Counter-Critical Pedagogy: A Manifesto

ABSTRACT

This article investigates how critical pedagogy might broaden its purview and cultivate a more symbiotic relationship between formal education and life-long learning through a ‘counter-critical pedagogy’. By reconsidering central tenets of Paulo Freire’s Pedagogy of the Oppressed through the lens of Bernard E. Harcourt’s provocation for a ‘counter-critical theory’, the article proposes how pedagogy could more effectively respond to circumstances – both personal and global – that are ever-changing and urgently require our intervention. In addition to critiquing the writings of Freire and Harcourt, the article draws on Indigenous epistemologies and the field of artistic research to emphasize the importance of complex and interdependent modes of knowing and holistic approaches to creating community. Key concepts in critical theory and critical pedagogy are repositioned in more active and processual terms that promote a dynamic approach to learning, one that is fully contextualized and situated, embraces greater complexity and intersectional approaches and requires a holistic and ongoing process of reflection and critique.

KEYWORDS:

• Critical pedagogy
• critical theory
• Freire
• artistic research
• Indigenous philosophy
• praxis
• performing arts

This article presents a manifesto for a ‘counter-critical pedagogy’ and demonstrates how its principles can stimulate positive change in a wide array of learning contexts. Several of the manifesto’s concepts have emerged through bringing the field of critical pedagogy into conversation with recent provocations for a ‘counter-critical theory’ (Harcourt, 2018, 2020). However, counter-critical pedagogy’s vitality resides in its processual imperative, particularly how it encourages diverse modes of knowing and holistic approaches to creating community – concepts predominantly drawn from Indigenous philosophy and artistic research. At the same time, my experiences as a performing artist were the initial catalyst for investigating how critical pedagogy might broaden its purview and cultivate a more symbiotic relationship between formal education and life-long learning. My writing here attempts to exemplify this intention by revealing the generative value of inner reflection within any learning environment.

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The process of theorizing in the verb-driven world of Indigenous Peoples is as important as the actual theory. The process brings to light implicit understandings held within the collective knowledge of the community. Gregory Cajete, Indigenous Community (2015, pp. 218–219)

Although we can trace a critical spirit throughout the history of teaching and learning (the Socratic dialogues with Plato and the educational reform work of John Dewey being just two important examples), the establishment of critical pedagogy as a coherent field of study is widely attributed to Paulo Freire’s seminal book Pedagogy of the Oppressed published in 1968 (first in English in 1970). Motivated by his experiences teaching literacy in rural Brazil, Freire’s book outlines essential criteria for identifying and combating oppression in educational contexts, criteria that have continued to resonate in pedagogical discourses for more than 50 years. Of primary importance to Freire is that critical learning not only involves reflection but also active and ongoing engagement in ‘dialogical’ teaching-learning environments. In Pedagogy of the Oppressed, dialogical is predominantly situated as an alternative to the traditional ‘banking model’ of education ‘in which the students are the depositories and the teacher is the depositor’ (1970/2000, p. 72). In its place, Freire describes a ‘problem-posing education’ (1970/2000, p. 79), one requiring that dialogue – emerging out of ‘love, humility, and faith’ – can become a ‘horizontal relationship of which mutual trust between the dialoguers is the logical consequence’ (1970/2000, p. 91). In this way, critical pedagogy strives for a more empathic and less hierarchical climate in which teachers and students co-create their learning environments. Such a framing resonates with the concept of Ako in Māori pedagogy, ‘the notion that learning is reciprocal and that knowledge is acquired both through the act of learning and through teaching’ (Napan et al., 2020). Moving forward, therefore, I propose to avoid the teacher-student division altogether by following American educator and social critic bell hooks’s proposal of establishing ‘a community of learners together’ (1994, p. 153).

At the same time, it is important to recognize that many people – especially freelancers, like myself – simultaneously participate in multiple communities in their training and professional lives. Such (hyper-)variability of learning experiences is rarely discussed within critical pedagogical scholarship. By variability, I do not mean a diversity of perspectives. Indeed, critical engagement with Freire’s propositions has been an ongoing source of innovative pedagogical research reflecting important ideological and political shifts in our world. Perhaps most notable are intersectional approaches that engage ‘the profoundly unequal distinctions based on race, gender, sexual identity, ethnicity, national origin, immigration status, and physical abilities’ (Kirylo, 2020, p. xii). While such issues may often intersect with individuals’ experiences in variable and/or concurrent learning communities, there is an increasing need to address this particular phenomenon now that the ‘gig economy’ is permeating professional life well beyond the artistic and creative sectors.

Additionally, although many critical pedagogues succeed to situate themselves and their work in opposition to the status quo (Darder, 2012; Giroux, 2021; hooks, 1994, 2003; Kincheloe & Steinberg, 1997; Ladson-Billings, 1995; Martin et al., 2017; McLaren, 2015), critical pedagogy has struggled to assert influence on systemic problems more broadly. This could partly be related to the preceding discussion of the variable worker in which the applicability of critical pedagogical scholarship rarely extends beyond theoretical and/or philosophical concepts. However, there are also more insidious forces at play, particularly in universities which have been shown to surreptitiously mould individuals’ ideological leanings (Wodtke, 2012), where self-reflection has even morphed into ‘a tool of systemic reproduction, while the “self”, on which one reflects, becomes but metonymy of the educational system as a whole’ (Rabikowska, 2009, p. 238). Indeed, while critical thinking is touted as important and necessary in higher education (Harney et al., 2013), the university too often promotes a critical complacency that enables, if not accelerates, excessive violence on ourselves, our communities and our planet. Hence, the urgent need for a counter-critical approach that employs a ‘radical critical philosophy’, one assuming that all values, illusions and actions are open to continual examination, no matter how widely believed or accepted. Fully acknowledging that educating is always political (Roberts, 2020, p. 140), I deliberately incorporate tentative vocabulary in this article’s manifesto in order to reinforce the necessity of radical critique. I therefore welcome and invite your scrutiny of what I propose here, perhaps even more so if it aligns easily with your own ideological leanings.

