Preface

If one believes that education is the teaching of ideas and subject matter determined in advance, using methods of instruction already in place and broadly accepted, then no philosophy of education is needed. One merely follows the path laid out by others.

If, however, one discovers that education as currently practiced is falling short in some way or failing to reach a significant portion of the learning population, then one must seek a new way. This search will begin by investigating how people learn in everyday experience, which will lead to a theory of experience and a theory of learning upon which one can base a new design for education. This new design, or plan, is a philosophy of education.

The process just outlined above, which will be followed in this paper, draws throughout upon the work of John Dewey and his insistence that experience is the basis of education and that the aim of education is practical and purposeful results. One must begin at the beginning:

…in the idea that there is an intimate and necessary relation between the processes of actual experience and education. If this be true, then a positive and constructive development of its own basic idea depends upon having a correct idea of experience… What is the place and meaning of subject-matter within experience? How does subject-matter function? Is there anything inherent in experience which tends towards progressive organization of its contents...? The solution of this problem requires a well thought-out philosophy of the social factors that operate in the constitution of individual experience (1938, pp. 20-21, emphasis in original).

A General Theory of Leadership

In his summary of eight decades of leadership theory development, Gordon (2002) points out that despite this wealth of study the theories have not grasped the essential relations of power in leadership. He identifies five kinds of theories: traits, styles, contingency (situational), new leadership (transactional, transformational, and culturally specific), and dispersed leadership—all of which present descriptions of leaders but not a theory of the exercise of leadership. What is needed, according to James MacGregor Burns, is the development of “a set of principles that are universal to leadership which can be then adapted to different situations,” general principles according to which it can be studied, understood, and enhanced—to make the study of leadership “an intellectually responsible discipline” (Mangan, 2002, p. A10).

Gordon (2002) argues that leadership studies have failed to address questions of power because these studies have assumed the superiority of leaders over followers within the accepted patterns or structures of hierarchy in organizations. Both parts of this assumption obstruct the development of a general theory of leadership: the superiority of leaders because it ignores the power of followers in freely choosing their leaders and acting collectively with them, and the structures of hierarchy because leadership does not require these structures nor is it bound by them.

The weakness of the leader-as-superior assumption is particularly evident when considering community leadership. Unlike organizational leadership, which has the support of bureaucratic boundaries and hierarchies to channel and control the exercise of power, community leaders must work within overlapping layers and shifting sources of influence, resistance, and negotiation. The boundaries of action in community are flexible and porous. Because such “mechanisms of dominance” and influence are ignored in current leadership studies, the real nature of leadership is obscured behind patterns of command and compliance, and leadership theories regularly confuse power with “office” and the interests of leaders with the interests of the organization (Gordon, 2002, p.155).

The path toward a general theory of leadership therefore begins with a clearer distinction between management and leadership. According to Geisler, “Management is—and should be—professional. Leadership is personal” (n.d., p. 23; emphasis in original). Kotter carries this distinction further:

Here I am talking about leadership as the development of vision and strategies, the alignment of relevant people behind those strategies, and the empowerment of individuals to make the vision happen, despite obstacles. This stands in contrast with management, which involves keeping the current system operating through planning, budgeting, organizing, staffing, controlling, and problem solving. Leadership works through people and culture. It’s soft and hot. Management works through hierarchy and systems. It’s harder and cooler (1999, p. 10).

Kotter identifies a “leadership gap” in this confusion between management and leadership, a confusion that ignores the potential of leadership in personnel (p. 3).

This gap can be illustrated in terms of the mantra, familiar within organizations, to “manage expectations.” Employee expectations can be managed within organizations because the boundaries of the organization are clear, and within these boundaries managers can define limits, set direction, determine rewards, and assure accountabilities. As a result, personnel across the organization can act in concert with each other and within the parameters set by upper management. Failures to comply can be identified and aberrant employees can be disciplined or terminated. Expectations in communities, by contrast, are linked to accountabilities from many sources in often conflicting directions, and leaders—as opposed to organizational managers—cannot assure followers that limits and directions will remain consistent or that rewards and punishments will be duly administered. Community expectations cannot be “managed,” because community leaders have no fixed position of superiority from which to administer consequences and followers are not bound to remain within fixed bureaucratic boundaries. Followers can replace their leaders, change their powers, or simply walk away.

These linkages of citizen power, individual autonomy, and self-interest are not an aberration; they are a hallmark of American life. As Tocqueville (1840/1969) observed many years ago, the self-interest so apparent in community settings is one of the key characteristics of life in America and in a democracy: individual citizens engage in public work out of an “enlightened” self-interest, recognizing that they need a certain level of public action in order to successfully pursue their own interests. In order to gather individual citizens into a single purpose, leaders must appeal to public opinion. In other words, community leaders do not manage expectations; rather, they seek to influence public opinion through consistent, eloquent, and even clever public relations. Lacking the means of control and compliance, community leaders work through invitation, persuasion, and mobilization.

The shift away from management is a “Copernican turn” from an understanding of leadership revolving around the superiority of leaders to finding its center of gravity in the freedom and power of followers. Authority and power—the two key elements of leadership—arise and persist in the power and consent of the followers. Leadership rests upon the autonomy of followers as it has been exercised and ordered in choosing to participate and take responsibility to act (Coleman, 1997, p. 35). The source of the leader’s authority is therefore the free choice of followers, who align their power with the direction associated with the leader.

I define leadership as leaders inducing followers to act for certain goals that represent the values and the motivations—the wants and needs, the aspirations and expectations—of both leaders and followers. And the genius of leadership lies in the manner in which leaders see and act on their own and their followers’ values and motivations (Burns, 1979, p. 387).

One way leaders express this direction and invitation is by articulating a vision others can share and then providing pathways for individuals to implement this vision, with a special facility for working within dependent relations to keep the implementation moving (Kotter, 1999, p.15). The authority of leadership arises in the power of shared or common direction, just as the authority of morals arises in the power of shared or common obligations and accountabilities. Both leadership and morality are expressions or manifestations of freedom grounded in personal judgment—in the individual conscience.

This contrasts directly with the common organizational or bureaucratic sense of authority as bound to a position and limiting the autonomy of subordinates, with the compliance of employees legitimating their superior’s status of dominance. The employees’ own sense of authorship—grounded in the authority of their conscience—is obscured and minimized within a system of bureaucratic coercion and reward. Yet employees remain authors of their own life course, however obscured this is. As followers, they lend their authority to leaders by their own free choice.

This sense of authorship can be clearer in community settings where individuals exercise the freedom to choose and associate outside organizational bureaucracies. Even so, their authority can still disappear—not hidden behind patterns of dominance by managers but obscured by disuse. Where they do not exercise their freedom, the apathy, cynicism, fatalism, and passivity of residents in regard to community concerns reduce the level of personal expectations and hence weaken a sense of mutual and shared obligations. Leaders may seem to act alone, on their own power, not because they are leading but merely because they are surrounded by inaction. To call this leadership is a misnomer.

