Re-Pitching the Tent: Leadership in Universities Today

An introduction to the Blog and the Blogger

As a doctoral student, I fell in love with the work of John Dewey. I could write countless blog entries that trace my personal history growing up as a cynic in a fundamentalist church that paved the way for getting excited about deep attention to inquiry and its potential for society – eschewing a form of certainty provided by others in authority, shedding the dead wood of society, achieving understanding collectively, recognizing that what we know (“truth”) is known at a point and time and subject to change, etc. The more I read Dewey, the more I began framing inquiry (and curriculum, and organizational theory, and pretty much anything that became a focus of my own inquiry) in terms of conditions. As I’ve noted in a few publications – approaching life and change cannot be an etch-a-sketch endeavor. It’s not a linear trajectory. Particularly as a leader in an organization, you cannot assume that simply following a few steps will bring about a desired change. Life, leadership, curriculum development, and any shared endeavor requires attention to conditions. You must attend to the context, the relationships, etc. if you hope to accomplish anything: the necessary conditions.

I have my nearly two-decade old dissertation next to me as I write this. After dusting it off, I braved the “purpose” section that I’ve not reread since those early days in Atlanta:

The purpose of this study is to examine three school and university partnerships in the state of Georgia to identify evidence of inquiry based upon five normative postulates derived from Dewey’s theory of inquiry. Once evidence is identified, judgments will be made regarding the nature of inquiry within partnerships. The study will then determine conditions necessary for inquiry and will make recommendations for teacher educators who are forming relationships with schools. (p.7)

I then proceeded to couch the five normative postulates within a syllogism and based upon countless interviews, I generated qualifiers and sub-qualifiers for the conditions of inquiry and judged the degree to which all three partnerships met the conditions for inquiry within their partnerships. “How did this masterpiece never make it to book form?” you may wonder. . . .

For those fortunate enough in their studies, ideas that emerge from inquiry connect with other loves to form a stronger foundation from which to grow. This happened over the years after spending the equivalent of a full-time job reading Dewey and making connections with my interest in architecture. As I read Art as Experience, I found his attention to architecture as a means through which previously abstract mental revelries converged into a meaningful theoretical foundation. It began with a fascination with “space” itself. Years prior, as an undergraduate sociologist wannabe, I was intrigued by notions of public space after reading Richard Sennett’s book The Fall of Public Man. Then as a doctoral student, I began to see Dewey (1934) refer to architecture as a form of art that “expresses (also) the enduring values of collective human life” (p. 221). It represents the “memories, hopes, fears, purposes, and sacred values of those who build. . .” (p. 221). Architecture – collectively achieved and aesthetic space – requires the transformation of materials and results in a transformation of relationships for those who share it. As Dewey (1934) notes:

Architecture is a notable instance of the reciprocity of this interaction. Materials are transformed so as to become media of the purpose of human defense, habitation, and worship. But human life itself is also made different, and this in ways far beyond the intent or capacity of foresight of those who constructed the buildings. (p. 231)

Dewey also contends, in Art as Experience, that poor examples of architecture are a result of architects’ lack of character. When money takes precedence over purpose and results in “packing box architecture,” the space cannot be corrected without first correcting the “heart” or the architects. This analogy should smack every university leader in the proverbial face. This is our moral imperative: to create spaces based upon purpose with a “right heart.”

So, for years I’ve used notions of space and architecture to frame my scholarship. One of my first publications was based upon my first “real” academic paper I presented as a full-time faculty member: “The Fall of the Public Academic.” I later sent a copy of the article along with a fan letter to Richard Sennett himself. During those early academic years while at Illinois State University, I would steal away to Chicago to think about inquiry, space, and public life as I encountered the city’s magnificent architecture. Later, while teaching doctoral students at Georgia State, I was able to teach a doctoral seminar, “Postmodern Curriculum Theorizing” where the entire course was organized according to curricular spaces. We encountered commodified spaces by occupying corporate atriums, faced violent spaces by analyzing themes in the movies Kandahar and No Man’s Land. We explored notions of ourselves as historical beings by wandering through Oakland Cemetery, a treasured historical space in the heart of the city. More recently, I was fortunate to work with two wonderful colleagues, David Callejo-Perez and Bill White, and we put together the book, Curriculum as Spaces: Aesthetics, Community, and the Politics of Place.

As my efforts shifted from ideas to actions, as I moved from hours sitting in coffee shops writing to hours addressing administrative needs, my thinking never swayed. I frame my work as a university administrator the same way I framed it as an assistant professor trying to get tenure: spatially and with a focus on the conditions I help create. This is why I find inspiration in Richard Giles’ book, Re-Pitching the Tent: The definitive guide to reordering your church. In his book, Giles argues that the architecture of many church buildings does not fit the life and work of contemporary churches. He characterizes the problem as “the fossilization of worship spaces” (p. 4) and warns readers that many churches today are at risk of “drowning in their own varnish” (p. 4). He contends that churches today need a different set of tools to do the work of God. The role of the church has changed, and the physical church spaces need to change to fulfill new missions and serve in new ways in their communities.

Giles’ indictments and calls for change are equally as applicable to universities. In what ways have our roles changed? To what degree do our current organizational spaces meet the rapidly changing needs of society? As I asked my faculty in one of my first College meetings as dean, are there ways we are at risk of drowning in our own varnish? How do we attend to the structures in which we work as a university community to ensure that we are responsive to the needs of students today? As a university leader, how do I work to create the conditions through which we can maintain a “right heart” and focus on purpose collectively? How do we maintain this sense of purpose and a trajectory of growth amid market pressures and financial challenges? These questions provide the starting point for this blog. In the words of Dewey, the challenges facing universities and their leaders are the “felt need” which becomes the starting point for our inquiry. With this in mind, I invite you to join me in this endeavor. Together we can build a space through which issues in higher education can be analyzed and through which our collective understanding of the changing nature of leadership in higher education can grow over time.