What an exciting year for distance learning! Cutting-edge communication systems allowed colleges to escape the tired confines of face-to-face education. Bold new technologies made it possible for thousands of geographically dispersed students to enroll in world-class courses. Innovative assessment mechanisms let professors supervise their pupils remotely.
All this progress was good for business, too. Private entrepreneurs leapt at the chance to compete in the new distance learning marketplace, while Ivy League universities bustled to keep pace. True, a few naysayers fretted about declining student attention spans and low course-completion rates. But who could object to the expansively democratic goal of bringing first-rate education to more people than ever before? The new pedagogical tools promised to be not only more affordable than traditional classes, but also more effective at measuring student progress.
In the words of one prominent expert, the average distance learner "knows more of the subject, and knows it better, than the student who has covered the same ground in the classroom." Indeed, "the day is coming when the work done [via distance learning] will be greater in amount than that done in the class-rooms of our colleges." The future of education was finally here.
2012, right? Think again: 1885. The commentator quoted above was Yale classicist (and future University of Chicago President) William Rainey Harper, evaluating correspondence courses. That’s right: you’ve got (snail) mail. Journalist Nicholas Carr has chronicled the recurrent boosterism about mass mediated education over the last century: the phonograph, instructional radio, televised lectures. All were heralded as transformative educational tools in their day. This should give us pause as we consider the latest iteration of distance learning: massive open online courses (MOOCs).
In response to the "MOOC Moment,"skeptical faculty have begun questioning venture capitalists eager for new markets and legislators eager to dismantle public funding for American higher education. To their credit, some people pushing for MOOCs speak from laudably egalitarian impulses to provide access for disadvantaged students. But to what are they being given access? Are broadcast lectures and online discussions the sum of an education? Or is an education something more than "content" delivery?
To state the obvious: there’s a living, human element to education. We who cherish in-person instruction would benefit from a pithy phrase to defend and promote this millennia-tested practice. I propose that we begin calling it "close learning." "Close learning" evokes the laborious, time-consuming, and costly but irreplaceable proximity between teacher and student. "Close learning" exposes the stark deficiencies of mass distance learning such as MOOCs, and its haste to reduce dynamism, responsiveness, presence.
Techno-utopians seem surprised that "blended" or "flipped" classrooms – combining online media with in-person discussions – are more effective than their online-only counterparts, or that one-on-one tutoring strengthens the utility of MOOCs. In spite of all the hype about interactivity, "lecturing" a la MOOCs merely extends the cliché of the static, one-sided lecture hall, where distance learning begins after the first row.
The old-fashioned Socratic seminar is where we actually find interactive learning and open-ended inquiry. In the close learning of the live seminar, spontaneity rules. Both students and teachers are always at a crossroads, collaboratively deciding where to go and where to stop, how to navigate and how to detour, and how to close the distance between a topic and the people discussing it. For the seminar to work, certain limits are required (most centrally, a limit in size). But these finite limits enable the infinity of questioning that is close learning. MOOCs claim to abolish those limits, while they paradoxically reinstate them. Their naïve model assumes that there is always total transparency, that passively seeing (watching a lecture, or a virtual simulation) is learning.
A Columbia University neuroscientist, Stuart Firestein, recently published a polemical book titled Ignorance: How It Drives Science. Discouraged by students regurgitating his lectures without internalizing the complexity of scientific inquiry, Firestein created a seminar to which he invited his colleagues to discuss what they don’t know. As Firestein repeatedly emphasizes, it is informed ignorance, not information, that is the genuine "engine" of knowledge. His seminar demonstrates that mere data transmission from teacher to student doesn’t produce deep learning. It’s the ability to interact, to think hard thoughts alongside other people.
In a seminar, a student can ask for clarification, and challenge a teacher; a teacher can shift course when spirits are flagging; a stray thought can spark a new insight. Isn’t this the kind of nonconformist "thinking outside the box" that business leaders adore? So why is there such a rush to freeze knowledge and distribute it in a frozen form? Even Coursera co-founder Andrew Ng concedes that the real value of a college education "isn’t just the content.... The real value is the interactions with professors and other, equally bright students."
