100 Paper NY Times = 1 Heavy Textbook

Alana Taylor, a journalism student at NYU, blogged about one of her classes:

Quigley [the teacher] tells us we have to remember to bring in the hard copy of the New York Times every week. I take a deep sigh. Every single journalism class at NYU has required me to bring the bulky newspaper. I don’t understand why they don’t let us access the online version, get our current events news from other outlets, or even use our NYT imes app on the iPhone. Bringing the New York Times pains me because I refuse to believe that it’s the only source for credible news or Pulitzer Prize-winning journalism and it’s a big waste of trees. . . I am taking the only old-but-new-but-still-old media class in the country.

Yeah. The same thing goes on all over campus where students are required to buy a heavy glossy textbook that costs about a semester of paper New York Times. As if the same info wasn’t free on the Web.

Long ago, textbooks were a fantastic bargain because they cost so much less than private tutors. And private tutors disappeared.

After Taylor’s unflattering piece, her thin-skinned professor, who had said “it’s essential for journalists to blog”, banned blogging about the class.

What’s Appreciative Thinking?

Ben Casnocha asks what I mean by appreciative thinking. A good question, since I invented the phrase. To learn appreciative thinking is to learn to appreciate, to learn to see the value of things. More or less the opposite of critical thinking.

That I had to make up a phrase shows the problem. I have complained many times about an overemphasis on critical thinking at universities. Sometimes I’d say, “Have you ever heard the term appreciative thinking? No? How many times have you heard the term critical thinking?”

When it comes to scientific papers, to teach appreciative thinking means to help students see such aspects of a paper as:

  1. What can we learn from it? What new ideas does it suggest? What already-existing plausible ideas does it make more plausible or less plausible?
  2. How is it an improvement over previous work? Does it use new methods? Does it use old methods in a new way? Does it show a better way to do something?
  3. Did the authors show good taste in their choice of problem? Is this a problem both important and possibly solvable?
  4. Are details done well? Is it well-written? Is the context of the work made clear? Are the data well-analyzed? Does it make good use of graphs? Is the discussion imaginative rather than formulaic?
  5. What’s interesting or enjoyable about it?

That sort of thing. In my experience few papers are worthless. But I’ve heard lots of papers called worthless.

The overemphasis — the total emphasis — on critical thinking has big and harmful consequences on graduate students. At Berkeley, in a weekly seminar called Animal Behavior Lunch, we would discuss a recent animal behavior paper. The dozen-odd graduate students could only find fault. Out of hundreds and hundreds of comments, I cannot remember a single positive one from a graduate student. Sometimes a faculty member would intervene: “Let’s not be too negative. . . . ” But week after week it kept happening. Relentless negativity caused trouble for the graduate students because every plan of their own that they thought of, they placed too much emphasis on what was wrong with it. Trying to overcome the problems, their research became too big and complicated. For example, they ran control groups before obtaining the basic effect. They had been very poorly taught — by all those professors who taught critical thinking.

When is Science Helpful?

Last spring, fourteen Chinese students from elite universities — seven from Tsinghua — traveled to several elite American universities, including Stanford, Harvard, and Yale, under the auspices of a program called IMUSE to discuss sensitive Chinese social topics, such as Tibet or censorship. One of the main events was panel discussions. The American students struck the Chinese students as admirably pragmatic but also in some cases “ignorant and arrogant”. In response to American students’ criticism, one Chinese student said this: “I eat a lot of rice. My ancestors ate a lot of rice. If you tell me to eat a lot of bread, I don’t know what to eat. I don’t know how to get a healthy diet.”

When I heard that comment, I said it was exactly right. Nutrition is perhaps 75% science, 25% religion. (The discovery of vitamins = science. Thinking the obesity epidemic is due to lack of exercise = religion.) The science part is helpful, the religious part is useless or, if taken seriously, harmful. Nutrition science is too uncertain to choose over the tried and true. Physics is almost 100% science. The stuff in physics textbooks has been used to build lots of useful stuff: buildings, bridges, computers. Economics and political science are perhaps 25% science — too little to rely on their recommendations, which was the Chinese student’s point. Better to rely on tradition. No one tells the American students any of this, however, and they believe far too much of what their professors tell them. (So much for all that teaching how “ to think and to reason.”) The result is they give foolish advice.

At Edge, four American experts tried to answer the question “Can science help solve the economic crisis?” Here is a bit of what they said:

Two basic assumptions must guide any thinking as we undertake these tasks. First, economies, financial institutions and markets cannot function without a context of rules and laws, which regulate them. . . . Second, mathematics, physics and computers already play a major and necessary role in our economic affairs.