Locating leadership in the authority and power of followers suggests a new approach to leadership education, focusing not on leadership qualities in the exceptional individual but on the social needs that require authoritative action and the social settings that facilitate taking such action. That is, what needs and settings are educative, in the etymological sense of the word—e-ducere—leading forth, drawing out, guiding residents to become citizens willing and able to assume authority and take action on behalf of their communities? To investigate and understand the pathway from passivity, powerlessness, and marginalization to authoritative action, three questions must be answered: First, what kind of knowledge does authoritative action require? Second, how is this knowledge acquired—in other words, how do residents learn to lead? Third, how can those who desire to expand or enhance this kind of learning create the kinds of structures and processes that do this, in a systematic way?

The Kind of Knowledge Leadership Requires

Not all knowing is the same. All animals have some knowledge of hunting, gathering, and social behavior—if by “knowledge” is meant the ability to do these things—but only the primates appear to have the ability to refer to some thing distant or absent from the immediacy of current experience—the ability to point. This ability, upon which language probably developed, was magnified many times by the use of words to name things, which developed with the evolutionary ability to associate multiple individual things and create names as categories (Gazzaniga, 1992, esp. pp. 62-68). The power of naming turns upon the realization “that everybody may not know the same things, and that one individual can communicate knowledge to another” (Waal, 2001, p. B9). The knowledge to name was a major leap forward in learning and the development of human civilization.

Theory, Skills, and Practical Wisdom

Aristotle distinguished different kinds of knowledge according to their uses. He called the knowledge to name and categorize episteme, that theoretical knowledge which can be written down and easily transferred from person to person and place to place through teaching and instruction. The axioms of geometry, the order of the periodic table, or the rules of grammar are examples of episteme. Knowledge to do, in the sense of skills and crafts, Aristotle called techne. Like episteme, techne is readily transferable from person to person, providing the trainee has the basic abilities and the trainer can provide good instruction and coaching. Unlike episteme, however, techne always involves being able to perform what one knows. If someone says, “I know how to swim or make a shoe or fly an airplane,” that knowledge is only techne if he or she can actually do it. By contrast, one can know all about the buoyancy of bodies in water, best leathers for shoe-making, or the aerodynamics of flight—as episteme—without being able to perform the skills so well described. The homeowner may have the understanding and theory of home construction down cold, but that does not mean he or she has the techne to build the house.

It might seem from the preceding descriptions of episteme and techne that leadership—the citizen’s knowledge required for authoritative action—is techne, since it necessarily involves action and not merely theoretical knowing. But here Aristotle makes a crucial distinction between the knowledge of the craftsman and the knowledge required of the citizen. Even though techne always involves action—knowing what to do and how to do it—as does leadership, the material upon which or through which the skill of techne is enacted is entirely at the disposal of the knower. The vaulter’s pole, the shoe-maker’s leather, and the pilot’s airplane do not have minds of their own and do not initiate action on their own. Because the material remains constant, the skills to manipulate and manage it can be taught; the demands made upon the knowledge will be essentially the same every time the skill is performed.

This is not the case with citizenship and leadership, which require not only knowing what to do and how to do it, but knowing the right time and the right people with whom to do it, with the right tone and right mix of persuasion and challenge, with the right sense of what to say and do and what to leave unsaid and undone. This requires a different kind of knowledge, which the Aristotle called phronesis or practical wisdom. Phronesis always involves a two-fold knowledge of the good (in the broad sense of gain, benefit, virtue, or pleasure): the good expected of humans in general, and the good that is possible in the concrete situation. It is, however, never the mere application of a principle or theory of the general good to the concrete situation, like a formula. The social situation is too complex and dynamic for this kind of application; no two situations are the same. Instead, the citizen must see in the concrete situation the good that is possible and then act to realize that good, guided by a sense of the general good. Nor is phronesis a skill such as techne that can be performed repeatedly in the same way. Whereas the skill in crafts can be exercised over and over on material that is always entirely at the disposal of the craftsman (such as the potter’s clay or the carpenter’s lumber), the “material” upon which the citizen’s public action is taken is not mere material but a changing social situation intersected by multiple sources of action and power.

Unlike episteme and techne, phronesis cannot be easily transferred from person to person. Indeed, Aristotle was convinced it could not be taught at all, either by instruction or by training. It could only be learned by doing, through the practice of doing the right thing and thus gradually internalizing the right way of doing things, guided always by the effects of the action as known by the reactions and responses of people in the social situation. Hence the tremendous power of feedback in shaping citizenship, for the entire evolutionary history of the human being has been in communities, and the survival of the species has depended upon accurate perception and interpretation of the attentions, postures, and perceptions of other members of the community. It is precisely this dynamic of action, perception, and interpretation that cannot be taught, however well it can be described in theory.

Leadership instruction or training, in the sense of teaching theoretical knowledge or technical skills, can be important for leadership, but these are not the knowledge belonging uniquely to the leader. Leaders need to know what to do and how and when to do it; it is always knowing that is also performing and performing in a situation that always demands something new. Episteme does not make one a leader, and some good leaders get along with relatively little of this kind of knowledge. Likewise, leadership training is valuable in increasing frequently required skills, but the techne resulting from training cannot provide a sense of when, where, how, how long, or with whom to apply these skills. The citizen and leader cannot expect to merely repeat what has worked before. These contrasts are summarized well by Hans-Georg Gadamer:

Practical philosophy, then, has to do not with the learnable crafts and skills, however essential this dimension of human ability too is for the communal life of humanity. Rather it has to do with what is each individual’s due as a citizen and what constitutes his arete or excellence. Hence practical philosophy needs to raise to the level of reflective awareness the distinctively human trait of having prohairesis, whether it be in the form of developing those fundamental human orientations for such preferring that have the character of arete or in the form of the prudence in deliberating and taking counsel that guides action. In any case, it has to be accountable with its knowledge for the viewpoint in terms of which one thing is to be preferred to another: the relationship to the good. But the knowledge that gives direction to action is essentially called for by concrete situations in which we are to choose the thing to be done; and no learned and mastered technique can spare us the task of deliberation and decision. As a result, the practical science directed toward this practical knowledge is neither theoretical science in the style of mathematics nor expert know-how in the sense of a knowledgeable mastery of operational procedures (poiesis) but a unique sort of science. It must arise from practice itself and, with all the typical generalizations that it brings to explicit consciousness, be related back to practice… Practical philosophy, then…does have a certain proximity to the expert knowledge proper to technique, but what separates it fundamentally from technical expertise is that it expressly asks the question of the good too—for example, about the best way of life or about the best constitution of the state. It does not merely master an ability, like technical expertise, whose task is set by an outside authority: by the purpose to be served by what is being produced. (1976/1981, pp. 92-93).

