Introduction

The importance of the learning capacity within organisations is stressed by Peters and Waterman in In Search of Excellence (1982) their best-selling recipe book for managerial success:

What do Peters and Waterman mean when they say that the excellent companies are `learning organisations' and that their practices `set conventional management wisdom on its ear'?

Before we address these questions, let us note that whatever our response turns out to be, it is an expression of our knowledge. Knowledge is simply what we know about the world : about ourselves and about others as well as about the `external' world of nature. This knowledge may be directly based upon experience or it may be derived from derived from a secondary source. For example, by sticking our hand in the fire, we learn through direct experience that it is hot and painful. Alternatively, we may be told by others that it is hot. In which case, our knowledge is based upon our faith in their authority, and not upon direct experience.

Similarly, with management. Many people, especially those who have had little formal education in management, argue that there is no substitute for direct experience. Others argue -and I count myself amongst them - that this adage overlooks the extent to which experience is subject to interpretation. To put this another way, when we `learn from experience', what we mean is that our previous interpretations of the world have been supplemented or modified in some way. For example, we learn that fires are not only warm and bright but also hot and painful when we get too close. The issue which Peters and Waterman raise in their comments on `excellent companies' is the capacity of organisations (that is, their members) to extend or revise their interpretations of the world. Let us, then, adopt the following working definition of learning : the process through which experiential knowledge is expanded or interpretive knowledge is revised.

Forms of Knowledge and Learning

Returning now to the question of what Peters and Waterman mean by `learning organisations', we can suggest that they mean organisations which enable experiential knowledge to be expanded and interpretive knowledge to be revised. What they are talking about, then, is a form of culture which facilitates the growth of such knowledge. In what sense does this conception of excellent companies challenge conventional management wisdom? The answer they give is that, traditionally, management theory has concentrated upon formally rational methods and techniques of organisation : the design of rational structures, the specification of rules, the standardisation of procedures. In short, it has prescribed rational methods of organisation to the relative neglect of fostering dynamic processes of learning. In Pirsig's terms, Quantity is displace by Quantity (R. Pirsig, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance).

To put this another way, orthodox management (and organisation) theory has been preoccupied with designing and prescribing rational systems, structures and roles which are then `operated' by managers and workers. This approach may enjoy a measure of effectiveness where the `environment' (e.g. demand for products) is stable and predictable and where employees have little expectation of creative involvement in the development of the organisation. But, in turbulent environments where the creative energies of employees are critical, the orthodox approach is seen to lack flexibility and dynamism. For it concentrates on (eternal) disembodied procedures, to the neglect of the capacity of the staff to expand their experiential awareness and revise their interpretations of their situation.

Learning for Excellence : Prescription and Analysis

Although Peters and Waterman champion the idea of developing the capacity to learn, they say very little about how this might be done. Nor do they say much about the limits and resistance to such knowledge that may be encountered within organisations. To put this more simply, they present a list of prescriptions without suggesting how the process of developing the qualities associated with `excellent companies'. Let's take a brief look at a few of their prescriptions for excellent management before commenting further upon the lack of a theory of learning within their work.

1. `Bias for action'. The recommendation here is that problems are addressed by trying to fix them with whatever resources are at hand. Learning how to solve problems is developed by grappling with them, not be waiting to develop the ideal solution which probably will be impractical or redundant by the time it is formulated.

2. `Productivity through people'. Here the recommendation is to respect the creative capacity of individual employees. Every worker is to be viewed `"as a source of ideas, not just acting as a pair of hands"' (p15).

3. `Simultaneous loose-tight properties'. The recommendation here is to `push autonomy down to the shop floor or product development team'(p15) while, at the same time, maintaining centralised control over some core values which guide all corporate activity. For example, at Digital chaos, in the sense of an absence of rational structure, is said to be rampant. Yet the company's `fetish for reliability is more rigidly adhered to than any outsider could imagine' (p16).

