Seminar and silence
We begin a class next week on technology and our relationships with it. I'm thinking the best way to start talking about it is to say nothing at all.
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The closest we have come to devising a system for attuning a person to the intellectual life is to surround her with others aiming at the same thing for as long as the relevant parties can continue to afford it, and hope for the best.
Agnes Callard, a faculty member at the University of Chicago, wrote those words near the close of her essay about what happens inside the buildings on a university and how much of the good work of the university is unseen—mainly the activities of teaching and learning. Her words come across as a bit flip—since they glancingly refer to the high cost of college education—but they ring true, especially in the kind of class that Callard describes: a class based on reflection and exchange, of deep dives into texts and experience.
I’ve come to realize that defining a “good seminar” is like defining “quality”—in some ways I guess they’re alike. You have trouble defining what “quality” is in itself, but you can define the conditions where “quality” might emerge. Good seminars are like that, but the conditions can be difficult to pin down without stabbing the life out of fruitful seminar exchanges. And, for some classes, having an unvarying plan and outline is often a sure-footed pathway to something other than an intellectual life. (My habit, by the way, is to plan meticulously.)
I’ve written about seminars (and salons) before, and I’ve considered what grading does to learning. Lately, I’ve been thinking about how one can enact what Callard says—to encourage intellectual life by surrounding students “with others aiming at the same thing.” That is, how does a seminar leader help everyone “aim at the same thing” without falling into a trap in a seminar of taking over, controlling too much, of “spoon-feeding” as if students were babies?
What if we gathered in a new, perhaps unconventional way? Like, in silence.
First, what this fall’s seminar is about
Its title is “From Siri to Skynet: Our Complex Relationships With Technology”—a name that I inherited, I should add. It includes the perfunctory colon that appears in many academic titles, and especially in humanities publications. The online course listing wisely shortens the name to “OUR RELATIONSHIPS WITH TECH” which is a bit less artful but fits in the mechanized character limit. The shortened title may also be a bit more accurate, since I don’t include either Siri or Skynet in the class, though sometimes they make cameo appearances in discussion.
The class has progressive “themes,” beginning with a rather challenging four-session introduction that provides some common language and concepts. Students very frequently constrain the concept of technology to what’s now often signified by the word tech—mainly computer or digitally based tools and features. The iPhone is probably symbolizes this (actually quite tiny) domain best. But technology in the seminar includes far more and, I think, is far more interesting as a result. Certainly, technology is manifest in things like smartphones; it’s also manifest in mundane things like wheelbarrows, books, and in humongous infrastructures like electrical power, which despite their utility and ubiquity have become almost invisible to us. Technology expresses human ingenuity and emerges from some essential kernel of humanness. It may also be a force and influence in itself, guiding (and maybe even forcing) movements in human society and culture.
After the bootcamp-like regimen of the first couple of weeks, we move to explore the “complex relationships” of technology and art and creativity, representations of the human in machines, paradoxes of surveillance, and ambiguous promise of technologies in, say, human well-being and discovery and research. Some specific examples ground these explorations: students assess their social media use, “dox” their professor, ponder sex robots, analyse technologies of “empathy” (or its simulation), unpack a war crime with 3D representations.
As the semester unfolds students in previous years have discovered a sense that human culture, in all its messiness, in some ways entwines the powers of technology with humanity, shaping human beings as they shape and create. There’s the complexity, its promise, and its perils.
Silence as a language
So, that’s a quickly sketched description of the course topics and content. The course is also a seminar, which makes it a special challenge, since its success relies on interaction around a table—which is, in my view, the most effective educational technology yet.
When I was reframing the seminar for this fall’s round I consulted former students and reflected on previous experiences, a process that I’ve had from the beginning of my teaching. The students’ suggestions and my more seasoned judgment crystallized into the plan and resources for the seminar. I also considered behaviors of students who contributed to the seminar exchanges and those who did not, or at least contributed less than I believed they could have. Interactions are of course near the roots of the seminar experience, so fostering a productive involvement is important—and I think all in a seminar need to have a sense of ownership and a sense of common direction, even though they may differ in their views.
I particularly thought of one student last fall who had much that could be offered but who held close, in part because that student in particular could offer ideas and offerings sometimes ran contrary to others’ ideas—which for me as a leader would be very useful in discussion. The student was reserved, and in that way signaled to me that the class was for others, not a matter of “ownership.”
But how to get everyone together? How to impress that the seminar was everyone’s responsibility?
I’ve decided to try something a bit unconventional. Rather than imploring or deploying the old teacherly tools of grade threats, I’ll try silence. I’d seen this work in other settings and felt effects of silence myself.
Last fall, as the semester came to a close, three students treated me to a “Flunch” (a faculty lunch paid for by the dean or someone in the college). Over the salad, one of the students asked, “How do you manage the discussion in class?” I was a bit mystified myself. “I think it’s a matter of listening,” I replied, “that, and being comfortable with silence.”