A paradoxical question?

As a freelance performing artist for more than 25 years, I have become adept at quickly adapting to new contexts. Not only are the people, places, spaces and durations of my working conditions constantly in flux, but so too are the artistic materials and practices being employed. Although I always relish learning encounters possessing a strong critical spirit, they have – both in my formal training and professional life – been rare. While investigating how to ameliorate these conditions in performing arts higher education (Skelton, 2024) I felt an affinity with bell hooks’s initial encounter with Pedagogy of the Oppressed, how she came to it ‘thirsty, dying of thirst (in that way that the colonized, marginalized subject who is still unsure of how to break the hold of the status quo, who longs for change, is needy, is thirsty)’, and how she found ‘a way to quench that thirst’ in Freire’s work (1994, p. 50). In reading Freire, I feel a comparable hunger, an appetite to more forcefully resist the persistent neglect of performers’ agency in the performing arts and to challenge the unreasonable and inhumane expectations of me, my colleagues and my students. During the COVID-19 pandemic, with almost all of my artistic engagements cancelled for 18 months, the troubling disconnect between my variable freelance work and relatively predictable structures of formal training became more discernible. Out of that ongoing hunger to influence and promote critical pedagogy in my future, yet-to-be known circumstances, a question emerged: How can we practise critical pedagogy in the absence of a pedagogical context?

Counter-critical theory

Although seemingly paradoxical, the above question led me to the Columbia Centre for Contemporary Critical Thought (Columbia Law School, 2019) and a provocative proposal by contemporary critical theorist, advocate and author Bernard E. Harcourt. What Harcourt initially coined ‘counter-critical theory’ (2018) is more specifically described as ‘counter-foundational critical theory’ in his book Critique & Praxis: A Critical Philosophy of Illusions, Values, and Action (2020, p. 379) – a title that has inspired the structure of the manifesto below. Harcourt clearly defines his use of the prefix ‘counter-’ as a conceptual device distinct from ‘anti-’. While both prefixes imply opposition, ‘counter-’ suggests an ongoing relationality rather than an antagonistic move to subdue or eliminate (OED Online, 2021b, 2021c). In Harcourt’s theory, ‘counter-foundational’ specifically refers to the goal of overcoming ongoing tensions between different ‘regimes of truth’ that have diverted critical theorists away from the underlying ambition of critical philosophy, namely, ‘to change the world’ (2020, p. 32).

Harcourt frequently refers to this shift in priorities as an unfortunate ‘epistemological detour’ that has had serious consequences. He claims:

The critical tradition, mired in these internecine struggles for influence among different strands and variations–Marxist, Freudian, or Nietzschean, Lacanian, Foucauldian, or Derridean, deconstructive, feminist, post-colonial, queer, gender troubling, to name a few–has struggled to elaborate a contemporary critical theory of practice, a critical practice for these troubled times. (Harcourt, 2018, p. 9)

While the ‘internecine struggles’ can be attributed broadly to questions related to knowledge, truth and falsity, Harcourt specifically observes a confrontation between ideology critique – ‘a cognitive enterprise that produces a kind of knowledge intended to lead to enlightenment and emancipation’ – and the radical critiquing of knowledge itself through the Foucauldian theory of savoir-pouvoir (knowledge-power) – the impossibility ‘to sever knowledge from power or achieve objectivity’ (2018, p. 10). Harcourt aligns his counter-critical theory with the latter, not only because savoir-pouvoir demands constant re-examination of ‘how power circulates through society’ but also because it necessitates continual critique about how power, subjectivities and the analytical lenses we employ themselves transform (2018, p. 11). However, as Harcourt’s proposition is ‘counter-critical’ and not ‘anti-critical’, it does not ignore or reject theoretical traditions; rather, it ‘indexes the opposition to the foundationalism and positivism of early critical theory, and simultaneously overcomes the opposition from which it is born’ (2018, p. 14). This idea of ‘indexing’ is key as it simultaneously connects counter-critical theory to both its historical antecedents and future incarnations.

There are three additional facets to Harcourt’s proposal that were crucial in developing the manifesto for a counter-critical pedagogy. First, Harcourt’s consideration of the inevitable violence that must accompany any significant change. Bolivian feminist, sociologist, historian and subaltern theorist Silvia Rivera Cusicanqui describes such violence as ‘[m]ore than physical pain, it is the dispossession of dignity and the internalization of the values of the oppressors’ (2020, p. 21). In the pedagogical processes, this violence needs acknowledgement on two distinct levels. What Harcourt and Rivera Cusicanqui are primarily referring to is the violence that results from colonizing practices and unequal power dynamics, the imposition of values (educational, structural, societal, personal, etc.) on those who may hold different ideals (Harcourt, 2020, p. 838). Alternatively, because everyone internalizes society’s oppressive values to some degree, pedagogical processes frequently involve violent experiences related to our resistance to and/or fear of change. Indeed, ‘[b]ecause transformation is a dynamic, creative process, it brings anything but peace of mind, tranquility, or harmony’ (Cajete, 2015, p. 71). The necessary distinction is in the willingness to endure hardship, the choice to sacrifice certain values in order that new ones might emerge. Nonetheless, we must take care on both levels that the responsibility of social change be shared equitably, that our ‘critical praxis should be conducted carefully and hesitantly, with respect, care, humility, and thoughtfulness … always conscious of the harm it distributes, vigilant and watchful of not exceeding what is strictly necessary’ (Harcourt, 2020, p. 840).

