The Co-Construction of Meaning

On Shame, Dialogue, and the Quiet Art of Understanding

There are moments in life when understanding does not arrive as a conclusion, but as a quiet unfolding.

Not as something we possess.
But as something we participate in.

My doctoral work began with such a realization—although I did not fully understand it at the time. I believed I was going to study shame. Instead, I found myself entering conversations where meaning itself was being created between human beings.

And that changes everything.

When Knowledge Stops Being an Object

The study behind this reflection was grounded in conversations with nineteen individuals connected to an incest center in Norway—most of whom had lived through sexual abuse in childhood.

We sat together in small groups. We spoke. We paused. Sometimes we fell into silence.

Stories emerged—slowly, carefully—like something fragile being brought into the light.

What became clear to me, quite early, was this:

I was not collecting data.
I was participating in the creation of meaning.

This stands in contrast to a deeply rooted assumption in research—that knowledge exists “out there,” waiting to be discovered by a neutral and methodologically skilled observer.

But human life does not unfold that way.

Rethinking Theory and Practice

We often separate the world into two domains:

• Theory: what we think
• Practice: what we do

But this division is more fragile than it appears.

The Spanish philosopher José Luis Ramírez reminds us that thinking itself is a form of action. And long before him, Aristotle described theoria not as detached contemplation, but as a way of living—an active engagement with the world.

To know something is not simply to hold it in the mind.

It is to be able to respond.
To act wisely.
To meet another human being with understanding.

This is what Aristotle called phronesis—practical wisdom.

And practical wisdom is never developed in isolation.
It is shaped in relationships, over time, in lived experience.

Meaning Is Not Found—It Is Made

One of the most important insights from my work is simple, yet profound:

Meaning does not lie hidden inside people, waiting to be extracted.
It is created in dialogue.

This is the essence of what sociologists James A. Holstein and Jaber F. Gubrium call the active interview.

In this perspective:

• The interview is not a neutral method
• The participant is not a passive informant
• The researcher is not an objective observer

Instead, both become participants in a shared process of meaning-making.

A story is not simply told.
It is shaped—between us.

In tone.
In trust.
In hesitation.
In silence.

A Voice from Experience

One of the participants once said something that stayed with me.

She spoke about how her own painful experiences allowed her to meet others differently—more openly, more honestly.

Not as an expert above them.
But as a human being who recognized something.

And then she said something remarkable:

That what had once been negative in her life could now be used in a positive way—in meeting others.

This is not theory.

This is lived philosophy.

This is phronesis in practice.

Shame Lives Between Us

Shame is a difficult word.

We try to define it, but it often escapes us.

Here again, Aristotle offers a different approach—not by defining shame abstractly, but by describing the situations in which it appears.

Shame arises:

• When we feel seen
• When we fear discredit
• When the opinion of others matters

Shame is not just internal.

It is relational.

It lives between us.

This became unmistakably clear in the conversations at the center.

One experienced staff member told me:

“I can’t recall a single conversation that hasn’t been marked by shame and guilt.”

Shame was always present—sometimes quietly, sometimes overwhelmingly—but always there, shaping how people understood themselves and their lives.

The Interview as an Ethical Space

When working with such themes, method is never neutral.

How we ask matters.
How we listen matters even more.

The active interview is not only a method.
It is an ethical stance.

It requires:

• Respect for the other person’s boundaries
• Awareness of power
• A willingness to be affected

As Andrea Fontana and James H. Frey argue, once we accept that neutrality is an illusion, we must choose our position consciously.

For me, that meant standing with the participants.

Not above them.

We Never Begin from Nowhere

At some point, another realization emerged—one that has stayed with me ever since:

We never enter a conversation empty-handed.

Martin Heidegger reminds us that we always come with pre-understandings. We already see the world in a certain way before we begin to interpret it.

And Hans-Georg Gadamer deepens this insight: understanding is always situated—formed by history, language, and tradition.

