Papers from the Colloquium
Theme 1: Interdisciplinarity – Introduction
Seeing things differently: the challenge of interdisciplinarity
Stephen Rowland
The most exciting ideas are often to be found when we cross disciplinary
boundaries. Universities have been criticised for not being very
good at that: for concentrating on questions which arise within
our own disciplinary territories, rather than with the problems
of others or of the wider world. In a context of teaching and research
which is governed by utilitarian principles and economic imperatives,
the pressure to engage and cross these boundaries is increasing.
Interdisciplinarity – an important principle in the foundation
of UCL in the early nineteenth centrury, and which emerged again
in the universities founded in the mid twentieth century –
is again fashionable.
UCL’s corporate plan makes 16 references to ‘interdisciplinary’
research and teaching and this is probably not unusual. But do
we understand what it is to work in an interdisciplinary way?
What is involved in making transitions across disciplinary boundaries
in order to work with ideas and people that emerge from very
different cultures of thinking, language and assumptions? In
these notes I want to suggest some of the questions and difficulties
this poses.
You may recall the Gaia Hypothesis. Proposed by James Lovelock
- the renowned, or some would say notorious and eccentric, scientist
and Fellow of the Royal Society - the Gaia Hypothesis views the
planet Earth as a self-regulating, living organism. Gaia, the Greek
goddess of mother earth, is, according to this hypothesis, alive
and should be treated with the respect due to life. That appeared
to be his idea.
The Gaia Hypothesis was immediately controversial. It was received
enthusiastically by some as representing a new scientific paradigm
(Ellis, 1998). By others it was seen as a foundation for a green
environmental agenda. Others saw it as a triumph of interdisciplinarity,
representing a new synthesis of environment and theology (Primavesi
2000).
Others, however, said that The Gaia Hypothesis is ‘unscientific’,
‘dangerous’ and ‘pure fantasy’ (Lovelock
2000: 6). It was denounced by the microbiologist John Postgate
as
"pseudoscientific myth-making", on a par with "astrology,
fringe medicine, faith healing, nutritional eccentricities, religious
mysticism and a thousand other fads and cults which now plague
developed societies" (Turney 2003).
Reflecting upon this controversy, Lovelock gave the following
explanation. Misunderstandings had arisen, he said, because of
different meanings attached to the word ‘alive’ (Lovelock
2000: 6). When he says that the planet Earth is ‘alive’,
he explained, he uses the term metaphorically. The problem is that
the ordinary word ‘alive’ means different things to
doctors, engineers and theologians. That’s where the confusion
lies, he says.
Later in this colloquium we shall be talking about another ordinary
word, ‘evidence’ which, like ‘alive’, is
used to mean different things from different disciplinary standpoints.
We could easily think of a number of other words - knowledge, fact,
chaos, objective, research, truth - which, in ordinary language,
or in discussion with people who share our standpoint, give us
no problem but which, in the context of interdisciplinary discussion,
incline towards multiple meanings.
In my own interdisciplinary field of education the word ‘social’
poses this sort of problem. Psychologists of education normally
take it to relate to the interaction between individuals, whereas
sociologists of education understand the social in terms of group
life and the forces that shape groups.
Often it is not the specialist terms that elude us in interdisciplinary
work so much as the ordinary ones used specially. As Wittgenstein
noted: “it is the familiar that usually eludes us in life”
and in language too. Crossing disciplinary boundaries therefore
involves an unusual kind of listening: a listening that is prepared
to hear the familiar as strange; a listening that is prepared to
withhold immediate judgement, and that understands the slipperiness
of language when it is put to work in unfamiliar contexts.
Working with people from a different discipline inevitably demands
that we attempt to clarify how we are using words, and this makes
us realise how metaphorical language is, even – or perhaps
especially - when we use it to express a discipline’s most
profound theories.
The language of modern science is wary of metaphor and attempts
to avoid it wherever possible. This has not always been the case.
