Critical Reflections on Professional Education for the ...dro.deakin.edu.au/eserv/DU:30023630/kentish-criticalreflections-vol1... · Critical Reflections on Professional Education

Critical Reflections on Professional

Education for the Environment

Volume 1

BY Barry Kentish BSc (Hons.), PGCE, MSc., MEd.

Submitted in fulfilment of the requirements for the degree of

Doctor of Education

Deakin University Faculty of Education

August 2003

___________________________________________________________________________________________ Critical Reflections on Professional Education for the Environment

DEAKIN UNIVERSITY

CANDIDATE DECLARATION

I certify that the thesis entitled: Critical Reflections on Professional Education for the Environment submitted for the degree of Doctorate of Education is the result of my own work and that where reference is made to the work of others, due acknowledgment is given. I also certify that any material in the thesis which has been accepted for a degree or diploma by any other university or institution is identified in the text. Full Name.................................................………………………………….

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Signed ..................................................................................………………. Date......................................................................................……………….


DEAKIN UNIVERSITY

ACCESS TO THESIS

I am the author of the thesis entitled: Critical Reflections on Professional Education for the Environment submitted for the degree of Doctorate of Education. This thesis may be made available for consultation, loan and limited copying in accordance with the Copyright Act 1968. Full Name.................................................………………………………….

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Signed ..................................................................................………………. Date......................................................................................……………….

Contents


i

Contents Contents..................................................................................................................1

Tables.................................................................................................................... iii

Acknowledgements................................................................................................1

Abstract ..................................................................................................................2

Chapter 1 – Contexts of the research ..................................................................6 1.0 Doctorate of Education – as a professional doctorate ...................................6 1.1 Self-reflection, criticality and this research...................................................6

1.1.1 Personal reflection .................................................................................9 1.2 Evaluation from the ‘inside’........................................................................13 1.3 Locating theories and practices emerging from my own professional circumstances ....................................................................................................16 1.4 Searching for an Australian land ethic for professional environmental education ...........................................................................................................23

1.4.1 A different land ethic or land ethics .....................................................23 1.5 Research questions and my approach to the EdD folio...............................26

1.5.1 Research questions ...............................................................................26 1.5.2 Structure of the folio.............................................................................29

1.6 Summary .....................................................................................................31

Chapter 2 – Setting the scene: What is environmental learning?...................33 2.0 Introduction .................................................................................................33 2.1 Learning for the environment – contested states in a disciplinary world....33

2.1.1 Differences in environmental learning.................................................34 2.1.2 Environmental studies ..........................................................................36 2.1.3 Environmental science .........................................................................40 2.1.4 Environmental management.................................................................44 2.1.5 Environmental education .....................................................................48

2.2 Summary and relationship to the dissertation .............................................63

Chapter 3 –Leopold’s contribution to environmental education....................66 3.0 Introduction .................................................................................................66 3.1 Aldo Leopold – the person ..........................................................................67 3.2 The Land Ethic and beyond.........................................................................68 3.3 Critiques and extensions to The Land Ethic ................................................73 3.4 Leopold and environmental education ........................................................82 3.5 Summary .....................................................................................................85

Chapter 4 – Theoretical perspectives and methodology..................................87 4.0 Introduction .................................................................................................87 4.1 What is an appropriate epistemology for this research?..............................88

4.1.1 Objectivism and positivism...................................................................89 4.1.2 Epistemologies different from objectivism ...........................................92

Contents


ii

4.1.3 Interpretivism .......................................................................................95 4.1.4 Critical theory ......................................................................................97

4.2 Methodology – critical ethnography and action research .........................102 4.2.1 Validity of methodology, methods and inferences..............................106

4.3 Which methods? ........................................................................................108 4.3.1 Unobtrusive methods..........................................................................108 4.3.2 Self-reflection and holistic reflexivity.................................................108 4.3.3 Focus groups ......................................................................................109 4.3.4 Interviews ...........................................................................................110

4.3.4.1 Types of interviews .....................................................................110 4.3.4.2 The question of how many subjects ............................................111 4.3.4.3 Question Type .............................................................................111 4.3.4.4 Participants ..................................................................................112 4.3.4.5 Interview questions......................................................................113 4.3.4.6 Validity claims of interviews ......................................................118 4.3.4.7 Research ethics ............................................................................120

4.4 Analysis .....................................................................................................121 4.5 Summary ...................................................................................................123

Chapter 5 – Exploring professional practice: the nature of oppression in professional education and practice ................................................................124

5.0 Oppression as a theme...............................................................................124 5.1 Students’ voices.........................................................................................128

5.1.1 ‘Getting the piece of paper’................................................................129 5.1.2 Increasing self-confidence..................................................................134

5.2 Staff voices ................................................................................................136 5.3 Professionals’ voices .................................................................................140 5.4 Environmentalists’ voices .........................................................................143 5.5 Roles for science in professional education and practice..........................146

5.5.1 Students’ views ...................................................................................146 5.5.2 Teachers’ views ..................................................................................148 5.5.3 Professionals’ views ...........................................................................154 5.5.4 Environmentalists’ views....................................................................157

5.6 Summary: different worlds........................................................................158

Chapter 6 – Theories informing a land ethic or land ethics..........................162 6.0 Introduction ...............................................................................................162 6.1 Theorising on the familiar .........................................................................163 6.2 Theorising about valuing the field experience ..........................................165 6.3 Theorising on the need for change and making a difference ....................174 6.4 Theorising about a passion for learning ....................................................175 6.5 Summary ...................................................................................................177

Chapter 7 – Searching for an Australian land ethic or land ethics ..............181

7.0 Reflections on the research questions .......................................................181 7.1 My own theories and practices: a review ..................................................184 7.2 An ecological way to understand the land as a partner – changes in my practice ............................................................................................................191

Contents


iii

7.3 ‘Places’ and a language of possibility and opportunity.............................195 7.5 Conclusions ...............................................................................................200

References ..........................................................................................................204

Appendix 1 - Plain language statement ...........................................................232

Appendix 2- Deakin University Ethics Committee agreement to undertake research ..............................................................................................................233

Tables Table 4.1 Questions asked of interviewees .........................................................114 Table 4.1 Questions asked of interviewees (cont.)..............................................115 Table 4.1 Questions asked of interviewees (cont.)..............................................116 Table 4.2 Relationships between interview questions and research questions ...117 Table 4.2 Relationships between interview questions and research questions

(cont.) ..........................................................................................................118 Table 5.1 Students ideas of what affects self-confidence ...................................135 Table 5.2 Students ideas of what affects self-confidence (cont.) ........................136

Acknowledgements


1

Acknowledgements I wish to acknowledge the assistance of my supervisor Assoc. Prof. Ian Robottom

for his interest in this research, his criticality and intellectual support. This work

would not have been possible without the continuous support of my wife,

Sheilagh, and our children. I also take this opportunity to thank those people

involved as participants in this research, as well as the support from my

colleagues in the School of Science and Engineering, University of Ballarat.

Finally, I must acknowledge that the inspiration for this work evolved from my

initial reading many years ago of Aldo Leopold’s The Land Ethic. Without the

intellectual stimulation provided by that particular text this work may never have

been possible. I can only recommend that we all take the opportunity to read this

short essay in our favourite ‘place’.

Abstract


2

Abstract Evidence exists to suggest that in Australia many environmental issues remain

unresolved even though the community has apparently become more

environmentally aware. Although universities have undertaken responsibility to

educate future environmental professionals to address this concern, there are

numerous tensions underpinning professional environmental education. This

folio explores my perceptions of these tensions and their effect on my

professional practice as an academic. I refer to this as the relationships among

theories and practices experienced in my work.

Four perspectives are taken in this research as I appraise professional

environmental education.

This Dissertation (Vol. 1) focuses on views informing my professional

environmental education, inclusive of my own reflexivity. From interviews with

students, academics, professionals and environmentalists, and other sources of

information, I consider various tensions arising from what I regard as

dehumanising social and political forces. The conventional elite and authoritative

roles for universities and professionals dominate most participants’ understanding

of professional activities. Professional practices often endorse these conventions.

Juxtaposed to this authoritative view of professional education, and prescribing a

different interpretation for professional practice, is my theoretical position

informed by criticality and a need to challenge the status quo.

I suggest that Leopold’s The Land Ethic is an exemplar of criticality and a

suitable basis for examining professional environmental education. The Land

Ethic is used as a foundation to my thesis because it encapsulates suitable

arguments to examine ideologies supportive of my understanding of professional

environmental education. My thesis investigates the nature of participants’

(including my own) understanding of their land ethic or land ethics suggesting

that interpretations of ‘place’ provide an emotional and ethical appreciation of the

land. I suggest that ‘place’, as a culturally derived construct, is central to the

Abstract


3

concept of a land ethic or land ethics, and a characteristic of an environmental

ethic or ethics.

To incorporate these different perspectives into professional environmental

education perhaps land could be viewed, not just as a ‘client’ as in Schön’s (1983)

reflective contract, but expanded so that professionals form ethical partnerships

with the land, which implies a greater equity between roles and responsibilities.

This perspective challenges elite interpretations of the roles for environmental

professionals by asking them to be advocates for their land, and to work with the

land.

Searching for my own land ethic or land ethics has promoted a discourse that

encompasses a language of possibility and opportunity. This language of

possibility and opportunity stands in contrast to the constraining language of

reproduction that has promoted stasis. My reflexivity, a holistic and ecological

view that in this thesis is an expression of my searching for a land ethic or land

ethics, has encouraged me to develop critical and ethical questions to challenge

my professional environmental education practice. As such the process of

theorising about my theory and practice has been personally transformative as it

encourages my development as a ‘critical person’.

Elective 1 (Vol. 2 ) reviews public information promoting a selected range of

Australian environmental courses. Analysis demonstrates environmental courses

are mainly technocratic, promoting technical-scientific and vocational

perspectives. This orientation, I consider, is aligned to an emerging corporate

agenda as universities attempt to be more accountable to the government within a

competitive market dominated by economic interests.

Elective 2 (Vol. 2 ) considers the providers of professional environmental

education where I explore a diversity of tensions undermining current academic

life found in many Australian universities. I suggest that corporatisation and

vocationalisation dominate university culture to such an extent that any

examination of professional environmental education is prejudiced. Professional

environmental education appears to be biased toward maintaining the status quo.

Abstract


4

My conclusion is that professional environmental education does not promote

graduates as ‘critical persons’ (Barnett 1997), and this may affect graduates’

understandings of the purpose and aspirations of environmental professionalism.

I suggest that elite and technical understandings of professionalism may affect the

professionals’ ability to implement environmental policy.

Australia has an admirable record of developing environmental policy. However,

public concern about a lack of resolution for many environmental issues suggests

that professionals may be struggling to successfully implement policy in any

meaningful way. Such challenges for environmental professionals may be a

result of a professional environmental education that does not engage graduates

within ideas that professional practice may require community participation and

collaboration as key themes.

Elective 3 (Vol. 2) is a case study investigating the development of conservation

policies by the Ballarat community. The case demonstrates how the dominant

social paradigm informs community views about environmental issues

emphasising a technical emphasis and hierarchical arrangements of power and

authority between local government and the community. The community view

appears to be that environmental action should be mainly individualistic and

behaviourist, which I suggest may have resulted from a technical framework for

environmental knowledge. The community view of environmental issues

resonates with the dominant view promoted by professional environmental

education in most universities.

In conclusion, my thesis is a representation of my challenges to critically engage

in possible relationships among theories, practices and circumstances in my

workplace, with a view to addressing what I perceive as a ‘gap’ between my own

theory and practice. The motivation for this critical examination is to question the

purpose of my professional environmental education practice in relation to the

challenges of my emergent environmental ideology. The difficulty of promoting

my critical theorising in a traditional small science faculty, within a corporate

university, with my scientific background, is acknowledged. Nevertheless, based

Abstract


5

on my own experiences, I recommend that academics involved in professional

environmental education should be encouraged to explore relationships between

their own theories and practices in their own professional settings. I suggest that

the search for a land ethic or land ethics, and one’s ‘place’ in the ‘land’, can be an

effective platform for this process.

Chapter 1 – Contexts of the research


6

Chapter 1 – Contexts of the research 1.0 Doctorate of Education – as a professional doctorate Although it is growing in acceptance there is often some confusion as to different

interpretations of a professional doctorate (Brennan 1995; Brennan et al. 2002). I

take this opportunity to explain how I conceptualise the EdD program based on

the documentation provided by Deakin University. Reference to the Guide to

Candidature: Higher Degrees by Research 2001/2002 shows that the EdD

‘involves a significant contribution to the development and understanding of

educational practice’ (Deakin University 2001/2001, p. 99). The EdD is related to

the practice of education to demonstrate personal praxis – that nexus between

practice and theory. As Fagan (1996) suggests ‘praxis means learning through

simultaneous action and reflection’ (p. 13). My doctoral program offered me

opportunities to critically engage with my understanding of, what are for me,

contentious professional issues in my workplace.

Evaluation of this research is through examination of a written folio that ‘should

demonstrate critical relevance, validity and the development potential of the

research to the practice of education and training’ (Deakin University 2001/2001,

p. 99). To meet these guidelines the folio includes:

• selective and critical reviews of relevant published research (Electives

and Chapters 2 and 3);

• critical accounts of the methodology (Chapter 4);

• original substantive evidence relating to the program under investigation

(Electives and Chapters 5 and 6); and

• evidence of relevance to professional practice in the field (Electives and

Chapter 7).

1.1 Self-reflection, criticality and this research Research training can be considered from many different perspectives. The

evidence provided in this folio is a product of my investigations of research

questions where I consider relationships between my theory and my practice in



7

my circumstances of work. Some models of research suggest researchers can

differentiate and distance themselves from the subject of their enquiry. I reject

these models as inapplicable to this self-reflective and critical endeavour. It

would be invalid if I suggested that my professional experiences have not

influenced how I conceptualised, formulated, considered, examined and re-

examined the research questions. I come to this research not with a tabula rasa

but as a reflective professional who has worked for more than 25 years in higher

education (see Section 1.1.1). For me reflection is not a process of stasis but

engaged in here as a platform from which my future action can be considered (see

Freire 1972).

This research explores my experiences and the research questions they inform.

This reflection-in-action approach, based on Schön (1983, 1987), is central to my

effectiveness as a professional; however I am cognisant of Schön’s (1987) words

and I have attempted to address his concerns:

Like knowing-in-action, reflection-in-action is a process we can deliver without being able to say what we are doing. Skill improvisers often become tongue-tied or give obvious inadequate accounts when asked to say what they do. Clearly, it is one thing to be able to reflect-in-action and quite another to be able to reflect on our reflection-in-action so as to produce a good verbal description of it; and it is still another thing to be able to reflect on the resulting description.

(Schön 1987, p. 31)

This folio addresses Schön’s (1987) requirements for reflecting on reflection-in-

action but recognises Barnett’s (1997, p. 39) assertions that ‘We are all reflective

practitioners now’ and ‘the idea of the reflective practitioner may be ‘reflective’,

but it is thoroughly uncritical’. My research orientation is my attempt to be

critical of my reflecting on my reflection-in-action. This resonates with Zuber-

Skerritt’s (1993) account of a description of action research.

In this folio I have employed reflection on reflection-in-action in various ways.

These different perspectives for reflection have all contributed to my criticality. I

have, as a practitioner, been reflective on my practice as proposed by Schön

(1983, 1987) and the professional practice of others. I have been reflective of



8

wider social practices, which has enhanced my socially critical perspectives (see

Fien 1993). In the Electives I reflected on the relationships between bureaucratic

structures, their agents and actions, and identified what I regarded as tensions

between what ought to happen and what does take place. To some extent

concentrating on identifying ‘tensions’ has encouraged an oppositional logic (us /

them; ought / is; technical / critical; vocational / professional). The identification

of these pluralities appears to conflict with the more holistic perspective that I am

promoting (see Chapter 7). However, my view of holism (ecological or social) is

not prejudiced by ideas of balance or equilibrium. Holism is used as a term that

asks for wider perspectives and a broader view to be considered. My views of the

tensions that I have developed are that they may encourage a critical reasoning to

challenge the dominance of any perspective. As such these perspectives should

not be seen as oppositional (one view against the other) but as different views. In

this thesis I promote alternative views, with appropriate arguments, to challenge

the status quo.

My understanding of criticality is based on Barnett’s (1997) views. Criticality, as

defined by Barnett (1997, p. 179), is a human disposition of engagement where it

is recognised that the object of attention could be other than it is. He considers

three forms of criticality in relation to three domains of expression: critical

reason, critical self-reflection and critical action. My interpretation is that

criticality provides a possibility for the individual to question and perhaps contest

the dominant social paradigm. Similar to action research, there maybe a cycle of

critical reasoning informing critical self-reflection, which promotes critical action

and itself enhances further critical reasoning. Nevertheless, the links between

reasoning, self-reflection and action are very much dependent on social and

political circumstances. I do not presume that critical reasoning or critical self-

reflection (as promoted in this thesis) will lead directly to critical action, except to

comment that Freire (1972) suggests that reflection is itself a form of action. To

clarify and frame my own social and political perspectives I now turn to a

personal reflection on my own history.



9

1.1.1 Personal reflection This reflective section describes my personal history to contextualise how I

arrived at the research topic for this folio.

I grew up in the United Kingdom (U.K.) at a time, in the 1960s, when there was

expansion in developments in science and technology. My father was a

metallurgist and because of his own career in the aerospace industry encouraged

me to develop skills in science and technology. This influenced my schooling at

the local grammar school. As far as my father was concerned the sole purpose of

school was to develop foundational skills in mathematics, physics and chemistry.

For him, the humanities and social sciences were of little relevance to any

improvement in society!

My interest in biology developed in primary school and was influenced by a

Grade 6 teacher. My recollections of the curriculum were that it was dominated

by natural history, no doubt because of the teacher’s interest in wildlife

photography. I went on to specialise in zoology and botany at secondary school

and later at university. As minors to my undergraduate zoology degree I took

courses in botany and psychology. It was ‘normal’ for zoologists to study botany

but not psychology. My interest in psychology demonstrated a growing interest

in understanding people whom I found intrinsically interesting.

After university I went on to undertake the Graduate Certificate in Education at

the Institute of Education, University of London. The course gave me the

opportunity to study psychology, sociology, history and philosophy of education.

These subjects were a refreshing change from the technical constraints of a

science degree. Lectures, tutorials and readings provided new avenues to explore.

The questions posed were problematic and could not be resolved from within my

scientific training. It was at this time, due to material presented by the

educational philosopher R. S. Peters (1970), when I started to question the value

and purpose of education. Education appeared to be more than my own

experiences.



10

My first teaching appointment was in Australia where I taught biology, science

and mathematics in a secondary school in a northern suburb of Melbourne. I

enjoyed teaching and still do. The catchment area for the school was dominated

by what was referred to at that time as ‘new Australians’. I felt some affinity with

these migrant families as I too came to appreciate what was considered as

Australian culture.

After just over two years teaching in the same school I returned to England.

Although the original purpose was to travel I gravitated towards postgraduate

study (Master of Science) and a one-year course in ecology at the University of

Durham. The intellectual stimulation of the course was challenging as I

attempted to inculcate myself once more into a scientific research ethos, which

was never challenged. For my research thesis I studied the breeding behaviour of

the Common Wren.

On completion of this course I returned to Australia where I took up a position

teaching ecology at the Ballarat College of Advanced Education. This institution

prided itself on its ability to deliver applied courses: a term I never quite

understood. Although the structure of the institution has gone through many

guises since my appointment (Beggs-Sunter 1994; Bowers 1970), with a range of

internal turmoils (Kemmis & Maconachie 1998; Woolley 1977), I still teach

ecology with many of the same staff with whom I was appointed.

My research interests were maintained on appointment, although not encouraged

by Ballarat College of Advanced Education (CAE), and I enrolled in a Doctor in

Philosophy (PhD) course at La Trobe University to study the ecology of the

Common Blackbird. My original enthusiasm was high but I found the

requirements of research an excessive workload. The research became arduous

and dominated, not by intellectual questions, but by an examination of sampling

strategies. I struggled with this research topic, and its relevance to my

professional demands, and my waning interest was a clear indication that I was

not going to complete this degree.



11

I spent some time deciding on a new research direction and returned to education,

because this was my professional interest. This was a positive move because it

provided me with avenues to examine my practice, something I always

questioned because I was unable to resolve the tension between the vocational

orientation of the CAE and Peters’ (1970) aspirations for education. I undertook

preliminary education units at University of Melbourne to update my knowledge

in education and moved seamlessly into a Master of Education (MEd) research

degree.

Researching and writing the research thesis, Professional education and

competencies of Victorian foresters (Kentish 1994), was enjoyable. My

satisfaction was due to a shift in research emphasis from the sciences to the social

science and a more introspective research approach. A conclusion to my MEd

research highlighted the need for a greater alignment between forestry education

and professional forestry practice.

This research was quantitative. I aimed the outcomes at influencing forestry

education, which seemed to have a pure research, as opposed to a practice and

context, orientation. For my research to be effective I needed to locate the

methodology within the foresters’ own scientific and technical professional space.

Data were collected using questionnaires. Of greater interest to me were the

foresters’ answers to open-ended questions. These answers demonstrated clear

links between the practice of professional foresters, particularly the older and

non-university educated, and their emotional relationship with the forest as an

entity. In the MEd thesis I concluded that university-based forestry education was

mainly technical and did not critically engage with many of the professional

foresters’ concerns.

My experience at the University of Ballarat indicated that similar tensions also

existed; however, reviewing one’s own professional practice in this university

was uncommon, particularly in science. There was a much greater acceptance,

and social pressure, that a scientist (a label I am given by virtue of the content I

teach) should research science. For my colleagues there is a clear distinction



12

between the authority and status of science research compared to research about

one’s own practice.

I was interested in higher education because this represented the greatest

proportion of my efforts and was constantly challenging. I questioned the

vocational mantra of the applied science degree course at Ballarat CAE and could

not agree with my peers, who saw tertiary education as synonymous with

vocational education. For me there seemed to be a mismatch between the

educational philosophies I was exposed to at the Institute of Education and my

professional practice at the University of Ballarat.

At Ballarat the course’s aim appeared to ‘fit’ graduates to employment and course

evaluation was based on graduate employment statistics. Numerous experiences

with professional environmental managers left me critical of their practice and I

felt that any professional education that I could offer should be more than simply

training for an occupation. I wanted students to be critical of their future

profession.

The move from the MEd to a professional doctorate in education seemed a natural

progression. I was interested in questions relating to the appropriateness of

professional environmental education as offered through the BAppSc

(Environmental Management) degree at the University of Ballarat. I wanted to

critically review my practice because I was aware that my practice did not align

with my evolving theorising about professional environmental education. I was

now confident enough to consider my own course in terms of relationships among

theories, practices and professional circumstances.

The course, BAppSc (Environmental Management), in which I teach and

currently co-ordinate, has a 20-year history at the University of Ballarat. This

course has been promoted as having a strong science foundation. In the course I

have taught a number of units in ecology and ecological methods. These science-

based units have dominated most of my teaching and have been considered my

‘area of expertise’. In 1997 there was an extensive course review, and although

much of the content of the units was retained, I was successful in promoting a



13

‘new’ direction for the course with the development of units in environmental

ethics and philosophy and protected area management. The course was beginning

to be re-orientated towards environmental management (there was a re-badging of

the course name), although there was little consensus as to what this term actually

meant. Nevertheless, it was assumed that this term would enhance the course’s

vocational ‘flavour’ and therefore be more attractive to students.

It was my development of the unit in environmental philosophy that was seminal

for me. Writing this unit provided personal challenges as I moved from my

‘comfort zone’ of ecology and had to critique the ‘purpose’ of the unit. The basis

for the challenges was that some staff and many students saw environmental

philosophy as lacking any applied, vocational or practical application. In

addition, the promotion of philosophy and aspects of social sciences (in the unit

on protected area management) was an anathema for many of the science staff

who held non-science disciplines in low esteem. Nevertheless, I was convinced

after completing my MEd that this science course had to expand its boundaries if

it was to be relevant to professional practice. When I commenced development of

the unit I started on a journey of research (as action research) and personal

reflection that was both engaging and personally empowering. To some extent

this thesis is one view of that journey.

1.2 Evaluation from the ‘inside’ For Kemmis (1982, p. 222) evaluation is ‘the process of marshalling information

and argument which enable interested individuals and groups to participate in the

critical debate about a specific program’. Concerns raised about the purpose of

any evaluative process and its summative product frequently relate to questions

about validity. Kemmis and Robottom (1981) identified that a lack of suitable

guidelines for curriculum evaluation has created at least two problems. Firstly

there is often ambiguity about the evaluation process and its product for

stakeholders in the evaluation process; and secondly discussion about evaluation

often rests solely within a community of professional evaluators.



14

These authors suggest:

Given the complexity of innovation evaluation contexts, it is often inappropriate to employ evaluation approaches which depend solely upon the effectiveness of the programme defined in terms of pre-specified standards or criteria. Such evaluation designs tend to be insensitive both to the evolution of the innovation likely to occur during the course of study, and to the more subjective, qualitative contributions that participants in the innovation evaluation have to offer.

(Kemmis & Robottom 1981, p. 151)

There is concern that the authority to make valid value judgements about

curriculum issues may be jeopardised if evaluators do not consider participants’

views. These authors suggest that all aspects of the evaluative process need to be

negotiated and underpinned by ethical considerations such as fairness and

honesty. This approach has led to the creation of principles for evaluation

describing this ethical dilemma (Kemmis & Robottom 1981). In a subsequent

publication Kemmis (1982) outlines seven evaluation principles which are

summarised as:

• Rationality as reasonableness – evaluation should illuminate any

reasoning that guides program development and the evolution process

identifying contextual and historical influencing factors;

• Autonomy and responsibility – curriculum development projects are co-

operative enterprises and evaluators should clarify the interactive character

of accountability for a program;

• Community self-interest – any evaluator has responsibilities to illuminate

the extent of commonality and conflict amongst the values and interest of

participants;

• Plurality of value-perspectives – evaluation should identify the range of

different value-perspectives and be responsive to different concerns;

• Self-critical community – the role of evaluation is to refine the existing

debate about the nature and worth of the program; and



15

• Propriety in the production and distribution of information – any

evaluation should identify explicit principles of procedure expressing

mechanisms and processes for information production and distribution.

Evaluation from an ‘external’ perspective is often chosen in an attempt to suggest

an ‘objective’ stance. For some people this is allegedly a more valid evaluation

procedure. This was the position I took when I researched the professional

education of foresters (Kentish 1994); however, any suggestion that externality

increases objectivity is difficult to sustain. Location of the researcher, external or

internal, does not make the process any more or less ‘objective’. Evaluation

might be more effective if as Kemmis (1982, p. 231) suggests:

A major task for programme evaluation is to harness this self-critical conversation: to collect the perspectives and judgements of those associated with a programme, to reclaim meanings and concerns from the flux of programme experiences, and to make this store of understandings available to participants and other audiences.

Purposeful evaluation should attempt to collect ‘authentic knowledge’ grounded

in the life-circumstances of participants and understood as experience’ (Kemmis

1982, p. 231). It is suspected that when evaluation is internalised, negotiated and

participatory and not directed by external agenda, many of the power

relationships and political concerns of participants are no longer valid. A lack of

any external authority directing the evaluation may promote more overt critiques,1

implying an increase in the validity of the evaluation.

In this thesis I have attempted to encapsulate Kemmis’s idea of ‘authentic

knowledge’ by using my experiences as an ‘insider’. This folio documents and

evaluates, through critical reflection, the ‘authentic knowledge’ of participants

who are all integral to my evaluation of professional practice because they are

actively engaged within the framework of professional environmental education.

1 Critique is a form of criticism of the discipline. It can be practised by practitioners of the discipline or those outside the discipline. Critique is regarded as metacriticism (Barnett 1997, p. 18).



16

1.3 Locating theories and practices emerging from my own professional circumstances Education does not occur in a vacuum. The contexts of tertiary education that

affect self-interests are political (Elective 2). I propose that, in some

circumstances, these political contexts can be considered dehumanising (Freire

1972) and this appears to be occurring within the growing corporatisation of

higher education (Coady 2000; Elective 2). Evidence presented in Elective 2

suggests that universities operate as corporate entities, economically orientated to

maintain hierarchies of power supportive of the dominant social paradigm (Coady

2000; Coaldrake & Stedman 1999; Martin 1999). I have argued in Elective 2 that

the economic-determinism adopted by many universities does not encourage

‘critical persons’ (Barnett 1997), critical reflection (Schön 1983) or critical

learning environments (Coady 2000; Department of Education, Science &

Training 2002).

The West Review (Review Committee on Higher Education Financing and Policy

1997) identified the following outcomes for Australian university graduates:

• Capacity for critical, conceptual and reflective thinking in all aspects of

intellectual and practical activity;

• Technical competence and an understanding of the broad conceptual and

theoretical elements of fields of specialisation;

• Intellectual openness and curiosity and an appreciation of the inter-

connectedness and areas of uncertainty in current knowledge;

• Effective communication skills in all domains;

• Research, discovery and information retrieval skills and a capacity to use

information;

• Multi-faceted problem-solving skills and the capacity for team work; and

• High ethical standards in personal and professional life, underpinned by a

capacity for self-directed activity.



17

These statements are applauded; however, as demonstrated in Electives 1 and 2, it

is questionable as to whether universities are capable of developing such

attributes for graduates within the current dominant vocational approach that

privileges competence and ‘work-readiness’. This raises challenges for

universities and for me:

If the vocational education and training sector provides ‘education and training for work’, how different is a higher education course for a professionally orientated degree? Is there a point at which higher education, by emphasising the development of professional expertise, loses its distinctiveness and perhaps its significance? Is there something that distinguishes a higher education from vocational education and training, beyond the preparation for work?

(Department of Education, Science and Training 2002, p. 2)

According to Fien (1993) and others the focus for environmental education should

be to provide avenues for students to critique current practice. This socially

critical view aligns environmental education with Barnett’s (1997) idea that

higher education should develop the ‘critical person’. However, many tertiary

environmental courses suggest a more technocratic and vocational orientation (;

Cosgrove & Thomas 1996; Thomas 1993; Elective 1). This positions tertiary

environmental courses at some distance from Schön’s (1983) and Bines (1992)

concepts of professional education, Fien’s (1993) environmental education, and

Barnett’s (1992, 1994, 1997) critical perspectives for higher education.

Demand for environmental knowledge is strong as environmental issues become

public and topical. Arcury and Johnson (1987) reported that ‘public

environmental knowledge remains painfully low’ (p. 31) and of concern is a

report that interest in environmental issues in Australia is declining (Australian

Bureau of Statistics 2001, 2003). It appears that the ground swell of popular

environmental concern evident in the 1980s has not sufficiently challenged the

dominant social paradigm (Goldsmith 1992), especially in Australia (Australian

Bureau of Statistics 2001, 2003; Commonwealth Scientific and Industrial

Research Organisation, (CSIRO) 2001). Nevertheless, education can be seen as

the mechanism to bring about ‘cultural changes’.



18

There has been extensive debate about the purpose of environmental education

(see Chapter 2). The theoretical position I take is in agreement with Huckle

(1983, 1993), Fien (1993), Mrazek (1993a,b) and Robottom and Hart (1993). I

endorse ideas that environmental education should adopt a socially critical and

participatory approach, engaging with a range of self-interests informed by

environmentalist ideology (Robottom 1993a). These writers provide support for

my position, which encourages a more critical role for professional environmental

education.

My critical stance takes its authority from my reflections about the philosophical

material presented as part of the Post Graduate Certificate in Education at the

University of London and the perspective promoted by Peters. He proposed that

education is a worthwhile activity if it ‘involves the initiation of others into

worth-while activities’ (Peters 1970, p. 144). The measure of worth of the

activity is ‘informed by Socrates saying that the unexamined life is not worth

living’ (Peters 1970, p. 165). I maintain that an uncritical professional life is an

unexamined professional life.

My support of this critical and reflective stance is an acknowledgment that to be a

professional demands flexibility and subtle changes, or at least consideration of

new challenges, to current practice. Changes in practice might evolve from an

appreciation of action research which emphasises ‘searches for practical

improvements’ to practice (Zuber-Skerritt 1993, p. 48).

My criticality, founded in reflections on my reflection-on-practice, privileges my

interpretations of events. To some extent this endorses an individualistic

perspective similar to self-realisation. However, in this thesis I attempt to frame

this individualistic perspective within a sense of a wider community, namely

Leopold’s land ethic.

For me the importance of Leopold is that his work was not deterministic. It did

not frame what was right or ethical. Leopold promoted a framework for ethical

deliberations that was holistic incorporating a broader understanding of the

community, which he appreciated was dynamic and contextual. Leopold’s



19

argument was that people should be reminded that they are members of a wider

community with a need to appreciate the ethical relationships that are determined

within that wider community. Although many critiques of Leopold interpret his

view as anti-individualistic (see Chapter 3) Leopold was not arguing against the

individual but for a reassessment of human needs in relationship to the needs of

the land.

This sense of achieving an improved alignment between personal and community

interests guides my sense of criticality. I propose that the uniqueness of my

thesis, which is essentially about my perceptions of my practice as a professional

educator, is that I ask the reader to consider that the land (as a symbol for the

environment) should be considered as a partner in discussions about the roles for

professional environmental education. This argument stems from my premise

that the land has not as yet been seen as part of these deliberations.

I argue that my criticality extends from the individual, to the socially critical (as

critique of social and political structures) and beyond (environmental

considerations). This approach is similar to Leopold’s desire that people extend

their ethical considerations from people to the landscape. For me there is an

alignment between my criticality and ethical considerations that underpin any

understanding of the scope for my professional practice. In this thesis I

acknowledge that my practice could operate as a critical appreciation of social

and political dimensions but I want to extend this view to incorporate

environmental dimensions. I believe the environment should be given due

consideration in any discussion about professional environmental education.

My critical theoretical position does not align with my vocationally orientated

practice that dominates my work at the University of Ballarat. As I have

mentioned in Chapter 1 (Section 1.1.1), the University of Ballarat evolved from

the Ballarat College of Advanced Education, an institution that was historically

based on promoting applied studies. My concern has always been that although I

attempt to ensure that the content I teach is vocationally-orientated I have never

been employed as a professional in the environmental industry. My knowledge



20

about what knowledge and skills are used by the industry has been ‘second-hand’

and frequently anecdotal. Nevertheless, at Ballarat curriculum changes have been

‘aligned’ to what are assumed to be industry needs at that particular time.

Although it could be argued that the curriculum at the University of Ballarat is

‘responsive’ to the needs of the industry I am apprehensive about the methods

used to evaluate these requirements of the profession. Further, when the

curriculum is designed as ‘responsive’ to the interests of external groups it leaves

curriculum developers in the role of ‘catching-up’ to the profession – a position

that is open to criticism because of the lack of current relevance. Questions about

relevance dominate most curriculum discussions at the University of Ballarat but

relevance is itself seen as a problematic term (Relevant for whom? Relevant for

what? What is the timeframe for relevance?)

The promulgation of pragmatic models of professional education, such as those

taken by the University of Ballarat, align with Argyris and Schön’s (1978)

theories explaining professional acts as attempts to: remain in control; maximise

winning and minimise losing; suppress negative feelings and to be as rational and

objective as required to ensure superiority and remain in authority. Accordingly,

the overall aim for current professional education and practice promoted by some

universities, such as the University of Ballarat, seems to be to avoid at any cost,

embarrassment, threats and feelings of vulnerability or incompetence.

Professionalism appears to be reduced to issues of control and ‘saving face’.

With increasing public accountability environmental professionals may ignore

values-based arguments in their quest for greater objectivity and more rational

‘truths’. Values-based discussions are seen as just too difficult and the outcomes

‘fuzzy’. There is concern that resolution of environmental issues can become lost

within personalised and adversarial arguments, the application of fragmented

‘objective’ knowledge and concern about maintaining the authority of the

professional voice rather than seeking answers to complex environmental

problems. Perhaps even consideration that there are solutions to problems is

indicative of a particular mindset:



21

…the ideas that problems are soluble and, in principle, should be solved are both symptomatic of technological reason, of an unbridled will to power and mastery over the world which, again, a higher education should be in business to expose and put in its place.

(Barnett 1997, p. 40)

Argyris and Schön’s (1978) theories that explain professional activities are not

supportive of views promoting greater collaboration, negotiation and participation

with stakeholders, or developing catalytic and reflective professionals (Buchy &

Hoverman 2000; Friedman 1973; Floyd, Germain & Horst 1996; O’Riordan

1971; Petheram, Stephen & Gilmour 2002; Schön 1983, 1987; Sirmon 1993).

Such qualities suggest a sense of professionals ‘letting go’ of their assumed elite

authority, which is contrary to what Argyris and Schön’s (1978) imply as the

common concept of being professional.

Communities appear to permit environmental professionals to maintain their

authority and non-participative practices (Elective 3), perhaps because

participative models are uncommon, and untested, in many western cultures

(Petheram, Stephen & Gilmour 2002) where bureaucracies maintain their

authority. Therefore, any evidence for effective participation may be difficult to

find within corporatised cultures because of the assumed role for the professional

as ‘expert’ (Jarvis 1983).

Social changes about the role of professions as elite groups and a growing

corporatisation have impacted on universities creating tensions for academics as

the culture of academe is changing (Elective 2):

As Blackmore and Sachs (2000) point out, the university that many of us entered twenty years ago ‘is certainly dead’, eroded or killed off by increasing workloads, performativity demands, bureaucratization, shrinking resources and so on. Nor should we ignore the way in which universities perpetuate relations of power and privilege, even while they challenge them.

(Walker 2001a, p. 200)

I suggest that the corporate orientation for learning has encouraged

vocationalisation (Grioux 2001; Grioux & Myrsiades 2001; Symes 2000; Elective



22

2) to the extent that courses are valued by their ability to service stakeholders’

needs (Ashenden & Milligan 2001). ‘Learning-for-earning’ appears to be a

common understanding of the purpose of tertiary education (Ashenden &

Milligan 2001); however critical questions are being asked of this model for

higher education:

While the success of graduates in obtaining employment or in proceeding to further study or in getting professional registration is important for graduates themselves, these indicators have more to do with the state of graduate labour markets and the professions than with the intellectual standards of degrees.

(Anderson in Department of Education, Science and Training 2002, p. 24).

Nevertheless, economic rationalists are evaluating universities in terms of their

productivity:

The rationalisation of courses is now timely. Campuses today are one of the most wasteful and low productivity assets in the economy…

Productivity [of universities] is now rising. Traditions are being questioned. And the role of this sector [higher education] in the new fast-growing information and communication industry is being addressed. There is good reason and new means by which productivity in higher education could be doubled if not trebled before the end of the first quarter of the 21st century. That would really prove this sector is clever and helping create a clever country.

(Ruthven 2003, p. 27)

The corporate agenda has such dominance within university culture that it

reinforces stakeholders’ demands for greater economic accountability. Evaluation

of the cost-effectiveness of their education by many students is an expression of

ability of the course to provide students with the ‘best’ employment opportunities.

This is the Commonwealth Department of Education, Science and Training

(2002, p. 10) interpretation of ‘relevance’:

Most academics believe that the heightened expectation of choice stems from what James (2001) describes as:…a consumerist pattern of thinking among students, which [academics] believe is a direct result of the expectation that students contribute a greater proportion of the cost of their education.



23

In summary, I suggest that in universities scholarship and collegiality, as

expressed by Boyer (1990), have been replaced by corporatisation and

consumerism. This ‘change’ for higher education is of concern to me and my

folio is my attempt to explore my relationships among my theories and my

practices in the contexts of my work. I propose that dissonance exists between

my theoretical position, informed by criticality, and the vocational orientation of

my practice.

1.4 Searching for an Australian land ethic for professional environmental education My thesis is based on the premise that one of the roles of universities is to provide

a professional environmental education (see Electives 1 and 2). Academics, as

presenters of a professional education, are responsible for providing the

opportunity for students to critically consider what knowledge, perspectives,

values and skills are necessary to be effective environmental professionals. I

argue in Elective 2 that professional attributes lie beyond mere competence

(Barnett 1994). I argue that academics, as professionals, need to critically

examine the relationships between their expectations and their perceptions of

what professional practice should be. This folio is my attempt to undertake this

process.

1.4.1 A different land ethic or land ethics The path we are now on leads to the destruction of nature. It is suicidal and too horrific to contemplate. We have to listen to all the voices around us, telling us to harmonize those needs, so that we can restore the balance we so desperately need.

(Suzuki & Dressel 1999, p. 279)

The title for this folio reflects not only the content of the research but also a

personal, transformative and self-reflexive journey (Bleakley 1999; Fien 1993).

Images promoted throughout this folio are of my search to discover what could be

my professional practice to encourage the development of an ‘ecological

Australian citizen’. My idea of an ‘ecological Australian citizen’ implies a

greater appreciation of the impact of relationships among landscapes, cultures and



24

values. This is perhaps what David Malouf was writing about in his 1998 Boyer

lecture (The Making of Australian Consciousness):

What we did when we came here was lay new knowledge, a new culture, a new consciousness over what already existed, the product of so many thousands of years of living in, and with the land. What we brought supplemented what was already there but did not replace it, and cannot do so as long as any syllable of that earlier knowledge exists in the consciousness of even one woman or man.

A land can bear any number of cultures laid one above the other or set side by side. It can be inscribed and written upon many times. One of those forms of writing is the shaping of a landscape. In any place where humans have made their homes, the landscape will be a made one. Landscape-making is in our bones.

(Malouf 1998c, broadcast on November 29, 1998 on ABC Radio National)

I argue that the development of an ‘ecological Australian citizen’ – someone who

lives within the capability of their land – challenges the dominant social paradigm

promoted by current models of tertiary environmental education.