There is no neutral ground.

But this is not a weakness.

It is what makes understanding possible.

From Data to Meaning

In analyzing the material, I worked with a constructivist form of grounded theory inspired by Kathy Charmaz.

This meant:

• Seeing data as something constructed, not discovered
• Understanding categories as interpretations
• Accepting that analysis is shaped by the researcher

The material was extensive—hundreds of pages of transcribed conversations.

Gradually, patterns emerged.

Themes took form:

• Shame in the family
• Shame in the body
• Shame in self-image
• Shame in therapy

These were not objective truths.

They were ways of seeing—ways of bringing meaning into focus.

As Bruno Latour suggests: if we want to understand what connects things, we must look at how they are connected.

Meaning is not a thing.

It is a movement.

The Fragility of Trust

Ethics in this work was not a checklist.

It was a constant presence.

A question that followed me throughout:

• Have I been clear enough?
• Have I listened carefully enough?
• Have I respected what should not be spoken?

Trust is fragile.

And once broken, it cannot easily be restored.

But when trust is present, something else becomes possible:

A space where people dare to speak.

When the Interview Becomes Something More

One participant later reflected that the interviews had brought the group closer together.

They had not only shared experiences.

They had become more connected.

More human to one another.

And perhaps this is the deepest insight of all:

An interview is not simply a method for gathering knowledge.

It is a human encounter.

And sometimes—when we are careful—it becomes something that gives back.

A Closing Reflection

When I began this work, I thought I was studying shame.

In truth, I was learning something else.

That understanding is not something we achieve once and for all.

It is something we enter into—again and again—through dialogue, through listening, through presence.

Meaning is not given.

It is created.

And it is created together.

Final Words

In practical philosophy, we often ask:
What does it mean to live well?

Perhaps part of the answer lies here:

To live well is not only to think clearly.
But to meet others in such a way that meaning can emerge between us.

That is where understanding begins.

And perhaps—that is where dignity is restored.

References

Aristotle. (1984). The complete works of Aristotle (Vol. 2). Princeton University Press.

Blumer, H. (1986). Symbolic interactionism: Perspective and method. University of California Press.

Brinkmann, S., & Kvale, S. (2005). Confronting the ethics of qualitative research. Journal of Constructivist Psychology, 18, 157–181.

Charmaz, K. (2005). Grounded theory in the 21st century. In N. K. Denzin & Y. S. Lincoln (Eds.), The Sage handbook of qualitative research (3rd ed.). Sage.

Denzin, N. K. (2002). The interpretive process. Sage.

Fontana, A., & Frey, J. H. (2005). The interview. Sage.

Gadamer, H.-G. (1975). Truth and method. Seabury Press.

Gubrium, J. F., & Holstein, J. A. (1997). The new language of qualitative method. Oxford University Press.

Heidegger, M. (1962). Being and time. Harper & Row.

Holstein, J. A., & Gubrium, J. F. (1995). The active interview. Sage.

Kvale, S. (1996). InterViews. Sage.

Latour, B. (1990). Science in action. Harvard University Press.

Lincoln, Y. S., & Guba, E. G. (1985). Naturalistic inquiry. Sage.

Ramírez, J. L. (1995). Creative meaning. Nordic School of Planning.

To live well is not only to think clearly.
But to meet others in such a way that meaning can emerge between us.

The text is mine and written in a conversation with OpenAI/ChatGPT, which also made the illustration

 

Når undervisningen begynner før vi møtes

Jeg begynte en gang å undervise før jeg møtte studentene mine.

Ikke i klasserommet.
Men i en stemme.

En kort podcast. Ti minutter.
Spilt inn dagen før en lang forelesning.

Studentene kunne lytte når de ville.
Noen gjorde det kvelden før.
Andre i bilen på vei til campus.
Noen i et stille øyeblikk før dagen begynte.