Scientific writing in the eighteenth century was rich with metaphor.
But in the scientific report of today terminology aims to be precise
and depends upon definition. This quality is fundamental to scientific
method and its basis in experimental procedures which can be reproduced.
This is not just a question of the arts versus the sciences. In
legal language too, we see an emphasis upon precision. Judgements
of innocence and guilt are intolerant of imagery, ambiguity and
multiple interpretations. The demand for clarity leaves little
room for metaphor. While some of the arts and humanities – perhaps
poetry in particular - may often depend for their richness upon
metaphor, technical language is denotative, rather than connotative.
Metaphors are imprecise, open to different interpretations and
thus readily lead to misunderstanding.
But science is more than mere calculation and precision. Lovelock’s
idea that the planet Earth might be considered as a life is powerful.
It reminds us of the ethical, spiritual and aesthetic considerations
involved in being human inhabitants of the Earth.
But what part do, and should, such considerations play in scientific
enquiry? Some philosophers have argued that science should become
‘poeticized’ (Rorty 1989). It has even been suggested
scientists ‘should be prepared to initiate joyful experiments
even in those domains where change and experimentation seem to
be out of the question’ (Feyerabend 1975:17). Einstein felt
that
“pure mathematics is, in its way, the poetry of logical ideas.”
And when it comes to quantum theory we find terms such as ‘beauty’,
‘charm’ and ‘strangeness’ to signify various
properties of the sub-atomic particles called quarks.
So perhaps, as a journalist writing in Science put it, ‘science
does not need art to supply its metaphors’ (Banville 1998),
and the boundaries between art and science are not so clear after
all.
In 1998 Richard Dawkins, the populariser of science and author
of The Selfish Gene, wrote a book called Unweaving the Rainbow.
This poetic title alludes to Keats’s view that Newton’s
science was destructive of the ineffable beauty of nature. Rejecting
such romanticism, Dawkins (1998:186) nevertheless argues that science
is not so dry as some would suppose. Indeed, he says, “Skill
in wielding metaphors … is one of the hallmarks of scientific
genius" and the proper exercise of a poetic inclination has
its value.
So we have here some very different views about the nature of
science from the inhabitants of different disciplinary communities.
But are scientists the best people to inform us about the nature
of science? Are artists the most reliable informants about the
nature of art? Or can we learn about our own discipline from the
inhabitants of a different disciplinary ‘country’?
And this applies to the professions as well. Doctors may be skilled
in curing illness and teachers in teaching their students, but
do doctors and teachers have a special authority when it comes
to deciding what it means to be healthy or educated?
When it comes to the purposes to which disciplinary or professional
expertise is put, the political issue is sharpened. How significant
are the views of biotechnologists in developing policies for the
use of genetic modification? What credibility has a minister of
state for higher education, who has had no direct involvement in
that community? These are not rhetorical questions.
Over the last thirty years or so the power of professional and
disciplinary authority have been seriously questioned. Some (e.g.
Gibbons et al 1994) suggest that the disciplines are an increasingly
irrelevant mode of knowledge production more geared to the concerns
of academics to create and solve their own problems, than to engage
with the world outside. Academic disciplines, with their own protective
tribes and territories (Becher 1989) do more to preserve their
own
élites than contribute to social development, it has been
said. In contrast, the terms ‘transdisciplinary’ and
‘multidisciplinary’ have been used to describe a new
organisation of knowledge which is geared to the solution of practical
problems, by overcoming disciplinary boundaries and drawing upon
different fields of expertise.
But there is a danger here. Even if we could remove the boundaries
between disciplines, might we not, at the same time, remove the
forms of critique that characterise the thinking and practices
within those boundaries? Academics value critique and society needs
innovation founded upon critical understanding. Critique is also
required to resist the misuse of power and tradition. The disciplines
provide the bases for such critical judgement. But what is meant
by ‘critical’
appears to be different in different disciplines. Sociology and
psychology, for example, provide different grounds for making critical
judgements about human behaviour.
