mixed methods for teaching reading (1)

Many issues in education are treated as either/or options and the Reading Wars have polarised opinion into synthetic phonics proponents on the one hand and those supporting the use of whole language (or ‘mixed methods’) on the other. I’ve been asked on Twitter what I think of ‘mixed methods’ for teaching reading. Apologies for the length of this reply, but I wanted to explain why I wouldn’t dismiss mixed methods outright and why I have some reservations about synthetic phonics. I wholeheartedly support the idea of using synthetic phonics (SP) to teach children to read. However, I have reservations about some of the assumptions made by SP proponents about the effectiveness of SP and about the quality of the evidence used to justify its use.

the history of mixed methods

As far as I’m aware, when education became compulsory in England in the late 19th century, reading was taught predominantly via letter-sound correspondence and analytic phonics – ‘the cat sat on the mat’ etc. A common assumption was that if people couldn’t read it was usually because they’d never been taught. What was found was that a proportion of children didn’t learn to read despite being taught in the same way as others in the class. The Warnock committee reported that teachers in England at the time were surprised by the numbers of children turning up for school with disabilities or learning difficulties. That resulted in special schools being set up for those with the most significant difficulties with learning. In France Alfred Binet was commissioned to devise a screening test to identify learning difficulties that evolved into the ‘intelligence test’. In Italy, Maria Montessori adapted methods to mainstream education that had been used to teach hearing-impaired children.

Research into acquired reading difficulties in adults generated an interest in developmental problems with learning to read, pioneered by James Hinshelwood and Samuel Orton in the early 20th century. The term developmental dyslexia began as a descriptive label for a range of problems with reading and gradually became reified into a ‘disorder’. Because using the alphabetic principle and analytic phonics clearly wasn’t an effective approach for teaching all children to read, and because of an increased interest in child development, researchers began to look at what adults and children actually did when reading and learning to read, rather than what it had been thought they should do.

What they found was that people use a range of cues (‘mixed methods’) to decode unfamiliar words; letter-sound correspondence, analytic phonics, recognising words by their shape, using key letters, grammar, context and pictures, for example. Educators reasoned that if some children hadn’t learned to read using alphabetic principles and/or analytic phonics, applying the strategies that people actually used when reading new words might be a more effective approach.

This idea, coinciding with an increased interest in child-led pedagogy and a belief that a species-specific genetic blueprint meant that children would follow the same developmental trajectory but at different rates, resulted in the concept of ‘reading-readiness’. The upshot was that no one panicked if children couldn’t read by 7, 9 or 11; they often did learn to read when they were ‘ready’. It’s impossible to compare the long-term outcomes of analytic phonics and mixed methods because the relevant data aren’t available. We don’t know for instance, whether children’s educational attainment suffered more if they got left behind by whole-class analytic phonics, or if they got left alone in schools that waited for them to become ‘reading-ready’.

Eventually, as is often the case, the descriptive observations about how people tackle unfamiliar words became prescriptive. Whole word recognition began to supersede analytic phonics after WW2, and in the 1960s Ken Goodman formalised mixed methods in a ‘whole language’ approach. Goodman was strongly influenced by Noam Chomsky, who believes that the structure underpinning language is essentially ‘hard-wired’ in humans. Goodman’s ideas chimed with the growing social constructivist approach to education that emphasises the importance of meaning mediated by language.

At the same time as whole language approaches were gaining ground, in England the national curriculum and standardised testing were introduced, which meant that children whose reading didn’t keep up with their peers were far more visible than they had been previously, and the complaints that had followed the introduction of whole language in the USA began to be heard here. In addition, the national curriculum appears to have focussed on the mechanics of understanding ‘texts’ rather than on reading books for enjoyment. What has also happened is that with the advent of multi-channel TV and electronic gadgets, reading has nowhere near the popularity it once had as a leisure activity amongst children, so children tend to get a lot less reading practice than they did in the past. These developments suggest that any decline in reading standards might have multiple causes, rather than ‘mixed methods’ being the only culprit.

what do I think about mixed methods?

I think Chomsky has drawn the wrong conclusions about his linguistic theory, so I don’t subscribe to Goodman’s reading theory either. Although meaning is undoubtedly a social construction, it’s more than that. Social constructivists tend to emphasise the mind at the expense of the brain. The mind is such vague concept that you can say more or less what you like about it, but we’re very constrained by how our brains function. I think marginalising the brain is an oversight on the part of social constructivists, and I can’t see how a child can extract meaning from a text if they can’t read the words.