Flannery (1994) outlines mechanisms to develop ecological citizens:

How are Australians then, to adopt, develop and feel comfortable with a world view that will help them survive in this strange land? For me, the solution has come through an increasing understanding of the way in which our continent works.

(Flannery 1994, p. 17).

I suggest to address Flannery’s comment requires encouraging a critical

examination of the dominant social paradigm and the role environmental

professionals have to explain the ‘workings of the continent’ to others. Perhaps

this explanation is more complicated that the mere technical description offered

by many environmental science courses.

Land and landscape influence culture and vice versa. Landscape shapes and

forms culture. People derive their food, living space, entertainment and well-

being from their land. The land and landscape influences spiritual and aesthetic

values. At the same time culture shapes the land to suit human demands. To

address this nexus my thesis explores relationships among peoples, cultures and



25

their land, and how cultural understanding may inform ‘ecological citizenship’ in

the context of professional environmental education.

Australian writers, such as Flannery (1994), Malouf (1998a, 1998b, 1998c,

1998d, 1998e, 1998f), Bonyhady and Griffiths (2002) and Bonyhady (2002), all

allude to the need for a greater understanding of Australia landscapes through an

appreciation of the alignment between culture and landscape. I propose that

professional environmental education could be a process to encourage a renewal

of partnerships between cultures and ecological landscapes, so that future

environmental decisions are culturally and ecologically informed.

Unsustainable use of the land may be indicative of an ecological understanding

that is not necessarily lost, but subsumed by a culture apparently lacking empathy

with the land. The normative Australian discourse about the land is characterised

by utilitarianism, exploitation, domination and a need for control. I suggest that

this language and the culture it prescribes may be inappropriate to develop an

ecological citizen. I am asking for a new discourse that may be found within a

land ethic or land ethics (Leopold 1949).

My professional concern arose from Freire’s (1972) focus on the dehumanising

outcomes of a culture of oppression. I extended his concerns about the effects of

oppression on people to the effect of oppression on the environment. From my

perspective professional environmental education is an opportunity to re-establish

partnerships between people and their land, rekindling ethical cultural

relationships. Such ethical and cultural relationships are explored in Leopold’s

The Land Ethic, a text that encourages an ethical discourse for people with their

land. My searching for an Australian land ethic or land ethics encourages such a

discourse.

Developing a dialogue with the land requires a new role for professional

environmental education. Critically exploring and reflecting on one’s own

ecological citizenship and land ethic or land ethics may encourage ethical

frameworks that emphasise reflective, collaborative and participative qualities:

partners with the land.



26

I propose that this new ecological discourse may critically examine the constraints

of the traditional professional-client relationship so that Schön’s (1983) ‘reflective

contract’ can be developed into a partnership between land and professional.

Schön outlines his reflective contract as a reflective conversation where:

…the professional recognizes that his technical expertise is embedded in a context of meanings. He [sic] attributes to his [sic] clients, as well as to himself [sic], a capacity to mean, know, and plan. He [sic] recognizes that his actions may have different meanings for his [sic] client than he [sic] intends them to have, and he [sic] gives himself [sic] the task of discovering what these are. He [sic] recognizes an obligation to make his [sic] own understandings accessible to his [sic] client, which means that he [sic] needs often to reflect anew on what he [sic] knows.

(Schön 1983, p. 295)

Where the land is a partner, the ethical role for the professional is extended

beyond what are considered to be normal professional-client relationships. This

provides it own challenges.

1.5 Research questions and my approach to the EdD folio This EdD folio consists of four discrete but inter-related documents. Each part of

the folio was written as a unique contribution critically engaging with different

aspects of the research questions. Although presented as distinct pieces of work

the components of the folio should be read in relation to each other to give the

reader a clear framework as to how I engaged with the research questions.

The structure of the folio attempts to model the philosophy underpinning the

research: a holistic and interconnected approach. For me, it is important to

maintain this holistic framework throughout the folio and not to produce a

reductionist, fragmentary or generalised piece of research. This research folio

attempts to encapsulate a diversity of issues relating to professional

environmental education that are embedded within a critical and reflective theme.

1.5.1 Research questions My own critical theory for professional environmental education is informed by

questioning the value of the dominant social paradigm to professional

environmental education. This theory has evolved from sympathetic readings of



27

the work of, for example, Barnett (1994, 1997), Fien (1993), Freire (1972),

Leopold (1949), Robottom and Hart (1993), and Schön (1983, 1987). My

emphasis for criticality is founded in the work of Barnett (1997), Leopold (1949)

and Freire (1972). I suggest that the challenge for my professional practice is a

need to include ethical deliberations that will mesh with my professional

perspectives, inclusive of the land as a member of the environmental community.

I propose the following research questions to critically engage with the

relationship among my theories, practices and the circumstances of my

workplace:

• What is the nature of professional environmental education as offered by

Australian universities? My approach is to characterise professional

environmental education by considering the social history of

environmental learning (ideas inclusive of environmental studies,

environmental science, environmental management and environmental

education) and how this aligns with what universities offer as

environmental courses. Sub-questions are:

How do students, academics, professionals and

environmentalists relate their perceptions of professional

environmental education to professional environmental

practice?

What is the role of science in professional environmental

education? This sub-question is posed because of the

dominance of science in professional environmental

education courses.

• What political factors influence the nature of professional education in

Australia? The questions may clarify some of the constraints on

professional environmental education and ‘barriers’ to change. Sub-

questions are:

Who determines what professional environmental

education ought to be?



28

How does what is offered as professional environmental

education align with Freire’s (1972) ideas of oppression as

a dehumanising process, Schön’s (1983, 1987) perspective

of the ‘reflection practitioner’, Barnett’s (1997)

consideration of the ‘critical person’2 and Leopold’s

(1949) land ethic?

• What is the effect of what is offered as professional environmental

education on perceptions of environmental issues? This question explores

how current perceptions of professional environmental education and

professional practice influence views about resolution of environmental

issues.

Answers to these questions may illuminate how social and political constraints

influence my professional practice because Barnett (1992) states:

Professional activity is an extraordinary amalgam of mind and body, of thought and action, of knowing and doing. Accordingly, professional education – if it is to be worthy of its object – should reflect that complexity and interwovenness.

(Barnett 1992, p. 190)

Perhaps critical theorising about my praxis will provide me with more suitable

platforms for professional environmental education if I recognise the land as a

partner in a reflective ‘contract’ that could underpin my professionalism.

To address this perspective I question:

• How does an appreciation of Leopold’s land ethic create a different

understanding of the professional relationship between people and their

environment? This question suggests the following sub-questions.

How do students, academics, professionals and

environmentalists view a land ethic or land ethics as

understandings of perceptions of professionals’ roles in

environmental issue resolution?

2 Critical person according to Barnett (1997, p. 179) is an individual who has taken on criticality and so acquired the state of critical being.



29

Can an appreciation of a land ethic or land ethics provide

different opportunities for professionals to examine

relationships between people and their environments?

What tangible experiences influence the development of a

land ethic or land ethics?

In terms of critically engaging with my theories, practices and circumstances of

my workplace, I ask:

• How does the information gathered from stakeholders in professional

environmental education contribute to a better understanding of the

relationship between my theory and my practice?

1.5.2 Structure of the folio I present three research essays (Electives) and this Dissertation in an attempt to

critically engage with these research questions.

• Elective 1 – Undergraduate environmental courses in Australia: a review.

I review the current state of what is considered as environmental education as

delivered by Australian universities. This review is based on public information

gathered from university handbooks, internet home pages, texts and my own

experiences. I conclude that the majority of tertiary environmental education

courses are vocational and dominated by a technical perspective. This elective

locates the context within which any appraisal of professional environmental

education could be undertaken.

• Elective 2 – Links between environmental policy and professional


I explore tensions found within universities and suggest that the corporatisation of

universities has impacted on professional environmental education encouraging a

vocational orientation. Further, I propose that difficulties experienced by

environmental professionals attempting to implement policy might be due the

dominance of a technical perspective (as demonstrated in Elective 1) and an

emerging corporate culture in universities. The corporate university may not be

supportive of critical, collaborative, participative and holistic processes, which I



30

argue are key elements of environmental professionalism. This elective explores

how the internal politics within academe, and a changing academic culture, realise

a particular framework scoping professional environmental education.

• Elective 3 Conservation in the Ballarat Region: a case study of community

I investigate how the Ballarat community developed a conservation strategy to

address the requirements of Local Agenda 21 (World Commission on the

Environment and Development, (WECD) 1993). The strategy encouraged

individualistic and behaviourist approaches to environmental issue resolution,

which I suggest is an outcome of a technical perspective prescribing

environmental issues as derived from the dominant social paradigm. This

technical approach constrained the community’s appreciation of environmental

issues and marginalised the wider, social and political implications of

environmental issues. I conclude that environmental issues will remain contested,

and probably unresolved, unless a participatory, power-sharing approach to issue

resolution is undertaken. This elective provides a political perspective of the

influence of the dominant social paradigm on the implementation of Local

Agenda 21.

• Dissertation – Critical reflections on professional education for the

environment

The Dissertation provides scope for a more detailed critical engagement with the

research questions. Chapter 1 as an overview of the folio and provides self-

reflections of my own circumstances and formulates the research questions.

Chapter 2 reviews the scope and tensions expressed within the literature of the

history and diversity of environmental learning. Chapter 3 identifies the

importance of Leopold’s contribution to the debate about the value of land ethics

to environmental education. Leopold’s theory was chosen because he provided a

challenge to the dominance of an economic technical imperative underpinning

professional practice. His work has relevance to my practice. Chapter 4 outlines

the theoretical perspective of the research and the epistemology informing this



31

perspective. My research is qualitative and draws on a constructionist

epistemology as identified by Crotty (1998):

Meaning is not discovered, but constructed. In this understanding of knowledge, it is clear that different people may construct meaning in different ways, even in relation to the same phenomenon.

(Crotty 1998, p. 9)

This theoretical perspective informs the critical ethnography and action learning

methodologies I selected for my research. Chapter 5 analyses information

collected during interviews and identifies ‘voices of oppression’, and a language

of reproduction that appears to dominate professional environmental eduction and

practice. Chapter 6 explores narratives from the same participants and finds a

language of possibility and opportunity derived from exploring participants’

experiences in familiar places. Chapter 7 brings together aspects of the Electives

and Dissertation to critically engage with the relationships between my theories,

practices and the circumstances of my work. This final chapter is my opportunity

to develop a thesis to encapsulate the characteristics of Fien’s (1993, p. 98)

‘transformative intellectual’, and Barnett’s (1997) ‘critical person’, as outlined by

Creme (1999):

Barnett’s work draws on critical social theory and he eschews any notion of an ideal potential, a given self-ripe for ‘development’. At the same time, he espouses the notion of ‘transformation’ as an aim of higher education that many in education (I include myself) adhere to, from many different perspectives, as a source of hope and satisfaction for both students and teachers ‘through higher education, students come not just to inhabit a different universe but also to be changed persons’ (p. 5).

(Creme 1999, p.462)

1.6 Summary This EdD folio is based on questions examining whether professional

environmental education, as provided by universities, is appropriate for

professional practice. The dominant social paradigm in which graduates are

currently educated appears not to recognise the social and political dimensions

underpinning many environmental issues. This creates problems for practitioners.



32

I propose that improvements in aligning what is, and what ought to be

professional environmental education requires critical examination of alternate,

more overtly ethical, paradigms than those currently employed. My perspective is

based on the premise that land should be included in any discourse about

environmental education. I suggest that this approach provides an expanded view

of the ethical responsibilities for professional environmental education and may

provide opportunities to consider values questions, which are a necessary

platform for professional environmental education.

Chapter 2 – Setting the scene: What is environmental learning?


33

Chapter 2 – Setting the scene: What is environmental learning? 2.0 Introduction Universities have enormous responsibilities if as Rolston III (1996, p. 164)

suggests they transmit the ‘heritage of culture, without which we cannot be

human’. The question is what sort of cultural characteristics should universities

promote under the banner of environmental learning, a term I use to encompass

the diversity of environmental science, environmental studies, environmental

management and environmental education?

This chapter reviews some of the environmental learning literature to provide an

understanding and appreciation of various learning contexts and cultures framing

this research. In this chapter I emphasise how various social and political

influences have affected debates about what is, and ought to be considered as

environmental learning. I review the evolution of environment studies,

environmental science, environmental management and environmental education

as examples of the tensions found in providing professional environmental

education.

It appears that the hierarchy of traditional, technical and discipline-based cultures

found in formal learning settings has influenced the status and acceptance of

environmental learning. These traditional perspectives have constrained

acceptance of alternate views about the purpose of environmental learning and

environmental education research as promoted by Fien (1993), Huckle (1983,

1993), Robottom (1993a), Robottom and Hart (1993) and others.

2.1 Learning for the environment – contested states in a disciplinary world Environmental learning appears in many guises, for example environmental

studies; environmental science; environmental hygiene; environmental

engineering; environmental law and environmental management (see Elective 1).

These subjects appear to have an interest in describing, enhancing awareness and

improving, the environment.

Environmental learning is often regarded as improving the quality of human life:

The values and ethics surrounding environmental protection must



34

continue to be addressed through education, so that environmental understanding and participation becomes automatic in our lives. Without this, the focus of environmental management will tend to be on repairs and temporary fixes, rather than longer term solutions.

(Environment Australia 2000)

What I present here, and explore in Elective 1, is that environmental learning in

Australia appears to have an inadequate appreciation of the problematic nature of

many environmental issues. I explore the relationships between the conceptual

frameworks informing environmental studies, environmental science,

environmental management and environmental education, by examining their

histories.

2.1.1 Differences in environmental learning Huckle (1983, p. 104-106) and Fien (1993, p. 15-6), based on the earlier work by

Lucas (1979), differentiate between three orientations for environmental learning;

about, through (in or from), and for the environment. This division is somewhat

dated but the suggestion at that time was that education about the environment is

dominated by scientific-technical content often ignoring social and political

influences. Education through (or in or from) the environment apparently

explored the effect of experience on learning. Education for the environment,

which was considered values orientated and political, built on education about

and through the environment (Fien 2000) and:

…is a challenge to the way that uncritical educational practices accept and reproduce the Dominant Social Paradigm as a taken-for-granted and ‘natural’ way of interpreting people-environment relationships.

(Fien 1993, p. 16).

It was considered that education for the environment provided avenues to

facilitate critical review because it endeavoured to engage, participate and

improve decision-making processes (Fien 1993; Huckle 1983):

Education for the environment is a combination of radical environmentalism and education which regards environmental well-being as its goal.

(Huckle 1983, p. 105)



35

There is criticism of this platform. Sterling (1993, p. 91) in a promotion of a

more holistic ethical environmental education suggests that ‘the old and

ubiquitous in, about and for mode for environmental education…is no longer

sufficient’. He argues that education for the environment proposes an ethical

framework for education. Jickling and Spork (1998) suggest the phrase ‘for the

environment’ ‘is conceptually and logistically flawed’ (p. 309) because it is

ideologically and politically deterministic:

When interpreted literally, ‘education for the environment’ reflects, through the language used, the values and predilections of activists more than those of educators.

(Jickling & Spork 1998, p. 323)

Jickling and Spork (1998) ask environmental educators to ‘build indeterminacy

into our programmes and instruction’ ensuring that environmental education is

not deterministic or driven by objectives external to the process of education

itself. Their argument is that there is need for an educational emphasis in

environmental education (Jickling 1997, p. 100). Fien (2000) refutes Jickling and

Spork’s (1998) critique. This debate is continued in Section 2.1.5 but it does

appear that Fien’s (1993) division of education ‘in, about or for’ the environment

is simplistic and dated.

The history of environmental learning in the United Kingdom has been traced

back to 1949; however, it took until the 1970s before there was acceptance of the

need for environment learning (Goodson 1983; Gough 1997; Greenall 1987;

Martin 1975; Watts 1969). At that time there was growing concern about the

state of the environment no doubt resulting from Rachel Carson’s influential book

Silent Spring originally published in 1962. Emphasis for environmental learning

in the late 1960s was to develop a greater understanding of environmental

problems. This knowledge, it was believed, would change behaviour instilling

greater environmental responsibility. For example, Stokes (1976) reported that

teachers believed the essence of environmental programmes should be to create

attitudinal change. This approach has been seriously questioned (see Robottom &

Hart 1993).



36

Kinsey and Wheatley (1984) and Scott and Willits (1994) found increased

environmental knowledge did not necessarily alter attitudes. Nevertheless, the

common belief was, and still is, that greater environmental awareness will result

in the resolution of emerging environmental problems. A model developed in the

Netherlands identifies four stages in the evolution of environmental education;

reactive, receptive, constructive and pro-active. Environment Australia (1999)

suggests that environmental learning in Australia ‘is generally in the second stage

[receptive]…with some evidence of progress towards the third [constructive

stage]’. This situation is not much different from 30 years ago when the

‘Countryside in 1970’ Conference in the U.K. supported the need for increasing

personal responsibility:

The essentials are clear: to help individuals…to understand the main features of their physical environment, their interrelationships with it, and the requirements for its management; to instil a sense of personal responsibility and active concern for the condition of their surroundings and to encourage enthusiasm for and enjoyment of the environment.

(Secretary of the Standing Committee ‘Countryside in 1970’ Conference in Goodson 1983, p. 119)

Environmental learning was provided in schools to influence individual

responsibility. At this time there was debate as to whether the environment

should be a subject in its own right or incorporated into the existing curriculum

(Goodson 1983; Gough 1997; Martin 1975; Smith 1975). This debate has

continued as the following sections demonstrate.

2.1.2 Environmental studies Historically, Watts (1969) differentiated between learning from the environment –

‘applied’ environmental studies, and learning about the environment – ‘pure’

environmental studies. The former was considered cross-disciplinary (see

Elective 1) and learning was located in the environment (Martin 1975). The

latter, dominated by knowledge, analysis, synthesis and evaluation had a more

scientific orientation.

Watts’ (1969) ‘applied’ environmental study was seen as a contribution to a more

liberal education. Early ideas placed environmental studies as part of an



37

undefined liberal education (Gold 1972; Watts 1969). Support for the perceived

need for greater liberalisation of the curriculum came from concerns about the

overspecialisation of the curriculum and domination of external examination

boards (Goodson 1983; Smith 1975). Francis (in Lemons 1996) categorised four

types of environmental curricula suggesting a political perspective for

environmental studies ‘designed to “green” or “environmentalize” the general

goals of a liberal education’(Lemons 1996, p. 201), but Lemons recognised that

‘almost any subject can relate to its linkage with environmental protection’ (p.

201).

A key problem to creating a more liberal environmental learning was the

perception of a vagueness of purpose. Liberal education has multiple meanings.

Peters (1970) identifies different perspectives for the term ‘liberal’, all relating to

freedom:

• freedom from the constraints of extrinsic purposes such as vocational

professional education;

• freedom from specialist training or thinking; and

• freedom from the constraints of others’ beliefs.

These ideas can be contrasted with the restrictive nature of Bloom’s (1987) liberal

education, which was to educate American youth, whom he described as empty,

intellectually slack and morally ignorant. Orr (1992) considered Bloom’s (1987)

view as biased, limited and contrary to the view that the ‘aim of education is life

lived to its fullest’ (Orr 1992, p. 99). Brennan (2003) revisited liberal education

promoting eco-literacy to encourage thinking and providing ‘for modes of

learning that encourages reflection on the system of frameworks and draws

attention to the inherent limitations, as well as the strengths, of our various

disciplines’ (p. 524). Orr took another view suggesting ‘a genuine liberal arts

education will foster a sense of connectedness, implicatedness, and ecological

citizenship, and will provide the competence to act on such knowledge’ (Orr

1992, p. 103). Hornig (1996) saw environmental studies as the centrepiece to



38

liberal arts education. Bowers (1993, 1995) and Moseley (2000) also explored

additional roles for environmental studies as part of a liberal education.

Although there was support for environmental studies, as liberal education, it has

had a difficult history. Goodson (1983) traces the evolution of environmental

studies in the U.K. from its origins in rural studies. Goodson found a decline in

interest in rural studies due to:

• its intellectual unacceptability;

• the division between the ‘hard’ laboratory-based biology and the newer

‘softer’ field-based ecology; and

• the development of a ‘new’ social geography.

The acceptance of the novelty of environmental studies was at that time difficult

because of its allegiance to rural studies and:

As a new disciplinary definition of environmental studies was not forthcoming from the scholars in the higher education sector, the process of definition had to be undertaken at secondary level.

(Goodson 1983, p. 133)

The authority given to universities and examination boards to ‘bless’ the school

curriculum affected a subject’s status. Academics were unlikely to support

curricula failing to ‘fit’ into their discipline-based world. This lack of recognition

of environmental studies affected teachers’ opinions of the value of a subject.

Two main advocates for environmental studies in UK schools, Carson and

Topham, are quoted as saying ‘the only way to make progress [in the acceptance

of environmental studies in schools] was to get in on the examination racket’

(Goodson 1983, p. 151-2). The value of environmental studies was not accepted

by external examining agencies, which saw their role as maintaining consistency

and rigour to validate the school curriculum (Goodson 1983).

Demands for rigour were required to counteract Gayford’s (1986) comment that

environmental studies ‘are seen as the preserve of those whom the school finds it

difficult to involve’ (p. 148), and therefore was offered to less able or remedial

students. The idea, in UK schools, was that environmental studies had no



39

discipline-focus, lacked rigour and was a remedial curriculum of lower academic

status and not suitable for university entrance. This fuelled a growing perception

of environmental studies as uncoordinated and lacking any intellectual rigour.

The assumed strength of environmental studies its liberal nature was interpreted

as non-compliance within the traditional disciplinary needs of examination boards

and universities (Gayford 1982, 1996). Exacerbating the problem was the lack of

teachers able to present, and therefore promote, suitable content for

environmental studies.

Australia’s history of environmental studies mimicked what was happening in the

UK. In the early 1970s Reid (in Smith 1975) considered that the environmental

curriculum was piecemeal and uncoordinated. Undoubtedly the dominance of a

rigid disciplinary school structure, with a curriculum controlled by external

examination boards servicing university entrance criteria, inhibited any new

liberal curriculum (Smith 1975). The authority granted to both universities and

professions is often traditional and cautious, rejecting pedagogies that do not

support those in control (Becher 1989).

Nevertheless, liberal environmental studies did emerge as a university subject

(Elective 1) and Gold (1972) promote the benefits of environmental studies at

undergraduate level arguing:

…It [the university] has a unique concentration and combination of human resources and facilities which allow it to do no less. Environmental Studies in this sense becomes a framework for the synthesis, analysis, and implementation of ideas by a wide range of disciplines, and the provenance of none.

(Gold 1982, p. 56)

It appears that the development of suitable university infrastructures to promote

such liberal formats requires institutional support because of the dominance of the

traditional discipline structure of universities (Francis 1992; Gold 1972). This

support is difficult to find and the ‘greening’ (inclusive of compulsory

environmental units in all degree programs) of the university curricula is

uncommon (Alabaster & Blair 1996). Nevertheless it has been attempted in

Australia at Griffith University:



40

That brings us to Australian Environmental Studies, the initial School that should be the ideal Griffith School. The problem area was already there [the environment] and was a focus of public attention, though of course they had to be defined. In addition, there was not any standard pattern of curriculum to fall back on. However, balanced against these favourable circumstances was the fact that the planning group faced the most extreme form of the problems of multidisciplinary groups: a very wide range of discipline backgrounds.

(Ross et al. 1985, p. 72)

Whether universities can incorporate environmental studies within a discipline-

based infrastructure is problematic. The authority granted to traditional

disciplines and the elite nature of professions is probably too influential to create

a widespread structural change in many situations.

In conclusion, environmental studies, as a liberal education derived from rural

studies, was trivialised and alienated from mainstream discipline-focused

learning. The tribal nature of disciplines, professions and institutionalised

learning appears to have difficulty accepting content that fails to fit within what is

narrowly defined as a discipline (Becher 1989; Goodson 1983), especially if the

subject (in this case environmental studies) has a varied history in which it was

aligned with studies for the less capable student.

2.1.3 Environmental science Environmental science, although in some respects analogous to environmental

studies, was seen as a more appropriate curriculum because it implied, due to its

association with science, the values of science (Littledyke 2000; Snow 1993;

Stevenson 1993).

Environmental science was derived from Watts’ (1969) ‘pure’ environmental

studies stressing scientific content. Underpinning the evolution of environmental

science was a belief that environmental issues could be understood and resolved

by application of scientific skills and methods (Fisher & McGarvey 1979). The

environmental science curriculum was informed by a view that environmental

issues were a sub-set of science. This approach encouraged learning about the

environment (Fien 1993) and stressed the scientific method as quite suitable to



41

address environmental problems. The axiom was that any improvement in

understanding the biophysical aspects of environment would lead to

environmental problem resolution. This scientific view of environmental issues

still dominates much of what is currently conceived as environmental learning

(Cosgrove & Thomas 1996; Thomas 1993; Elective 1).

Hand (1999, p. 502) suggests that the ‘…predictive power that science gives us

means that many scientists treat our accounts of the world around us as true’. He

argues that the consensus view of scientific knowledge, which stresses the

apparent agreement amongst scientists about the nature of ‘scientific facts’ (an

approach promoted by many scientists), promotes a lack of critical questioning

about the validity of these ‘facts’. Hand concludes that science, as presented by

universities, does not promote criticality. In contrast to the authority given to

science, Robottom (1983), Ashley (2000) and Littledyke (2000) argue that a

science-only approach to environmental learning limits our understanding of the

contexts and complexity of some environmental issues to a technical framework:

Where environmental education is taught through the discipline of science – where existing science courses are the vehicle for the introduction of environmental education activities – a “technical” version of environmental education tends to develop. The focus is upon greater understanding of the environment per se: the emphasis is on information about its living and non-living components, their interrelationships, and the skills required for investigating those relationships.

(Robottom 1983, p. 29)

A dilemma emerges. Although criticality is considered as a key theme in higher

education (Barnett 1997; Department of Education, Science and Training 2002;

Review Committee on Higher Education Financing and Policy 1997) this

approach may not resonate with a consensus view of environmental science at

university:

From the point of view of many practising scientists what matters is the fact that science works, and as a result it is often assumed that this success means that the theories and models of science must be correct. This viewpoint gives scientists an illusion of control; we believe that we can both understand and control the world around us, despite, in environmental terms, increasing



42

evidence to the contrary.

(Hand 1999, p. 504-5)

As such a science-only orientation to understanding environmental issues may

limit the importance of social and political contexts in environmental decision-

making (Fairweather 1993; Harding 1998). In addition, it is argued that the

supposedly value-free nature of science seems to disregard the importance of

ethical deliberations (Hand 1999; Harding 1998):

An important reason why environmental decision-making process results in conflict is because people fail to recognise that the process is subjective and value-laded.

(Harding 1998, p. 13)

In recognition of the lack of appreciation of values in science education there

have been some moves to integrate ethics in decision-making for life-science

students encouraging students to act as moral agents (Clarkeburn, Downie &

Mathew 2002). However, ethics is not considered ‘mainstream’ in many science

courses (see Elective 1).

Historically there was difficulty acknowledging the value of environmental

science even with its alliance with science. In some schools environmental

science became the ‘soft science’ for students who were considered unable to

appreciate or understand the traditional sciences (Gayford 1986; Goodson 1983).

The practical and applied orientations of environmental science were emphasised

as alternatives to the rigour of the more theoretical pure sciences but traditional

scientists then saw these ‘softer’ characteristics as ‘signs of weakness’ of the

subject.

Universities also struggled in their attempt to integrate environmental science

courses within discipline-based faculties (Fisher & McGarvey 1979). Weis

(1990, p. 1120) comments on the challenges:

…these programs [environmental science] generally lack departmental status and are at a disadvantage compared to the traditional university departments. There is inadequate understanding of the field on the part of other faculty members and students.



43

During the late 1960s and early 1970s environmental science developed closer

relationships with the emergence of field-based ecology, which had distanced

itself from the ‘harder’ laboratory-based content of many biology courses

(Lambert & Goodman 1967). Ecology soon gained popularity due to its emphasis

on fieldwork:

Enthusiasm for ecology is often engendered by enthusiasm for fieldwork, and this in turn is often rooted in an emotional love of the countryside.

(Lambert & Goodman 1967, p. 4)

Efforts were made to establish a more rigorous scientific framework for ecology

to counter this ‘natural history’ flavour. The need for scientific rigour was to

address the ‘…lack of well-defined and attainable objectives, …unnecessarily

crude approximations…imprecision in thought and terminology’ (Lambert &

Goodman 1967, p. 4). This encouraged a move from descriptive ecology to a

more experimental and reductionist approach emphasising statistical analysis

(Krebs 2001; Southwood & Waloff 1967). The need for a more ‘scientific’

approach to ecology also influenced how environmental science was considered

with attempts to introduce a more experimental, reductionist approach to the

environmental curriculum. For example, there was an emphasis at that time on

technical studies of air and water pollution.

Environmental science included material presented from a scientific perspective,

stressing objectivity, quantification and measurement of environmental

conditions, experiments and the value of empirical data (Cosgrove & Thomas

1996; Newman 1989; Stevenson 1993; Thomas 1993; Elective 1). Content was

considered more suitable if presented by scientists, therefore environmental

science was often located within science faculties (Thomas 1993, Weis 1990).

Although there were criticisms that environmental science was without substance,

these were addressed by promoting measures of the subject’s ‘success’ (Gayford

1986), which came in the form of external control by examination authorities

(Goodson 1983). The practical emphasis of environmental science was not seen



44

as a threat to the traditional sciences, but environmental science did become the

‘second class’ curriculum promoted for the less able students.

To some extent acceptance of environmental science by the science fraternity was

dependent on it developing characteristics sufficiently different from the more

traditional sciences so as not to pose any threat to established intellectual

boundaries (Becher 1989). Yet there was a need to develop the characteristics of

science so that it would be recognised as a science. The question, ‘Is

environmental science a real science?’ has led to a great deal of confusion as to

what the environmental science curriculum should incorporate to retain its

scientific nature (Newman 1989). For many, environmental science courses are

promoted as an amalgam of field-based applied science units (see Elective 1) with

a technical emphasis.

There is little doubt that environmental science suffered much of the same

difficulty of acceptance in schools and universities as environmental studies. It

had the advantage of closer ties with the scientific community; however, this has

frequently led to a science-dominated curricula posing as environmental science

(see Elective 1).

2.1.4 Environmental management Environmental studies and environmental science reaffirmed the existence of

distinct tribal academic cultures, as identified by Becher (1989), Gould (2000)

and Snow (1993). Many of these barriers between disciplines still exist and I

suspect that few universities have grasped sufficient understanding of the nature

of inter-disciplinary teaching and research to resolve the impediments to their

acceptance (Heberlein 1988; Elective 2).

A new subject, environmental management, emerged in the 1970s to ‘bridge the

gap’ between disciplines and provided a management focus (Roth 1970).

Garlauskas (1975, p. 188) gives an early definition suggesting environmental

management was derived from ecology:

Environmental management can be defined as a systematic and scientific approach of assuring a congruous interface between natural and man-made [sic] systems. The basic premises of



45

environmental management incorporate the science of ecology as one of the fundamental areas of knowledge to achieve success.

According to O’Riordan (1981) the scientific emphasis given to environmental

management did not include social and political perspectives. O’Riordan

regarded this as creating a subject with limited scope:

…but it [environmental management] is basically a cosmetic exercise involving no major shift in economic and political status quo.

(O’Riordan 1981, p. 6)

For some the emphasis for environmental management was decision-making,

which was considered a useful practical and vocational skill (Czech 1995).

Garlauskas (1975) suggested environmental management dealt with

environmental disruptions, which were resource planning and resource allocation

issues. The emphasis of the subject was to create change through decision-

making processes (Brooks & Grant 1992; Harding 1998), and action informed by

scientific knowledge was emphasised. However, Francis (1992, p. 281) identified

that environmental management was a subject ‘thought to capture all that should

be done for the environment’ but in reality was ‘associated with only mild

reforms to reduce pollution by technological fixes’.

Environmental management was initially seen as a change from studying about

some environmental issue to an emphasis on making decisions and managing the

environment with the technical information that was assembled. However,

Simpson and Budd (1996) found that environmental management moved from an

emphasis on reactive control strategies (making decisions) towards a more

preventative approach that reduced environmental risk (managing risk).

Nevertheless, technical solutions appeared to dominate the curriculum.

Later definitions of environmental management extended the earlier scientific

approach to include socio-political and ethical frameworks (Clark & Zaunbrecher

1987; Grumbine 1994, 1997):

Ecosystem management integrates scientific knowledge of ecological relationships within a complex socio-political and values framework toward the general goal of protecting native



46

ecosystems’ integrity over the long term.

(Grumbine 1994, p. 5)

There were concerns from Czech (1994) that environmental management was a

paradigm shift for environmental learning from conservation to a management

focus, and that environmental management did not align with any biocentric

conservation theme. Czech suggested a need to re-establish conservation as the

main environmental paradigm because of the overt anthropocentricism of

environmental management. Czech’s (1994) ecocentric framework for

conservation conflicted with O’Riordan’s (1971) earlier suggestions that the

management of natural resources should be considered as the ‘new’ conservation:

Resource management should therefore be conceived as the new conservation. It tends to emphasise rationality over emotionalism, ethics over economics, and ecology over engineering.

(O’Riordan 1971, p. 19)

O’Riordan’s utilitarian philosophy of resource management supported Beazley’s

(1967) ideas that conservation ‘is the conscious exercise of good taste in the use

of resources’ (p. 347), that should maximise benefits: the ‘wise use’ concept.

Grumbine’s (1994) more expansive definition for environmental management

aligned with Fairweather’s (1993) challenge for ecologists to appreciate the

diversity of community values for the environment:

The development of ethical and philosophical viewpoints within the conservation movement, among the wider public and by professional philosophers can form a basis for approaching fundamental environmental issues. Yet the links between these ideas about nature and our current understanding about how nature works, as developed through the science of ecology, have been rarely addressed by environmental practitioners. Environmental philosophers have, in contrast, taken considerable interest in the findings of scientific ecology, aided occasionally by professional ecologists. Rarely have ecologists turned to philosophy and ethics for inspiration.

(Fairweather 1993, p. 4)

Such challenges ask ecologists, as scientists, to appreciate knowledge from other

disciplines. The purpose may have been to bridge disciplinary gaps and resolve

Bradshaw and Bekoff’s (2001) so-called identity crisis for ecologists. For



47

example, Sagoff (1985) called for the inclusion of philosophical methods to better

inform ecological decisions. This was reinforced by Loehle’s (1988) requirement

for better clarification of ecological definitions, reasoning processes, assumptions

and biases.

During its development environmental management was based on systems-

modelling which was considered a suitable theoretical framework (Frischknecht

& Bradenburg 1981; Jeffers 1973). Originally an engineering term, the systems

approach has been promoted as suitable for many disciplines (Senge 1992)

including environmental education (Sterling 1993).

Some authors are more cautious of an uncritical promotion of systems-thinking,

which looks for order and logic within what is assumed to be the chaos of socio-

political environmental systems. Berman (1996) is critical of the positivist

paradigm and the determinism that informs systems-thinking. Charland (1996)

expressed concern about simplifying the complexity of environmental issues

through emphasising a problem-solving orientation. Bratton (1985) asked for

environmental planners to move beyond systems-ecology to include historical and

landscape perspectives. Nevertheless, more positively Sterling (1993) comments:

I would like to see much greater exploration of the potential of a systems approach, but one that does not encourage a mechanistic, detached, manipulative systems thinking – rather, one involving a total systems approach that promotes local roots, identify, community, participation and democratisation.

(Sterling 1993, p. 94)

However, ecological systems are notoriously unpredictable, which will create

problems for managers seeking a deterministic management approach.

Recently there has been a growth in an adaptive (experimental) management

perspective focusing on ‘learning by doing’ (Johnson 1999; Lal, Lim-Applegate

& Scoccimarro 2001; Lee 1999; Schindler & Cheek 1999). This approach is

closely aligned with the philosophy of action learning and action research as

promoted by Zuber-Skerritt (1993) and Kemmis and Taggart (2000). Adaptive

management requires a more flexible management and stresses stakeholder

participation, and reflective learning as key themes.



48

The traditional role of a technical-scientific approach for addressing

environmental issues is questioned within recent approaches for environmental

management because this scientific approach did not include socio-political

dimensions. Questions are raised about the validity of the rigidity of technocratic

perspectives as they become increasingly less relevant in a world requiring

decisions based on unpredictable systems and inadequate knowledge (Goldsmith

1992; Harding 1998).

Environmental management apparently differs from the traditional, objective,

rational and scientific model that informs environmental science (Capra 1983;

Goldsmith 1992; Harding 1998; Hay 2002; Kuhn 1970; O'Riordan 1971; Pepper

1984):

…the paradigms of science and economics in particular, serve to rationalize economic development or ‘progress’ – the very behaviour that is leading to the destruction of the natural world with consequences for all to see: poverty, malnutrition and general human misery. How, one might ask, is it possible for our ‘objective’ scientists to behave in so unobjective a manner? The answer is that science is not objective – a fact that has been well established by Michael Polanyi, Thomas Kuhn and other philosophers of science.

(Goldsmith 1992, p. xiv)

Environmental management’s acceptance as professional environmental

education had the advantage that it did not threaten traditional disciplines, nor was

it directly answerable to any authoritative external body of disciplinary

knowledge. In addition, the inclusion of the term ‘management’ implied some

vocational application. However, in practice environmental management is often

an euphuism for environment science, with an emphasis on description of issues

rather than illustrating decision-making processes (see Barrow 1999; Calow 1999;

Dupont, Baxter & Theodore 1998; Gordon & Gordon 1972; Owen & Unwin

1997).

2.1.5 Environmental education

There are numerous excellent reviews of environmental education in Australia

(Evans & Boyden 1970; Greenall 1987; Gough 1997; Linke 1977, 1980; Smith



49

1975); Canada (Hart 1990); New Zealand (Dowling 1993); United Kingdom

(Goodson 1983) and Europe (Filho 1996). I will not to reiterate these texts, but

will provide an overview emphasising the problematic and contested nature of


There have been numerous attempts to describe the characteristics of

environmental education (for example Disinger 1993; Environment Australia

2000; Fien 1993; Gargasz 1973; Gayford 1996; Gough 1997; Hart 1981; Huckle

1983; Linke 1977; Martin 1975; Martin & Wheeler 1975; Mrazek 1993a, 1993b;

United Nations Conference on Environment and Development 1992). Definitions

of the subject are numerous (see Environment Australia 2000; Fien 1993;

Goodson 1983; Martin 1975; Mrazek 1993b; Orr 1992; Roth & Helgeson 1972;

Saveland 1976; Stapp et al. 1969; Swan 1969; Wheeler 1975). For example, the

National Report on Environmental Education (NAAEE 1992 in Mrazek 1993b)

proposed the following definition for environmental education:

Environmental education is widely understood to be an interdisciplinary process of developing a citizenry that is aware of and knowledgeable about the environment, in both its natural aspects, and in those which are built or altered by humans. This awareness and knowledge is understood by environmental educators to lay the groundwork for resolving environmental problems caused by human activity, and the value conflicts that often make these problems intractable, as well as for preventing new problems from arising. Further, environmental education aims to develop in the citizenry the capacity for, and commitment to engage in inquiry, problem-solving, decision-making, and action that will achieve and maintain a high quality of life by assuring a high quality of environment.

(Mrazek 1993b, p. 11)

A more ‘local’, yet general, definition is given by Environment Australia (2000):

‘Environmental education’ is defined in its broadest sense to encompass raising awareness, acquiring new perspectives, values, knowledge and skills, and formal and informal process leading to changed behaviour in support of an ecologically sustainable environment.

(Environment Australia 2000)



50

The common suggestion in such definitions is that environmental education is

about increasing awareness, which assumes that this awareness will determine

changes in behaviour. This axiom has been questioned (Fien 1993; Kinsey &

Wheatley 1984; Robottom & Hart 1993).

Mrazek (1993b) suggests the definition of environmental education is ‘clear and

more precise’ (p. 12) when aligned to the goals from the Belgrade and Tbilisi

environmental conferences. However, definitions themselves are problematic and

Jickling (1997) suggests that definitions should be about processes and not

products. With this thinking environmental education is perhaps more about

mechanisms and processes that:

…foster clear awareness of, and concern about, economic, social, political and ecological interdependence…provide every person with opportunities to acquire the knowledge, values, attitudes, commitment and skills needed to protect and improve the environment…create new patterns of behaviour of individuals, groups and society.

(Mrazek 1993 b, p. 12)

The problematic question for environmental educators, as stressed by Madsen

(1996) and Layrargues (2000), is how to encourage thinking about processes,

mechanisms and critical patterns of thinking:

Just as the environment is not a synonym for nature, social-environmental conflict is not the same as an environmental problem; and environmental crisis is not synonymous with ecological imbalance, and environmental education is not the same as teaching ecology. Assuming that this is true, we would be wise to reorient education, incorporating environmental education with its central proposal of transforming the present situation.

(Layrargues 2000, p. 172).

A more simplistic orientation for environmental education is taken by

Environmental Australia (2000), which outlines its approach by re-stating the

dated view that increased awareness leads to changes in behaviour. The

government (Environment Australia 2000) suggests that environmental education:

• should involve everyone;

• be lifelong;



51

• be holistic and about connections;

• be practical; and

• be in harmony with social and economic goals and accorded equal

priority.

However, these statements are so general that Environment Australia’s

interpretation of environmental education cannot be differentiated from many

other aspects of education.

Definitions of environmental education have been continuously challenged. This

action itself is important if it implies critique, which for some is the basis of

environmental education (Fien 1993; Robottom & Hart 1993). Perhaps

environmental education should remain contested, and its purposes critiqued with

the result that there would be a lack of absolute definition (Jickling 1993, 1997).