These grounds are often contested, particularly in the social
sciences, even within a discipline. The ground upon which a Marxist
economist makes critical judgements, for example, will be very
different from those upon which a neo-classical economist makes
them. It is not just that their theories are different, but the
very way they go about theorising.
And so disciplines are not spaces where all are in agreement.
But criticism, and consideration of the grounds for it, are a proper
concern of any discipline. What students learn, more than anything
else, when they are inducted into a discipline, is something about
the nature – albeit contested - of critical judgement that
characterises that discipline. Education, research or problem solving
that too readily moves across disciplinary boundaries without any
disciplinary home or commitment, is in danger of lacking a critical
orientation. This may lead to the ability to solve technical problems
without an awareness of the value of their solutions.
The idea that there is some neutral transdisciplinary or metadisciplinary
perspective from which judgements can be made about the different
disciplines is an interesting idea, but one about which I am highly
sceptical. Interdisciplinary work can be exciting, but it is hard.
In confronting disciplinary boundaries, we should not be seduced
into believing that we can leave behind the disciplinary roots
that nourish our critical faculties.
Interdisciplinarity takes critique seriously. It acknowledges
that different grounds of criticism are involved in different disciplinary
perspectives. It negotiates and struggles across those boundaries
and with those grounds. It rejects the notion that knowledge is
a commodity, which can be picked off the shelf to solve problems
as required. It acknowledges and struggles with difference in its
working towards agreement. It is conducted in a spirit of open
negotiation and contestation with a preparedness to listen and
learn. But it does not give up on the need for critical judgement,
a faculty much needed in our increasingly compliant educational
culture.
Returning to Lovelock’s hypothesis of the Earth as the mother
goddess Gaia: whether we consider, as theologians, scientists,
physicists or engineers, that the Earth is a life, is more than
a matter of defining our terms. Disciplinary language is steeped
in theory, often assumed rather than explicit. Such theory often
comes to the surface through the metaphors we use. The transitions
across disciplinary boundaries challenge us to reflect upon the
assumptions and purposes that form the basis of our disciplinary
work. It requires that we be open and listen out for other possibilities.
Marcel Proust said that the real voyage of discovery is not about
seeking new lands but about seeing with new eyes. When we attempt
to cross the boundaries between disciplines, what is gained is
not so much the opportunity to learn about new things (interesting
though that may be) but to open our eyes to different ways of knowing
the familiar. The boundaries to be crossed may lie in our own ways
of seeing and our own ways of listening.
References
Banville, J. (1998) Beauty, Charm, and Strangeness: Science as
Metaphor Science July 3; 281: 40-41. The American Association
for the Advancement of Science.
Becher, T. (1989) Academic Tribes and Territories. Milton
Keynes: Society for Research into Higher Education & Open University
Press.
Dawkins, R. (1998) Unweaving the Rainbow. London, Penguin,
1998).
Ellis, W. (1998) Flapping Butterfly Wings: A Retrospect of TRANET's
First Twenty Years. Eighteenth Annual Schumacher Lecture (ed.
H. Hannum). Great Barrington, MA: E.F.Schumacher Society.
Feyerabend, P.K. (1975) Against Method: Outline of an Anarchistic
Theory of Knowledge. London: New Left Books.
Lovelock, J. (2000) Gaia: The Practical Science of Planetary
Medicine. Second Edition. London: Gaia Books.
Primavesi, A. (2000) Sacred Gaia. London: Routledge
Rorty, R. (1989) 'Philosophy as Science, as Metaphor, and as Politics',
in Rorty, R. (1991) Essays on Heidegger and Others. Philosophical
Papers, Volume 2. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press; pp. 9-26.
Turney, J (2003) What a wonderful Gaia, The Guardian 19
June.
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