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Cognitive psychology deals with attention, memory, learning, problem solving, decision-making—topics that sound inherently interesting to almost everyone. This area of content is arguably at the very center of the field of psychology. Unfortunately, most of the theories and experiments in the area have become extremely abstract and difficult. Even after 25 years in the field, I have to struggle to make sense of the tangled mess the area has become.
In its current state it truly is more difficult than I think appropriate for undergrads (which is all I teach), and yet it can't be omitted from the curriculum because of its centrality to the field. A very few students love it and can't wait to learn more, but in the past, most of my students didn't see adequate reason to struggle to really comprehend the material. They did what was necessary to get the grade they wanted, and left with a sigh of relief, with both them and me knowing that they had learned very little.
After trying six textbooks in as many offerings, and failing to keep my students' interest with demonstrations, participation, films, co-operative learning efforts, and student presentations, I was about to request never to teach the course again even though it's my specialty. It was just too dispiriting to try once again to engage students in something they clearly didn't get, and watch attendance dwindle over the term. My basic problem was that the material really is dauntingly difficult, and I couldn't think of a way to motivate the students to think hard enough to comprehend it.
Desperate, I tried something new.
I selected the simplest text I could find and picked out a few portions from each chapter that I consider the most important: certain theories and experiments. Then I gave the students the task of explaining those topics to the rest of the class—but not just one assigned topic per student. I told them that every student must be prepared to describe every point to be covered every day.
With fear and trepidation, I presented this plan to my first class. They were very nervous, as was I, but I told them it was only an experiment and if it didn't work, we'd go back to a more traditional structure.
I've now done this three times. It works.
For each class, I simply put all the students' names on tags in a jar, and, for each topic, draw out a student's name. They can use notes and even the text, but their answers have to be in their own words. With this requirement, almost all my students read and try very hard to comprehend the textbook in a gradual, meaningful way, which I consider to be a major accomplishment. The fear of being called on keeps everyone's attention level high throughout each class period. Sometimes they succeed in understanding the material, sometimes not. When they do, it's clear to everyone. When they don't, they can call on other students for help. Many volunteer to help each other out. They laugh and smile, encourage, and whisper hints to each other. They spontaneously offer clarifying examples.
If no other students can help, I step in and explain, and they're ready to listen. Occasionally the text isn't as clear as it could be. When that happens, the students are clearly delighted to learn that not all problems are theirs. This format also makes it possible and natural for the students and me to disagree with the author (and with other theorists) without causing mind-closing concern brought on by "what's the right answer for the exam?" Instead of focusing on the "right" answer, the students gain more confidence in thinking for themselves. We all have a real learning experience. I enjoy myself. So do they.
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These are what I think are the important elements that make this work.
- Use the material that the students have to struggle to comprehend; otherwise it just becomes an exercise in repetition.
- You need a fairly small class. It works up to size 30; I haven't tried larger than that.
- Keep it friendly and informal. We sit in a circle. No one has to stand in the front of the room. I keep my comments as positive as I possibly can; students almost always know when they're not doing well without being told.
- Plan some "warm-up" exercises. I start the term by having the students introduce each other to the class, and start each day by asking students for real-life examples relating to any material in the chapter.
- Tell the students how to structure their answers as best you can. For example, I tell my students to describe an experiment by first describing the method, then the results, and then interpreting it.
- Work hard on selecting material, and tell the students in advance what material to prepare for each day. We cover only three to five topics each class, but I break each topic into smaller pieces so I call on many more students than that.
- If there's material you really want to cover that's not in the text, figure out when you'll do it. I have a few pet topics, and I connect them as best I can to something in a chapter. I end up talking quite a lot, but it doesn't come across as a lecture, but as clarification.
- There is one thing you don't need that might surprise you: especially talented or dedicated students (ours are typical, overly busy, stressed-out, urban and suburban commuter students).
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How to grade? I developed a rubric based on apparent level of preparation, accuracy, and presentation skills. As I call on each student, I write down his or her name, and assign a grade from 0% to 100%. I get to call on most students each day. When students volunteer to help they get 100% if they're right on the money, and nothing at all if they're not.
I also select two students each class meeting to grade the other students, which is a tremendous help to me. The students are generally much less forgiving than I, which gives me courage to assign low scores. I assign the final score myself for each presentation.
The course grade consists of the average of these presentation grades, along with a few other things. I give each student a limited number of opportunities to be absent, and then start assigning 0% for additional absences. I also give them a limited number of "declines," that is, opportunities to say, "I'd rather not touch that one." If they overrun that limit, they get 50%, which pulls down their average, but not as much as not coming to class at all. In fact, few students use their "declines." So far, none have overrun their limit (only 2 or 3 each quarter).
Impact and Results? Each quarter that I have taught using this new approach, about 7% of the original enrollees have come to me to explain (apologetically) that they could not attend class regularly; they then dropped or withdrew. (Usually my students don't bother to explain their reasons for dropping.) Another 2% never showed up or just disappeared, thereby earning a grade of U. No other students had excessive absences (that is, more than the allowed 2 or 3 per quarter). No other students dropped. In the last quarter I taught this course before changing formats, 15% of the students dropped, withdrew, or disappeared. Thus, despite the fact that no one can pass just by showing up for exams, attrition may have decreased slightly.
I've had three students say they were too afraid to speak in front of a group, one of them with a certified anxiety disorder brought on by exactly that sort of situation. In the two less serious cases I asked them to try it out for one day; both stayed and performed well throughout the quarter. In the more serious case I had to adjust my procedure, allowing that student to only volunteer. To my relief, she turned out to be one of the most enthusiastic and helpful participants.
Average presentation scores have ranged from a low of 72% to a high of 97%, with more high grades than I usually assign. Some students do well from the beginning; others start off with inadequate preparation, but quickly improve. I'm gradually tightening my grading rubric to bring the curve down, since I don't want students signing up for "an easy A." However, I'm convinced that my students are working harder and learning more, so I'm not sure how far to bring it down.
To my surprise, I have had no complaints from students so far. In fact, at the end of each class, I have many more students than usual telling me they appreciated the class. They feel proud of comprehending such complex material, they believe they will retain more material than usual, and they feel much more confident about speaking before a group.
I'm convinced that my students are learning, but how can I convince anyone else? That's a tough question to which I don't have a good answer. If anyone who knows cognitive psychology would care to visit my class or engage my students in a conversation about the topic, I think he or she would be convinced that each of my students can use much of the vocabulary effectively, remembers some of the experiments and theories, knows how to describe an experiment adequately, and can discuss the relationship between experiments and theories in an intelligent manner.
I don't have exam scores or other measures to compare this new format with earlier ones, nor have I collected written student testimonials, taken videotapes, or had my peers write reports on their observations of my classes. In this age of required accountability, such a lack of verifiable measures is troublesome.
However, for me as a teacher it's enough to see and hear my students struggling to comprehend this material, and sometimes succeeding. They are excited to come to class, and participate with enthusiasm. I love it. If you want to see if it works the same way in your class, I invite you to try it out.
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Posted January 21, 2001
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©2001 by Nancy S. Harrison
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