Myth of the Teacher

Why Self-Directed Learning is the Real Revolution in Adult Education

Imagine a classroom where the teacher drones on, chalk dust swirling like a fog of good intentions, while the students doodle, daydream, or despair. Now picture a lone soul in a cluttered attic, surrounded by books, laptops, and half-finished coffee cups, chasing knowledge like a detective on a cold case. Which scene feels more alive? Which promises real learning?

Spoiler alert: it’s not the one with the podium. Welcome to the wild, unruly world of adult education, where self-directed learning and autodidactism—fancy folks call it heutagogy—are shaking the foundations of traditional pedagogy. Teaching doesn’t guarantee learning, and learning doesn’t mean you won’t trip over the same rock twice. Let’s unpack this messy, marvelous truth with some heavy hitters from the academic pantheon—and a dash of mischief.

Teaching:

The Great Illusion

Jacques Delors (1996) once dreamed of education as a four-pillared palace: learning to know, do, be, and live together. Noble, right? But here’s the rub: a teacher can build the palace, polish the pillars, and hand you the key, yet you might still wander off to play in the mud. Teaching is an act of faith, not a contract with guaranteed outcomes.

David Kolb (1984) knew this when he spun his experiential learning cycle—concrete experience, reflective observation, abstract conceptualization, active experimentation. Learning, he argued, isn’t spoon-fed; it’s wrestled from the chaos of doing and reflecting. A teacher can nudge you into the ring, but they can’t fight the match for you.

Chris Argyris (1991) ups the ante with his double-loop learning theory. Single-loop learning tweaks your actions—like adjusting a thermostat when the room’s too cold. Double-loop digs deeper, questioning why you’re even in that room. Teachers often peddle single-loop fixes: memorize this, recite that. But real learning, the kind that sticks, demands you challenge the system itself. Argyris would say the classroom’s a crutch if it doesn’t push you to rethink your assumptions. Teaching might plant a seed, but it’s your job to water it—or let it wither.

Learning:

No Promises, No Refunds

Now, let’s flip the coin. Even when learning happens, it’s no magic shield against folly. Knud Illeris (2007) paints learning as a three-way dance: cognitive (facts), emotional (motivation), and social (context). You might ace the cognitive tango, but if your heart’s not in it or your dance floor’s a war zone, good luck. Illeris reminds us that learning is fragile, human, and fallible. Peter Jarvis (2006) echoes this, arguing that learning emerges from disjuncture—those jarring moments when life smacks you sideways. You learn, sure, but nothing says you won’t stumble into the same ditch later, grinning like an idiot who forgot the map.

Here’s a playful jab: picture a cat watching a YouTube tutorial on quantum physics (stick with me). It might “learn” the jargon, but will it dodge the vacuum cleaner next time? Probably not. Humans aren’t much better. Jack Mezirow’s (1991) transformative learning theory promises epiphanies—those “aha!” moments when you shed old perspectives like a snake’s skin. But transformation’s no guarantee against backsliding. You might see the light, then trip over the cord unplugging it.

The Rise of the Autodidact:

Heutagogy Unleashed

Enter heutagogy, the rebel child of adult education. Stewart Hase and Chris Kenyon coined it, but let’s give it wings with Sugata Mitra’s (2012) hole-in-the-wall experiments. Kids in Indian slums, armed with a computer and zero instructions, taught themselves English and biology. No teacher, no syllabus—just curiosity and grit. Heutagogy flips the script: learners decide what, how, and why they learn. It’s self-directed learning on steroids, and it’s where adults shine—or flail.

Gert Biesta (2010) might squint at this anarchy. He argues education balances qualification (skills), socialization (norms), and subjectification (becoming a unique “I”). Heutagogy leans hard into subjectification, letting you forge your path, but it risks leaving skills and norms in the dust. Fair point—autodidacts might reinvent the wheel instead of just driving the car. Yet, Richard Boyatzis (2008) counters with intentional change theory: real growth comes when you align learning with your deepest desires. Teachers can’t bottle that lightning; only you can.