I’d seen more clearly structured silence work, too. Years ago, when my wife and I were considering private school for my eldest son, we visited a nearby Friends school. We were there to start the school day, and everyone gathered in a large hall— the young and the old together. The students entered chattering and goofing around and quickly settled with a small bit of shushing from the teachers. The opening of the day was quiet, a silent time lasting a few minutes, teachers and students together. The only noises were the occasional cough, shuffling of feet, clearing of throats. Then came announcements and off to class.
I knew the Society of Friends used silence in their meetings, but I had seen it as a sign of personal piety or a shrinking into private thoughts. Until our visit to the Friends school, I had not seen silence as a means of bringing together and setting forth afresh.
Silence and its “managerial” uses appears in business literature, too. When he was a meeting “facilitator,” leadership coach and speaker Kevin Eikenberry admitted that “I wanted people to share ideas. I wanted energy and momentum and synergy. And when I didn’t get that, my first thought was that they were disinterested, disengaged, and not listening.” But he came to realize that being “engaged in a meeting doesn’t necessarily mean you are talking. In a world of overwhelming noise, silence is a powerful force that can help us cultivate relationships, encourage reflection, and improve our overall communication ability.” He adds that “silence isn’t just necessary, it must be created.” The idea of using silence in meetings is pretty well established, though with permutations.
Our lives are filled with clamor and rushing. Heaven knows this is especially the case for students. A little silence may open up new ways of thinking, as I’ve mentioned in an earlier post.
And, of course, most of us have experienced disconcerting “moments of silence.” Absent the noises of life, our focus changes, wanders a bit, sees things that maybe we did not see before. Shared silence also gathers people in a shared experience, even though that experience masquerades as “nothing.”
My eldest son—the one we were thinking about the Friends school for — eventually attended a Quaker college, though I should say we’re not Quakers. A small private college with a commitment to undergraduate education and respect for the individual, wherever they are in life. He said that a few of his professors began classes with a brief period of quiet.
I think I’ll try it. One minute of silence to start the class.
Let’s see how it works. I’ll let you know.
Got a comment?
A postscript for my incoming students: I’m looking forward to seeing you on Friday on East Campus! No doubt the venue will be loud and we won’t have the option of silence. It will be great to meet you face-to-face.
Tags: 4'33", John Cage, silence, meeting, noise, focus, technology, ethics
Links, cited and not, some just interesting
The first words of the post come from this essay: Callard, Agnes. “The Real College Scandal.” The Point Magazine, August 15, 2021. https://thepointmag.com/examined-life/the-real-college-scandal/.
A different use of silence—doing meeting stuff without talking about it: Rogelberg, Steven G., and Liana Kreamer. “The Case for More Silence in Meetings.” Harvard Business Review, June 14, 2019. https://hbr.org/2019/06/the-case-for-more-silence-in-meetings.
Another business use of silence: Iversen, Anne. “Begin Your Corporate Mindfulness Journey With Silence.” Forbes, May 18, 2022. https://www.forbes.com/sites/forbeshumanresourcescouncil/2022/05/18/begin-your-corporate-mindfulness-journey-with-silence/.
An interesting collection of silence related essays. Wide ranging and more academically focused: “The Anthropology of Silence.” Accessed August 22, 2022. http://anthropologyofsilence.com/
“Colonic titles”? Eew. Schultz, David M. “Whether to Use Colons in Titles.” Eloquent Science (blog), March 30, 2010. https://eloquentscience.com/2010/03/whether-to-use-colons-in-titles/.
I can’t help myself. This website tells the time by excerpts from books. It relates to nothing in this post. It relates to everything in this post, maybe. Genius. A great example of the wonderful weirdness of the Internet. “Literature Clock.” Accessed August 24, 2022. https://literature-clock.jenevoldsen.com/
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Very interesting. How did it go? In my career as a teacher, of 11-18 year olds, I always used silence as a way of getting the right atmosphere for learning. No need to say anything, just stand silently.
In my non-teaching activities, especially in meetings, I adopt the view expressed by Salvator Rosa:
"Be silent, unless what you have to say is better than silence."
I love the "moment of silence". I did something similar when I taught. I would start my music classes with everyone performing a particular piece:
* Start together, sing a note for a full breath
* Take a new breath, now sing any of the notes you hear anyone else singing
* Repeat until everyone is singing the same note
Sometimes it took a couple minutes, sometimes it went on for a few more. It was a good way to bring everyone into a mindset of participation and subtly reinforce a message of harmony and unity. It was also quite beautiful at times.
I found this kind of "daily reset" helpful for getting the kids to settle down and focus, and doing the same thing before every class became a defining ritual.
I also had one I would bust out if they were getting sleepy: Laura Dean's "Jumping Dance". Everyone stands up. One person starts jumping up and down on a steady pulse, and every time your feet hit the ground, you go "HA!" Everyone does it at the same time, same note, etc. Repeat until everyone is too tired to continue.