The Science Lesson

I have observed that people often fall in to two groups, or let me call them hemispheres of being: the Science and Math hemisphere; and the English and Art hemisphere. There are a few rare and rugged individuals who have managed to balance both hemispheres of being in their lives, and they are truly blessed and able to produce the most wonderful blendings of those realms into satisfying incarnations and creations. But the vast majority of us fall into only one of these hemispheres of comfort. We may explore the other hemisphere just to find out about it, or because we need something in that other land: but when the electrical voltage we experience there becomes too painful, we retreat to the comfort of our hemisphere. For right or wrong, it is what we do.

My hemisphere is that of English and Art. I like English because of stories, poetry and metaphors; and I find it ties in neatly with Art as well which is at once self-expression and at the same time it is striving after the need to express the transcendent as well. I also prefer my hemisphere because there is room for error. My hemisphere is relaxed and gives room for breath. It is tolerant. There is often more than one right answer and sometimes even many right answers. My hemisphere actually celebrates when it finds a multitude of right answers. Herman Melville’s ambiguity in a book like Moby Dick is pure genius in its levels of possible meanings. Math and Science people tend to hate this. They prefer absolutes. They like one right answer and they like to be able to count on the fact that it is fixed, solid, and that it provides a sturdy foundation on which they can build reliably.

There are times, however, when there may be more than one right answer in the science and mathematical hemisphere. This is no problem for those of us of an Eastern or non-western mindset who are content in the awe of great mysteries and all that they might mean; but multiple correct answers can create the most painful migraines for a Scinence/Math person. Is light composed of photons or waves? The debate goes on and on.

When I was in grade school and in a science class studying the difference between rotations and orbits in the context of the solar system, I ran across a science quiz question that had two right answers. “How many rotations does the moon make as it orbits the earth?” Being lousy at science and a failure in school in general, I didn’t expect to pass this test. But I thought that I had this answer right for sure. “one” I answered.

When we got our quizzes back, I failed as usual, but when we went over the answers and we got to the question: “How many rotations does the moon make as it orbits the earth?” I was shocked to see that I got it wrong. I raised my hand in protest and actually had the audacity to tell the teacher that he was wrong. “No he said. It always faces the earth. It doesn’t turn.” “Yes, I returned, “it always faces the earth so it does turn or else we would see the backside of the moon.” I proceeded to draw a picture on the board to prove my point showing the moon at four points around the earth. Each time it was facing the earth, but relative to itself it was revolving as it went. “See, it makes one rotation per orbit.”

“Ah,” he said sounding wise, “I see what you are trying to say, but no it doesn’t rotate or revolve” he insisted. When I objected again, it was quickly becoming apparent that he was going to exert his authority as a teacher, and that I was becoming insubordinate and that I was supposed to be silent and compliant. I felt furious inside, but I returned to my seat. On the one hand, what did it matter? Even if I had got the answer right, I had so many answers wrong anyway it wouldn’t have made a whole lot of difference to my score. Failure was failure and I had had so many failures in school by then that I knew my place and exactly what I was, all too well, by then. He was an adult and a teacher; all the power was it his hands.

But it did matter. It mattered enough so that I have never forgotten the event even after all these years. O, I am not upset or bitter about it, but it is important, I think, to revisit it since I am a teacher now. It makes me aware that teachers have tremendous power to hurt as well as heal. Sometimes, I think teachers rely too much on a belief in the resilience of their students. “kids are tough” they think, “they bounce right back.” And it can appear so. And yet appearances are not always the reality. They do not always bounce right back although it is expedient for those of us who teach to believe so.

The correct answer to the question is that it depends on your point of view. Standing on earth, we never see the moon turn. It does not rotate. We never see the back of it. But from a god’s eye view it rotates once every orbit. There are two right answers. But he was a science person. Points of view didn’t matter to him. Points of view are subjective and unacceptable except in theorizing hypotheses to be proven. There was only one right and acceptable answer: his.

He should have given me credit for my answer all the same. It was a golden moment for a teacher to give a blessing: to rip away that horrible label: “you’re a failure” that is written in blood and scarred into a child’s forehead. He could have told me that I was bright, that I was smart, that I surprised him with such an articulate and cogent argument to prove my point, that I had potential to be a great scientist. I don’t know why he didn’t. Was it too much work to go back and give me credit and rework all his scores in his grade book? There were no computers back then and it was all kept by hand and it would have made rather a mess of things. But I am inclined to think that it was due to arrogance that he insisted that he was right, and that it was also due to his belief that there is only one right answer to every question.

So what did I learn from this science lesson? For a long time, I learned not to like science, I learned that teachers can be arrogant bastards, and I learned once again that I was a failure at everything I put my hand to. But it hasn’t been until later in my adult life that I have found that I am grateful for this mistake and many other mistakes like it that were made by my teachers. These mistakes have formed my pedagogy as a teacher. They are treasured exemplars of what I regard as the most grave and damaging errors a teacher can make. I have become a gentle teacher. I don’t just see an answer standing in front of me; I see a person looking for affirmation. So I am very careful with wrong answers, a wrong answer is not a wrong person. Teachers might think this is obvious, but it isn’t. When a person is cut down for too many wrong answers, they begin to think there is something wrong with them and not their answers. And so I am careful with wrong answers. If there is anything right at all about the wrong answer I point that out first, and then I make a gentle corrections for part that is wrong, and finally express my gratitude to someone who is willing to be brave, who is willing to try, and who is looking at me with big, hopeful eyes which I would be loathe to disappoint.

Teachers do have to tell students when they are wrong. They will harm them if they don’t, but how it is done makes all the difference. I never shame. I celebrate mistakes. I celebrate them with my students because mistakes are wonderful. Every mistake is a golden opportunity to learn the right way to do it. It may sound strange to say it, but I would advise teachers to never punish a mistake. Grades are bad. Grades are a system of punishment and reward, a reinforcement of a system that stems from a view of the world that believes in the survival of the fittest. It’s weird, but if you ask a teacher which is better: intrinsic motivation or extrinsic motivation, they all know that intrinsic motivation makes, by far, a better student, and yet teachers are completely addicted to a system of extrinsic motivators.

Teachers often justify it by saying, “but that’s the real world, that’s the world they will be living in and they should learn how to be tough and roll with the punches and get over it. It is, in fact, a survival of the fittest world.” Then many of them comment, “that’s what I had to do. I learned to survive, and adapt. they will too.”

Hmmmm. Well, there is a great deal that could be unpacked in these statements about broken people who unwittingly reinforce a broken world that not only stays broken, but one which will turn around and break more people in a never ending spiral; but I would simply rather point out that the way to prepare children for the rough and tumble world of dog eat dog, is to not maim them before they get there. Rather the teacher needs to build their confidence, inspire them, and make sure that they have the tools not just to survive it, but to change it.

Change the world? Yes, I am an idealist. It is my desire to see love triumph over hate, peace over violence, knowledge over ignorance, generosity over greed, benevolence over malevolence where ever it arises, and courage over cowardice. This is the real agenda in the classroom. O, I will teach English and I will work damn hard at it, but English is only the arena, the game board, the tangible space that is provided where the minds and hearts can meet. Minds and hearts are invisible things. We keep tangible, visible records in the classroom for the scientists who think numbers and reports tell them something. But, as the Little Prince is always reminding us, “It is with the heart that one can see rightly; that which is essential is invisible to the eye.”