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We science teachers have many claims to fame, but there is one we seldom
if ever, put forward. In all modesty, I think that we are the true philosophers
of science, since we do indeed spend a lot of time thinking about science,
and what it is, and/or about scientists, what they do, and why, and what’s
in it for us anyway.

The ‘professional’ philosophers of science can blandly discuss the intricacies
of the logic and methods of science, or the limits of induction, or the
finer points of the hypothetico-deductive paradigm with fellow philosophers
and undergraduates in highbrow colleges, and can thus be reasonably sure
of an interested and fairly sympathetic audience. Teachers have a considerably
tougher job. They have to get across the methods and achievements of science
to a series of large gatherings of young people who are frequently, to put
it mildly, not overenthusiastic, and are not beyond posing such subtle question
as ‘Sir, why do we ‘ave ter do science – we ain’t going to be bleedin’ scientists.’
(To which the main response is ‘Thank goodness for that’.)

Modern exam syllabuses imply that the good old days (?) of ‘chalk and
talk’ are gone, when the revealed facts were solemnly learnt by ‘heart’
(actually a medieval misprint for choeur, or by chorus, rote or repetition,
not coeur) for regurgitation at exam time, and when science teaching could
often recall the cynical (or realistic) definition of education as ‘the
process by which the notes of the teacher become the notes of the pupil
without passing through the minds of either’. Those days should be gone,
and good riddance – as long as they have been replaced by something better.

The current syllabuses tell us that we should enable our pupils to become
more ‘confident members of a technological society’, as well as helping
them to develop ‘core skills’ such as ‘problem solving’ and ‘communication
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But to give a genuine understanding of science is not always easy, especially
as not all of us have had formal instruction in the philosophy of science.
Even though I was lucky enough to hear some of ‘Russ’ Hanson’s pioneering
lectures at Cambridge, I have had to work out my own version, hopefully
more suitable for the kids in school. To avoid the rather abstract nature
of ‘Science’, I usually define it as ‘What scientists do’, which does at
least provide a peg to hang questions such as ‘Name any great scientist’
(here David Bellamy has tended to take over from Magnus Pyke, with Newton,
Einstein and ‘Sir’ coming way behind). This then allows discussion of just
what scientists like this really do, exactly how they do it, what drives
them on, and whether this is a good thing for mankind.

To answer these, I suggest that scientists are eternally curious, and
want to find out how everything works. To do this they first observe and
establish ‘facts’, and then try to explain or make sense of the facts, finally
checking their explanations by experiments – preferably something a bit
more subtle than trying to see whether another pupil’s plastic pen will
burn if it’s put over a Bunsen burner – and determining whether what they
find out can be useful to mankind, in ways ranging from penicillin to atomic
power stations.

But the big questions remains: Why should every child in school do science?
One possible answer here, I think, lies in the hope that in doing experiments,
pupils will develop scientist-like skills such as being patient, observant,
methodical, accurate and painstaking, which can be of use in other realms
of life. Living in a scientific age as we do, more people should be able
to make educated decisions about the possible applications or misapplications
of scientific discoveries.

So, did any of my many long-suffering pupils get the message? The trouble
is that one never really knows – but I do treasure the memory of one lad
whom I asked to write a sentance explaining what excretion was, and who
blandly stated the riveting fact that ‘Last weekend my family went on a
excretion to France’.

So maybe you can’t win them all – and if you expect to, keep out of
science teaching. If you can be philosophical about it, however, it can
often be great fun, and very rewarding.

Clare Putnam has now taken early retirement from science teaching.