Second, one must personally take responsibility for enacting change. This involves a subtle but important shift from the passive question ‘What is to be done?’ to a more fully reflexive ‘How can I do more?’ The former question involves a form of intellectual imperialism typical of ‘armchair critical theorists’ (Harcourt, 2020, p. 807), an arrogance of assuming to know what others ought to do but ultimately only perpetuates problematic relations of power and truth claims. Alternatively, ‘How can I do more?’ puts the onus of problem solving on oneself. The impulse in critical theory ‘to change the world’ is almost synonymous with Freire’s ‘quest for humanization’ (1970/2000, p. 75). In his framework, both the oppressed and the oppressors discover themselves to be ‘manifestations of dehumanization’, and solutions to address this ‘must be forged with, not for, the oppressed … in the incessant struggle to regain their humanity’ (1970/2000, p. 48). I interpret this ‘with’ as an important extension of Harcourt’s observation of the inherent violence connected with the imposition of values and his insistence that ‘No one individual or group should bear the concentrated weight of social transformation’ (2020, p. 840). This ‘with’ also makes a subtle but important expansion of the question ‘How can I do more?’ to a more communal ‘How can we do more?’

Third, Harcourt’s counter-critical framework is driven not only by a hope to reconcile theory and practice in general (which I will explore in more detail in the next section) but also clearly by an urgency to unify these in his own work. He reflects:

For decades, my critical theorizing challenged, and most often undermined, my political activism—and vice versa, my interventions confronted and deconstructed my critical theory. The dream of any unity of theory and praxis turned out to be just that: a point on the horizon, always vanishing. (Harcourt, 2020, p. 904)

To overcome these tensions, like overcoming the epistemological detour in critical theory more broadly, Harcourt recognizes a need to reorient, expand and challenge his critical praxis rather than simply impose new meaning upon it (2020, p. 923). To do this, in addition to accepting and continually engaging with an ever-changing, situated and contextualized ‘critical horizon’ (Harcourt, 2020, p. 453), there must always be ‘a tentative nature to practical interventions since there is no identifiable end point, no known ideal or foundation, but rather always another space where power is recirculating, often in unprecedented ways’ (Harcourt, 2018, p. 16). Education philosophy and policy specialist Peter Roberts describes this tentative approach in terms of ‘provisional certainty’, noting that ‘doubts and uncertainties are fundamental to our existence as human beings and that excessive certainty can be dangerous, oppressive, and misleading’ (2020, p. 136). It is for such reasons that there is no pursuit of an ‘end goal’ in counter-critical pedagogy; rather, it is always in process and acknowledges that critical praxis ultimately leads to new ambitions that must eventually be critiqued anew. This is what Harcourt means when he calls counter-critical thought a ‘pure’ or ‘radical theory of illusions’ (2018, p. 15, 2020, p. 383), and another reason for employing suggestive and tentative language in the manifesto.

theōria, praxis, poiēsis

An ever-changing, situated and contextualized ‘critical horizon’ and its concomitant absence of an ‘end goal’ are exciting to me since they help make sense of the seemingly paradoxical question posed earlier: How can we practise critical pedagogy in the absence of a pedagogical context? Because the second half of this question is pointing to the variability of pedagogical circumstances, it is not only in the particular purview of artistic freelancers like myself. Of course, certain variables may well be reduced in recurring and/or familiar pedagogical structures such as schools and universities; however, one’s way of being in pedagogy can always aspire to be more empathic, responsive, and open to emerging possibilities. For me, my question becomes more logical – and more urgent – when the praxis of critical pedagogy becomes interwoven with the praxis envisioned by Harcourt’s counter-critical theory. However, what ‘critical praxis’ involves still requires some unpacking.

At its core, critical theory investigates what Harcourt calls ‘illusions’ – desired sets of beliefs that enable tolerance of various injustices, prejudices and inequalities. In this way, critical theory has always been a ‘theory of illusions’ and the task – or ‘praxis’ – of critical theorists is to reveal these (Harcourt, 2018, p. 15). The word praxis is frequently employed in both critical theory and critical pedagogy and generally refers to an integration of theoretical and practical work, for example, ‘the inseparability of action and analysis’ (Smith, 2012, p. 12) or ‘theory imbricated within practice’ (Nelson, 2022, p. 46). In Pedagogy of the Oppressed, praxis is driven by ‘conscientização’ (conscientization, critical consciousness), a process of unveiling various contradictory conditions (social, political, economical, etc.) in order to remedy their oppressive consequences (Freire, 1970/2000, pp. 35, n1; OED Online, 2021a).

When investigating the significance of praxis, it is important to remember, clarify and reorient some terminology. In Critique & Praxis, Harcourt references Aristotle’s tripartite division of ‘ways of living’ or ‘different ways of being human’ (2020, pp. 17–18), and his definitions are more or less in line with the common understanding of these terms (Aristotle, 2011, p. 318; Bernstein, 1971, p. xiii). I have compiled these definitions as:

• theōria – contemplation, critique – thinking

• praxis – action, practice – doing

• poiēsis – production, poetry – making

Harcourt underscores that these three ways of living, although occasionally presented in competition with each other (2020, p. 1048n3; Lobkowicz, 1967), should be recognized as interconnected, as three integral dimensions to existing harmoniously (Bernstein, 1971, p. xiv). Moreover, in addition to these ways of living being interdependent, they should all be understood as active. This is not usually contested in praxis and poiēsis, but often overlooked in relation to theōria when ‘contemplation’ implies a ‘receptive and passive state of mind’ rather than the ‘strenuous disciplined activity’ expected by Aristotle (Bernstein, 1971, p. xiv). From this perspective, I suggest that theōria, praxis and poiēsis more appropriately be defined as the active middle fields of thinking, doing and making.