Leadership and the Exercise of Freedom

Consequently, it is the task of leadership to discover and create possibilities for the good that can bring others into action to meet the needs of the situation. People choose whom to follow as they choose the good to pursue. Leading-and-following is a dynamic set of relations in which some individuals see and engage their own paths in the qualities and actions of others (Gordon, 2002, p. 156). To combine the classic language of Aristotle with John Locke, followers pursue their own good and self-interest in and through the leadership of others. The dynamics are fundamentally moral.

In its most basic description, morality is a mechanism of social order operating through the weight of individual freedom and obligation. What makes morality so powerful is exactly the freedom at its center. No social order maintained through top-down dominance and coercion could effectively handle the limitless, minute, complex interactions of daily life in community. Such a social order is only possible because it is based on the freedom of individuals who simultaneously bind themselves to a set of obligations and act to consistently interpret the exercise of these obligations in the myriad nuances of countless social situations. Social order is not perfect and freedom is not infallible, nor are all individuals equally able, equally bound, and equally consistent. But morality has worked well enough that Homo sapiens has survived and thrived—because human beings have been honed by countless generations of natural selection to pay close attention to what others think, feel, and say regarding their own behavior and expressions.

The dynamics of leading-and-following are in this general sense always moral, resting on the same foundation of social consciousness and individual freedom, perception, and conscience. The individual who follows a leader chooses a good which is known and shared individually and communally, often including a sense of obligation to do so: to follow is what one should do because it is good and right.

Leaders are thus distinct from vendors, as followers are distinct from buyers. Leaders embody, represent, or evoke ethical standards or aims that transcend their individual abilities, thus attracting the allegiance of followers which can be attached to something that can endure through the demands and labors that they freely engage and that inevitably are unknown at the beginning. It is not sufficient that these ethical standards be limited to what is narrowly understood as professional ethics of honest dealings and correct representation of one’s office—the kind of ethics buyers want to see. What Robert Bellah has argued in regard to the ethical autonomy of professionals applies fully to leaders; they depend upon “their capacity to articulate and put in practice transcendent ethical standards for the good of society as a whole” (Bellah, 1997, p. 44).

Creating Space for Authoritative Action

Confronted by the needs of the community, leaders create social space in which others can act upon their beliefs, creating a pathway for individuals to put their beliefs into action and enabling the collective energy of others to be effective in pursuing the good. There are many ways to do this and multiple leaders can play complementary roles. Some create space for action by their courage in facing the issue, thereby galvanizing the courage of others. Some in their wisdom or through their study and travel are able to name the issue and values at stake, transforming chaos or helpless frustration into a problem that can be addressed. Some act as the architects of social action, framing the response into which citizens can pour their energy for the good of the community. Some gain the resources for others to act, by easing the demands of daily life so others can act without jeopardizing their household, by providing tools for acting effectively, or by attracting financial or human capital to support the action needed. Lastly, some leaders are prophets who invite others to action by calling upon their strengths, by sounding the alarm to citizens to rise up and meet the needs before them, and by calling upon others to live up to and act upon their values.

In all cases, the dynamic is the same: leadership occurs in the authoritative action of the follows—the citizens of the community. Hence respect for the freedom of others is always part of leadership, versus coercion which in some way takes away or constrains the freedom of others. Followers must be free to question or choose to act—or leadership cannot occur. To command is not to lead, unless those hearing the commands have given their allegiance to the commander and see in his or her commands their own good.

In their excellent study on public deliberation, Gutmann and Thompson (1996) outline two requirements for mutual respect upon which leadership and citizenship depend. First, in regard to their own positions on issues or actions, leaders maintain consistency in their speech across time, consistency between what they say and what they do, and consistency in accepting the implications of the general principles with which they have publicly identified. In each case, the leaders’ consistency provides a platform for the action of others, giving citizens greater clarity in seeing their own values and greater security in acting upon them. Because they can count on the leader’s integrity, they are freer to exercise their own. Second, leaders respect the freedom and dignity of those holding opposing positions, by acknowledging the moral dimension in their views. Opposing positions represent opponents’ view of the good and hence their obligation to hold that position, and that sense of obligation can be respected by remaining open to learn from them and hence open to change, and by minimizing rejection of their views.

To these requirements a third can be added: the leader evokes mutual respect by building or affirming a sense of community. The ties of affection, obligation, and interdependence that are central to community are precious to its members, and affirmation of these ties shows respect for the fabric of relations that sustain each person.

A citizen is more able to see the good and to act upon it when leaders show integrity in their own positions, act generously toward opponents, and affirm the relational ties upon which the citizen’s life depends. One’s power as a citizen increases in the space the leader creates.

Learning to Lead in Community

The location of the citizen’s authoritative action in the exercise of freedom suggests that citizenship and leadership are learned in the same way that morals are learned—not primarily by instruction or training but through practice in a moral community. It is critical, then, to understand how this kind of knowledge is learned, in order to consider how this learning can be enhanced or directed in an educational effort.

Moral learning is rooted in the innate sociality of the human animal. We learn from each other because we are programmed by evolutionary development to do so, to pay very close attention to each other because our lives and the continuation of the species depend upon it. In view of this general background on moral learning, four considerations deserve closer investigation: first, the power of community in learning, especially in view of the multiple layers of society in which we live; second, the influence of particular individuals within that community of practice—since it seems immediately evident that not everyone matters equally; and third, the process of learning within the individual, in the situation of community life.

The Power of Community in Learning

Although all primates have evolved in groups, and their survival is dependent upon group interaction and belonging, not all primate societies have the same social organization. Humans are among the few primates that evolved in a pattern of dual membership, with individuals belonging to a conjugal family group and families in turn belonging to “atomistic” communities with lifelong inter-family alliances and embedded networks among extended kin (Kimball, 1987; Rodseth, Wrangham, Harrigan, & Smuts, 1991). Raoul Naroll (1983) has expanded upon this aspect of human evolution, three levels of belonging in human societies around the world.

The basic unit of belonging he calls the “band,” the atomistic community made up of a cluster of families. Bands are made up of conjugal families of parents with their offspring, and several bands together comprise a tribe, which is the largest social grouping with significance for moral learning.

The primary survival unit is the band: small enough that all members can know each other personally, yet large enough to provide for needs of food gathering, protection, and—equally important—moral authority. Prior to industrialization, bands lived and worked together in nomadic groups or villages, celebrated rites and ceremonies such as marriage and initiation and burial, and in general bestowed social roles and enforced moral norms. In the band, the moral authority of parents over their offspring is both backed up by, and subordinated to, the moral authority of community leaders and community norms. Although the immediate family provides the most intimate enforcement of social roles and expectations, children grow up with a consciousness that these roles and expectations are beyond negotiation—because their parents are equally subject to the authority behind these roles and expectations.

Bands belong to tribes, which hold the shared language, myths, rituals, and moral ideology practiced and enforced by the bands. But it is in the band these overarching and impersonal concepts, values, ideals, ideas, and attitudes are made personal and powerful for each individual.