This lack of definition could be interpreted in a positive way.

Robottom and Hart (1993) distance environmental education from environmental

science and environmental studies:

Unlike environmental science or environmental studies, environmental education is a self-consciously educational field in which the research agenda concerns teaching and curriculum issues rather than (in the first instance) environmental issues; and it is important for environmental education research to be participatory, enabling practitioners at all levels to adopt a research perspective in relation to their own practices and the contexts within which these occur, rather than remaining the domain of outside experts whose interests are served by sustaining a division of labour between researchers and practitioners.

(Robottom & Hart 1993, p. 70-1)

If environmental education is as Robottom and Hart (1993) perceive it, then it

should be differentiated from the range of other environmental subjects.

However, I suspect that in many cases the term ‘environmental education’ is

synonymous with other ‘types’ of environmental subjects (Elective 1).

Nevertheless, the critical quality of environmental education, as promoted by Fien

(1993) and others, implies that environmental education does not have to be



52

limited to cognitive knowledge or technical skills but can have wider, more social

and political, dimensions (Sterling 1993).

Different emphases for the curriculum are influenced by educational ideologies

(Fien 1993; Huckle 1983), which have been classified and re-classified. Three

‘meta-orientations’ for education are relevant to this discussion: traditional,

enquiry/decision-making, and transformation meta-orientations (Miller 1983).

Skilbeck (1982 in Fien 1993) classifies these as: classical humanism,

progressivism and reconstructionalism. Kemmis, Cole and Suggett (1983)

suggest the terms: vocational/neo-classical, liberal/progressive and socially

critical. Based on the work of Habermas (1972), Fien (1993) suggests three

categories of human needs and interests:

• technical – a need for mastery and control over the physical world

informing a vocational/neo-classical orientation for education;

• practical – a need for understanding and participating in cultural traditions

with emphasis on personal and social development informing a

liberal/progressive orientation; and

• critical – a need to be free from the constraints of ignorance, oppression

and authority of reason informing a socially critical perspective.

These meta-perspectives have been linked by Fien (1993) to environmental

education as:

• technical emphasising education about the environment;

• practical emphasising education through the environment; and,

• critical emphasising education for the environment.

It was the socially critical orientation that Fien (1993) and Robottom and Hart

(1993) and others regarded as important in environmental education because this

approach challenged the status quo. However, these views are dated and have

been criticised by Jickling (1997) and Jickling and Spork (1998) who propose that

‘education for’ something is deterministic. Sterling (1993, p.94) comments that



53

‘education for ’ implies ethical determinism. These criticisms suggest that there

may be dangers of creating dogma when environmental education is based on a

‘preferred type’ of approach.

Robottom and Hart (1993) align the different meta-orientations with theoretical

orientations for environmental education research: a positivist orientation

proposing a view emphasising knowledge about the environment; an interpretivist

orientation proposing a view emphasising activities in the environment; and a

critical orientation proposing a view emphasising action for the environment.

Their argument is that the dominant research paradigm for environmental

education is positivist, and this influences research perceptions about

environmental education to promote a technical view of environmental issues.

Disinger (1993) argues that we should not use such paradigms for environmental

education, only ‘patterns, examples, models’ (p. 20), and suggests that it is

‘overly ambitious and potentially dangerous, to attempt to define a unique

research paradigm for environmental education’ (p. 22). Perhaps any

classification of environmental education is going to be too simplistic if it directs

uncontested views. Further, there may be a tendency to create a classification

system that is hierarchical with regard to the values of different types of

environmental education. Any hierarchy of ‘values’ may prejudice and

institutionalise one type of environmental education as the only one suitable. This

idea contrasts with the premise of a socially critical education that promotes

criticality of the dominance of any such frameworks. All approaches to

categorise environmental education, if they set out to be deterministic, may have

their own in-built inherent values and prejudices.

Nevertheless, the debate about the relative importance of different environmental

education research frameworks underwrites much of the tension in environmental

education, which has been evident since the early 1990s. Yet, there is evidence

that tensions within environmental education were evident much earlier.

Historically, Morgan (1966) differentiated between ‘what’ (knowledge and

attitudes) was learnt, and ‘how’ (the method) the material was taught. Although



54

dated, Morgan (1966, p. 15) explained how it was assumed at that time that the

method of teaching could affect attitudes (see also Stokes 1976).

If a particular attitude is wanted, intellectual argument is played down and an attempt made to involve the subject personally. This is all the more effective if it can arouse apprehension or hold out the prospect of a reward.

From its conception environmental education appeared to have this dual role of

providing knowledge and developing appropriate attitudes. Watts (1969)

differentiated between learning about, and from the environment (p. 48). ‘Pure

environmental studies’ (Watts 1969, p. 77) was technical. ‘Applied

environmental science’ was methodological and ‘concerned with environmental

studies’ efficacy as a method [of teaching and learning]’ (Watts 1969, p. 49).

This teaching often incorporated outdoor pursuits to improve the learners’

personal and social development. It is suspected that Morgan’s ‘what’ and ‘how’

duality remains to the present day in much of what is considered as environmental

learning (Elective 1).

Morgan’s duality was renamed. Martin (1975) explored the difference between

‘conservationist’ and ‘educationalist’ approaches suggesting that the former was

more concerned with understanding the quality of the environment (‘what’), and

the latter with bringing about improvements to the quality of human life (‘how’).

Martin suggests a compromise between these views is required in order to

implement environmental education objectives into the curriculum. Martin’s

(1975) ‘educationalist’ perspective was informed by Swan's (1969) view:

Environmental education …makes no claims to making people naturalists. Undoubtedly many students exposed to an environmental education program would become interested in nature, but this is a secondary benefit rather than a primary aim. Another important aspect is that when we do talk about problems in the classroom, we seldom explore the ways in which citizens can truly be effective in local problem solving.

(Swan 1969, p. 28)

This values-based orientation attempted to develop moral relationships between

people and their environment (Ballantyne & Packer 1996; Bowers 1993, 1995;

Orr 1992). Martin (1975) identified:



55

…a need to promote a sense of personal responsibility for the state of the environment, and that teaching for such an ethic could be regarded as an important aim for environmental education agreed by environmentalists and educationists alike.

(Martin 1975, p. 26)

This historic ‘educationalist’ perspective aligns with Huckle (1983, p. 105) who

promoted a moral orientation suggesting that only education for the environment

‘is designed to increase pupils’ awareness of the moral and political decisions

shaping the environment’. This argument provides a link between Martin’s

‘educationalist’ view and a socially critical orientation (Fien 1993). However,

Martin (1975), with his emphasis on personal responsibility appears to endorse an

individualist ideology, which is not promoted by Fien’s (1993) or Robottom’s

(1993b) view of environmental education.

Martin’s (1975) ‘conservationist’ group incorporated Watts’ (1969) ideas for

learning about the environment. This ‘conservationist’ orientation informed

environmental science and environmental studies, which were mainly concerned

with understanding the environment. Therefore, almost 30 years ago differences

between environmental education and environmental science and environmental

studies were debated. The ‘conservationist’ approach is still regarded as

mainstream environmental learning (see Elective 1).

Historically, environmental education research favoured empirical studies and

research exists addressing the ‘identification, prediction and control of the

variables that are believed to be the critical cognitive and affective determinants

of responsible environmental behaviour’ (Robottom & Hart 1993, p. 32). This is

thought to be a technical approach that does not engage with socially critical

education that Huckle (1983), Fien (1993) and Robottom (1993a) valued.

Nevertheless, this ‘neoclassical’ research approach, promoted by Hungerford,

Peyton and Wilke (1980, 1983) and Knapp, Volk and Hungerford (1997) was a

response to concerns that environmental education was uncoordinated (see earlier

criticisms of environmental science and environmental studies). Hungerford’s

group encouraged the development of prescriptive goals for environmental

education. Robottom (1993b) and Robottom and Hart (1995) regarded this as



56

behaviourist, but Marcinkowski (1993) suggests that Hungerford and others were

not promoting determinism, but encouraging skills that enable and empower

students. Nevertheless, Robottom and Hart (1995) critique the authority that

some see in the ability of environmental education to predict, control and explain

human behaviour.

Hungerford, Peyton and Wilke (1980) aimed to present ‘Goals for Curriculum

Development in Environmental Education’ (p. 43). They thought these goals

would put to rest questions about the direction environmental education should

take. They wrote that:

The apparent inconsistency between the objectives expressed for and used in EE [environmental education] programs and projects and those recommended by documents such as the Belgrade Charter and the Tbilisi Declaration may be due, in part, to the inherent difficulties confronting a curriculum developer charged with the task of translating what are actually general goals (e.g. to develop environmental awareness, knowledge, attitudes, skills, etc.) into manageable instructional objectives.

(Hungerford, Peyton, & Wilke 1980, p. 43)

Their directive was that the ‘looseness’ of environmental education should be

determined by consistent, widely applicable, educational goals and instructional

objectives. Their ‘goals’ were established to eliminate variability across schools

and ensure consistency across the curriculum. Control and consistency of the

curriculum seemed to be key themes for these commentators. Underpinning the

‘intermediate’ goals was a superordinate goal that Hungerford and others

suggested was ‘philosophically correct’ (ibid p. 45), and ‘the most appropriate

direction for environmental education’ (ibid p. 45). The superordinate goal was:

…to aid citizens in becoming environmentally knowledgeable and, above all, skilled and dedicated citizens who are willing to work, individually and collectively, toward achieving and/or maintaining a dynamic equilibrium between quality of life and quality of environment.

(Hungerford, Peyton, & Wilke 1980, p. 43).

The final phrase of this quote, ‘between quality of life and quality of

environment’, is of interest because of its similarity to Martin’s (1975, p. 28)



57

dualism between ‘conservationist’ and ‘educationalist’ views of environmental

education. The premise is that these ‘conservationist’ and ‘educationalist’

positions conflict and that this tension requires resolution through environmental

education.

However, the emergence of this superordinate goal, as proposed by Hungerford,

Peyton and Wilke (1980), does not resolve the human-environment dualism if it

maintains an anthropocentric view of the conflict between human and

environmental values. I suggest that the superordinate goal privileges

anthropocentricism:

Anthropocentric …ethics holds that only human beings have moral value…although we may be said to have responsibilities regarding the natural world, we do not have direct responsibilities to the natural world.

(Des Jardins 2001, p. 11)

This ‘goal’ differentiates and polarises the needs of people and the needs of the

environment while attempting to create some illusion of ‘balancing’ needs. Any

assumed balance in nature, or the idea that there should be a balance, between

people and nature is at best a naturalistic fallacy and may not serve any ‘goal’

particularly well.

Anthropocentric views are often seen in contrast to biocentric or ecocentric

perspectives. The latter perspective views humans as an integral part of the

environment not as separate, dominant entities (Des Jardins 2001; Leopold 1949;

O’Riordan 1981). Ecocentrism calls for a greater redistribution of power and

control associated with greater community participation. In contrast,

anthropocentrism, which is aligned to technocentrism and the dominant social

paradigm, implies retaining the existing arrangements of political power (Fien

1993; O’Riordan 1981). The view taken by Hungerford, Peyton and Wilke

(1980) for a consistent, controlled curriculum is characteristic of the dominant

social paradigm (Catton & Dunlap 1980).

Hungerford, Peyton, and Wilke’s (1980) idea that there were ‘factors’ associated

with responsible environmental behaviour is popular (see Elective 3). This view



58

is derived from the idea that such a ‘cause-effect relationship’ exists in education

and has promoted empirical-analytical research methodologies (Connell 1997).

For many environmental education researchers the quest was to find the causal

factors that made people environmentally responsible (Zimmerman 1996b):

The findings of this meta-analysis and the subsequent development of an environmental behaviour model serve to narrow the focus of the environmental behaviour picture by determining those factors which appear to be most strongly associated with responsible environmental behaviour.

(Hines, Hungerford & Tomera 1986/7, p. 8)

Finding factors contributing to environmental responsible behaviour dominates a

great deal of environmental education research. Connell et al. (1998) and

Theilking and Moore (2001) undertook extensive surveys of lower socio-

economic Australian school children and found knowledge of environmental

concepts was low which was attributed to a lack of appropriate environmental

behaviour and action. Clarke (1996) also found adolescent environmental

knowledge was consistently poor. Arcury and Johnson (1987) suggested that low

public environmental knowledge was correlated with education, income and sex.

Zimmermann (1996a, 1996b) found gender and ethnic differences in

environmental attitudes. Steiner and Barnhart (1972) developed an instrument to

measure peoples’ perceptions of, and attitudes towards, environmental issues.

Kinsey and Wheatley (1984) demonstrated environmental defensibility was

related to quality of the information provided. Newhouse (1990) found that a

strong sense of responsibility, an understanding of the issue and a positive attitude

all affected environmental responsibility. Rovira (2000) found, in a Spanish

study, age and socio-professional status positively influenced understanding of

environmental issues. Yeung (1998), in Hong Kong, found students’

environmental understanding and responsibility to take action was low if it

conflicted with their personal freedom, required physical effort and changes in

opinion. Chou and Roth (1995) found learning in the affective domain was

important for environmental education. McKeown-Ice and Dendinger (2000), in

addressing the dearth of social science contributions to environmental education,



59

identified 63 important socio-political-cultural concepts of value to the

curriculum. May (2000) identified how dedicated teachers fostered students’

environmental knowledge, skills attitudes and responsible behaviours.

Middlestadt et al. (2001) found students exposed to new curricula demonstrated

greater knowledge about water conservation and undertook recommended

behaviours compared to a control group. Other such ‘cause-effect’ studies

include Brody (1996); Corral-Verrugo, Frias-Armenta and Corral-Verrugo

(1996); Gambro and Switzky (1996); Jacobson (1997); Kirk, Wilke and Ruskey

(1997); Mangas and Martinez (1997); Richmond (1978); Thompson and Pella

(1972); Volk, Hungerford and Tomera (1984) and Wals (1992). Most of these

studies were based on the premise that a positive relationship exists between

environmental knowledge and environmentally responsible behaviour

(Zimmerman 1996b). As Ridener (1997, p. 82) states:

In assessing the effects of environmental education programs it will be important to evaluate the content areas of emphases having the most significant influence in changing attitudes.

However, for those looking for measurable ‘outcomes’ for environmental

education, such as the Australian Bureau of Statistics (2003), the ‘results’ of such

programs are not so clear. MacCleery (2000) and Singer (2002) suggest that there

has been minimal reduction in consumerism in western societies and Gigliotti

(1990) is critical of the overall effect of environmental education. Connell et al.

(1999) go so far as to suggest that Australia’s youth are pessimistic about their

environmental future. For those interested in deterministic outcomes for

environmental education one might suspect that there should have been a reverse

in this lack of interest in the environment with the increase in effort in

environmental education. Evidence suggests that this may not be the case.

Nevertheless, the search for factors affecting responsible environmental behaviour

has continued (Zimmerman 1996b) informed by empirical-analytical

methodologies (Connell 1997). Yet, there have been numerous counterclaims of

any direct, casual association between knowledge and behaviour. For example,

Borden and Schettino (1979) found no correlation between environmental



60

affective and knowledge scales. Curtis, Robertson and Race (1998) found only

weak associations between landholder adoption of conservation practices and

their attitude.

Robotttom and Hart (1995) suggest that this ‘cause-effect’ research orientation is

behaviourist and attempts to define the purpose of education as shaping human

behaviour, predicting and controlling future behaviour. Connell (1997) argues

that this behaviourist approach may prejudice research against empirical-

analytical methodologies. Her argument is that there is still a place in

environmental education research for the more traditional educational

methodologies if quantification of views is required.

Nevertheless, to some extent a deterministic direction informing environmental

education research is often science dominated (Robottom & Hart 1995). There

are advantages of this deterministic orientation for those, such as Hudson (2001),

who promote that the values of science to explain and evaluate environmental

issues and ‘forge’ solutions. Yet, scientists rarely promote the limitations of

science (Ashley 2000; Capra 1983; Hand 1999; Littledyke 2000; Nowotny, Scott

& Gibbon 2001) and some like Dawkins (1995) unquestioningly accept science’s

superiority of authority.

Bishop and Scott (1998) suggest there is a need for a less authoritative, more

tentative role for science and Hand (1999) asks for an adoption of a more critical

approach to science education, particularly in universities.

The technical emphasis for environmental education taken by some (Hungerford,

Peyton & Wilkie 1980; Hungerford &Volk 1990) may be due to the insecurity of

teaching within a values-dominated curriculum and the need for more control.

The positivist paradigm, which engages with technocentric learning and

determinism, influences both what is learnt (content) and how the contexts about

the learning are expressed (Fien 1993; Huckle 1983; Layrargues 2000; Mrazek

1993b; Robottom and Hart 1993) but technocentric orientations to environmental

learning tend not to engage with criticality.

Let us assume, therefore, that the environmental crisis is not due to



61

a lack of understanding by people in general as to how ecological systems work, but rather is due to the values that guide Western society’s ideological paradigm In this case, the objective of environmental education is not that of countering wrong information on ecological topics, since the mere inclusion of ecological content in teaching will not affect the extent of the environmental crisis which is merely the visible part of civilizations’ breakdown, rather like the tip of an iceberg. Environmental education must challenge the very worldview based on society’s values and paradigms that promote a utilitarian attitude towards nature.

(Layrargues 2000, p. 172):

Fien (1993), Huckle (1983), Mrazek (1993b), Sterling (1993, 1996) and

Robottom and Hart (1993) all propose a socially critical orientation, which

accepts both the values base and the political dimensions of environmental

education. This socially critical direction for environmental education is overtly

political (Fien 1993; Holsman 2001; Huckle 1983; Layrargues 2000) with the

promotion of processes (such as critical reflection) that may promote social and

political change:

The political or social transformation goals of education for the environment demand a critical approach to pedagogy based upon the development of a critical environmental consciousness, critical thinking and problem-solving skills, an environmental ethic based upon the values of social and ecological sustainability, the knowledge, skills and values of political literacy, and critical praxis.

(Fien 1993, p. 74-5)

This political direction for environmental education provides challenges for

educators operating within traditional, authoritative education paradigms.

Perhaps:

…the challenge of environmental education is that of creating conditions enabling the participation of different social segments, both in policy creation and the conception and application of decisions that affect the quality of life, especially within a society characterized by significant social inequalities.

(Layrargues 2000, p. 175-6)

Layrargues’ ‘conditions’ incorporate:



62

• interacting with one’s own personality, others’ personalities, and the social

and natural environments;

• developing in-depth and critical understanding of human actions through

constructing local and contextual knowledge;

• developing an ability to judge reasons for environmental change;

• recognition and critical reflection on individual and group values and

interests; and

• experiencing and reflecting on participatory learning processes (see Fien

1993; Kyburz-Graber 1999; O’Riordan 1981).

For example, Jensen and Schnack (1997) and Uzzell (1999) found shortcomings

in some environmental education programs and promoted action competence

models. Connell et al. (1999) suggested that action competence models

employing collaborative practical experiences may develop a realistic sense of

optimism, which was missing in many young people. Action competence is a

process whereby learners develop a critical, reflective and participatory approach

to address future problems. This resonates with Kolb’s (1984) model of reflective

learning, adaptive experimental management (Johnson 1999; Lee 1999; Lim-

Applegate & Scoccimarro 2001; Schindler & Cheek 1999) and action research

(Kemmis & McTaggart 2000). These critical, reflective and participative,

‘learning-by-doing’, orientations stand in contrast to the behaviour modification

programs which appear deterministic, individualistic, prescriptive and relate to

current, not future, issues (Breiting & Mogensen 1999).

Jickling and Spork (1998) outline the dangers in privileging some type of

environmental education to the point where they become a dogma of ‘slogans’,

and this including socially critical orientations to environmental education:

To enable the success of our students, we need to acknowledge that shaping the future does not consist of being led to adopt some alternative vision. Rather, it involves the more indeterminate process of examining and re-casting society.

(Jickling & Spork 1998, p. 325)



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Their concern is that if students are encouraged to critically examine conventional

wisdom then we must accept they may well reject any externally imposed

agendas such as the supposed benefits of socially critical orientations. They

appear to argue for a more goal-free environmental education; however, they do

not imply political neutrality or a lack of bias. Perhaps all education is politically

orientated and learning framed within teachers’ and students’ cultural ideologies.

Fien (2000) provides a response to Jickling and Spork’s (1998) critique of Fien

(1993) where he argues that ‘Jickling and Spork (1998) represent not a critique of

education for the environment, per se, but an attempt to control the influence of

critical environmental education through the power/knowledge of liberal

educational and environmental discourses’ (Fien 2000, p. 1880). Fien (2000) is

critical of the Jickling and Spork’s emphasis on semantics and their partial and

literal readings of his work. In contrast to Jickling and Sporks’ critique that

education for the environment is deterministic, Fien (2000) comments that

education for the environment encompasses education in and about the

environment, and environmental learning can be enriched by a more holistic

ethical and personal transformative focus. I have some agreement with this idea

of a more holistic framework for environmental education.

2.2 Summary and relationship to the dissertation In the 1960s interest in environmental learning grew from a desire to address

worsening environmental conditions. However, environmental learning has

battled, in formal settings, against the dominance of disciplines and the authority

given to external evaluation authorities. Even the various dimensions of

environmental learning, such as environmental science and environmental studies,

have not been fully embraced in conservative academic and professional

communities. If environmental learning was to retain a place in the curriculum it

had to become vocational, technical and associated with the value of science –

environmental science. This technical orientation, and a view of environmental

science as a search for ‘agreed truths’, may have impeded any more critical

purpose for environmental learning. There was an assumption that more



64

environmental knowledge would lead to attitude change and changes in behaviour

to make people ‘more responsible’.

New opportunities arose with the emergence of environmental management,

which was based in decision-making processes and offered action-orientated and

contextual avenues for environmental learners. Environmental management

appeared not to have been disadvantaged by the constraining tribalism of the

disciplines. However, environmental management was anthropocentric and did

not promote ecocentric ideologies. There was still this technical orientation.

Environmental education differs from these other environmental subjects because

of its interest in the learners’ moral and social development. However, the

technical orientation taken by some researchers was dominated by their search for

causal factors that would influence environmentally responsible behaviour,

although links between environmental knowledge and environmental

responsibility were at best tenuous. In contrast to identifying ‘key factors’ some

environmental educators have emphasised the need to engage learners in socially

critical processes, which promote challenges to the status quo. This overtly

political approach incorporates criticism of the dominant social paradigm, which

is regarded by some as a suitable foundation to address environmental issues

(Fien 1993; Huckle 1983).

Professional environmental learning in universities is dominated by a neoclassical

and technical orientation to learning (Cosgrove & Thomas 1996; Thomas 1993;

Electives 1 and 2). Similar to secondary schools, environmental learning in

universities has found it difficult to find a place within the university’s discipline-

based infrastructure (Weis 1990). The association of environmental learning with

the sciences has led to a scientific orientation, which has prejudiced how the

wider community perceives environmental issues (Electives 1 and 3).

The scientific interpretation of environmental issues is made even more complex

within the current vocational orientation of universities (Elective 1), with attempts

to uncritically align course content with current occupational tasks. I suggest that

the result of these scientific and vocational orientations, supported by a growing



65

corporate management system in universities, has created a lack of any critical

perspective for professional environmental education.

The problems in my practice that I have with this uncritical foundation for

professional environmental education are supported by the critical and reflective

perspectives of Schön (1983, 1987), Bines (1992) and Barnett (1992, 1994, 1997):

Whether engaged in propositional thought or in professional action, students should be enabled to develop the capacity to keep an eye on themselves, and to engage in a critical dialogue with themselves in all they think and do. It is a high order of thinking that is called for here, a metadiscourse; and literally a higher education, because it is a reflexive process in which the student interrogates her/his thoughts or actions. The learning outcome to be desired, from every student, is that of the reflective practitioner.

(Barnett 1992, p. 198).

In conclusion, to critically engage with the relationships among theories and

practices in my own professional experience I require a transformative process as

proposed by Fien (1993):

…the hallmark of a transformative intellectual is her and his ‘inner life’, that commitment to ecological and social justice and transformation, which is sustained not only by moral outrage (and we do need our share of that) but also by the habit of critical reflection upon one’s views and work.

(Fien 1993, p. 98)

To ground this transformative process, and as a basis for my own critical

reflections on professional environmental education, I discuss Leopold’s (1949)

land ethic and his contribution to environmental education in the next chapter.

This is because it was Leopold’s The Land Ethic that provided me with an ethical

platform for my emerging professional environmental education ideology. In the

next chapter I outline Leopold’s contribution to my thesis.

Chapter 3 – Leopold’s contribution to environmental education


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Chapter 3 –Leopold’s contribution to environmental education 3.0 Introduction In this chapter I introduce the idea of a land ethic or land ethics (Leopold 1949),

which is central to my thesis as it informs my theoretical perspective for

professional environmental education. Aldo Leopold’s The Land Ethic essay has

historical relevance because it provided a critique, at that time, of environmental

practices and economic perspectives. His essay expresses and rekindles

contemporary spiritual and emotional associations with the land as expressed

more recently by Bonyhady and Griffiths (2002), Goldsmith (1992), Knudtson

and Suzuki (1992), Suzuki and Dressel (1999) and Tacey (1995, 2000).

I suggest that many environmental problems in Australia may have their origins

in an apparent lack of appreciation of the land, which could be interpreted as

symptomatic of an inappropriate land ethic or land ethics (Flannery 1994; Malouf

1998a, 1998b, 1998c, 1998d, 1998e, 1998f). Expression of a land ethic or land

ethics has a moral dimension and informs my theorising about professional

environmental education. However, my practice is underpinned by technical and

vocational orientations promoted within the corporate nature of the University of

Ballarat. My thesis proposes that a critical exploration of one’s own land ethic or

land ethics may provide illuminating, perhaps transformative, processes about the

relationships among theories, practices and the circumstances of work.

Aldo Leopold made a substantial contribution to our understanding of the

environmental debate (Des Jardins 2001, Palmer 2003). His contribution to

thinking about environmental issues has provided a foundation for my

reconsideration of professional environmental education. Credibility of his views

is based on his personal history, professional background (he was a forester and

wildlife manager), practical style of writing and his challenging exploration of an

environmental ethic. Leopold is still able to ignite passion for an environmental

ideology that may lead to a greater appreciation of environmental values (Flader

1979, 1987, 1994; Callicott 1998, 2000).



67

3.1 Aldo Leopold – the person Aldo Leopold’s essays, in particular The Land Ethic (Leopold 1949), have

influenced current thinking about land management and environmental ethics.

His writings provided a critical view of the relationships between people and land

by presenting a paradigm – the land ethic – that differed from the dominant social

perspective (Bradley 1998a, 1998b; Callicott 1987a, 1987b, 2000; Cronon 1998;

Jackson 1998; Van Putten 1998).

A land ethic, then, reflects the existence of an ecological conscience, and this in turn reflects a conviction of individual responsibility for the health of the land. Health is the capacity of the land for self-renewal. Conservation is our effort to understand and preserve this capacity.

(Leopold 1949, p. 221)

Leopold’s work provides support for a more holistic environmental ideology.

Perhaps the greatest proponent of Leopold is J. Baird Callicott who wrote:

As Wallace Steger observes, A Sand County Almanac [written by Leopold] is considered “almost a holy book in conservation circles,” and Aldo Leopold a prophet, “an American Isaiah.”…One might, therefore, fairly say that the recommendation and justification of moral obligations on the part of people to nature is what the prophetic A Sand County Almanac is all about.

(Callicott 1987b, p. 186)

Leopold’s personal history, the practicality of his suggestions and his underlying

philosophy, have all provided credibility to his writings (Callicott 2000; Flader

1979, 1987; Meine 1987a, 1987b; Stegner 1987). Callicott and Freyfogle (1999)

go so far as to suggest Leopold’s writings provide a keystone for an

environmentalist ideology.

There seems little doubt that Leopold’s personal traits helped with the acceptance

of his ideas (Meine 1987a, 1987b), particularly for those people exposed to him as

a teacher. He was ‘always a paragon of virtue…usually good-humored’ (Callicott

1989, p. 232), but could be ‘truculent, abrasive, and occasionally unscrupulous

quibbler’ (ibid). Leopold was critical of laboratory-based biology where dead

animals and plants were studied in detail but out of context. He ‘felt that given a

limited curriculum and limited schedule of classes, biology students are better



68

served by more field-orientated courses, more natural history, and less laboratory

technique’ (Callicott 1989, p. 224). For Leopold the emergent subject of ecology

was a field-based subject where flora and fauna were studied in context. This

approach has many supporters (Falk 1983; Fido & Gayford 1982; Gayford 1985;

Lambert & Goodman 1967; Longeran & Andresen 1988; Negra & Manning

1997).

3.2 The Land Ethic and beyond As a forester and wildlife manager Leopold understood, and worked within, a

technical and scientific framework. His original approach to forestry evolved

from Gifford Pinchot’s utilitarian philosophy of wise use (Callicott 2000). It is

suggested that foresters are more likely to agree with a utilitarian land ethic or

land ethics compared to natural scientists (Brown & Harris 1998; Coufal 1989).

In contrast to this utilitarian view stands John Muir’s preservation perspective, a

perspective that Leopold later acknowledged (Callicott 2000).

According to Hargrove and Callicott (1990), in May 1936 Leopold publicly

announced a change in his views in his lecture, ‘Means and Ends in Wild Life

Management’. Leopold’s transformation was from the focus on game

management to a more holistic wildlife (or as Leopold suggested ‘wild life’)

management. Hargrove and Callicott (1990, p. 334) suggest that ‘the talk

provides us with a glimpse of the way in which Leopold balanced his aesthetic

and scientific concerns during this intellectually critical period of his life’. In this

presentation Leopold established links between science and aesthetics, which

influenced his later deliberations about the value of the land. It is suspected that

Leopold’s extensive field experiences affected his environmental views (Norton

1988).

Leopold’s concept of holistic land management was critical of the unrelenting

search for profit, the ‘economic determinism’ (Norton 1988, p. 101), which

dominated land management practices and, as Leopold argued, led to

undervaluing resources. It was in his celebrated essay, The Land Ethic (Leopold

1949), where Leopold called for an extension to the ethical considerations given

to humans to include a broader, more inclusive understanding of the land (Moline



69

1986). He required an extension to ethics beyond an anthropocentric view into

the realm of a more inclusive community including the land. Nelson (1998)

regards The Land Ethic as Leopold’s greatest contribution to philosophy

influencing both land management and forestry in the USA and elsewhere.

A result of Leopold’s campaigning has been the development of a professional

forestry code of ethics in the USA (Cornett 2000; Cornett, Force & Radcliffe

1994; Forbes & Lindquist 2000; Ladd 1994; Radcliffe 2000; Vicary 2000). A

similar search for guiding ethical principles for forestry has taken place in

Australia (Bachelard 1979, 1980; Barlett 1988; Carron 1979; Dargavel 1980;

Florence 1980; Natural Resources & Environment 2002; Westoby 1983) with the

formation of codes of practice. Proctor (1996) congratulates foresters on their

quest for ethical considerations in forest management, however, it is questionable

whether all these ‘codes’ incorporate the sentiments of Leopold’s views (see

Forest Protection Board, Tasmania 2000).

Leopold (1949) was not so rash as to totally ignore the effect of economics on

environmental questions. Nevertheless his purpose was to reduce the dominance

of economics in deliberations about land management:

The case for a land ethic would appear hopeless but for the minority which is in obvious revolt against these ‘modern’ trends. The ‘key-log’ which must be moved to release the evolutionary process for an ethic is simply this: quit thinking about decent land-use as solely an economic problem. Examine each question in terms of what is ethically and aesthetically right, as well as what is economically expedient.

(Leopold 1949, p. 224-5)

He promoted an alternative to the dominant social paradigm and it is the often

quoted phrase, ‘A thing is right when it tends to preserve the integrity, stability,

and beauty of the biotic community. It is wrong when it tends otherwise’

(Leopold 1949, p. 225), that is central to an understanding land ethics. This

phrase has created debate for many philosophers (Callicott 1987a, 1987b, 1989;

Moine 1986; Norton 1986, 1988).



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Leopold’s lack of prescription in this phrase allowed for numerous interpretations

of the land ethic. For example, Heffernan (1982, p. 247) suggests a rephrasing of

the quote to incorporate current ecological considerations: ‘A thing is right when

it tends to preserve the characteristic diversity and stability of an ecosystem (or

the biosphere). It is wrong when it tends otherwise’. However, Heffernan

ignores the aesthetic qualities of the land, values that interested both Leopold

(1949) and Callicott (1989). The importance of Leopold’s maxim to this thesis is

that it has potential to influence my reflections on my practice as a professional

environmental educator.

Leopold (1946) extended his concept of a land ethic from his earlier ideas about

land health, which incorporated a ‘human-harmony-with-land paradigm of

conservation’ (Callicott 2000, p. 8). This land health paradigm has been extended

by Rolston III (1996) who argued for an Earth Ethic:

Earth is not something we own. Earth does not belong to us; rather we belong to it. We belong on it. The question is not of property but of propriety.

(Rolston III 1996, p. 189)

Further developments of a land ethic or land ethics have occurred with Ed

Wilson’s (1984) promotion of biophilia, which involved deeper moral

considerations (Wilson 1984, p. 138):

It is time to invent moral reasoning of a new and more powerful kind, to look to the very roots of motivation and understand why, in what circumstances and on which occasions, we cherish and protect life. The elements from which a deep conservation ethic might be constructed include the impulses and biased forms of learning loosely classified as biophilia.

(Wilson 1984, pp. 138-139)

These deeper ecological interpretations for a land ethic or land ethics may not be

a new paradigm, expressed as the New Environmental Paradigm (Fien 1993), but

merely a ‘re-visiting’ of, or reflection on, indigenous peoples’ cultural

understandings of their land (Knudtson & Suzuki 1992).

These environmentally benign cultural understandings have been explored under

the guise of Deep Ecology which suggests that solutions to some ecological



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problems lie in improving our relationships with, and attitudes to, the

environment (Des Jardins 2001; Fox 2003; Hay 2002; Naess 2003; Nash 1989).

A key theme for Deep Ecology appears to be ‘Self-realisation’ – identification for

the individual of his or her relationship with the whole of existence (Fox 2003;

Naess 2003; Wenz 2001). This implies ‘enlargement of one’s sphere of

identification’, emphasising that ‘we ought to care as deeply and compassionately

as possible about that fate – not because it affects us but because it is us’ (Fox

2003, p. 258). Although emphasising the individual and self-realisation, Deep

Ecology tends to place the individual in his or her environmental contexts. There

are parallels between these ideas and those of Leopold (Leopold 1949).

The term Deep Ecology entered the environmental discourse in the 1970’s and

was promoted by Naess, Sessions and Devall (Hay 2002; Fox 2003). According

to Naess (2003) Deep Ecology is a willingness to question economic and political

policy in public to encourage a (Self) realisation that deep changes are required in

both our lives and attitudes to achieve ‘environmental synergism’ (Wenz 2001, p.

224). Deep ecology contrasts with shallow (or scientific) ecology, which is seen

by Naess (2003) as anthropocentric. Wenz (2001, p. 222) suggests that ‘Deep

ecology presents a radically different worldview that rests on beliefs about cosmic

unity and the nature of human maturity and fulfilment’ and as people mature ‘they

widen their sense of identification with others’ (ibid, p. 223).

For Wenz (2001) Deep Ecology has religious overtones because it is a

‘worldview that gives a meaning–orientated description of reality and of

humanity’s place within reality’ (p. 224). Exploring this idea, Hay (2002)

identifies two distinct ‘senses’ of Deep Ecology – Deep Ecology as a movement

and Deep Ecology as a philosophy (Hay 2002, p. 42). Fox (2003) develops an

argument with the philosophy of Deep Ecology as he suggests that Naess’s tenet

of ‘biological equalitarianism –in principle’ (Fox 2003, p. 257) is problematic. It

appears that Deep Ecology suggests equal intrinsic worth of all members of the

biosphere. The ‘in principle’ clause acknowledges some realism that there are

degrees of sentience that affect how humans relate to the values of the rest of

nature. But for Fox (2003, p. 258) it is Deep Ecology’s ‘definition of



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anthropocentrism which is so overly exclusive that it condemns more or less any

theory of value that attempts to guide ‘realistic praxis’’ and perhaps makes Deep

Ecology unworkable. Fox (2003) is supportive of Deep Ecology (Hay 2002) but

acknowledges that there should be a diversity of different values that need to be

recognised in decision-making processes. Deep Ecology’s promotion of a

coherent system of life does not imply that ‘all multiplicity and diversity is

reduced to homogenous mush’ (Fox in Hay 2002, p. 48), therefore it appears that

the individual’s value is not ‘lost’ within a sense of commonality.

Deep Ecology appears to take some of its understanding from an interpretation of

indigenous peoples’ relationships with the land (Hay 2002; Fox 2003). For

example, in an Australian aboriginal context, Rose (1988, p. 378-9) explains the

difficulties for non-aborigines in understanding indigenous peoples’ perceptions

of the land:

It remains true, however, that moral philosophers, conservationists and other concerned people are querying western values and attempting to formulate a new system of ethics. This entails a profound shift…it requires ‘a whole change in the way of seeing our social world…not just a change in behaviour, but a change in perception…’ I came to understand that Ngarinman people believe that human life exists within the broader context of a living and conscious cosmos.

(Rose 1988, p. 378-9)

Nevertheless, caution and sensitivity are required when cultural, particularly

indigenous, values are ‘interpreted’ and ‘translated’ out of context to support

some emergent environmental values that will challenge the dominant social

paradigm (see Knutson and Suzuki 1992). There are dangers for those who want

to confront ‘western’ values with romanticised interpretations of others’ cultural

values that are socially and politically contextualised within a different culture.

A key theme in Australian culture has been the problem of appreciating diverse

cultural interpretations of the land (Malouf 1998a):

When Europeans first came to these shores one of the things they brought with them, as a kind of gift to the land itself, was something that could never have existed before; a vision of the continent in its true form as an island that was not just a way of



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seeing it, and seeing it whole, but of seeing how it fitted into the rest of the world.

Such problems of appreciating of the land are evident from Fox, Hobbs and

Loneragan’s (2000) work trying to understand Australian cultural relationships

with the land:

Urban Australians will have to tackle their cultural relationship with the land. In Europe, large urban populations live relatively near rural areas and there is an ancient tradition of common land and rights of way. Australia’s population is largely confined to the coast and remnant rural bush is out of sight, out of mind, for many urban people.

(Fox, Hobbs & Loneragan 2000, p. 109)

Flannery (1994), Malouf (1998 a, 1998b, 1998c, 1998d, 1998e, 1998f), Tacey

(1995, 2000) and Bonyhady and Griffiths (2002) have all provided different

cultural perspectives about Australian landscapes emphasising the diversity of

understandings that recognise indigenous cultures and their spiritual relationships

with the land.

Collins (1991) and Burzynski (1991) raise concerns that as the size of the human

community grows so does the difficulty of interpreting a diversity of land

management issues, especially in multicultural societies. Dustin (1991), Simcox

(1991) and Pfister (1991) extended this discussion as to what a land ethic or land

ethics would mean for culturally diverse societies. They challenge the possibility

of developing an agreed land ethic within multicultural societies such as the USA.

However, the emphasis in these discussions appears to be about prescribing an

agreed land ethic, which may not be possible or desirable if criticality is

promoted. Leopold was aware that ethics are neither absolute nor static, but are

dynamic and culturally located.

3.3 Critiques and extensions to The Land Ethic Many philosophers, such as Passmore, McCloskey, Attfield and Sumner, have

rejected or ignored Leopold’s concept of a land ethic or land ethics (Callicott

1987a). Passmore (1974) regards Leopold as a preservationist, distinguishing

between conservation and preservation (Passmore 1974, p.73) as:



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To conserve is to save…I shall use the word to cover only the saving of natural resources for later consumption…Where the saving is primarily a saving from rather than a saving for, the saving of species and wilderness from damage and destruction, I shall speak, rather, of preservation.

(Passmore 1974, p.73)

Critics of a land ethic or land ethics suggest that it is ecocentric, however, Norton

(1986) proposes that any conservation ethic must be anthropocentric because the

focus is on benefits for humans. Norton (1988) later identifies Leopold as both

anthropocentric and non-anthropocentric because both perspectives are human

constructs rather than realities. Norton (1988) suggests that Leopold could be

regarded as non-anthropocentric because he saw the failings of a totally human-

centred approach for land management. However, Leopold’s pragmatism was

that he appreciated that there was little support for non-anthropocentrism in

policy-making and saw human benefits in developing a land ethic or land ethics.

Leopold was hopeful that human interests could extend beyond the dominance of

purely utilitarian considerations, which he viewed as constraining our

appreciation of the land. For Leopold it was not so much a question of overt

misanthropy, as some suggest, but a characterisation of what would constitute

human interests, and how these interests could affect our appreciation of

ecological systems (Norton 1986). Although Leopold’s views have been

considered as misanthropic (Des Jardins 2001) Moline (1986) argues against this

and implies that Leopold was attempting to relate human interests within the

interests, and integrity, of entire ecological systems:

Although Leopold’s land ethic…is a radical view, it is not by any means a heartless one. His holism thus comes somewhat closer than other varieties to satisfying a human demand eloquently expressed by Rodman, a demand for “…a suitable myth that comprehends and integrates our feelings, articulates our intuitions, allows our actions ritual status, and makes us intelligible to ourselves in terms of an alignment with a larger order of things.”

(Moline 1986, p. 120)

Another criticism of a land ethic or land ethics is the idea that it is anti-

individualistic promoting the need to sacrifice the interests of individuals for the



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interests of the whole (Des Jardins 2001; Moline 1986; Wenz 1993).

Individualism is the dominant United States ideology (Tesh in Robottom & Hart

1995), and Leopold’s critics (particularly North Americans) may have felt some

concern that he was promoting an ideology contrary to the accepted social

‘western’ paradigm.

