Situated Meaning Principle: The meanings of signs (words, actions, objects, artifacts, symbols, texts, etc.) are situated in embodied experience. Meanings are not general or decontextualized. Whatever generality meanings come to have is discovered bottom up via embodied experiences. —

Vasquez, Vivian; Smith, Karen.

The Pokémon cartoon series first aired in Japan in 1997 and continues to this day, and yet Ash Ketchum still has a Pikachu.

This only seems bizarre if you know that the typical goal of a Pokémon trainer is to evolve Pokémon into more powerful, stronger forms. A Pikachu is “supposed” to be evolved into a stronger Electric-type Pokémon called a Raichu. So why is Ash stuck with an “inferior,” weaker Pokémon nearly 20 years later?

Of course, we could also wonder why Ash doesn’t age! But in this case, the show actually does address Ash’s Pikachu’s static status: he just doesn’t want to evolve. He wants to stay a Pikachu, the result of a Pichu Pokémon its trainer has bonded with by maxing out its Friendship (or Happiness) stat.

None of these things have any meaning if one has never heard of Pokémon, doesn’t know that they can evolve, etc. But if you do know about the basics of the games, the mere fact that Pikachu stays a Pikachu reveals aspects of his characterization, motivation, and relationship with Ash, as well as Ash’s characterization as a person who allows his Pokémon self-determination.

There’s a rich irony here. Literary analysis and other areas of academic inquiry in the humanities often require contextual knowledge to understand a larger narrative or meaning. However, Pokémon started as a Nintendo video game franchise for Game Boy. In order to function as a successful player of the video or card games, you need to know and understand an entire universe’s set of concepts and mechanics. But you also need to understand them to follow the narrative of a story set in the Pokémon universe.

I think there’s a tendency to assume that all this time spent thinking about imaginary fighting animals (the very morality of catching animals and forcing them to fight aside!) is time wasted. But is it taking up unnecessary space in the ‘ol noggin, or is this complex system teaching its fans to think? Are players getting lost and isolated in an imaginary world, or are they forming real, meaningful communities and developing socialization skills?

In his article for Medium.com, Daniel Williamson observes:

Yesterday evening, I was out playing Pokémon Go with friends. We were walking around our neighborhood, searching for rare creatures, when we stumbled upon another group of similarly aged individuals, their heads buried in their iPhones, their fingers making the distinctive flicking motions associated with trying to capture a Pokémon. We inquired about each other’s catch and immediately bonded over our mutual pursuit of prized Pokémon. The other team shared with us that “The really good Pokémon hang out at the Zoo,” and “If you do this, you are more likely to catch that Psyduck.” Since then, my Facebook feed has been filled with invites to Pokémon hunting themed meet-ups. A new community has grown up around this game practically overnight.

I have to admit that I have obstinately avoided playing Pokémon Go because I wanted to avoid getting hit by a bus or walking off a cliff, which I’m nearly 100% certain would have happened if I’d gotten sucked in, even as the Smartphone game devoured all of my friends’ brains and even (gasp!) forced them to go outside and exercise. While I’m glad that I didn’t fall off a cliff, I now regret this choice.

Missed workout time aside, Pokémon Go did accomplish something extraordinary. It made our imagination “real.” Psyducks and Jigglypuffs do not, strictly speaking, exist.

Or do they?

After all, if you want to find one, you need to go to a real, specific place in the real world. Other real people might be there, trying to catch a Psyduck, just like you. Real teams form and compete in matches located, to an extent, in the real world. Real friendships and rivalries can even form.

Are we looking at the future, where the “real” world is merged with worlds that spring from our own grey matter and neural networks? What, then, is reality?

Miguel Sicart argues that this “augmented reality” (AR) is nothing new:

Reality has always been augmented (Ong, 1982), and it has always been a space for play (Leorke, 2015; Walz, 2010). Some may argue that human culture is born when writing starts augmenting reality: from writing on walls to making way-finding signs and maps, culture develops as we add informational layers to the world (Monmonier, 1996).

This makes a lot of sense. Consider this: you encounter a building. What is the building? As a structure alone, it could be anything: a shelter from the elements, a place to sleep, a place to learn, or play, or govern; so many possibilities!

Now, add a sign. Library. Hospital. Hotel. Labels, language, concepts, words: all these things have an impact on how the building is used, and even if it is used at all. You could argue that these labels, words, concepts, and symbols create reality.

We can reflect on education, but AR and VR hit on something primal and fundamental: the very foundation of what “education” is.

Education is a way of helping others, and ourselves, to understand and function in the world. But given the complexity of the human species, education also helps to give birth to the world that we inhabit, especially its social dimensions.

Which brings me to this:

https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/world-s-first-augmented-reality-glasses-for-autism#/

Augmented Reality glasses, from the beginning, have offered an opportunity to help differently abled individuals function in the same world as those who experience a different reality. They can help those on the spectrum to understand certain aspects of social interaction better. They can help individuals with visual or hearing impairments perceive aspects of the world.

In this same way, AR can help a neophyte experience the world of an expert. The average person who walks through a field or through the woods perceives her or his surroundings differently than a botanist, who recognizes many of the plants, how they interact with their ecosystem and each other, and the uses provided or risks posed to the botanist herself.

But give the average person AR glasses enabled with the ability to recognize different plants and share information about those plants with the wearer, and suddenly, the world of the newbie and the world of the expert begin to merge. Two separate realities begin to blur together.

Over time, hopefully, the neophyte requires the AR glasses less and less to inhabit this world and embrace its concepts.

And this, I would argue, is one of the fundamental aspects of learning: introducing the learner to a new world where its wonders are theirs to behold, and where they have the power not only to comprehend, but perhaps to impact, change, and even create.