The coherent shared existence of bands has been greatly disrupted by industrialization, often leaving each family or even each individual to struggle for existence and meaning in relation to large business and governmental entities. Even so, evolutionary expectations are not easily denied, and human beings in every society in the world still attempt to live in families which in turn belong to and identify with a larger group—a band of some kind. It may be that families find themselves belonging simultaneously to several such “bands:” their local neighborhood, their church, their workplace, their local ethnic group, their local civic organization, etc. To the extent that each of these group carries the same language and norms of a shared society (the “tribe”), there can still be a sense of moral coherence and meaningful social expectations. But even where expectations of different societies overlap, the human individual seeks the belonging and moral home for which evolution has prepared him or her. It is still possible, even in large metropolitan areas with great diversity, for individuals to identify the communities to which they belong and to which they are accountable. These are the communities that matter, in terms of learning to lead.

Individuals Who Matter Most

The primary learning mechanisms for primates are observation and experimentation (Lancaster, 1975). The two are closely linked, because the child is most attracted to, and most likely to investigate and manipulate, objects that are desired and enjoyed by others; but it is important to note that primates learn primarily through experimentation, not imitation. Rather than learning by merely copying the actions of others, observers note what others are doing and with what results, then experiment with the same objects—touching them, smelling and tasting them, turning them over and trying out different approaches—until they discover they can get the same desired results. They learn by their own failures and successes, by doing it themselves.

Observation is not random, but directed in predictable patterns established through our evolutionary history. Every society—human and other primates—has an attention structure which guides individual attention and learning toward key individuals. The infant first searches for the mother—her eyes, her heartbeat, her smell and touch—and is keyed into her changes of mood, affection, attention, and distractions. As the child becomes more mobile, he or she is increasingly attracted to other children, especially those a bit older—for these will become the primary guides in appropriate behavior to win acceptance and remain safe. The play group and play become the primary vehicle for learning as the youth experiment with adult behaviors. At adolescence, the attention structure shifts toward particular adults in the community, especially those prominent in the dominance hierarchy, those close to the mother or parents, community protectors or sentries, and same-age companions.

It is therefore essential that prospective leaders can observe well-practiced leaders in action—and experiment with the same activities they see the leaders performing. Learning is inevitable, but the quality of what is learned depends in great part on the quality of performance learners experience in their attention structure. As Paulo Freire made clear in his studies of liberating education, if domination is the only model of leadership and teaching experienced, the oppressed will assume dominative roles when they in turn come into power; they will reproduce the domination they have thrown off (Freire, 1970/1995).

Situated Learning: The “School” of Practical Wisdom

The discussion above regarding the kind of knowledge leadership requires applies directly to the question of learning to lead. Recalling that practical wisdom, or phronesis, cannot be easily transferred from person to person in writing or instruction, it is important to examine more carefully how it is learned.

In contrast to a transfer theory of learning, in which students are taught knowledge in the abstract and expected to transfer this knowledge to practice later, Jean Lave proposes a "practice theory" of knowledge, understanding knowledge as "situationally specific cognitive activity" (1988, p. 3). Knowledge-in-practice entails an understanding of learning that is more than isolated mental activity. Cognition is distributed over mind, body, activity, and social/culturally organized settings. The context is key to the learning as it is to knowledge. Problems and solutions appear together; e.g., in her studies of learning mathematics, Lave discovered:

In order to have an arithmetic problem in the supermarket, the shopper had to see both a problem and the partial form of a solution at the same time. The process of solving problems was not linear, but dialectical, the problem and the information with which to solve it changing each other until a coherent pattern of relations was constructed (1988, p. 173; emphasis in original).

This point is reinforced by connecting Lave's "social anthropology of cognition" (Lave, 1988, p. 1) with the theory of "biofunctional cognition" presented by Iran-Nejad and Marsh (1993). They make two points regarding learning, both of which apply directly to practical reasoning. First, "multiple sources contribute to learning:"

In its most general form, the multisource hypothesis means that many (independent) sources (e.g., auditory, visual, motor, emotional, to name a few obvious ones) must contribute to learning... In its most specialized form, the multisource hypothesis means that many brain subsystems (sensory and otherwise) must contribute simultaneously to learning and remembering (p. 254).

Second, not only are multiple sources of learning helpful; the brain appears to be designed to expect or even need them.

[L]earning occurs during whole-brain experiences and part experiences must be learned only in the context of whole experiences…The reason for this is that it is only during whole-brain experiences that the many sources contributing to learning are likely to be operating simultaneously. There is much evidence, on the other hand, that the nervous system works very poorly in piecemeal situations when information is only available to the learner in isolated bits and pieces. (p. 255)

Practice theory and biofunctional theory are also reinforced by the understanding of "polyphasic learning" advocated by Dobbert, Eisikovits, and Pitman (1989) and Wolcott (1987). According to Dobbert, et al., humans

learn at all times through all of their sensory modes simultaneously, that is through sight, hearing, smell, feel, bodily posture, muscular effort and internal state monitoring... Because none of the senses may be turned off completely and the process of simultaneous synesthetic information importation is ongoing and involuntary, we are forced to deal with learning both holistically and integratively" (1989, p. 2).

Because humans are polyphasic learners, this complexity of environmental levels facilitates moral learning.

The senses involved are not only those that sample external information, such as sight, hearing, and smell, but also those that sample internal states related to effort, tension, and emotions. The information sensed is stored in the brain in the form of a multisensory holograph, which is first indexed by and most accessible through its affective components, although other cognitive indexes are constructed (Dobbert, 1985, Summer, p. 161).

Humans not only can learn more than one thing at a time, "they are incapable of learning only one thing at a time" (Wolcott, 1987, p. 39, emphasis in original). Learning settings make a difference, because these provide the multiple sources and relations of knowledge the human brain requires in order to make sense of the world.

The paradigm forms of situated learning, or knowledge-in-practice, are play and work: settings in which the individual is totally engaged as a participant in communal activity. Jane Lancaster asserts that "the single most important mechanism for learning in the higher primates is play and lots of it" (1975, p. 35). Play combines the affective system of the peer group with the tremendous learning potential of physical engagement:

through acts including all the basic social behaviors of self-presentation, greeting, aggressive postures and gestures as well as reproductive behaviors. Physical contact and social experience form the cornerstones for the development of these two affectional systems, both of which are fostered in a protected atmosphere where adults of both sexes are strongly attracted to the young (Dobbert & Cooke, 1987, p. 104-5).

