There is Fiction in the Space Between

I recently passed the 37 year mark as a postdoc, faculty member and/or senior administrator in higher ed.  As I approach thoughts of retirement, I also reflect on the feeling that I am so much wiser now than I was 37 years ago, but also in many ways I am the dumbest and most naïve I have ever been. 

I also have been thinking about narratives, particularly those affecting higher education right now, and how difficult it is to change those narratives. My thoughts were brought on by an email I read from a senior administrator to a faculty colleague last week, and by a column by David Brooks of the NY Times, (who I read every week with anticipation), "Sins of the educated class." I thought his use of high level generalization to explain differences of students at elite vs. "non-elite" universities was a clever organizing principle but was wrong (see below where I discuss my own flaws). I actually made a gentle comment to that effect, and for the first time after leaving more than 100 comments on NY Times Op-Eds, my comment made it into the "reader's picks" of comments on the NY Times digital site, with over 800 recommendations by other readers, and in the top ten most recommended. I was surprised because I have trouble saying much that is coherent in 1,500 words, which is all they allow. So, I patted myself on the back and let myself think I might be on to something.

Daniel Kahneman's book "Thinking Fast and Slow" was one of a few books that truly changed and focused my perspective.  It's effect was more profound because at that time,  Tracy Chapman's song lyric "There is fiction in the space between" in her song "Telling Stories" was an earworm. I was also then dean of College of Humanities and Sciences at VCU and was connecting with faculty, donors and alumni of VCU's creative writing program.  These together formed the basis of a ten minute graduation speech that to me was one of the more profound things I ever wrote- I doubt any one else thought so.  

This blog piece is about what Daniel Kahneman termed system 1 and system 2 thinking, narratives/stories that are being told and perpetuated about higher education, and the fiction in the space between those narratives and reality. It also is about the challenge that the human brain has in using cognitive "system 2" to examine the simple stories created by cognitive system 1.

For the purposes of this blog, I make the following assumptions- true or not:  1) Because humans evolved to quickly assess danger, as well as friend vs foe, and because we evolved communicating our knowledge about the world through stories, we are really good at taking a few data points and creating a narrative. I term this equivalent to system 1 thinking (Our brains’ fast, automatic, unconscious, and emotional response to situations and stimuli.); 2) Once we create a narrative it is really hard to change that narrative. Changing that narrative requires activating System 2 (The slow, effortful, and logical mode in which our brains operate when solving more complicated problems), which can be difficult because it is easy to be cognitively lazy; And, (3) for whatever reason, the cultures I have lived in don't reward people for adjusting their narratives.

In my graduation speech, I remembered exemplifying this concept by thinking about a graph that correlates two variables (X and Y). Suppose in my research I collect several data points for each variable, plot the data, and I see a strong relationship between the the two variables. I then develop a narrative (perhaps as an hypothesis) to explain the relationship that tells a story about those two variables.  Also suppose that in my graph there are few data points that don't fit the relationship of the others. I love my story so I assume those are outliers or perhaps just scientific slop. 

As I continue to collect data, the relationship between the variables gets fuzzier as more and more data do not fit on my regression line. That leads to the question,  "how many data points that are not consistent with my narrative do I need to be willing to change my narrative?" In science a somewhat arbitrary p-value might set that answer. But, in most people's minds, the more intellectually, emotionally, or politically invested they are in their original narrative, the more resistant they will be to changing it, even in spite of data to the contrary. Having one's narratives challenged can also be extremely threatening.

Every university aims in our general education programs and in our curriculum to help students develop critical thinking skills. In my graduation speech, I used the example above to discuss the concept of critical thinking. The way I thought about critical thinking was doing the work to activate system 2 allowing cognitive processes to correct errors caused by system 1- in this case recognizing that when I looked at all the data points, I would change the narrative of the relationship between X and Y, perhaps even to one that has no relationship.

The irony is that most of us in higher education, and people in general, hold on dearly to some narratives in spite of data to the contrary. Me included. 

