Heuristic

I’m only four weeks into my internship at the Conte Center for Computational Neuropsychiatric Genomics at the University of Chicago, and I’ve already heard about three different people tell me the mathematical aphorism, “All models are wrong, but some are useful.” Of course, it would be ridiculous to suggest that a model, graph, or diagram of any sort, by its own nature, should or could completely represent everything about reality. But students and researchers in areas of mathematics and statistics understand very well that data and information can often be misleading. We often look for theory in data without knowing what data actually represents, and the way we communicate scientific information can have on how another person perceives it.

When I explored the origin of this quote, I discovered it was by the famous mathematician George E. P. Box:

Since all models are wrong the scientist cannot obtain a “correct” one by excessive elaboration. On the contrary following William of Occam he should seek an economical description of natural phenomena. Just as the ability to devise simple but evocative models is the signature of the great scientist so overelaboration and overparameterization is often the mark of mediocrity.

(Box uses William of Occam to reference Occam’s razor by stating that scientists must make the fewest assumptions, or an “economical description”, when making scientific hypotheses.) I would think that Box’s statement to encourage scientists to put focus on elegance along with the actual information that one is attempting to convey when creating a model. Especially in the biological sciences, it’s easy to be inundated by the amount of information and complexity of the explored phenomena. A move towards some type of a specific design of a model, even if for the utilitarian sake of conveying information effectively, would be welcomed.

Though the way we structure the models we write in scientific journals and publish in newspapers is very important, the idea that our models are always wrong may have similarities to a deeper meaning in communication: the rhetoric we use is not always perfectly clear. During the first day of my Organic Chemistry I Lectures, our professor explained to us the way we were going to learn the material for the course that would help us be as successful as possible (both in the course and in our futures). He drew a graph on the chalkboard that looked something like this:

As students in the STEM fields, were all too familiar with this moral lesson: focus on application rather than memorization. I think it was safe to assume that most of the students in the class understood how it is much more useful to learn how to apply problem-solving techniques, and other concepts rather than memorizing definitions and facts in a science course. You should try to understand the reasons why a chemical reaction occurs in an organic chemistry course rather than trying to memorize the placement of electrons and arrows. You should be able to identify how to use theories how to solve a mathematics problem rather than being able to memorize equations. Without starting a discussions of whether or not this is actually a good model (after all, this drawing is not a serious scientific model), there a few things that are important to discuss when talking about this distinction between “memorization” and “application.”

The first issue that comes to my mind is that memorization and application are not two opposite, separate entities. In order to be able to “apply” concepts, it is implied that one must already have those concepts or something about those concepts “memorized.” When I understand how to “apply” Schrodinger’s Equation to predict the potential of particles in a physics equation, I must have “memorized” what each variable means. If I were to categorize facts and pieces of information necessary for an exam into those that must be “memorized” and those that must be “applied, then it would be clear that there is a huge overlap between the two and we would be left in vaguely-defined terms. This ambiguity can be observed in the tests of various classes, as well, as we see professors defend their tests and curricula as emphasizing “application” rather than “memorization” without actually exploring the skills necessary to do well in those courses.

But maybe there are better (or less wrong) models for explaining how students learn? Some of my professors have tried using Bloom’s taxonomy to alleviate some of these issues.

Named after educational psychologist Benjamin Bloom, this model attempts to view learning as a hierarchy in which one starts with the most basic skills at the bottom and moves up towards the “higher-level” skills. One must first begin to memorize information, then understand it, then such-and-such until he/she reaches whatever level satisfies him/her. By viewing “Apply” as simply a level above “Remember,” it is clear that one must be able to remember information and details before applying them. This seems to get rid of the first issue that I described. But it’s still a shame why so many students and professors spread around Bloom’s taxonomy without taking a look at what Bloom himself had to say about it:

The phenomenal growth of the use of the Taxonomy can only be explained by the fact that it filled a void; it met a previously unmet need for basic, fundamental planning in education.

Indeed, when Bloom created a model of the different ways students learn, it wasn’t built upon any logic or rationale, but, rather, was only meant to serve as a way for teachers and professors to classify different ways that students learn. It’s also not exactly clear how a certain test in a university course may require distinct processes that can be easily placed into this hierarchy, although, it would be very difficult to adequately explain these processes through any type of model.And, as researcher Richard Morshead points out:

I call attention to it because it functions as an important part of the rationale currently used by the authors to support their entire triparted taxonomic project. Here, they point out that when distinguishing between affective and cognitive objectives, they are not to be interpreted as suggesting that there exists a parallel distinction built into the basic fabric of behavior. (p. 45) They assert that the Taxonomy is purely an analytic abstraction. Its division into three domains, cognitive, affective, and psychomotor, is an arbitrary arrangement that seems to best reflect the way in which educators have traditionally classified teaching objectives. (p. 47) It does not reflect intrinsic separations within behavior….

As the authors themselves point out, all too frequently our descriptions of the behavior we want our students to achieve are stated as nothing but meaningless platitudes and empty cliches. (p. 4) If our educational objectives, they continue, are actually to give direction to the activities of both students and teachers, we must “tighten” our language by making the terminology with which we express our aims more clear and meaningful.

In David Flinters’ review of “Bloom’s Taxonomy: A Forty-Year Retrospective” by Lorin W. Anderson, Lauren A. Sosniak, he asserts:

Moreover, a dilemma common to both communication theory and educational practice is that the more similar a “message” (in this case the Taxonomy) is to the beliefs of its target audience, the more likely it will be embraced. 

So, should we throw away Bloom’s taxonomy completely? Probably not. But professors and students need to discuss it within the context that Bloom himself laid out for it. It’s important for us to not limit our abilities to think and learn simply based off how we want or believe the way human beings think through course material. 

