Trying to teach philosophy online is like trying to teach swimming online. It just doesn’t work. As much as I can sympathize with the plight of modern day learners with their bumper to bumper, multitasking, full throttle ahead lives, the point of Philosophy is to help people reduce and transform this stress, not to sanction and co-op it by using the same medium which causes so much of the anxiety, distraction and sense of overload in the first place. As Thomas Hobbes said, “Leisure is the Mother of Philosophy.”
As a counter-cultural tool of spiritual and political resistance the art of philosophizing aims to create more space in our lives by helping us to focus on one thing at a time; it slows us down and grounds us in the most primordial experiences of personal and interpersonal communication. Rather than feed into our socially conditioned drive to do more and become more, the discipline works to shift our attention from the kinetic pace of worldly success to the slow but ultimate goal of self awareness. This is a dynamic, sensational, tactile, semantic and multidimensional dialogue which occurs in person and in real time.
When we choose to communicate over wires and screens we are not fully present with other people in a way that allows the mechanics of philosophy to work properly. An instructor may see a student’s body and they may hear their words but they can not sense their presence in a room; nor can they gauge how their expressions are being analysed by other students. I tend to think that the best philosophy teachers are listeners who can hear silent moments of transition before they happen; they can play off the pregnant moments of creative agitation, and they know when to hold onto or let go of a moment based on an intuitive flow of the discourse. This artistic science can not be simulated virtually.
Unfortunately so many vital pedagogical skills are nearly impossible to replicate over the computer.I am referring to one’s physical mobility within the classroom itself, the cultivation of empathic sensitivity, the use of well timed humor, classroom design and ambiance, the implementation of physical rituals, and countless other psychological, emotive and aesthetic qualities imperative to good teaching. As I see it, there is the real thing and there is something like the real thing. Why should we settle for a pale imitation of the genuine experience? Why choose to live in Plato’s artificial cave when we know how to break the chains and walk out into the sunlight of the Real?
Although the discipline has impressive capacities for social adaptation and technological versatility, surely it is not reading chapters in a book, thinking alone, posting a response in a discussion forum, and then waiting for others to find time in their hectic lives to offer a response back. This may be a form of research, communication, or even learning, but it is not Philosophy. Nor is Philosophy watching YouTube videos, listening to lectures, or having conversations in virtual chat boxes that are interrupted by a constant parade of images, sites, pop up ads, and other distractions that come with being “connected.”
Nevertheless, a true philosopher always looks for flaws in their own presuppositions. Upon further reflection there are too many counterexamples for my position to be irrefutable. For example, there are those who can’t learn in a classroom due to ailments, handicaps, or anxieties of some sort. Am I willing to say that these students are not able to philosophize when they can only safely use the online forum? What about the poor who can’t afford to go to college yet have a library card and internet access? Are they also denied the opportunity to philosophize because of their station in life? How about prisoners and other members of society who are denied access to traditional academic opportunities? Is online learning somehow a feeble substitute for the learning they would receive outside the prison walls?
It was Bertrand Russell who once wrote, “To teach how to live without certainty and yet without being paralysed by hesitation is perhaps the chief thing that philosophy, in our age, can do for those who study it.”
With Russel’s words in mind, is my thesis essentially outmoded, misguided and hampered by prejudice? Can one hold an absolutist position without ignoring the realities of people who have vastly different learning needs? Am I just failing to live up to my own potential as a teacher when I turn my back on this challenge? Why can’t I make the medium work for my own particular style? Isn’t that what being a creative teacher is all about? Good questions all around.
But we do lose something necessary when Philosophy is uprooted out of the classroom and transplanted onto discussion boards. Skype may be an impressive piece of technology, bit it is not the same as being with your students in a physical setting. Finding a good teacher online is wonderful, but doing philosophy requires much more than logging into a website, or following a YouTube channel. As my personal struggle persists, the question at the heart of the matter continues to be: What does it mean to philosophize other than to access, absorb and announce information?
Besides, what happens when teachers begin to lose all of their classroom time? How much closer are we to the day when robots and recorded programs will be deemed more efficient and cost effective than human teachers? How much closer are we to the day when this prehistoric and most human endeavor will be dropped from our school curriculum all together?
At the risk of sounding sanctimonious, the reason I choose not to teach online has nothing to do with the quality of learners who gather there for help and inspiration, the unique challenges of the medium, or the inherent value of sharing ideas with people of different backgrounds. I choose not to teach online because I believe it is important to protect and preserve-if only symbolically- the role of in-class teaching which is currently under threat in academia. Frankly speaking, I am deeply concerned about the fate of a discipline that I cherish, and I can not bring myself to participate in something that inevitably harms it.
I fully realize that I may be a lone wolf crying in the wilderness. But at least my voice is crying for the survival of something that I love. Even if I am the only one who hears it, at least I am listening to a sound that I trust.