Friday, May 8, 2009

A Semi-Defense of Psychology

My response to Debbie’s interesting comments about school and psychology took on such length that it was easier to make a new post out of it.

Either the field of psychology (or the undergraduate curriculum of the field, since there's always a lag) moved drastically in 10 years, Debbie’s professors had a weird idea about what to teach, or ... I don't know, something. Her experience of psychology courses is very different from mine.

Of course, other than intro (which is a class that perhaps doesn't necessarily have to suck, but I suspect usually does, due to being disorganized and dissatisfyingly general) and my industrial-organizational psychology course (another lower-level course), my classes did not tend to use multiple choice exams. It's easy to have a superficial understanding (as Debbie points out, from being a human among humans) that certain phenomena exist, but it's harder to cogently explain what's actually going on with them, contrast the various theories / hypotheses about them and the evidence for them, critique the methodological approaches used to support specific research findings, or whatever.

That’s one reason I dislike multiple-choice exams – they do not reward more full or nuanced understanding of the material but frequently come down to (as Debbie and her friend experienced) an ability to see through a trick, identification of a more plausible answer, or employment of other content-irrelevant multiple-choice-test-taking skills. In some cases, I suspect that these multiple-choice exams for low-level courses (perhaps in many disciplines) are used as much as a measure of whether the student read the book as anything else; even when it’s something “everybody knows” about, you probably did have to read the book to consistently recognize what specific theories / phenomena are called in the literature. For instance, you may “know” that people who have one positive trait (e.g. are good-looking) are often assumed to have other, unrelated positive traits, but if you didn’t read the book, you may not be able to identify this as being called the “halo effect.”

A particular multiple-choice question type that I hate, which is perhaps more common on exams developed from the textbook publisher test bank, is the one that tests your memory for some very specific example in the book. Something like "The story about Eldritch the Dog that opened Chapter 7 illustrated which of the following phenomena..." you might have at least a chance at, since that's a part you probably did read and are more likely to retain due to its nature as a narrative. But something like "The experiment by Rudy and Jones [completely obscure researchers who may or may not be personal friends with the textbook author or on the author's tenure committee] described in the 'Contemporary Research' box found which of the following to be true..." is tough.

I agree that the GRE subject test does appear to be oriented toward "name the theory / name the researcher" type questions, but at this point, very few programs require or even care about this exam from people with a degree in pyschology. My understanding is that it's mostly recommended for people wanting to enter a psych grad program without the undergrad degree to demonstrate some base level of knowledge of the terminology / major theories / important researchers that is needed to make sense of the literature.

For instance, I have read that one of the reasons that economists and psychologists have difficulty making sense of each other is that economists define their theories using math and psychologists define their theories with reference to other theories, using terminology that has specific meaning within the field. This justifies to a certain extent a preoccupation in psychology with this kind of “factual” knowledge about the history of the discipline, its jargon, and its well-known researchers. I mean, we have to keep those economists at bay somehow.

Maybe some people find the theories in experimental psychology more “obvious” than I do. However, I think that people in general often rely on an understanding of psychological processes that is very shallow, woefully insufficient, or downright wrong. I wouldn’t even know where to begin listing all the things people misunderstand – how memory works, what prejudice is and how it functions, how attitudes are formed and beliefs validated, the way they themselves make decisions, the extent to which perception does not capture “reality,” how to motivate others, etc. I only know a little bit about these things myself. Even top researchers in the various specialty areas do not understand these things very well.

I know that since this is my field, I am apt to be protective of it. I need to believe it to be intellectually rigorous. I need it to have something to add to human understanding beyond what your grandmother “knows” after a lifetime of observing people's behavior and watching Oprah and its ilk. No one wants to believe their own field of endeavor is nothing more than writing up obvious truths in fancy language and diagrams. But I do think that a lot of the subtlety of academic psychology is easily lost on people. Experimental psychologists can't just see some phenomenon in the world, then turn to each other and say either "Birds of a feather flock together" or "Opposites attract"; such post hoc pseudo-explanations don't get you anywhere scientifically, though most people seem happy to settle upon any neat explanation whatsoever and smugly move on.

But it’s one of the crosses social scientists have to bear: everybody thinks they already know, from their own experience in the world, 80% of the important things the discipline has to say, and they think the other 20% is wrong (or at least, may be accurate when talking about other people, but not themselves).

3 comments:

Debbie said...

You're so cute. I got my degree 25 years ago, not 10. Back then the science was only 100 years old. So it makes sense that there might be significantly more knowledge now.

