“Written words seem to talk to you as though they were intelligent, but if you ask them anything about what they say, from a desire to be instructed, they go on telling you just the same thing forever. And once a thing is put in writing, the composition, whatever it may be, drifts all over the place.”
Is that a critique about all those lurid conspiracy theories online that get more wildly outlandish when they get embellished and re-tweeted? Or is it from a high school teacher warning that fact-checking is a requirement to evaluate what students see or hear, especially online? Or is it a parent trying to tear a child’s fixation on a mesmerizing screen, imploring, “Look at me; listen to me, please!” The kid needs to see a face, not a screen, to take in the parent’s body language of love, concern, worry, even fear. A genuine human connection is essential — non-negotiable, you could say — in all these situations.
Of course, shouting predetermined talking points back and forth gets nowhere and is worse than worthless.
Those messages should ring loud and clear in the morass of misinformation and disinformation that bombards us these days. Actually they are Plato’s words, 24 centuries ago, in his Phaedrus, par. 275d, warning against replacing real live teachers or mentors with words reduced (pun intended) to writing. We always learn best from people we have come to know, love, and — above all — trust. Words in writing (Yes, even these!) are second-best and should be used only when face-to-face conversation isn’t possible.
Two points in this: Taking cellphones out of classrooms makes very good sense, and limiting tablets and laptops as well. And in a wider context, demanding, “Prove it! Show us facts!” is essential when a press secretary, for example, reads a carefully crafted piece of nonsense about a hot topic, whether it’s in Washington, Springfield, or a public forum close to home.
Democracy can die without genuine, thoughtful, probing dialogue.
Fred Reklau
Oak Park