Becoming Competent

Entering the 21st Century, studies now reveal the disappointing gaps in the transition strategies of the nineties and the consequences of delaying implementation of adequate methods to match the future that is on our doorstep. Without delay, professionals need to develop themselves to perform in fluid networks, different structures, liquid layers and zones to achieve certain results. The industrial management doxas, which still lurk in the hallways of organizations, will continue to be the biggest barrier.

Rather than controlling ‘human capital’ and programming behavior through standardized competency programs to align people and systems, it is important to rapidly develop the conditions for people to learn while working on projects within multidisciplinary groups.

The Social Dance: 

Bales, Luhmann, and the Crowd

Learning’s not a solo gig, though. Robert Bales (1950) dissected group dynamics, showing how task-oriented and socio-emotional roles tangle in every interaction. Self-directed learners still lean on others—mentors, peers, X posts—to wrestle with ideas. Niklas Luhmann’s (1995) systems theory takes it further: education’s a social system, a web of communications. You might ditch the classroom, but you’re still caught in society’s net, bouncing signals off everyone from Reddit randos to dead philosophers.

Miyamoto’s (2010) work on collaborative learning nudges us here too. Adults thrive when they co-create knowledge, not just consume it. Heutagogy doesn’t mean isolation—it’s curation. You pick your tribe, your tools, your tempo. Harrison’s (1969) take on informal learning vibes with this: most of what sticks comes from life’s sidelines, not the chalkboard. Autodidacts don’t reject society; they remix it.

The Playful Provocation:

Coffield vs. the Machine

Frank Coffield (2004) throws a wrench in the works, skewering learning style theories as pseudoscientific fluff. Kolb’s cycles? Honey and Mumford’s tweaks? All hogwash, he says—there’s no evidence adults learn best as “reflectors” or “activists.” He’d probably scoff at heutagogy too: “Self-directed? Sounds like self-deluded.” But here’s the twist: Coffield’s cynicism frees us. If no one’s pinned to a style, then autodidactism’s chaos—trial, error, triumph—might be the truest path. No teacher’s script can match the improvisation of a curious mind.

Bernard Bass (1985) adds a leadership spin. His transformational leadership model—idealized influence, inspirational motivation, intellectual stimulation, individualized consideration—mirrors what autodidacts do for themselves. Why wait for a guru to inspire you? Be your own muse. Peter Bamberger’s (2001) research on workplace learning backs this: adults grow most when they wrestle with real problems, not textbook hypotheticals. Heutagogy’s not a luxury; it’s a necessity.

The Global Chorus: 

Gandhimathi and Beyond

Gandhimathi (2016) ties it to culture, arguing that adult education must flex with local rhythms. In India, self-directed learning might mean decoding ancient texts or mastering tech on a rickety modem. Delors’ pillars bend here—learning to be isn’t universal; it’s personal. Autodidacts don’t just adapt; they rewrite the rules. Meanwhile, Liuhman’s (2015) take on organizational learning nods to complexity: systems evolve, and so must learners. Heutagogy’s edge? It thrives in the mess.

The Big “So What?”:

Teaching Fails, Learning Falters, Yet We Rise

Here’s the gut punch: teaching doesn’t guarantee learning. A+ lectures can evaporate like mist if the learner’s zoned out. And learning? It’s no insurance against screwing up again. Illeris’ emotional snag, Jarvis’ disjuncture, Mezirow’s backslide—they all whisper the same truth: humans are gloriously imperfect. Yet autodidactism, heutagogy, whatever you call it, offers a lifeline. It’s not about perfection; it’s about agency.

Picture this: you’re 40, juggling kids and a job, and you decide to learn Python. No classroom, just YouTube, caffeine, and stubbornness. You fail, you flail, you figure it out. That’s heutagogy—raw, real, yours. Kolb’s cycle spins, Argyris’ loops deepen, Mitra’s kids cheer from the sidelines. Teaching might falter, learning might stutter, but self-direction? It’s the spark that keeps the fire alive.

A Playful Parting Shot

So, dear reader, next time a teacher wags a finger or a textbook gathers dust, ask yourself: who’s really in charge of your brain? Remember: it’s you. Adult education isn’t a gift bestowed—it’s a heist you pull off. Steal knowledge from the world, remix it with your soul, and laugh when you mess up. Because here’s the kicker: even if you learn it all, you’ll still spill coffee on your notes. And that’s the beauty of it.