Peters and Waterman themselves suggest that most people would agree with these attributes of `excellent' management/organisation. That is to say, they are `motherhood statements'. (Later in the course we may wish to question the coherence and depth of this consensus, but for the moment we will suspend our doubts). Accepting their analysis, the problem is not to identify what goes on in so-called excellent companies; nor, relatedly, is the problem to prescribe what should go on in less-than-excellent companies. The real difficulty is to diagnose why it doesn't go on when most people appear to believe that it should, and to identify what has to be changed if the gap between desire/theory and fulfilment/practice is to be narrowed.

Perhaps we can begin to diagnose the problem by examining the process of educating managers. Using Peters and Waterman's list of attributes of excellent companies, we can identify what, more precisely, a manager must be capable of doing (i.e. what s/he must have learnt) in order to put these attributes into practice.

1. In terms of a `bias for action', the requirement is a willingness to take initiatives and explore unconventional approaches; it involves a readiness to adapt or even abandon a dependence upon conventional, idealised solutions. In de Bono jargon, it demands lateral thinking.

2. In terms of `productivity through people', it requires a willingness to appreciate that each employee, regardless of grade, has a creative contribution to make to the organisation. It demands managers have learnt to be open (e.g. acknowledge their own ignorance) to their fellow employees and be ready to learn from them.

3. In terms of `simultaneous tight-loose properties', the requirement is for managers to be willing to devolve authority to those who are most able to deal with projects or problems. It also means that they have learnt the effective communication of core values so that employees have a keen sense of the objectives which prompt and guide their efforts.

Having identified what managers need to have learnt in order to develop or maintain excellent organisations, we can now consider the education of managers. That is, we can reflect upon how they are prepared to shoulder this responsibility. For example, we may explore the extent to which Undergraduate courses in Business Studies facilitate the type of knowledge which Peters and Waterman associate with `excellent companies'. Do these courses provide the most relevant foundation for `good management?'. If not, why not?

The Status of Knowledge : Facts as Values

When considering these questions we are inevitably drawn into a debate about the nature of management education. In this debate, there are varied notions of what it is and even more diverse notions of what it ought to be. Not infrequently, accounts of what it is perceived to be are coloured by beliefs about what it ought to be. For example, if we accept Peters and Waterman's valuation of `excellent' management practice, we are likely to use this valuation as a frame of reference for interpreting what management education currently is. In grander terms, what this implies is that facts are always coloured by values : there is no value-neutral observation language (see T. Adorno et al., The Positivist Dispute in German Sociology, especially the contributions by J. Habermas).

When we are debating the nature of management education, we draw upon elements of our knowledge which we consider relevant to this issue. This knowledge includes our understanding of what comprises the field of `management'. For example, do we restrict this field to what those with the title of manager or who consider themselves managers? Do we include what they think as well as what they do? Do we include what other people (e.g. academics) say they do or suggest they should do? Or do we extend the field further to define management as any activity which involves getting things done through other people - which would embrace aspects of virtually everyone's behaviour. It would be foolish, I think, to pretend that there is any absolute definition of management. The point of raising these questions is not imply that one answer is inherently more defensible than any other. Rather, it is to show that every definition of management (and indeed every definition, or naming, of anything) is bounded, and that the drawing of boundaries to define a field is a normative act. That is to say, we define a field, such as management, in a particular way, because our values lead us to believe that definition has some (albeit transient or contextual) legitimacy.

The Relevance of Values for Practice

These observations lead us to the conclusion that our knowledge of the world is bounded by our values. Interestingly, it is a conclusion which resonates with the emphasis which Peters and Waterman place upon values in organisations. Basically, what they argue is that if you identify some core values and instill these into employees, the learning processes necessary to equip the organisation with relevant knowledge will follow. From this perspective, the key to educating `excellent' managers would seem to reside, fundamentally, in rendering them open to the values associated with the attributes of success : such as, bias for action, productivity through people, simultaneous tight-loose properties. The issue then becomes, what are these values and how are they learnt?

