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Dr. Renée Fuller
“What was he talking about?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea,” was my answer.
“But you were paying such careful attention,” said my friend Ellen. “ You looked like you knew what was going on.”
“I didn’t. I paid such careful attention ‘cause I was trying to figure out what he was talking about.”
Ellen grinned, then muttered: “Do you think he knew what he was talking about? I wonder why they invited him to give this lecture?”
“Good question! It reminds me of what my favorite English teacher told us repeatedly: ‘If you can’t present your ideas clearly it’s because they’re not clear in your head.’ And that chap sure couldn’t present his ideas clearly.”
“Let’s find out,” was Ellen’s rather impish suggestion as she ambled over to where the speaker, having finished his talk, was sitting waiting to be served some refreshments.
But it didn’t work. After several polite queries neither my friend nor I were any wiser about what it was that Dr. Raymond had been trying to say. We had no idea what either the results or even the purpose of his experiments had been. Seeing our puzzled expressions Dr. Raymond shoved a reprint of his latest article in front of us. The somewhat contemptuous gesture implied that he considered us two silly women incapable of understanding his important experiments
and ideas.
However, on scanning the introduction to the article I still had no idea what Dr. Raymond’s theory or what his research results had been. Even the general gist of his research escaped me. The article’s abstract was so crammed with jargon that, although being a fellow professional, the jargoned words were like a foreign language. It made me wonder, rather mischievously, whether the article’s reviewers had also been mystified. Perhaps since the article was so filled with “impressive” jargon the reviewers, somewhat intimidated, assumed that its contents must be important and consequently agreed to the article’s publication.
As professionals, we presume that the purpose of our professional jargon is to create shorthand words, i.e. jargon, that will reduce the need for recurring and excessive explanations for the theories and results that are being repeatedly referred to in our articles. Jargon is supposed to make it possible for us to rapidly get to the questions, or the conclusions, we are trying to communicate. However, if the author is the creator of the jargon in question, the uninitiated audience, not being one of the author’s students, may be lost in the wilderness of unfamiliar (jargon) words. I wondered whether that was what Dr. Raymond had done: created his own jargon, which was why neither my friend nor I had any idea what he was (presumably) trying to communicate. Which was also why Ellen very politely requested that Dr. Raymond’s define one by one the incomprehensible jargon words he had used.
But that also didn’t work. Dr. Raymond merely substituted one jargon word for another. Nor were Ellen and I the only confused professionals. Dr. Albert, one of our profession’s elder statesmen, had joined us. “What was that all about?” was his cranky demand, referring to Dr. Raymond’s presentation.
Since Dr. Albert could not be dismissed as a silly woman he was spared with having Dr. Raymond’s latest article shoved at him. Nevertheless, Dr. Raymond’s verbose and jargon loaded reply to Dr. Albert’s cranky demand continued to leave both Ellen and me just as
confused as before.
Dr. Albert’s disgusted “Oh, for piffle’s sake! That was clear as mud!” as he left our table indicated that he too was in the dark about Dr. Raymond’s theory and what his research results had been. (No, Dr. Albert didn’t use profanity. In a way that made his response seem even more disdainful; as though Dr. Raymond’s talk and attempted explanations didn’t deserve the clout of profanity.)
The elder statesman’s disgusted reaction must have been painful. Ellen and I also made moves to leave when it occurred to me that Dr. Raymond might now be ready to benefit from a simple approach, a technique that would help him explain his theory and his research results. And perhaps it might also help him to better understand his own research results and their relation to his own and other researchers’ theories.
Smiling at the frowning Dr. Raymond I asked: “What noun, what kind of noun that everyone would recognize, would describe your research? What simple, straightforward word would encompass the main, the major idea of your theory?”
Expectantly Ellen and I waited. It took a while before, with a puzzled expression, Dr. Raymond slowly and reluctantly produced the word “attention:” the noun that encompassed the main construct of his research. Astonished, Ellen sputtered. “So that’s what it was all about. Why didn’t you just say so? But what were the results?”