I think the reason I feel so dumb and naïve now is related to examining some of my deeply held narratives. For example, as provost and dean I was quick to create narratives about a university and its students. I made generalization about the challenges and the character of students, the perspectives of faculty members, the value of research, and the perspectives of administrators. A lot of those narratives were simply hyperbole.

In one example, getting to know about 1,000 students since I returned to teaching in 2021 caused my narratives to fall apart because there was too much fiction in the space between reality and my story.  The cloud of points led to one simple conclusion: students at my university (UNCG) are heterogenous and defy meaningful generalizations.  Their personal stories are, well, very personal. 

The growth of wisdom with age has made it easier for me to ask questions, try to listen instead of talking, and as I listen I try hard not to track how what they are saying fits my narratives. The more I listen, the wiser I feel. And with that increased wisdom comes clarity about the fiction in the space between- i.e., I feel dumber and more naïve. 

I think I wrote this blog partly to admit to my own flaws. I also wrote the blog as away to heal me from being sick of the seemingly endless attempts of university leaders, politicians and consulting firms to manage by anecdotes and data-free narratives. And, as an autistic person, I am also sick and tired of having people ascribe motives to my actions and reactions when they know nothing about me or how I perceive the world around me, particularly my depressed ability to read other people.

I had started this blog hoping to talk about the large amount of fiction in the spaces between the narratives developed by UNCG administrators about how hard faculty work and motives behind our concern, and how strongly they defend that narrative in face of inconsistent data.  It is as if they completely shut-off cognitive system 2 and had no interest in exposing their narratives to critical thinking.

Discussions in previous blogs that point to messages and op-eds written by our senior administrators point to their dismissal of a large portion of faculty work and ascribing false motivations to concerns that have been raised,. That narrative was created and perpetuated without ever engaging in a conversation where they asked questions and listened to responses. 

UNCG's leadership seems to project a strongly held narrative that faculty are lazy and blind to reality. We could track all of our time, effort, our reading about higher education, and outcomes at the micro-level but that probably would not change the narrative. The only thing that would change their narrative, maybe, is if we whole heartedly agreed with all of their narratives.

I thought of a different way to describe my work effort that perhaps might resonate with those with an MBA.  Next semester I will essentially have 375 direct reports. I meet with those people as a group in-person at least 3 hours/ week and individually as needed.  I will lead those individuals with a vision for learning. I will assess their work and commitment to the course, and give them feedback every week. If they miss more than two classes and don't tell me, I will reach out to ask what is going on. I will take time to know them in class in through our learning management system. And, I will be there for all of them who need to speak to me about the class or challenges in their life. I will also do everything I can to help them reach their full potential consistent with the University's mission. 

There is no management book that would suggest it is a good idea to have more than 8-12 direct reports. And, there is no job in the business world that would assign someone 375 direct reports as 55% of their work effort. Nor would they expect the 70-80 hour work week that might take.

It is tempting for all of us to create narratives about group's of people that we know little about. This is, of course,  central to the challenges we have in creating an equitable and inclusive society. Academics are not immune.  But, it is quite tempting for non-academics and administrators to create narratives about academics because they all went to school and maybe even gave a lecture in a class.

They may not understand, however, the level of effort needed to be committed to the success of students.  They may not respect that intellectual effort and cognitive skills that one develops when completing a PhD or the competitive world that researchers live in.  They may not recognize that grant-funded researchers can be running important small businesses with often more than $1,000,000 in annual revenue supporting numerous employees and doing this as a part-time job in addition to changing their field and/or people's lives. And, they may not recognize that their narratives about the motives for dissent and disagreement are not  self-serving but rooted in a passion for universities founded on a relatively deep understanding of the organization's mission and the challenges it faces.

I had hoped this blog would be more profound. I suppose it is kind of whine. But, it is a reminder to me, and hopefully to readers, to not be afraid to challenge your narratives by understanding whether the data you used to create them is valid, or whether you suffer from confirmation bias by rejecting data inconsistent with your narrative. May we all be willing to activate our system 2, enjoy the poetry and music of Tracy Chapman, and perhaps in the future write, sing or say something profound. 

I will have to keep trying.

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