They believed such statements are helpful. Nassim Taleb responded:

I spent close to 21 years in finance facing “scientists” in some field who show up in finance and economics, realize that economists and practitioners are not as smart as they are (they are not as “rigorous” and did not score as high in math), then think they can figure it all out. Nice, commendable impulse, but I blame the banking crisis (and other blowups) on such “scientism”. . . . Meanwhile the most robust understanding is present among practitioners who do not have the instinct to reduce ambiguity and uncertainty that scientists have. . . . Please, please, enough of this “science”. We have enough problems without you.

The Chinese student and Taleb are both saying that Big Ideas from elite American universities do not automatically improve on what people elsewhere have done for a long time. Weston Price and Jane Jacobs said the same thing. Somehow elite universities fail to teach this important lesson — perhaps because their professors haven’t learned it.

Thanks to Dave Lull.

Cornell President Says Ivy League Schools Teach Students “To Think”

President Nixon made some anti-Ivy-League comments. Here is how one Ivy-League college president recently responded:

David Skorton, the president of Cornell, was apprised of Nixon’s comments over the phone. “My mouth is open,” Skorton said, after the line went quiet. “Gosh, what a negative thing to say. Ivy League schools, like all good universities, teach people to think and to reason, and why would anyone be against that?”

To think and to reason. Now and then I’d hear a Berkeley professor say he taught his students “to think”. When they’d say it to me I’d ask what they meant by thinking. It always turned out that they meant critical thinking, seeing what’s wrong with this or that. Never appreciative thinking. This was like a flight school teaching take-offs but not landings. It also always turned out that they were teaching their students how to be like professors–teaching professorial job skills, in other words. To call those job skills “thinking” was like saying the world ended at the nearest river. Sure, their job involved thinking but other jobs also involved thinking, of a much different sort — were they not aware of this?

What Happens When a Professor is Wrong?

In an article in the Financial Times, Nassim Taleb and Pablo Triana write:

Risk methods that failed dramatically in the real world continue to be taught to students in business schools, where professors never lose tenure for the misapplications of those methods. As we are writing these lines, close to 100,000 MBAs are still learning portfolio theory — it is uniformly on the programme for next semester. An airline company would ground the aircraft and investigate after the crash — universities would put more aircraft in the skies, crash after crash.

Years ago, a cousin of mine was fond of saying something similar. He was majoring in English at UCLA. He didn’t think much of his professors. “What happens when a professor is wrong?” he would ask. “When an engineer is wrong, the bridge falls down. When a doctor is wrong, the patient dies. What happens when an English professor is wrong?” The answer, of course, was “nothing”. Now we will find out what happens when finance professors are wrong.

Thanks to Dave Lull.

What Makes A Good Student?

One of my Chinese teachers — the one who sold me my cell phone — said I was a good student.

“Why do you say that?” I asked.

She didn’t quite understand the question. “Number 1: You work hard. Number 2: You work hard. Number 3: You work hard,” she said.

She had never heard the joke about how to get to Carnegie Hall (“practice, practice, practice”). The joke is one of those convenient and reassuring lies. The real way to get to Carnegie Hall is 1. Ability to play well (based on practice, no doubt). 2. Charisma. 3. Money. See Judith Kogan’s brilliant Nothing But the Best: The Struggle For Perfection at the Julliard School for more about this. A few years ago I went to the Julliard bookstore and asked them about this book. They hadn’t heard of it!

Cargo-Cult Universities

From an article about bureaucratic suppression of Indian higher education:

Mr. Rao says space requirements are calculated to ensure students have the room to learn. “For quality education, you need enough space — enough space for labs, for teaching. Our experts decide based on these requirements after examining world-class universities.”

Richard Feynman criticized what he called cargo-cult science — pseudo-science (including my area, animal learning) that had the appearance of science but didn’t actually work. Mr. Rao’s beliefs about what quality education requires are based, like cargo cults, on what is easy to see.