Although unspoken by Peters and Waterman, I want to suggest that the values are : openness, participation and democracy. Further, I want to argue that the capacity to develop these values is systematically restricted both with Business Schools, or their equivalents, and in work organisations. From this standpoint, I view Peters and Waterman's `successful' organisations are those where the restrictions are least severe and/or where the appearance of these values is most artfully maintained. Moreover, I would add that the presence of `successful' attributes within these companies may be as much a consequence of their monopoly, or otherwise privileged, position in product markets as it is a condition of their success.

Learning the Values of Excellence

In what sense are the values of openness, participation and democracy systematically impeded (and distorted) in Business Schools and organisations? I want to argue that there are two interdependent dimensions of this phenomenon (Knights and Willmott, 1983; 1985). The first is existential; it concerns the social psychology of the modern individual. The second is historical; it concerns the structure of relations in which individuals are located. Or, to phrase this less dualistically, the structure which is at once a medium and outcome of the constitution of individuals (see A. Giddens, Central Problems in Social Theory; J. Henriques et al., Changing the Subject). To illustrate the analysis, I will take the example of "off the job" learning in undergraduate business studies degrees. But a parallel analysis could be made of the `experiential' learning within organisations.

When considering this analysis, it is worth recalling the earlier discussion of the relationship between knowledge and values. What follows is not, and could never be, an objective account. Insofar as it has the appearance of objectivity for you, the reader, this suggests an affinity of values with the writer (or, less probably, a blind faith in the authority of the writer!). Hopefully, it is not necessary to add that the intent of the analysis is not to provide an authoritative definition of the situation but, rather, to stimulate some discussion and reflection. To the extent to which you disagree with elements of the analysis or feel that it is incomplete or biassed, your attribution of error, incompleteness or bias may serve to clarify for you "where you are coming from" - that is the values which inform your interpretation (see P. McHugh. et al, On the Beginnings of Social Inquiry).

Consider first what has been termed the existential dimension. This concerns the degree to which the individual student (or manager) lives the values of openness, participation and democracy. This issue here is whether these values are embodied in the experience of the learner. Does s/he relate to others (and to self) with the minimum of inhibition and resistance; does s/he involve and inform others about his or her experience and intentions; does s/he allow and enables others to make a full and equal contribution? Assuming that the answers to these questions fall short of an unqualified "yes", the question arises : in what ways does management education promote or impede the lived experience of these values? More specifically, we assess the extent to which either the content or the process of education fosters or inhibits this process. For example, does the content of a given lecture enable students to broaden their vision, or challenge their preconceptions? What of existential value do the students learn from the content of a lecture or seminar? Similarly, it may be asked whether the processes of education within lectures and seminars enables students to gain experiential knowledge and practice of these values. Most importantly, perhaps, it may be asked whether lecturers and students are existentially inclined to promote such values - either in themselves or in others. And, if not, whether this disinclination indicates a lack of belief in these values or because the prospect of moving closer to them is in some way threatening - perhaps because it requires the removal of defences or crutches which serve to protect us from being open to one another.

Turning now to consider the historical dimension, it is relevant to seen how our lived experiences are a product of a particular set of institutions which also maintain. For example, the identity and frame(s) of reference of students would not be possible without some institution like a University. But, equally, such institutions would not exist without students. So, at this rather basic level, our own experience as students/lecturers, managers/workers, men/women is conditioned and constituted within particular, historical institutions. Without these institutions we would not be the `same' people. In this sense, collectively we make both our experience and our interpretations of this experience by building and maintaining the institutions within which the boundaries of our experience and interpretations are continuously defined and redefined.

When considering institutions, such as a University or an industrial organisation, it may be instructive to explore the structure of power relations which at once unites and divides their membership. For, arguably, it is this structure which simultaneously enables and constrains both experience and interpretation. In the context of Universities, academic staff have, historically, had control over key resources : knowledge and degrees. This control has been maintained by equating knowledge with a disembodied collection of facts and theories with academics acting as the gate-keepers this store of information. Assessment of students' assimilation of this knowledge has been recorded by the awarding of (different classes of) degrees. The ultimate sanction upon students has been the withholding of this reward when they fail to comply with the demands of this system.