Wolcott also draws attention to the importance of the peer group in cultural transmission, noting that "we glean most of our cultural knowledge from those only slightly older and in turn convey to those only slightly younger most of what they will learn" (1987, p. 40). The functions of peer play as learning are complex:

Among these are 1) the physical regulation of growth, 2) the development of motor and cognitive skills, 3) the generation of behavioral flexibility, and 4) the learning and cementing of social relations... Further, social play provides, by definition, social learning opportunities in a social context requiring fairness, role reversal and de-emphasis upon dominance in order to engage and keep lay partners. (Dobbert & Cooke, 1987, p. 111)

These complex interactions characteristic of play extend into adult life in the workplace. As play is for children, work is for adults. The communities of practice have characteristics similar to those of peer group play: (a) an evolving, continuously renewed set of relations; (b) interdependency of agent, world, activity, meaning, cognition, learning, knowing; (c) socially negotiated character of meaning; (d) interested, concerned character of thought and action; and (e) understanding and experience in constant interaction (Lave & Wenger, 1991, pp. 50-52). Work provides the "crucial test of experience" for a provisional new self. "Nothing breeds confidence faster in a person who is building a new self than passing this test. The more times it is passed, the more confidence is bred" (Athens,1995, p. 576).

Work can be performed as a drudgery without creative engagement; such work can still involve the knowledge of one’s craft but it would be purely routine and rote, lacking any new insight or development. But where working is also learning it will have the characteristics of play. Furthermore, where work demands judgements of when, how, where, and with whom, theoretical knowledge and skills of craft are brought into practice according to judgments based on practical reasoning. Because these judgments require a sense of the good that is possible, both in the concrete situation and for human beings in general, they will always have a moral dimension.

Educational researchers continue to debate the role of situated learning in schools (see Cobb & Bowers, 1999), but it seems beyond question that learning in community follows the patterns described above. A practice theory of knowledge is especially applicable to learning to lead. Practical reasoning for authoritative action must be learned in the situation of practice, where the knowledge of what to do is linked with when, how, and with whom to do it, with care and attention for all the subtle clues available in the real life situation. “To be effective in public leadership people need the capacity to lead and manage in the ‘swamp.’ There are no rules for this, no set techniques that guarantee the right answer” (Schall, 1995, p. 203).

To attempt this learning through instruction and pre-packaged curricula without real-life practice by the learners can raise expectations and even give learners a self-confident impression of mastery, but they will lack the internal sensitivities and judgment that are crucial to good leadership. Even case studies, which purport to provide a window to real-life experience, mislead as much as they instruct. In the composition of the case study, many nuances and contingencies of the concrete situation are left out or interpreted for students; they will not find any such pre-framing in their actual practice of leadership. The same is true of “projects,” which come to students “already framed, organized, thought through enough to hand off” (Schall, p. 215). Indeed, in summarizing a nation-wide study of professional education, a researcher noted that the single greatest complaint businesses have about the quality of graduate professional education is that graduates arrive on the scene of practice prepared by pre-packaged problems and are unable, in the messiness of real life, to figure out what the problem is that they must address (Paper presentation, Annual conference of the Assoc. for Moral Ed., Nov. 1999, Mpls., MN).

This was a concern investigated at length by John Dewey, who traced the formulation of a problem from the situation of experience as the basic activity of thinking. Naming the problem was already half of its solution. He was convinced that we do not encounter “problems” in experience, but rather a “situation [that] is in some fashion uncertain, perplexed, troublesome, if only in offering the mind an unresolved difficulty, an unsettled question” (Dewey, 1933, p. 100). The “situation,” in turn, “is not a single object or event or set of objects and events…In actual experience, there is never any such isolated singular object or event; an object or event is always a special part, phase or aspect of an environing experience world—a situation” (Dewey, 1939, pp. 891-892; emphasis in the original). The perplexity in the situation must be transformed by thought into a problem that can be isolated, articulated, and addressed, with the aim of “developing the original, perplexed situation into an eventual, satisfactory one” (Dewey, 1933, p. 101).

This is precisely the task that confronts citizens in the social situation and that calls for leadership to make the crucial connections between perplexity and problem so that the community can act effectively to resolve the conflict or solve the problem. Making that connection is always a risk, because the leader must supply by perception and inference something that is not immediately present in the indeterminate situation.

This process of arriving at an idea of what is absent on the basis of what is at hand is inference…Every inference, just because it goes beyond ascertained and known facts, which are given either by observation or by recollection of prior knowledge, involves a jump from the known into the unknown. It involves a leap beyond what is given and already established (Dewey, 1933, pp. 95-96; emphasis in original).

The inference to which Dewey refers is the practical wisdom of the leader, who can discern within the messiness of the situation both the good that is missing and the good that is possible. In practice, this reflective inference involves more than a single person; different citizens in the situation see and say different things and thus together provide clues to naming the problem and moving to action. In this “distributed” understanding of leadership, “the interplay between the practices of multiple leaders is essential to understanding how leadership is stretched over actors” (Spillane, Halverson, & Diamond, 2001, p. 25). This is even more evident in community settings than in organizations where clear positional hierarchies restrict decision-making to particular individuals.

Leadership Education through Legitimate Peripheral Participation

Learning to lead can occur naturally in any social setting, but it can also be enhanced and directed through leadership education that builds on the learning dynamics inherent in experience. This does not necessarily mean schooling, with a pre-established curriculum and practices of instruction and examination. Although these means are well known and widely accepted, and can conveniently be fitted with status markers such as credits and credentials, they do not fit the task at hand.

Schooling as an institution is designed as much for control as for learning. Schools are organized to control students through regulation of movement, constant surveillance, and carefully graded ranks (Foucault, 1975/1977); and the curriculum is designed to control the inputs, expectations, and outcomes of learning through a pre-determined process of knowledge transfer in order to pass on the dominant culture (Kaestle, 1983). Dewey summarized this as follows:

The subject-matter of education consists of bodies of information and of skills that have been worked out in the past; therefore the chief business of the school is to transmit them to the new generation… Since the subject-matter as well as standards of proper conduct are handed down from the past, the attitude of pupils must, upon the whole, be one of docility, receptivity, and obedience… Teachers are the agents through which knowledge and skills are communicated and rules of conduct enforced… It is taught as a finished product, with little regard either to the ways in which it was originally built up or to changes that will surely occur in the future. It is to a large extent the cultural product of societies that assumed the future would be much like the past, and yet it is used as educational food in a society where change is the rule, not the exception (1938, pp. 17-19).

These mechanisms of control contradict the dynamics of learning to lead, which—as pointed out above—always require seeing the possibilities in the messiness of life, sorting out the problem, and doing something new. Leadership education cannot succeed by following the well-worn paths of schools and curricula; a new start must be made, building upon the theory of experience, the theory of learning, and the theory of knowledge at the heart of leadership. The main elements of this new approach are spelled out below, placing the practice of leadership in the center of the learning model, accompanied by those characteristics that can be particularly powerful in maximizing learning opportunities.

Without question, elements of traditional education can supplement this practice-learning approach. Workshops, retreats, projects, field trips, case studies, whole courses and even whole degree programs can be appended to the learning situation, as long as they do not replace or drown out the practice of leadership itself as a service operating upon the free commitments of followers to real efforts for real results. It is not a question of either-or, but the priority must remain fixed on meeting demands for real solutions to real problems.