Jeg visste ikke helt hva dette ville gjøre.

Men jeg merket at noe skjedde.

Et rom som ikke har vegger

Vi er vant til å tenke at undervisning skjer i bestemte rom.
Et auditorium. Et klasserom. Et sted med klare rammer.

Men det finnes også andre rom.

Rom uten vegger.
Rom som oppstår i overganger.

I bilen.
På vei fra ett sted til et annet.
I stillheten før noe begynner.

Det var her disse korte opptakene levde.

Ikke som ferdige forelesninger.
Men som åpninger.

Når noe allerede har begynt

Når studentene kom til forelesning, var de ikke ved start.

Noe hadde allerede begynt.

Kanskje et begrep hadde festet seg.
Kanskje en undring.
Kanskje et spørsmål uten klare ord.

Forelesningen startet ikke i rommet.

Den startet før.

Hos Hans-Georg Gadamer finner vi en viktig innsikt:

Vi forstår ikke ved å motta informasjon alene.
Vi forstår fordi noe allerede er i bevegelse i oss.

Det var dette som skjedde.

Stemmen som bærer

Det er noe med stemmen.

Den krever ikke det samme som en tekst.
Den krever ikke fullt fokus.

Den kan følge oss.

Den kan være der i bakgrunnen –
og likevel gjøre noe.

Den legger seg ikke over tankene våre.
Den legger seg ved siden av dem.

Og kanskje er det nettopp derfor den virker.

Ikke svar, men retning

Disse korte opptakene var ikke forklaringer.

De var ikke gjennomgang av pensum.

De var forsøk på å peke.

Hva står på spill?
Hva kan dette handle om?
Hvorfor angår dette oss?

Og det er kanskje avgjørende:

De ga ikke svar.
De ga retning.

Et møte før møtet

Når studentene kom til forelesning, hadde de allerede møtt noe.

Ikke nødvendigvis meg som person.
Men en stemme.

Hos Martin Buber kan vi si at noe av møtet allerede var i gang.

Ikke en dialog i full forstand.
Men en begynnelse.

En åpning.

Hvorfor fungerer dette?

Det finnes flere svar.

Men kanskje kan det sies enkelt:

Du møter mennesket før rollen.

Studenten møter ikke først et fag.
Men en stemme.
Et menneske som forsøker å si noe viktig.

Og det gjør noe med hvordan man lytter.

Du aktiverer forståelse før læring.

I stedet for å starte med informasjon,
starter du med en bevegelse.

Noe begynner å arbeide i oss – før vi vet helt hva vi tenker.

Du bruker åpne rom.

Ikke kontrollerte læringssituasjoner,
men overgangsrom hvor tankene får vandre.

Og nettopp der kan noe få feste seg.

Du gir ikke svar – du åpner.

Og dermed må den som lytter selv tre inn.

Undervisningens etterliv

Opptaket ligger der fortsatt.

Flere hundre har lyttet.

Det er lett å tenke i tall.
Men det er kanskje mer riktig å tenke slik:

Hver lytting er et møte.

Hos Gadamer finner vi tanken om at det vi sier, virker videre – utover den situasjonen det ble sagt i.

Undervisning slutter ikke når timen er over.

Den fortsetter.

En vei videre

I dag, i arbeidet med Praktisk Filosofi, ser jeg at dette ikke bare var et pedagogisk grep.

Det var en måte å være i relasjon på.

En måte å si:

Dette kan vi tenke sammen om.

Kanskje kan dette tas videre.

Ikke som metode.
Men som praksis.

En stemme før teksten.
En åpning før refleksjonen.

Avslutning

Undervisning begynner ikke nødvendigvis når vi møtes.

Noen ganger begynner den i en stemme,
i et rom uten vegger,
før vi vet hva vi skal spørre om.

Og kanskje er det der –
i dette stille forrommet –
at noe av det viktigste skjer.

