Apology

Statement by Donald Lambie, leader and senior tutor of the School of Economic Science.

"Since the publication of the report by Mr James Townend QC earlier this year, I have spoken with various former pupils of St James and St Vedast and also with teachers, governors, parents and other relatives of pupils. As a result of those conversations I feel it is important to express my thoughts, not least because my predecessor, Leon MacLaren, was so instrumental in originally setting up the schools...

"First and foremost, I am extremely sorry that there was any mistreatment of children in the early years at St James and St Vedast and that this caused unhappiness and distress to a number of former pupils. I apologise for any part played by the School of Economic Science in that.

"In founding St James and St Vedast, Leon MacLaren had in mind the best possible principles for the care and education of all the children attending them. Those principles did not include or condone the mistreatment of children and plainly it is wrong that any such thing occurred.

"Since they were established, the schools have helped to educate many fine young men and women, and the original vision has been supported by a great deal of dedicated work and generosity. As independent assessments confirm, all the St James Schools are happy and vibrant and doing an excellent job. Everyone concerned remains totally committed to helping all pupils to develop in the best possible way. I therefore reiterate that I am deeply sorry that in the early years of the schools there was any mistreatment of pupils. I hope that the process of reconciliation that has been started will be of help in this situation. I will assist with that in any way that is practically possible."

This was posted on the iirep.com website yesterday. I think that it is an unprecedented moment for the School - the admission that it makes mistakes, and that it does not create moral laws but lives under them. I think the apology creates a new environment in the School. A lot of people, I am sure, are going to leave in the near future, because this new environment will be intolerable to them.

But I'm hopeful.

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A Circular Argument

Well, not exactly an argument. Far from it actually.

Last night I arranged the group's chairs in a circle and read a passage from William Isaacs on "The Art of Listening Together". What he was saying was that instead of listening as individuals with our own perspective, trying to appreciate someone else's perspective, we should listen with the awareness of the whole. He then mentioned a principle of early Christian communities, koinonia, which means "impersonal fellowship". Impersonal because this kind of fellowship does not depend on knowing very much about each other.

What I am finding so interesting about Isaacs' approach is the unsentimentality. We might imagine a kind of warm, squidgy togetherness that ought to be nice, but more probably would make your skin crawl. That kind of fellowship is created often by the exchange of mutual confidences, like hostages. I know your secret, so I better give you one of mine. But koinonia is not therapy, but the fellowship of a shared purpose - in this case philosophy.

It was a very interesting experience. When someone said something, I didn't feel obliged to make a remark like, "yes, very good" or "thank you". Why? Because I was no longer there to provide affirmation. It was possible to let what people said be said without having to give it my seal of approval. It was more respectful.

Another good thing was that I didn't have to have the answer. One of the students asked a particularly tricky question. I had a go at answering it, but it was clear that the student wasn't happy. She kept talking. I found it was easy to interrupt her and ask whether anyone else could help. Two people then spoke, and each gave brilliant and relevant answers that re-focused the student's attention on the weekly practice as a solution to her issue. It felt as if we were making use of the intelligence of everyone.

Maybe the metaphor of a hologram is a good way to approach this. A sheet of holographic film will produce a 3D image when a laser is shone through it. The odd thing is that if the sheet is cut in two, each half will produce not half an image, but the entire image. In fact, no matter how small you cut the film, the entire image can be produced from each tiny fragment. The only drawback is that a small piece will make a more blurred and faint image.

This is what knowledge is like - any individual has it all, but together with others the image gets progressively sharper and brighter. I think that the tutor's job, then, is not to be the sole source of knowledge, but to arrange the group such that knowledge can come from anywhere.

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Jaiswalacharya

At last year's Language lecture, Mr Jaiswal said, "it is the duty of every School member to imagine how the School should be". He also said, "Stop asking the Indians! Work it out for yourselves!"

Don't know about anyone else, but for me this is the Holy Message. That's to say, it's exactly what we need to hear now. Following those words is all we need to do.

I hope no-one is thinking of missing next month's lecture ...

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One of my lodgers is on an NLP (neuro-linguistic programming) course and, on tidying his room today, I looked at one of his books on the mantelpiece. It opened at a page called, 'What do we mean by asking powerful questions?'. This is it:

' A question has power when it stimulates the listener to new thoughts; when it asks him to search and go beyond what he already knows; when it requires him to think out of the box; when it helps him to make new connections, and to see familiar things in a new light or from a different perspective. Such questions have great potential leverage and are one of the most valuable tools of coaching. They are not all alike in how they achieve their effects ... and so we want to look at three key types of questioning you can employ - inquiring, requesting and asking permission.. Then we want to touch on the magic ingredient that can supercharge all three - the investigative power of silence.'