Learning as Legitimate Peripheral Participation

Residents act as citizens when they participate in public work for the public good, bearing “the yoke of the public welfare” (Rousseau, 1762/1967, p. 45). In a democracy, citizens can perform dual responsibilities for the public welfare: acting as the sovereign power, they create the laws by which they will bind themselves for the common interest of all; and acting as agents of the laws and public, they take those actions they can—individually or collectively—to achieve the common good.

In the course of public participation, many citizens will be leaders, creating space for others to act more effectively on the basis of their beliefs and for the common interest. Much of this leadership will occur on the periphery of public life, affecting only a few and far from the centers of power. Some, however, perhaps more effective and able as leaders, will gradually earn the respect of their followers and the recognition of those in positions of power; they will be exposed to greater demands and be given greater responsibility to act on the public’s behalf to meet these demands. They will move from the periphery toward the center as they master the skills, acquire the knowledge, and gain the practical wisdom necessary to assume greater roles in public life.

Nothing in this description of growing leadership is unique to citizens and leaders. The same pattern occurs in all forms of learning. “Learners inevitably participate in communities of practitioners and the mastery of skill and knowledge requires newcomers to move toward full participation in the sociocultural practices of a community” (Lave & Wenger, p. 29). The apprentice becomes a journeyman and then master, the student teacher becomes a teacher and then a master teacher, the assistant pastor becomes a pastor and perhaps a bishop, the private becomes an officer, a player moves from the bench to the starting line-up. Learning is not simply internalizing knowledge; it is "increasing participation in community of practice [that] concerns the whole person acting in the world" (Lave & Wenger, p. 49).

Becoming a leader is therefore an evolving form of membership and participation. Because of the interdependency of agent, world, activity, meaning, cognition, learning, and knowing, "learning implies becoming a different person with respect to the possibilities enabled by these systems of relations” (Lave & Wenger, p. 53). Growing in leadership is therefore, in part, the construction of an identity, earning a place in the social structures and practices of the community; and at the same time it is the acquisition of the structural characteristics of the community of practice. The leader gains ability and respect as he or she reproduces the existing social order. “The constitutive order and everyday practice together reflect and constitute the distribution of power and interest such that…reproduction of activity in the setting is much more likely than its transformation or change” (Lave, p. 188). Inevitably, however, as leaders encounter the contradictions and conflicts in existing social practices and create solutions, they also change the order and practices they use. Thus community is created and changed in the same process by which membership and leadership are learned, so that we see "the emergence of social structure as the product of the interdependent choices of structurally constrained actors" (Macy & Flache, p. 80).

An important part of this progress is the displacement and replacement of old-timers. The continuity of practice and the community requires this; the newcomer’s growth in practice and identity both threatens and fulfills the destiny of old-timers (Lave & Wenger, p. 116). In practice, leadership is effected through a process that changes the pattern of social interactions to empower participants, who then experience higher levels of mutual accountability, respect, and support. They also experience sharing values and solving problems together in a process that testifies to their ability to do the same again and in other settings. It is collective growth in practical wisdom.

The primary curriculum for leadership education is the practice of the community. Teaching can be helpful, but the essential learning occurs in the cooperation among members and learners with little explicit teaching. This is a learning curriculum, rather than a teaching curriculum (Lave & Wenger, p. 97). The primary challenge faced by the educator is to create structures and processes in the community of practice that facilitate and enhance learning. While these can be supplemented by academic coursework such as instruction, study projects, and field trips, the core of the learning curriculum is the community’s practice. The approach to leadership education espoused here would aim to help learners learn better in the situation of real-life practice, in a manner similar to the community organizing model of Judy Reyes and Art Rose, who

developed their leadership capacity not through leadership seminars, but in the context of vigorous engagement in democratic life…tak[ing] participants—new and old Americans, male and female, from all economic backgrounds and ethnic groups—and placing them squarely in the flow of democratic participation. Within that flow and with stakes (such as health care insurance) that clearly matter, participants are motivated to learn the skills and take the risks of becoming public leaders (Wood, 2002, p. 4).

Four characteristics are especially important: access to power, support and accountability, effective community practices, and public work in the “space between places.”

Access to Power: From Periphery to Center

The exercise of power in communities or organizations can be shrouded in secrecy, with all deliberations among decision-makers hidden from view. In such situations, it is very difficult for residents or employees to see how the decisions are made and to find ways they can participate and learn. A first step in leadership education would be to open the processes of decision-making to public view and broader public participation; that is, to increase transparency and accessibility.

Although there are valid reasons for secrecy in certain situations, public deliberation is well served by publicity, which helps secure the consent of community members, broadens perspectives of observers and participants, and make disagreements available for learning and self-correction (Gutmann & Thompson, 1996). Without access, learners cannot participate in the give-and-take of leadership which is the crucial seedbed of practical wisdom; and without transparency, learners do have at their disposal the information and tools of deliberation through which leaders interpret the situation and transform it into a problem that can be addressed.

Considerations here are extremely mundane: the persons recruited to set up the chairs for the public meeting can be included in the deliberation, even by sitting on the periphery of the circle so that they can participate to the extent they are able at that time. All responsibilities, however remote from the levers of power, must be assessed for their potential as learning opportunities on the pathway from the periphery toward the mastery of community leadership. Wood highlights the experience of Cesar Portillo who “moved from being a working-poor immigrant from Mexico disconnected from public life, to being one of the two key leaders in front of 3,000 people at the statewide healthcare gathering.” The author notes that “Portillo acquired the skills and confidence to handle a crowd…not from passive leadership training, but by leading, initially in small local actions and gradually moving to the statewide arena” (Wood, 2002, p. 4). A better example of access to peripheral legitimate participation could not be invented.

Leadership is a cultural activity, and "we need some way of understanding what aspects of culture individuals take on, how they do it, and why." This is not merely adding knowledge external to oneself, but it a process of redefining one’s own identity from resident to citizen, from citizen to leader, from periphery to mastery. There is evidence “that building or claiming an identity for self in a given context is what motivates an individual to become more expert; that developing a sense of oneself as an actor in a context is what compels a person to desire and pursue increasing mastery of the skills, knowledge, and emotions associated with a particular social practice" (Eisenhart, 1995, p. 4). Apprenticeship is a construction of identity as one increases one's participation in a community of practice—which at the same time contributes to the shape and knowledge of the practice.