Referanser

Buber, M. (1992). Jeg og du. Oslo: Cappelen.

Gadamer, H.-G. (2010). Sannhet og metode. Oslo: Pax Forlag.

Dewey, J. (2005). Erfaring og utdanning. Oslo: Gyldendal Akademisk.

Teksten er min, skrevet i en samtale med OpenAI/ChatGPT som også skapte illustrasjonen etter mine instruksjoner.

 

When Teaching Begins Before We Meet

On voice, anticipation, and the space where understanding starts

Introduction

Teaching does not always begin in the classroom.

Sometimes it begins in a voice —
in the evening before,
in the car on the way,
in a quiet moment before the day unfolds.

What happens when learning starts there?

When Teaching Begins Before We Meet

At one point in my teaching, I began to do something simple.

I started teaching before I met my students.

Not in a classroom.
But in a voice.

A short podcast. About ten minutes.
Recorded the day before a long lecture — sometimes six hours.

The students could listen whenever they wanted.
Some did so the night before.
Others in the car on their way to campus.
Some in a quiet moment before the day began.

I did not fully know what this would do.

But I sensed that something was happening.

A Space Without Walls

We tend to think of teaching as something that happens in defined spaces.

A classroom.
A lecture hall.
A place with clear boundaries.

But there are other spaces.

Spaces without walls.
Spaces that exist in transitions.

In the car.
Between places.
In the stillness before something begins.

This is where these short recordings lived.

Not as lectures.
But as openings.

When Something Has Already Begun

When the students arrived, they were no longer at the beginning.

Something had already started.

A concept may have lingered.
A question may have formed.
A quiet curiosity may have emerged.

The lecture did not begin in the room.

It had already begun.

Here we can recall Hans-Georg Gadamer:

Understanding does not begin with information.
It begins when something has already been set in motion within us.

That is what these moments created.

The Voice as Carrier

There is something about the human voice.

It does not demand the same attention as text.
It does not require stillness or full concentration.

It accompanies us.

It can be present without taking over.
It can move alongside our thoughts.

And perhaps this is why it works.

It does not impose itself.
It invites.

Not Answers, But Direction

These recordings were not explanations.

They were not summaries of the curriculum.

They were attempts to point.

What is at stake here?
Why might this matter?
What are we about to enter?

This is crucial:

They did not provide answers.
They offered direction.

A Meeting Before the Meeting

When the students entered the room, something had already taken place.

Not a full dialogue —
but the beginning of one.

In the language of Martin Buber, we might say that the encounter had already started.

Not yet a true I–Thou relationship,
but something moving in that direction.

An opening.

Why Does This Work?

There are several reasons.

But perhaps we can say it simply:

You meet the person before the role.

The student does not first encounter a subject.
But a voice.
A human presence.

And this changes how one listens.

You activate understanding before learning.

Instead of beginning with information,
you begin with movement.

Something starts working within the listener —
before they fully understand what they think.

You use open spaces.

Not controlled learning environments,
but transitional spaces where thoughts can wander.

And it is precisely there that something can take root.

You do not give answers — you open.

And because of that, the listener must enter the process.

The Afterlife of Teaching

The recording is still there.

Hundreds have listened.

It is easy to think in numbers.

But perhaps it is more meaningful to think this way:

Each listening is a meeting.

Gadamer reminds us that what is said does not remain in its original moment.
It continues to work.

Teaching does not end when the class is over.

It continues.

A Way Forward

Today, in my work with Practical Philosophy, I see that this was not just a pedagogical method.

It was a way of being in relation.

A way of saying:

This is something we can think about together.

Perhaps this can be continued.

Not as a technique.
But as a practice.

A voice before the text.
An opening before reflection.

Final Reflection

We live in a time where communication often aims to reach more people, faster and more clearly.

But perhaps there is also space for something else.

Something slower.
More open.

A voice that does not fill the space —
but opens it.

Closing Signature

Teaching does not necessarily begin when we meet.