Leopold’s holistic views have been identified as ethical totalitarianism (Kheel in

Des Jardins 2001) or environmental fascism (Regan in Des Jardins 2001). Regan

questions where the rights of the individual lie in Leopold’s land ethic when the

whole system is considered. Rolston III (1996) finds fault in Leopold’s argument

exploring an extension of human rights to all life because ‘we have frankly to face

the fact that there are no rights in nature’ (Rolson III 1996, p. 168). Wenz (1993)

argues that holism ignores legitimate claims of individuals and does not identify

which holistic entities are valued. In contrast, to these apparent pro-

individualistic arguments Robottom and Hart (1995) critiqued the individualistic

ideology with its tendency to ‘blame the victim’ because some individuals will

exert more power over others creating power relationships. Perhaps Leopold’s

land ethic has the possibility to ‘neutralise’ hierarchical relationship between

people and the land as it requires a reconsideration of the roles of the individual

within the broader ecological community.

However, Leopold (1949) does not appear to want to change individual rights,

only the self-perceptions of humans as citizens of a community:

…a land ethic changes the role of Homo sapiens from conqueror of the land-community to plain member and citizen of it. It implies respect for his fellow-members, and also respect for the community as such.

(Leopold 1949, p. 204)

Throughout Leopold’s writing there is strength of conviction as to what actions

are right or wrong (Callicott 1979). Nevertheless, Leopold did not prescribe

moral principles. As Heffernan (1982, p. 247) suggests: ‘Leopold is offering an

additional prima facie rule of conduct rather than a single new standard of right

and wrong’. There was no set of rules, or single agreed ethic in The Land Ethic.



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The essay appears to only encourage reflective and critical processes by

acknowledging personal interpretations of a land ethic or land ethics.

Such reflective and critical processes may encourage an extended social

conscience and extended responsibilities:

Obligations have no meaning without conscience, and the problem we face is the extension of the social conscience from people to land.

(Leopold 1949, p. 209)

Although it is regarded that Leopold viewed holism as a single entity, Moline

(1986) identifies two distinct holisms, direct and indirect. Direct holism,

according to Moline, asserts that each action ought to be judged solely in terms of

its consequences on the entity in question. Moline (1986) suggests Callicott and

Attfield read Leopold as if he was a direct holist, but there are alternative

interpretations.

Moline (1986) also suggests that Leopold could be interpreted as an indirect holist

where the interpretation of the action on the entity is applied indirectly through

criticisms of attitudes, not critique of the action itself: ‘He [Leopold] criticizes

above all our manner of thinking and wishing, seeing that all our actions flow

from this’ (Moline 1986, p. 105). Moline’s (1986) suggestion is that a land ethic

or land ethics develops not from rules and prescriptions constraining actions, but

by reflective thinking and self-critique of the attitudes informing actions. As such

Moline (1986) interprets Leopold’s definition of right and wrong not as moral

rules about actions, but as intellectual processes used to judge attitudes.

Des Jardins (2001) also suggests that some of the criticisms of Leopold’s ideas

can be moderated if Leopold’s views are seen as guides-for-action rather than

moral rules. Environmentally acceptable acts, those which are considered ethical,

need not be prescribed but can be based on critical thinking about the

consequences and morality of the attitudes that underpin the action. In this sense

‘knowing-what-is-right’ appears to be more important than ‘doing right’ because

the former is an intellectual and critical process. Further ‘doing right’ is more

likely to be socially, economically or politically constrained.



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From Leopold’s perspective land is included in his concept of a wider community

(Shaw 1997), because land is essential to ensure the continuation of the ‘healthy’

functioning ecosystem (Callicott & Freyfogle 1999) inclusive of people. This

emphasises ideas of people working with the land in partnerships in contrast to

concepts of the environment managed for people. The emphasis here is for a

‘people-inclusive’ concept of the environment, which differs from the common

promotion of humans ‘external’ to, and distinct from, the environment.

Contrary to Singer (1990), Leopold does not attribute moral rights based on the

capacity of the individual to suffer. Individuals serve their own interests, which

may not necessarily be in the interests of the group or the community (see the

selfish gene concept as proposed by Dawkins 1976). Leopold asks for individuals

to develop a community consciousness, what Orr (1992) suggests is an

‘ecological citizenship’, with a set of values that may constrain personal ‘wants’

but may promote a greater collective purpose of the community.

However, for Regan and Singer the rights of the individual override any rights

given to species or groups. Des Jardins (2001) considers this view as

anthropocentric because individual rights, whether for humans or other species,

are often based on the relative ethical standing of humans. Feinberg (in Des

Jardins 2001) suggests that the characteristic that gives rights is interests; for

Singer (1990) rights are derived from the capacity to suffer, for Regan rights

come from being a subject-of-a-life (Des Jardins 2001) and for Comstock (1996)

desire informs interests and rights.

Moline (1986) critiques Leopold’s holism that apparently gives rights to non-

human populations, communities and species, but not to individuals. Difficulties

arise when rights given to individuals, because they can suffer or are alive, are

extended to constructed ecological concepts such as ‘species’ or ‘populations’,

which can neither suffer nor are alive. The sentient individual, as a functioning

entity, apparently has self-awareness and, according to Singer (1990), rights. In

contrast, species, populations and communities are human constructs with few



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defined boundaries and no rights because they are neither sentient nor alive. It

would be difficult to attribute rights to such constructed concepts.

From Feinberg’s, Comstock’s, Singer’s and Rolston’s perspectives the land

cannot have rights because is not alive, nevertheless life is dependent on the land.

However, the conundrum of rights might be addressed if we consider that the

rights of an ecological community are at a minimum the summation of the rights

of all members of that community, including people. As such the rights of the

land would be the sum of the rights of all organisms living in, or on, or depending

on that land.

The argument for individualism is based on the premise that only individuals have

self-awareness, self-interests and rights. However, individuals can only live

within the community on which they depend. Deep Ecologists argue that any

distinction between what is considered as an individual and a whole may be

artificial because individuals depend on the whole (Des Jardins 2001). Further,

the descriptive uniqueness of any individual (the characteristics that make it an

individual) may be of lesser importance ecologically than its function (what is

‘does’ in the community) (Krebs 2001). Independence and individuality in any

ecological or biological sense may be social constructs derived from, and

supportive of, an individualistic ideology. Individuals have little meaning in

ecology.

Zeide (1998a, b) criticised Leopold because of the dominance of his views on

production forestry policy in the USA; however, most of Zeide’s critique was

superficial and personal (Callicott 1998). Beatley (1994) criticised Leopold’s

land ethic because of the vagueness as to how it should be applied to policy. To

resolve this apparent lack of directives, Beatley (1994, pp. 261-273) proposed key

elements that would determine an ethical land-use to clarify relationships between

ideology and policy. These key elements were:

• Maximum public benefit – the aim is to provide the greatest quantity of

social benefit or welfare, all other things being equal. Consideration must



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be given beyond utilitarian objectives that only have a narrow economic

base.

• Distributive justice – actions must be avoided which serve to lessen social

and economic conditions for the least advantaged in society. An aim

should be to provide mechanisms to improve the conditions for these

individuals and groups.

• Preventing harms – prevention and minimisation of harm to people and

the environment. A principle of culpability extends to those who cause

and are accountable for harm.

• Land-use rights – policy must protect minimum social and environmental

rights of any individual, irrespective of income or social position.

Individuals should be free from excessive levels of environmental risk.

These rights may be viewed as moral entitlements and basic social goods.

• Environmental duties – acknowledgment of obligations to protect and

conserve natural environments for humans and other organisms. There is

no fundamental right to abuse natural features of the land. The aim should

be to minimise the extent of the human ‘ footprint’ on the land and only

allow the proper use of land deemed essential for human use.

• Obligations to future generations – acknowledgment of the obligations to

posterity and future people. Humans have special obligations to protect

landscapes and resources enriching people lives.

• Life-style choices and community character – to allow individuals to

pursue unique choices and be tolerant of the diversity of life-styles

assisting individuals to pursue their own lives.

• Paternalism and risk-taking – avoidance of any paternalistic action in

situations where individual assessment of acceptable risk is replaced by

social values. Individual risk-taking behaviour should be constrained

when substantial social costs are involved and knowledge of the risk

uncertain.



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• Expectations and promise-keeping – requirements that land-use authorities

must keep promises. However, there is no requirement for public land-use

bodies to satisfy private expectations based on broader economic or social

trends.

• Privilege of landownership and use – using and developing land is a

privilege, not an inviolable right. Changing land value due to land-use is a

morally relevant consideration, but changes must be balanced against

ethical merits and community objectives.

• Inter-jurisdictional land-use obligations – acknowledging no political

jurisdiction is independent. Jurisdictions have obligations to minimise

imposition of harms on other jurisdictions.

• Fair and equitable political process – policy must be formulated through a

fair and equitable political process.

However, this exhaustive list does not engage with the critical and reflective

thinking and lack of determinism that Leopold was promoting. Leopold’s (1949)

intension was not to prescribe such ‘written’ directives:

I have purposely presented the land ethic as a product of social evolution because nothing so important as an ethic is ever ‘written’. …The evolution of a land ethic is an intellectual as well as an emotional process. Conservation is paved with good intentions which prove to be futile, or even dangerous, because they are devoid of critical understanding either of the land, or of economic land use. I think it is a truism that as the ethical frontier advances from the individual to the community, its intellectual content increases.

(Leopold 1949, p. 225)

Beatley’s (1994) example to define a land ethic or land ethics may provide some

pragmatism to the debate but does not illustrate the essence of what Leopold was

suggesting, which was to develop self-reflection and self-criticality for the benefit

of the community.

Bosselman (1994) takes a different approach. He suggests Leopold’s desire for a

single ethic is futile and has not been realised. However, Leopold was not



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promoting the land ethic. To further his argument, Bosselman (1994) proposes

four land ethics: order, reform, responsibility and opportunity, which were based

on appreciating that:

An understanding of the history of land’s role in our ethical behaviour will enlighten the search for ethical standards that better reflect current conditions. Aldo Leopold recognized that our ethical attitudes change gradually as we observe the flow of the seasons and the centuries through which our environment has evolved.

(Bosselman 1994, p. 1511)

Bosselman’s (1994) land ethics relate to exploring views of control and

ownership of land more than developing an ethical relationship with land. For

example, Bosselman’s ‘land ethic of order’ was based on maintaining the

relationship between land ownership and political control: ‘Thomas Jefferson

argued that widespread land ownership was an essential precondition to

democracy’ (Bosselman 1994, p. 1468). The ‘land ethic of reform’ was a view of

land as property to be traded: ‘The rapid switch to a paper economy worried some

agrarians like John Taylor, who argued that land was the only legitimate form of

property and that everything else was fictitious property’ (Bosselman 1994, pp.

1471-2). The ‘land ethic of opportunity’ was a utilitarian concept based on

Bentham’s maxim: an action is good if it contributes to maximising the happiness

of the greatest number. It was only the ‘land ethic of responsibility’, based on

Muir’s preservationist views, that aligned with Leopold’s ideas. Muir apparently

saw the land as a religious icon but according to Bosselman, Muir acknowledged

that decision-making processes were politically framed:

…although Muir’s view of the natural world may have been worshipful and ecstatic, he did not, unlike many of the earlier American promoters of “nature”, hesitate to engage in political activity to achieve his objective – the preservation of key tracts of natural land.

(Bossleman 1994, pp. 1484-5)

Leopold might have had problems viewing land as a surrogate for political

control, wealth and power. Bossleman’s approach to land ethics appears to

support, more than critique, the dominant social paradigm.



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In summary, much of the criticism of The Land Ethic is based on concerns that

this ‘ethic’ appears to promote a holistic view where the rights of the individual

are subsumed within the whole. Other criticisms arise from a lack of determinism

promoted by Leopold. These criticisms can be countered by understanding that

Leopold was not promoting ‘directives’. He was suggesting that critical thinking

and self-reflection about the role of people within a land-inclusive community are

key elements to any appreciation of a land ethic or land ethics.

Leopold’s valuing of critical and reflective perspectives are important in this

thesis because for me these qualities mesh with my understanding of the role for

professional environmental education, and align with Schön’s (1983) and

Barnett’s (1992, 1997) concepts of professionalism and higher education. From

such a view professional environmental education may be an ethical professional

environmental education if it encourages ‘a person who loves, respects and

admires the biotic community’ (Leopold 1949, p. 223). I suggest that to address

this values orientation for professional environmental education there is a need to

develop intellectual and transformative processes that encourage critical thinking

about attitudes that are not supportive of a ‘love of the land’. For me ‘love of the

land’ is that emotional quality that informs a land ethic or land ethics.

Nevertheless, this self-reflective, holistic and emotional approach to

environmental education is at some distance from the technocratic determinism

that currently dominates university culture and predetermines, based on technical

data, the corporate ‘correctness’ of the action (Elective 2).

3.4 Leopold and environmental education Leopold presumed that a land ethic or land ethics could be enhanced through

education but questioned what was to be valued in that education:

The usual answer to this [education] dilemma is ‘more conservation education’. No one will debate this, but is it certain that only the volume of education needs stepping up? Is something lacking in the content as well? It is difficult to give a fair summary of its content in brief form, but, as I understand it, the content is substantially this: obey the law, vote right, join some organisations, and practice what conservation is profitable on your land; the government will do the rest. Is not this formula too easy



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to accomplish anything worthwhile? It defines no right or wrong, assigns no obligation, calls for no sacrifice, implies no change in the current philosophy of values. In respect of land-use, it urges only enlightened self-interest. Just how far will such education take us?

(Leopold 1949, pp. 207-8)

He called for a ‘different’ education, one enhancing a land ethic or land ethics that

encouraged questioning the acceptance of instrumental values and self-interests.

Nelson (1998, p. 744) extends the argument by suggesting a need to ‘…extend

ethical consideration (feelings of moral sympathy) to those we consider to be in

our community (ethics and society are correlative). Ethical inclusion spreads as

our sense of community spreads’. The value of developing holistic relationships

within cultures, and between cultures and the land, influenced Leopold’s critical

views on the limits of a scientific education:

…Leopold chides his colleagues for their failure to make scientific education something whole and constructive rather than something endlessly analytic, a discontinuous series of fragments. He further suggests that science in isolation from the humanities, from poetry, music, literature, art, and philosophy, is something barren and even destructive….Higher education, he [Leopold] insisted, must recognize this wholeness and courageously explore the connections across disciplinary boundaries, even though some sacred cows may be sacrificed in the process.

(Callicott 1989, p. 228-9)

Nature-based inquiry influenced Leopold’s professional life. He criticised

forestry because of its reliance on ‘machinery standards’, in contrast to promoting

‘natural skills’. His ‘conservation standards’ ‘…relate to qualitative objectives

such as the integrity of forest watershed, expressed perhaps in terms of the

presence of certain indicator species that thrive only on healthy watersheds’

(Flader 1979, p. 144). These qualities were differentiated from the ‘machinery

standards’ with their more scientific, objective and reductionist approaches (see

Elective 1).

For Leopold, learning required direct experiences with the land. This experiential

learning can be aligned with Van Matre’s (1979, 1990) ‘acclimatization’

programs. As further support, Fox, Hobbs and Loneragan (2000) outline how



84

direct experience is vital to developing an emotional commitment to improving

conservation management. Wittmer and Johnson (2000) give examples of how

direct field experiences positively affect adult learners working for social and

environmental change. Not only is direct experience important, but as Callicott

(1987a), Flannery (1999), Leopold (1949), Malouf (1988c) and Mulligan and Hill

(2001) all suggest, ‘understanding’ the land includes an appreciation of its

aesthetics qualities:

The divorcement of things practical from things beautiful, and the relegation of either to specialized groups or institutions, has always been lethal to social progress, and now it threatens the land-base on which the social structure rests.

(Leopold 1946, p. 224)

Assessment of the aesthetic qualities of landscape has been investigated by

writers such as Cary and Williams (1998), Gobster (1995), Mitchell (1979) and

Mulligan and Hill (2001). Tacey (1995, 2000) and Bonyhady and Griffiths

(2002) extend the aesthetic qualities of land to a consideration of its spiritual

values.

Leopold provides a perspective of what should be valued in environmental

education, emphasising connectivity or ‘mutual love’ between people and their

land:

It is inconceivable to me that an ethical relation to land can exist without love, respect and admiration for land, and a high regard for its value. By value, I of course mean something far broader than mere economic value; I mean value in the philosophical sense. Perhaps the most serious obstacle impeding the evolution of a land ethic is the fact that our educational and economic system is headed away from, rather than towards, an intense consciousness of land. Your true modern is separated from the land by many middlemen, and innumerable physical gadgets. He [sic] has no vital relation to it; to him [sic] it is the space between cities on which crops grow...Almost equally serious as an obstacle to a land ethic is the attitude of the farmer for whom the land is still an adversary, or a taskmaster that keeps him in slavery. Theoretically, the mechanisation of farming ought to cut the farmer’s chains, but whether it really does is debatable…

(Leopold 1949, pp. 223-4)



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Booth (1998) expanded links between Leopold’s ideas of a love for the land and

an eco-feminist adoption of an ‘ethic of care’. Booth emphasised caring for the

land through an integrated, liberal education including diverse nurturing

experiences developed from the arts, music, poetry, visual arts and literature. If

this is an integrated approach for learning it echoes Leopold’s idea of a liberal

education where the integrity of whole of learning is greater than the sum of the

parts.

3.5 Summary For many Australians our relationship with the land is confused and unclear

(Mulligan & Hill 2001). For example, the myth of the ‘love of the bush’ is

supposedly held in high esteem and appears embedded into Australian culture, yet

the population is highly urbanised. Flannery (1994) wrote of this uneasy

relationship between people and the land:

The problem of culture maladaptation seems to be particularly acute in Australia. For it has the highest number of new settlers of any of the ‘new’ lands and it has an extremely difficult and unusual ecology. Perhaps this accounts for what outsiders perceive as the obsession Australian have with defining themselves. But to Australians, that obsession makes perfect sense. It arises from a frustration borne of the long-felt inability to live in harmony with the land. It comes from the dismay one feels when seeing the extraordinary beauty and complexity of unique environments wither – even from an apparently gentle touch by a European hand – and from the floods and bushfires that constantly remind Australians that the land does not hold them comfortably. Finally, and most importantly to many, it arises from the great gulf of culture and understanding that exists between Aborigines and other Australians.

(Flannery 1994, p. 389-90)

Perhaps the idea that some colonising Australians, and some of their descendants,

are considered as inappropriately ‘adapted’ to the Australian environment may be

due the numerous examples of peoples’ alienation from the land, as illustrated by

Australia’s poor environmental record (CSIRO 2001). We might, in our literature

and visual art, ‘love’ the ‘bush’ but I suggest that we don’t understand it. I

question whether there can be any ‘love’ of the bush’, in a Leopoldian sense,



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without understanding the ecological holism that does not differentiate between

people and the land.

I suggest that the challenge for environmental educators is to develop curricula

that engages with Leopold’s holistic idea of a land ethic or land ethics and

encourages cultural and aesthetic understandings of a broader community,

inclusive of the land. Such learning may promote an Australian ‘ecological

citizenship’ (see Orr 1992). This ‘ecological citizenship’ would be particularly

relevant to environmental decision-makers (Elective 3).

Routley (2003) argued for a ‘new’ environmental ethic by stating that ‘neither the

modified dominant position nor its Western variants, obtained by combining it

with the lesser traditions is adequate as an environmental ethic, as I shall try to

show. A new ethic is wanted’ (p. 48). Accumulating scientific knowledge (a

technical orientation) may not develop a ‘new’ environmental ethic because such

knowledge, considered as value-free, does not promote the emotional and

aesthetic qualities that Leopold so admired and considered essential for a land

ethic or land ethics. Understanding our cultural ‘place’ within the land requires

critical self-reflection3, which will promote a discourse encompassing emotional

experiences derived from the land. I suggest that an appreciation of these

affective and aesthetic values, which emerge from the connections between

culture and land may redress some alienating practices.

Environmental education, as professional education, could attempt to develop

within students and staff not just technical knowledge for resource management,

but ethical appreciations of the consequences of attitudes informing actions. This

reinforces Madsen’s (1996) argument stating that universities have a ‘moral

obligation to foster environmental awareness’ (p. 76). I suggest that to address

this obligation, academics need to critique their own deliberations in relation to

their perspectives for professional environmental education. This is a role for my

folio in which I continuously emphasis my self-reflection and criticality and

attempt to become a transformative intellectual (Fien 1993). 3 Critical self-reflection is according to Barnett (1997, p. 197) that form of criticality which finds expression in being directed towards the self.

Chapter 4 – Theoretical perspectives and methodology


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Chapter 4 – Theoretical perspectives and methodology 4.0 Introduction Research is often seen in terms of outcomes interpreted as elements of ‘truth’.

Nevertheless, as a process, and an intellectual challenge, research is dependent on

its underpinning epistemology and theoretical perspective. Links between the

scope of the research question and the choice of epistemology should be clear and

obvious (Crotty 1998), but these choices are not necessarily free (Robottom

1985). There is an interactive nexus between the selection of epistemology and

how the research questions are framed and considered.

My research focuses on the role, purpose and evaluation of professional

education, and my role in praxis:

Praxis may be understood to be one resolution to the theory and practice dualism that has plagued Western intellectual thought.

(Quantz 1992, p. 463)

I interpret my field of practice by constructing what I consider to be professional

environmental education, the ‘purposes’ it serves, and for whom. The importance

of my research is that providers of professional education (myself included) and

its recipients demand ‘answers’ to questions as to how professional education and

professional practice are aligned (see Electives 1 and 2).

In my search for a theoretical perspective for this research, I have had to take a

broader understanding of research paradigms than those with which I am more

familiar. As outlined in Chapter 1 the scientific worldview dominates my

professional history and the discipline of my professional practice. Research for

this EdD has challenged me to question the suitability of this scientific paradigm

as useful in critiquing my professional educational practice. In Chapter 4 I

provide a brief review of the literature exploring different epistemologies,

theoretical perspectives for educational research and methodologies, which

demonstrates an evolution in my appreciation of the appropriateness and worth of

different research paradigms.

As I am someone actively working across a range of research paradigms it is

important to reflect on Kuhn’s (1970) words:



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Since no paradigm ever solves all the problems it defines, and since no two paradigms leave all the same problems unsolved, paradigm debates always involve the question: Which problem is it more significant to have solved?

(Kuhn 1970, p. 110)

4.1 What is an appropriate epistemology for this research? There are ‘handbooks’ on educational and qualitative research techniques (for

example Crabtree & Miller 1992; Cohen & Manion 1983; Dey 1993; Denzin &

Lincoln 1994, 2000; Flick 1998;Glaser & Strauss 1967; Guba & Lincoln 1988;

LeCompte, Miles & Huberman 1984; Millroy & Preissle 1992; Punch 1998; Rice

& Ezzy 1999; Tesch 1990). As the choice of approach is diverse, dangers exist in

selecting a method without first clarifying the epistemological intricacies

informing method. Crotty (1998) suggests that research is dependent on

answering questions about methodologies, methods and justification of these

choices. Understanding the assumptions of methodology and method are

essential as every research is dependent on answers to the following questions:

What methods do we propose to use?

What methodology governs our choice and use of methods?

What theoretical perspective lies behind the methodology in question?

What epistemology informs this theoretical perspective?

(Crotty 1998, p. 2)

Crotty (1998) outlines different epistemologies that influence research:

objectivism, constructionism and subjectivism. Freeman and Jones (1980)

suggest a slightly different classification with a division between what they

consider are competing traditions: positivist and interpretivist. Keeves (1988)

identifies the dualism between the scientific and the interpretive. Guba and

Lincoln (1988) differentiate between positivist and naturalistic inquiry

methodologies. These different research frameworks explore theoretical

perspectives often considered as different paradigms in the tradition of Kuhn

(1970).



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What is apparent is that paradigms influence research (Guba & Lincoln 1988;

Mrazek 1993a):

Paradigms do imply methodologies, and methodologies are simply meaningless congeries of mindless choices and procedures unless they are rooted in the paradigms.

(Guba & Lincoln 1988, p. 114)

Many of the arguments about choice of epistemology are between the relative

values, merits, and what each epistemology implies about the conclusions derived

from the research. Conclusions expressed as ‘truths’ are dependent on the method

by which they were derived and the qualities of the paradigm from which they

emerged.

4.1.1 Objectivism and positivism Although there is extensive philosophical debate, objectivism suggests research

characterised by positivism which:

…is based on an objectivist or empiricist epistemology where knowledge is expert-derived, cumulative and progressive; values are excluded through the adoption of a distant, noninteractive posture; and propositions (hypotheses) are subjected to empirical tests of falsification.

(Robottom & Hart 1993, p. 7)

The aim (or objective) of positivism appears to be to identify and express a sense

of the ‘true’ nature of reality through applying appropriate objective and scientific

methods. Positivism assumes:

• what is ‘out there’ can be fragmented and each aspect studied

independently;

• the knower can be independent of what is known;

• there is temporal and contextual independence of observations;

• there is linear causality: no effect without a cause and no cause without an

effect; and

• methodology can create a value-free inquiry system not influenced by the

researcher.



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Positivism is traditional and popular in educational research because it focuses on

identification and control of variables considered to affect educational

performance and outcomes (Hungerford, Peyton & Wilkie 1980; Hungerford &

Volk 1990). In positivist research, effort is directed towards methods ensuring, or

at least allegedly improving, a sense of objectivity. For example, positivist

researchers are concerned about sampling strategies to ensure greater

representativeness of data and highlight methods to minimise researcher bias.

Implicit within this approach is a need for experimentation, measurement,

quantification and prediction. These methods are thought to enhance the ability

of the researcher to generalise from the specificity of results to more universal

cause and effect links (Borden & Schettino 1979; Hungerford, Peyton & Wilkie

1980; Hungerford & Volk 1990). Susman and Evered (in Robinson 1993, p. 275)

define positivist science as ‘all approaches to science that consider scientific

knowledge to be obtainable only from sense data that can be directly experienced

and verified between independent observers.’

Rice and Ezzy (1999) argue that positivism, as an epistemology, is not a single

theory but exists as a number of theories rejecting methods that do not address

concerns about bias. Included in this group is logical positivism, which underpins

science and attempts to construct bridges between ‘truth’ and validity. Central to

arguments about the validity of this epistemology is an appreciation of the

complexity of verification processes (Crotty 1998). Logical positivism has been

questioned by Popper, Kuhn and Feyerabend to such an extent that it has been

rejected as an appropriate epistemology for research by many social scientists

(Crotty 1998; Denzin & Lincoln 2000; Guba & Lincoln 1988; Rice & Ezzy 1999)

and educationalists (Freeman & Jones 1980; Robottom & Hart 1993). Rejection

of positivism lies in ideas that it is false to attempt to separate a quest for ‘truth’

from the culture in which ‘truth’ is constructed (Maturana 1991; Nowotny, Scott

& Gibbons 2001). As Robinson (1993, p. 276) suggests, ‘The falsity of the

positivist science as described by Susman and Evered (1978) is due to its

foundationalist qualities. The cornerstone of foundationalism is that knowledge

claims are justified by deriving them from other more secure knowledge claims.’



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Robinson (1993) argues that there is a tendency in positivism to privilege

observational evidence (e.g. what we see, hear, taste etc) ignoring any

consideration that perceptions are formed from complex cognitive processes.

Fortunately there are alternate paradigms that acknowledge the importance of the

cultural contexts that shape and reinforce ideas and perceptions (Polkinghorn

1983).

Positivism appears to consider irrelevant biases or human constructions because

as an approach it stresses the independence, or exogenous nature, of research:

If one defines reality as multiple, as naturalists do; if one believes that there is an interaction between the inquirer and the respondents of such a nature that it literally creates the findings of the inquiry, as naturalists do; if one believes that understanding can be developed only with respect to particular temporal and contextual conditions, and then only by appreciating the pattern of complex interactions that exist, as naturalists do; and if one believes that values inevitably influence the outcome of an inquiry, as naturalists do; then the collaborative mode is clearly preferable –indeed, it is indispensable.

(Guba & Lincoln 1988, p. 99)

Critics of positivism, such as Crotty (1998), Freeman and Jones (1980), Lincoln

and Guba (1985) and Rice and Ezzy (1999) present a number of problems with

this epistemology. The premise for their critique is that researchers may only see

problems and solutions from within their own cultural contexts – their paradigm.

Researchers may not be able to disengage themselves from their paradigm by an

illusionary sense of objectivity (Kuhn 1970). The researcher and the contexts of

the investigation are integrated components of any research. Research, as an

activity, is perhaps an extension of the values embedded and contextualised

within the cultures of the researchers:

…[human] actions cannot be observed in the same way as natural objects. They can only be interpreted by reference to the actor’s motives, intentions or purposes in performing the action. To identify these motives and intentions correctly is to grasp the ‘subjective meaning’ the action has to the actor.

(Carr & Kemmis 1986, p. 88).



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Positivism does not appear to provide a valid framework for values-laden research

(Rice & Ezzy 1999) because it does not consider the relevance of the intention

and attitudes that influence cultural behaviours (inclusive of the researcher).

Although in the literature cited there appear some prejudices against empirical-

analytical approaches, Connell (1997, p. 129) expresses her concern that there is a

‘risk [of] foreclosing further discussion, effectively denying a future research

focus on the many innovative ways in which an empirical-analytical methodology

could be used…’ She concludes positively that educational research may require

a spectrum of methodologies to be considered more than any pre-determined bias

against a particular view. This is an argument against any particular research

dogma as being superior.

4.1.2 Epistemologies different from objectivism Constructionism or constructivism differs from any objectivist epistemology

(Crotty 1998) and appears to acknowledge that the social worlds under

investigation cannot be untangled from researchers’ constructions of context:

The notion that students actively and uniquely construct knowledge within the framework of their own experiences, rather than passively receiving information transmitted by textbooks or teachers, is accepted by those working within a constructivist paradigm.

(Leder 1993, p. 12)

That alternative epistemologies to positivism exist suggests the possibility of

deliberative and free choices of the most suitable paradigm for any particular

research question. However, choice is only possible if there is an opportunity,

even encouragement, to consider different alternatives as valid options. This may

not be possible if the researchers’ cultural paradigm is so consuming that

alternatives are not even recognised. (This has often been the case with my

experience of scientists’ rejection of alternatives to positivist research). Strong

advocates of any particular epistemology should be aware that they too may be

blind to alternatives. The nature of paradigms provides warnings for all

researchers who make unconsidered choices or do not provide argument for their

choice of research paradigm (Kuhn 1970).



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Throughout the literature there appears to be some overlap as to what constitutes a

theoretical perspective for educational research, and what can be classified as the

methodology (Flick 1998; Rice & Ezzy 1999). If, as according to Crotty (1998),

the methodology is the strategy or plan of appropriate action, then the theoretical

perspective for educational research would be the social perspective of the world

that informs methodological assumptions. Implicit within Crotty’s classification

is the idea that specific methodologies relate to their own theoretical perspectives

for educational research, and that methodologies are not value-free but have their

own political agenda, as do epistemologies. This appears to be the case with

positivism, and the positivists’ desire for an objective approach to underwrite the

validity of the research. A political agenda may exist for all paradigms; however,

it is constructivism that acknowledges a political self-consciousness.

When seeking claims for validity, there are dangers of tending towards, and

making comparisons with positivism. This may be the case with some

interpretive research. Jennings (1985, p. 5) suggests ‘…many interpretive studies

are covert forms of positivism…’ because they seek objectivity and value-free

inquiry. Any quest or even an allegiance to objectivity suggests that the

researcher has not fully engaged in any alternative epistemology to positivism.

This may imply a lack of confidence in the chosen epistemologies.

McCutcheon (1981) and Candy (1993), in a comparison of what were thought to

be the three main theoretical perspectives for educational research, proposed a

triangle with positivist, interpretive and critical theory perspectives at the apices.

In this example, each side of the triangle could be seen to unite two views with a

common agenda:

• interpretivism and critical theory are similar in their rejection of

positivism;

• positivism and interpretivism attempt to be objective with respect to the

method by which the researcher collects and interprets the information.

Although the epistemology of interpretivism is subjective, the researcher

identifies themselves as a detached and disinterested observer; and



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• critical theory and positivism are in agreement because their research has

importance and value in wider social and cultural contexts.

However, this approach determines that all educational research epistemologies

will ‘fit’ within this model. This may not be an accurate representation.

Tensions between the relative values of epistemologies, and their juxtapositions,

appear to dominate social and educational research (for example Crabtree &

Miller 1992; Cohen & Manion 1983; Denzin & Lincoln 1994, 2000; Glaser &

Strauss 1967; Guba & Lincoln 1988; Keeves 1988; Miles & Huberman 1984;

Rice & Ezzy 1999; Richardson 1994; Tesch 1990). This has led Aronowitz and

Ausch (2000) to suggest that supporters of alternate paradigms make comparisons

because they may not have fully let go of the traditional authority given to

positivist traditions:

…we argue that, following their perception of practices in the natural science, the social sciences have reified methodology, making it the chief imperative of social investigation and using it to ground their knowledge claims…Arguably the tendency toward privileging methodology is a symptom of the insecurity shared by most branches of the human science about the scientific status of their findings.

(Aronowitz & Ausch 2000, p. 699)

I suggest that attempts to seek a greater sense of objectivity for values-based

research, because of some naïve, external requirement for improving validity, are

futile and serve no purpose except to erroneously compare, and benchmark, the

validity of alternatives to positivism with positivism. Once the decision to reject

positivism as an epistemology suitable for investigating values has been made,

there is little need to apologise for any lack of objectivity in the research.

Further confusion exists because there are assumptions that quantitative methods

imply a positivist epistemology and qualitative methods are informed by alternate

paradigms. This is incorrect. Some qualitative methods are not, in themselves,

indicative of any alternative epistemology. The presumption that the method

determines the epistemology is not the case. It is the deliberative choice of the

appropriate theoretical perspective to engage with the research questions that

informs the method.



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I have rejected positivism in this research because of its apparent inability to

examine values, which are by nature constructed and form the main theme of my

research. Characteristics of some of these alternative perspectives or theories will

be examined in the next section as I explore how I made deliberate choices

informing my methodology and method.

4.1.3 Interpretivism Interpretivism is a subjectivist epistemology distinct from positivism (Candy

1989; Crotty 1998), although Denzin and Lincoln (2000) include positivist as an

interpretive paradigm arguing that all research is interpretive. They (ibid p. 19-

22) explore a range of interpretive paradigms (positivist and postpositivist,

constructivist-interpretive, critical (Marxist, emancipatory ) and feminist-

poststructural).

Interpretivism is a relativist ontology, within constructivist claims, that assumes

that any reality exists as constructed knowledge with multiple meanings

(Robottom & Hart 1993). Candy (1989) considers ‘intersubjectivity, motive and

reason’ (p. 4), as central to interpretivism and refers to:

...consensual norms which define what is real or valid in any social situation; motives are the events or circumstances which cause other events or circumstances…; reasons are the as-yet-unfulfilled expectations which influence behaviour prospectively…

(Candy 1989, p. 4)

This perspective for research ‘looks for culturally derived and historically situated

interpretations of the social world’ (Crotty 1998, p. 67), interpreting social

symbols or ‘agreed rules’ (Candy 1989, p. 4) to govern the validity of knowledge.

This appears somewhat similar to the consensus view of science (Hand 1999).

However, in interpretivism it is understood that there will be multiple constructed

realities requiring multiple interpretations, and that these will be framed within

many cultural contexts informing both researchers and participants.

Interpretivism interprets experiences of social structures (Cantrell 1993) and

acknowledge that events should not be analysed independently from the

instruments of their understanding (Freeman & Jones 1980). Candy (1989, p. 5)



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suggests interpretive accounts should ‘comprehend and account for insights and

evidence with a consistent framework’. Implicit within interpretivism is the idea

that researchers’ interpretations must seek participants’ confirmation of any

comprehension of reality (Carr & Kemmis 1986).

Engaging in an interpretivist theoretical perspective for educational research may

allows for more diverse methodologies, for example, phenomenology,

ethnomethodology and symbolic interactionism (Candy 1989). However, any

comparison of these methodologies with positivist criteria to gauge a sense of

‘which one is best’ is at best erroneous because:

… educational researchers and the community as a whole must abandon the myth of objectivity as neutrality and instead adopt a realizable concept of objectivity – which is both epistemologically and ethically justifiable. It is only through doing this that responsible research – both objective and value-laden – becomes possible.

(Freeman & Jones 1980, p. 19).

Interpretive accounts appear to acknowledge all socially constructed accounts:

there are no misinterpretations. How such accounts become valid claims for

knowledge has been the basis for criticisms of this theoretical perspective for

educational research (Cantrell 1993; Crotty 1998; Rice & Ezzy 1999).

Candy (1989) outlines the positivists’ critique of interpretivism, which includes

concerns about subjectivity and the inability of this epistemology to provide

generalisations. Further criticisms are that interpretivism may ‘ not go far

enough’ (Candy 1989, p. 5) as it attempts to seek objectivity through value-free

enquiry, where the role of researcher is passive and the ‘subject of the research

…becomes an ‘object’ of research’ (Candy 1989, p. 5). Robottom (1993a) and

Robottom and Hart (1993) critique interpretivism from the perspective of the

external, apparently ‘objective’, location of the researcher-as-expert: someone

who may operate from a different cultural framework to that of the participants.

For Robottom and Hart (1993) interpretivism is conservative because it does not

explicitly create social transformations. The researcher operates as an ‘observer’

more than a ‘participant’ in interpretivist research. This location may be similar



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to the supposedly objective position that the researcher takes in positivism. The

theme to this critique is that educational research cannot be politically neutral if it

seeks to influence change. This political position is in contrast to the more

conservative approaches that appear to be descriptions of activities. Nevertheless,

although interpretivist approaches may not set out to create social change,

reflection on the narrative by the reader may change his or her view. This implies

that the reader does not remain ‘external’ to the research process but may be

‘absorbed’ into the account particularly if aspects of the narrative resonate with

the reader’s life. Examples exist, and perhaps my reading of Leopold’s The Land

Ethic is but one example that suggests that narratives can initiate transformation.

In this research I am investigating my professional practice which implies that I

am a ‘researcher-as-participant’. In addition, I wish to take a political perspective

because my reflection about my practice suggests a need for me to challenge the

status quo. From this perspective it appears that critical theory, with its deliberate

political framework, may be a suitable methodology to investigate.

4.1.4 Critical theory Kicheloe and McLaren (2000) provide a recent review of the history of critical

research. Critical science, or critical theory, is considered overtly political as it

addresses from the outset the need for social and political changes though critical

consideration more than mere description and interpretation of events.

Critical theory distinguishes itself by implying:

Those who favour critical approaches argue that, by emphasising the subjective meanings of social action, interpretive researchers often neglect the relationships between individuals’ interpretations and actions and external factors; ignoring the facts that social reality is both shaped by, and shapes, the interpretations and perceptions of individuals.

(Candy 1989, p. 6)

This theoretical perspective appears to engage with a diversity of participants’

values expressed as their political interests as they ‘[seek] explicitly to identify

and criticise disjunctions, incongruities and contradictions in people’s life

experiences’ (Candy 1989, p. 7). Critical theory is modelled on Marxist



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approaches because of its function to create, not merely describe social or

political change (Popkewitz 1984). As example, Carlson (1987) characterises

teachers’ roles in critical theory as they become politically active and the teachers

demand transformative more than reformist change:

In their [teachers’] collectivity and their solidarity with other groups of workers and oppressed peoples, teachers potentially represent a serious challenge to the dominant reproductive goals of schooling in advanced capitalism.

(Carlson 1987, p. 304)

Cantrell (1993, p. 83) suggests critical theory ‘emancipate[s] people through

critique of ideologies that promote inequity and through change[s] in personal

understanding and action that lead[s] to transformation of self consciousness and

social conditions’, and as such critical theory appears to be aligned to the work of

Freire (1972) and his critique of power and oppression in social systems.

Candy (1989) outlines his assumptions informing critical theory:

…(1) much human action is outside the conscious control of personal agency and embedded in social conditions beyond the consciousness of the actors involved; (2) any interpretive explanation makes sense against a background of social rules, practices and beliefs and there is thus a ‘logic of the situation’ which differs from the ‘logic of causes’; (3) unless research is restricted to merely recording actors’ interpretations and understandings, it inevitably involves the reformulating or ‘resymbolising’ of events or expressions which is an act of construction rather than discovery; (4) researchers make use of expert knowledge that potentially sets them apart from the subjects being researched and which gives them access to specialised language of interpretation not accessible to the people being studied; and (5) intentional agency may be frustrated by social rules, by constitutive meanings of the social order and by ‘the habitual sediment of the past’, and the core of uncovering such constraints through research is one of human liberation and emancipation.

(Candy 1989, p. 7)

Critical inquiry appears dependent on knowledge that emerges from praxis that

may be personally engaging, liberating and preparative for action. Praxis is that

interplay between reflection and action to bring about social and political



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transformation (Fien 1993; Freire 1972; Robottom 1993a; Zuber-Skerritt 1993),

and appears important as the ‘practical’ element of critical inquiry. Lather (1986)

is critical of ‘armchair theorists’ who are not engaged in this ‘practical’ process.

She proposes a need for a more collaborative approach, identifying the

practitioner-as-researcher (a position I have taken), which may empower

participants within their own research. Lather’s emphasis is for practical and

agreed outcomes for the research process. This perspective aligns with Kemmis

and Robottom’s (1981) and Kemmis’s (1982) arguments about curriculum

evaluation as a collaborative procedure (see Chapter 1).

Critical inquiry appears to require participatory frameworks for the research

process locating both researcher and participants within negotiated partnerships.