Watching the Election Returns

I watched the election returns Wednesday morning in a totally packed Beijing cafe. Two McCain supporters, maybe 80 Obama supporters. I had to leave a little early; what I had thought was a dinner invitation was a lunch invitation, I had learned the day before. I sat next to two students from Harvard studying at Tsinghua. They found Tsinghua students more passive than Harvard students. I told them the story about the Berkeley prof who liked teaching Tsinghua students but not Berkeley students. Do Harvard profs like teaching? I asked. Their answer was vague. They told me about Tsinghua students, not to mention Harvard students, agonizing over the personal statements required with grad school applications. I told them that I’d seen thousands of those statements and no one in my department (at Berkeley) cared about anything but (a) do you want to be a professor? (the correct answer is yes) (b) do you want to work with me (the prof reading it)? and (c) your research experience. Once I came upon one that was unusually interesting and well-written and I said, “hey look at this person” but no one else agreed with me. When Obama was projected to win Ohio I figured he would win. The cheers of the crowd when the Ohio win was announced reminded me of when I watched a World Cup final, France versus Brazil, in a room full of French students and France scored a goal.

Thank god we have a president who understands Jane Jacobs.

Natural versus Unnatural Learning

My criticisms of undergraduate education (e.g., here) have three bases:

  • my experiences at UC Berkeley. Both sides — faculty and students — disliked the situation. I accidentally found a way that worked much better.
  • my theory of human evolution. My theory explained what I saw at Berkeley, and a lot of other stuff. It says that learning specialized job skills is a basic part of being human. Our brains have been shaped by evolution to make this happen.
  • the everyday observation that people successfully learn specialized job skills all the time and did so long before colleges. Or any schools.

Set up by people who didn’t understand how learning works — the crucial ingredients — colleges teach poorly, just as malnutrition is common.

At Berkeley I was a teacher. In Beijing I’m on the other side — a student — in a different but similar learning situation: learning Chinese. We learn languages naturally, without any special structure, just as people learned job skills. There is the same broad dichotomy: between language learning via official channels, involving classes and textbooks, and natural language learning that happens without any classes and textbooks. So there should be a better way to learn Chinese than via a textbook or a class or even a tutor.

What that is, I’m trying to figure out. For reading, flash cards may work. I’m starting with food words — I see hundreds of them every time I eat a meal (in the student dining halls) — and sign words and the preset messages on my cell phone. Listening and speaking is harder. When I get better maybe I can watch TV but now I can’t understand any of it. I always enjoy my Chinese lessons but they happen without context. During the day I may want to say “Where is ______?” but my lesson happens much later, when the motivation has gone. Maybe I will get a tape recorder show I can record what people say to me and then play it for my teachers to translate.

Tsinghua versus Reed

Let’s say I’m a record producer. A 20-year-old tells me he wants to be a record producer, and I say, okay, I’ll teach you. Do I write a syllabus? Set up class meetings? Give lectures, homework assignments, tests, grades? Of course not. None of that. Not necessary. I just say: Hang out with me. And he does, and both of us benefit. He learns what a record producer does, I have someone to whom I can pontificate (one of the pleasures of blogging) and who will do menial tasks. And having an assistant makes me look and perhaps even feel more important. The same thing could be done with almost any job. That’s real teaching. It’s as natural and easy as breathing or eating.

Contrast this with (a) undergraduate teaching in any American research university, such as Berkeley and (b) the situation described in an email to alumni I got today from Colin Diver, the President of Reed College. President Diver taught a seminar at Reed and described his experiences. Does he say the students were “fun to teach” as a Tsinghua University professor told me? Not at all. Quite the opposite. His main observations:

Courses at Reed must be very carefully planned. . . . Leading a successful Reed conference [= seminar] takes considerable finesse. . . . Tamara [his co-teacher] and I spent hours planning and debriefing [= discussing afterwards] classes. . . As an instructor, you can never be too well prepared. . . Both student enthusiasm and modern information technology conspire to extend the class hour virtually around the clock. . . . Teaching at Reed means giving (and getting!) lots of feedback. . Teaching at Reed is both exhausting and exhilarating! [Details of exhilaration not given.]

This is a fund-raising letter! A friend of mine got a teaching job at Reed and quit to take a lower-status job because the teaching was exhausting, as President Diver so clearly explains. But, as I said about Berkeley faculty, President Diver has been in darkness so long he can no longer see light — in this case, he cannot see how unpleasant he makes teaching sound, at least for the professor. He fails to grasp he is describing sickness not health.

President Diver seems to have faintly discerned that there might be something wrong with the picture he had painted so he added:

Despite the long hours and hard work, the experience of teaching helped me understand why faculty find the experience of teaching at Reed so satisfying. . . .Nathalia King, professor of English and humanities, once said to me: “When you put teachers who genuinely love to teach together with students who genuinely want to learn, magic happens.”

Magic, huh? Black or white? The end of Diver’s letter is all about a new program that will allow Reed professors to teach less. “The new program will, to be sure, slightly reduce the amount of time faculty spend in the classroom over their careers.” Actions speak louder than words.