Sometimes it begins in a voice,
in a space without walls,
before we even know what we are about to ask.

And perhaps it is there —
in that quiet prelude —
that something essential begins.

References (APA)

Buber, M. (1996). I and Thou. New York: Scribner.

Gadamer, H.-G. (2004). Truth and Method. London: Continuum.

Dewey, J. (1938). Experience and Education. New York: Macmillan.

The text is mine and written in a communication with OpenAI/ChatGPT, which also created the illustration with my instructions.

 

To Live Ethically Is to Choose Oneself

– a reflection in practical philosophy

Introduction

What does it really mean to live ethically? In a time marked by endless choices, life can easily become restless and without direction. This essay explores another path: not to choose more—but to choose oneself.

When Life Asks the Question

There is a question that follows us throughout life:

What shall I do?

We may try to silence it. Fill our days with tasks, activities, and choices that keep us in motion. But sooner or later, the question returns. Often when we least expect it. Often when something in life breaks open.

I remember how this question gained new depth for me when I read Twenty Years at Hull-House by Jane Addams.

I had imagined her as one of those rare individuals who always know what to do—a figure of moral clarity. But what I encountered was something else.

She doubted.
She struggled.
She despaired.

She describes a time when she felt “adrift at sea” in matters of moral purpose. She held on to only one conviction: she wanted to live in the real world, not in an intellectual or aesthetic shadow of it.

It took her eight years to find her answer.

Not because she was weak.
But because she took life seriously.

The Aesthetic Life – The Restlessness of Freedom

We live in an age of possibilities—perhaps more than ever before.

We can choose education, career, lifestyle, identity. There is something profoundly beautiful in this.

The aesthetic life—as described by Søren Kierkegaard—is a life oriented toward enjoyment, interest, and the pursuit of what feels good. There is nothing wrong with this. We are meant to experience joy.

Yet the aesthetic life has a shadow.

When everything is possible, nothing is necessary.
When everything can be chosen, choice loses weight.

And then something strange happens:
In the midst of abundance, a sense of emptiness arises.

We recognize it as:

– a restless search for “something more”
– a feeling that something is missing, even when everything seems in place
– a lack of direction despite endless options

The aesthetic life offers freedom.
But not necessarily meaning.

The Ethical Life – Becoming Oneself

Here the ethical life emerges.

To live ethically is not primarily about following rules.
Nor is it about appearing morally good.

To live ethically is something far more demanding:

It is to choose oneself.

This is not one choice among many.

It is the choice that gives all other choices direction.

To choose oneself is to take responsibility for one’s own life. To say:

This is my life.
This is my task.
And I will live it.

For Kierkegaard, the self is not something we simply are. It is something we must become.

And we become it through choice.

Not arbitrary choices—but committed ones.

A Choice That Is Not a Choice

It may seem as though we are free to choose whether or not to live ethically.

But in reality, we face something more radical:

We stand between the meaningful and the meaningless.

To not choose oneself is not neutral.
It is to drift into indifference.

And we feel it.

As emptiness.
As unease.
As a sense of not being fully present in our own lives.

In this sense, the ethical choice is not really a choice.

It is a necessity.

The Path Through Despair

But the path toward this choice is rarely easy.

It often passes through despair.

Jane Addams struggled for years before finding her way. Only when she stopped searching for answers in others and began engaging directly with life did something begin to take shape.

She did not merely discover what to do.

She discovered herself.

This is essential: we do not find ourselves by withdrawing from life, but by entering it.

A Night Encounter

I remember a night from my own practice.

The phone rang late. I almost referred the call elsewhere. But something in the voice made me stay.

The woman on the line had lost her husband and son in an accident. Now she had just been told that her daughter-in-law and grandchildren had also died.

Everything was gone.

She asked:

What shall I do?
Is life worth living?

There are no professional answers to such questions.

I could not explain. Only listen.

