Dear LO,
A friend of mine who, a ''bridge builder'', asked me to think in effect
;-) of a metaphor or ''inscape'' for a presentation to a large conference
a while back...I was aware of the bridge as a metaphor itself, so I
created an imaged metaphor of a wall. The stained walls of Leonardo, full
of sfumato, that may be 'solid' but may be 'penetrable' by the facility of
our imagination working alone and together.
Bohm spoke interestingly of how we might meet confusion as Martin Buber
did who is quoted below. But Bohm said that there is a faster and finer
form of attention we might bring to confusion. I agree. I think it is the
''aesthetic gaze'' which so encloses both the chaos and our confusion in
its own epitemological infrequencies and serendipities that it
transfigures it into new possibilities for interpretation.
Page one of the enclosed PPt offers a powerful antidote to the 'power
intellects' who bestride the stages of organizational life. I must make a
study of the lives of these people and come to some confusionings of my
own.
[Host's Note: Andrew's PPt is at:
http://www.learning-org.com/docs/LO30440_Hard_Won_Image2.ppt
.. Rick
Here are some notes from a paper that was a 'gift' to 'discover' in
'relation' to the 'collective artistry' of Pages 2 and 3 of the PPt.
EPISTEMOLOGICAL CONFUSION
Some psychoanalytical experiences serve as metaphors for general
resourceful human progress in a new age
ABSTRACT
This paper presents the process of changing epistemology.
The author presents experiences in his psychiatric embodiment, (though
serving as a model for any profession that aims to facilitate on behalf of
other human beings).
''These experiences move (one) from rigidity to flexibility, wisdom and
elegance.''
''The discovery of the value of confusion, uncertainty, groundlessness and
selflessness is shown as a turning point to a new scientific experimental
and embodied epistemology.''
The following case is used as a metaphor to engage readers or listeners in
conversation about the epistemological confusion that we are all sharing
especially when we meet with -the schizophrenic, the mystic or the poet.
The 'patients' who can be more 'flexible' than the 'therapists' can and do
present a fruitful challenge for our epistemological evolution.
''A new kind of person is he/she who awaits the unexpected and responds to
uniqueness.''
Maturana and Varela (1987) start their very well known book with the
warning against the temptation of certainty:
"We tend to live in a world of certainty, of undoubted, rock-ribbed
perceptions: our convictions prove that things are the way we see them and
there is no alternative to what we hold as true. This is our daily
situation, our cultural condition, our common way of being human."
Yet, as medicine student I was trained to achieve certainty. My teachers
radiated (or I projected into them) certainty that I admired. I remember
how I dreamed to become excellent diagnostician. My daydream was something
like this: The patient walks in and before he takes a seat I already know
what is wrong with him. Or at least after some minutes of talking to him.
Or at least after precise physical examination and some laboratorial
checking I become certain about the diagnosis. And when I have the right
diagnosis I prescribe the right therapy.
When I started to work in general practice I was very insecure, mostly
confused, but I learned to cover and hide this insecurity and confusion.
And the patients (clients) were satisfied. I was really surprised. Many
times I didn't have the slightest idea what the diagnosis could be, but
the patients were satisfied with my pretending, with my facade of
certainty. (Aka Masks?)
When I started to work in 1985 the split between inner uncertainty and
outer certainty would become a habit. More experienced colleagues were
good models but I became more and more a failure, I couldn't hide the
split. A big professio nal and personal crisis followed in 1986, the split
collapsed. The building of certainty I tried to construct for several
years was rocked to its foundations.
In 1985 I also met first time the work of Gregory Bateson. His ideas were
also like an earthquake for my thinking and living, I had to rethink my
thinking, re-experience my experiences. I liked his stories where I could
come closer to the "patterns that connected" my experiences in a new way.
For example:
"Long ago, in 1949, when psychiatrists still believed in lobotomy, I was a
new member of the staff of the Veteran Administration Mental Hospital at
Palo Alto. One day one of the residents called me aside to see the
blackboard in our largest classroom. A lobotomy meeting had been held
there that afternoon and the black board was still unerased.
This was thirty years ago, of course, and nothing of the sort could happen
today, but in those days lobotomy meetings were great social occasions.
Everybody, who had anything to do with the case turned up - doctor,
nurses, social workers, psychologists, and so on. Perhaps thirty or forty
people were there, including the five-man 'Lobotomy Committee,' under the
chairmanship of an outside examiner, a distinguished psychiatrist from
another hospital.
When all the tests and reports had been presented, the patient was brought
in to be interviewed by the outside examiner.
The examiner gave the patient a piece of chalk and told him, 'Draw the
figure of a man.' The patient went obediently to the blackboard and wrote:
DRAW THE FIGURE OF A MAN
The examiner said, 'Don't write it. Draw it.' And again the patient wrote:
DON'T WRITE IT. DRAW IT
The examiner said, 'Oh, I give up.' This time the patient revised the
definition of the context, which he already used to assert a kind of
freedom, and wrote in large capital letters all across the blackboard:
-VICTORY-
I believe it to be the case that, as we climb the ladder of sophistication
from youth to age, from innocence to experience or in general, from one
rung of the ladder of logical typing to another, we necessarily encounter
the sorts of complexity exemplified by the mystic, the schizophrenic, and
the poet." (Bateson, Bateson, 1987: 173-4)
Working as a resident in psychiatry I was every day overwhelmed with the
complexity of patients. I had more and more questions and I was surprised
that the colleagues at the meetings were more interested to talk about
cars, sport, and politics than about the patients. The psychiatrists in
the hospital were playing the game "of course I know how to work with the
patients" with great persistency.
'They were the ones who knew.'
But Bateson's story conveyed to me a different message: the patients can
be more flexible than the psychiatrists, they can tolerate more confusion.
So I came to the conclusion: I can therefore learn from them how to be
more flexible.
Also some popular jokes conveyed this kind of message. For example: there
was a patient who thought that his toothbrush was a dog Fifi. So he was
admitted to the psychiatric hospital. Every day when the psychiatrist was
making his rounds he asked the patient: "How is Fifi?" And the patient
answered: "Very well, thank you" or "Fifi is very hungry today" or "Fifi
is ill". And the psychiatrist wrote down: the patient is still
hallucinating, we continue with neuroleptics. The patient was pulling his
toothbrush on a string all over the ward. One day psychiatrist makes again
his rounds and asks the regular question: "How is Fifi?" And the patient
replies: "Oh, doctor, what's wrong with you? Are you hallucinating? Don't
you see that this is a toothbrush?" "Very well," said the doctor, "nurse,
the patient can go home, he is cured." When the patient was leaving
hospital he said to his beloved toothbrush: "We gave him a lesson, Fifi,
didn't we?"
B.. u.... c.... k ..... e........ t !
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