Yes, you may think, I've heard this before. But have you? There is much available in the tools of business management development that could be invaluable for the School, especially for student-tutor-student. It goes far beyond 'What do we think of this?'

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The Circle Game

A while ago na posted on here about having put the chairs in a circle in the group she tutors. I put this to my lot this week to see what they thought. Oddly enough the room we were in wasn't our usual one and the room was full of tables round the sides - we were all forced into an odd lozenge-shaped arrangement that felt particularly uncomfortable.

Two of the students immediately said that they thought the 'tutor on one side, students on the other' arrangement was a 'barrier'. Others were agnostic. One lady, who works as a spiritual healer, remarked that the table lamp 'symbolises light, and so completes the circle'. They also asked the assistant tutor why she asked permission from me to speak, to which she replied that that was how she had been trained to serve in that role. I told her that if she had something to say, then she should say it.

All of this relates to some of the things I've been learning in William Isaacs book Dialogue (see earlier postings). "Conversation" means etymologically, "to turn together". Isaacs says a dialogue is a conversation 'without sides, but with a centre'. Both of these thoughts suggest a circle.

So we'll try it next week.

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From q12

Congratulations on this excellent site. As you so rightly say, clarity of principle is all important. This is what the School conspicuously school lacks in some all important areas.

For example, there is no agreed answer to basic questions like: What is the School for? What is its purpose? What are its objects? We all have our own differing ideas.

Yes, the School has published Rules which purport to set out objects, including 'to promote the study of natural laws', but few would suppose that these coincide with its real objects.

Its real object might be something along the lines of: 'to promote self realisation for all, through the study and practice of Advaita Vedanta.'

Against this background debates about the School might be better directed and informed. A dialogue about objects would, in itself, be a valuable exercise.

This comment was originally posted by q12 here.

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Diablogging

Interesting after yesterday's post that I read in William Isaacs' book today the etymology of the word "debate" - "to beat down". Isaacs characterises debate as the least valuable kind of conversation, because it is all about destruction and winning.

Better than debate is dialectic, which is a kind of heated battle between two alternatives. The result, if successful, is a third alternative that takes the best from each.

Best of all kinds of conversation, according to Isaacs, is "dialogue", which means literally, "flow of meaning". A dialogue is a conversation without sides, but with a centre. The centre is, I guess, at the heart of the space in which all of the participants gather.

I've had a number of private conversations in recent weeks about the validity of this blog. A frequent criticism is that the online forum and the anonymity lead nowhere. Sadly, the critics don't seem willing to post their comments here, which seems to me to be even more negative.

As a response, I'm going to open some of these questions out to the group I tutor and see what they have to say about them.

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Debate

An experiment that is being tried at the moment in the School is to have a formal debate, with a motion and speakers being appointed to propose or oppose that motion. It seems that the aims are to foster a more intelligent discussion, and to develop skill in speaking about philosophical questions. These are pretty laudable aims, and it will be interesting to see how it works in practice.

Much of this blog has focused on the theme of conversation or dialogue as essential to philosophy. Does the philosophical conversation resemble a debate? According to Theodore Zeldin, a real conversation is one in which both parties are prepared to learn something or to change in some way their ideas, perceptions, preconceptions or experiences. In the Laws, Plato made the surprising statement that "drinking parties" (Symposiums) should be at the centre of an educational system for adults. This was because the effect of alcohol in moderation was to loosen the corsets of our thought, feeling and behaviour. Possibly the traditional educational method for barristers of eating dinners with experienced lawyers in the Inns of Court was a formalisation of this same insight. In the Vedic system the prayers that preface some of the Upanishads (literally, "to sit down together") are touchingly concerned with the emotional atmosphere of the meeting between teacher and student: "May He protect us both. May we not cavil at each other".

In my experience of debating at school, I always found that it was quite a cavil-some activity. Abusing one's opponent was not only permitted, a devastating put-down was a blow from which most debaters could not recover and which generated great enthusiasm from the judges and the audience. I would say that a philosophical conversation differs from an adversarial debate in the way that they deal with inadequate understanding. In a debate, the admission of ignorance is forbidden; but in philosophy it is essential. According to Plato's Symposium, a "philosopher" is someone who is in pursuit of wisdom; and therefore, is someone who lacks it. Admitting what one does not know is the first step towards knowledge; pretending to oneself or others that one does know is the first obstacle. Therefore, what is a virtue in a debating chamber could well be a vice in philosophy. Where debate ends, in a cacophony of democratic vote-casting, philosophy has not yet begun its work.

