“As we attempt to analyze dialogue as a human phenomenon, we discover something which is the essence of dialogue itself: the word.”
In chapter three of Pedagogy of the Oppressed, Paulo Freire turns his attention to dialogue. Why? Because, he posits, effective education must be dialogical – that is to say, it must be a process which values the fundamental humanity and perspectives of both parties, teacher and student. To be a teacher, one must be open to learning - as much is, if not more than, your students. Dialogue is something which can only take place between equals. It is not lecturing, nor instruction, nor giving orders. When I was taking part in my stint of student teaching for my degree, I would always balk at the teachers in my program who would frequently order their students to stay quiet, to remain ‘orderly’, to ‘follow instructions’. But what, one must ask, should take place if the instructions given are fundamentally discriminatory? What if the rules are made only to facilitate the movement of capital instead of the liberatory education of the people? All rules deserve questioning, even those few rules truly created by consensus – for the people who live under those rules are constantly changing, and will often outgrow them. The words we share with our students are important. How often do you tell your friends to sit down, shut up, and listen to you talk about history for half an hour or longer? Such actions should be equally rare in the student/teacher relationship. Students have not universally agreed to the premise of the classroom, and their prior consent is not guaranteed. (consent itself requires frequent updating anyway, unlike the legal ‘consent’ of the prison system) Therefore we cannot expect that they are happy to sit while we talk. To treat students as equals would mean that teachers approach them and propose options for learning activities, that teachers open a dialogue.
“But the word is more than just an instrument which makes dialogue possible; accordingly, we must seek its constitutive elements. Within the word we find two dimensions, reflection and action, in such radical interaction that if one is sacrificed – even in part – the other immediately suffers.”
During my undergraduate career in physics, it was hard to ignore the looming presence of the various arms of the military-industrial complex trying to hire my colleagues. I don’t think that science is disconnected from reflection, but I know that reflection is not particularly incentivized within STEM. When people in the sciences are hired to use gravitational fluctuations to find oil, or to program a more efficient drone, or to design devices that interfere with cellphones, they are not applying reflection to each aspect of their employment. I know a number of people who accepted jobs like these. (Thankfully most of them have moved on to other careers) Reflection is a natural human phenomenon, a part of our word, of our engagement with the world. But: It is fairly easy, when your entire livelihood seems to rely on it, to avoid reflecting on your own part in a larger system of oppression. The military-industrial complex has been around for decades, surely it will continue to exist in its current form. And if that is so, then these terrible things which you only barely have a hand in will continue to happen anyway. And besides, we’ll always need a military. There will always be war. Someone has to make the machines that murder children, it’s for our safety!
Conversely, I have met people in academia who study justice and do not go out into the world to live it. They write books and they talk about the state of the world, shaking their heads in sadness, but they do not take action. They express concern, sure. But: It is easy, when your entire livelihood seems to rely on it, to avoid reflecting on your own part in larger systems of oppression. The university has been around for decades, surely it will continue to exist in its current form. And if that is so, then the arrests and the student beatings and the rising tuition and the exploitation of student work and the paving over of more biomes and the sexual assaults and the abuse of graduate workers… all that will continue to happen anyway. And besides, we’ll always need the university. There will always be some people who just know more than others, and that knowledge needs to be shared. Someone has to beat the students, otherwise how will they learn?
“There is no true word that is not at the same time a praxis. Thus, to speak a true word is to transform the world.”
Recently, I’ve been taking up a few practices that some would consider to be witchcraft. Though I don’t feel as though I’ve learned enough quite yet to call it that, I do consider it a practice worth keeping. As a practice, it calms me. It helps me feel connected to the world, to the land around me, to my community. There are two ‘rules’ I have found when reading about witchcraft which have stuck with me. They are ‘rules’ in the same sense of any rule of witchcraft – they are not enforced by anyone. They are guides, signposts, a lens through which to view all following actions.
First, when putting any whishes into the world, when casting any spell or cultivating any connection, know that that which you put into the world will return to you threefold.
The threefold rule (phrased many different ways in different literature) is common in more modern witch practices, though not universal. And, as with any doctrine, there is a great deal of friendly debate over how it should be interpreted. For me, the threefold rule is a guide for how I engage with the world. I do not wish harm to anyone. The rule is a reminder that every human is trying to live within the means of the situation that they know. Though I disavow the place of policing in this world, I do not wish harm to those humans who are part of that system. (arguably, the system of policing is already doing harm to them by requiring they hurt others, a fundamentally dehumanizing action) Concurrently, I endeavor to push back threefold against harm to myself or to my community. The tolerance paradox – that in order to create a tolerant community, that community must be intolerant of intolerance. I know that, as much as I am affected by the world around me, I also affect it. I have changed the lives of my friends for the better. I have helped people through suicidal ideation and out the other side. I have built places where my community can come together to make connections and to create art. My words have changed others’ thinking. True words change the world. The threefold rule is a reminder that those changes will become a lived part of my reality. It is an invitation to imagine that, though I am one person – and one person, alone, cannot change anything – it is in the interaction between myself and the world that change is made. When I interact with the world, with my community, I can reinforce the systems I live in, or I can change them. Every snowball starts small. Every raindrop starts with one molecule. Every river begins with one stream. Alone, I may be weak – but I trust that the world will react to me, and that I can be swept along in the current that I initiated, just as I am moved by others.
Second, everything you say and do in ritual must be true in your mind and in your heart.
I hold no delusions about my practice. Witchcraft is not ‘magic powers’. It is a set of rituals which guide my actions, and not even my primary guide at that. I still do come from a physics background. When I cast a spell or read tarot, I understand that there is no magical force which guides my hands and my words. I understand that my spells are intentions, and only that. ‘Thoughts and prayers’ is a phrase which originates in christian culture but which has been turned into a meme of sorts within the circles I am part of. When one says ‘thoughts and prayers’, especially online, they are often mockingly implying that they hope nothing actually gets better. They are satirizing the use of the phrase ‘thoughts and prayers’ by those in power who don’t actually take action. There is a difference between lackluster words without action and true words, ones who help recenter action. Words without action are just that, just blah, something worthy of satire. When used effectively, though, ritual can be a centering practice, a set of words which allow a person to enter into action more readily.
“Human existence cannot be silent, nor can it be nourished by false words, but only by true words, with which men and women transform the world. To exist, humanly, is to name the world, to change it. Once named, the world in its turn reappears to the namers as a problem and requires of them a new naming. Human beings are not built in silence, but in word, in work, in action-reflection.”
Does magic exist? Eh. I don’t think that’s a useful question. If you knew it did, what would you use it for? I can’t imagine most would use magic to hurt others, no matter what certain stories might have you think. Most would use it to help themselves and their community, to live a better life in the way they best knew how. In a certain light, then, magic is just the unexplainable or surprising effect of ritualistic actions which end up affecting the caster’s community in a positive way. The most magical things I’ve experienced have come from being a part of an art community. When I see the joy and connections forged by co-creation between people, when those connections come about because of work that I did, that is truly magical. Ritual is an important and already-built part of our lives. The work lies in changing the orientation of that ritual, in allowing our rituals to be built on more than survival. We are humans in dialogue. We are a part of the world that we seek to understand. Our social world is defined in community, democratically. Magic is the work we do to create true dialogue, to affect the world around us though action and reflection, to name and rename and rename the world, and in so doing, to transform ourselves.