ON TROUBADORIAL PEDAGOGY: Introduction

- Introduction -

Contrary to the Troubadorial Pedagogy is the Protocol Education. This latter entity, deployed only by businessmen, abides by rules that are laid out by the recurring cultural trends in the community for which it serves, if it even serves at all. These trends are ones that give off an appearance that suggests that a broad world view resides inside, though a fragmented and lackluster one may actually be in effect. A protocol taught is a protocol learned, and a protocol learned is a protocol maintained. A protocol maintained lives up to its purpose: to perpetuate, on one hand, a continuous increase of value into a group of controllers and, on the other, a steady flow of value through an abiding group of servers. Controllers are propelled, servers are pacified.
By defining the Protocol Education, a node is solidified, around which a discourse can be engaged. This node can now be surrounded, cut off, and analyzed as if it were a science experiment. This new intellectual vantage, of floating around and outside of an objective body, provides a dimension in which one can see what he is and what he is not, based on what protocol is and is not, and, thus, allows for his own traits as an individual and teacher to emerge. From this vantage is where Troubadourial Pedagogy begins.

Imagine, if you will, that your food system, health system, educational system, legal system, all which function under one governmental system, has shut itself down because a stagnation has arisen within the dualistic conversation held between two political parties. The stagnation is characterized by not long lasting silence, but by just the opposite: a constant balance of rhetoric, a stalemate that trumps action with speech, that is maintained by two equally passionate bodies.

It is as though two respected gentlemen have gotten into a conversation at your friend's party, one that many of his guests have been in and out of; it is a vibrant conversation full of color and passion, inspiration and endless possibility. Your friend is happy that they showed up, as curious listeners willfully enter into the excitement, and then leave to do other things as they please. The men slam their fists onto the table, and the ladies laugh at their zeal. They are the life of the party, it can safely be said. Without them, the party would be dull and mediocre. These are very smart men, and they show it. Your friend is enamored by them, and tells his guests about their backgrounds and interests, each of their histories and what brings them to the party. Each of the men digs his feet deeper into his language. Every lucid point is given a slight pause for reflection, and then is gutted by a new counterstrike from the other side. Though in disagreement, their consciousness of and respect for the rules of rhetoric keep each of them in perfect balance with the other. But the conversation has gone on into the night, and the two men continue talking ad infinitum; guests begin to yawn and leave, bidding gracious farewell to their host.

What eventually happens, as the men each fight off exhaustion, is that the sun rises. You wake up and find these two gentlemen still going at it, and they are not very gentle anymore. They keep talking and refuting, as one billows a tirade after cutting off the others nonsense. Your friend cannot kick them out because it turns out that one of the men owns this house, and the other had fronted all of the money for the party. Your friend is late on his rent, and is forced, powerlessly to allow the conversation to continue. He is benign. Though the beginning of the party was fun and you enjoyed yourself, you are now waking up to a wasteful place, as the house needs cleaning, and no one is doing anything. Two people are arguing, and one person is sulking. This place is a mess. You have a mind for the conversation playing out, as in you understand the points being made and appreciate the tact that is used to make them. At the same time, however, you also have a heart that feels for the hard work that you know your friend has put into his house, his home, his party, into keeping his friendships secure and his company happy. Which utterances from you will reflect both your mindfulness and compassion? How do you choose to speak to this place, to fully address with heart and mind a realm of humanity that has failed to own up to its existence on the planet?

The systems of man have come to a grinding standstill, as post-modern man has run himself into a unique situation. He has abstracted himself so much that, ironically, he has been spat out as a simple, pure creature that does not know what to do with itself. He now faces a monumental project of re-ordering the human race. In short, he has stumbled upon a kind of post-Postism. Surely, the work at hand is large, but there are others that share interest in this project of defining order, and collaboration will eventually ensue, once the problems and distractions are eradicated. The cork has been pulled. Word is out. There is going to be trouble. Chaos begins to pour out of its old confinement. It dissolves into everything.

People do not know what to do with themselves, and begin to grab relentlessly, at all costs, blind to any moral method. One man makes his way to a building for shelter. The doors are locked. He makes his way to one of its sides, a wall of sheer cement with small windows in random spots. It is going to be a difficult climb. He takes off his belt, and uses the buckle to chisel small holes in the cement, large enough to grip with each hand and toe, as he slowly makes his way upward. Car horns and explosions sonically pad the distance. Finally, he makes his way to the top. The sights around him reflect a humanity in its most dismal state. Absolute chaos. He has found sanctuary, but only for now.

People run up to the building fast and grab the handles to its doors, and quickly run away. The man looks down over the ledge, and watches one man sprint up to the building, grip the handle, and then sprint away. Only moments later, another man from a different direction runs to the door, grabs the handle, pounds on the door hard, even slams his body against it. He looks up the side of the building and ponders. Then, he runs away. The man knows that eventually, people will start bringing heavy objects to the building to break in. For now, he is safe. His body is tired. His determination is burning.

Late afternoon sheds itself from the back of the nighttime, and the man is hunkered down on the building's rooftop for the night. Then, he hears the sound of scraping behind him. Hours have passed, and another person has made the climb to the top of the building. The man is bewildered by the figure's strength and will. Collapsing on the ground in an exhausted sitting position, the new addition to the rooftop smiles, breathes heavily, and fights to find steady breath. Neither person says a word. For three days, neither person says anything, but each has maintained an understanding that, “that ledge belongs to you, and this ledge belongs to me. Your area is yours, and my area is mine.” Each night, the two people hunch down and cover themselves with their jackets, listening to the pandemonium in the distance. Then, one morning, after the third day, a peaceful stillness introduces itself. No sound is heard. After three days of occupying themselves, of listening to their own inner dialogues and waiting out the social storm below, of tapping on their smart phones in a futile attempt at knowing anything at all, they have accepted that they belong to a new world, one that has never before spoken. They look across the distance between them, and one slowly makes the walk to the other. They extend hands. Then, one begins to speak.

It is here, in this beginning to a hypothetical conversation among equals, that this work departs into the body of its development, and where I leave you to be with its characters.