The corporate world recognizes the virtues of proximity in its own human resource management. Witness, for example, Yahoo’s recent decision to eliminate telecommuting and require employees to be present in the office. CEO Marissa Mayer’s memo reads as a mini-manifesto for close learning:
"To become the absolute best place to work, communication and collaboration will be important, so we need to be working side-by-side. That is why it is critical that we are all present in our offices. Some of the best decisions and insights come from hallway and cafeteria discussions, meeting new people, and impromptu team meetings. Speed and quality are often sacrificed when we work from home. We need to be one Yahoo!, and that starts with physically being together."
Why do boards of directors still go through the effort of convening in person? Why, in spite of all the fantasies about “working from anywhere,” are “creative classes” still concentrating in proximity to one another: the entertainment industry in LA, information technology in the Bay Area, financial capital in New York City? The powerful and the wealthy are well aware that computers can accelerate the exchange of information, and facilitate low-level "training." But not the development of knowledge, much less wisdom.
Close learning transcends disciplines. In every field, students must incline towards their subjects: leaning into a sentence, to craft it most persuasively. Leaning into an archival document, to determine an uncertain provenance. Leaning into a musical score, to poise the body for performance. Leaning into a data set, to discern emerging patterns. Leaning into a laboratory instrument, to interpret what is viewed. MOOCs, in contrast, encourage students and faculty to lean back, not to cultivate the disciplined attention necessary to engage fully in a complex task. Low completion rates for MOOCs (hovering around 10 percent) speak for themselves.
A devotion to close learning should not be mistaken for an anti-technology stance. (Contrary to a common misperception, the original Luddites simply wanted machines that made high-quality goods, run by trained workers who were adequately compensated.) I teach Shakespeare, supposedly one of the mustiest of topics. Yet my students navigate the vast resources of the Internet; evaluate recorded performances; wrestle with facsimiles of original publications; listen to pertinent podcasts; survey decades of scholarship in digitized form; circulate their drafts electronically; explore the cultural topography of early modern London; and contemplate the historical richness of the English language. Close learning is entirely compatible with engaging in meaningful conversations outside the classroom; faculty can correspond regularly with students via e-mail, and keep in close contact via all kinds of new media. But this is all in service of close learning, and the payoff comes in the classroom.
Teachers have always employed "technology" – including the book, one of the most flexible and dynamic learning technologies ever created. But let’s not fixate upon technology for technology’s sake, or delude ourselves into thinking that better technology overcomes bad teaching. At no stage of education does technology, no matter how novel, ever replace human attention. Close learning can’t be automated, or scaled up.
As retrograde as it might sound, gathering humans in a room with real time for dialogue still matters. As educators, we must remind ourselves – not to mention our boards, our alumni, our students, and those students’ parents – of the inescapable fact that our "product" is close learning. This is why savvy parents have always invested in intensive human interaction for their children. (Tellingly, parents from Silicon Valley deliberately restrict their children’s access to electronic distractions, so that they might experience the free play of mind essential to human development.) What remains to be seen is whether we value this kind of close learning at all levels of education, enough to defend it, and fund it, for a wider circle of Americans – or whether we will continue to permit the circle to contract, excluding a genuinely transformative educational experience from those without means.
Scott L. Newstok teaches in the English department at Rhodes College.
Lawyers and a disability rights advocate stressed that faculty members must be proactive rather than reactive in making sure their online courses and materials are accessible for students with disabilities.
Love MOOCs or hate them, there’s something to disappoint everyone in the Udacity/Georgia Tech services contract amendments that Inside Higher Ed’s Ry Rivard obtained through a public records request.
Although MOOCs have monopolized definitions of higher education reform for nearly two years now, some academic managers have wondered whether they shouldn’t extend online instruction on the base of their existing online programs, rather than partnering with an MOOC platform like Udacity. A consortium of Midwestern research universities recently took a major step in this direction in suggesting that their members might evolve their own "coordinated platform for the development and delivery of online or blended courses” for the whole consortium’s use.
In contrast, the strongest argument to skip internal development and hire MOOC companies has been the companies' claim to bring revolutionary cost savings to colleges and their students with their revolutionary technology. Unfortunately for all concerned, there is no sign in the Udacity spreadsheets of massive online cost-cutting services. Nor can the savings that do appear be traced directly to the Udacity platform.
The contract, between Udacity and the Georgia Tech Research Corporation (GTRC), aims to create a MOOC master’s degree in computer science — described as "the first professional online master of science degree in computer science (OMS CS) that can be earned completely through the ‘massive online’ format." The hook is the low low price -- $6,630, according to Rivard, or one-seventh of the $40,000-plus price of a face-to-face computer science M.S. at the same institution.