As such there are links between critical inquiry theory, as critical action, and

participatory research and action research (Zuber-Skerritt 1993). As Kemmis and

McTaggart (2000) suggest:

Critical action research expresses a commitment to bring together broad social analyses: the self-reflective collective study of practice, the way language is used, organization and power in a local situation, and action to improve things…Critical action research has a strong commitment to participation as well as to the social analyses in the critical social science tradition that reveal the disempowerment and injustice created in industrialized societies.

(Kemmis & McTaggart 2000, pp. 568-9)

Zuber-Skerritt (1993) suggests that critical theory adds a further dimension to

action theory by implying that ‘it is not enough to plan, act, observe and reflect

within the given circumstances and constraints of an established system…these

constraints may have to be critically analysed, debated and removed if they

impede desired improvement, innovation and change’ (p. 52). She adds that it is

the ‘group process of deliberation’ that provides avenues, through criticism, for

change.

Robinson (1993) explores some of the claims made about action research as it

relates to an investigation of practice. Her argument is that:

…we cannot prejudge the particular theoretical resources needed either to understand or resolve particular problems of practice.



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Action research is not necessarily a technical, critical, liberal or emancipatory endeavour. It may be any of these depending on the nature of the particular problem and the resources required to resolve it. The author [Robinson] therefore disagrees with those, such as some emancipatory action researchers, who wish to link action research with a particular social and political theory.

(Robinson 1993, p. 287)

Robinson’s (1993) view is that any improvement in practice could be considered

an improvement as long as the outcome does not prejudice the ability to resolve

other problems. For Robinson (1993) the rejection by many action researchers of

technical and instrumental problem-solving methods may be counterproductive to

improvements in practice as these methods may be useful in particular contexts.

Robinson has argued earlier (Robinson 1989 in Robinson 1993, p. 273) that

‘practitioners act from their own understandings of their situation, of their role

within it, and of what is possible’ and engaging in action research may not always

be suitable because it depends on the actors’ contexts.

Claims for validity of a participatory approach are addressed by Kincheloe and

McLaren (2000, p. 300):

…researchers are able to articulate the normative evaluative claims of others when they begin to see them in the same ways as their participants by living inside the cultural and discursive positionalities that inform such claims.

Critical inquiry should not be perceived in an abstract sense (removed from

praxis) with the researcher’s position as an external, supposedly ‘objective’

expert. Action researchers, engaged in action research, should be part of an

emergent fellowship working with participants in order to encourage more valid

dialogues; however, interpretations of the validity and meaning of any dialogues

can only be perceived by the participant themselves.

Kincheloe and McLaren (1994) provide the following framework for critical

theory where:

all thought is fundamentally mediated by power relations that are social in nature and historically constituted;

facts can never be isolated from the domain of values or removed from ideological inscription;



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the relationship between concept and object, and between signifier and signified, is never stable and is often mediated by the social relations of capital production and consumption;

language is central to the formation of subjectivity, that is, both conscious and unconscious awareness;

certain groups in any society are privileged over others, constituting an oppression that is most forceful when subordinates accept their social status as natural, necessary or inevitable;

oppression has many faces, and concerns for only one form of oppression at the expense of others can be counterproductive because of the connection between them;

mainstream research practices are generally implicated, albeit unwittingly, in the reproduction of systems of class, race, and gender oppression.

(Kincheloe & McLaren 1994, pp. 139-40)

Emphasis here appears to be on power and political relationships, which makes

critical theory useful for addressing questions about social justice, freedom,

equity (Singer 2002) and the environment (see Goldsmith 1992; Hay 2002; Nash

1989; Suzuki & Dressel 1999). Critical theory may challenge the status quo if it

is accepted as promoting ideas for exploring different arrangements of power,

particularly for the individual, but it is recognised that:

Critical ethnography [a methodology of critical theory] faces a daunting challenge in the years to come, especially because capitalism has been naturalized as commonsense reality – even as part of nature itself.

(Kincheloe & McLaren 2000, p. 304)

Nevertheless, Kincheloe and McLaren (2000) imply that problems may exist for

the greater acceptance of critical inquiry as a suitable investigative approach if

there is an uncritical acceptance for the dominant social paradigm. I have argued

in Electives 2 and 3 that the lack of criticality about practice and theory evident in

many institutional and political contexts may be indicative of an acceptance of the

dominant social paradigm.

Walker (1997) challenges a role for critical theory in environmental education

suggesting that it may not provide suitable practical theories for change leading to

environmental problem resolution. Walker (1997) promotes problem-based



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methodologies as more appropriate for environmental issue resolution. However,

the argument appears to be based on a premise that a major flaw of critical theory

is that it does not account for the diversity of practitioners’ theories, particularly if

these theories differ from critical theory. However, to some extent this critique

appears to focus on the ‘failure’ of socially critical theory to publicly demonstrate

social changes that apparently resolve problems. This critique may miss the point

that:

Critical inquiry cannot be viewed as a discrete piece of action that achieves its objectives and comes to a close. With every action taken, the context changes and we must critique our assumptions again. Viewed in this way, critical inquiry emerges as an ongoing project. It is a cycling process…of reflection and action.

(Crotty 1998, p. 157)

The role for critical inquiry may not necessarily be to demonstrate ‘resolution’ of

pressing environmental issues. Belief that such issues can be ‘resolved’ implies

some faith in the existence of technical frameworks to encapsulate ideas that

problems are resolvable. Within some given contexts ‘resolution’ may not be a

conceivable outcome. Nevertheless, the value for critical inquiry may be that it

‘illuminates the relationships between power and culture and, in this picture of

things, culture comes to be looked upon with a good measure of suspicion’

(Crotty 1998, p. 158). As such critical theory and action research may have

validity if they provide avenues to consider alternative views and processes that

will contrast with ‘tried and tested’ methods. To evaluate critical theory on its

ability to ‘achieve’ outcomes, where outcomes were previously not possible, may

ignore the problematic nature of the context.

4.2 Methodology – critical ethnography and action research There is no direct line between any theoretical perspective for educational

research and an appropriate method via a methodology. Links between these

terms are complicated because of different understandings of epistemology,

theoretical perspective for educational research and methodology. For simplicity,

I follow the definitions as outlined in Crotty (1998).



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The cultural focus of my research suggests value in ethnography (Grant & Fine

1992; Rice & Ezzy 1999; Tedlock 2000). Although ethnography was originally a

methodology for western researchers to investigate other cultures, there is

growing evidence to suggest that it is a suitable approach to investigate the

researchers’ own culture. However, traditional ethnographic research is mainly

descriptive and may not provide mechanisms to create, or elicit, change.

Critical ethnography, as a methodology, provides links between the social

passiveness of ethnography and the participative and political orientations of

social critical theory (Carspecken 1996). As a methodology, critical ethnography

extends beyond description to engage with political and social challenges that can

be addressed by participative action research (Kincheloe & McLaren 2000).

Critical ethnography is considered political because of its focus on the need for

personal liberation from oppression, which incorporates reflexivity (Freire 1972;

Simon & Dippo 1986), a term which is a key component of action research.

Quantz (1992), in a history of the development of critical ethnography, asks for a

methodology that appears to be less academic and more appreciative of the

‘politics of the everyday’ (Quantz 1992, p. 497):

It is as educators that we define our critical ethnographic project. It is structured in relation to our efforts to construct a mode of learning and a conception of knowledge that may enhance the possibility of collectively constituted thought and action which seeks to transform the relations of power that constrict people’s lives…The intent is to make it possible for people to be more so that they may have more…It is a position which intentionally appropriates and reconstructs a “method” in the service of a distinct form of cultural politics.

(Simon & Dippo 1986, p. 196)

Critical theory is engaged with embedded cycles of action, observation,

interpretation and critical reflection, leading to the promotion of a further cycle of

action (Robottom 1993a). This cycle is both catalytic, informative of action, and

parallels with Kolb’s reflective learning cycle (Kolb 1984), action learning

(Zuber-Skerritt 1993), aspects of adaptive management (Johnson 1999; Lal, Lim-

Applegate & Scoccimarro 2001; Lee 1999; Schindler & Cheek 1999) and



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participatory action research (Kemmis & McTaggart 2000). The participatory

‘plan → act & observe → reflect’ (Kemmis & McTaggart 2000, p. 596)

perspective of action research is not only founded in critical inquiry, but several

authors (Fien 1993; Huckle 1993, 1996; Robottom 1993a,b; Robottom & Hart

1993) imply that their interpretation of environmental education research is

supported by this participative approach. Critical reflection is also a key

perspective of professional education and professional practice according to

Schön (1983, 1987), and may be addressed by the collaboration of ‘reflection-in-

action’ and ‘reflection-on-action’ (Pereira 1999).

Action researchers and some commentators on professional education privilege

reflection. Robinson (1993) is more cautious. She argues (p. 281) that ‘Action

research seeks to interrupt action by calling upon actors to recover the ground of

their action and thereby recognize that other actions were possible.’ Such a

process which questions some basic assumptions about problems, solutions and

one’s role in the process may be seen as threatening especially if alternatives

cannot be considered. Robinson (1993) asks for consideration that actors will

identify through reflection their ability, and inability, to create change and

transform barriers. Reflection may be critical but not always be self-

emancipatory.

In summary, I have chosen a methodology that attempts to blend critical

ethnography and action research. In this research my position is as a participant-

as-researcher in a critical ethnographic appraisal of relationships among my own

theories, practices and professional circumstances. From this position, as a

critical ethnographer, I claim that I am able to challenge social structures:

Although critical ethnography allows, in a way conventional ethnography does not, for the relationship of liberation and history, and although its hermeneutical task is to call into question the social and cultural conditioning of human activity and the prevailing sociopolitical structures, we do not claim that this is enough to restructure the social system. But it is certainly, in our view, a necessary beginning.

(Kincheloe & McLaren 2000, p. 299)



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My professional roles are as a teacher of environmental ethics and philosophy and

the co-ordinator of a small environmental management faculty at the University

of Ballarat. In this research I interviewed both environmental management

students and staff at the University of Ballarat, and environmental professionals

and environmentalists with the topic of the interview questions related to their

professional practice and consideration of their land ethic or ethics. The interview

process was in-depth, and similar to a conversation, interactive, and I believe this

process may have initiated participants to reflect on the questions that I posed and

the answers they gave.

Zuber-Skerritt (1993, p. 55) suggests that action research ‘differs from traditional

experimental research in that it is intended to yield not only information, but also

action and practical improvement…Other distinctive characteristics of action

research are that it is always collaborative. The researchers are not outside

experts, but equal co-workers with the participants who contribute their views and

interpretations to the enquiry.’ In this research I considered my position as a co-

worker within the science faculty at the University of Ballarat and researcher.

Although this was my perspective it may not have been the view of my colleagues

or the students I taught because positions of power and authority are not easily

eroded. Therefore, it is problematic for me to make some valid judgment of the

nature of someone else’s ‘actions or practical improvements’. Further, my

observation of another’s action may not have been recorded, but this is not to

suggest that there had been no challenge to the participants’ views. I maintain

that although action research requires participation and collaboration it is only the

individual participant who is fully conscious of the characteristics of his or her

‘actions and practical improvements’. It would be presumptuous of me to suggest

that the action research methodology chosen could empower others (see Robinson

1997). Nevertheless I acknowledge that my research has enhanced changes in my

practice. Further, my research may have also affected some participants. In

Chapter 7 I elaborate on what I consider are my changes to my practice.



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4.2.1 Validity of methodology, methods and inferences Validity relates to the trustworthiness of inferences made from information

sources that are used to legitimise qualitative educational research (Eisenhart &

Howe 1992), but there is continual concern that:

If there is no means of correctly matching word to world, then the warrant for scientific validity is lost, and researchers are left to question the role of methodology and criteria of evaluation.

(Gergen & Gergen 2000, p. 1026)

This has led to what is regarded as a crisis of validity for some researchers

(Denzin & Lincoln 1994). To resolve this apparent crisis, validity claims must be

contextually framed (Rice & Ezzy 1999). Although validity claims are products

of the paradigm in which they exist they need to incorporate ‘self-correcting

techniques that check the credibility and minimize bias’ (Lather 1986, p. 270).

Eisenhart and Howe (1992, p.657-663) outline a history of the quest for greater

validity in educational research. They provide five general standards as guides

for making valid arguments:

1. closeness of fit or alignment between research questions, information

collection procedures and analysis techniques;

2. effective applications of specific information collection and analysis

techniques to their proposed purpose;

3. alertness to, coherence of and assumptions implicit within prior

knowledge of the researcher;

4. value constraints (external and internal). External value constraints

include judgement of the ‘worthiness’ and ‘accessibility’ of the research.

Internal value constraints refer to considerations of research ethics; and

5. comprehensiveness encompassing responses to the four previous standards

‘as well as going beyond them’ (Eisenhart & Howe 1992, p. 662). This

calls for judgements of:

…clarity, coherence…competence... ‘overall theoretical and technical quality’…value and importance of the study…risks involved in the study…being alert to and able to employ



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knowledge from outside the particular perspective and tradition within which one is working…demonstrating that a study, completely and ethically conceived and conducted, can stand up to the challenge posed by other approaches or different results…

(Eisenhart & Howe 1992, p. 662)

Claims for validity of interpretations could be addressed by:

• triangulation (using designs and procedures allowing counter patterns and

convergence) (Lather 1986; Rice & Ezzy 1999);

• construct validity (exploring sources of constructions of theory by self

critique and systematised reflexivity) (Lather 1986);

• theoretical validity (where the theory and concepts are chosen enabling

strategy to be aligned to research goals) (Rice & Ezzy 1999);

• reflexivity (where researchers critically scrutinise their actions as an

instrument of research) (Bleakley 1999; Rice & Ezzy 1999);

• evaluative validity (incorporation of ethical and political dimensions)

(Christians 2000; Rice & Ezzy 1999);

• face validity (the possibility of encountering false consciousness) (Lather

1986) or ‘member checks’ (Guba & Lincoln 1981);

• interpretive validity (examination as to whether the account accurately

represents an understanding of events for both researcher and participants)

(Rice & Ezzy 1999);

• procedural validity (explicit accounts of events) (Rice & Ezzy 1999); and

• catalytic validity (degree to which the research process changes

participants’ perceptions of reality in order to transform it) (Lather 1986).

Validity claims need to address design-specific standards (Eisenhart & Howe

1992) and account for trustworthiness of both collection and documentation of

information to ensure consistency, openness, honesty, integrity and ethical

considerations (Christians 2000; Deyhle, Hess Jr. & LeCompte 1992).



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Even with all this background, validity claims appear to be problematic in

educational research. Gergen and Gergen (2000) call for a reconceptualisation of

what is implied by validity. They suggest value in Patti Lather’s ‘transgressive-

list’ of ways in which validity may be reconfigured or Robin McTaggart’s

reconceptualisation of validity in terms of the effectiveness of the participatory

research in creating social change.

4.3 Which methods? To address validity claims my research employed multiple methods to ensure

triangulation of results (Lather 1986; Rice & Ezzy 1999). This included

unobtrusive methods (Rice & Ezzy 1999) such as document analysis, as well as

focus groups, self-reflection and in-depth interviews. The nature of my research,

which was embedded in different ‘cultures’, demanded sophisticated techniques

to ensure that ‘thick’ descriptions (Geertz 1973) were assembled. I required

methods to ‘dig deep’ into the complexity of different understandings of the

research questions. Methods were chosen because they were cumulative

(information-building) and adjacent (information-collaborating), and therefore I

suggest validating.

4.3.1 Unobtrusive methods Rice and Ezzy (1999) suggest that unobtrusive methods are non-reactive

approaches giving meaning to existing, as opposed to, participative sources. The

diversity of these sources is expansive. Kellehear (1993) outlines suitable

evidence as written records, observation and audio-visual records. In this

research I called on a range of written texts, university handbooks, course

descriptions, unit descriptions, inter-office memoranda, course material, unit

evaluations by students and staff, students’ reflections and students’ unit

appraisals.

4.3.2 Self-reflection and holistic reflexivity This method, promoted by Holly (1987), overviewed by November (1996),

Bleakley (1999) and Ellis and Bochner (2000), relied on my reflective ability.

My reflections were documented as concept or mind maps. My technique

produced two-dimensional images of personal ‘journeys’ taken during the



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research process. These mapped ‘journeys’ were created over some time and

frequently revisited, reflected on and material added as required. My critical

review of practice was the basis for these deliberations.

Formats for the ‘journals’ varied. Reflections were kept as handwritten records or

computer aided diagrams using INSPIRATION4 software. This ‘mind

mapping’ or conceptual network building (Weitzman 2000) software allowed

network diagrams to be drawn and modified to explore both emergent concepts

and links between concepts.

Bleakley (1999) is critical of a technical-rational approach to reflection. There

was danger, because of my scientific background, that my approach could have

been limited to descriptions of events. To extend from this technical limitation, I

acknowledged the value of Bleakley’s ‘holistic reflexivity’, with the inclusiveness

of ‘ecological’ and ‘caring acts’ of reflection as these were a better description of

my desired reflective approach, which resonated with my ecological background.

Bleakley’s (1999) ‘holistic reflexivity’ provided advantages because, for me, it

incorporated the spirit of Schön’s (1983, 1987) reflection-in-action.

I was aware that my reflections were often ‘triggered when automatic responses

and implicit understandings prove[d] ineffective or unacceptable’ (Robinson

1993, p. 282). These reflections provided me with ‘powerful incentive[s] for

thinking and acting differently’ (ibid).

4.3.3 Focus groups The use of focus groups is a discreet method to elicit information from a number

of people at the same time in one location (Morgan 1997). I used existing groups

whose main agenda served purposes not directly related to this research. My

familiarity with participants in these groups was advantageous because it

promoted discussion. Although the focus groups were formed for specific

purposes (e.g. curriculum and course review, developing environmental action for

4 Inspiration Software Incorporated: Version 4 for Windows by Don Helfgott, Mona Helfgott and Bruce Hoof.



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Ballarat) it was possible (because I was a participant in the group) to document

discussions relevant to my research interests. The main focus groups included:

• University of Ballarat academic staff teaching in the BAppSc

(Environmental Management) degree;

• Groups of students from the University of Ballarat undertaking fieldwork

in remote (western NSW) locations as part of the undergraduate studies;

and

• Ballarat Conservation Strategy Implementation Committee.

4.3.4 Interviews Fontana and Frey (2000) review interviews as a research method. Although

appearing similar to conversations, Oppenheim (1992) suggests the interview is

no ordinary conversation. This contrasts with Rice and Ezzy (1999, p. 51) who

argue that ‘a good interview is like a good conversation. Good conversation is a

two-way affair’. Although words are exchanged in both directions in a

conversation, an interview is essentially a one-way process that elicits information

for the researcher. Indeed, if the interview becomes a two-way process of

communication (more like a genuine conversation) then the interview may lose

much of its value as a research method.

4.3.4.1 Types of interviews An essential condition for each interview is the exchange of information, with

responses either as verbal or non-verbal affirmations. I preferred a question-and-

answer pattern with the interviewer asking most of the questions. Participants

were encouraged to respond to each question until he or she had exhausted a

particular topic. I wanted the ‘thickness’ of information that could not have been

provided by methods such as questionnaires or structured interviews.

There are four main types of interviews used in qualitative research: structured,

unstructured, semi-structured, and in-depth interviews (Crabtree & Miller 1992;

Fontana & Frey 2000; Keats 2000; Kvale 1996; Oppenheim 1992; Rice & Ezzy

1999). The method I chose was in-depth, face-to-face interviews (Fontana &



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Frey 2000). In-depth interviews require less a priori determination of questions

(Fontana & Frey 2000). Nevertheless, I had a list of core questions defining the

areas I wanted to investigate (Table 4.1, p. 114). The sequence of questions was

dependent on the ‘flow’ of the interview and the respondents’ answers.

4.3.4.2 The question of how many subjects Sampling is conceptually directed toward quantitative research (Rice & Ezzy

1999) and problems occur when the approach used becomes dominated by

positivist themes such as representativeness of the sample. Sampling decisions

influence which people to interview, events to observe, contexts and processes to

record. Sample size for interviews cannot be determined by hard and fast rules,

only by factors such as depth and duration of the interview and what is feasible

for a single interviewer (Rice & Ezzy 1999). To the common question, ‘How

many interviewees do I need?’ my answer was, ‘As many as necessary to find out

what I needed to know’ (Kvale 1996). This approach dominated my method.

The number of participants could not be precisely determined prior to the

research. To promote flexibility of choice of each participant I chose snowballing

or chain sampling procedures. This method began by contacting respondents

whom I wished to include as participants (Rice & Ezzy 1999). After the

interview I asked each respondent to recommend others who may be interested

and willing to participate in the research. This process was continued until I felt

the topic was saturated, or until no more respondents were discovered (Miles &

Huberman 1984). Rice and Ezzy (1999) suggest this approach often results in a

homogenous sample.

4.3.4.3 Question Type In interviews there is a possibility of a wide range of question types, more or less

‘open’ or ‘closed’, which may elicit various types of information (Dey 1993).

There has been extensive debate about the relative advantages of open or closed

questions in qualitative research (Foddy 1996; Geer 1988; Neuman 1994). I used

open questions allowing respondents to expand what they said without being

influenced by my interests (Foddy 1996; Oppenheim 1992).



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Effective interview questions have three important attributes: focus, brevity, and

simplicity. Alreck and Settle (1995) suggest that short questions are less subject

to error for interviewer and respondent. As questions become long and

cumbersome respondents are more likely to forget the first part of the question by

the time they hear the last. Long questions may also lack focus and clarity and

indicate the interviewer’s confusion about the research issue. To avoid any

confusion I interviewed all participants myself.

The rules for constructing interview questions and assembling them are

essentially the same as those for questionnaires (Forcese & Richer 1973), with

one addition. The researcher constructs ‘probes’ (Rice & Ezzy 1999). The term

‘probe’ is used to describe follow-up questions or comments given after the

respondent has answered the main question. I used many types of ‘probes’, both

verbal and non-verbal. Some verbal ‘probes’ were general, non-directive and

non-specific while others were specific and required follow-up questions

(Neuman 1994; Oppenheim 1992;). For example, I asked each participant to

propose his or her own insights into certain comments they had made during the

interview and used the responses as the basis for further inquiry. In general,

‘probes’ were used when a partial, irrelevant or ambiguous response was given, or

when the respondent had difficulty in answering a question or remained overly

silent. Forcese and Richer’s (1973) advice is to construct ‘probes’ in advance of

the interview rather than making them up as the situations arises. Creating

‘probes’ in advance of the interview is thought to bring a measure of control to

this potentially haphazard form of information collection. Generally, the less

structured the interview the more important ‘probing’ becomes to elicit and

encourage further information.

4.3.4.4 Participants All interviewees were adults (over the age of 18) and selected from what was

considered to be a group with interests in professional education and land

management. The sub-groups of participants were:



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• Land management professionals

This was a group of people whose main income was derived from land

management. These were either State or Local Government employees.

• Academics teaching in the BAppSc (Environmental Management) degree

program at the University of Ballarat.

These were academic staff, full and part-time, at the University of Ballarat who

developed, presented and delivered units, and parts of units in the BAppSc

(Environmental Management) program.

• Students enrolled in the BAppSc (Environmental Management) degree

program at the University of Ballarat.

These were full or part time students enrolled in units in the BAppSc

(Environmental Management) degree program at the University of Ballarat.

Students were selected from all years of the program.

• Environmentalists.

These were local Ballarat people who had publicly demonstrated an interest in

environmental issues.

Potential interviewees were initially contacted by telephone or in person. A brief

conversation explained, in general terms, the research process and the methods

employed. This information was re-enforced with the plain language statement

(Appendix 1) presented to the interviewee at the commencement of the interview.

From the outset it was made clear to the interviewees that they could withdraw

from the interview at any time and at all times their responses remained

confidential. All participants formally agreed to this procedure. All interviews

were undertaken in private and the conversations taped with the prior agreement

of the interviewees.

4.3.4.5 Interview questions Table 4.1 identifies the framework for the questions asked during the interviews.

There was a difference in the types of question asked of students compared to



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academics, professionals and environmentalists. This division was based on

differences between those with some experience of professional environmental

education as enrolled students, and those with experiences of professional

environmental practice.

Table 4.1 Questions asked of interviewees

Category Examples of questions asked of academics, professionals and environmentalists

Examples of questions asked of students

Background Provide details of your background and experience.

What interested you in a course in environmental management?

What were the major influences on your decision to enrol in the course?

Duties Outline an overview of your professional duties and the major influences on these tasks.

What are the important skills you need for this position?

What skills do you think an environmental manager needs?

What job would you like to have at the end of the course?

What kind of tasks do you think the resource manager you want to be will do?



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Table 4.1 Questions asked of interviewees (cont.)

Education What aspects of your training / experience were essential for your current position?

If you were designing a course for someone to undertake your role, what would be the key aspects of the curriculum?

What skills, values and attitudes should be encouraged in an environmental course for professionals?

What would be the key aspects of the curriculum if you were designing a course for someone to undertake the job you would like to do?

What are your expectations of the course?

Tensions Can you give examples of some of the conflicts arising as you undertake your professional duties?

What are the origins of these conflicts?

How do you go about resolving these conflicts?

How do you deal with conflicts between land management activities and your idea of a land ethic or land ethics?

Can you give examples of some of the conflicts you think might arise as you would undertake your professional duties?

What would be the origins of these conflicts?

How would you go about resolving these conflicts?

How would you deal with conflicts between land management activities and your idea of a land ethic or land ethics?



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Table 4.1 Questions asked of interviewees (cont.)

Land Ethics Do you feel some responsibility towards the land?

How do you describe or express your relationships to the land?

How do you ‘view’ the land?

What kinds of experiences and ideas are important for you when you think about the land?

Where do you think these ideas originated?

Do you think people ‘see’ the land in a different way to you?

What kinds of activities degrade the integrity of the land?

What would you understand as a land ethic or land ethics?

How could a land ethic or land ethics such as yours be developed in other people?

Do you feel some responsibility towards the land?

How do you describe or express your relationships to the land?

How do you ‘view’ the land?

What kinds of experiences and ideas are important for you when you think about the land?

Where do you think these ideas originated?

Do you think people ‘see’ the land in a different way to you?

What kinds of activities degrade the integrity of the land?

What would you understand as a land ethic or land ethics?

How could a land ethic or land ethics such as yours be developed in other people?

The relationship between these questions and the research questions is explored in

Table 4.2. However, it should be noted that the research questions are not

mutually exclusive to the categories of interview questions.



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Table 4.2 Relationships between interview questions and research questions

Framework for research question Category of interview questions

What is the nature of professional environmental education as offered by Australian universities?

How do students, academics, professionals and environmentalists relate their perceptions of professional environmental education to professional environmental practice?

What is the role of science in professional environmental education?

What is the effect of what is offered as professional environmental education on perceptions of environmental issues?

How does the information gathered from stakeholders in professional environmental education contribute to a better understanding of the relationship between my theory and my practice?

Education

What political factors influence professional education in Australia?

Who determines what professional environmental education ought to be?

How does what is offered as professional environmental education align with Freire’s (1972) ideas of oppression as a dehumanising process, Schön’s (1983, 1987) perspective of the ‘reflection practitioner’, Barnett’s (1997) consideration of the ‘critical person’ and Leopold’s (1949) land ethic?

Tensions



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Table 4.2 Relationships between interview questions and research questions (cont.)

How does an appreciation of Leopold’s land ethic create a different understanding of the professional relationship between people and their environment?

How do students, academics, professionals and environmentalists view a land ethic or land ethics as understanding perceptions of the professional’s role in environmental issue resolution?

Can an appreciation of a land ethic or land ethics provide different opportunities for professionals to examine relationships between people and their environment?

What tangible experiences influence the development of a land ethic or land ethics?

Land ethics

4.3.4.6 Validity claims of interviews How information from the interview is recorded needs to be considered in any

research plan. For more open-ended interviews, possibilities include tape

recording, video recording, and note-taking (Keats 2000; Punch 1998; Silverman

2000). Tape-recorded interviews provided the verifiable ‘thick’ records that I

subsequently analysed and re-analysed. The advantage of recording the interview

was that information was permanently fixed in time. Tape recording provided

accurate records of all interviews and the participants and I could return to the

original record to validate the accuracy of the account. Tape recording benefited

the interviewees because they were assured validity of their statements with a

permanent record of what they had said (Silverman 2000).

The taped interview was converted into text for purposes of analysis and

presentation. Transcription is a transformative process taking live conversation

and converting it into text (Silverman 2000). The ‘sense’ of the interview would

be lost if a third person (neither the interviewee or researcher) undertook the

transcribing, therefore I transcribed the recorded conversation as soon as possible

after each interview. This eliminated any possibility of any ‘transcriber’ effect.

Transcripts and interview notes provided records of interviews, although they

missed out on gestures, body language and tones of speech. For accountability



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purposes transcripts were anonymous, cross-referenced and kept separated from

their original tapes (Flick 1998).

Validity for the interviews was maintained by ensuring:

• participants and I had extensive knowledge of the issues and we were

lucid and clear in our thoughts and expressions;

• each topic was introduced and discussed with a purpose, and explanations

provided as to how the conversation provided a ‘thick’ source of

information central to this investigation;

• clarity of questions were maintained by keeping them simple and

understandable, clear and brief, and relevant and pertinent to the research

question;

• questions were similar for all participants;

• all interviews and transcriptions were undertaken by me under similar

conditions;

• assuring, based on the participants’ background, that the participants were

able to answer the questions;

• opportunities were provided for further explanation of the questions and

their relevance if required;

• participants were allowed to carefully consider answers in their own time.

Pauses were encouraged if they provided time for the interviewees to

consider their answers;

• empathy with any concerns expressed by the interviewees. The

interviewees were given opportunities not to answer any questions or to

stop the tape, or delete passages from the transcript;

• listening was active and maintained through body language, verbal and

non-verbal affirmations;



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• issues discussed were important to the interviewees, ensuring that we were

both engaged in the interview process and had a clear explicit purpose for

the interview;

• what was said by the interviewees was critically examined, asking for

further explanation of ambiguities when necessary;

• questions were not repeated if the answer was considered adequate;

• there was clarification, elaboration and extension of answers. Ideas were

confirmed by further questions (probing) and seeking, where necessary,

clarification of the answers;

• that the flow of the interview was directed by the participant’s response

and not controlled by the researcher;

• critical reflection by participants was encouraged during the interview;

• participants were asked to check the transcript of the taped interview

against their memory of the interview. All personal information was

deleted from the transcript by the participants to ensure their privacy; and

• conscious attempts were made to ensure researcher biases were minimised

during this information collection phase.

4.3.4.7 Research ethics Research ethics were carefully addressed. There are three broad areas of ethical

concern in all research: ethics of information collection and analysis, ethics of

responsibility to society, and ethics of treatment of participants. In essence, most

ethical concerns in this type of research revolve around issues of informed

consent, deception, harm, validity, privacy and confidentiality of information

(Christians 2000; Punch 1994; Rice & Ezzy 1999). The main protection against

any harmful procedures is the principle of informed consent. This presumes

participants have the right to be informed about their involvement in research and

the nature, purpose and intent of the research (Kvale 1996). Ethical intent allows

participants to know what they are involved with and allows them to withdraw or



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change their mind if they feel they made an inappropriate choice at any time.

People may give consent to be being interviewed if they know they will not be

individually identifiable and concealing the participants’ identity is more likely to

ensure participation. Confidentiality not only refers to protecting names and

keeping confidences but also to other information related to the participants.

Altering names of people, places and events is considered sufficient to ensure

confidentiality (Kvale 1996). Therefore, all names were deleted from the

transcript.

My research presented many possibilities for invading the privacy of participants.

I was sensitive to the ways in which my actions could violate this basic right.

Many of the ethical issues were addressed by my successful application to the

Deakin University Ethics Committee prior to commencing the interviews (see

Appendix 2).

4.4 Analysis What analysis actually means is complex and contested within qualitative and

constructivist research (Kvale 1996; Silverman 2000). Tesch (1990) identifies

key characteristics of qualitative data analysis that can be viewed as

commonalities in the analytical process. However, she cautions that there are no

characteristics common to all types of qualitative analysis. There are a number of

key features:

• analysis is a cyclical process and a reflexive activity;

• analytical processes should be systematic and comprehensive, but not

rigid;

• information should be divided into meaningful units, but connection to the

whole should be maintained; and

• information should be organised according to systems derived from the

source itself.

In this research analysis was an inductive data-led activity (Tesch 1990). My

analysis was not about adhering to any one approach, or to a particular set of

techniques. It was flexible, emergent, reflexive and artful. Nevertheless I



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attempted to be methodical, scholarly and intellectually rigorous as suggested by

Tesch (1990).

Analysis involved different stages that were applied to the participants’ transcripts

and other sources of information (Kvale 1996). These stages included:

1. Description – when the participants described their lived-world

throughout the interview, which included feelings, experiences and

perceptions. This required little interpretation or explanation, only

description.

2. Discovery and reflection – when participants (including me) discovered

new relationships during the interview, and on reflection searched for

common themes.

3. Self-verification – when, during the interview, I interpreted what had

been stated and I fed this back to the interviewee as comment and

validation (reflection).

4. Interpretation – when I independently interpreted the content of the

transcript.

Interpretation was understood to be my development of meanings from the raw

information by highlighting, cross-referencing and exploring what was said in the

transcript, in the light of other information. My interpretation was a condensation

of various approaches that found ‘natural meaning units’ related to the main

research questions (Kvale 1996). There were five stages in this process:

• the whole transcript was read to gain a sense of meaning;

• ‘natural meaning units’ were determined;

• dominant themes were stated as clearly as possible without bias;

• the meaning of these themes was interrogated in terms of the focus of the

study and other sources of information; and

• essential themes were tied together into descriptive statements.



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The emphasis throughout my analysis was that this research was evolutionary

with the purpose of achieving a ‘best fit’ to my emergent theories. Analysis was

to inform more than to direct theory. My analysis incorporated aspects of

theoretical foundations as outlined by Miles and Huberman (1984) and Kvale

(1996).

4.5 Summary Deliberative choices of epistemology, theoretical perspective for educational

research, methodology, methods and analysis were made from the diverse range

available. For me this required a paradigm shift, from a positivist to an

alternative paradigm, in order for me to appreciate the value of my values-based

research. I felt that I needed to align my research questions to the appropriate

educational research theories, practices and analyses that were available.

The outcome was that I chose a constructivist epistemology, employed critical

ethnographic and action research perspectives to collect and interpret information,

which was assembled from various sources: interviews, document analyses and

focus groups. It was important for me to recognize that I saw my position both as

a practitioner and researcher as the information that I gathered influenced,

through critical reflection, my thoughts and practice, and I suspect the thoughts

and practices of participants. Analysis of this information was from holistic and

reflexive perspectives based on my extensive experiences.

I felt that this research design was appropriate for my research because it enabled

me to critically examine my theories and practices in relationship to my own

professional work. The following Chapters, 5 and 6, were the results of my

analyses derived from the various sources of information.

Chapter 5 – Exploring professional practice: the nature of oppression in professional education and practice


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Chapter 5 – Exploring professional practice: the nature of oppression in professional education and practice 5.0 Oppression as a theme In this chapter I present ‘thick’ data from interviews with participants that are

framed within a theme of oppression (Freire 1972).

An act is oppressive only when it prevents men [sic] from being more fully human.

(Freire 1972, p. 33)

In my analysis I align Freire’s sense of ‘being fully human’ within my

interpretation of professionalism. The assumption I make is that professionals

should be ‘fully human’, and free from oppression. This theoretical position is

informed by Barnett’s (1997) professing-in-action:

…that form of professional life in which professionals live up to their professional calling by engaging critically with the world…

(Barnett 1997, p. 179)

This implies professional environmental education and professional

environmental practice will be fundamentally humanising endeavours if we are

critically engaged with them. In a comment about his concern for professionalism

Barnett (1997) concludes:

Professionalism is being shorn of its critical components. It is being diminished, its critical edge being reduced to problem solving in bounded professional situations or to reflecting ‘critically’ on one’s professional practice. Far from injecting liberating elements into professional life, this is liable to play into the hands of the operationalists.

(Barnett 1997, p. 143)

My concern is that professional environmental education in Australia may find it

difficult to emerge from these ‘operationalists’ who have legitimised professional

practice as it currently exists. Professional education appears to be still in the

critical state that Schön (1983) wrote about 20 years ago (see Coady 2000;

Elective 2) and the process of legitimising professional authority is still firmly

entrenched in many universities (Goodland 1984) as they become more

operational and vocational. There has been some resistance to change in many



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universities from this operational stasis (Coady 2000), nevertheless the emergence

of a corporate culture (and its oppressive nature) has, to some extent,

institutionalised professional education. An outcome may be that professionals,

as an elite group, continue to oppress others perhaps because they themselves felt

they were oppressed.

Schön (1983) argued that there was a loss of confidence in the activities of the

professional, and Schein (1972) found a number of problems associated with the

elitist model of professional education. However, little has been happened since

this time to redress these concerns.

The technocratic model of professional environmental education in Australia, as

demonstrated in Elective 1, has not responded to a wider appreciation of the

political and social nature of environmental issues (Harding 1998). The reasons

for this are outlined in Elective 2. I suggest that most professional environmental

learning has not evolved from the constraints of its environmental science origins,

and may well be producing professionals unable to effectively address

environmental issues in their social and political contexts (see Elective 2).

There is an extensive literature referring to problems within professional

education suggesting the need for changes from a culture of control and elitism to

one embracing a more collaborative and facilitative approach (Bines & Watson

1992; Kentish 1994; O’Riordan 1971, 1977; Schön 1983, 1987). The

implications are that although professionals require technical skills they make

moral decisions about who is controlling what for whose benefit (Goodland 1984;

Jarvis 1983).

Professionalism is an ideal commitment for the sake of service. It is, therefore, a moral issue which demands considerable study and discussion since there are no simple solutions. It does not involve indoctrination, rather it demands a considered examination of the values implicit in the concept and, as such, should form a major focus in the professional education curriculum.

(Jarvis 1983, p. 127)

I suggest that this moral perspective, which incorporates Barnett’s (1997)

criticality and Schön’s (1983, 1987) reflection-in-action, is fundamental to



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professional environmental education. The value of a professional environmental

education may lie in its ability to educate for a critical and ethical citizenry who

will engage in collaborative processes with the community to provide social and

environmental benefits, not just economic returns or individual authority. I argue

that the dominant technical professional environmental education (see Cosgrove

& Thomas 1996; Thomas 1993; Elective 1) does not adequately address the

importance of my concerns.

Oppression is chosen as a theme for this chapter because I consider it may

promote dehumanising processes. Elite professionals can be considered

oppressive if they prevent their clients from being ‘fully human’ (Freire 1972), or

do not promote themselves as moral agents-of-change (see Elective 1). When

professional education is confused with vocational education (as demonstrated in

Elective 1) there is a loss of this moral dimension that informs professionalism,

and criticality is confused with mere competence.

The methodologies I employed in this research suggest value in my reflections on

the various interpretations of professional education by a range of participants.

These reflections about my practice form the basis of this folio because they are

regarded as a basis for my action:

The insistence that the oppressed engage in reflection on their concrete situation is not a call to armchair revolution. On the contrary, reflection – true reflection – leads to action.

(Freire 1972, p.41)

My interpretation of the participants’ narratives creates a vignette influencing my

practice. I support this vignette with lengthy quotes from the transcripts because I

want to express the discourse and not just a description of attitudes. My

conclusion from the analysis is that the paradigm dominating my practice has not

acknowledged the concerns of Schein (1972), Schön (1983, 1987), Bines (1992)

and Barnett (1994, 1997). My practice, and the influences on this practice,

appears diametrically opposed to my theoretical ideas, which are informed by

these writers. This unresolved tension is my call for action (Chapter 7).



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I suggest that the current approach to professional environmental education

creates a social dichotomy between those credited with expert ‘knowledge’, and

the assumed power and authority underwritten by accreditation, and those not so

privileged (Elective 3). This division parallels the authority granted to oppressors

and the powerlessness of the oppressed (Freire 1972). As will be shown from the

narratives professional education is interpreted as a means of acquiring power,

and a process whereby the oppressed can be oppressors. I regard this role for

professional environmental education as dehumanising.

Current approaches to professional environmental education promotes a

consensus view that does not engage with the opportunities for critique and

maintains professional education as reproductive of the status quo. Critique

generates choices, which although creating tensions for the individual, may

provide some sense of freedom in that the individual’s future is not pre-

determined:

The oppressed suffer from the duality which has established itself in their innermost being. They discover that without freedom they cannot exist authentically. Yet, although they desire authentic existence, they fear it…The conflict lies in the choice between being wholly themselves or being divided: between ejecting the oppressor within or not ejecting him [sic]; between human solidarity or alienation; between following prescriptions or having choices; between being spectators or actors; between acting or having the illusion of acting through the action of the oppressors; between speaking out or being silent, castrated in their power to create and recreate, in their power to transform the world.

(Freire 1972, p. 24-5)

In these narratives a language of reproduction is explored. This language is a

conservative discourse, ‘reproducing’ knowledge and attitudes because of their

apparent authority. This chapter presents extracts from narratives from different

participants demonstrating this language of reproduction and the apparent

authority of the professional.



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5.1 Students’ voices We are in danger of moving, in higher education, into a valueless world, in that it is devoid of the student’s own personal values.

(Barnett 1997, p. 1000)

In this section I express students’ reflections of the roles and purposes of

professional environmental education based on interviews and my reflections on

their comments in relation to my practice.

Freedom of opportunity for choices underlies what, for many, is the notion of

learning in higher education (Elective 2). Ideas about liberal education are reliant

on a supposed freedom of choice (Peters 1970). Embedded within this liberal

educative framework are ideas that learning should be individualised and self-

directed. However, such freedom of choice may be mythical if what is learnt is

culturally prescribed and embedded in such a way that students are only provided

with unchallenged ideas and their course determines their future options.

