Andragogy in the Workplace

The institution where I work was founded on the principles of andragogy, articulated by Malcolm Knowles in his many writings on the subject of adult learners. According to Knowles, adults don’t learn like traditional (younger) students. Rather, adults must want to learn, and they are most interested in learning subjects that have immediate relevance to their work and/or personal lives; they tend to learn by doing; and, most important, they respond better to internal motivations, rather than external ones. In other words, they are self-directed learners and they learn best when they are responsible for their own decisions on education, and are involved in the planning and evaluation of their goals and progress.

This is how we try to treat our own students, all of whom are adult or non-traditional. We have no professors: we instead have mentors, who facilitate the learning of students as they progress through their courses. These mentors don’t lecture—they moderate discussion boards, grade papers and assignments, and respond, rather than teach. Students are expected to take responsibility for their own learning—to know how they can use it, and how to figure out if they are on the right track. They are not blank slates—they bring their own experience and prior learning to any problem or topic. (We have Academic Advisors, but students are not required to consult with them at any time.)

This is a noble ideal, and one that has driven our approach for over 40 years. However, the model is not perfect. Even Knowles later acknowledged that, while adults are self-directed, no one is self-directed in every aspect of their learning, nor does everyone suddenly become self-directed and focused the day they celebrate their 21st (or 25th, or 35th) birthday. While andragogy was especially suited to those baby boomers who had some control over their own lives and careers in an ever-expanding economy, it might not work for current adult learners, who tend to be less academically prepared for higher education than previous generations, have different motivations for going back to school (more jobs require a college degree now than ever before, which means students are more likely to be driven by career goals than personal fulfillment), and whose options are restricted by the higher cost of higher ed and other pressures.

It is also possible that this model (or conceptual framework—Knowles eventually downgraded it from a theory) just doesn’t work. More and more students have expressed their unhappiness with being treated as entirely self-directed, though it is possible that the issue is with our interpretation of andragogy rather than with the principle itself. For example, if a student applies for admission and is accepted, but then doesn’t actually enroll, should you send her a note asking if she needs assistance? Or should you assume that, as a self-directed learner, that admitted student will contact you if and when she needs help? If a student wants to start out by enrolling in Advanced Calculus IV rather than enrolling in Introductory Algebra first, should you try to talk him out of it, or should you just allow the self-directed learner to do as he pleases? “Self-directed learner” starts to look a lot like “homo economicus” (rational Economic Man) after a while: an individual who will make rational decisions if provided with all of the options and left to make a choice on his or her own. As with Homo economicus, persuasion should be beside the point, and won’t make a difference anyway.

In addition to being an educator, though, I also manage a number of people in my unit at the University. At first (and still, when I can), I preferred to extend the idea of andragogy to the staff members in my office. “Sure, keep your own hours. You know what needs to be done,” and I assumed they would do it. Or “If a problem arises, you can consult with me if you think it would help you sort things out, but you’re an adult with experience in this job, capable of making your own decisions.” I expected people to rise to the opportunity, as any adult would, and to seek out their own opportunities for professional development. Because we are all lifelong learners. I’m proud of having thought of this—you have to walk the walk at an institution focused on adult learners, not just talk the talk.

But no, that doesn’t work. Some people can manage it, and even thrive under this approach—they come up with new ideas all the time, think creatively, and strive for more. But others don’t. They tell me, specifically, that they need structure, and they need specific instructions on what to do, how to do it, and when. And they come to my office or call me (though we all sit within 20 yards of each other) to tell me they have completed a task. “I filed those folders in the file cabinet.” Or “I sent you that email. It should be in your Inbox. Did you read it yet?” When encouraged to take advantage of a webinar or a workshop relevant to the work we do, they will tell me (in these exact words) that they are not interested in learning anything new—“I already know enough.”

How do you reconcile this way of thinking with the theory of andragogy? Perhaps it does fit, in that Knowles says that adults must want to learn before they can learn. And these adults don’t want to learn. But what do you do with that? How do you create a system that has room both for the ones who want to learn and those who don’t—the ones who want rigid structure and those who don’t? We talk about personalized learning systems—can you have a personalized office system?