Nearly
every biology textbook and course begin with molecules, then cells, and work
their way up through genetics to organisms, then if there is time a brief look
at ecology and evolution, followed by a big section on human anatomy and
physiology. If a student wants to know the relevance and importance of
something, they quickly learn by the end of the first week to shut up and
memorize molecules.
There
have been some exceptions. Kenneth Miller and Joseph Levine wrote a Prentice-Hall
biology textbook in the 1990s that began with ecology, and worked its way down
to cells and molecules. There is a 2010 edition of the high school version of book
still available on Amazon. The college version has, as far as I can tell, gone
extinct, because college biology teachers didn’t learn biology that way and do
not want to teach it that way.
I also
had a textbook contract for a while, and I wrote the book (and received part of
a nice advance), but the book never went into production. I used a wholly
original approach. I began and ended
with ecology. The first chapter (after an introduction about what science is)
was about the flow of energy from the sun, through the food chains, and into
outer space. The second chapter was about the cycling of nutrients through the
food chains. But, you may ask, how can students learn about these things
without first learning about molecules and cells? Well, you don’t have to know
much about molecules and cells in order to understand food chains. Then,
starting with the third chapter, I worked up from cells to organisms and then
ended with communities and ecosystems. That is, I began with autecology and
ended with synecology. For synecology, you do have to know a lot about
organisms, but for autecology, all you have to know is that plants eat sunshine
and hawks eat little animals and decomposers eat everything after it dies.
By beginning and ending with ecology, I
placed humans in the context of the Earth. Earth
first. There was no escaping it. Ecology could not be skipped.
I did
some other original things also. The anatomy and physiology chapters were built
around certain ideas, such as exchange of molecules coming in and going out of
the organism; integration of processes within the body; and response to
environment. Both plants and animals have to do all of these things, but in
different ways. Therefore, each chapter
had both plant and animal anatomy and
physiology. In this way I could explain how, in many ways, an animal is an
inside-out plant.
At
first, the publisher signed me up and was excited about how different my
approach was. Then one of the editors did a chapter-by-chapter lineup of my
book with other texts and said, “Um, your chapters don’t line up with theirs.”
Of course, that was kind of the point, I thought.
In general,
the reviewers were positive about the book. They probably would not have been
positive enough, however, to change their whole class and lab schedule to fit
in with it. My book would probably have gone the way of the worthy efforts of
Miller and Levine. Alas, for marketing reasons, the publisher probably made the
right decision to just pay me off and not go into production.
Gordon
Orians also took an original approach in his biology textbook. It had three
parts: Time, energy, and information. He built the whole science of biology
around these three organizing principles. He said, in a symposium I helped to
organize back in 1993, that his book got no adoptions, “and I mean that
literally.”
All of
us maverick textbook writers, however, might be able to trace our roots back to
the “BSCS Green Version” of High School Biology. (BSCS was the Biological
Curriculum Study Committee.) There was also a Blue Version, which followed the
“molecules to man” organization. The Green Version, however, began with placing
the student out in nature and having him or her look around and think about
what they saw. It began with a rabbit and a raspberry bush. Right there, you
have all the ecological interactions, including the rabbit hiding from
predators under the bush. Before the end of the first chapter, the student’s
eyes were opened to the wonder of the world. Well, that’s the way it worked for
me, when I read that chapter back in high school.
“Rabbits.
They keep turning up, in nursery tales and comic strips, in candy shops and
cabbage patches....and we know about raspberries...about the bushes along the
roadside, which tear skirts and trousers and make a fine place for rabbits to
hide.” Page one! And by page two the concepts of producers and consumers, and
ecological balance, are introduced.
Modern
biology textbooks are thick with condensed information. The textbook we use in general biology at my university is "short," a MERE 620 pages not counting glossary and index. But it is short because the information is crammed in, not because it is readable. My students don’t read
them. I don’t read them. We use an occasional diagram, such as the genetic
code. The only thing we use is the online, computer-graded assignments. If I
had begun science with one of those books, instead of a rabbit and a raspberry
bush, I might not have become a scientist at all.
This is
Stan Rice, reporting to you from the graveyard where I sit with Miller, Levine,
Orians, and BSCS.
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