Overall, the narratives suggested that there was little sense of ‘learning-as-

liberating’ or ‘learning-as-enabling’ or the promotion of ideas such as deeper

learning (Martin 1999; Ramsden 1998), scholarship (Boyer 1990) and lifelong

learning (Candy, Crebert & O'Leary 1994; Cropley 1979). Students perceived

professional environmental education as ‘learning-to-conform’ to the dominant,

authoritative culture, which probably supported the students’ desire to belong to

an elite group (graduates) of people who apparently commanded respect and

authority within the community. For students, learning was focused on

certification, which in their view would promote self-confidence by commanding

‘respect’ from the community.

Two themes dominated these student interviews: the importance of certification,

and the relative values of experience compared with knowledge gained through

more formal educative processes.



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5.1.1 ‘Getting the piece of paper’ Students saw the purpose of university in terms of formal certification of their

knowledge. For example a quote from Michael:

Michael: …I don’t think they [qualifications] are important but some people look on your qualifications rather than who you are and what you decided to do – a higher official would get the better job. So, unfortunately, it has become more or less a must [to get a qualification] …if you want to do something …you actually have to have a really good backing and the backing would be if you had this degree – unfortunately.

Students expressed professional knowledge as ‘knowledge-for-authority’, which

required certification and authentication by a recognised agency, such as a

university. For students the importance of the university appeared to lie in its

ability to certificate ‘knowledge’, more than any intellectual credibility. Personal

status was related to this accreditation process, not to what was learnt. Michael’s

reference to his ideas being ‘unfortunate’ suggested some lack of confidence in a

system authorising universities’ ability to grant qualifications.

Tensions arise as students attempted to balance their loss of control over their

own future with their need to enrol in a university course, and thereby comply

with externally prescribed academic standards and the need for a formal

qualification. For Michael, as for many students, the need to conform and gain a

formal qualification influenced how he considered his experiential knowledge.

Experience was considered important but because it was not certificated its value

was less.

Another student, Dave, expressed his ideas about certification and outlined

experiences where he thought a qualification would give him greater credibility:

Dave: I came to university so that I could get a ticket and have a say. For example I clean Crown blocks for the NRE [government environmental agency] and they tell me you have to push these trees over with the ‘dozer but it’s a habitat tree or something…I see myself, if I have qualifications, [that] I can be in a position to say – ‘No I think this was wrong’ and they will listen to me and that was one of the reasons why I came to university to put myself in a better job …but [the degree] also [places me] in a position where people will listen to what I am saying rather than saying ‘No



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he was just a worker.” …If I’ve got my qualifications I can reinforce that and say well ‘No, this was how it should be done’ – so that’s kind of why I came here to university but that’s not why I am here now.

This narrative echoes Paulo Freire’s (1972) writings. When the oppressed (the

worker) becomes the oppressor (the ‘boss’) he or she assumes the normative role

of the new position. For Dave his conversion from oppressed to oppressor was

via an undergraduate degree program: people would ‘listen’ to him when he had a

degree.

As such tertiary education might be seen as ‘liberating’, but only for the

individual in the sense that ‘knowing’ liberalises the individual from the

oppression of ‘not knowing’, and that these are positions of power that can exert

respect. However, students may not realise that moving from being oppressed to

an oppressor does not necessarily equate to greater freedom or more self-

confidence:

The oppressed, having internalized the image of the oppressor and adopted his guideline, are fearful of freedom. Freedom would require them to eject this image and replace it with autonomy and responsibility. Freedom is acquired by conquest, not by gift.

(Freire 1972, p. 23-4)

Throughout the interviews there was a recurring link between accrediting

competence and increasing self-confidence. The use of the term ‘ticket’ was of

particular interest. Borrowed from the language of the trades, the ‘ticket’ is seen

as a recognised licence to practice: a certificate of mastery. Use of this term

demonstrated the students’ need to be externally certificated in order to belong to

a recognised group (the ‘trade’): a group who could command ‘respect’.

For many students they were willing to do whatever was necessary in order to get

that ‘ticket’. From this perspective learning was seen as some negative initiation

process: unpleasant, threatening, disempowering, but necessary if one wanted to

‘belong’ to the group and be ‘credited’ with authority. Such views about learning

will not encourage criticality (Barnett 1997). Yet, the quote from Dave, ‘…so

that’s kind of why I came here to university but that is not why I am here now’



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shows critical reflection and perhaps the possibility for an emerging critique about

higher education.

Beth, another student, provided examples of the authority given to qualifications

and, for her, differences between experience and formalised learning:

Researcher: Do you require a degree to do that [previously specified] job?

Beth: I don’t think you do at the moment but I think [that] more and more [in the future] you will.

Researcher: Why do you think that?

Beth: Because there was a lot of paperwork associated with what he [Beth’s relative working as a park ranger] has to do. If he comes across something that was not right he has to submit forms and go through all that. I think that more and more we are expecting people who take care of our environment to know what they are doing and not just be people who have gone and done it and just say I’ll do this and do it how they think it should be done.

For Beth externally authorised qualifications were more valuable compared with

personally authorised experiential knowledge. She expressed a duality between

‘paper authority’ (a qualification) and ‘practice authority’ (on-the-job experience).

For Beth ‘paper authority’ had credibility because it identified that the community

knew ‘ what they [the employees] are doing’. In contrast, ‘practice authority’,

based in experiential knowledge, appeared to have less value because it lacked the

authority of any external authorising agent. Beth related ‘bookish work’ –

paperwork, form filling – with ‘knowing what they are doing’, and the need for a

formal qualification to undertake such tasks.

These links between authority and qualification were common in the interviews,

for example in the following conversation with George:

Researcher: …and what sorts of skills are important for that job that you would like to go out and do?

George: …obviously technical skills – the scientific background was important so you have the authority that people recognise your authority and you are an expert in the field…You also need community spirit or participation. You have got to feel as if your heart is in what you are doing as well; not just that you are a robot doing a mechanical job…When you are working with the



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community it isn’t enough to be a scientist, you have to be a humanitarian as well.

George made the links. Science was identified as the necessary authority, but

juxtaposed to this was George’s sense of the value of community spirit and how

experience underpinned practice. He identified the need for both sets of skills,

but their value was not equal. Working with people had value and was seen as

similar to Beth’s experiential knowledge. It was important but not necessarily

externally authoritative. There was a clear division between the externally

authorised technical, expert knowledge granted by universities and personal

experience or practice, which was only internally justified.

Billy provides further evidence of the authoritative, technical nature of the

qualification:

Researcher: If you get a job as a ranger, what sort of skills would be the most important to know?

Billy: All the rules and laws I guess; general maintenance skills … and …good public relations and office work as well. It’s [The Park Ranger job is] turning into a bit of an office job these days.

Researcher: So what do you think would be important for you to know?

Billy: Well I’d need a degree or some type of education with relevant background and a lot of practical experience as well in dealing with that type of job.

So Billy, like others, saw the need for a degree but was unsure about the relevance

of content. He identified ‘rules and laws’ and technical knowledge, and like other

students, saw the importance of this knowledge in order to ‘handle’ the

paperwork.

The assumption in many professional environmental education courses is that

accredited knowledge should be vocationally orientated (Elective 1). This need

for a vocational education was supported by this quote from Wayne:

Wayne: …because in nearly every good job you need to have a good resume …the better the job was going to be, the better position you are going to be in and the better hours you are going to have [to work] and the less times you are going to have to go out in the rain and that sort of thing. So I think that’s where the whole



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ticket thing comes from and because people are so money orientated…I went out of high school and went working but remember they were really pushing different courses and different things on to you. If you weren’t smart you got an apprenticeship and if you weren’t smart you worked on a farm, like I did. So you’re geared all the time towards getting those little ticks that say I got this and …eventually all the ticks add up to a well paying job and a nice house I suppose. Unfortunately that was the whole way that we’re geared.

Underpinning Wayne’s idea of education was this accumulation of ‘little ticks’,

accrued ‘bits’ of knowledge and competencies. Nevertheless, Wayne was critical

of the ‘unfortunate’ nature of this structure for professional education.

Stephen, expressed a tension between completing a professional course, the

‘getting a piece of paper’, and the purpose of the knowledge and skills that would

be acquired:

Researcher: So what skills do you think universities should be teaching?

Stephen: The ability to meet a deadline; the ability to think clearly; how to present that argument clearly. There should be a strong emphasis on developing a land ethic.

Researcher: Can we stop there? How does one do that?

Stephen: Participate in environmental discussion; participate in environmental activities; argue lots and lots and lots …getting involved.

Researcher: Why don’t people do that?

Stephen: ‘cos the agenda [of learning] was to get a piece of paper; to finish the course and if that [extracurricular activity] was not part of the course it was an extra workload that doesn’t help in achieving the goal of the piece of paper. I’m not running it down completely. I’m here for the piece of paper too. I think that it would be better if we were able to develop stronger environmental ethic.

It appeared that getting a ‘piece of paper’ dominated students’ views about

tertiary education. Content, the issue for most academics, appeared to be of less

importance as it was rarely mentioned. This desire for certification, but the lack

of concern about content, is of interest because Lemons (1994, p. 478) suggests



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‘there is not yet a consensus on what is important for a professional to know in

order to achieve environmental competency’. Students would probably agree.

What was continually emphasised by students was the relative values of various

dualities: theory and practice, office work and fieldwork, practical experience and

‘bookish knowledge’, ‘knowing-that’ and ‘knowing-how’, and the location

(internal or external) of the authorisation of this knowledge. There appeared to be

tension for students between what they valued and how ‘society’ valued

knowledge.

5.1.2 Increasing self-confidence A university education apparently provided students with a formal process to

enhance their self-confidence. Freire (1972) sees self-depreciation as

characteristic of oppression, so I wanted to explore how students interpreted their

education in terms of developing self-confidence, and whether professional

environmental education had a role to play in confidence building. Gary, a

student, stated:

Gary: I think it [knowledge] was important because it, first of all it gives you confidence and gives other people respect for you, and often it [knowledge] was all about confidence and if you don’t have it [knowledge], it was going to make your job difficult. [By] Having that knowledge and authority, people are prepared to at least give [you] the initial benefit of the doubt by listening to what you have to say. You have the authority and the knowledge behind you and they are going to be happy that what you are going to say isn’t going to be rubbish and they are more prepared to listen to what you are saying.

The importance given to confidence building was found in additional material I

examined. Table 5.1 lists some of the phrases and words used by students during

fieldwork experiences when the role of fieldwork as confidence building was

informally discussed. This list was compiled from notes taken during informal

discussions at a remote field location. (This work was part of professional

development research undertaken by me for the University of Ballarat).

Gaining respect from others was important for students who felt the need to be

respected by, and to respect, their peers. Perhaps the formal certificate increased



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students’ self-respect because it was a tangible demonstration of a sense of

achievement. From the students’ perspective professional education – this ‘piece

of paper’– was more than just a statement of authority commanding respect. It

had value in terms of self-esteem and achievement.

Interpreting students’ understanding of higher education was more complex than

commenting on the value of content and teaching (the usual academic approach),

or an examination of the vocational value of learning (the usual approach for

students, government and industry) (Ashenden & Milligan 2001). For these

participants’ higher education was seen in terms of individual respect, power and

authority in the community. It appeared that a language of reproduction of

authority dominated the narratives. Students wanted to acquire authority and

respect. This language of reproduction of authority influenced the students’

concept of what it meant to be a professional.

Table 5.1 Students ideas of what affects self-confidence

Encourages self-confidence Discourages self-confidence - Confidence in yourself - Responsibility - Peers having confidence in you - Use of language and jargon - Knowing something - Ability to say ‘I know’ - Knowing where I stand - When you are not threatened - Ability to cope with

responsibility - When things go well, smoothly,

successfully - Receiving respect - Knowing your peers trust your

results - Mindset - Upbringing - Achieving what you have never

achieved before - Success - Experience in practice - Praise

- Making a mistake - Lack of respect - When things go wrong - Put downs - Frustration - People close to you don’t

have any faith in you - Not being treated equally - When you are in a new

situation - Alone in a crowd - Conflicting messages - Communication breakdown - When things go wrong - No direction - Not part of the group - No understanding of other’s

expectations - Ridicule - No appreciation of effort - People not telling you your

effort is appreciated‘



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Table 5.1 Students ideas of what affects self-confidence (cont.)

- Trustful friends - Comfortable in your

surroundings - Support from family and

friends - Encouragement - How to put up with

everyone - Knowledge that you have a

better understanding than everyone else

- Body shape and social conformity

- Sporting ability - Belief in oneself - Knowing what you are

doing - Religion - Friends that are

complimentary - Loving parents - Doing well - Enjoyment - Being happy - Being able to achieve - Knowing you are good at

things

- Failure - Continual criticism - Confident people are not

lonely - Confident people don’t need

reassurance - Behind the scenes’ talk

about you - Low or no success - No reassurance - Negativity - Vagueness - Constant failure - Finding it uninteresting - Question your own belief

system - Self doubt - Personal history - People saying ‘you should

know it’ - Praising some and not

others - Being disrespectful - Aim to reach goals and not

getting there - Criticism when you have

achieved - Big effort but no reward - Being different

5.2 Staff voices This section explores how academics, who teach the kind of students referred to

in the previous section, expressed their ideas about the purposes of professional

education. Some academics used their interest in, and value of, content as the

benchmark with which they compared the students’ enthusiasm to their own. It

appeared that academics wanted to reproduce their enthusiasm in the content

within their students. A language of reproduction of knowledge dominated the

narratives with academics.



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The power and authority that some students gave to a qualification was also found

within academics. When asked about the influences on his career in biology,

John said:

John: …I was aiming [to be a biologist], in fact Mr. [name deleted] asked me at one stage ‘What do you want to do when you grow up? – expecting me to say a spaceman or fireman, whatever – and apparently I said I had to go to university and get a PhD so that I could be a biologist.

The qualification was a statement about knowledge and John expressed that the

qualification validated, and classified, him as a biologist. This view of his

qualification was reinforced later in the interview when John discussed the

similarities and differences between himself and his students. John was critical of

his students’ limited view of higher education:

John: I think that a lot of the things that motivate me don’t motivate students and I think a number of students come here because they want to learn facts that will help them get a job – to give them a piece of paper. They see them [course units] as hurdles that they need to overcome in order to get somewhere they want to go. I can understand that to some extent because after all in Grade 4 I was saying that I had to go and get a PhD so that I could be a biologist, so I can sort of relate to that.

Initially, in the interview John’s ideas about professional education differed from

his understanding of his students’ view. He expressed that his learning has some

‘higher’ purpose. Yet on reflection he found a number of similarities between his

students’ views and his own. Later in the interview John expressed that learning

was more than just qualifications:

John: It would be sad if that [the qualification] was someone’s sole reason for studying environmental or biological-type areas because I think this was rather hollow – it was not even sensible…If your one focus in life was getting a degree you would most surely go for something that was more comfortable , that was higher paid and had more status.

Researcher: So how do you deal with those tensions when people say “Was this relevant?’ or ‘Do we have to know this?’, ‘Do we have to do this?’

John: I try to be restrained but I get annoyed.

Researcher: Where does the annoyance come from? What’s the



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fundamental ‘annoyance’?

John: I see that [student’s approach to learning] as being minimalist and mercenary. Mercenary because they [the students] only do what they really have to in order to get some reward, and minimalist suggesting a lack of enthusiasm or love for what they are doing, and as I have already mentioned, that was foreign to my way of thinking. This way of thinking was almost sacrilegious for me because I am motivated by enthusiasm and enjoyment, and I haven’t yet been able to place myself in the shoes of people who do it for other reasons. So that was why I try and hide my distaste for these kinds of things, because I see it as a failing of mine that I haven’t come to appreciate the other ways that people can be motivated to do this kind of work, and just possibly, I am right, and they are mercenary little creeps who are doing something in which they have no enthusiasm, or love for it, but equally they might be doing it for some unfathomable, but justifiable, reason that I would appreciate if I understood.

John’s narrative suggests that the students’ pragmatic views about learning

conflicted with John’s passion for his discipline. Yet he was aware that students

construct their worlds differently from him. John’s language expressed

oppressive overtones, for example, ‘mercenary little creeps’ to describe students,

but he was ‘motivated by enthusiasm and enjoyment’ for the subject matter. This

characterisation of the difference between academic and student values was

important because John used it to classify different perspectives for learning.

John was unsure what students might value in learning except ‘getting the piece

of paper’: student’s motivations were ‘unfathomable’. Nevertheless, John was

aware that his motivation when he was a student was similar. I suggest that

John’s language and approach was oppressive in order to maintain John’s sense of

order and passion for the subject.

According to John, students’ motivation to learning matures as they developed a

passion for content. Again John reflects on the differences between himself and

his students:

John:…it was important to realize that the students we are talking about are 17, 18, 19 years old and there was a certain level of maturity – their development – and they maybe don’t have sophisticated ways of dealing with complex issues yet, or they haven’t analysed why we do things and where they are going to and so on. So I need to take that into account. We always tend to



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assume that other people think and connect the way that we do, and we have to keep giving ourselves reminders that these [students] might not only be coming from a different point, but are not mature yet and are still developing their personalities and their rationalities.

There was this continual reference to differences in the relevance of learning

between John and his understanding of his students, yet John had this underlying

need for students to mimic his enthusiasm: the language of reproduction.

Other academics expressed a view that learning was an accumulation of facts to

underpin personal credibility, self-confidence and to be a ‘better person’. For

example another lecturer, David, said:

David: I’ll go back to what I said in the beginning that the fact that you are a better person for your wealth of knowledge. It [knowledge] seems to help you understand, and further more, your knowledge actually gives you credence in the community…If you get recognition through what you know and what you don’t know then you are in a better position to get some respect…If they [the community] look upon you and see ‘expert-in-an area’ then you have power or opportunity to do various things, or you should do, and I think that was the significance of being knowledgeable [pause].

David raised the idea that being regarded as an expert in the community gave him

power and opportunity, but created obligations. David’s narrative reflected on his

own experiences as he interpreted students’ perceptions of university life. He

compared himself to his current students and commended them on their skills.

This comparison of students with themselves was often explored by academics.

For example, David who was at high school in England during the 1950s

comments:

David: I see a great difference between the level that was reached at high school in Britain and the level, which was reached in a high school in Australia. Kids do come out [of school] and they are not [knowledgeable] but then I think that was unfair [comment]. [For] some students what they are achieving at 19 years of age [is valuable], I didn’t achieve until I was say 21 or 22. If I take a case example – [name of student deleted] – I have criticised her but … this girl was only 19. What was I doing at 19? – not much better really than she was really. So she has come through a system that has piled a lot of information into her and she has actually come



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out of it fairly well. So there are exceptions to that and some kids do get to a reasonable level [of education] quite early on…Therefore you shouldn’t denigrate these people and say that they really learnt nothing at high school.

Academics wanted their students to have the academics’ enthusiasm, in

preference to the qualities they had when they were students. The language of

reproduction was dominant as academics wanted to ‘reproduce’ students as

‘clones’ of themselves. Academics were frequently critical of students, but on

reflection saw few differences between their memories of when they were

students and the students they were teaching.

5.3 Professionals’ voices In this section I want to explore professionals’ views of professional education

and the relationships of these views to practice. Professionals should have an idea

of what knowledge and skills prepared them for practice. For Michael, a Parks

Victoria manager, qualifications were of little value; practical field experience

was much more important:

Michael: …I was brought up on a farm in the mallee [a region in Victoria] and went to ag[ricultural] College and always had an interest in national parks. The Murray Valley Field Nat[uralist]s Club was one that I was involved in as a teenager. This was where I was thrown issues and concepts that I hadn’t come across before in agriculture. Going to ag[riculture] College 20 years ago was the best option, as natural resource management was not really well recognised. Certainly there weren’t many formal courses so I had a foot in each camp with ag[riculture]. I was always interested in going into national parks and walked out of ag[riculture] into a trainee ranger [position] at Little Desert [National Park]…

Adam, who works for another government agency, gave some insight into the

value of his qualification and his increasing sense of authority:

Adam: I always wanted to work in or for the environment, as a technician, a technical assistant then as a ranger. I had problems with some of the things that I was doing and I thought that there must be a better way of doing this or I didn’t agree with this management approach or management philosophy. It was at that point that I decided that if I had a degree I would be able to move into management sphere and then be able to influence those decisions. So that was what led me to leaving that sort of technical operations role and moving into management…I was working in



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policy – working in the wetlands unit. It was very [satisfying] setting policy at the highest level of influence. I guess [I was satisfied] because you were setting something that other people were referring to on a statewide level and that was directing that activity. But unfortunately those things wax and wane and that policy went the way [of other ideas].

Adam felt, like the students, that his degree would give him the necessary

authority to write policy so that he could influence outcomes. However, he found

that the constraints of working within the public sector created tensions that were

not resolved by having a degree. The problems Adam experienced in his

professional life were probably due to his inability to resolve ‘people problems’:

Adam: When it comes down to individuals [community members] there was [pressure on us]. We are under a lot of pressure by individuals and vested interest groups who may plan land for certain uses.

The authority of his technically-orientated degree did not appear to give Adam

much assistance when working with the community. This problem of dealing

with people was common amongst many environmental professionals. For

example, Mary who works for the State government in a forestry management

position:

Mary: More and more of the job was becoming one of having to facilitate the public so to speak [and] deal with a broad range of attitudes amongst the public and I manage those in some way. There was a lot of misconception about forestry and how it was managed and people are very passionate about their own views. It was a bit of a challenge to have to actually deal with personalities and more and more of this job was becoming about people, about that, rather than the technical aspects of forestry.

Environmental issues became problematic as Mary and Adam moved from the

security of their technical knowledge gained within formal education into the

uncharted waters of dealing with ‘people’: issues for them for which there was no

technical solution. Mary stated that her higher education was inappropriate to

address issues relevant to her professional practice.

In addition to professional-community tensions, Michael, the Parks Victoria

manager, identified internal conflicts:



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Mary: The other [important factor for professionals] was internal with staff. Communication with people who are not happy with what we (Parks, Victoria) are doing… If we’re taking grazing off reserves and you end up sitting down opposite a minister, which was what has happened to me two or three times, or a local member. You have to be able to very clearly describe, in a very professional way [what was happening], because you are not allowed to get emotional or get upset. For the landholder that [expressing emotion] was acceptable but I can’t or a staff [member] can’t [express our emotions]. So you really need to be able to be very sure about why you made a particular decision and be able to relay that to the minister or to the landholder – so communication was critical.

Michael’s approach for defusing contentious issues was to ‘delete’ the emotion

from the discussion. He regarded this management style as being objective and

this was a key theme for him in underpinning his professionalism. He was

convinced that objectivity would resolve conflicts.

Similar struggles took place for Stephen. Stephen works for local government in

an environmental planning role, and expressed the lack of any corporate strategy

to support a more environmental ideology:

Stephen: Well I think the most important thing is that Council has to establish what its priorities really are. We’ve been through, since I’ve been with the council, umpteen corporate planning exercises trying to really establish what our mission was and we are still working through it to the point where we are sick of it. The council does have to decide what its priorities are and then go out and sell them. Part of the issue was that the range of services that council has is so diverse that it was all over the place. It needs to sit down and decide how it’s going to approach its operations from an environmental point of view –whether there was some sort of management plan or what have you – and it has never done that – never done that. So it’s not even in a good position to go out and sell any sort of environmental message because it doesn’t believe it itself. You need to have people within council, councillors, the CEO, the staff all talking about the environmental message and environmental approach corporately…

Stephen was frustrated by the lack of corporate will required to implement any of

his environmental plans. He commented on the rhetoric of a planning culture and

‘change management’ that dominated his organization, and suggested the process

of change that he observed was not enabling but frustrating, even oppressive:



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Stephen: Local government just sort of ameliorates change. It doesn’t deal with it. As I say it was interesting to me that the [management] flavour of the month (well its been the flavour for the last, probably, 10 years) was that we have to embrace change – get right into it. The fact that it was built yesterday, ah that’s no good anymore – tear it down, it was outdated. I’ve got on my wall at home an interesting little sheet of homely maxims to live by which was produced around the turn of the century. One of them, which say, Don’t be fond of change – view change with some trepidation – don’t rush into it – be wary of it. That was [produced] around 100 years ago when there was a completely different way of thinking.

Throughout the interviews with professionals there was a strong sense of their

frustration as dehumanising. Participants felt ‘trapped’ within an unsympathetic

bureaucracy. Frustration emerged from a lack of skills (particularly people skills)

to effectively resolve problems. Professionals, even those with a degree, could

neither ‘change the views’ of management nor those of the stakeholders. Their

technical skills were of little value in these ‘people’ problem situations. For these

professionals there was little sense of empowerment through education within

their own professional lives. Their qualifications did not give them the authority

or respect they thought they deserved.

5.4 Environmentalists’ voices There was a sense of fatalism throughout the interviews with the

environmentalists, flavoured with skepticism. For example George, who works

for local government as an Environmental Officer, is privately active in

environmental issues but frustrated by the lack of environmental action in his

work place and local region. These frustrations were what George saw as

tensions between what should and what does happen in local government. When

asked:

Researcher: How do you think that [create a cultural change that considers environmental issues] can be done given that it is not being done currently?

George: One of the ways was to keep asking, keep on enquiring. The other way was to use the baseball bat. I believe that nobody fears current reprisals or punishment because there’s never any punishment issued [to offenders who contravene local government environment protection legislation]. Ultimately other jurisdictions



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[local governments] have got compliance with these environmental standards by using punitive measures along with encouragement and being nice people who seem to only want to do one thing – be nice?

Researcher: Was that a frustration for you?

George: Yes – because …if all of the good will was there yet the reality was the opposite – what point was the good will? It would be more productive doing something else – even doing nothing.

This dialogue shows that for George the appropriate local government action was

often recalcitrant: George wanted direct action. He was critical of the limitations

of the ‘punishment-reward’ system used to deal with ‘law-breakers’ and the

ineffectiveness of this approach in changing behaviour. George drew battle lines

between what was, and was not, in his opinion appropriate environmental

behaviour:

Researcher: …what interests me here was how would you resolve these [environmental] tensions between what you’d like to do but you obviously see on a day-to-day basis [as normal].

George: Keep out people.

Researcher: Keep out people? Can you explain what ‘keeping out people’ means?

George: Keep asking – keep going ’round the back door – keeping building the allies in the team effort. Then if someone says no to me [then] there will be somebody who knows that person better that I or who can encourage the person to reconsider their ‘no’

George saw environmental issues as contentious, adversarial, and even ‘war-like’,

where ‘good’ and ‘bad’ actors could be identified. He believed in a strategy of

developing allies and felt that his persistence of reactivity, supported by the threat

of more appropriate punishment, would change peoples’ views. For him

‘offenders’ were any group not complying with the legislation. However, George

did not question the relevance or the authority given to the legislation. His

criticality was confined to a lack of support to ensure compliance. The position

he took at many meetings of the Ballarat Conservation Strategy Committee (of

which I am a member) was reactive against local government’s inactivity, and

focused on ‘catching out’ non-compliant individuals, even his employer. For



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George compliance with authority was a key theme. George was not critical of

the status quo, only frustrated that the status quo was not enforced.

There were other less adversarial views from environmentalists. Robert, a native

garden nurseryman and local environmental activist, outlined his perspective on

the origins of environmental conflicts:

Robert: …I think the whole underlying problem was that people don’t have any sort of association or relationship with the natural environment. We are living in a world where people are very detached from nature. Their relationship or dependence on it [the environment] was not as explicit as it once was or in other cultures and situations. People go to the supermarket and there was magically fresh fruit and vegetables. They turn on a switch and there was power. They turn on a tap and there was water and gas and so on. The thing was that society doesn’t understand its relationship with the natural environment and its dependence on primary production and sustainable agriculture…I think the challenge was to change people’s perceptions, promote the local flora and fauna, sustainable agriculture all these sorts of things.

Robert’s idea was that people lived lives dissociated from the land and he

expressed the inability of the authorities to engage and participate with people:

Robert: I think most of the conflicts; if you actually pare it all away are social conflicts. They are conflicts due to people feeling that they have been told what to do and not liking it – their anti-authoritarian type responses. They are not so much a conflict in terms of environmental issues, conflicting with some service issues, for example on a roadside. I maintain that if you do anything correctly – like fire prevention – then having native vegetation in an area was actually supporting fire prevention activities. The problem [of resolution] was down to process and I have made mistakes in this area because I haven’t realised the way that people perceived information was that this information was seen as an insult to them in that they had had a long association with their bit of roadside…

Robert had a different view compared to many participants. He did not see ‘battle

lines’, or the power and authority of formal knowledge and qualifications. His

approach was not to ‘attack’ or ‘defend’, ‘reward’ or ‘punish’, or use his

knowledge to change opinion. He saw people as often confused and insecure,

which he associated with a community’s lack of trust of authorities and ‘experts’.

Robert recognised that practical experiences were often not considered credible



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by some authorities and experts, but for him these experiences had immense value

to bring about resolution. He was concerned that the decision-making process

appeared to be dominated by ‘power-plays’ between groups, which detracted

from problem resolution processes.

Robert found by his experience that it was the social, not the technical, nature of

problems that needed to be addressed because it was within this social realm that

environmental issues were problematic. He believed that problem resolution

could only be addressed from the perspective of this human dimension. Perhaps

professionals, academics and students have much to learn from Robert’s views?

5.5 Roles for science in professional education and practice Science dominates professional environmental education (Elective 1). In this

section I explored participants’ perceptions of the roles for science in professional


5.5.1 Students’ views I wanted to understand how students related scientific knowledge to their

understanding of authority:

Researcher: … You said that you need the science to gain some authority. How do you think that fits in with the idea of dealing with people when looking at attitudes and values?

Brett: I think that when you watch the news and there was an issue on the news – you often see on the ‘7.30 Report’ or ‘Lateline’ [that] they get an authority, in inverted commas, to come and talk about a particular thing that has come up. I think that society views people with qualifications as almost accepting what they say as the truth – it was not always the case, but in order to give you the authority to speak on something you have to assume that you have got the proof. They won’t just accept the fact that you have lived in the community for 20 years therefore you know what the issue was. But if you say I am a scientist, or an environmental scientist, and I have lived here for 20 years then it gives you that much more authority to say that the information [that] you put forward was going to be much more readily accepted as fact. It’s a more acceptable truth or that it has been thoroughly done than talking on a more emotional level.

Researcher: What about if that information was values-based…where does the science fit in there?



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Brett: Perhaps it doesn’t I guess. As a scientist you wear different hats whether it’s your scientist hat or the humanitarian [sic] hat.

For Brett, science was foundational to qualities such as truth, fact and authority.

He reinforced stereotypes: scientists were different, scientists were not members

of the community, and scientists did not talk about family. Characteristics of the

scientific method – objectivity, value-free, detached – and so on were transferred

to scientists:

Brett: In science you are looking for answers and the answer might be something that you as a parent or an individual in the community might not necessarily like. It mightn’t be the best answer for you if you were looking at that situation too but you can’t taint your research – you have to be swayed by your own findings so you can’t use methodology to do your research and think, I don’t like that answer I’ll change it just to suit my own feelings. It was very hard to separate yourself from some of your findings particularly if you suspect that what you might find isn’t going to be acceptable…

Brett proposed the positivist idea that science should not be ‘tainted’ by the

researcher. However, he also acknowledged that researchers were not divorced

from science, but knowledge, particularly this ‘higher’ scientific knowledge was

authoritative and commanded respect:

Brett: I guess it [explaining to others] was like that elite [knowledge] thing. We have the higher knowledge and by having that knowledge maybe we will be able to gain some respect.

Students often felt that science differed from other disciplines. It was factual

information (‘knowing-what’) and differed in the students’ minds from

implementation (‘knowing-how’). The following quotes, from a number of

students, explore this idea further:

Science was factual but when implementing things we have to look at was it just, right or better…

I think that it doesn’t have to be science or arts. It can be science with arts so that not only do we find the facts but we look at what effect those facts have on people.

I think that most people, depending on the group, most believe that science was the answer. If you can present it [science] with all the statistics at the end to say ‘Yes, this metre was dominated by clover’ they will then believe it. If it was [in the] written form



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which was stronger than watching it on TV, if they see it on the TV where Dr. Karl [TV science personality] was telling them [it was important]…Yes I think most people will believe the white coat and glasses.

The science was there to backup the arguments…if it doesn’t you fudge the figures so that it does.

Facts, facts – statistics are hard to argue against. If it was fact and proven or whatever proven will be, I’d say personally, I don’t know how they [environmental groups] could argue against it but I guess they do and you really just have to show them the facts and explain how it was going to benefit [them] and how it was going to influence it [the outcome] in the long term – whatever the objective might be.

Science appeared as authoritative in the students’ culture, yet they expressed

minimal interest in the content underwriting this culture. Although science gave

authority, few students identified what they needed to know as ‘science’. They

assumed that what was presented in their course was authoritative knowledge, and

therefore science.

5.5.2 Teachers’ views I asked academics about their views for the role of science in professional

education. John expressed a dualism in his professional roles:

John: I think I regard myself as an educator first and a scientist second. I would probably like it to be the other way around but I have discovered that I have more of an affinity to the teaching side of it. I have put my energies into that side.

This separation of roles, between the profession of practice (lecturer) and the

profession of content (scientist), was common. This tension exists for many

academics (Coady 2000; Department of Education, Science and Training 2002;

Martin 1999; Piper 1992). John, like many academics working in two

dimensions, did not appear to have completely resolved the tension between these

two apparently opposing orientations.

John’s understanding of science reflected a more conventional understanding:

John: Well you could say a scientist was someone who uses the scientific method which was laid down fairly strictly as to how you investigate a problem where you develop hypotheses that are testable and go through rigorous procedures and I suppose that



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might be the textbook definition of a scientist and how science works.

Yet, like the students, John saw science as more than just ‘a method’. Science

embraced human qualities such as curiosity and organisation. There was a

cultural dimension to science beyond its technicality:

John: I tend not to think in such starched terms [about science] but I think the most identifiable thing about a scientist was, well two things. They are curious about what was around them – they have intellectual curiosity, and they have an organized way of approaching it – they are logical and they develop things in an organised fashion to systematically solve that problem. That was one of the big attractions I find about science – that was always asking questions – being curious about things. Another attractive part about science, and one of its fundamental characteristics, was that even cherished ideas can later be refuted on the basis of further evidence and further findings. So if science was applied correctly, not dogmatically, we are talking about people wanting to break new barriers, find new things [but] they don’t do it in a random way. They do it in an organised fashion and are readily prepared to admit when they are wrong.

It was of interest that John identified a sense of ‘organised’ criticality in his

science. For many academics being a scientist suggested a range of human

attributes: objective, truthful, logical, organised and honest. The stereotypes

underpinning the concept of a scientist were based on interpretations of the

scientific culture. The scientific label implied as much about the person as their

work. Therefore, to call oneself a scientist was not value-neutral but implied a

cultural code of practice that was valued by the community. John’s ideas about

science appeared to be dominated by his belief in its social value:

John: Science can be applied to so many areas…it has broad applications and I guess it has revolutionised the way we live on this planet both to our detriment and our benefit.

He attempted to balance his interest in scientific curiosity within the constraints of

the scientific method. He saw dangers in an anti-science belief (which he thought

was increasing) and technophobia and compared this with an ‘abandonment of

religion’, where science was considered as the ‘religion’:

John:…I think a lot of environmental issues these days include points of view that are technophobic – that [we] are anti-scientific



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– that [we] mistrust science and technology and place faith in nature instead. Perhaps this was something that society was coming to as a replacement for the increase in an abandonment of religion. They [the public] tend to see nature as their religion. They [the community] think that it [the earth] was whole, good and perfect and anything that humans touch, especially scientists and technologists, was dirty, polluted and bad.

John is concerned that there was a growing dominance of naturalistic fallacies,

which seemed to be anti-science. Yet, he also reflected on the need for social and

political input to environmental science to resolve Snow’s (1993) ‘two cultures’

idea:

John:… science has always rejected the humanities-type areas as being unworthy. It has rejected a qualitative-type appreciation of issues and has lent towards a statistical and mathematical, quantifiable appreciation of various issues. I think science, environmental science [as] I can’t speak for the other ones, was coming to a different conclusion now and realising that we have to embrace qualitative studies, and we need to take people’s ethical positions, beliefs and so on, into account when we are dealing with environmental issues. It was not just a matter of fixing up a natural history problem. It involves political deliberation, ethical viewpoints, and contrasting demands on the environment.

John recognised the need for socio-political knowledge to address environmental

issues but found difficultly considering a more liberal perspective for professional

environmental education from his interpretation of the conventional

understandings of science.

David, an older academic, explored his ideas about the teaching strategies for

science:

David: I was in fact extremely interested in this area [teaching problem solving] many years ago when I played a major role in the BSCS biological science curriculum study, which was very much process and content with a lot of emphasis on process. I found that trying to teach [problem-solving] was very time-consuming and frustrating. To motivate people with the real elements of zoology was more rewarding.

Researcher: That’s interesting.

David: Quite philosophical that bit and that only came [to me] as you had to think about it – it’s frustrating and not alien – not closely linked with the bits [of knowledge] that interest me. I



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could not get excited and lead a class in problem solving but I could get excited and lead a class giving information and getting responses from the students on certain aspects of zoology.

David reflected and resolved the issue for himself! His preferred teaching

strategy was embedded in what interested him – his wealth of scientific

information. David’s self-centred approach was informed by his enthusiasm for

content and his desire to reproduce this enthusiasm for content in his students as

‘interesting’ knowledge:

David: Probably two things [are important to know] – a good broad general knowledge of biological sciences, in particular, and [how this is] related to aspects of environmental science. So content was number one, and second to that, skills in being able to communicate well with others, not necessarily only in a teaching situation but in other advisory capacities as well.

Such a perspective for professional education could be of concern but its origins

are clear. How was David taught?

David: It was around that time [1950s] and certainly in my school that there was no emphasis at all on problem solving as in hypothesis testing or anything of that nature. It was strictly a case of this was an earthworm. It was the coelomate, triploblastic level of organization…you dissect it and you learn all about it and learn every part of its anatomy and progress to the dogfish and that was the biology program that I was brainwashed with at school and it [interest in content] may stem from those experiences, but I am very aware that I don’t want to repeat that. I don’t want to teach the way that I have been taught but if I really think carefully about it – I do.

David recognised faults in his teaching strategy, which he was exposed to and

attempted not to repeat it, but the outcome was that he reproduced his lived-

experiences because they were familiar. He justified his teaching strategy by

arguing that this method increased his self-confidence and contributed to his

wealth of factual information, both of which he valued highly in terms of self-

confidence. For him knowledge acquisition was the key to self-confidence.

‘Knowing’ provided him with authority that was derived from being ‘factually

correct’. Here was evidence that teaching at the University of Ballarat was

orientated toward reproducing academics’ personal histories: what was ‘good’ for

the teacher would be ‘good’ for the student.



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Henry, a senior academic, explained the reproductive nature of his curricula:

Henry: I think you are influenced [in designing a course] by your background and if I think back 20 years (we would all do things differently with hindsight), but I think whilst we felt we were developing a course that was different from the way which we were taught biology we were still developing a course that was fundamentally a biological science course. It was much more relevant than the courses that we had done but none the less it wasn’t as different as it perhaps should have been and at the time.

This idea is also echoed in John’s perspective:

John: If you like something there’s no problem, but problem is the wrong word. There is joy in finding out about it: just reading and finding and looking and thinking. Sometimes they [people] use the science to justify a position so it was used in a power overlay – ‘I know more about this than you’ therefore I can assert my view on it or I can convince you that it was the right way. So I am aware that it has power. It has the capacity to obtain an outcome so that we can use it like a tool. You can use it in the same way as you can use a chainsaw…I think I am aware of that capacity of information, and particularly quite strong quantitative material, to evoke…It’s like the lab. coat on the detergent ad[vertisement]. So I can see that the science has the capacity to be a powerful tool. You can get off a bit with wielding that tool. So there was an element of that [power].

Academics identified that their ‘power’ (and self-confidence) was associated with

their authority of knowing. It was not just a case of ‘knowledge is power’ but

‘science knowledge is more powerful’ because science had greater authority in

the community (who have less of this knowledge). The authority of science was

derived from its qualities: truthfulness, honesty and reliability. Science was also

privileged because it was specialised ‘knowledge’. Nevertheless, there were

reservations about the applicability of science to land management as expressed

by Henry:

Henry: …scientists are also their own worst enemy in another sense in that they tend not to say ‘This is so’ unless they are absolutely sure. There needs to be absolute proof that this is so. Whereas non-scientists are quite happy to say this is so with very limited data to support it and I think, to some extent, we scientists can hold things back by waiting for the absolute convincing scientific proof rather than saying we have no evidence to suggest that this is a very slim chance, that this is what is happening – but



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in terms of land managers – and managers have to understand, or have some understanding of the sociological issues, and accept the fact that people are what they are and in some cases difficult to change – you can change young people more readily than you can change older people.

Henry distinguished between how scientists and non-scientists validated ‘proof’.

The presumption here was that knowledge can create change in peoples’ views.

Promoted is the perspective that includes the idea that ‘you can change young

people more readily than you can change older people’. Such a view is clearly

behaviourist and authoritative.

There was some variation in views about science amongst staff. Andrew, a

younger staff member, saw science differently from the authoritative, content-

focused learning of his older peers:

Andrew: …I suspect that science looks for answers that are within our achievable grasp. You know that in a sense science can move standing on the shoulders of scientists that went before and it was fairly much constrained to a short-term view based on where you have got to so far. You can’t advance much more quickly than what the collective science, the science that has gone before, allows…science cannot create things that are so far beyond our connections and threads…you can’t build the construct if you haven’t got the stuff to pack it together – so science was quite incremental – it goes in surges. I am sure it has punctuated evolution and all sorts of things in it – like surges of realisation and flips – complete conceptual flips that must allow major changes to take place in the whole way that we think. So the [way a] person is thinking now, was thinking in a very different way to the person thinking 100 years ago.