It may be that the debate will differ from the traditional adversarial format. It may be that it is a useful step towards a culture of inquiry and truthfulness.

PS I've just set up a separate blog for the group that I tutor, as a way of reflecting on the practices of the week. Each student will have equal ownership of the blog and will be able to create new posts. I've not made this blog so open, I suppose because there's a worry that it might degenerate into criticism and mud-slinging. But perhaps I should? Please let me know what you think.

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Native American Saying

"You talk and talk until the talk starts".

- quoted from Dialogue and the Art of Thinking Together.

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Real Meeting

The word satsanga is normally translated as "good company". This is accurate (the dictionary definition is "intercourse or association with the good") but there is more to the phrase than that. Sat means "being", "existing", "occurring", "happening", "being present" - one might say "real". Sanga means literally "sticking, clinging to, touch or contact with", and is related to sangha, the name used for a community or gathering, especially in reference to the Buddhist community. The problem with the word "good", of course, is that it slides to easily into "them (bad) and us (good)". Then we stop asking ourselves the all-important questions about the actual quality of the meeting taking place.

I'd like to propose that we define satsanga more broadly as "real contact" or "real meeting". It could signify "making contact with what is real", or "really meeting", or it could be "a gathering to speak about the real". All of these have, it seems to me, wholly positive meanings, without the danger of complacency. What matters is the contact, and the reality.

How often does this really happen? This morning I met with two people in their seventies to study some of His Holiness' words together. This developed into a wide-ranging discussion of all kinds of topics, always coming back to the question of how to take care of students. In a memorable phrase, a School should rightly see itself as being responsible for the care of "the eternal souls" of its members. That might sound a bit messianic, or a bit religious, but try this with the next person you meet. Try to see them not just as a body or a personality or a relationship, but as a soul in eternity. That would create the possibility of the real meeting, because it is a loving seeing.

When that happens there can be no possibility of doing any harm to the dignity or person of the other. If there is harm or conflict on either side, that means nothing, except that the real meeting has not yet taken place. That is not the fault of any one: the immediate temptation is to blame the other, but that's a childish error. The right response to conflict of a philosophy School is to examine the existing structures and to discover whether there is anything that needs to be different in order to establish a safe environment for the real meeting. The right response as an individual is to ask whether one could have done more, whether there is anything to learn, and if so to do what it takes to put that right.

Creating the satsanga, the real meeting, is not just the work of philosophy, it's the work of life.

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Different Disciples

A telling remark in the Conversations is His Holiness' comment that there are two kinds of disciples attached to the ashram. One kind stays in the ashram and works there day to day, while the other goes away to live a householder's life, coming back occasionally - maybe every three months - to listen to discourses, ask questions, and so on. There is no preference for either kind, and the impression one gets is that the reason that there are two different forms of disciplehood is because they each suit different kinds of people.

There's no need to speculate further on what that might mean, but it's worth noting that our single system practice did not come from His Holiness.

With us, either a student is "in" or "out", and there is no latitude for coming and going, as in the Indian model. We seem to have followed the Gurdjieff-Ouspensky schools, which so far as I know demand strict attendance. Can it be that Indians are different from us, that they are more disciplined people? I'd suggest this is wrong. We're all from the same stock, and Shantananda said to us that we could come to see him whenever we pleased. He set no timetable.

Should we persist in regarding a practice as sacrosanct, merely because it has been done in the past? No, we have to judge whether it is a wise practice, especially when it does not fully accord with the ancient time-honoured traditions. This might be an apposite moment to quote Ralph Waldo Emerson's most famous line, from Self-Reliance:

A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by little statesmen and philosophers and divines.

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Confession and Confidentiality

A few weeks ago a regrettable incident happened in connection with the Governors' Reconciliation process. Complainants were invited to write to the Governors if they were interested in meeting with them. One letter was sent, marked "private and confidential" from two sisters, whose mother was then approached about its contents while on a weekend at Waterperry by another person. Abject apologies have been offered, with which the offended parties are I think relatively satisfied, but that is not the point. The worst thing about this affair is that few of us will be surprised that it happened. The culture of the School is one in which confidentiality is not articulated as a discipline, except for students.

One young person confided in her tutor about some truly damaging and deeply personal experiences she had had. Travelling half way round the world to Waterperry, she discovered that these private matters had been referred to in a tutorial gathering. It is more fitting for readers of this blog to consider what this says about us, than for me to comment.