But when we look for massive cost savings in the Georgia Tech-Udacity spreadsheets, what do we find? In Year 1 (Exhibit H), things don’t look so cheap. The two entities together will spend about $3.1 million running a program for an estimated 200 students in the first semester. This comes to around $15,700 per year per enrolled student. The figure is close to what the University of California Office of the President says it spends educating all UC students averaged together (Display 6). In Year 1, Udacity-Georgia Tech costs look like those of a good, conventional public university program.
But wouldn’t Semester 1 naturally be burdened by start-up costs and a steep learning curve? Yes, were Georgia Tech designing the platform from scratch. But Udacity is supposed to have already solved higher education’s "cost disease" with its technology. We’ll note that Year 1 is not plug-and-play. Years 2 and 3, when student volume increases, feature courses that are in the can, and low marginal costs of instruction could kick in.
Here’s where things get disappointing.
First of all, the budgets don’t fit with the enrollment plan. Each student takes "6 credit hours (2 courses) per semester" in a 12-course master's. The enrollment forecast "assumes 200 pending full standing (degree-seeking) students begin the program each semester and all 200 in semester 1 become full-standing students .... in semester 2." So in semester 6, the enrollment forecast has semester 1 students in their final term, and five more semesters of 200 new students apiece, for a total of 1,200 students. That is a lot of growth in the existing program that now admits 150 new students a year (page 2). But on the spreadsheet, year 3 revenues have increased nearly 14-fold, to over $19 million. This income requires over 2,800 student FTE in Year 3 (based on Year 1 per-student revenues), which is more than double the enrollment forecast found in the footnotes.
But in fact, the partnership is not collecting $6,630 per year but per degree, and the degree is estimated to take three years. So the typical student in any given year is paying $2,210 in tuition. At that annual price, $19 million of Year 3 revenue requires 8,700 paying student FTE. This figure is larger than the total number of computer science master’s degrees granted in 2009-10 in the United States (Table 4). Even after noting an untapped global market, this Year 3 number is not credible for degree program enrollment.
At least two conflicting enrollment scenarios are supported by different parts of these documents: (1) growth to 1,200 in Semester 6, and (2) growth to 8,700 in Year 3. (1) fits with reasonable estimates of the time it takes to design and produce new classes, hire and train many "course assistants" (CAs), solve infrastructure issues, and so on, while abiding by the Georgia Tech faculty’s desire to enforce the institution’s high academic standards.
Scenario (2), however, fits with MOOC hype about the "digital revolution" cracking open closed universities to massive global markets by teaching at "effectively zero dollars marginal cost per additional student," in the words of Coursera's co-founder, Daphne Koller. With $14.4 million in expenses in Year 3, a OMS CS with an implausible enrollment of 8,700 students would spend about $1,655 per year per student, or under $5,000 per degree. The cost is ultra-low for a master’s degree, or for any other kind.
How would the OMS CS get to this cost? The simple answer is that it wouldn’t. The faculty working group expected a 30:1 student:TA ratio. The contract says 1 contact hour per student credit hour, or 104,400 contact hours per year for 8,700 students, each of whom gets a total of 12 hours of personal attention in that time, or 36 hours over the 3-year program. At the same time, the first-year co-sponsor, AT&T, expects 100 percent online instruction, which is cheap only when stripped of personal attention (whether online, via Skype, or in person). There is a big difference between 290 CAs with the 30:1 ratio, the 87 who at 40 hours a week could deliver 12 hours per student per year, and zero for the online model that eliminates personal attention. (The budget for student support suggests something close to 87.) With this slippage, Udacity can appeal to the corporate belief that the future of teaching is no teachers, while hiring quasi-teachers to suppress that belief’s results.
Let’s turn from price to cost. Regardless of real enrollment growth, the spreadsheets undermine two key assumptions about commercial MOOCs. The first is that MOOCs offer an automation of teaching that will allow the elimination and/or the cheapening of most teaching staff. This is how Taylorism worked in assembly-line industrialization, and how robotics has worked in manufacturing.
But in the budget, the category of "student support" grows in lockstep with revenue (up 13.8x and 13.9x respectively). One simple reason is that the Georgia Tech faculty wants the OMS CS to have "world-class quality," and that means "blended" or "hybrid" courses. Fully online courses are cheaper, but they generate the highest attrition rates in the history of higher education. Quality MOOCs are always blended MOOCs, and blended MOOCs have lots of CAs (coming mostly from Udacity), which means they aren’t actually MOOCs in the sense of the imagined near-zero personnel costs that has set the business and policy worlds on fire.
