berating colleagues or staff for revealing intimate details of their situation, whereas the case study had been based on research of an entirely unrelated entity. In cases like these, the universal nature of the case study is revealed to the practitioner. Its public aspects often engender action where idle rumination and discontent would be otherwise prevalent. Even when this kind of research tells people what they already “know”, it can inject accountability by rendering heretofore private knowledge public. The notion of case study as method with transcendental epistemology therefore cannot be rescued even by attempts like Bassey’s (1999) to offer ‘fuzzy generalizations’ since while cognition and categorization is fuzzy, action involves a commitment to boundaries. This focus on situated judgement over transcendental rationality in no way denies the need for rigour and instrumentalism. We agree with Stenhouse that there needs to be a space in which the quality of a particular case study can be assessed. But such judgments will be different when made by case study practitioners and when made by policy-makers or teachers. The epistemological philosopher will apply yet another set of criteria. All these agents would do well to familiarize themselves with the criteria applied by the others but they would be unwise to assume that they can ever fully transcend the situated parameters of their community of practice and make all boundaries (such as those described by Kushner 1993) disappear.

Philosophy often likes to position itself in the role of an independent arbiter but it must not forget that it too is an embedded practice with its own community rules. That does not mean there’s no space for it in this debate. If nothing else, it can provide a space (not unlike the liminal space of Turner’s rituals) in which the normal assumptions are suspended and transformation of the prejudice can occur. In this context, we should perhaps investigate the notion of therapeutic reading of philosophy put forth by the New Wittgensteinians (see Crary and Read 2000).

This makes the questions of ethics alluded to earlier even more prominent. We propose that given their situated nature, questions of generalization are questions of ethics rather than inquiries into some disembodied transcendent rationality. Participants in the complex interaction between practitioners of education, educational researchers and educational policy makers are constantly faced with ethical decisions asking themselves: how do I act in ways that are consonant with my values and goals? Questions of warrant are internal to them and their situation rather than being easily resolvable by external expert arbitration. This does not exclude instrumental expertise in research design and evaluation of results but the role of such expertise is limited to the particular. MacDonald and Walker (1977) point out the importance of apprenticeship in the training of case study practitioners and we should bear in mind that this experience cannot be distilled into general rules for research training as we find them laid out in a statistics textbook.

Herein can lie the contribution of philosophy: An inquiry into the warrant and generalization of case study should be an inquiry into the ethics surrounding the creation and use of research, not an attempt to provide an epistemologically transcendent account of the representativeness of sampled data.

 

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