None of us who have enjoyed the benefits of the School would, I think, like to see its atmosphere of benign paternal (or maternal) care lost. Many times I've found that sharing my troubles with my tutor has been a tremendous help. In addition, I would have to say that on the whole the School does seem to behave responsibly with the knowledge it receives. One tutor I know of was the recipient of the most appalling confessions from a student who was, in my opinion, completely off the rails. It was one of those borderline cases that could be a test of a Catholic priest's vow of confessional silence. Not one word got out to anyone else, until it became public knowledge later.

In recent years, however, as I have become conscious of the absence of privacy, I've begun to consider what I do or do not say. On one occasion, I made the tutor promise that he would not reveal what I said to anyone else in School, and I'm sure he kept his word. At other times I spoke and was content that I did not mind it being revealed. Possibly, having to screen my thoughts in this way is a burden that I could have done without.

Confession has always been an important part of Western culture, and His Holiness speaks about its value also in the Indian tradition. Presumably there is something universal in it. I have an image of writing one's burdensome troubles and sins onto a piece of paper and then burning it at an altar ... they go up in the smoke to - I don't know what, something greater. It's a blessed relief to feel that there is a larger existence than that of the person who is suffering with the problems, an infinite sea of forgiveness and understanding into which one's petty concerns are just an unnoticeable drop, instantly dissolved and gone.

We have to have this. To paraphrase TS Eliot, human beings cannot bear too much alone. It's impossible to have a spiritual path without the opportunity of confession.

But, as a School is made up of individuals, we must also have some discipline of confidentiality. Whether it takes the form of guidance given to all tutors, or even a kind of Hippocratic Oath, a priestly oath of secrecy, there must be protection for the students from the human weakness of those in whose care they are. And, to set the minds and hearts of the students at rest, it must be clear to the students from the very first under what conditions they speak to their tutor.

Clarity of principle, in this case as in all others, will ensure the future value of the School.

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About Conversation

Fascinating comment from na recently about experiments with the format of a philosophy group. Read it here.

na recommends a book by William Isaacs, Dialogue and the Art of Thinking Together (Amazon link included). It sounds really good, I think I'm going to get a copy and read it. Coincidentally, my sister just gave me a book she's very excited about by Theodore Zeldin, Conversation: How Talk Can Change Your Life. I read it yesterday.

Zeldin is a historian and philosopher, but the book is a very easy read, based on six lectures he did for Radio 4. He is a bit of a conversation zealot, and takes the view that the 21st Century needs to develop a new way of conversing that is distinct from the modes of authoritarian and male-dominated society. I know that will raise hackles with some people, but he does cite many interesting comments about, for example, how stilted conversations used to be between men and women. We may presume that when Jane Austen said, "Imbecility in females is a great enhancer of their personal charms", that she was speaking from experience - men simply didn't want to listen to an intelligent woman in her time. (I also enjoyed Ava Gardner's remark about Clark Gable, "the sort of man that if you said, 'Hello, Clark, how are you?', he'd be kinda stuck for an answer.") Speaking for myself - as a man - I must say that about 60% of my most interesting conversations (including, thus far, on this blog) seem to take place with women. The thought of living in a world where men and women do not converse is awful to me. So I suppose that I would agree with Zeldin that an equal relationship of the sexes is desirable for philosophic life.

But anyway, his main point is not about the history, but about the opportunity for what we might do today:

The kind of conversation I'm interested in is one which you start with a willingness to emerge a slightly different person. It is always an experiment, whose results are never guaranteed. It involves risk. It's an adventure in which we agree to cook the world together and make it taste less bitter.

The book started off many thoughts for me, although I didn't quite know where to go with them. Maybe one way is to look at Zeldin's project called The Oxford Muse. As part of this, he's pioneered something called "Conversation Dinners" - details here.

But there are many points of view on this. Personally I have some unanswered questions about the uses of hierarchy. For example, when I went to 3rd level education, I specifically chose the place that I thought had people in it that knew more than I did. At that point in my life I wanted to be taught things. My own students today seem to still enjoy that I play the role of the teacher for them. How can we have structure without stifling free thought? I would be fascinated to hear what you all think.

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From Ubuntu Once More

I'm so glad this site is here. In the early days of the School we heard 'Neither accept nor reject.'

Then, subtly, this changed step by step. In an attempt to cull the restrictive and limited ideas of the individual it was somehow deemed necessary to impose further restrictions. A needle to extract a thorn, yes, but then practices can become habitual in itself. And inevitably lazy. If the teaching is seen as prescriptive, as a 'given', what incentive is there for any individual to explore and make further inquiries?

If all experience is measured against a School yardstick, does this not dampen the spirit?

- Ubuntu

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