Drawn from the work of artistic practitioner, educator and scholar Experience Bryon, the notion of ‘middle field’ aims to collapse binary oppositions by revealing how any subject (‘who is doing’) or object (‘what is done’) emerges through a process (‘way of doing’) (2014, p. 60, 2018, pp. 40–41).¹ In this way, the middle field fosters an emergent space that advances a processual imperative at the heart of counter-critical pedagogy. In addition to subject-object binaries, an active middle field is useful in confronting the ever-present dichotomy of theory-practice. Perpetuating such a divide is certainly not Harcourt’s intention as he writes: ‘I propose to constantly collide and clash my praxis and theory on the model of the Large Hadron Collider at CERN’ (2020, p. 79) because this ‘does not reify the dichotomy but rather blasts it apart’ (2020, p. 81).

But why is Harcourt not speaking of blasting apart a trichotomy? While generally acknowledged at the beginning of discussions referencing the ancient origins of theōria and praxis, poiēsis tends to get forgotten or inadvertently subsumed by praxis as a creative sub-category (Bernstein, 1971; Lobkowicz, 1967). However, it is only through making that ephemeral thinking and doing become graspable; it is only poiēsis that is ultimately productive – of theories, concepts, models and even dialogues (remembering the dialogical importance in Freire’s critical pedagogy). From this perspective, although informed by a colliding theōria and praxis, I see Harcourt’s ideas and writing as an outcome of his poiēsis. Without his poiēsis, there would be nothing concrete for me to read, or think about, or adapt and apply in my praxis. I might even argue that without poiēsis (at least in the formulation of ideas) there might not be much for Harcourt himself to engage with in his next counter-critical move. Similarly, although informed by my counter-critical thinking and doing, it is my poiēsis that is generating this article and the ongoing speculative exchange with myself at its core.

At the same time, thinking (theōria) and doing (praxis) are also informed by the results of making (poiēsis). In this way – in addition to theories, concepts, models and dialogues – I would also include contemplations, critiques, actions and practices as the products of poiēsis and not, as they are commonly understood (and defined above) as theōria and praxis. Such a conceptual shift emphasizes the utility of defining theōria, praxis and poiēsis as the active middle fields of thinking, doing and making while also underscoring the need for their equilibrium. Only as an interdependent trinity can theōria, praxis and poiēsis serve the goal of changing the world. Additionally, because Aristotle’s taxonomy refers to three ‘ways of living’, when one’s critical doing (praxis) is inextricably linked to one’s thinking and making, we begin to understand that conscientização need not be limited to traditional pedagogical contexts. Indeed, if ‘conscientization is a requirement of our human condition and has ontological, epistemological, ethical, and educational dimensions’ (Geduld et al., 2020, p. 18), the answer to my seemingly paradoxical question has a straightforward answer: without a defined context, we can still practise critical pedagogy by integrating critical praxis into our day-to-day way of being in and with the world.

Embodied knowing, tacit dialogue

The above discussions of critical pedagogy, counter-critical theory, and theōria, praxis, and poiēsis account for most of the novel proposals in the manifesto below. However, in addition to acknowledging the interdependence and intricate dynamics of thinking, doing and making, counter-critical pedagogy also points to the active middle field of ‘knowing’ and a broader conceptualization of ‘dialogue’. It is to these artistically inspired points that I now turn my attention, even as I note the irony of advocating for embodied and tacit ways of communicating and knowing in a written academic text.

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Art has an extraordinary ability to invite us to dialogue through all our senses: we can see or talk about it. We can touch it when allowed or feel it circulate our bodies through waves, through our pulsations. Art evokes in us responses, feelings, and estrangements. It triggers memories and provokes visceral reactions. It speaks of the present time, but it can also remind us of a past time—intentionally dormant or without any pretense of remaining static. Art, in its various possibilities, can unearth a suffocating feeling, a silenced word. It can also etch in us what has not yet been manifested, a future that we cannot yet touch, but can imagine. Débora B. A. Junker (2020, p. 223)

Freire’s work as a teacher leading up to writing Pedagogy of the Oppressed was focused on literacy. I believe it is for this reason that he considers ‘dialogue’ primarily within the context of verbal or written language. Freire writes:

As we attempt to analyze dialogue as a human phenomenon, we discover something which is the essence of dialogue itself: the word … Within the word we find two dimensions, reflection and action, in such radical interaction that if one is sacrificed—even in part—the other immediately suffers. (Freire, 1970/2000, p. 87)

Freire’s use of ‘the word’ can be understood partly in metaphorical terms, particularly in reference to those who have been ‘silenced’ by oppressive forces. From this perspective, I agree that ‘[t]hose who have been denied their primordial right to speak their word must first reclaim this right’ (Freire, 1970/2000, p. 88); indeed, conscientização would require this as a prerequisite to enable positive transformation with (rather than for) those who are oppressed. Freire’s pointed discussion of ‘the word’ is also helpful in elaborating his concept of praxis as an integration of both reflection and action. For instance, he usefully explains that to sacrifice either will lead to meaningless acts (‘activism’) or empty words (‘verbalism’) wherein true dialogue – and, therefore, realizing the goal of conscientização – is impossible (Freire, 1970/2000, pp. 87–88).

