When Teaching Begins Before We Meet

On voice, anticipation, and the space where understanding starts

Introduction

Teaching does not always begin in the classroom.

Sometimes it begins in a voice —
in the evening before,
in the car on the way,
in a quiet moment before the day unfolds.

What happens when learning starts there?

When Teaching Begins Before We Meet

At one point in my teaching, I began to do something simple.

I started teaching before I met my students.

Not in a classroom.
But in a voice.

A short podcast. About ten minutes.
Recorded the day before a long lecture — sometimes six hours.

The students could listen whenever they wanted.
Some did so the night before.
Others in the car on their way to campus.
Some in a quiet moment before the day began.

I did not fully know what this would do.

But I sensed that something was happening.

A Space Without Walls

We tend to think of teaching as something that happens in defined spaces.

A classroom.
A lecture hall.
A place with clear boundaries.

But there are other spaces.

Spaces without walls.
Spaces that exist in transitions.

In the car.
Between places.
In the stillness before something begins.

This is where these short recordings lived.

Not as lectures.
But as openings.

When Something Has Already Begun

When the students arrived, they were no longer at the beginning.

Something had already started.

A concept may have lingered.
A question may have formed.
A quiet curiosity may have emerged.

The lecture did not begin in the room.

It had already begun.

Here we can recall Hans-Georg Gadamer:

Understanding does not begin with information.
It begins when something has already been set in motion within us.

That is what these moments created.

The Voice as Carrier

There is something about the human voice.

It does not demand the same attention as text.
It does not require stillness or full concentration.

It accompanies us.

It can be present without taking over.
It can move alongside our thoughts.

And perhaps this is why it works.

It does not impose itself.
It invites.

Not Answers, But Direction

These recordings were not explanations.

They were not summaries of the curriculum.

They were attempts to point.

What is at stake here?
Why might this matter?
What are we about to enter?

This is crucial:

They did not provide answers.
They offered direction.

A Meeting Before the Meeting

When the students entered the room, something had already taken place.

Not a full dialogue —
but the beginning of one.

In the language of Martin Buber, we might say that the encounter had already started.

Not yet a true I–Thou relationship,
but something moving in that direction.

An opening.

Why Does This Work?

There are several reasons.

But perhaps we can say it simply:

You meet the person before the role.

The student does not first encounter a subject.
But a voice.
A human presence.

And this changes how one listens.

You activate understanding before learning.

Instead of beginning with information,
you begin with movement.

Something starts working within the listener —
before they fully understand what they think.

You use open spaces.

Not controlled learning environments,
but transitional spaces where thoughts can wander.

And it is precisely there that something can take root.

You do not give answers — you open.

And because of that, the listener must enter the process.

The Afterlife of Teaching

The recording is still there.

Hundreds have listened.

It is easy to think in numbers.

But perhaps it is more meaningful to think this way:

Each listening is a meeting.

Gadamer reminds us that what is said does not remain in its original moment.
It continues to work.

Teaching does not end when the class is over.

It continues.

A Way Forward

Today, in my work with Practical Philosophy, I see that this was not just a pedagogical method.

It was a way of being in relation.

A way of saying:

This is something we can think about together.

Perhaps this can be continued.

Not as a technique.
But as a practice.

A voice before the text.
An opening before reflection.

Final Reflection

We live in a time where communication often aims to reach more people, faster and more clearly.

But perhaps there is also space for something else.

Something slower.
More open.

A voice that does not fill the space —
but opens it.

Closing Signature

Teaching does not necessarily begin when we meet.

Sometimes it begins in a voice,
in a space without walls,
before we even know what we are about to ask.

And perhaps it is there —
in that quiet prelude —
that something essential begins.

References (APA)

Buber, M. (1996). I and Thou. New York: Scribner.

Gadamer, H.-G. (2004). Truth and Method. London: Continuum.

Dewey, J. (1938). Experience and Education. New York: Macmillan.

The text is mine and written in a communication with OpenAI/ChatGPT, which also created the illustration with my instructions.