In learning and transmission, the opposite of a specialist is not a generalist

I was recently talking to two colleagues about a learning experience one of them had conducted for a group of people from a client of ours. I had asked her how it had gone. Her response sparked such a conversation. We were trying to understand and define what would make our learning experiences different from so many others. How had we arrived at this model and style? What we have been told, continuously and consistently, relates to aspects such as the space and time that seem to be left over, and the proximity that works as an ally of the theoretical and scientific support. This is where our exchanges of ideas and words have ranged.

Taking a diversion from the subject, I sat down in my chair, grabbed my usual notebook and pen and set about drawing a sketch. It came out crude and disproportionate, as usual. The shame that follows the very poor aesthetic quality of my doodle prevents me from sharing it here. I thus become an embarrassed translator of doodles into words. I hope these don't turn out as crooked as the drawing.

The learning experience my colleague had facilitated revolved around a subject that was profusely known, explored, studied and dubiously applied: leadership. She had, however, sought to give it a particular perspective. The leaders he had illustrated are those who attribute power and responsibility; those who, on the contrary, do not claim them for themselves. The conversation quickly made us associate the role of the leader with that of the teacher, of a transmitter of knowledge/knowledge/experience.

The experts

When someone in a position like this assumes the figure of "expert" it automatically creates a distance. A space that widens what is already naturally created by the asymmetry of this type of relationship. Those who see themselves as such assume they know more than others. The others, impressed, assume they know less. A barrier is thus created to the transmissions between the participants, which is greater than the learning potential. Faced with this barrier the receivers are left with two options. The first is idealisation. If the transmitter is minimally interesting, and the experts live from the interest of others, the difference that the learners feel can only be filled through an ideal that is constructed, almost always without wanting to. This creative process is abstract, since the barrier that is erected between transmitter and receiver prevents both from really seeing each other as people. To what is abstract needs to be added a good dose of effort to get to the concrete. The second strategy refers to the attempt to break this barrier. This warlike attitude will feed a competitive posture, where the apprentice seeks to annihilate his master, becoming better than him. The invulnerability of the expert may make him appetizing, yes, but also invisible and unreachable. You can't see beyond a wall. Whoever wants to have that vision has to imagine it, to idealise it, or to catapult the wall until it is destroyed. Specialists, at least the ones I know, tend to complain and take up more space and more time, since they and their speciality are the protagonists of the relationship. The verticality of the specialist takes him away from the learners, both in depth and height. We can thus argue that a specialist does not necessarily facilitate learning.

The relationship experts

A transmitter, by placing himself at the level of his receivers, who are vulnerable, removes the need for idealisation and reduces the likelihood of the latter adopting a competitive stance. If there is no barrier, or if it is permeable and transparent, there is no need to break it in order to see beyond it. In this case, the dynamics of idealisation and competition are replaced by another process: identification. Unlike the ideal, which feeds abstraction, by identifying with the other the learning path becomes more easily concrete, closer to reality. If it was not clear, the closeness I am referring to is created in the relationship and nurtured by principles such as honesty, humility and transparency. This stance of parity and equality is not opposed to or cancels out erudition, experience or elegance. On the contrary, I like to believe that it is exactly these factors that allow a rapprochement between transmitter and receivers. Those who do not see or want to be seen as specialists end up sharing or attributing the protagonism to others. Not infrequently, this attitude reveals itself through a respect for the time and space of others. In this register, besides the verticality in principle less evident, there is horizontality and comprehensiveness.

An alternative

Returning to the subject of leadership, a leader who sees himself and wants to be seen as an expert will always create barriers; he is nourished by his invulnerability. Another who wants to promote learning in the people he leads may seek to label himself differently. Not being a specialist the seemingly most obvious option would be 'generalist'. But using that label would be misleading advertising. In transmission and learning, the opposite of a specialist is not a generalist. It is someone close, present and vulnerable. A person with whom others can and will identify; who does not nurture ideals about themselves or encourage the desire of others to take their place by force.

In transmission and learning, the opposite of speciality is not generality. It is proximity and vulnerability.

Written for Link to Leaders on 7 June 2019; published 17 June 2019.