This is an important admission that a MOOC is "as good or better" than hands-on instruction only through much hands-on instruction. (Coursera’s recent announcement of 10 public university partnerships also focuses on blended services.) This blocks online’s alleged cost revolution — although online support for instruction obviously helps with costs.
Next, there’s an unpleasant surprise in the equally relentless growth of "Operations, Materials, & Supplies." This is where Udacity’s proprietary technology was supposed to rescue teaching budgets from the medieval methods that currently bloat them. In fact, looking at the budget, its platform does nothing to cut operating costs. The cost of examinations is particularly large. The big savings, ironically, come by squeezing innovation — payments to course creators flatten out — and by leveraging overhead. But there’s nothing novel in these practices. It’s easy to reduce expenses by giving the same lecture over and over, which is what existing online courses are designed to do. The same goes for running more volume on the same equipment, which is another time-honored university tactic.
The Udacity-GTRC contract raises the question of what exactly Udacity brings to the table. First, it brings its platform. Yet its platform is not transformative — not visibly better, faster, or cheaper than what Georgia Tech’s computer science department has already created or could create with new resources for this purpose.
Second, there are some net revenues. With a profit of $1,665 per degree, the program would earn $14.5 million on the untenable 8,700 graduates, or about $4.8 million per year. Sixty percent of this total (or $2.9 million) would go to GTRC. This amounts to a bit over 1 percent of GTRC’s annual research revenues, even with this high number of enrollments. On top of this, GTRC would get 20 percent of gross revenues and 20 percent of gross profits for non-OMS students that use Georgia Tech courses through Udacity. But these are MOOC students who will in general not pay anything. Georgia Tech probably has better margins on its existing extension programs, and could also support its institutional needs with new, smaller programs that it runs on its own.
What Udacity does bring to the table is platform branding. The company has positioned itself as a first mover and dominant player in what it describes as a new global market. Its founder is high-status, famous, and influential. Sebastian Thrun is associated with Google’s driverless car and with Stanford’s artificial intelligence program. He co-signed a deal to provide three entry-level courses to San Jose State University in the presence of the governor of California.
A similar story of brand dominance can be told about Coursera and its co-founder Daphne Koller, whose access to decision makers extends to the World Economic Forum conference at Davos. The three main MOOC companies have had the clout to sign deals directly with a given institution’s senior managers, over the heads of the university faculty. Since Internet and communications technologies seem always to lead to oligarchy (Google/Bing/Yahoo) or duopoly (Apple OS /Microsoft Windows), Udacity can pitch its platform as one of the very few ways for universities to stay in a global online game.
In exchange for presenting itself as an oligarch in waiting, Udacity extracts quite a bit from Georgia Tech. Udacity gets the intellectual content for a master’s program of 20 courses at an upfront cost of $400,000. It borrows Georgia Tech’s reputation as its own, at a huge discount (no training of graduate students, no support for labs, no decades of accumulated know-how through which Georgia Tech earned its reputation). It acquires these courses for a proprietary platform: Georgia Tech cannot offer these OMS CS courses, created by its own faculty, to a competing distributor.
Udacity expects Georgia Tech faculty members to maintain and update course material, and can use their latest version. While requiring that Georgia Tech not compete with it, it can take Georgia Tech-created courses and offer them to tens or hundreds of thousands of non-registered students — and sell a program certificate for those courses. These courses will differ from Georgia Tech’s in being "minimally staffed to rely on course assistants only for student assessment," but will use Georgia Tech’s content to compete with Georgia Tech’s and all other masters’ programs. With these courses, Udacity enters the master's certification business, selling a complete degree program without a degree’s intellectual ecology, physical infrastructure, interpersonal venues, and sunk costs.
Udacity’s business model requires that it become a dominant platform. With a series of Georgia Tech-style deals for entire degree programs, it could leverage university content — with sustained free-riding -- to appear to the public as a global university.
For two years, claims about the cheapness of the MOOC format overcame widespread doubts about their educational and social effects. During this time, the main MOOC companies did not release specific financial projections. Now we finally have two spreadsheets, and their claims to cheapness are not confirmed.
If these costs are typical, it will be more efficient for universities to partner directly with other universities to develop online instruction for underserved students -- and avoid taking on yet another middleman to do one of their two basic jobs.
