Matching Tracksuits

Observation and inference — two totally different skills, so linked in some ways, so very different in most ways. To observe means to use one’s senses and only one’s senses. In observing, it’s what we see, what we smell, what we hear, what we taste, what we feel — and nothing else. To infer means to take those sensory stimuli and combine them then somehow go beyond them, drawing a logical conclusion based on evidence.

I don’t really recall any lessons in school about how to infer, about how to discern inferring from observing. Perhaps we had some lessons on those skills and differentiating between them, but I don’t really recall. (As if that’s any kind of proof…) Still, I teach my eighth grade students every year how the difference between inferring and observing, and one of the continuing ways I do it is to show a photograph with some statements below it, some inferences, some observations.

It might look something like this:

Are the following a) observations or b) inferences?

1. He slipped.
2. The floor is wet.
3. There are papers on the floor.
4. He is a lawyer.
5. He was in a hurry.
6. He is on the floor.

Students often insist that the first statement is clearly an observation. With a little prodding they realize, though, that they didn’t actually see the gentleman slip, so it’s only an inference.

“Why do you think that?” I ask.

“Because he’s on the floor, with his papers spread about in front of him, and the floor’s wet.”

“But how do you know the floor is wet?” I push further.

“Because there’s a sign about the floor being wet,” the students press incredulously.

I sketch a “Wet Floor” sign on a piece of paper and put it on the floor.

“Is this floor wet?”

“No!” comes the chorus.

“But how do you know? I mean, there’s a sign here and everything,” I continue. “Prove to me it’s not wet.” Finally one student gets up and touches the floor.

“See?” she says, showing me her dry hand, “It’s dry.”

Inferences that look like observations — how often do we confuse the two? How many disagreements do we have simply because one party thinks she’s observing and instead is inferring? I suspect most, if not all, political disagreement arises from this. One side feels it is only observing the simple facts while insisting that the other side is inferring — and inferring wrongly — from the facts, or worse, inferring based on previous inferences based on previous inferences, ad infinitum. In fact, probably most political positions are built on a long string of inferences. Understanding this might be a good first step to less acrimonious political discussions. Indeed, it might be a good first step to better relationships in general.

“Teachers, please check your email now. Again, teachers, please check your email now.” With the weather forecast that students had been bouncing around among themselves before school started — snow, sleet, blizzard, nothing, depending on the individual student’s optimism — it seemed obvious what the email would tell us. Sure enough: “School will be dismissed early today. Will let you know more details later.”

I finished reading and, turning around, met a chorus of pleas: “What did it say?!” “Tell us!” “Are we getting out early!?” I just smiled and continued with where I’d been in the lesson.

“Come on!!” was the only response I got.

Still, I pressed on. We were working on using transition words as markers in an argument. “Even if” was our phrase of the moment, and I smiled and gave as an example, “Even if we have early dismissal today, it won’t affect our first period class.”

Still later, a trickle of announcements begins interrupting our work: “Jane Doe, please come to the office for early dismissal.” “Michael Smith, please come to the office. You have an early dismissal.”

It seemed obvious by now, but still, I said nothing.

Finally, though, the clincher: “Those students who borrowed a belt from Mrs. Thomas, please return them now.” With a mandatory belt a part of our school’s dress code, Mrs. Thomas has taken to lending belts to students who arrive without in an effort to help them avoid the inconvenient consequences. But that’s not what the students heard. They heard, “We’re getting an early dismissal.”

It was a teachable moment I couldn’t pass up. Recalling a student’s comment earlier in the year about how she never infers as part of her day, I asked the class, “Since you all now think you’re getting an early dismissal, would you mind telling me what skill you’re employing to reach that conclusion?”

Miss I-Never-Infer-And-Likely-Was-Only-Trying-To-Be-Contrary said, “We inferred!”

We went through the observations we’d made in order to make that inference:

1. “You got that email. No one ever makes an announcement for teachers to check their email!”
2. “You used that ‘Even if’ example!”
3. “We’ve been having half the school called to the front for early dismissal.”
4. “Everyone only has to take their belts back to Mrs. Thomas. You only have to do that at the end of the day.”

I agreed to each one, probing a bit further to get them to express their reasoning a little more fully. Finally, I asked, “What about the most obvious piece of evidence?”

Seemingly all hands in the room pointed to the window. “The weather!”

Only one thing to do — put a bow on it: “So don’t tell me you don’t infer endlessly on a daily basis.”