The most important, and the most pointless, course I’ve taught

Last quarter, I taught for the first time the first term of the introductory undergraduate physics sequence, the standard “physics with calculus”:” class that exists in some form at nearly every university. Usually I teach courses for non-science majors (on renewable energy, for example) or graduate courses (on biophysics, for example), so this was a new audience. I enjoyed it — fortunately, because I’m teaching it again next fall — but it struck me that the course overall is both extremely important and quite pointless. How can these both be true?

First the importance. I was again reminded of how elegant basic physics is. Concepts like force together with a bit of math allow us to predict things like the path of a ball or the maximum speed at which a car can take a curve without slipping. (To illustrate the latter, I showed a clip from the excellent car chase in Bullit (1968); note the slipping around 0:38.)

More importantly, transcending the subject matter of physics, the course conveys the power of constructing simple models, translating concepts into the language of mathematics, and solving problems. Even if one never encounters friction or gravitational forces again, they provide a straightforward backdrop for learning powerful ways of thinking, more straightforward and less confusing than applications from fields like economics, psychology, or molecular biology.

Of course, the physics itself is important, and at several points I incorporated contemporary applications. My favorite was a discussion of optical trapping and its use to measure forces at very small scales, such as the force a virus exerts to stuff DNA inside itself. Biophysics provides many great illustrations of mechanical activity.

How, then, can I claim the class is pointless?

Aside from my contemporary examples, the content of this course has been known for centuries. (Or at least 100 years; I comment a bit on the history of the concept of conservation of energy, which extends to Emmy Noether in the early 20th century.) What’s more, the material is so standard that there are innumerable readily available books, videos, and even full courses that teach it. Even in the early 1990s, when I was in high school, I’d watch CalTech’s “Mechanical Universe” television show broadcast on the public access channel. In 2025, there is no need for students to learn introductory physics from me or even from this course.

None of these thoughts are novel, and the usual counter arguments are:

1. The key thing the class provides is structure, with a regulated pace, a weekly schedule of assignments, and assessments that provide feedback.
2. Only a small fraction of students are capable of or interested in studying and learning on their own. Human psychology is such that most people need a professor in a room with them to learn. (Or more accurately, without a professor standing in front of them they won’t learn. Some students’ grades prove that my presence clearly isn’t sufficient.)
3. Maybe the professor isn’t necessary to convey content, but a human presence is important for motivating the students. Certainly in my classes for non-science-majors, I feel like one of my main tasks is to be enthusiastic; each class is a performance.
4. Aside from motivation, the professor’s role is to answer questions. Even if the students studied the content on their own, this question/answer dynamic is important.

All of these points are all true, but they are nonetheless unsatisfying, and I am increasingly skeptical that they suffice to justify the way we teach. Current artificial intelligence tools are chipping away at the fourth point, being able not only to solve physics problems very well, but also to answer questions and serve as an effective tutor. For the first three points: these describe the role of an expert coach, not a provider of content, and these aims would be better realized by using the four hours of class time per week to interrogate students about their progress and provide motivating scientific examples. Furthermore, Learning to learn on one’s own is an immensely valuable skill that we should be helping students develop.

I will be teaching this class again in Fall. Will I radically restructure it? Almost certainly not, I am sad to admit. Students would riot. Everyone I know of who has tried a “flipped classroom” in a lower level / introductory class, in which most material is introduced through readings or videos outside of class and class time is devoted to questions and exercises, reports that students complain emphatically. From what I hear, the class usually falls back into a partially flipped structure, at most. One would hope that learning outcomes, followed by instructional efficiency, would be the main drivers of course structure, and that students themselves would be the instigators of change. Unfortunately, that is not the case.

I should also note that students seemed to like my class — evaluations were quite positive. One student wrote, “Everything about this class was well-structured, and I don’t think any of the teaching elements needed improvement. The lectures were engaging, the explanations were clear, and the real-world connections made the material even more interesting.” So if it ain’t broke…

However, we all believe the current system will change. Is this true? When?

Today’s illustration…

Mushrooms. Watercolor and colored pencil, based on a photograph in “Plants and Fungi: The Definitive Visual Encyclopedia” (2024); link, spotted on the new book shelf at the Springfield, OR library a few weeks ago.

— Raghuveer Parthasarathy, April 11, 2025