These points feel logical to me, and I believe they should be indexed (to use Harcourt’s terminology) in a counter-critical pedagogy. However, overemphasizing ‘the word’ risks privileging the linguistic, and this is problematic for several reasons. Written language – especially in English – is steeped in ongoing colonial privileges and oppressions including assumed normalcy of whiteness and white privilege, ‘othering’ discourses, and hegemonic ideas of ‘education’ (Martin et al., 2017, p. 240). In fact, it is possible to critique Pedagogy of the Oppressed as being rooted in a colonial agenda of making the ‘uneducated’ literate since ‘literacy brings with it the challenge to “edit” the world, to remake it as one would craft a written text’ (Eastham, 2003). In particular, from the perspective of Indigenous societies that have been positioned as oral rather than literate, Yup’ik anthropologist, teacher, and actor Angayukak Oscar Kawagley explains how the imposition of ‘linguistic constructions and literary forms was an insidious attack on the psychological and spiritual nature of Native people and very destructive of the social order’ (2006, p. 126). With a related perspective, educationalist and advocate Graham Smith has expressed how the specific praxis of ‘Kaupapa Māori is in real danger of being assimilated when it is seen as a set of words rather than a set of actions as well’ (2012, p. 13). More broadly, it is important to note that, while words offer immediate advantages and privileges (rapid international communication through social media and email, reading books, publishing journal articles, etc.), their omnipresence often hinders our abilities to respond to and connect with other people and the environments around us (for example, when was the last time you were distracted by a phone notification?).

Digging deeper, Freire’s concept of ‘the word’ presents two serious limitations. First, the process of naming reinforces an ‘othering’ of nature and thereby affirms a ‘Story of Separation’. In The Ascent of Humanity, author and activist Charles Eisenstein outlines how language, as a representative ‘technology of mind’, ‘is the foundation of the separate human realm, and from the very beginning it has borne a destructive as well as a creative power’ (2007, p. 63). Whereas Eisenstein claims, ‘By naming the world, abstracting it and reducing it, we impoverish our perception of it’ (2007, p. 65), Freire writes: ‘To exist, humanly, is to name the world, to change it. Once named, the world in its turn reappears to the namers as a problem and requires of them a new naming’ (1970/2000, p. 88). These two quotations, side-by-side, demonstrate to me, in no uncertain terms, that ‘reflection and action’ in Freire’s concept of praxis presumes linguistic cognition. I would posit that Harcourt’s critical praxis might involve a similar assumption. By substituting ‘critique’ for ‘name’ in the above quotation we have a description akin to Harcourt’s ever-changing critical horizon in a radical critical philosophy of values, illusions and actions. But does a critique require an ability to coherently account for it in writing or speaking? Does a praxis depend on articulating it or its related activities in words?

Second, a paradox exists in Freire’s emphasis on the role of ‘the word’ in critical pedagogy’s praxis of conscientização. In Freire’s framing – exemplified in the preceding quotation – transformation requires a prior unveiling through naming. Even though Freire’s proposal – with its requisite ‘new naming’ – is akin to counter-critical pedagogy’s ‘ongoing process of reflection and critique in relation to an ever-changing critical horizon’, it is, nonetheless, a process that asserts an ideology of social development, one that ‘brings with it many values that are implicitly aligned with colonizing intentions’ (Sheehan, 2003, p. 3). Because the mentality of colonialism has been so widely internalized, ‘[d]ependency, silence, and conformity to modern notions of social development simply perpetuate colonization in ever-recycling forms, both subtle and overt’ (Cajete, 2015, p. 190). Alternatively, ‘Indigenous experiential knowledge of colonial social formations is based on conceptions of time and action that are not linear or interpretative’ (Sheehan, 2003, p. 2), which is why it is imperative in a counter-critical pedagogy to engage with a more expansive understanding of ‘knowledge’.

Reconsidering what constitutes ‘knowledge’ and ‘knowing’ is central to the field of artistic research and can usefully draw again on Aristotle’s three ways of living discussed earlier and their related sorts of knowledge:

• ‘know-that’ – epistēmē (theōria) – theoretical knowledge addressing ‘the universal, scientific facts of the world and nature, as well as philosophical wisdom’.

• ‘know-what’ – phronēsis (praxis) – practical-ethical knowledge ‘of acting, of understanding other human beings’.

• ‘know-how’ – technē (poiēsis) – productive knowledge ‘of how to make particular things, how to create’. (Coessens et al., 2009, p. 76; Nelson, 2013, pp. 41–47)

Just as poiēsis tends to get side-lined in discussions that highlight the theory-practice binary, so too has technē been largely ignored in academia despite being central to the growing field of artistic research (Borgdorff, 2012; Coessens et al., 2009; Nelson, 2022; Nelson, 2013). This is not only because embodied and tacit forms of knowledge clearly exist in artistic working methods but more so because they cannot be adequately ‘translated’ into written or spoken languages. Verbally articulating tacit or embodied knowledge significantly alters it. Unfortunately, as Coessens et al. remark in accordance with Eisenstein’s quotation above, ‘what we put into words will always be less than what we are trying to describe’ (2009, p. 7).

Like theōria, praxis and poiēsis, we can better understand epistēmē, phronēsis and technē as interdependent. Moreover, while these types of knowledge are commonly understood in English as nouns – epistēmē (knowledge), phronēsis (prudence), technē (art or craft) – I propose to also think of them in Bryon’s active middle field, as different or nuanced forms of ‘knowing’. Practitioner-researcher Robin Nelson’s concepts of ‘know-that’, ‘know-what’ and ‘know-how’² generally align with the ‘knowing’ of epistēmē, phronēsis and technē and more directly point to their reconception in the active middle field (2013, pp. 41–47). I therefore propose deprioritizing verbal and written language in a counter-critical pedagogy. Such a ‘counter-move’ invites us to rethink ‘dialogue’ as more than just spoken or written words and thereby open ourselves to more complex and interdependent modes of verbal, written, visual, embodied and tacit (intuitive, artistic, spiritual, etc.) communication.