I did learn a few things that were not obvious to me. Like that people can get you to do horrible things by just seeming like an expert and calmly saying, "Please continue" (the Milgram shock experiment). And people can trust other people more than their own senses if enough other people are in agreement with each other and clearly have the same data (that experiment with lines of different lengths). And your environment can change how you act very quickly (the Zimbardo prison experiment). And the more witnesses there are to someone in trouble, not only is each witness less likely to help than if there were fewer witnesses (which I could have guessed), but your total chances for getting help is also lower (the Kitty Genovese-inspired research). And if your heart is already pumping for some other reason when you meet a new person, you'll see that person as more attractive than you would have otherwise (the rickety-bridge experiment). Cognitive dissonance was interesting, too. (Note to other readers--these are tendencies, and once you know about them you are better at resisting them.) And I learned that whenever someone says, "the results were not statistically significant, but ..." I might lose all respect for them. (I actually told some zoologists that I really did not want to type that for them.)

I also never would have guessed that a monkey "raised" by a soft, terry-cloth-covered "mother" would grow up significantly better socially adjusted than one "raised" by a hard, wire-grid "mother" (Harlow). Nor would I have guessed you could train a pigeon to play ping pong by rewarding behaviors as they got closer and closer to ping pong. That's powerful.

I'm pretty sure I could have learned all those things in a single class.

My class on personality was particularly bad. Each chapter would be about a different theorist. First there would be a biography, then a description of his or her theory, then a description of what that has to do with personality (yes, they used Freud, Jung, anyone they liked), then several specific concepts and facts, and finally an evaluation of the theory based on the idea that theories should be testable, useful, comprehensible, etc. Not a single theory had all these traits. Most of them were not even testable. (Oh, you SAY you don't have these feelings in your subconscious, but that's because they're in your subconscious.)

A friend and I couldn't help making our own equally stupid "theory," the Bat-Theory of Adolescent Personality. We wrote up a whole chapter-like paper with our biographies, the evaluation of whether our theory was really a theory, and our stupid concepts (Bat-polism is the tendency for teenagers to change clothes often, trying on different roles; duo-dynamism is about how peer pressure teaches them to work with others to achieve goals; and batmobilism is the tendency to drive fast.) Quite fun, but I wouldn't call it science.

Actually, my class in cognition was pretty bad, too. Every chapter started with some guy and his hypothesis, an experiment to test his hypothesis, and the results, which always supported his hypothesis. Then they would talk about another guy who saw a flaw in that hypothesis, created a new hypothesis, did an experiment to test his hypothesis, and found results that supported his new hypothesis. This went on until the end of the chapter, and then we knew this last guy understood the whole thing. Ha. I did not enjoy memorizing a bunch of guys who had all been disproved or were about to be.

Other little problems: the guy who invented the intelligence quotient decided that IQ's range from 0 to 200 and that his was 200. The guy who invented a hierarchy of stages of morality said that some people never make it to the highest stage, but of course he did. And too many people thought that their ideas explained everything. Well, maybe sexual frustration did explain a lot in Victorian times. But really, we are a little more multi-faceted than that.

One-fourth of everyone at my school majored in psychology, so even though I was at a small school, my classes were large enough where all the tests were multiple choice and we only did experiments in the experimental psychology class. So sad.

Sally said...

Blogger ate my comment, which is hella irritating. My main points were:

(1) 10 years means the approx span of time between your degree and mine (in 1996). It's surprising that attending a science and engineering heavy school resulted in better classes in a liberal arts subject, but I did have pretty small class sizes except for intro.

(2) Many experimental psychologists would agree that a lot of personality theory isn't science. Your bat theory sounds about as good as a lot of them and probably more amusing.

(3) I like history of psychology stuff and think it's important (though probably not so much so that it warrants being the sole content of one's entire cognition course).

(4) "The results were not statistically significant, but were in the hypothesized direction" is often code for "I would have had a statistically significant result if I had a larger sample size but I didn't have the power to detect the difference at the alpha = .05 level."

Debbie said...

Thanks for commenting again after the blogger meal.

Results that aren't statistically significant, although in the predicted direction, are at the very least not of the predicted magnitude. Or if they are, it could have been known from the beginning that a sample that small would be useless (though I admit it might not have been known from the beginning that the sample would have ended up being that small).

Another odd thing about my degree is that hardly any psychology courses were required. I'm thinking eight. (All courses were supposedly four hours except for PE.) And I'm not sure I even took any upper-division courses. I did spend one year at UT Arlington which was much worse, more like going to high school (regular classes, not honors classes).