In response to Dr. Raymond’s bewildered look I asked him, “What verb would describe what had happened to the noun, ‘attention’? Did it grow? Did it disappear? Did it affect other variables (nouns)? In other words, what verb would describe what had happened in your experiment to ‘attention?’”
Producing a simple verb also didn’t come easily for Dr. Raymond. Instead he again resorted to his particular jargon. Which is why I interrupted his sojourn into what Ellen under her breath referred to as “gobbledygook.”
“Just a simple verb that describes what the noun ‘attention’ was doing; what verb describes what had happened to that noun? Did it increase? Did it shrink? What did that noun do? What verb would describe the outcome of your attention research?”
“It grew.” was Dr. Raymond’s puzzled reply – as though that had been obvious all along.
Dr. Raymond was not aware that with his response he had finally produced what in my own research I have labeled the “story engram.” An understanding of the story engram is what my dog Ellie demonstrates on those occasions when she gives different responses to the verb “get” depending on the noun that follows. For us humans, story engrams are the essential core of a concept, the conceptual scaffold, which our brain then elaborates, building and elucidating the central thought with further grammatical building blocks.
Starting with a noun, then going on to what that noun does (its verb), is the basic story engram unit, which can then be developed with adjectives and adverbs and further language elaborations. The basic story engram unit, the noun and its verb, already manifests itself in children within the first year of their lives. The earliest words a child tries to utter are usually simple nouns followed by a simple verb in the present tense. This fundamental noun-verb conceptualization (the story-engram) being the basic unit that organizes our thinking functions as the essential scaffold, the framework, which is required in order to build a narrative; in other words in order to construct, to develop a story.
Human thinking, contrary to what computers do, uses the story engram as its cognitive organizer. Computers, instead of being storytellers as we are, function as rigid information organizers. This difference between us is the essential factor that creates the fundamental divergence between the capabilities of mankind and that of our brilliant information laden but rigidly “stupid” machines.
The word “engram” was originally coined by Dr. Carl Lashley to describe basic idea-behavioral units in the laboratory rat. Similarly, a “story engram” represents the basic verbal-idea unit of that talkative animal, Homo sapiens. But the story engrams didn’t just start with us. Most dog owners have seen their pooches respond to the simple noun-verb combinations that essentially are uncomplicated story engrams. The command “get paper” has many a dog bring the tossed newspaper to their owner. Note: the verb “get” can be attached to several other nouns. There is “get ball,” “get slippers,’ etc. As previously indicated, my little Dane, Ellie, when I say “get” expectantly waits for the noun that will tell her what it is she should “get.” In the same way she will respond to “go potty,” “go car,” “go outside,” etc. As for chimpanzees and bonobos, there’s no need to discuss the noun-verb engrams that these primates can understand and communicate.
After Dr. Raymond had produced the story-engram “attention-grew” we now had a general idea what his research was about. However, still missing was the necessary elaborations so that his theory about “attention grew” and the research that it had engendered would become meaningful. It was Ellen who tried to make Dr. Raymond aware that he still had not communicated the scope of his investigation. Which is why she asked: “What sort of attention were you dealing with?”
Seeing the return of his puzzled expression I said, “What adjective would describe your noun ‘attention’? Was it verbal attention, auditory attention, interpersonal attention?”
Sounding puzzled that we had been so slow on the uptake Dr. Raymond produced, “Visual attention, of course.”
Rather impatiently Ellen asked: “So visual attention grew? Did it grow rapidly, or slowly, or sporadically? Put quite simply: what adverb would describe how visual attention grew?”
It took a while, but gradually Dr. Raymond constructed the elaboration that explained under what circumstances “attention grew.” Once he had gotten to the stage of story-engram elaboration, Dr. Raymond found it relatively easy to describe in detail both his research and his research findings. It made me wonder whether the process he had been through with us had helped him to better understand his own research? It definitely helped him explain both his theorizing and results to future audiences: as has now been demonstrated by his latest journal article.
