Changing or not

When do you need to learn something new?

Two of our correspondents have told similar stories recently.  One of them had the task of reviewing the written work of analysts (we needn’t mention what they were analyzing) and suggesting improvements, as and when called for.  One analyst strongly resisted any criticism, however constructive or well-reasoned.  Although her prose was nearly unreadable at times, and her ideas were often not very well worked out, she insisted that a really intelligent reader could understand what she meant.  She had gotten this far with her writing and saw no reason to change.

The other correspondent saw an opportunity in scientific publishing.  He noted that papers in English-language Chemistry journals (which are the most prestigious nowadays) by non-native speakers were often difficult to understand for grammatical reasons.  He envisioned pairing a Chinese-speaking scientist, say, with an English native speaker scientist, to improve the quality of the papers; and also the English ability of the former and the Chinese ability of the latter.  There was no interest in the idea.  The Chinese chemists he approached figured their English was good enough and didn’t need improvement; it had served them well enough to this point.

Our tutor sees in these stories something similar to what he noted some time ago.  By the time a student has reached High School, he or she has developed a number of techniques, possibly of some sophistication, to deal with the questions and problems set by the teachers.  Some students are highly resistant to changing them.   It’s only after repeated wrong answers that they may finally admit that just dividing the first number by the second, or solving a formula by intuition, doesn’t work in the more complicated world they now face.

Similarly, some college English teachers we know tell of students who force all their essays into the exact format they were taught in High School, regardless of whether it’s the best approach or even makes sense.

The analyst and the chemists of the anecdotes above are doing something similar: repeating a formula that has been successful up to now.  They just haven’t been given (or, perhaps, haven’t recognized) signs that it doesn’t work any more, or that something else would work better.

We point out that formulating such criticism of other people is easy.  Much harder  is to express it in such way that it will be received rather than rejected.  That’s hard.  Often it’s very hard.  But this is the task of the teacher, whatever his or her title and nominal role.

For all of us, though, there is another lesson.  Are we doing something that doesn’t work any more?  Is there some technique or practice that has worked up to this point, but doesn’t really work any more?  Or (this is harder to spot) is there some old practice that we could change and thereby improve?

Our tutor is doing his end-of-the-year review of notes and ideas in search of answers to this question.  We’re inclined to join him.