Part of this movement toward mastery involves learning to talk like full participants and hearing the stories and conversations about problematic cases (Lave & Wenger, 1991, pp. 105-8). There is an essential relationship between discourse and practice, and in the micro-politics of leadership transparency provides the clues to what can be said, when and to whom, in the process of interpreting the situation to discover possible solutions. Eisenhart suggests instead that "one of the means by which individuals organize culture is through the 'stories of self' that they express or enact in joining new social settings:

Telling stories of self is here conceived as a device that mediates changing forms of individual participation and understanding in context, that is, a device that mediates learning. The stories are schemas that connect individuals to the social and cultural order, and once performed they launch or "subjunctivize" an individual's identity in a specific context. As individuals express or enact these stories in a new setting, the stories guide individuals' emerging sense of who they are and how they relate to other people and objects in the world. Others use individuals' stories of self to anticipate what an individual is likely to do, need, and want... Thus, telling stories of self affects how individuals learn and what they know. Stories also can affect the cultural worlds of those who tell them and those who hear them (1995, p. 5).

Support and Accountability: Legitimation through Feedback

Legitimation of learning comes through the respect and recognition of those at the center of practice. As learners grow in access to power and in their contributions to the work of the community, others validate the increasing value of their work and, at the same time, their increasing sense of belonging and shared identity (Lave & Wenger, p. 110-1). This process is natural but not automatic. Where access to positions of power and greater responsibilities is limited by race, gender, social class, closed or restricted channels of communication, or a secretive and defensive hierarchy, this natural growth in competence and recognition can be stunted or selective. To work well, an organization or community needs an effective feedback system linking individuals to the operative attention structure—those peers whose acceptance and opinions matter most and those who display the competence toward which individuals aspire.

This cannot be equated with the much less effective reward-and-threat system often established within organizations (Osterman, 2000). Bureaucratic coercion through top-down rewards and punishments undercuts the natural motivation instinct to excel and gain expertise (White, 1954) by directing attention away from competence and the esteem of peers and toward compliance with minimums, avoidance of penalties, and a peer culture of competition, suspicion, withdrawal of support, and sabotage. Only the esteem of the rewarder/punisher matters. Responsibility shifts upward in the hierarchy to those who give the orders and mete out the rewards and punishments, resulting in an inevitable lag between work results, judgments of the quality of work, and accountability to those judgments—for taking responsibility entails taking risks, and this will be an environment where the greatest risk is failure in the eyes of the boss (Joyner, 1997).

An effective feedback system is fueled by reciprocity, the universal human mechanism of gift, debt, and credit (Mauss, 1950/1990). Every gift given creates a debt that must be repaid, and one’s credibility in the society depends upon maintaining one’s credit in the eyes of others. In peer or community feedback system, performance is a gift calling for the return gift of recognition and the honor of one’s peers. Assuming responsibility—along with its risks—is immediately rewarded in the feedback system, and judgments on performance can also be immediate. In a collegial system, participants gain a sense of their own authority as they act on what they know is needed and will be appreciated, leading to a stronger sense of belonging and a growing identity as a competent member (Osterman, 2000).

The twin dynamics of an effective feedback system are support and accountability, summarized concisely by George Spindler (1987):

Apparently the combination that works so well with Eskimo children is support—participation—admonition—support. These children learn to see adults as rewarding and nonthreatening... They are encouraged to assume responsibility appropriate to their age quite early in life. Children are participants in the flow of life. They learn by observing and doing. (Spindler, 1987, p. 318)

Support provides the affirmation of the person as already a member who deserves a place in the community and an opportunity to contribute according to his or her ability. Accountability names the expectations of the individual’s performance on behalf of the community, affirming before the deed is done that this person is able to contribute in this way and thus providing the opening for that person to fulfill these expectations and receive the community’s recognition. Performance is again followed by support to affirm the effort and contribution made and further establish the recipient’s membership and identity as a contributor—which immediately sets the stage for more performance.

A feedback system of support and accountability is the most powerful mechanism available for community learning. The social nature of the human animal assures that no one is thick-skinned; all are inevitably and untiringly hungry for a sense of how others are responding to their actions. They may—and can be encouraged to—question this feedback, resist it, argue with it, and even reject it for a time—but they cannot ignore it, and they know that ultimately any success they may have as a member of the community—and as a leader—will depend upon their on-going inclusion and effectiveness in the workings of the community.

Effective Practices for Community Work: Participation as Learning and Doing

Harry Boyte revives the notion of “commonwealth” to capture the mechanism and the substance of community development: a “self-governing community of equals concerned about the general welfare,” and “the basic resources and public goods of a community over which citizens assumed responsibility and authority,” including knowledge among these resources (Boyte, 1989, p. 5). His studies of community development efforts and progressive movements for democratic change (Evans & Boyte, 1986) point to a combination of local leadership and resources with ideals of “civic idealism, cooperation, religiously motivated action on behalf of the oppressed, pluralism, and tolerance” (Boyte, 1989, p. 31).

This combination of action and ideals is generated and sustained in practices—the complex, cooperative, and socially established sets of activities that achieve real and tangible goods for the community, while at the same time nurturing the qualities of character required in order to perform these activities well (MacIntyre, 1984, p. 187). Every important area of community life is sustained by such established practices: the need to educate the young is met by the practice of teaching instituted in schools; the need for health care, by the practice of medicine in various forms of the health care industry; the need for safety and conflict resolution, by the various practices of criminal justice, the legal profession, courts, and mediation; the need for shelter, by practices of architecture and construction; the need for governance, by practices of legislation and administration instituted in the branches of government. In each case, the effectiveness and excellence of practices is achieved through guidance by a set of transcendent standards that obligate practitioners to “the good of society as a whole” and not merely to expedient or efficient service of immediate customers and immediate needs (Bellah, 1997, p. 44 and passim). It is for this reason that social practices are the key mechanism of moral learning: nurturing internal values, establishing shared expectations and obligations, and linking these to external benefits for the community.

For the same reason, practices are the essential tool for leadership development. Legitimate peripheral participation occurs through incorporation into practices, as neophytes gradually learn the knowledge (episteme), skills (techne), and practical wisdom (phronesis) required to meet the standards of the practice and effectively serve the needs of the community. The practice of leadership engages or includes many other practices, such as planning, facilitation, decision-making, procedural order, evaluation, inclusivity and outreach, advocacy, public relations, financial management, economic development, conflict resolution, and more—all of which meet real needs in the community. By incorporation into these practices, new and growing leaders discover the complexity of pressures and options that call for the essential practical wisdom of leadership.

These traditions of personal meaning, social interdependence, moral authority, and shared responsibility in local communities are essential foundations for good and just public policy-making (Bellah, Madsen, Sullivan, Swidler & Tipton, 1985). Members of these communities learn what ends are worth pursuing and what means of pursuit are honorable by observing and assuming the roles and responsibilities of other members engaged in these pursuits. Only by living in communities do individuals acquire a realistic sense of the meaning of ethical concepts such as justice, the common good, and liberty (Kaveny, 1991). Only through apprenticeship in practices of leadership can individuals learn the meaning, judgment, and commitment involved in meeting the community’s needs (MacIntyre, 1994). This nurturance and perspective are the keys to leadership education.