Andrew expressed a different construct for science. He was critical of the

normative paradigm for science by acknowledging that his view of science was

not culturally free. This concurs with Kuhn’s (1970) views. Andrew accepted

that scientific knowledge should be understood as a ‘social construction’ rather

than a search for facts ‘out there’ waiting for someone to find them.

Andrew’s view gave science a different perspective for professional education in

regard to science’s relationships with power. He felt that if science is individually

constructed then the authority of science is personal and cannot be transmitted



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from teacher to learner. For Andrew the assumed respect granted to ‘knowing’

more than others might be quite mythical.

Many of the teachers’ narratives, except Andrew, were dominated by teaching

strategies that ensured that knowledge was transmitted in order for it to be

accumulated. The assumption was that this approach (similar to Freire’s banking

concept) would increase self-confidence. However, this view contrasted with

Andrew’s more constructivist perspective.

Most academics attempted to maintain their positions of authority by knowing

more than their students. They felt that this ‘knowing’ authority could be

transmitted from teacher to learner. I suggest that this approach maintains a

culture of oppression because it is based on a hierarchy of authority promulgated

by an elite concept of professionalism. From this perspective students are

considered by teachers as ‘lower’ in the hierarchy. In contrast, the younger

academic, Andrew, saw professional education as a different, personally enabling,

practice.

5.5.3 Professionals’ views How do professional environmental managers see the role of science in their

current occupation? The answer differed from academics’ and students’

perceptions. Professionals rarely mentioned science during the interviews. When

asked what were the most important skills for professional practice the answers

were generally related to people skills, such as communication. For example,

these quotes are from a number of professionals about the importance of ‘people

skills’:

Negotiating skills and a hell of a lot of it.

Well I don’t want to use people skills because it was such a cliché but I am reasonably comfortable with people who have had experience with the Landcare groups in the network that I co-ordinated which were a mixture of groups.

More and more of the job was becoming having to facilitate the public.

Well, technical skills in natural resource management was the obvious one you would think that you would need [but] that was



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not necessarily the case – management skills are what a Chief Ranger needs to be effective and the best managers are those that have very strong communication skills.

Communication skills…communication skills are very important...a basic knowledge of chemistry [was] pretty important…[and] probably a fundamental understanding of natural systems, ecological systems…

Professionals made little direct reference to science other than mentioning it

among a diverse range of technical skills (knowledge of, knowledge about).

Professional practice appeared to be dominated by unresolved human conflicts as

opposed to technical / scientific issues. The complexity of the issues in which

professionals were engaged was outlined in the following quotes from different

professionals:

Well, in a way it comes back to the comments I made before about the community good. What’s in the community’s interest, in the broadest sense of the word?

One of the things I have learned about working in the country was the parochial nature of people and the Not-In-My-Back-Yard syndrome. This was very strong.

I have found [it] to be very much ‘Well we don’t really care about what happens somewhere else but if you try and do that here we’re going to fight you tooth and nail’…it might be that these days this was strengthened because of the lack of consultation and people want to be involved.

Communication skills and consultation were both valued. However, it is

problematic as to whether the technical orientation of communication skills

promoted at university (e.g. public speaking, writing) is of much value in the

context of these practices (see Electives 1 and 2).

A new political value of science emerged which was that it was a tool to justify

and support decisions, as Adam said:

Adam: How do you make that judgment? I guess there are a number of ways. One [is] in terms of scientific information. You certainly use science where you can and say ‘O.K. well this was an important issue, biologically, ecologically – it’s an important issue’. The science was that this [decision] was what was required. This was the solution, and what are the mechanisms whereby we can translate the science into an outcome.



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Science validated arguments and from a political perspective it was assumed that

science could create change in people:

Adam: You get examples in the Otway forest. There was an environmental action group there. I forget their name – some sort of acronym as a name. It was interesting to look at some of their documentation because it was not all based on science. Some of it was based on anecdote and perception but it was dressed up as science. So that was why I would be very concerned if you get interest groups [that] drive the environmental agenda whereas government should say what we are about.

Science was used to validate ‘truths’, justify political positions and to win

arguments. This was quite a different interpretation of science from the

conventional, more academic, concept.

Professionals’ ‘science knowledge’ was not limited to theoretical views and

included knowledge gathered from experience. Experiences were interpreted as

science to validate these experiences and to give experience greater public

credibility:

Adam: It was not so much people with a scientific approach to the issue but for example one of my staff has been on the coast at Anglesea for six years and has a fantastic working knowledge. He was out there all the time. He was seeing things, observing cause and effect…if people argue with him he’ll be able to back [it] up. His views are statements of fact. It was observable. When you are talking to the community about why you want to do things you need to… [pause]. You need more than just a philosophy behind you. You need to say well we can demonstrate that or you can see that...

Such lived-experiences were regarded as a form of ‘science’ because they had

authority-in-practice. Important experiences were embedded as practice and had

served the test of time – they had changed views.

The political value of science was important for this Landcare facilitator, Joy:

Joy: I think certainly science was something, up to a point, that farmers will listen to but I think if it was science that acknowledges productivity then they are more likely to listen. For example ‘Statistics have shown us this in our area we can actually do something about it and the way to do something about it is…’. Science was also showing that if you do this, there are going to be



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the benefits for you. If you have figures and statistics and science and economics together you’ll likely have an impact.

Science was apparently seen as objective and was therefore valued. Professionals

used objectivity as a characteristic of science, to demonstrate an unbiased view,

which would convince people to change their minds: science was seen as

untainted by bias. ‘Good’ science was science that changed peoples’ views and

created action determined by the professional.

As I have shown professionals did not support the students’ views that

qualifications commanded respect and authority. Nevertheless, similar to students

they dissociated experience from theory, but in contrast to the students’ view

regarded experience as important because it changed the community’s views.

Professionals gave experience scientific characteristics (experience could be

objective, ‘normal’, rational and agreed) if these features served the professionals’

purpose of changing views.

5.5.4 Environmentalists’ views Environmentalists were asked for the most valuable professional skills. Similar to

professionals their responses stressed human, not technical skills:

Robert: A lot of groups have facilitators or project officers and those project officers may not have the technical skills but they have the skill of being able to help groups with projects in terms of administration, grant writing, all that sort of bureaucratic sort of stuff.

Environmentalists expressed the value of social skills and practical experiences:

Robert:…[But] the things that the really good project officers have, and we are fortunate to have a couple of them, is the social skills. It really helps when project officers are Landcare members and farmers but it is not essential. They need to be able to relate to people on their level – to be seen as associates rather than as big brother...

Narratives expressed the idea that environmental conflicts amounted to tensions

amongst different values and not disputes over the validity of knowledge claims.

For example, the following quotes from two environmentalists:

Robert: …I’d rather have people that were showing an active interest in managing a piece of land rather than total apathy



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because at least you can provide a bit more information and perhaps get a more balanced approach to it, or a more scientific approach to it...

Jane: …when you come in and start to impose a different management system then you get people’s backs up because they have already been involved in managing it [roadside vegetation] and you haven’t given them due consideration. It is not that you intentionally do that it is just due to the constraints of time and a lot of misinterpretation...

Environmentalists, in a similar way to professionals, saw science knowledge as a

set of technical skills of limited relevance to practice except that the language of

science was authoritative and commanded respect. Environmentalists were

critical of professionals who did not empathise with the local community. Their

view was that the knowledge required to resolve environmental conflicts often lay

within the community itself, and that this knowledge was a form of ‘science’. Yet

the environmentalists felt that the community was rarely involved in decision-

making because of the community’s lack of ‘appropriate knowledge’. The

professionals’ privileged position, held and promoted by the professionals

themselves, created ‘gaps’ between the community and the professionals’ need

for resolution of environmental issues and different constructions of valued

knowledge. From the environmentalists’ perspective there was little that the

professional did to close this gap.

5.6 Summary: different worlds The theme for this chapter was oppression, which I suggest was maintained by a

language of reproduction. I considered oppression as a dehumanising process and

found numerous images of personal and professional frustration and tensions in

both professional environmental education and professional environmental

practice. For example tensions arose for students when they felt they must have a

degree in order to gain respect, for academics when they had to teach students

who did not have the academics’ enthusiasm for content, and for professionals

who could not ‘convince’ the public of the ‘right’ answer. Frustration caused by

these tensions could lead to a lack of self-confidence, which is a dehumanising if

the individual considers that their position or qualification should give them the

authority to create change. The evidence I present resonates with Connell et al.



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(1999) who found, in an examination of environmental attitudes in 16 to 17 years-

old Australian students, overwhelming feelings of frustration and cynicism, which

are dehumanising. Overall in this example for these young Australians their

belief was of a pessimistic future, which may provide support for the declining

interest in environmental issues (Australian Bureau of Statistics 2003), and the

idea in many students’ mind that there is nothing they can do to challenge the

status quo. My evidence suggests that these views are not necessarily limited to

younger Australians.

Science, as a discipline, supposedly encompasses critical examination (Hand

1999). However, most participants viewed science within limited utilitarian,

political and authoritative frameworks. There was little mention of any

relationship between the need for creativity and critical appraisal in order to

resolve environmental issues. Dominating the narratives was the need to comply

with, and reproduce, interpretations of the normative social structure. Criticality

was replaced by a level of frustration (as a dehumanising emotion), which may

lead to apathy.

Freire (1972) argues that social dislocation may occur if people are subsumed

within oppressive political systems in which they feel their opinions are not

valued. In this situation people may ‘give up’, suffer ‘action paralysis’ (see

Connell et al. 1999; Thielking & Moore 2001) by devolving their responsibility to

some external authority. This maintains the oppressor-oppressed dichotomy:

It is essential for the oppressed to realize that when they accept the struggle for humanization they also accept, from that moment, their total responsibility for the struggle.

(Freire 1972, p. 43)

In my experience dehumanising processes dominated these narratives about

professional environmental education and professional environmental practice.

Dehumanisation implies self-deprecation, which disempowers the individual who

may ultimately feel less responsible for any outcomes by taking a detached, or

‘objective’, stance. Science promotes such detachment. I argue that professional

environmental education and professional environmental practice do not promote



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self-confidence through critical reflection leading to personal empowerment of

ideas and actions, and people may be resistant to accepting responsibility for

activities in ‘worlds’ in which they are not engaged leading to apathy.

Tensions may be characteristic of stance where claims and counter-claims are

made. However, not all claims have equal validity within the dominant social

paradigm. Decisions are biased by cultural interpretations of normality and

conflicts arise where authoritative perspectives do not align with the individuals’

values system (their world). Such tensions underpin the dilemmas found in many

of the narratives, as a difference between what individuals think should be done

compared to what is done. What is done is framed by ideas about where

responsibilities lie.

Schön (1983) and Barnett (1997) suggest that professional education has an

important role to extend critical ability and the capacity for reflective action.

Criticality was not dominant within many of these participants’ ideas about

professional environmental education or professional environmental practice.

Although it was possible for individuals to see the problem in which they were

immersed (such as the inability to take action, or the lack of ‘people skills’) they

were unable or unwilling or not encouraged to take appropriate action to enhance

a personal change. Critical action is a form of criticality, which requires direct

engagement in the world (Barnett 1997, p. 179). It appeared that many

participants were able to dissociate themselves from the world in which they

studied or worked. They became ‘external agents’ to the problem and failed to

engage with the issues on a personal level.

The emphasis on the discipline of science in professional environmental

education (see Elective 1) has not assisted in creating closer alignment between

these fragmented worlds. Some academics tended to view science as a vocation

requiring their enthusiasm. This position was derived from a stance where

relevant knowledge was prescribed from privileged positions (worlds). From the

academics’ perspective knowledge was seen to exist objectively and was ‘out

there’: it was a new world to be explored and colonised. Academics promoted



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personal qualities such as enthusiasm, persistence and curiosity to acquire the

relevant knowledge and colonise the new world.

I suggest that professional environmental education and professional

environmental practice need to encourage critical discourses among these

fragmented and constructed worlds in order to resolve the tensions that emerge

due to a lack of engagement of the teacher and learner with critical environmental

education and the critical professional with his or her environmental practice:

If it is in speaking their word that men [sic] transform the world by naming it, dialogue imposes itself as the way in which men [sic] achieve significance as men [sic]. Dialogue is thus an existential necessity. And since dialogue is the encounter in which the united reflection and action of the dialoguer are addressed to the world which to be transformed and humanized, this dialogue cannot be reduced to the act of one person’s ‘depositing’ ideas in another, nor can it become a simple exchanging of ideas to be ‘consumed’ by the participants in the discussion.

(Freire 1972, p. 61)

The next chapter (Chapter 6) critically explores the same participants’ theories

about their land ethic or land ethics. In Chapter 6 I show that although

participants expressed frustrations, which I regard as dehumanising, there was

also evidence that the participants’ had a concept of a land ethic or land ethics.

The importance of a land ethic or land ethics, as proposed by Leopold, is the

proposition of extending from an individualistic, self-centred, view of the

different ‘worlds’ by asking for a broader understanding of professional

responsibilities though engagement with a community, inclusive of the land. I

believe that a land ethic or land ethics perspective may have value in developing

responsibilities through emergent partnerships.

Chapter 6 – Theories informing a land ethic or land ethics


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Chapter 6 – Theories informing a land ethic or land ethics 6.0 Introduction This chapter identifies participants’ theories about their land ethic or land ethics

that arose from my analysis of their narratives. I explore theories, which are

associated with familiar places and the security that these places bring to the

individual, from the perspective of an appreciation of a land ethic or land ethics.

My argument is that experience with and in the land is important to individuals’

constructions of their environments. I suggest that affective and aesthetic

experiences provide avenues for greater appreciation of the land and, because of

this should be incorporated into professional environmental education.

In Chapter 5 I proposed that a technical view of professional environmental

education and professional environmental practice can be dehumanising if it

served agenda driven by the need for individuals to be authoritative to maintain

hierarchies of power and different ‘worlds’. A technical professional

environmental education maintains the dominant social paradigm and may not

endorse partnerships between professionals and communities. The maintenance

of different ‘worlds’, often with their own cultures and languages, provides few

opportunities for dialogue between such cultures. I argue that it is this lack of

dialogue between these ‘worlds’ that is problematic for professional

environmental practice.

Environmental problems exist across numerous cultures and contexts. People

involved with any environmental issues will construct their own understanding of

the problem, and their own ideas for resolution. To engage in a more holistic

appreciation of environmental issues I suggest professional environmental

education needs to challenge people to explore different ‘worlds’. However,

universities do not assist this process when they maintain the fragmentation of

content and disciplinary differences (Elective 2). I propose that a land ethic or

land ethics, because it is about a wider community (inclusive of the land), may

promote processes for dialogues between different ‘worlds’ leading to greater

commonality of understandings. This chapter explores whether a land ethic or



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land ethics exist in the narratives of different individuals and how a land ethic or

land ethics can be interpreted.

6.1 Theorising on the familiar A dominant theme throughout participants’ narratives was interest in the

environment. This interest was derived from valuing what was known.

Participants expressed strong positive associations between familiar people,

familiar places and familiar knowledge. For example, the following quotes are

from a number of students who stated:

My mum has encouraged me to explore the outdoors – we quite often went to Wilson’s Prom [National Park] and looked at the nature and that sort of stuff. From an early age I was taught to appreciate it [nature], even in the garden. Mum is a keen gardener and probably taught me about plants, flowers and stuff.

We’d [parents and participants] go bush walking and stuff and she’d tell me we were lucky to have this sort of environment. We are lucky to live here and do this sort of thing. People in Melbourne don’t get to see all the wallabies…I’d just be out in the sunshine with her and she might say – What’s that called?…and I wouldn’t have a clue – you know – and she’d tell me. Probably my mum has been the main influence [on my environmental interest].

A lot of my feelings for the land come from my father who is a [deleted] and was brought up in the bush. He was from [country town] so he is quite well versed in, I guess, bush crafts and bush tucker and he passed a fair bit of that on to me. I found that quite useful and quite enjoyable.

I have an agricultural background. My family are farmers in central Victoria and that gave me an interest in the environment and animals…

I think it [being in the natural environment] gives you a time to relax and reflect. I find that [comes] when I go by myself or in a father and son relationship – when you go fishing together or talk about things you wouldn’t necessarily talk about at home. You’re probably too busy in your normal day-to-day activities to think about it [the natural environment]…I just find it [the natural environment]is a good way to relax.

We [the family] used to go to a lot of national parks up in Queensland for a whole year – sort of going to all our national parks and we stayed in areas like that. I guess it [an environmental ethic] just rubbed off. It wasn’t like a great educational trip where



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they [parents] were saying you have to appreciate these areas. It was more that they [ideas] just rubbed off and you sort of just did it. How beautiful they [the national parks] are. How complicated [were] the interactions and the biodiversity of such areas. I guess there is a lot to do with cultural background.

[Talking about the Simpson Desert] I was amazed just how quiet and peaceful it was – all the sand-dunes and the flowers during the time it was flowering – just the look of the landscape…just the way the sand dunes were shaped and untouched and the different types and species of flowers – the occasional bit of wildlife that was out there.

These students were not constrained by the language of science and the interviews

gave them opportunities to express their emotional experiences within the

landscape, which they did with ease. Students expressed a diversity of feelings

about particular landscapes, places and people. For some students their

environmental interests were directly related to valued experiences in a specific

location with family or friends:

Researcher: I want to talk a little about a land ethic. Do you have a relationship with the land?

Mary: I don’t think I do in a very big way. I care about what happens to it [the land]. I see it as a resource more than an emotional attachment.

Researcher: Any particular reason why?

Mary: Just the way I guess society is. It is a consumer-driven world so we see things in terms of resources. [We] see land in terms of what we can get from it - what we can chop down – how much money it will earn us.

Researcher: Is that how you see Wilson’s Prom? [National Park].

Mary: No – but I think a land ethic should be applied to all land not just one small area. Wilson’s Prom I love…’cos I’ve grown up going there and it is nice and peaceful, but [not for] all [of the] land. I don’t see that attachment.

Researcher: Tell me more about Wilson’s Prom. – You say you love it. Why do you use that particular language?

Mary: ummm…I enjoy going there for its tranquillity and beautiful scenes, then there is little animals that the rangers trap occasionally and let go and it is just very relaxing – very calming – and I enjoy the physical exertion hiking though it [the national park] and knowing whatever we take in we take out and we try and leave



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things as undamaged as we can so that the next person can enjoy.

Researcher: Do most people down there [Wilson Prom National Park] have some sort of ethic?

Mary: No.

Researcher: How does that make you feel?

Mary: …a bit pissed off.

Mary valued her familiar place. This was not immediately evident. It was

difficult at first for Mary to express any attachment to the land because the

concept of land was generalised and unspecific. Mary’s earlier views in the

interview were dominated by economic values. However, later in the interview,

she identified a specific place where her emotional experiences gave her a sense

of belonging, but also a sense of anxiety that others may not have the same

feeling or responsibility for the same place.

Experiences in familiar landscapes, often with family, endured over time and

perhaps underpinned students’ desire for a career working in the environment.

Students openly expressed what they liked, disliked, hated and enjoyed about

different environments as well as their passion for the environment. These

dialogues were based on feelings about familiar places and people and the

emotions ‘spilled over’ into how what participants’ valued the environment. This

familiarity with a place was important to understanding the emotional links to the

land.

6.2 Theorising about valuing the field experience Chapter 5 found that students valued their time in the field. I felt that it was

important to pursue these ideas. Leopold’s (1949) valued field experiences and

saw these experiences essential in order to understand the land. He saw the field

experience as bridging the gap between people and their land, and considered that

people should be familiar with their land:

Your true modern is separated from the land by many middlemen, and by innumerable physical gadgets. He has no vital relation to it; to him it is the space between cities on which crops grow.

(Leopold 1949, p. 223-224)



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For students, knowledge apparently became more relevant when connected to

field experiences. Fred, a student, gives his perspective on the value of location

in acquiring new knowledge:

Researcher: In terms of your career after here [the university] are you fairly fixed about what you want to try to do. You spoke about research before but are there others things that you would find acceptable?

Fred: Yes – I’m a bit selfish; research, research, research, that’s want I want to do actually. I hate sitting in an office. I’d rather be out there collecting the data than writing about it.

For Fred, research was about collecting data in the field: the physical location of

the activity characterised its value. Other students made similar comments about

the importance of fieldwork. For example Beth stated:

Beth: …I went up [to NSW] for work experience and spent a couple of weeks with my cousin who was a park ranger up in New South Wales and I liked the work there. I can’t imagine myself stuck behind a desk doing an inside job all of the time so I thought that being a park ranger would be a pretty good job. It was a different lifestyle, I guess, but it was fun while I was there. I enjoyed the outdoors.

Researcher: What did you enjoy about the outdoors job?

Beth: I like being outside, which I guess was a kid thing that most people grow out of, but I like all the different things you can see from going places where you have never been before.

Toni reflects on similar ideas with a negative reference to office and paperwork:

Researcher: Was working inside an issue for you?

Toni: Not really but I’d like to be outside ultimately but I suppose [I would enjoy] any job that you wouldn’t refer to as a shit-kicker job that has a lot of indoor stuff, office work, paperwork.

Researcher: Why do you have some sort of aversion to that [working inside]?

Toni: I’m not sure. It was probably because it was not as appealing as walking around patting furry animals.

Michael comments that fieldwork was associated with action and office work

equated to inaction:

Researcher: Why the preference for a park ranger? Do you know any park rangers?



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Michael: My supervisor was undertaking training and doing a bit of forestry studies and he was telling us what it would involve. He basically said it was a good job if you are really interested in actually doing something for the environment. It was not a job where you can go to the office and be satisfied just sitting in the office for the whole day. You will have to get out and do things and [the supervisor said that] you’ll enjoy getting your hands dirty. Well that was the way to go [for me].

Andrew provides similar comments:

Andrew: Expectations of the course [were] probably [that it was] practical, on-going fieldworky sort of stuff. I thought that I’d like to be outdoors a lot. I’m not sure whether that was an expectation of the course or maybe more an expectation of jobs after the course. I have sort of realized, afterwards when talking to people, that a lot of environmental managers these days are sort of in offices and that sort of thing, writing management plans and reviewing plans and stuff like that.

There was this continual reference by students to the importance of working

outside in the environment. Further support for the value of working in the

environment was found from a number of students’ comments taken during

fieldwork exercises at the University of Ballarat, for example:

I feel that the more field work I complete the more confident I feel with the concepts I am learning.

I also felt that going away on this form of excursion I learnt more about my peers and therefore respected many of them more. Although this may not seem to be a part of the excursion it makes class work and further fieldwork easier.

Fieldwork gives students time to exchange ideas.

I enjoy fieldwork as a change from routine...the combination and variety [of tasks] are more important…

I enjoy getting out there and really doing practical work.

Fieldwork is a critical skill required as a resource manager and any aspiring resource manager who cannot successfully prepare, undertake and analyse fieldwork is perhaps fooling himself or herself. Fieldwork is also the most enjoyable and satisfying part of resource management.

I…seem to absorb and learn more whilst in the field.

Fieldwork, to me, is vital in providing practical evidence of the theory studies in lectures.



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Fieldwork is enjoyable when the people you are working with are enthusiastic about what they are doing and want to be there…

I think fieldwork is essential in this course because you need the experience before you get a job. Some people might find that they can comprehend the theory but have no idea what they are doing in the field. I think that performing what you have learnt in theory in the field helps you remember methods in the future.

I think fieldwork is very important in the course as it allows you to experience what you have learnt in class first hand and this helps with understanding the topic.

Fieldwork is important to extend my skills beyond the classroom.

I wish this course was wholly based on fieldwork and a type of apprentice-type course should be devised. When things are done first hand it is easier to take it in and know what you are doing. Hands-on work is more useful in learning. I learn most from experience.

Fieldwork is enjoyable because I love outdoors work and it’s more hands-on experience, which I think makes the practical side easier to understand. Also I think it will help us become good outdoor researchers and may help us later in life, job-wise.

Fieldwork seems to bring all the theory together and makes it seem worthwhile.

These comments alluded to the importance of experiential learning in addition to

the enjoyment of the experience. There was one negative comment about

fieldwork:

Although the fieldwork itself was interesting I wondered [about] the value of it.

Students valued practical field experiences but so did other participants. Gillian,

a private environmental consultant, who had experience in tertiary teaching,

expressed her need to ‘locate’ learning:

Gillian: You’ve got to try and put it [environmental understanding] into a level that they [students] can relate to at the point in their learning curve that they are at – and as I said that may be where they take their holidays or it might be that they are a keen fisherman or they notice a strange bird in the garden or their dam is muddy…it can be as basic a level as that but that gets your foot in the door and you build from that point; and they don’t realise it but from that point on they are basically moving along a learning and interest curve that gains momentum and that’s what I find all the



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time. The key to it all is finding that first base, to get people to realize that firstly the natural environment is interesting and secondly that it is relevant to them and that their quality of life has improved by having a greater association or understanding of the natural environment in which they live...

She suggested how field experiences were associated with an understanding of the

quality of life. Gillian reinforced the importance of place and how it informed her

feelings about the land:

Researcher: Let’s go back to an idea of the ethic – a land ethic. Do you think that an ethic is based on scientific information or based on this other [non-science foundation]?

Gillian: I think it is based on this other [information] – personally – and I think it might be a little different to a lot of other people. But I can still get immensely excited by going to some areas. Like it almost takes over you. It is like talking about wilderness. It’s like saying what is the point of having wilderness if you can’t go in there. The argument for me is just the thought that the wilderness is there [and it] can make me feel happy and excited and then fulfilled – to know that is important even if I was never able to go there.

Strong emotional relationships with the land were found throughout the

interviews. Participants felt ‘comfortable’ when learning in the field. The

experiences became familiar and participants engaged with their environment

because the experiences were enjoyable. Such emotions were also expressed by

academics. Henry, an experienced academic said:

Henry: When teaching biology I have total commitment to practicum. Teaching biology in books and so on have never been great for me and I have always been a strong supporter of practical, hands-on biology and in ecology the extension to that is fieldwork – to study animals and plants where they are rather than in a glasshouse, laboratory or Petri dish or whatever. The other thing I like about excursions is that they are open ended and you can talk about a whole range of incidental ecology – whatever the theme happens to be important.

The value of fieldwork was highly valued by other staff such as Andrew:

Andrew: I have a passion and a lot of response to the world that comes from standing on the mountain tops watching the sunrise and sunset and those sorts of things and being alone in the bush at night – going for bush walks by myself and being in environments,



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extreme environments, in which your life depends on [your skills]. You have made it out of somewhere that is life-threatening: you have made it through. Often that can be overwhelming – very, very passionate – and for me that is wrapped up in a big thing. It is very much the big picture of the ultimate reality and where, interestingly for me, lies my relationship to all of the world and being more than the globe: much more than the physicality.

Narratives explored the importance of the uncertainty and risk of fieldwork – that

lack of control – and how self-confidence developed from challenging uncertain

situations. There was no doubt that field experiences appeared important in

developing an association with the land. Experiences in the environment

promoted emotional characteristics because they endorsed feelings for the land:

The evolution of a land ethic is an intellectual as well as emotional experience.

(Leopold 1949, p. 225)

These emotional, enjoyable experiences with familiar people in familiar places

may form the basis of a land ethic or land ethics. Developing such a land ethic or

land ethics may encourage criticality if such a formation of ideas enhances a

personal ‘codes of practice’, which may limit future actions by considering the

consequences of actions:

An ethic, ecologically, is a limitation on freedom of action in the struggle for existence. An ethic, philosophically, is a differentiation of social from anti-social conduct. These are two definitions of one thing.

(Leopold 1949, p. 202)

I suggest these cultural ‘codes of practice’ develop from both aesthetic and

sensory experiences. For example, these quotes from students about the aesthetic

qualities of the land:

Because it [the bush] is aesthetically pleasing and it has all these wonderful qualities – like it provides a place to go bush walking.

I suppose I don’t know why I like bush walking but I [do]…– it smells nice – looks nice...

[It was enjoyable] just being with nature away from the concrete everywhere.

Being in the field lets you experience the environment…so if



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you’ve never been camping how do you know what a map looks like…if it is hot you could get sunburnt – all of those experiences that you may or may not have picked up in a university in a classroom. More than likely you won’t pick up these in class. Very simple things [are important] that you probably can’t teach and you must experience and learn through your mistakes, No matter how often you tell us to be really prepared and you’ve got to know exactly what you are going to do and you’ve got to be prepared and prepared – it doesn’t matter how many times you tell us there is definitely going to be things that unless we’ve experienced them it won’t stick in the brain.

These narratives demonstrate the importance of direct sensory and aesthetic

experiences, and may explain the dislike many students have of ‘bookish’

classroom learning (see Chapter 5), which lacks pronounced sensory stimulation.

This next quote was chosen because it stresses how experiences underpin

relationships between land and culture. This student – Graeme grew up in South

Africa during a period of racial violence. His narrative explores how he explains

his land ethic, whilst making comparisons between African and Australian

cultures:

Graeme: I grew up in Africa and African people are a lot more in touch with Africa than the average Australian is with Australia. People celebrate seasons and celebrate dance and those sorts of things. People just dance in the street. They have little wind-up radios because you don’t get batteries. People just aren’t as connected with themselves and with the land in Australia as they are in Africa. I noticed that as a kid coming across to another culture. I realised people are a lot more orientated around things like football and TV and who’s going to win a million dollars on TV or something. I came to Australia when I was 12 [and] making that realisation separated me from everyone else because I missed dancing with bare feet on the earth.

Dancing ‘barefoot on the earth’ is an example of the importance of tangible

experiences and the emotional joy associated with sensory experiences. There is

little doubt that fieldwork gives students opportunities to be personally

challenged, for new sensory experiences and to challenge themselves.

Flannery (1994) suggests urbanised Australians may have lost an understanding

of their relationship with the land. Many of my participants also suggested this



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lack of connection between people and their environment. These two examples

were from Robert, the environmentalist:

Robert: We are living in a world where people are very detached from nature…I think the challenge is to change people’s perceptions, promote the local flora and fauna, sustainable development – all those sorts of things – to the core population in the urban areas.

Robert: I couldn’t live without having this strong association with the natural world. I wouldn’t want to live in any other way and I feel it …just opens so many more dimensions that are available. If you live in a relatively shallow world in suburbia with no real contact with the natural world it is sad. [The environment] is something that is so infinitely variable and you can never ‘know’ it. We have just barely scratched the surface in terms of our knowledge of the natural environment and so I think it is one of those things that you start with on a learning curve and your passion for information just grows at a prodigious rate.

Familiar places provided a sense of security for the participants – a sense of

control in the uncertainty of the environment. This sense of security was often

expressed in terms of an improved sense of personal safety. These quotes are

from different students and reinforce this idea, but also suggest that for some

students ‘their’ familiar environment could be the city streets:

I wouldn’t know how to live out of the city. I’d probably die in a couple of days in the middle of the bush. I was thinking of the natural environment and I’m thinking I’m not close to that. The city environment – I’m very close to that.

I like looking at it [the bush], but if I was by myself and I wasn’t with someone who knew what they were doing I’d start to get worried because there could be snakes. It would only threaten me if I thought that there was some sort of danger and I’m not I’m not going to know what to do about it.

The city is a bit threatening – oh no it’s not threatening. I can deal with it and I’m used to it and like it. There’s nothing that makes me scared but I hate relying on the city – so in a way it threatens me. Every time I walk into a supermarket – that’s a threat to me like knowing that you couldn’t live without that – so in a way the city is a threat.

I lived in Melbourne for five or six years and at various times I quite enjoyed it but I found the urban sprawl – the environment – was quite foreign. In terms of trees and parklands [they] were



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quite nice but they were only man-made so I found that with the pollution I wanted to get away from it. I didn’t like it as much as the country.

Familiar places were places where the participant felt secure.

There was evidence of different ‘worlds’ based on perceptions of familiar places.

Students recognised a difference in the environmental values of other people:

Researcher: Do these people have a different land ethic to you?

Michael: Yes – yes – like even within the university. I lived on residences and there were [business] management students and PE [physical education students] – lots of different students and they definitely had a different land ethic totally. Like one of my best friends [who] does marketing and his sort of idea of tourism and environment…is more to exploit the environment as a tourist. I don’t think half the people I knew grew up with cared [about the environment] from what I heard but they didn’t do anything extra – [they] didn’t give a shit at all.

Similarly, professionals identified differences about places as a rural-urban

divide and how this divide affected the ability to undertake their roles.

Narratives explored the idea of different places and different values. For

example, this quote from Adam who was a government land planner:

Adam: I talk to people in rural communities, particularly where farming is depressed… where they are saying ‘We need to maximize our use and benefit from the land and you are imposing a regulation or control on us that limits out ability to do something. This control limits our ability to generate revenue or income which has a flow-on effect to the local economy therefore it has an impact on the local community’. They [the farmers] are saying that a lot of these concepts or ideas or some of them are driven by people who live in Melbourne – who are remote – who see that this [action] is necessary but it doesn’t impact on them on a day-to-day way like a farmer.

Positive relationships with the land may evolve, not from some externally

imposed set of values, such as Hungerford, Peyton and Wilke’s (1980) idea of

environmentally responsible behaviour, but from individuals exploring their own

emotional ties with their places, and clarifying for them their understanding of

how express their partnership with their place. As one of the environmentalists

said during his interview:



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We can fix legislation that covers the clearing of native vegetation. We can have all the big sticks we like but in the end the big sticks are counter productive. We can’t be saying to people ‘You can’t destroy that – you’ve got to protect that’. People have got to be saying ‘I don’t want that destroyed’, ‘I want to protect it because it is fantastic and am really pleased that it is on my property.’

6.3 Theorising on the need for change and making a difference For many participants there was a strong sense of a commitment to making a

change as to how the environment was valued. Perhaps this was the reason why

students enrolled in their environmental course and professionals remained in

their occupations. Students explained their need to resolve environmental issues:

Wendy: After I finished Year 12 I had decided what I wanted to do and I made one choice and decided to start a performing arts course, and [then] I changed my mind and started environment management.

Researcher: What initiated that change in your mind?

Wendy: Basically just from the very little [that] I knew about [it]. Well I haven’t finished quite making a decision as to what I wanted to do and so I changed it [the course] because I didn’t think that performing arts was doing enough [to] change [me] and I thought that maybe if I did this course I could make some sort of difference.

Making a difference was a common theme for many participants and was their

expression of an emergent sense of environmental responsibility:

Kelly: I finished Year 12 in a relaxed state and thought, “That’s it”, I am not going to go to uni. I had had enough study so I went and did a Green Corp. project. I have always been interested in the environment and I found that really was the switch that turned me onto this path of life. I thought – yes – this is the way to go so I actually ended the project early and came to uni. …I enjoy having a hands-on experience…after working with Green Corp. I seemed to see the really negative effect of what people do to the environment and how we were trying so hard just to correct it and save native species. I reckon that turned me into this direction. I thought environmental management. Now I reckon, because no offence to you, [but] the older generation are saying let’s sit back and let the young people do it. We need to have some motivated young people to come over and say “Alright you are putting it into good hands – leave it to me”.



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Students were passionate about change and critical of the status quo. When asked

how his emergent criticality related to his expectations of the course, Jim replied:

Jim: What were my expectations? To expand my knowledge, to expand my network, to find what I was going to do with my life, with my working life, to get in touch with more people of like minds, to have discussion groups, to discover the real meaning of life.

Researcher: What would you like to do after you have finished the course?

Jim: I’d like to educate people – I think – spreading the message as far and wide as possible.

Researcher: What’s the message?

Jim: …to be aware

Researcher: Aware of what?

Jim: Aware of where you are in the universe. I think we are just so far away from knowing any truths of how the environment responds. All of the issues relating to the environment are just so fuzzy at the moment that we can’t actually go out and say if we chop down this tree it will survive and we haven’t wrecked the forest. We don’t know that for a fact. So I am really interested in going out there and telling people that there is a whole lot of fuzziness out there and what scientists are really trying to do is to narrow that down to get rid of a lot of fuzziness. But I also want to let them know that doesn’t dictate what their inputs to the system [are]. They have to be aware that they act locally and think globally.

Jim’s expectation was that his university course would enhance and enable him to

challenge the status quo. Jim saw a university education as the foundation for his

criticality. Higher education appeared to be the process to authorise Jim as an

‘agent of change’. From this perspective a degree course might have been viewed

as ‘enabling’, but to some extent this contrasted with the ‘reality’ (see Elective 1).

6.4 Theorising about a passion for learning

Academics’ theories about teaching environmental issues were underpinned by

the need for enthusiasm. For example, this quote from a younger academic at the

University of Ballarat:

Andrew: But if you have got passion or explored some of that passion then I sort of have a sense that is a really good learning or



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a really good student outcome. So if the only thing you get out of a degree is that you learnt what you like…and then you run with your life – you follow your heart with that through your life – it gives you the first step. Then I have got the sense that is probably a really good learning outcome because you have actually provided a variety of roads to travel.

Gillian, the private environmental consultant and former tertiary teacher,

commented on the role of enthusiasm in professional environmental education.

This longer narrative was chosen because it demonstrated how Gillian makes

connections between her experiences as a teacher and a passion for learning:

Gillian: Some of the universities and stuff in the last ten years are probably worse than they used to be in a sense that you are really…being educated now for a career, a job, and at the end of the day it was that it’s measurable. You‘ve got to meet the standard. There was no room for passion. When I was a student I can remember we were encouraged to be passionate. There was still time and room in our course for us to get really involved in something. When I was teaching a number of years later, tutoring at [university named], it was very hard to get kids passionate about anything because all they were worried about was whether or not that it was going to get them a job at the end of the day and their whole focus changed. My daughter was studying and all she wanted to do was literature and philosophy because she was passionate about it, but no-one [academic] gives them [students] any credibility because they don’t see a job at the end of the day, so they are trying to stream her off into things all the time. I think that universities are really cutting themselves off at the knees, in one sense, because they are stopping the passion and without passion nothing will change. We will not progress without passion. The only times in the history of humans when change has been rapid or when we have really made significant change in direction has been because there has been passion.

Gillian explored her concerns (and mine) that academics were apparently

curtailing their passion for learning because of the universities’ vocational

orientation. Universities, from her perspective, no longer appeared to be places

passionate about learning. She regarded universities as institutions that

emphasised the pragmatic, the rational and the utilitarian. To some extent this

may be valid (Electivse 1 and 2), but in contrast to this criticism it appeared from

the interviews that some of the academics at the University of Ballarat were still

passionate about their discipline (Chapter 5).



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Enthusiasm, from these academics’ perspective, was their expression of a

commitment to content. Enthusiasm they assumed created its own relevance – or

place in the higher education environment – expressed as the passion associated

with any vocation. For academics, enthusiasm was a highly valued student

attribute. For example when John was asked whether students had the same

enthusiasm for the content as he had, he answered:

John: I think a number of students come to us because it is like the next step to take. They were plodding on through their secondary school and they like the outdoors or something like that so they go to university and in the end they study something like geology or environmental management …some people learn passion during the course, and become very absorbed in it and enthusiastic. I think I have seen some remarkable changes in students that go into second and third year when they really do start to have a bit of passion.

Academics felt that students could acquire ‘passion’. It frustrated staff when

students failed to mimic the academics’ enthusiasm (Chapter 5), as this comment

from John, a lecturer, demonstrates:

John: I suppose I have become realistic and I understand that most people aren’t interested in the slightest [in biology] but I do get very disappointed when I come across students in our [environmental] course and professionals in our field who really don’t seem to have fire in their belly or enthusiasm for it.

Academics asked students to model their behaviour on how the academic saw

himself or herself as an exemplary model, and to develop that ‘fire in the belly’ in

order to learn. Two quotes from different academics reinforced these ideas: ‘good

students are passionate about content’, ‘students who are passionate about content

are more mature’. There is no doubt passion, or enthusiasm, underpins these

academics’ theories about teaching and learning. I draw parallels between the

emotive relationship that some participants had with their favourite places and the

passion these academics’ expressed for a place for their vocation in the university

culture.

6.5 Summary Leopold did not prescribe the land ethic. He suggested that ethics are culturally

constructed and dynamic and acknowledged that the concept of culture was



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problematic. Leopold’s land ethic can be considered as a process of reflecting on

the ethical relationship between people and their land and as such is a way of

thinking, not a statement of which actions are morally good. From this

perspective, developing a land ethic or land ethics may be processes of critical

reflections focusing attention on ethical relationships between individuals and

communities.

Participants in my research expressed various theories about their land ethic or

land ethics. They articulated these theories in terms of a range of emotional

experiences associated with familiar places and people, feeling secure, enthusiasm

about knowing and a commitment to environmental change as a challenge to the

status quo. Throughout the interviews there was a constant interplay between the

participants’ positive experiences in the environment and the development of a

sense of responsibility for their place with the environment. I interpreted these as

expressions of an ethical relationship between people and place. I regarded these

theories, which focussed on actions in places as informing attitudes about places.

These theories were, I suggest, characteristics of a land ethic or land ethics.

Experiences in the environment are valued if they are personally enriching and

challenging (Van Matre 1979). However, Fien (1993) provides some warning,

based on the work of Kemmis, for the field experience as environmental

education. The argument is that a liberal/progressive orientation for

environmental education, incorporating field experiences, may not encourage

criticality and may only endorse the status quo. Field experiences have a strong

vocational orientation (undertaking tasks directly associated with practice) (see

Elective 1) and the possibility exists for fieldwork to be technical and task-

orientated. So there is support in Elective 1 for Kemmis’s concern. However, the

evidence from my research suggests that experiences in familiar places can evoke

emotional and critical qualities that may form the basis for a reflective and

critical. land ethic or land ethics. Participants in this research reflected on the

romantic, spiritual, sensory and aesthetic qualities associated with their places,

which gave them a sense of security associated with these emotions – places felt

secure. This concept of familiar places can be extended to the intellectual world



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of academics who felt ‘secure’ in a vocation world. I propose that encouragement

of a land ethic or land ethics can be explored through examining and promoting

these affective experiences. This may require individuals to interpret their

expression of the ‘love of the land’ – whether than ‘land’ is physical, emotional,

spiritual or intellectual.