Manifesto

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A Counter-Critical Pedagogy: embraces a radical critical philosophy of values that can cultivate and reflect a healthy learning community. serve an education emerging out of humility, empathy, faith and love. commit to educational processes and experiences promoting equality, compassion, respect, solidarity, sustainability and social justice. acknowledge that educational change should not exert avoidable or inequitable violence on any individual, group, or the environment. embraces a radical critical philosophy of illusions that can integrate a ‘counter-move’ that indexes critical thinking’s foundations while simultaneously working towards overcoming them. employ the praxis of conscientização (conscientization, critical consciousness) – the unveiling of various contradictory conditions (social, political, economical, environmental, etc.) in order to remedy their oppressive consequences. acknowledge the interdependence and intricate dynamics of active middle fields in critical philosophy – a multiplicity of relevant and interconnected modes of thinking, doing, making and knowing. not pursue an end goal. embraces a radical critical philosophy of actions that can be fully contextualized and situated. be dialogical, and understand ‘dialogue’ to include interdependent modes of verbal, written, visual, embodied and tacit communication. be learning-centred and horizontal by repositioning the teacher-student hierarchy as a community of learners. promote complex and intersectional awareness. require a holistic and ongoing process of reflection and critique in relation to an ever-changing critical horizon. be a personal call to action that asks the question: ‘How can I do more?’ be a collective call to action that asks the question: ‘How can we do more?’

Practising pedagogy as process

In reading this far, you may have begun to infer what a counter-critical pedagogy might look like. Yet, the compelling premise that underpins the above manifesto is that counter-critical pedagogy is not supposed to look like anything, it is not a thing at all. Rather, as Native American (Tewa Indian) educator and scholar Gregory Cajete describes, pedagogy is ‘a teaching and learning process’ (2015, p. 302). Indeed, at the core of counter-critical pedagogy is an intense processual imperative, which is why my primary goal in this article is not to describe what counter-critical pedagogy is, but rather how it can be done. This ‘how’ framing is emblematic of the complex and interdependent modes of thinking, doing, making and knowing elucidated above. Similarly, my writing – rather than providing definitive answers – is intended to serve as an entryway into a counter-critical process, one continually renewing itself through a radical critical philosophy of values, illusions and actions.

The remaining sections of this article extend this process by pointing towards the concept of ‘fully contextualized and situated’, a crucial consideration in eventually re- conceiving any curriculum. Specifically, I deepen my investigation of binary thinking, the notion of ‘dialogue’, and multiple modes of ‘knowing’ in and with our world. Even if these ideas are not directly relevant to every learning context, I hope they might at least inspire further engagement with a counter-critical approach, whether informing one’s personal strategy for life-long learning or a specialized curriculum in formal education.

Life isn’t binary

Earlier in this article, I intimated the physical and psychological violence that many individuals experience through colonizing forces, and it is worth noting that ‘colonized’ and ‘oppressed’ are often synonymous in Freire’s thinking.³ However, some critics of Freire have identified the problematic reductionism embedded within his oppressor-oppressed binary power model since it fails to engage intersectional complexities of how ‘power traverses social, familial, and political domains’ (Harcourt, 2019). To move beyond diametric colonizer-colonized thinking, Rivera Cusicanqui poses an important question: ‘How can the exclusive, ethnocentric “we” be articulated with the inclusive “we” – a homeland for everyone – that envisions decolonization?’ (2020, p. 49). Already alluded to above, one important strategy is to avoid dehumanizing ‘othering’ discourses, to recognize how the internalization of colonialism inflicts excessive violence on ourselves and our planet, and conversely how ‘empathy generates justice’ (Cajete, 2015, p. 11). For example, rather than presenting A Yupiaq Worldview in opposition to ‘Western’ society, Kawagley positions his arguments in relation to apt descriptions of ‘the dominating society’ and its ‘voracious appetite for homogeneity’ (2006, p. 1).

Through counter-critical pedagogy, I try to employ similar approaches to expand my critical praxis and embrace greater complexity. Most binary concepts, like those already mentioned in this article (oppressor-oppressed, theory-practice, subject-object), impose ‘a rigid either/or perspective’ rather than embracing the paradoxes and uncertainties of ‘both/and possibilities’ (Barker & Iantaffi, 2019, p. 9). Since my own conditioning often favours either/or thinking, I am constantly seeking inspiration to replace potentially polemical arguments with more constructive processes of balancing and complementing. For example, the concept of yin and yang in Taoist and Chinese philosophy is rooted in the belief that seemingly antagonistic forces ‘give rise to each other as they interrelate’ (Ruan, 2022, p. 91). It is exceedingly generative as a conceptual framework since the united yin–yang element ‘mutually exists within, pre-supposes, confronts, informs, negotiates, and transforms each other incessantly’ (Zhao & Ford, 2018, p. 119). Alternatively, Rivera Cusicanqui, in recognizing her ‘fully double origin, Aymara and European’ considers herself ch’ixi, ‘the Aymara idea of something that is and is not at the same time’ (2020, pp. 64–65). She explains how the word ch’ixi refers to the production of one thing through the juxtaposition of others, like how pointillistic painting could create ‘heather gray’ via ‘the imperceptible mixing of black and white, which are confused by perception, without ever being completely mixed’ (2020, p. 65). Ch’ixi ‘expresses the parallel coexistence of multiple cultural differences that do not extinguish but instead antagonize and complement each other. Each one reproduces itself from the depths of the past and relates to others in a contentious way’ (2020, p. 66). The approach I find useful – as already evidenced in problematizing the theōria-praxis dichotomy by introducing a third component and applying a processual understanding – lies somewhere between the yin–yang concept and the notion of ch’ixi: to reframe dichotomies as continuums, or to allow complementary tensions to synthesize, or even dissolve altogether.