However, as noted earlier, academic staff (like managers and shareholders) are also dependent upon students. It is this dependence which, perhaps, helps to explain why the lecture is their favoured medium for imparting knowledge - even though many are transparently bored or uneasy in this situation. For the lecture is the ideal vehicle for elevating and parading the expertise of the lecturer, and relatedly, for affirming the ignorance of the (pacified) audience. By centralising the lecture as the key point of contact between academics and students, the effect is to reduce the dispensability of the lecturer. By virtue of the institution of the lecture, students are unable to rely upon other sources of knowledge. For, even if the lecturer is using a textbook (even dictating from a textbook!), it is s/he who sets the examination. So students are obliged to attend the lectures to discover what selection is being made from the textbook and, perhaps, what slant the lecturer is taking.

Looking at the historical dimension enables us to see how the limits of experience and interpretation are institutionalised. However, at this point it is worth returning briefly to the existential dimension to note how students/workers collude with lectures/managers in the reproduction of institutions. Consider the case of the academic who lectures from a textbook. It is not difficult to see that this is convenient for the lecturer who is spared the trouble of preparing any original material or even checking with the original sources upon which the textbook draws. Of no lesser importance, it means that s/he can `hide' behind the authority of the textbook in the unlikely event of a student questioning its contents. But let us consider the attraction of the `textbook lecture' from the standpoint of the student. At one level, many students may be (privately) critical of this practice: what's the point of giving a lecture when we can read the textbook in the library? But, on another level, the same students may (privately) welcome, or at least tolerate, this practice because it reduces the effort involved in reading the text and provides an identifiable structure for the course. To put this another way, it facilitates the acquisition of knowledge without having to think about it. This syndrome Friere calls `narration sickness:

`Education is suffering from narration sickness. Narration leads the students to memorise mechanically the narrated content. This is the `banking' concept of education, in which the scope of action allowed to the students extends only as far as receiving, filing, and storing the deposits. But, in the final analysis, it is the students that are filed away through the lack of creativity, transformation and knowledge in this (at best) misguided system' (P.Freire, Pedagogy of the Oppressed).

Conclusion

Arguably, it is the qualities of `creativity, transformation and knowledge' which Peters and Waterman identify as central qualities of excellent, learning organisations. Unfortunately, it is these very qualities which appear to be systematically, institutionally stifled where a `banking' concept of knowledge acquisition reigns supreme. In part, their can be explained in terms of the existential difficulty of becoming open to an alternative, less formal, less controlled, more risky and wild approach in which autocracy and passivity are subverted by the values of participation and democracy. However, the problem is not merely existential; it is also historical. It is historical in the sense that our capacity to shift from autocracy/passivity to participation/democracy is enabled but also impeded by the institutions which condition our experiences and interpretations. This capacity is constrained by a reward structure which makes conformity easy and change demanding. But the capacity to shift values is also facilitated by the experience of contradictions within this structure. So, for example, Universities rely for their prestige (and resources) upon the understanding that they are centres of intellectual excellence. As a consequence, in addition to their expectation of being awarded a degree, many students continue to retain the expectation that their educational experience will be demanding and stimulating. When the latter expectation is not fulfilled, there is a contradiction. In turn, the experience of this contradiction may lead students to question and challenge certain aspects of their experience which are undemanding and unstimulating. Similarly, lecturers who become aware of such contradictions may attempt to develop alternative learning processes. In doing so, a reduction in the contradiction within their course simultaneously raises awareness of the contradictions elsewhere, thereby giving a further stimulus for reform.

References

D. Knights and H.C. Willmott (1983), `Dualism and Domination : An Analysis of Marxian, Weberian and Existentialist Perspectives', Australian and New Zealand Journal of Sociology, 19, 1 : 33-49