You know what’s annoying about the first day of classes? Not much of the time is spent on, you know, the content of the classes, or even on meta-level expostulation about the content of the classes. It’s all a drudging plod through the syllabus, complete with a bullet-pointed version of the grading system and a schedule of exams and homework, as though we can’t read what’s printed in convenient tables on the paper right in front of us. And we’re admonished to buy, register, and prepare all the value-added technology bullcrap that supplements the textbook: the wireless response pad and the registration for the premium web content from the book publisher, for example. Usually, these things aren’t optional. As it is, it seems like a tacit confirmation that the goal of the course, and of the people in it, is to get through it, get a grade, and complete the administrative requirement for their degree. Very little indication is given that we should expect any enthusiasm for the process of learning, any inherent fascination in the subject itself, or much awareness and acknowledgment of our place in the broader world of intellectual progress. Maybe all those things ought to be taken for granted by the time you get to university, but even if that’s so, some acknowledgment that they exist, even if it’s a reiteration of sentiments you ought to have been exposed to earlier, would make the first day a much less humdrum task, both for the profs and for us.

I should admit that my ecology prof made a slight improvement on all this. After expressing to us his conviction that being a professional scientist means you never stop learning, he got to a definition of the field and a explanation of its status as an objective field of inquiry about nature. And he directed us to the materials for the first lab, which is an introduction to the hypothetico-deductive method of science and the structure and proper reading of peer-reviewed scientific papers. As a sample he included one of his own, a behavioral study of flight from predators in desert iguanas in California.* It gives useful information about the decision-making of the animals and supports the idea that they—or, I would add, at least the evolutionary algorithms that gave rise to their behavioral patterns—use a type of cost-benefit analysis to decide if the risk is great enough to make fleeing worth it. (And when you’re cold-blooded, even moving to shaded cover is a serious cost.) But the process of him gathering the data amounted to chasing lizards around the desert (in a structured and recorded way, of course) and sticking thermometers up their bums. This should be a fun course.

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* Cooper, W.E., Jr. 2003. Risk factors affecting escape behavior by the desert iguana, Dipsosaurus dorsalis: speed and directness of predator approach, degree of cover, direction of turning by a predator, and temperature. Can J. Zool. 81: 979-984.

Tags: Classes, Science