We spoke through the night.

When she hung up, I believed she would choose death.

But an hour later, she called again.

She had chosen.

She would live.

She had resigned from her job, sold what she owned, and decided to work with street children in India.

This was her answer.

Not given by me.
Not given by any theory.

But born from her own life.

Opening to What Cannot Be Explained

In such moments, life reveals another dimension.

Martin Heidegger describes the human being as being-in-the-world-with-others. We are never isolated. We are always in relation.

And sometimes—in grief, in love, in loss—we encounter something that cannot be explained.

Only lived.

Then our task is not to understand everything.

But to be.

This is also the essence of all genuine helping:
to find the other where they are—and begin there.

Appropriating Oneself

To choose oneself involves what Kierkegaard calls appropriation of the self.

It means saying yes to one’s whole life:

– what is good
– what is difficult
– what hurts

It also means taking responsibility for one’s past.

To repent is not to condemn oneself.
It is to return to oneself.

To say:

This, too, is me. And I will take responsibility for it.

Here lies freedom.

Not in escaping.

But in standing within.

Freedom as Responsibility

Jean-Paul Sartre famously states that we are condemned to be free.

But freedom is not light.

It is heavy.

Because it requires us to choose—and to stand by what we choose.

Kierkegaard adds a crucial dimension:

It is not enough to choose.

We must choose that which makes us ourselves.

Formation – A Lifelong Work

To live ethically is not something we achieve once and for all.

It is a lifelong task.

It is a process of formation.

Of maturing.

Of learning from experience.
Of enduring contradictions.
Of remaining present in difficulty.

This path is not without pain.

But it is a path with meaning.

Standing in One’s Life

There comes a point when we can no longer escape.

Not because we must.

But because we no longer want to.

We remain.

In our own life.

And then something quiet yet decisive occurs:

The choice gains weight.

We say:

This is my life.
And I will live it.

Not perfectly.
Not without error.

But truthfully.

Conclusion: At the Beginning

Friedrich Hölderlin writes of human beings as thrown between heights and abysses, without rest.

It may seem like a dark insight.

But perhaps there is also freedom here.

For if life does not give us ready-made answers,
it gives us something else:

The possibility to live it.

We are never finished.
We are never fully formed.

We always stand at the beginning.

And the question returns:

What shall I do?

The answer cannot be given once and for all.

But it can be lived.

Again and again.

Signature

References 

Addams, J. (1920). Twenty Years at Hull-House. New York: Macmillan.

Goethe, J. W. von. (1999). Italian Journey (1786–1788). New York: Penguin Classics.

Heidegger, M. (1975). The Basic Problems of Phenomenology. Frankfurt am Main: Vittorio Klostermann.

Hölderlin, F. (1993). Hyperion, or The Hermit in Greece. New York: Archipelago Books.

Husted, J. (1999). The Ethical According to Kierkegaard. Copenhagen: Gyldendal.

Kierkegaard, S. (1987). Either/Or, Part II. Princeton: Princeton University Press.

Kierkegaard, S. (1967). Journals and Papers (Vol. 1). Bloomington: Indiana University Press.

Lundstøl, J. (1999). On Making Others Good (lecture). Oslo: Oslo University College.

Pettersen, K. T. (2001). Paths to Self-Understanding. Oslo: Oslo University College.

Plato. (1997). Ion. In J. M. Cooper (Ed.), Plato: Complete Works. Indianapolis: Hackett.

Sartre, J.-P. (2007). Existentialism Is a Humanism. New Haven: Yale University Press.

To live ethically is not to become a better person in the eyes of others.

It is to become a truer person in one’s own life.

It is to dare to stand in one’s life—with all that it entails of responsibility, doubt, guilt, and freedom.

It is to choose oneself.

Again and again.

As long as life lasts.

This text is written by me in a conversation with OpenAI/ChatGPT, which also created the illustration in a conversation with me