I Think Therefore I'm a Genius
The 'genius' thinking you feel yourself to have is just associative learning, combined, crucially, with your talents for ad hoc reasoning and self-deception.
A dangerous ambition more often lurks behind the specious mask of zeal for the rights of the people than under the forbidden appearance of zeal for the firmness and efficiency of government. —John Jay
In all student-centered and explicit instruction, students are presented with a kind of amorphous shape, let's say. The shape presented to students in explicit instruction protocols is, at best, 95%–98% resolved, or filled in, with any pre-existing and current meanings about the instructional object represented by the shape. We do this to minimize the inference work done by the student. We want to keep it at a minimum because we know how noisy communication is—and, critically, we honor how unique individuals are—so we know that if we don't fill in the shape as much as possible, it will be filled in with student (listener) inference, and we don't want that. Everything is above-board. There are no hidden messages for students to decipher. The reason we don't want that is demonstrated by the student-centered version of this instruction.
In the student-centered version, the shape is generally filled in less (though it doesn't have to be). This is done to increase listener inference from the student. The reason that listener inference is heightened is that this specific form of mental activity is thought to give students greater 'ownership' over the learning, be more 'motivating,' and to reflect what it is thought students are actually doing during all learning: 'actively constructing knowledge.'
But let's take a closer look at this mental activity referred to as 'thinking' in the student-centered classroom. And we'll go back to the shape. Suppose we fill it in just 50% for students. How can the student figure out what the shape is or even fill in part of what's left? The only possible way a student can fill this in is if they predict (guess) what the whole shape looks like, or what some missing part looks like. Try it out: bulldog, bichon frisé, chihuahua, . . . What's something that comes next? What's the category? Did you maybe say "pomeranian" and "breeds of dog?"
Whatever you said, you made a prediction, a guess, an inference as to the intended meaning conveyed by me, the speaker. You had to. But it doesn't feel like the guess that it is until you respect and honor the individuality, intentionality, and otherness from you that is the speaker (or the idea) and his (its) intent. You know, you must admit, little to nothing about me, how I think, or what my intent is—you're just assuming you do. I was actually thinking of the class Mammalia—warm-blooded vertebrates that produce milk for their young and have hair or fur. That was the speaker's intent. If you as the listener now have the unmitigated gall to ask me why, if the category was Mammalia, I chose only breeds of dogs for my examples, I would be tempted to say, "What's the matter, genius? Can't figure out the world unless it looks like the one you are familiar with? I am not obligated to present ideas to you in the way you expect. Maybe tell yourself to get out of your own head for ten seconds, listen, await more information, try to allow the full meaning of my intent to stand before you. Or does that frighten you? I could have been thinking of domestic animals or companion animals or quadrupeds. Stop guessing and actually think."
Another reason that at least "breeds of dogs" doesn't feel like a guess is because the 'genius' thinking here is just associative learning—which even Pavlov's dogs could muster (maybe they were geniuses)—combined, crucially, with the unique ability of humans for ad hoc reasoning and self-deception. When I said "bulldog, bichon frisé, chihuahua, . . ." I rang a bell, and you barked back (I won't make you drool) with, for instance, "pomeranian . . . the speaker's (or idea's) intent is to convey the concept of 'breeds of dogs'!" Just like Pavlov's dogs, you can't possibly have a legitimate speaker-centered reason for this guess—because you don't have enough information from the speaker to discern her or his intent. So you very quickly make up an ad hoc reason: I knew (guessed) this was coming because we just started a unit on dogs; my aunt has a little bichon frisé, so that's how I knew (guessed); etc. All ad hoc reasons—which can be tuned to make the listener seem like they are brilliant ("These are brachycephalic dog breeds!")—for coincidentally guessing the speaker's intent, the (outside-of-you) meaning of a shared idea, which you still don't know. You've been too busy with all this "thinking," which, in student-centered contexts means putting your own words in the speaker's mouth and then blushing over your delusions of genius when the teacher pats you on the head for "learning" what you guessed they intended for you to learn. Whatever this confused mix of associative learning and ad hoc reasoning actually is, if you think you're really good at it, you should probably cross 'genius' off your resumé—you won't be needing it. Ideas in the world mean something important and quite independent of your thinking about them; they were not built by your ancestors over generations as puzzles for your facile bemusement.
Ultimately, the infer-and-then-lie-about-it game is easier to play—and this ease contributes to the thinking that a student's ability to play the game is a sign of brilliance—when the people playing it have a relatively close affiliation, ideological and otherwise. This is because the communicative coin of the realm in student-centered instruction is inference, and inference does indeed travel faster and more reliably (and more often mistakenly as 'knowledge transfer') in closer-knit groups (like families).
Thus, relationships are crucial in student-centered instruction, because the more closely the class affiliates, the better inferential 'communication' can travel. Close speaker-listener relationships are particularly important, because the teacher is the Puzzle Giver who knows the answers, and it will be an especially salient sign of your 'genius' to pick up on her implications and infer what she wants and how she thinks (that's the 'motivation')—a manipulative, gaslighting, GLaDOS that, as much as any bombast or bore, no child deserves in a human teacher.
The 'thinking' encouraged by student-centered instruction won't get you to the Moon or help you invent vaccines. But it will train you really well to figure out how the boss likes her coffee without her having to tell you. And boy do we need folks like that around!