Red pedagogy

Earlier, I discussed the variability of my learning contexts as a freelancer in relation to ‘multiple communities’ of professional artistic practice. A broader notion of ‘dialogue’ – including interdependent modes of verbal, written, visual, embodied and tacit communication – can also help expand our notions of community and well-being and thereby foster diversity, inclusion and decolonization. For instance, in Indigenous philosophy, diversity among humans and within nature are prerequisites for sustainable and resilient communities to remain healthy (Cajete, 2015, p. 164). In fact, the role of a diverse community is central within traditional Indigenous pedagogy because, as ‘a cultural and life-sustaining process’, it ‘unfolds through mutual, reciprocal relationships between oneself, one’s community, and the natural world’ and importantly incorporates a value system that includes ‘spirituality, ethical relationships, mutualism, reciprocity, respect, restraint, a focus on harmony, and an emphasis on interdependence’ (Cajete, 2015, p. 277, 195).

While Cajete clearly aligns Indigenous education with critical pedagogy (1994, p. 215), he also notes that Pedagogy of the Oppressed ‘does not include the natural world in its theoretical approaches’ (2015, p. 111). Sandy Grande’s work interfacing critical Indigenous theories with pedagogy is overtly political in her appraisal of critical pedagogy, in which she identifies:

… the failure of radical scholars to consider that even in the socialist-democratic imaginary, the end game remains human liberation: a profoundly anthropocentric notion, rooted in a humanist tradition that presumes the superiority of human beings over the rest of nature. In other words, both Marxists and capitalists view land and natural resources as commodities to be exploited, in the first instance, by capitalists for personal gain, and in the second, by Marxists for the good of all. (Grande, 2015, p. 31)

To counter ‘the capitalist, imperialist aims of unfettered competition, accumulation, and exploitation’ (2015, p. 30), Grande has proposed a ‘Red Pedagogy’, one that ‘is historically grounded in local and tribal narratives, intellectually informed by ancestral ways of knowing, politically centered in issues of sovereignty, and morally inspired by the profound connections among the Earth, its beings, and the spirit world’ (2015, p. 53) – sentiments echoed by Indigenous scholars and educators around the world (Cajete, 1994, 2015; Kawagley, 2006; Napan et al., 2020; Rivera Cusicanqui, 2017, 2020; Sheehan, 2003; Smith, 2012). Grande’s astute insights underpin the above manifesto and also clarify why a counter-critical pedagogy – that emerges out of humility, empathy, faith and love – expects ‘fully contextualized and situated’ to expand our understanding of violence and dialogue beyond only human interaction. Like Indigenous pedagogy broadly speaking, these concepts in the manifesto of a counter-critical pedagogy invite us to interact with the wider world through a fuller engagement with our basic, proprioceptive and intuitive senses.

Cultivating model

In my many years studying and working, I feel fortunate to have occasionally experienced Freire’s ‘problem-posing’ education first hand. During these situations conscientização was clearly integral to how my teachers engaged with me and how they helped me overcome the various obstacles I was facing in my artistic practice. On deeper reflection of my experiences in the performing arts, I can think of many examples where the essence of critical pedagogy was absent – or at least not obvious – even though I would still count my learning experience as positive. I am thinking here particularly of situations where a ‘specialist-apprentice’ or ‘leader-follower’ dynamic existed, where I was expected to submit to the wisdom and/or direction of someone else. Prime instances include private lessons, coachings, dance classes, music rehearsals and opera productions.

Oftentimes, in such contexts, the ‘banking model’ of education described by Freire can feel like the modus operandi – like when my singing teacher repeats the same instruction to me verbatim for the hundredth time – but this is where understanding ‘dialogue’ in a broader sense is crucial. I would postulate that the specialist-apprentice model of learning ideally encourages apprentices to eventually loosen their ties to the specialist and gain greater agency and autonomy. As such, there is always an underlying critical spirit. However, it is important to recognize that the learning dynamics are largely dependent on embodied and tacit dialogue requiring us to tap into those proprioceptive and intuitive senses mentioned in the last section. I like to think of this type of learning as a ‘cultivating model’ of education. Unlike the banking model – that would identify a specialist’s instructions as ‘deposits’ – the imparting of wisdom in a cultivating model is akin to the sowing of seeds so that they may germinate and grow. Even if an apprentice says nothing in the presence of a specialist, the cultivating model is nonetheless dialogical because the specialist must be receptive to the embodied and tacit responses of the apprentice.⁴ In this way, responsibility for learning is shared – the relevance of any instruction and how it is imparted by the specialist being as important as the attention and care afforded it by the apprentice. Extending the gardening metaphor further, the emergent possibilities of any seed of wisdom depend not only on one’s direct engagement with it (in the specific moment of it being sown) but also on one’s broader circumstances, abilities, personal experiences and future decision-making (like how much, or little, one practises).

The cultivating model requires trust and temporary submission to another that is also present in a leader-follower learning environment. Many circumstances exist in the performing arts where several artists come together under the leadership of someone else. Choirs, orchestras and opera, theatre and dance companies are prime instances of hierarchical structures where a single person often assumes a leadership role and everyone else is expected to put personal egos aside in service of a collective goal. Again, in these contexts, the importance of embodied and tacit dialogue must be acknowledged since they are essential in determining whether the learning experience is ultimately positive or negative, whether one’s experience is ultimately one of transformation or violence. I would venture to say that the Freirean non-hierarchical or ‘horizontal’ ideal is often not practically feasible when trying to unite multiple people in a shared artistic vision. However, whoever is in control is still capable of pursuing a caring and critical path to effective leadership. Indeed, there is a growing literature on emotional intelligence and good leadership that empirically supports the importance of empathy, and which resonates with the dialogical and communitarian ideals of critical pedagogy (Goleman, 2021; Kouzes & Posner, 2017).