Criticality is an important theme for my thesis because I suggests it is an

important element of a higher education (Barnett 1997, Review Committee on

Higher Education Financing and Policy 1997). This criticality aligns with Fien’s

(1993) desirable student outcomes for a socially critical environmental education

which he suggest are:

A critical and constructive co-participant in society who sees self-actualisation in a social context, who pursues the ‘true and the good’ in transforming and being transformed by society, not purely individualistic.

(Fien 1993, p. 20)

Fien (1993) promotes an ethical framework for education – pursuing the true and

the good – to enable learners to become socially critical. I argue that a basis for

this ethical socially critical education are appreciations of one’s own land ethic or

land ethics. It is this ethical appreciation of land that critically challenges each

individual’s understanding of his or her environmental values. As such a socially

critical environmental education will embrace affective ecological and aesthetic

sensitivity, encouraging a more holistic interpretation of the integrity of

community.

This idea resonates with W.H. Lecky’s view (in Singer 1997), which expressed

the need for expanded ethical interests beyond individualism and encouraged the

development of ethical thinking to include humanity. From my environmental

perspective based in a land ethic or land ethics I argue that this ethical view

should be extended beyond humanity to include the land to ensure that there is a

more complete appreciation of what contributes to an ecological community. As

Singer (1997, p. 30) states:

An ethical life is one in which we identify ourselves with other, larger, goals, thereby giving meaning to our lives. The view that



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there is harmony between ethics and enlightened self-interest is an ancient one, now often scorned…In a society in which the narrow pursuit of material self-interest is the norm, the shift to an ethical stance is more radical than many people realize.

An ethical life requires a paradigm shift from an appreciation of the community as

separate entities (people, fauna, flora and land) conventionally classified by

scientists to view encompassing the integrity of the community. Laura Westra

(2001) argues that because Leopold’s idea of a land ethic is based on holistic

views there is value in maintaining the concept of integrity throughout our ethical

deliberations and not to resort to reductionism. Her argument therefore is not

supportive of Singer and Lecky’s ideas of ‘expanding’ ethical concerns from the

individual to the community but for an ethical appreciation starting with the

integrity of the ecological community. Leopold’s ‘land’ proposes such a view.

My interpretation of the narratives, as demonstrated in this chapter, has required

me to explore how I, and the participants, express the integrity of our experiences

in the land. I have proposed that this integrity may be found in a holistic view

encompassing a diversity of personal experiences. In the final chapter I discuss

how developing a land ethic or land ethics provides me with a fertile avenue for

examining a language of opportunity and possibility for professional


Chapter 7 – Searching for an Australian land ethic or land ethics


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Chapter 7 – Searching for an Australian land ethic or land ethics The environmental crisis is not just a moral problem or an economic issue relating to how we manage our natural resources; fundamentally, it is a spiritual problem about how we experience ourselves in the world. The environmental crisis is about our lack of a binding relationship to what we persist in calling the ‘external’ or ‘physical’ world. When we stop referring to the world as external or outside, or as ‘merely’ physical, I dare say the environmental crisis will be faced and solved, because its existence points to a limitation in our human love, an inability to extend love and concern to that which lies beyond the immediate realm of our personal lives.

(Tacey 2000, pp. 162-3)

7.0 Reflections on the research questions Professional education is for professional practice and apparently conventional

thinking is that professionals provide a ‘service’ for their ‘client’. I have

expanded this idea in this thesis to imply that professional practice should develop

mutual partnerships, which for me are underpinned by ethical relationships

amongst educationists, professionals and partners.

My research questions (see Section 1.5.1) arose from my critical reflections about

the dissonance between my theories and my practices that developed in a

traditional science faculty in a small Australian university, which emerged from a

College of Advanced Education (CAE) (see Section 1.1.1). The cultural

differences between universities and CAEs should not be underestimated

(Bowden & Anwyl 1983) as these differences have influenced my understanding

of what might be considered as the University of Ballarat’s academic culture with

the promotion of vocational learning. The effects of differences in these

educational cultures on research was explored by Bazeley (1994) who found in

her study that Australian college staff saw teaching as their primary role. She

concluded that in developing a research ethos ‘culture is a more critical element

than structure in creating a productive research environment’ (p. 132).

As such the academic culture promoted by the University of Ballarat, particularly

in the science faculty, has framed my and others’ understandings of the purpose

and value of teaching and research. These cultural assumptions and prejudices



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have been personally evident as I sought to critically evaluate both my teaching

and research. Changes in my research focus from ecology to explorations of

professional education, and the changes in my teaching orientation from a

traditional science focus to environmental philosophy, have been professionally

problematic.

I have adopted reflection to examine my practice and engage with my

understanding of Schön’s (1983, 1987) professionalism. My approach aligns with

Hunt’s (1998, p. 335) use of reflection to promote ‘meaning making’,

encompassing a ‘transpersonal orientation’. In my reflection I wanted to retain

criticality because:

…higher education is surely about ‘developing critical thinkers’ (Brookfield 1987), where it has not capitulated to the unreflexive technical rational practices that can be seen to characterise not only the ‘new vocationalism’ of the training culture, but much of further education’s concerns, as that sector valorises competence-based learning and assessment, and then fits its teaching practices to this reductive view…

(Bleakley 1999, p. 316)

Bleakley (1999) expressed concerns that reflection can become a technical skill,

more than an intuitive and critical practice. To guard against this he promoted

‘holistic reflexivity’ (p.328):

Holistic reflexivity is an inclusive ecological or caring act of reflection as well as an appreciative gesture, with and explicit concern for ,‘otherness’ and ’difference’.

(Bleakley 1999, p.328 )

Matthews and Jessel (1998) briefly examine the various definitions of reflective

practices and prefer the term ‘reflexivity’ to emphasis the subjective,

consciousness and unconsciousness, historic and personal beliefs, values,

attitudes, assumptions, fears and experiences. Reflexivity emerges as contextual

more than a technical approach to reflection and Bleakley’s holistic reflexivity

appears to capture the ecological and affective sentiments central to my research

folio. This reflexive approach has enabled me to retain the inter-connectedness



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that I value across the breadth of this research and has promoted critical

considerations of my practice (Robinson 1993).

However, Robinson (1993, p. 281) asks ‘But what is it about the process of

reflection upon action that opens up the possibility of improved action?’

Robinson’s (1993) concern is founded in Winter’s (in Robinson 1993) question as

to how the actor (in this case me) can ‘step outside the framework he [sic] has

employed in order to evaluate and possibly reconstruct that framework?’

However, it may not be necessary to ‘step outside’, or to propose any ‘external’

stance, to evaluate and reconstruct my professional frameworks. As Robinson

(1993, p. 282) indicates ‘Problems are more likely to be recognized and

ineffective problem frames discarded when actors are able to recognize their own

assumptive frameworks and treat them as potentially fallible hypotheses about the

nature of the problem.’ This research has enabled me to discard my problem

frames unsuitable to my practice and to identify my assumptive frameworks as a

practitioner.

There appears to be some debate as to the limits of reflection and a role for the

‘outsider’ as providing expertise (Robinson 1993). If, ‘…resolution of the

expertise-empowerment dilemma should therefore involve not the denial or

muzzling of expertise but the creation of conditions under which claims to

expertise are openly debated and open accepted or rejected’ (Robinson 193, p.

286), then my position as a researcher of my practice (refection on my reflection-

on-practice) is validated both as ‘expert’ and ‘practitioner’. I would argue that

only I know what personal changes have occurred in my thinking about my

practice. Some of these changes can be demonstrated to others (such as a change

in the emphasis of the curriculum from a science-dominated perspective); others

may be much more personal and contribute intangibly to my professional

development. Nevertheless I argue that my interpretation of the gaps between my

theory and my practice, and the actions I have taken to resolve these tensions, are

valid. I consider that changes in my practice have evolved from my reflexivity

and as such can be considered as action research.



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The reason for this research was that I was aware of my own theory-practice gaps

yet was unable to resolve some of the tensions by resorting to an acceptance of

the status quo as promoted within the science faculty at the University of Ballarat.

My understanding of this status quo was that professional education was

indistinct from vocational education and my purpose was to ‘educate’ students to

‘fit in’ to current perceptions of professional practice. Notions of an elite

authority and ideas that ‘knowledge is power’ dominated the views of some staff

and many students (see Chapter 5). It appeared that they saw the purpose of

tertiary education was to sanction this personal power and my role was identified

as a ‘gatekeeper’ to allow entry to the profession. Chapter 5 identifies the

characteristics of the concepts. As I have argued I rejected this view of tertiary

education because it maintains a disempowering and disabling interpretation of

tertiary education that encourages de-humanisation. My search in this research

has been for an alternative, more critical, platform for my practice. This emergent

platform required sufficient methodological validity to withstand the challenges

by those who were ‘comfortable’ within the status quo.

7.1 My own theories and practices: a review My research engaged with my theories and practices in a critical way. Robottom

(1993a, p. 106) explains:

• Educational problems are constituted of gaps between theory and practice;

• Everyone engaged in educational pursuits possesses an educational theory;

• Anyone engaged in educational pursuits may experience the difficulties of

a theory-practice gap;

• Theory-practice gaps, and the educational problems they constitute, only

emerge from experiences of practitioners; and

• Theory-practice gaps can be closed only by practitioners themselves

through a process of critical appraisal of the respective adequacies of their

own educational practices and their own educational theories.



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My research has been a process to critically examine and engage with the tensions

that arise among my own practice, theories and the circumstances of work. Some

of these tensions have been expanded in the electives.

My environmental education practice is informed by my concerns that

environmental problems are not being suitably addressed (Aplin 2002; Australian

Bureau of Statistics 2001, 2003) and their magnitude and complexity appears to

be increasing (CSIRO 2001). Of concern is the recent observation that there is a

growing lack of community interest in the environment (Australian Bureau of

Statistics 2003), even though substantial effort is being directed to environmental

education (Environmental Australia 1999, 2000). Environmental problems

continue to emerge even though environmental professionals struggle to achieve

some measure of resolution for these problems (Elective 2). From my perspective

it appears that some environmental professionals may be unable to bring about

resolution to complex environmental problems because of the lack of alignment

between their professional environmental education, which was technically

framed, and the contexts of their professional practice.

I suggest that the conventional technical professional environmental education

encourages a belief that science and technology are the main (often the only)

mechanisms by which environmental problems will be resolved. Science is

valued because it characterises a search for absolute ‘truth’ through rationality,

objectivity, neutrality and determinism (Littledyke 2000). However, Robottom

(1989) argues that such scientific approaches create ‘conditions where knowledge

is separated from action, and social control figures to a greater extent than social

critique’ (p. 440). The qualities of science, although they have value in many

professions, may only be suitable for some environmental practices because of the

complexity of issues and the need to make socially acceptable decisions based on

value judgements.

In addition, a technical environmental education tends to promote anthropocentric

and accommodationist ideologies identifying the environment as a ‘service’ to

humanity and promoting the control and management of resources for human



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benefit. This technocentric orientation has persuaded many environmental

educators to search for the ‘magic bullet’ to ‘alter’ peoples’ environmental

consciousness and induce environmentally responsible behaviour. This

determinism, where those in authority identify and privilege what are the

characteristics of so-called environmentally responsible behaviour, might be seen

as the purpose of much of what is described as professional environmental

education. However, Robottom and Hart (1995) are critical of this behaviourist

and individualist approach because it rarely takes account of any social, historical

and political contexts. Further, this behaviourist approach appears to ignore the

idea that each individual culturally constructs his or her understanding of the

environmental issue and it may not be feasible to express a consensus view of the

values contributing to the environmental problem. Environmental problems

‘exist’ within social groups and it is reasonable to expect that the ‘answer’ to

these problems also ‘exists’ within the cultures of the same groups.

A technocratic orientation for environmental learning, as promoted by

universities, determines and validates opinions about the elite role for science,

scientists, expert knowledge, professional education and professionalism (Chapter

5). Associated with this elite perspective is the current view of higher education

that supports an increasing vocationalisation of the environmental curriculum,

which is encouraged by economic rationalism inherent within this neo-liberal

ideology (Thomas 1999/2000). This growth of vocationalisation of the

curriculum parallels an emerging corporatisation of universities with an emphasis

on overt control of policy and practice (McNay 1995). I suggest that this

corporate nature leads to a more restrictive, centralised and controlled curriculum

– an increased determinism. The result of the corporate need for greater control

of academe to address government concerns about the accountability of

universities has been a suppression of higher education as criticality because

criticality is diametrically opposed to determinism.

Evidence presented in this folio suggests that many participants identified

themselves as members of this emergent corporate ideology. There view was that

their tertiary education provided them, as individuals, with more control, authority



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and (hopefully) respect. Students sought to increase their self-confidence and saw

an undergraduate degree as one way of achieving greater confidence and respect.

Professional education was seen by students in terms of increasing self-interests,

and as an empowering process, but students ignored or were not aware that:

Usually, the people with more power are those who belong to the political and intellectual elite. Powerful people generally do not give away power: it has to be taken, fought for and won. The transfer of that power, the process of enabling one person to become more powerful by making another less powerful, is the practice of empowerment.

(Fagan 1996, p. 138)

Students wanted personal rewards for their own efforts and compensation for the

financial cost to them of a higher education. Their individualistic ideology

supports this idea. The outcome they desired appeared to be personal power and

the chance to exert this power. Yet, as shown in this research the authority

respect and ability to practice as a professional, all of which students think come

from having a qualification and a position of authority, are not assured in

professional practice.

I suggest that in the clamour for some illusive personal authority associated with

being ‘professional’ the underlying ethical values informing professionalism

appear to have been abandoned. The importance of any ethical consideration has

been replaced by a technical operationalism and the ability ‘to do the job’. As

higher eduction becomes perceived as technocratic, vocational, and individualistic

it has diverged from what is arguably higher education as criticality as outlined by

Barnett (1997).

Walker (2001b) notes that ‘Professionalism can no longer be unproblematically

grounded in a service ethic with the rise of marketization and discourses of

efficiency and market’ (p. 10). Such an idea is of concern to me. Interpreting an

ethic of service from the perspective of market forces may be inappropriate

because market forces are economically driven and not necessarily ethical.

Walker’s marketisation of professionalism is promoted by, and promotes, an

individualistic ideology that glorifies personal autonomy, self-realisation and



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ideas that responsibility is ultimately an individual, not a community, matter.

Positioning oneself within the market place, as marketisation, is an outcome

driven by overt competition, and encouraged by individualism. The

individualistic ideology, encouraged through economic and market, but not

necessarily ethical, forces may not be allied with interpretations of citizenship,

community partnerships or ethical professionalism. What may be ‘good’ for the

professional, as an individual, may not always be ‘good’ for the partner.

Universities appear to be promoting this individual ideology, which contrasts with

Thomas’ (1999/2000, p. 107) argument for a sustainable higher education

incorporating ‘Dewey’s vision of a progressive education [that] involves learning

which aims to produce a benevolent and empowered citizenry, orientated

towards…common social good’. Challenging the current corporate and

individualistic ideologies in universities is problematic whilst the ‘drivers’ for

higher education are economic and market-driven. For some commentators the

battle is lost and academe needs to accept its new corporate agenda and the new

place for universities in the market place (see Elective 2). However, problems

arise if this individualistic ideology dominates the nature of environmental

professionalism especially as the misuse of power is implicated in many social

and environmental problems (Singer 2002). The power orientation informing

conventional professionalism leads MacDonald (1997) to ask whether the current

framework used to characterise professionalism is a suitable basis for

environmental education:

Faced with competition from other professions, with the weak professional standing of education, and with structural and other economic changes, will we be able to design a “professionalism” which both gains power and status, and keeps the deeper meanings of environmental education?

(MacDonald 1997, p. 79)

The question is valid. Conventional views of professionalism (as found in

Chapter 5) are that it bestows personal power and status as identified by Jarvis

(1983). However, I argue not for a rejection of professionalism, because of its

traditional association with increased individual power, but for a resurgence of



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critical discourses about the ethics that inform partnerships within

professionalism. I view these partnerships as mutually beneficial associations

amongst all parties, and analogous to biological symbiotic associations. I suggest

that there is a requirement for a (non-economic) discourse to understand what is

implied by professionalism from both the professionals’ and the partners’

perspectives.

Fien (2000) argues, based on his understanding of Foucault, that a ‘discourse

dictates what it is possible to think and say…who are entitled to say it, and who

are to be constructed as unworthy commentators and, therefore, to be

marginalised or silenced’ (p. 188). As a critical professional I need a discourse

that critically examines my ethical responsibilities in professional environmental

education. This discourse, I claim should reject the elite professional model

because it does not adequately value the partners’ opinions it is dehumanising. It

is de-humanising and hierarchical. Alternative models for professionalism should

give greater importance to socially engaging activities (which are also central to

ecology) such as collaboration, partnerships, participation, synergy and

negotiation (Cassells & Valentine 1980; Davis-Case 2001; Fagan 1996; Hunt

1983; O’Riordan 1971; Petheram, Stephen & Gilmour 2002).

Perhaps students in their quest for greater self-esteem are uncritical of the elite

professional model and appear to be following the same pathway as current

professionals who endorse an elitist view because of its assumed authority. This

is not surprising because professional education, as practiced in universities, is

itself immersed in an individualistic ideology that privileges elite groups with

power and authority.

In contrast to the approach taken by most universities I suggest there is a need for

a greater ethical holism for professionalism. Leopold, and his supporters (I

include myself in this category), encourage valuing a different ethical framework

for professionalism and professional environmental education from that currently

promoted within universities and by many practitioners. My theorising about

professional environmental eduction is based on my interpretation of the work of



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Schön (1983, 1987), Boyer (1990) and Barnett (1992, 1994; 1997) and others.

These writers inform my perceptions of what professional education could be.

My theoretical perspective for professional environmental education is a

promotion of ecological holism and ideas that incorporate a broader sense of

community, partnership, collaboration, connectivity, diversity, ecological thinking

and a critical flow of ideas. These distinctive features are ecological (as

expressed by Gough 1987) and promote an understanding of a professional

education – professional practice – professionalism nexus. I propose that in this

thesis professional environmental educators require more holistic, reflective and

ecological perspectives to enable them to examine their own social and political

contexts:

…if environmental educators are able to embrace ecological values wholeheartedly and pursue ecological understanding at its deepest levels, then they will be well placed to capitalise on the one feature of the changing worldview that seems most likely to prevail, namely, its holistic emphasis.

(Gough 1987)

The challenge for me in this thesis and my practice was to embed my professional

environmental education practice within these more holistic and philosophical

perspectives. The way forward was through processes that encouraged a holistic

view of my professional environmental education practice that attempted to

address Leopold’s maxim as it related to higher education:

A thing [professional environmental education] is right when it tends to preserve the integrity, stability, and beauty of the biotic community. It is wrong when it tends otherwise.

(Leopold 1949, pp. 224-5 – my emphasis added)

I needed to explore what elements of my practice would be ‘right’ because they

were, in any ethical sense, preserving the integrity, stability and beauty of the

biotic community.

Such an examination of my practice has led me to the conclusion that an essential

component of the environmental course that I co-ordinate is an understanding of

environmental philosophy. Without any critical examination of the extensive

environmental philosophy literature, and an examination based on reviews of



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various environmental perspectives, understanding of environmental issues may

be dominated by the current social paradigm. Environmental philosophy provides

opportunities to challenge this paradigm. With my experiences in teaching

environmental philosophy since 1977 it is this particular unit that has challenged

the students’, and my, assumptions about many environmental and social issues.

7.2 An ecological way to understand the land as a partner – changes in my practice Ecology, with its emphasis on fieldwork and inter-disciplinary studies emerged,

with some difficulty, from the traditional sciences (Krebs 2001). However, now

ecology is widely accepted within the scientific and wider community as a valid

discipline. From this secure base ecologists have extended their intellectual

boundaries to appreciate that ‘…the human dimension necessitates that ecologists

go one step further and view the knowledge, practice and practitioners of this

dimension as part of the biosphere’ (Bradshaw & Bekoff 2001, p. 464).

Ecology’s strength lies in it mimicking our understanding of natural systems with

an appreciation of what is implied by integrity, stability, diversity and holism

(Botkin 1990; Krebs 2001). This expansionist view of ecology confronts the

assumed tribalism and self-centredness of traditional disciplines by demonstrating

that discipline boundaries can be eroded if deeper and wider understandings are

required. Perhaps it is because ecologists have expanded and crossed intellectual

and discipline boundaries that Bradshaw and Bekoff (2001, p. 464) regard

ecology as ‘first of the new sciences.’ This broader view of ecology has

encouraged me, as an ecologist, to challenge the boundaries of my understanding

of the discipline and how it should be taught.

For me there are analogies between this expanded view of ecology and a different

perspective for professional education. I suggest that professional environmental

education should be ‘ecological’ to enhance students’ views that environmental

professionalism is holistic and more than its current vocational perspective. I

argue that professional environmental education cannot be built from dissociated

fragments of technical-based learning (unitisation). Such an inadequate

understanding promotes a higher education as the sum of apparently independent



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parts and ignores any concept of holism. However, the current trend towards

unitisation of courses has encouraged such a fragmentary transportable

framework (Elective 1), which detracts from any ‘system understanding’ (Senge

1992). As Ramsden (1993, p. 91) suggests ‘Education is about organising the

system in which teaching and learning occur rather than about the subject matter

that people teach and learn.’ Yet, it is this subject matter or content that is the

emphasis of learning for many people and promoted by most universities (see

Elective 1).

I suggest that professional environmental education needs greater critical

examination of the ‘system’ that encapsulates environmental professionalism

more than reviews of the content of specific units. In order to bring about this

change I have argued in Elective 1 for more transdisciplinary thinking about the

structure of professional environmental curriculum to promote holism. I suggest

that if a course is embedded in transdisciplinary thinking then students may be

able to appreciate how the various ‘bits’ of the curriculum ‘fit’ together in some

coherent fashion. Further, I argue that any higher level, systems-orientated, co-

ordination should be from an ethical perspective.

To bring about these changes I have promoted transdisciplinary thinking for the

environmental management course at the University of Ballarat as the following

course information explains:

The Environmental Management program is a transdisciplinary approach using the knowledge, skills and attitudes from a range of disciplines such as environmental science, ecology, zoology, botany, geology, philosophy, and the social and political sciences. It builds these different disciplines into a coordinated, coherent unit of knowledge applicable to solving problems and making decisions for the environment and the community.

(University of Ballarat, 2004)

I suggest that the promotion of transdisciplinary thinking may encourage students

to begin to critique fragmentary and discipline-based approaches to problem

solving. The hope is that students will not look for reductionist, technical ‘fixes’

to environmental problems or de-contextualise the diversity of different

disciplinary perspectives from their comprehension of the issue. Perhaps



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transdisciplinarity will provide students with the opportunity to see more of the

‘whole’ issue. This approach should not be deterministic; however, I now

recognise that the course description I wrote (see above) still, to some extent, has

this deterministic orientation (‘solving problems’, ‘making decisions’).

In this thesis I have promoted the values of The Land Ethic because this concept

values not only a holistic view of environmental issues but also provides avenues

for non-deterministic ways of ethical thinking about what could be considered as

professional environmental education and practice. As Leopold suggests

individuals have ethical obligations to critique bureaucracies and the status quo.

This implies an ethical value for criticality. The Land Ethic informs, and can

form the basis for, ethical argument about environmental issues and may

encourage a socially critical orientation for environmental education as promoted

by Fien (1993), Huckle (1983) and Robottom and Hart (1993). I suggest that it is

this ethical perspective – the posing of questions pertaining to what the individual

considers ought to be right for the land – that could form a suitable basis for the

appreciation of a transdisciplinarity of studies.

The Land Ethic promotes ideas similar to Schön’s (1983) reflective contract. I

express this idea as a reflective partnership, similar to Fagan’s (1996) community

partnership. Such thinking may reduce some of the political imbalance arising

from power inequities that appear to underpin conventional professional-client

relationships. I extend Schön’s reflective contract to include an appreciation of

any mutual ethical obligations that may exist within partnerships.

This ethical basis to develop partnerships, encouraged by a strong sense of

critique of the status quo, has influenced my teaching, especially in the unit on

Environmental Ethics and Philosophy. Teaching this unit has encouraged me,

and the students, to examine how we perceive the equity of authority and power

within various partnerships, and how this might affect our environmental ‘role’ in

becoming ‘environmental citizens’. I encourage the idea in students that

partnerships need to be based in trust and it is important to critique the

arrangements of trust between educator, student, practitioner and professional:



194

Trust performs the function in social, professional or economic life of allowing order, stability, continuity and, indeed, the maintenance of any kind of life at all.

(Lawton 1998, p. 71)

For me the key to a greater understanding of environmental professionalism has

been my exploration with the students that the ‘fundamental partner’ in

environmental issues is their understanding of their responsibilities to the land as

a partner. I explore with the students that environmental professionalism should

examine how people express their ethical relationships with the land.

Positive comments from student evaluations of the Environmental Ethics and

Philosophy unit endorse my emphasis on the value of this critical reflection as a

key to professionalism. These are a few recent students’ comments about the

unit:

This subject is the most important in the course.

Great! An amazing ability to provoke thought.

Enjoyed the unit as it made me think ‘socially critical’. Think that it is great that you can provoke the questions.

I found the readings to be very challenging and made me think about things I never otherwise would have.

The unit was well structured to allow gradual enlightenment, to grow in a way in which one thinks about issues.

The tutorial each week assisted in helping to understand the different approaches and views in environmental decision-making. They may you critically aware of the differing views out there.

Very challenging subject but it is very appropriate, I feel, when it comes to environmental decision-making.

Very daunting unit when first start[ed] it but very satisfying when finished.

I don’t meet many people who make me feel good about questioning people’s behaviours and opinions – you did that!!

Of greatest interest to me, and support for this change in my teaching to engage in

criticality, were student comments that suggested that this unit provided

opportunities for them to critically consider different ways of thinking about

environmental issues. This implied that a study of environmental ethics, although



195

from some students’ initial view lacked any vocational emphasis, had great

relevance to their future professional practice because it encouraged criticality.

Support for changes in my practice are evident from material presented in this

dissertation that suggested students and academics often promoted their own

interests, and environmental professionals acted on behalf of themselves and

government interests. This is not surprising given the nature of current higher

education and bureaucracies, the supremacy of the dominant social paradigm and

the promotion of an individualistic ideology.

In contrast, although the dominant social paradigm appears to have framed many

predictable, utilitarian views of the land, Chapter 6 found that the same

participants expressed emotional and ethical appreciations of the land, when land

was considered as familiar places. This suggests that for these participants a land

ethic or land ethics was not an abstract philosophical concept, but was culturally

embedded within each individual’s concept of ‘place’: that secure and ‘owned’,

personal territory (Fagan 1996). I suggest that it is this construction of ‘place’

that promotes a discourse that can challenge how participants view the dominant

social paradigm. As an educator I try to provide ‘places’ for students, particularly

science students, to feel comfortable and confident to express their emotions

about these familiar places.

7.3 ‘Places’ and a language of possibility and opportunity It is to this place that education must seek access through dialogue.

(Fagan 1996, p. 138)

I have suggested that a need exists for a discourse in professional environmental

education to acknowledge the affective language derived from our understanding

of our ‘place’. This discourse will challenge the dominant social paradigm that

privileges the technical but often ignores how emotional values have ‘internal’,

subjective meanings. I suggest that the ‘places’ identified in Chapter 6 are not

objective or external to the individual, they are internalised as experiences within

the participants’ own history. These ‘places’ provided a sense of security for the

individual and from these secure ‘places’ a language of opportunity and

possibility may emerge (Fien 1993). I argue that a language of opportunity and



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possibility enables participants to confront the deterministic language of

reproduction of ideas and the de-humanising processes that appear to maintain

stasis.

Sterling (1993), in his promotion of a more holistic environmental education

promotes questions about place:

What sort of place is it? Do we identify with it? What was it like, or might it be like? What’s good/bad about it? What makes it valued, unvalued, special?

(Sterling 1993, p. 92)

I extend the physical sense of a ‘place’ to any emotional condition where the

individual feels secure because they sense belonging (see Chapter 6).

Developing a sense of an Australian ‘place’ has been problematic for many non-

indigenous Australians (Bonyhady 2002; Bonyhady & Griffiths 2002; Flannery

1994; Malouf 1998a, 1998b, 1998c, 1998d, 1998e, 1998f; Powell 2000; Ward

2003). The apparent alienation of non-indigenous people from their land may be

attributed to the dominance of an imported social paradigm – people felt they did

not belong to Australia in any emotional sense. This colonial discourse was a

language of exploitation of the land and reproduction of a non-Australian culture.

Land, in the dominant social paradigm, is seen in terms of a traded commodity,

with economic value if it provides service to humanity; ‘it [land] stands always

ready, always in waiting, always at the service of human needs and projects’

(Berthold-Holt 2000, p. 9). Land, from this perspective is considered an asset if it

is financially productive, and a burden if not. I suggest that this dominant

perspective limits our appreciation of the land.

Environmental educators can challenge this economic perspective by promoting a

different discourse where land is emotionally valued as a familiar ‘place’:

Clearly, landscape suggests a place and a view, and language… By pairing them, we seek to draw out the environmental dimensions of both, and also to emphasise the sense in which both are vernacular productions, often working organically on each other.

(Bonyhady & Griffiths 2002, p. 1)



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In the narratives with participants I found that land, as a general term, was viewed

from an economic perspective. However, there were different visions of land if it

was considered as a ‘place’ – somewhere familiar and experienced. ‘Places’ were

familiar to the participants and evoked strong emotional ties because of positive

experiences. ‘Places’ existed in the land as discrete entities that provided secure

environments – somewhere to go to ‘escape’. ‘Places’ also existed within people,

for example when academics talked enthusiastically about their vocation – that

was their ‘place’ where they felt secure – somewhere for them to ‘escape’. It

appeared that ‘places’ were owned and as Fagan (1996) suggests ownership is a:

…term that describes the place where attitudes, values and behaviour are defended. That personal territory where ideas become beliefs, where positions become owned – a place only exposed rarely and at considerable risk...

(Fagan 1996, p. 138)

Although elusive the vagueness of ‘place’ is considered a meritorious quality as:

…the new framework of discourse within which environmental ethics emerges as a discipline or field of study already imply a central emphasis on “place” or “region”.

(Berthold-Bond 2000, p. 8)

‘Places’ can have moral standing when associated with cultures because ‘Places

do not exist apart from meanings which are created through experience’

(Berthold-Bond 2000, p. 15). Therefore, I suggest that ‘places’ are intrinsically

valued, multi-layer and multi-purpose (Ward 2003). Their importance in

environmental education is well documented in the literature (Lindholt 1999;

Loughland, Reid & Petocz 2002; Mayer 1995; Sanger 1997; Powell 2000; Ward

2003). However, ‘place’, as a concept framed by experiences and emotions, has

been ignored within the majority of technocratic professional environmental

education. Science has difficulties with such subjectiveness and values

clarification.

I propose that there is a need to move the environmental debate from a

perspective where land is viewed as a managed commodity or resource to locating

our ‘place’ in the land, with ownership and moral standing as key themes. I argue



198

that this discourse – a language of possibility and opportunity – about ‘place’

relies on our ability to encourage people to express their emotional experiences

about their ‘places’. Such discourses already exist in art (Wallen 2003), writing

(Lindholt 1999) and outdoor experiences (Brookes 2002; Gough 1987; Haluza-

Delay 2001; Palmberg & Kuru 2000; Van Matre 1979, 1990).

Conceptualising a sense of ‘place’ for the individual appears important in

environmental education (Hall, Coffey & Williamson 1999; Mayer 1995; Sanger

1997) and anthropology (Ward 2003). The concept of ‘place’ is thought to

promote citizenship (Hall, Coffey & Williamson 1999), express ownership (Fagan

1996) and place-making and people-making are considered as inter-twined

processes (Ward 2003):

Direct experiences with and in new places can engage students by extending their sense of ownership and responsibility, which may expand their moral horizons.

(Beringer 1990)

Powell (2000) describes the extent of inter-disciplinary images and interpretations

of place-making and place-securing in Australian culture. In the participants’

narratives, ‘places’ were personalised and owned (in Fagan’s sense). ‘Places’

existed as physical spaces (somewhere), as knowledge (what someone knew), and

as internal spaces (‘places’ to reflect on experiences). I suggest that ‘places’

promote different languages of opportunity and possibility for each participant as

their discourse encourages greater self-reflection on the sense of security that the

‘place’ gives to the person.

Bowers (1993, 1995), Goldsmith (1992), Leopold (1949), Orr (1992) and Tacey

(1995, 2000) have all expressed ideas of a more ethical ecological citizenship that

implies developing emotional relationships with the land and environment:

It is inconceivable to me that an ethical relation to land can exist without love, respect, and admiration for land, and a high regard for its value. By value, I of course mean something far broader than mere economic value: I mean value in the philosophical sense.

(Leopold 1949, p. 223)



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Expression of such emotional ties can be found in the spiritual relationships with

the land expressed by many indigenous people (Knudson & Suzuki 1992; Tacey

1995, 2000) and Australian art and literature (Bonyhady & Griffiths 2002; Malouf

1998 a, 1998b, 1998c, 1998d, 1998e, 1998f; Mulligan & Hill 2001). I suggest

that there is a need to encourage a language of opportunity and possibility to

celebrate our spiritual and emotional relationships with our ‘places’. Evidence of

a language of ‘place’ can be found in Bruce Chatwin’s (1988) The Songlines and

David Tacey’s books on eco-spirituality:

The Australian Aboriginal people have long been ecologically committed, not because they laboured, like us to-day, under moral constraints about what we should do or feel about the environment, but because they spontaneously felt the environment to be part of themselves, intrinsically related to their inmost human and emotional reality. The land was, and still is, felt to be an extension of themselves.

(Tacey 2000, p. 177)

My future professional environmental education practice will continue to promote

discourses based in emotional experiences in Australian ‘places’. This language

is not new but rarely promoted as professional environmental education.

Naturalistic writers such as Aldo Leopold and Paul Shepard (Shepard 1999, pp.

99-199) had the unique skills to be able to master such a language, as have

Australian writers (Tacey 1995, 2000) and artists who have been able to capture

the nature of the Australian landscape.

This language of possibility and opportunity that develops from discourses about

‘place’ can form ‘environmental worlds’ where ethical considerations emerge.

For example, Cheny and Weston (1999) explored a language of ‘worlds’ that

promote interaction with ways of knowing:

Language is rooted in being, rooted in the world as are we who speak forth that world in our language. Our language is a mode of interaction with, and hence a mode of knowing, that world. Knowing can take shape as a form of domination and control. It can also take shape as a way of ‘stepping in tune with being’.

(Cheny & Weston 1999, p. 124)



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Perhaps it is the language we used when considering our ‘environmental worlds’

that is central to our understanding of our ‘place’ in the land. Changes in my

professional practice have required me to reconsider the language I use as I

articulate my perceptions of land, professionalism and professional education. It

is my language that ‘shapes’ my culture and how I perceive the land. My

challenge is to promote the concept of ‘ethical partnerships’ as part of my

language of opportunity and possibility that I use as a professional educator.

7.5 Conclusions This folio is my critical engagement with relationships among theories and

practices and my circumstances of work. Robottom (1993a, p 105) suggests the

conventional wisdom for teacher professional development attempts to ‘…bring

the practice of teachers in line with the theory of the academy’. He (ibid p. 107)

suggests that educational theory is the ‘…rational criticism of the dialectic of

theory and practice’, and environmental education knowledge is ‘…an interplay

of the theories that guide the practitioners’ environmental education actions on the

one hand and institutional structures and relationships on the other’ (ibid p. 107).

This interplay of theories and knowledge is evident in this folio. Through action

research, based on my reflexivity, I have been engaged within a process of

reframing my professional practice. This change has been a personal paradigm

shift from a practice dominated by the prejudices of science and vocationalisation

of the curriculum to an outlook where I have the confidence to promote

philosophical, aesthetic and emotional values in the undergraduate course I co-

ordinate.

I have outlined the various tensions that exist between the university’s

corporatised and vocationalised ‘worlds’ that appear to dominate the culture of

my professional practice and my own theorising that suggests value in a more

ethical and critically challenging professional environmental education. This

folio might be my ‘place’ within the higher education landscape where I can feel

secure enough to be critical of my professional purpose.

My thesis is aligned with Robottom’s (1993a, p. 108) suggestion that ‘…the

research question of how to improve environmental education…becomes a



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question of how to improve educational theorising in environmental education’

and I adopt a critical perspective to address Barnett’s (1997) premise that ‘A

learning society is necessarily a critical society’ (p. 159). However, the ‘place’

that universities provide for academics, such as me, may not promote criticality or

reflection whilst corporate views dominate. I need to challenge the current

technical perspectives that underpin the common view of professional

environmental education and publically confront the dominance of corporate and

individualistic ideologies, which appear antagonistic to my environmental

interests. For me these challenges are examples of Barnett’s (1997) professing-

in-action.

Edward Said (in Walker 2001b) asked for professionals to be moral citizens who

should try to be:

…motivated by ‘care and ‘affection’, someone ‘who considers that to be a thinking and concerned member of society one is entitled to raise moral issues at the heart of even the most technical and professionalized activity as it involves one’s country, its power, its mode of interacting with its citizens, as well as other societies…

(Said 1993 in Walker 2001b, p. 15)

Such a moral framework underpins the environmental and social ideologies of Orr

(1992), Bowers (1995), Suzuki and Dressel (1999) and Singer (2002). All of

these views have ethical dimensions which I suggest need to be incorporated in

professional environmental education.

Challenges to the technocratic environmental curriculum may come from other

academics who also find a ‘place’ in their university that values the traditional

values of partnership, community and scholarship. I suggest in this thesis that

when I engaged in those intellectual processes that developed my expression of

the land ethic I found my suitable critical ‘place’ from which I was able to search

for my own environmental ideology. This critical ‘place’ exists for me within the

development and teaching of a unit on environmental ethics and philosophy and

attempting to encourage a more transdisciplinary curriculum, whilst questioning

the purpose of a professional education.



202

Developing the environmental philosophy unit in 1997 whilst employed within a

science faculty was challenging. This was new ‘place’ for me, risky and

threatening, but I identified that the direction I took was one that encapsulated a

language of opportunity and possibility. There was a great of scepticism of the

value of this endeavour from many of my colleagues. Philosophy did not seem to

be practical or applied to anything. Nevertheless, as I expanded my intellectual

horizons out of the confines of sciences, I found that the environmental

philosophy literature proposed refreshing ideas, such as The Land Ethic, from

which I was able to critically examine my practice.

Students were initially hesitant about what I was presenting. The material did not

fit into their ideas of a science course and many students found the content

personally challenging and confronting. This made them uncomfortable – this

was not their ‘place’. Nevertheless, we have pursued these challenges and

worked together to examine a range of ideas. We, the students and I, were

developing what I propose was an ‘emergent fellowship’, a partnership, with its

own particular dialogue. The philosophy class was new to me. It was new to the

students. There were no set roles and it appeared that as the dialogue was

different so were the presumed roles for both teacher and student. We were

‘allowed’ to examine values, emotions, personal views and encouraged to be

critical. There was little reliance on expert knowledge, the ‘right’ answer or

technical solutions. As such I suggest that the learning in this unit was a

contribution to my, and the students’ practices – it was transformative and action

learning. The structure of the learning was aligned to Leopold’s (1949) The Land

Ethic that promoted a lack of prescription through encouraging criticality and

holistic reflexivity.

Within philosophy classes we are able to consider the ‘art of the possible’

(Walker 2001b, p. 17), which can be characterised as:

..risk, adventure, openness, community, collaboration, dialogue, carnival, sensory enhancement, embodied learning, struggle and confusion, trust and respect, participation in learning communities, running against the grain, civic awareness, teacher presence and absence, enjoyment and fun, gifts and exchange, responsibility and



203

ownership, personal identify and reflective learning…

(Walker 2001b, p. 17)

My folio is an extension of these classes because it too is an example of

adventures and my search to find my ‘place’ from which I can be an example of

Fien’s (1993) transformative intellectual within my own theorising. This research

has been my investigation of me as a critical being (Barnett 1997), with an

appreciation of what it means to be an ‘activist professional’ (Sachs 2000)

creating change. This folio provided me with a familiar ‘place’ from which I

could explored my own language of possibility and opportunity – my art of the

possible – that incorporated elements of risk. The folio exists as both an

exploration of the value to me of an examination of land ethics in tertiary

environmental education and the search for my ‘place’ from which I can engage

in professing-in-action (Barnett 1997).

In conclusion, addressing the relationships, or ecology, among my theories and

my practices in my work provides me with the opportunity to find my ethical

‘place’ in the ‘land’. As Tacey (2000) implies there is a need to be immersed

within an environment in order to understand its nature. Perhaps there is a need

for more academics to understand their relationships with their practice:

In many of us today, there is a sense of growing urgency about the need to recover our connection with nature. Not only are we seeing the destructive impact of our attitudes upon the physical environment, we are also noticing that we have become alienated from the deeper sources of our own lives. ‘Nature’ is not only outside us but also within, and ultimately, what we do to nature we do also to ourselves.

(Tacey 2000, p. 168)

References


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Appendix 1 __________________________________________________________________________________________________


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Appendix 1 - Plain language statement

Appendix 2 __________________________________________________________________________________________________


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Appendix 2- Deakin University Ethics Committee agreement to undertake research

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