But many of the concerns driving opposition to MOOCs and other new forms of higher education aren't compelling.
One of the most common doubts about MOOCs in higher education, for example, is that some numbers suggest fewer than 10 percent of enrollees complete the classes (though figures vary widely for different MOOC models).
Well, so what? Most dieters quit; does this mean universities should abandon wellness education? Should they cut smoking cessation programs? Should rural schools in Pakistan be shuttered because many children in the area won’t or can’t walk four miles from home to learn?
Another common forecast from academics is that universities will use MOOCs to eliminate tenure-track positions, fire vulnerable adjuncts, and commodify higher education.
But wait, we were just told that only 10 percent of MOOC enrollees finish. Doesn’t that mean colleges and universities will still need professors in the flesh and brick facilities to educate people who don’t thrive in online classrooms? Yes, because online learning is just a natural component — not a replacement — of higher education in our age of screens.
The fear that MOOCs and other online teaching will whittle academic departments is overstated, but even if it isn’t, who are we trying to benefit here? If, say, a Yale University MOOC allows 200 students in Honduras and Hawaii to complete an Ivy League chemistry class, and the same MOOC results in the elimination of an adjunct position in Honolulu, I’m not sure I see a clearly defined catastrophe.
Philosophy faculty at San Jose State University recently sent an open letter to a Harvard MOOC professor, publicly refusing to use any of the academic’s MOOC in their curriculum. Now, is the decision to never use any of the Harvard MOOC, made available by a trial partnership between San Jose State and edX, the ideal verdict for every San Jose State student who ever takes philosophy? Doubtful.
There are far more students than professors in higher education, and the system is supposed to be set up for the aspirants, not the academics. I want universities to have robust, supported faculty, and I’m a professor myself, but MOOC-triggered alarms that that focus solely on faculty positions put the teacher first, learner last. Online learning (both MOOCs and other new models) should simply be viewed as another way to reach learners where they are, and as a way to acknowledge different learning styles.
The grandest warning against MOOCs is that the online courses will devastate in-person education as we know it, erasing all the dynamics of classrooms, the pheromones, and instantaneous feedback.
But forms of communication don’t die; devices do. The best way to teach will always be in person, but technologies can be utilized to also help those who can’t be in the room. Why does Eric Schmidt fly around the world to expand Google’s business? Why do tech elites at Apple still gather in meeting rooms like the cast of "Mad Men"? Because the best way to forge meaningful ties is face-to-face. We still need to seize online technologies, though, to connect more learners to teachers.
One of the more legitimate concerns regarding MOOCs and other new forms of online instruction involves intellectual property rights. Who retains copyright privileges for online courses that can cost a university a lot to produce, but are also the fruit of professors’ creativity?
Some MOOCs and other initiatives literally require hundreds of thousands of dollars to launch. With sunk costs like that, universities want to retain ownership of the course. Rightfully, though, professors want to be able to take their course material with them, say, if they leave one university for another, or, in the age of monetized curriculums, to earn fees from their courses promoted by for-profit companies.
But the intellectual property concern doesn’t make people want to eliminate MOOCs, and rather hinges on who will retain distribution and financial rights to an online course.
Professors who want to teach MOOCs, not those who fear them, raise copyright concerns. Professors, presidents and provosts must reach acceptable agreements on rights to the moolah, just as they do for other contentious issues.
Online education is happening and we're going to see more of it, and educators can't hide under the covers.
Northwestern University, where I teach, will begin in the fall a pilot year of "Semester Online," a consortium project in which Northwestern students can take and receive credit for online courses from schools like Boston College, the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, Emory University and elsewhere. Northwestern professors, likewise, may teach classes online to students at colleges in the consortium. Such expansive online offerings could be especially useful in the future to my students, as I teach in Northwestern's journalism program in Qatar, over 7,000 miles from Evanston, Ill.
And that's the idea: to give students more options while jealously guarding quality. Colleges in the consortium will not accept credit for a "Wayne's World" MOOC broadcast from a basement, but rather courses from faculty at proven universities. This is a much better approach than closing one's eyes and hoping online learning goes away.
Justin D. Martin teaches journalism at Northwestern University in Qatar and serves on Northwestern’s Faculty Distance Learning Workgroup, though his views do not necessarily reflect the group’s perspectives. Follow him @Justin_D_Martin.