Towards a communal counter-critical curriculum

Table

The power to shift our course lies in education, and communities know better than any person what kind of education we need. Gregory Cajete, Indigenous Community (2015, p. 301)

While by no means exhaustive, the discussion in this article seeks to exemplify how various perspectives within a radical critical philosophy of values, illusions and actions can inform one another. Harcourt notes, and I hope my writing here attests that ‘critical theory draws on a Leftist tradition that values equality, compassion, respect, solidarity, social justice, and autonomy’ (2020, p. 520). Counter-critical pedagogy’s insistence on being fully contextualized and situated also necessitates responsiveness to the specific conditions in which learning occurs, both societal and institutional. For this reason, one may need to be cautious and/or highly strategic in extreme cases where ‘leftist’ values are unwelcome or could lead to physical harm or other violence. Yet, in any circumstance, ‘fully contextualized and situated’ entails balancing what we want to do with what is practically feasible. For example, in the context of an individual course, it may be possible to fully embrace Freire’s problem-posing, dialogical, non-hierarchical and emancipatory model of education; however, in most learning institutions there will inevitably be restrictions relating to assessment standards and/or tacit agendas.

In addition to the implicit oppressions and privileges already mentioned relating to the written word, it is important to understand how colonizing practices in learning institutions not only exist broadly but are ironically – even insidiously – reinforced through them. For instance, in an article that furthers research on intergroup attitudes in education through a multiracial analysis, sociologist Geoffrey T. Wodtke describes how tacit processes of ‘ideological refinement’ can systemically and covertly instil ‘the dominant group’s legitimizing ideology’ in a learning community, ‘not on assertions of categorical group differences but on the ostensibly race-neutral values of individualism and meritocracy’ (2012, p. 82, 83). This surreptitious imposition of values takes place regardless of how unequally co-learners experience systemic barriers and/or biases in their everyday lives and consequently enacts excessive violence on racialized and other minorities. Indeed, in such contexts, ideological refinement may more appropriately be called ‘ideological alignment’ as it can ‘socialize racial minorities in such a way that their own support for more radical social policies [becomes] somewhat diluted’ (Wodtke, 2012, p. 101). Such hypocrisy has been called out by the authors of The Equity Myth who more deliberately claim: ‘… while a diversity of faces in the academy may be valued, their difference is not’ (Henry et al., 2017, p. 304). How this violence persists in a perverse relationship with the ‘undercommons’ has also been captured in Harney and Moten’s observation that ‘The university needs what she bears but cannot bear what she brings’ (2013, p. 26).

In moving forward, therefore, we must remain attentive to the ethical implications of becoming ‘passive performers of educational policies’ (Rabikowska, 2009, p. 245) and ensure that complex and intersectional considerations never be ignored or simplified. After all, a radical critical philosophy of values, illusions and actions requires that all assumptions, beliefs and desires be continually interrogated and that one’s own political leanings also require critical interrogation. This approach is even more important when recognizing that internalized concepts of social development may render even ‘liberal social movements suspect because liberal and oppressive social forces alike are most often based on very similar notions of development’ (Sheehan, 2003, p. 3) – sentiments echoed earlier when Grande noted how the ‘end game’ of human liberation has contributed to the exploitation of our planet and its resources (2015, p. 31). That being said, perhaps the idea of the ‘end game’ is the primary problem, rather than the desire for human liberation itself. Because there is no ‘end goal’ in a counter-critical pedagogy, liberation shifts from an abstract individual aspiration to an ever-evolving concrete, holistic and community-focused process. For this reason, applying counter-critical pedagogy to future curriculum design requires significant patience and diligence to meaningfully incorporate a community’s multiple skills, specializations, experiences and methods into a learning process.

Whether developing a personal strategy for life-long learning rooted in holistic wisdom and Indigenous philosophy or a performing arts curriculum in higher education intertwined with a specialist-apprentice cultivating model of learning, we can strive to integrate critical praxis into our day-to-day way of being in and with our world. I would even argue that we have an ethical responsibility – both individually and in formal education – to strive toward a more symbiotic relationship between learning and living. Thus, of primary importance, especially in the short term, will not be whether every component of a curriculum succeeds to engage with all – or even most – of the principles articulated in the manifesto and achieve Freire’s Utopian ‘pedagogy of all people in the process of permanent liberation’ (1970/2000, p. 54). Rather, we must focus on the processes of enacting positive change as we collectively strive toward a shared and ever-changing critical horizon.

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Kevin Skelton

Kevin Skelton has a multifaceted career performing, directing, choreographing, teaching and researching. Equally at home on the concert and operatic stage, Kevin specializes in seventeenth-century music and experimental music theatre with a particular interest in combining classical singing and contemporary dance. He has created several videos and performances under the auspices of his own company ātmā music theatre and performed with such renowned companies as Opera Atelier, Boston Early Music Festival, LOD, Muziektheater Transparant, ISH, Nederlandse Reisopera, SPAC (Japan) and Sasha Waltz & Guests. The recipient of numerous awards and scholarships, including grants from the Canada Council for the Arts, Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada and Ontario Arts Council, Kevin has completed graduate studies in voice, conducting, musicology, choreography and theatre having studied at the University of Toronto, Indiana University, Oxford University and contemporary dance school PARTS in Brussels. www.kevinskelton.com

Notes

1. In a graphic representation of the middle field as it pertains to interdisciplinary activities within the performing arts, Bryon includes: performing, doing, making, reading, designing, constructing, researching, and knowing (2018, p. 41).

2. (Nelson, 2013, pp. 41–47) Nelson’s development of these terms was largely influenced by Gilbert Ryle’s conceptualizations of ‘knowing how’ and ‘knowing that’ (Ryle, 1949).

3. In Pedagogy of the Oppressed, Freire draws direct comparisons between the ‘oppressed’ and the ‘colonized’ referencing the work of Frantz Fanon (1968) and Memmi et al. (1967).

4. In performing arts learning contexts, the embodied/tacit dialogue includes cues indicating general receptivity and recognition (facial expression, body language, etc.) as well as more objective changes in vocal, physical, or theatrical efficiency and/or expression.