This cannot be achieved through an education directed only at the individual. Just as leadership is rooted in the authoritative action of followers, leadership education involves the development of the community as well as development of the individual. Like social capital, leadership is “an attribute of the social structure in which a person is embedded, ...not the private property of any of the persons who benefit from it” (Putnam, 1993, p. 170). Strengthening leadership, like building social capital, results as much from changed social practices as from individual change of mind. For this reason, leadership education can entail institutional change, increasing transparency, and access to power so that citizens can become involved in meeting the needs of their communities.

In his study of regional governance in Italy, Robert Putnam learned that the establishment of a new form of increased local regional governance demanded, in turn, that leaders learn to operate in new ways. Through interviews of more than seven hundred regional counselors, backed up by case studies, statistics of institutional performance, and six nationwide surveys, Putnam found that institutional change led to important changes in leadership performance: “from ideological conflict toward collaboration, from extremism toward moderation, from dogmatism toward tolerance, from abstract doctrine toward practical management, from interest articulation toward interest aggregation, and from agendas for radical social reform toward ‘good government’” responsive to constituents (1993, p. 36).

Institutional socialization, that is, conversion of individual incumbents, was powerful and explains much of the trend toward moderation. These institutional effects were strongest during the early years of the reform, as the new regional leaders first got to know one another and their shared problems. The same councilors who espoused ideological extremism and intense partisanship when first elected exhibited more moderate views five or ten years later. The growing moderation from one council to the next was concentrated precisely among the holdover incumbents. Members of the founding generation who ultimately survived into the third legislative period...had been among the most extremist and dogmatic when they first entered the council, but...they had become among the most temperate and tolerant. The most obdurate partisans initially were also those who stayed on the council longest and, as they became more deeply engaged in the life of the institution, they succumbed to its moderating effects (1993, p. 38).

Putnam concludes that “institutional changes were (gradually) reflected in changing identities, changing values, changing power, and changing strategies…The regional reform allow social learning, ‘learning by doing.’ Formal change induced informal change and became self-sustaining” (1993, p. 184). As the Italian reformers had hoped, the regional reform nurtured a new way of doing politics as socialization with the new institutions brought about a change in individual attitudes and performance. This research demonstrates the power of situated learning and points to the potential power for leadership development in institutional reform, when such reforms create and nurture patterns of local responsibility, democratic processes, sensitivity to constituents, cooperation, trust, and reciprocity.

It is not necessary, however, to wait upon top-down institutional reform in order to engage the power of situational learning. Every community already has opportunities for public engagement with the characteristics for leadership development that Putnam identifies: in free spaces, the seedbeds of democratic participation.

Public Work in the Space between Places

Community-based leadership education can be grounded in public work in any community by creating social spaces in which citizens can effectively address important community needs—in land use, education, economic disparity, adequate housing, transportation, commercial development, child care, health care and health disparities, or crime and safety. At the community level, the social space for these educational interventions is at the intersection “between private lives and large-scale institutions where ordinary citizens can act with dignity, independence, and vision” (Evans & Boyte, 1986, p. 17). These social spaces in the “space between places” are thus free in two ways. First, they are not bound to the narrow interests of individual families and private life, but open to consider larger questions of social need, social policy, and institutional accountability. Second, they are not controlled by larger institutions or organizations which might set limits on what can be discussed or dictate the outcomes of discussion, but are “places that [citizens] own themselves, voluntary associations where they can think and talk and socialize, removed from the scrutiny and control of those who hold power over their lives” (p. 28). In free spaces, citizens act on their authority as citizens: as members of a local community and at the same time as members of a larger commonwealth with which they have the right and duty to be concerned. For example, free spaces to address educational needs can be created in neighborhoods, between individual households and local schools; free spaces to resolve local conflicts or increase local safety can be instituted between neighborhoods and the criminal justice system; free spaces for civic planning can be created between neighborhoods and City Hall.

In each case, the aim is not merely to bring people together around a need or cause, but to convene the group with legitimation from below and above. From below, the citizens are grounded in their families and relational networks—church, neighborhood, profession, etc. From above, the relevant public institution invests in the citizens’ process and outcomes, assuring that their work will not be ignored but instead will be effective in, or through, or on behalf of that institution.

This is the crucial logic of complementarity in working in the space between places: power from below through personal relationships, combined with power from above through the engagement of institutional resources and legitimacy. The learning potential is very high in such spaces because they combine work for practical outcomes with moral obligations of two kinds, in two directions; and morality, by its nature, evokes the willingness of participants to bind themselves to action—in this case, to gain new knowledge, through cooperation, to find new solutions.

To evoke this moral power, however, public work in the space between places must be structured in accord with moral expectations from above and below. Legitimacy from above requires that the process of participation assure participants that their rights and the rights of others to free and equal participation will be respected, creating a safe context for substantive discussion and public willingness to accept outcomes as truly reflecting the will of the community. Investment from below requires that the public endorsement of personal networks in public work bring with it a sense of public accountability to the outcomes and, at the same time, that the institutional representatives respect the interplay of interpersonal, communal norms of attachment, affection, support, and reciprocity. Legitimation from above strengthens the informal support networks that had existed before, by establishing a public purpose for them. Investment from below strengthens personal attachment to overarching norms of fairness and equality because these become vehicles for public recognition of communal work and identity.

These are “environments in which people are able to learn a new self-respect, a deeper and more assertive group identity, public skills, and values of cooperation and civic virtue...where people experience a schooling in citizenship and learn a vision of the common good in the course of struggling for change” (Evans & Boyte, 1986, pp. 17-18). Here, each citizen speaks not merely for his or her private interests, but as one who holds an office, “a function which has a representative value; that...stands for something beyond itself…an organ of a community of interests and purposes” (Dewey, 1908/1980, p. 81). Because free spaces are defined by democratic participation, they are occasions in which communities and citizens can “overcome parochialism and ethnocentrism” in seeking the common good (Evans & Boyte, 1986, pp. 201-202).

The educational power of instituting leadership practices in community free spaces is in large part due to the power of social roles in learning. Community residents enter the space between places with a pre-established social role such as neighbor, parent, homeowner, or renter. An agency representative may enter the same space as teacher, city planner, policeman, or judge. Once they are in the community’s free space, all participants find themselves accountable in both directions, to the communal expectations and norms of family and neighborhood and to the impersonal and transcendent norms of their profession and public agency. At the same time, in this space, all participants serve in the role of community member, accountable to act for the good of the community—including the good of other community members not present. This shift in roles has “a magiclike power to alter how a person is treated, how she acts, what she does, and thereby even how she thinks or feels” (Bronfenbrenner, 1979, p. 6).

Leadership that develops in these settings therefore incorporates this combination of interpersonal and universal norms with the possibilities of public action—developing a sense of what is good in general for individuals and communities with a sense of the good that is possible in this concrete situation—precisely the right ingredients for growth in the practical wisdom central to leadership.

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