I wanted to share a small story that I recently had which sheds some light on the way pre-medical students (and undergraduates in general) perceive their education. For our medical school admissions applications, we are required to write personal statements that show more about who we are and why we are each amazing candidates for the path to becoming a doctor. Unlike the stringent requirements of completing activities (volunteering, research, extracurriculars, etc.) this gives each of us a unique way to show who we really are. But it raises a lot of fundamental questions about us.

How do our experiences shape who we are? Does the value of a person come from him/herself or from his/her experiences? What gives a person commendable qualities? I believe that it is not the experience that improves a person, but, how the person reacts and acts upon struggling situations; and the most formative experiences are not romanticized, but everyday reflections of our lives.

“The mark of the immature man is that he wants to die nobly for a cause, while the mark of the mature man is that he wants to live humbly for one.” – Wilhelm Stekel

Here at my internship at the University of Chicago, I was eating out with a few of the other interns one night. After we ordered our food, I was sharing a stressful experience of mine a few years ago. I explained the experience in great detail and saw the others react in surprise. It was an experience which was shocking, challenging, and unique. It was something that probably no other student would have gone through, and it definitely changed me as a person. The other interns suggested it would be a great essay topic for the medical school application. I disagreed.

The first issue that I would take with using my story in a medical school application was that it was an experience that was caused by something that was outside of my control and forced upon me. If I were to mention it in an essay, it would seem as though I was being “opportunistic.” Instead, I wanted an individualistic, empowering approach that would save us from the existential crisis of fate and fortune. I like the idea that value comes from what we make of our stories, and not from the experience itself, and this may remedy some of the neurotic woes of experience-grinding and resume-padding that plague our education. Instead of searching for meaning and motivation like they are things that we can obtain and find in our activities, it might help to view the value of our education as what we create. I’m not sure of the extent to which the idea that our own interpretation of experiences dominates over experiences themselves can be applied, but we can revisit the idea later.

The other issue with my story was that it draws something “emotional” from the reader. I believe an AdCom would feel uncomfortable or bored when reading sob stories and heart-wrenching tales about how you went to Guatemala and witnessed the “tragic atrocities” that thousands of people have to face or about how your perspective changed when your grandmother died of cancer. Any emotion-inducing story can have a deviant opportunistic appeal and, while it may have a legitimate impact on your life, it is contriving to suggest that it is the reason for your success & worth as a student.

For example, I was once speaking to another pre-medical student who told me about an experience in which he helped save a girl from committing suicide that he would write about in his medical school essay. Regardless of the fact that saving a person from committing suicide is something any rational human being would do, there was an emotional reaction (including “shock”, “sympathy-inducing”) from this story as an appeal. Sure, you may have learned about the fragility of human health and soul, but, is the cause for this realization coming from the emotional (pathos) appeal or from rational rumination on what is important to human beings? Kant, Sartre, and Freud didn’t formulate hypotheses on the value of human life and health due to emotional experiences. They did so due to their reason, and the emotional appeal is unnecessary.

For it is not enough to know what we ought to say; we must also say it as we ought (Aristotle, Rhetoric. III.I.9)

And, if the appeal of the situation is that it is “unique,” then one might think it would stick around in the memory of AdComs for a bit longer. But, ultimately, if it is a subconscious appeal, then AdComs would be aware of those sorts of appeals (and would, therefore, take into account), and, if it a conscious appeal, then AdComs would not give preference anyway to someone just because he/she is “different” from the rest. We do not choose to venerate Plato and Socrates because we remember them better nor because they invoke emotions and unique experiences. We choose to do so because they were the best at their profession. Similarly, undergraduates should not draw value from memorability or prose, but from reverence for human nature. Besides, if it truly takes some stressful situation to make you a better person as opposed to the humble experiences that we have on a day-to-day basis, then that just shows how difficult it must be for you to improve as a person in the real world.  In light of this, why would anyone think that having a emotional or unique situation would enhance his/her application?

I do not mean to say that challenges are unnecessary nor unhelpful for medical school admissions. Rather, as I’ve mentioned, the worth of the student should come from what he/she chooses to make out of their challenge, not from the challenge itself. So, for my story, simply having a unique & heart-wrenching experience should not make my application worthy.

The final, and most important, issue that needs to be addressed is that stories like these are purely romantic fiction. In Salinger’s “Catcher in the Rye,” Mr. Antolini quotes Psychologist Wilhelm Stekel, “The mark of the immature man is that he wants to die nobly for a cause, while the mark of the mature man is that he wants to live humbly for one” as he explains that Holden Caulfield must learn to grow out of his disillusioned, heroic vision of himself. The immature man chases the exciting, idealistic adornment from others while the mature man understands that tragic wisdom truly makes people brilliant. Pre-medical students (and undergraduates in general) must realize that we create true wisdom from our normal, everyday experiences not from flashy tales of epic struggle. Those stories do not accurately represent the complex moral dilemmas and struggles of the human condition.

Before I end this post, I need to clarify that I think there are some helpful things to know (how to tell a story, find a “human” value in what you do, etc) that will show how well of a medical/graduate school candidate you are, but ultimately I don’t have the power to judge anybody. I can only give the impression that I get from the discourse of others surrounding their experiences. In order for us to address these issues, it is very helpful (but not necessary) to have empirical evidence (ie., direct evidence from the behavior of other students). But it’s very difficult to talk about the behavior of others without succumbing to the pretentious, judgmental position that one must criticize harmful attitudes of those among us. I do not wish to philosophize and analyze the nature of those around me. But who cares, right? Those people are all a phonies.

We should just take solace in what we can make of ourselves for now.