An interesting developmental question asks: to what extent is it useful and meaningful to show to children (as young as four) how the story-engram can be deliberately used to build more complicated ideas? I have found that for youngsters (usually from three to six) who are too young or inexperienced to recognize the parts of speech, it is useful to refer to nouns as “thing words,” and then to exemplify. “A thing word is like the chair, the table, peanuts, the dog and you and I. Officially, thing words are called ‘nouns:’ that is their fancy name.” After a youngster, playing this new game, has thoroughly absorbed the concept of thing words (nouns) I go on to the concept of the verb with: “The official name for what a thing word (a noun) does is called a verb. Examples of verbs are running, eating, smiling, laughing, sneezing.”
Once the child has a clear picture of “thing words” (nouns) and what they do (verbs) the youngster is ready to go on to the story-engram game. After spending some time playing the story-engram game the child is ready for the story engram elaborations with: “Thing words (nouns) can be described in many ways. There are pretty things, ugly things, clever things, yellow things, skinny things, or fat things. The fancy name for the word that describes ‘thing words’ is called an adjective.”
Although children under nine or ten (as Piaget’s research showed) usually have considerable difficulty understanding basic grammar, I have found that this simple game approach can teach the elements of grammar to children as young as four. But more important, they learn and more clearly comprehend basic rules of story-engram elaboration, of how to construct progressively more advanced idea structures.
That is what happened with Eric who at the age of four had definite problems in communicating or even organizing his thoughts. His parents were at wits end when the pre-school labeled the child defective and demanded a psychological examination to prove their point. When the psychological examination confirmed their claims the pre-school very loftily took the attitude “We told you so.” However, Eric’s mother, Mrs. Alexander was certain that both the pre-school and the psychological examination were wrong. “They don’t realize what a bright child Eric is – just because he’s not one of those verbal children who jabbers away all day long. . . You should see what all he can do at home! He’s just not one of these glib kids.”
Mrs. Alexander was so right. Eric was not one of those talkative kids. In fact he didn’t talk at all. However, when given puzzles, he solved several of these above his age level. And when I asked him to build various structures with blocks Eric again showed himself to be functioning considerably above his four years. That gave me an idea.
“I’m going to show you how you can build with ‘thing words.’ Now ‘thing words’ are dog, cat, Eric, Mom, Dad, car, hamburger, cheese, candy, these are all ‘thing words’ with which you can build some really fun stuff. Now the way you build with ‘things words’ is you figure out what the thing word does. Like dog – barks, cat – meows.”
It didn’t take that long for Eric to get the hang of the story-engram building process. Even the concept of adjectives came surprisingly easily once he had learned how to build story engrams. Needless to say I didn’t bother to explain the grammatical terms of nouns, verbs, and adjectives to Eric. That would come later, after he had become fascinated with building thought structures with what he had once considered “that scary and mysterious communication that is language.” The realization that language was another way you could solve and even create puzzles, that it allowed you to build conceptual structures fitted Eric’s way of thinking. Quite simply, Eric is a builder.
By the time Eric was ready for kindergarten there was no more talk about his being defective. Wisely, Mrs. Alexander did not tell the advanced kindergarten what the pre-school and the psychological examination had claimed. So instead of questioning Eric’s ability the kindergarten saw Eric as a bright child with an interesting and advanced way of expressing himself linguistically: even though it was often haltingly as if he we trying to think things through. And of course that is exactly what Eric was doing.
Both Eric as well as Dr. Raymond are in many ways unusual in that they represent the cognitive extremes that makes our species so interesting. For most of us the development and use of story engrams comes so naturally that we are unaware as tiny tots that this basic cognitive structuring has taken place. But even for the most verbal of us, deliberately organizing our thoughts in story engram form can be used as an effective thought clarification process. Try it: its effectiveness will come as a delightful and surprisingly productive experience.
About the author:
Dr. Fuller received her M.A. in experimental psychology from Columbia University, and her Ph.D. in 1963 in physiological psychology from New York University.
In addition to developing the Ball-Stick-Bird reading system, and the story-as-the-engram theory of cognitive organization, Dr. Fuller has published widely in the field of clinical physiological psychology. At present she is continuing her work in developing learning programs and writing books and articles about how children learn. She is consultant to numerous school systems, universities, and departments of education, as well as to homeschoolers. Visit her web site: http://www.ballstickbird.com.
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