Thinking and learning to think

by Nathan Christ Schaeffer

The meaning of very many words is, of course, learned from the connection in which they occur. This, however, is not true of sesquipedalian words like the one mentioned above, nor of the technical terms by which science designates the things that have been accurately defined or quantified.

Fundamental ideas.

Technical terms are used to denote the ideas which lie at the basis of science. These fundamental ideas are appropriately called basal concepts. Since basal concepts cannot be transferred from the teacher’s mind to the pupils’ minds by merely teaching the corresponding technical terms, they must be developed by appropriate lessons. If this be neglected, there may be juggling with words and a show of knowledge; but close, accurate thinking is impossible. This seems to be so self-evident that one would hardly expect to meet violations of such a simple rule in the art of teaching. And yet it is related of the professor of physics in one of our largest universities that he began his course of lectures in this wise: “A rearrangement of the courses of study deprived you of the usual instruction in elementary physics. That is your misfortune, and not my fault.” Thereupon, he began his lectures on advanced physics as if the preparation of his class to think the concepts at the foundation of his science could be ignored without detriment to the progress of the student, as if confused minds and unsatisfactory thinking were not the inevitable outcome of juggling with technical terms apart from the concepts which they denote. A master in the art of teaching would have started on the plane occupied by the students. By development lessons he would have lifted them to the plane of thought on which he intended to move. He would have considered their mental progress of more consequence than the course of lectures which he was in the habit of delivering. The student, and not the study, should have held the chief place in his professional horizon.

Abuse of text-books.

In another State university the professor of physics applied to an influential member of the board of trustees for an appropriation for apparatus. “Teach what is in the text-book; then you will not need apparatus,” was the reply. It seems almost incredible that a trustee of a modern university should fail to see the difference between an experiment actually performed and a description of the experiment in a text-book. More incredible still does it seem when we hear of professors who see no difference between an experiment made in the presence of a student and an experiment made by the student himself.

Apparatus and experiments.

Agassiz.

Pictures of apparatus and descriptions of experiments should, of course, not be despised or neglected. They are helpful in forming concepts of that which cannot be brought before a class. When made by the learner himself, as a result of his own work, they serve to clarify his thinking, and furnish a sure test of the pupil’s progress and of the teacher’s skill as a guide and instructor. A drawing, or even a statement in the pupil’s own words, is often an astonishing revelation of the crude notions which pictures give. The city lad who said that a cow was no bigger than a finger-nail because he had often measured its size in the First Reader is a typical example. The ability to interpret pictures and descriptions comes from actual knowledge of things similar to what is depicted or described. The noted teacher, Agassiz, made a difference in his directions to beginners and advanced students. To the former he would give specimens, with directions to study them without referring to a book. Having taught them how to use their eyes, he would gradually lead them to the method of interpreting and verifying the statements of an author. And when the advanced student was set to work at original investigations, he was told to study certain books, as it would save much valuable time. One of his pupils writes, “I shall never forget a forceful lesson given me by the great Agassiz, when I studied with him in the Museum of Cambridge. I worked near a young man from Cleveland, Ohio, who has since achieved distinction as a teacher of biology. I was comparatively a beginner, however, while he was well advanced in his studies. On a certain day Agassiz came sauntering by, and stopped long enough to tell me not to use the library so much, but to confine myself to observations of the specimens on hand and the writing of my observations and comments. Passing on a little farther, he spoke to my friend and said, ‘Albert, when you go home, this summer, to Cleveland, I wish you would make a special study of a certain kind of fish found in the harbor there. It is not found plentifully anywhere else in the world. Take a row-boat and go three hundred yards northeast of the point of the breakwater, and you will find them in abundance. Before going home, get the only three books ever written on this fish from the library here and read them. It will save your time to read them before beginning to study the fish itself.’”[3] Agassiz was as anxious to teach the right use of books as is the professor of literature; but he adapted his directions to the degree of advancement which his students had attained, and did not neglect the formation of the basal concepts and the habits of study needful in the sciences he taught.

Botany.

How little the exhortations of our educational reformers have been taken to heart by some teachers is evident from the recent experiences of a normal school principal, who had great difficulty in finding a satisfactory teacher of botany. The students could invariably answer the questions of the State Board of Examiners by filling pages of manuscript with technical terms. In the field they could not distinguish one plant from another. In despair, the principal said to his teacher of psychology, “Why can we not apply common sense to the teaching of botany? Can we not plant seeds, watch their growth, and study the growing specimens instead of the pictures in a text-book?” “If you will give me the class in botany, I will try it,” was the reply. Before the next class took up botany, every chalk-box was emptied and every flower-pot utilized in the planting of seeds. In no long time there appeared on the fences of neighboring farms sign-boards with the inscription, “Trespassing on these fields is forbidden, under penalty of the law.” The members of the class were traversing the country, studying the real flowers, the growing plants, instead of the technical terms of a text-book. At the next final examination, the herbarium which each one had prepared, together with the accompanying analysis and drawings of parts which could not be described, including colorings in imitation of the actual colors of the flowers, gave evidence of real knowledge, and served to satisfy the examiners, although the array of technical terms was far less formidable.