I suspect many of you find "Silence" as a way of knowing alien, especially now as you enter your final years of college. Can you ever remember feeling the sense of powerlessness that Belenky et. al. describe, one that involves a kind of blind fealty to authority: "Just tell me what to do?" These are women whose sense of self is entirely dependent on the judgement of others, and who are flummoxed at the simple question: "How would you describe yourself?" I thought the description of how language was perceived as a "weapon" to "separate and diminish" rather than "connect and empower" people was especially poignant (24). Does that resonate it with at any point in your life?
"Received knowers," on the other hand, probably sound more familiar. We described this set of beliefs as "dualism" in class the other day, one that involves assuming there is "one right answer," and relying on authorities to tell these knowers what that is. But Belenky et. al. expand on this in really interesting ways, suggesting that "Received knowers" actively listen (maybe desperately listen) to hear others say things that they agree with, and they actively seek out these kinds of friendships. Received knowers had no interest in distinguishing themselves from others, though later these friendships could be "transformative." These are people who "feel confused and inadequate when the teacher requires that they do original work" (40) since all knowledge comes from outside of them. They receive rather than make. Finally, and most interesting to me, was the discussion about how influential mentors were in helping "Received knowers" find a sense of self. They didn't feel "smart" until someone told them they were (49).
Can you see yourself in any of this? When? And what happened to change things for you?
I see a lot of this in my girlfriend. She had a rough childhood and was silent for a long time, and now has begun to speak, but has a difficult time believing in herself.
ReplyDeleteMy parents always told me how smart I was, so I think I came into believing it more easily. As for the dualism, I think I've been steadily working on dismantling that mindset over the last several years.
Just last year, I wrote a paper that was asking the question "is honey vegan?" I had an interview with a beekeeper (who is now a good friend of mine) and we had a great conversation. I learned about the love he feels for his bees, and the painstaking care he gives them. We talked about how important local beekeeping is ecologically. I ultimately decided that honey isn't technically vegan, but that the conversation shouldn't end there. He said this thing about how we should always challenge dogma regardless of its context, and that has really stuck with me as a powerful way to see things.
When I try to have this conversation with most vegans, I get a pretty hostile response that adds up to "WRONG, WRONG, WRONG." I used to be in the same boat, because once upon a time, someone told me that honey isn't vegan. I think I'll continue to uncover things like this about myself well into the foreseeable future.
Dr. B,
ReplyDeleteThe description you mention on page 24 is so powerful and necessary for understanding the whole piece. There are many different obstacles these women face in their journey of knowing, but the most central to the argument is they are isolated by language-- they have experienced it as a weapon rather than a tool. I am privileged in that I have never seen language as a weapon or isolating influence, but I mention in my post I feel like I entered college as a "received knower," in a way. In high school and as a freshmen I took pride in similarities between my friends and I. I agreed with everything and did not think much about my own thoughts, ideas, and opinions. I feel like college has been a slow process of disentangling myself with others to find my own truth and distinctive voice.