Following in the footsteps of Marshall McLuhan, I have used Edgar Allen Poe’s short story “The Maelstrom” as a way to describe rhetorical strategy, kairos, and how argument really works away from all the too-firm theories that are floating around out there.

Now I’m thinking that the Maelstrom is a useful metaphor for universities and university instructors to plan for the rough times ahead. Just like in the story, universities cross a dangerous stretch of water every year, hoping that they will be able to make it out and back before the storm arrives. To be caught in the storm certainly means that you are going to be pulled directly to the bottom.

The narrator of the story is caught in a maelstrom and there doesn’t appear to be a way out. For a moment, the character can see the wall of water around him, and notices that things he thought would sink are moving up the column, and things that he believed would float are heading to the bottom. He decides to lash himself to a heavy object in hopes that this will be pushed to the top of the whirlpool.

For rhetoric, the meaning is pretty obvious, at least to me. It’s much more valuable to look around and make use of the way things are floating around you in your situation and encounter with topic and audience than it is to stay committed to the things that you brought with you. Things you prepare alone are always going to be persuasive for you. But the audience has their own assumptions and feelings, and those might work in ways that make little sense to you, but still work. The goal isn’t to be right; the goal is to persuade, or at least to bring the audience closer to your point of view (which is often what persuasion ends up being, realistically).

For online teaching, what instructors have been doing is panicked grasping to things that they think will keep their class afloat in this mess. Quizzes, daily discussion, handing in various reading reactions, etc on a near daily or weekly basis is much more frequent than would be assigned in an in-person course. The panic of not being able to see the students makes instructors think that they have no idea if the students are engaged, learning, or “paying attention” – whatever that means. Often this last one is just “looking at me while I’m talking.” Not the best measure of student engagement quite honestly.

These measures are all comfortable and familiar and we believe they tell us something. We believe they have the power to keep the objectives of the class floating. But in this unusual situation, frequent daily or weekly stress of doing a bunch of work that isn’t clearly connected to a larger goal in the course is just going to continue to pull the course to the bottom.

The panic that there are not comfortable ways or familiar ways to take stock of a class and see if people are engaged is very real, but we can’t just replicate the in person online and think that it will provide the same value or information. Honestly, the in-person metrics are more comfortable than valuable; I wonder if they actually float in any circumstances.

Looking around to what engages and works in the online space is what’s needed, even if it’s not familiar or comfortable. What we are looking for are things that communicate value to students. Things that make them feel that they are part of something educational, meaningful, and valuable.

For me what has gotten the biggest response are short podcasts just checking in with everyone that I post to our class chat about once a week. These are just audio recordings where I address questions I’ve received 2 or 3 times, mention a comment that someone left that I think is good, or general guidelines or thoughts I have about upcoming readings and assignments. The students really like these because they give them the sense they have something to hold onto that helps them stay afloat. Notice this doesn’t require them to do anything – it doesn’t add to an already stressful and over-assigned term.

One of the things I’m most frustrated by is how much of my ability to adapt is connected to professors who do not think – never think – that they need to adapt to the students. They think the students should be grateful to be able to hear the professor speak. They think they are transmitting the best information to the students. They also think they are defenders of “real” knowledge, and are noble for looking out for cheaters and those who trick the professor into giving out precious undeserved “points.” Nobody feels engaged or helped by seeing a bad laptop camera professor telling them that they need to read the syllabus.

I’m just hoping that by associating myself with the things that feel like they would sink I might get a chance to rise to the edge of the storm and be picked up by someone else. I think that the scramble for the things that appear to work, because they fit a shallow and undeveloped model of what it means to know or teach, is to ensure that your entire crew will be consumed by the maelstrom.