Patricia Kuhl’s work suggests that babies acquire language computationally, from the frequency of sound patterns within speech. This is an implicit process; the baby’s brain detects the sounds and learns the patterns, but the baby isn’t aware of the learning process, nor of phonemes. What synthetic phonics does is to make the speech sounds explicit, develop phonemic awareness and allow children to learn phoneme-grapheme correspondence and how words are constructed.

My reservations about SP are not about the approach per se, but rather about how it’s applied and the reasons assumed to be responsible for its effectiveness. In cognitive terms, SP has three main components;

• phonemic and graphemic discrimination
• grapheme-phoneme correspondence
• building up phonemes/graphemes into words – blending

How efficient children become at these tasks is a function of the frequency of their exposure to the tasks and how easy they find them. Most children pick up the skills with little effort, but anyone who has problems with any or all of the tasks could need considerably more rehearsals. Problems with the cognitive components of SP aren’t necessarily a consequence of ineffective teaching or the child not trying hard enough. Specialist SP teachers will usually be aware of this, but policy-makers, parents, or schools that simply adopt a proprietary SP course might not.

My son’s school taught reading using Jolly Phonics. Most of the children in his class learned to read reasonably quickly. He took 18 months over it. He had problems with each of the three elements of SP. He couldn’t tell the difference between similar-sounding phonemes – i/e or b/d, for example. He couldn’t tell the difference between similar-looking graphemes either – such as b/d, h/n or i/j. As a consequence, he struggled with some grapheme-phoneme correspondences. Even in words where his grapheme-phoneme correspondences were secure, he couldn’t blend more than three letters.

After 18 months of struggling and failing, he suddenly began to read using whole word recognition. I could tell he was doing this because of the errors he was making; he was using initial and final letters and word shape and length as cues. Recognising patterns is what the human brain does for a living and once it’s recognised a pattern it’s extremely difficult to get it to unrecognise it. Brains are so good at recognising patterns they often see patterns that aren’t what they think they are – as in pareidolia or the behaviourists’ ‘superstition’. Once my son could recognise word-patterns, he was reading and there was no way he was going to be persuaded to carry on with all that tedious sounding-out business. He just wanted to get on with reading, and that’s what he did.

[Edited to add: I should point out that the reason the apparent failure of an SP programme to teach my son to read led to me supporting SP rather than dismissing it, was because after conversations with specialist SP teachers, I realised that he hadn’t had enough training in phonemic and graphemic discrimination. His school essentially put the children through the course, without identifying any specific problems or providing additional training that might have made a significant difference for him.]

When I trained as a teacher ‘mixed methods’ included a substantial phonics component – albeit as analytic phonics. I get the impression that the phonics component has diminished over time so ‘mixed methods’ aren’t what they once were. Even if they included phonics, I wouldn’t recommend ‘mixed methods’ prescriptively as an approach to teaching reading. Having said that, I think mixed methods have some validity descriptively, because they reflect the way adults/children actually read. I would recommend the use of SP for teaching reading, but I think some proponents of SP underestimate the way the human brain tends to cobble together its responses to challenges, rather than to follow a neat, straight pathway.

Advocacy of mixed methods and opposition to SP is often based on accurate observations of the strategies children use to read, not on evidence of what teaching methods are most effective. Our own personal observations tend to be far more salient to us than schools we’ve never visited reporting stunning SATs results. That’s why I think SP proponents need to ensure that the evidence they refer to as supporting SP is of a high enough quality to be convincing to sceptics.

all work and no play will make Jack and Jill bored and frustrated

Another educational dichotomy revealed by a recent Twitter conversation is learning vs play. Although I know people make this distinction, I found myself wondering why, traditionally, work and play have been contrasted, as in the old adage All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, and when learning might have slipped into the place of work.

The function of play

Hunting and gathering

For many thousands of years, human beings have been hunter-gatherers. Most human infants are capable of gathering (foraging for berries, leaves, shoots etc) before they can walk, although they might need a bit of support and guidance in doing so. Hunting is a more complex skill and needs the dexterity, attentional control, tuition and rehearsal that only older children can handle.

The primary function of typical play in humans, like that seen in other mammals, is to develop the skills required to obtain food and to make sure you don’t become food for anyone else. All that chasing, hiding, running, fighting, climbing, observing, collecting and pulling things apart can make the difference between survival and starvation. Of course human beings are also social animals; hunter-gatherers forage, hunt and eat in groups because that increases everyone’s chances of survival. So humans, like many other mammals, have another characteristic in their play repertoire – mimicry. Copying the behaviour of older children and adults forms the foundation for a wide variety of adult skills not confined to acquiring food.

Hunting and gathering involves effort, but the effort is closely related to the reward of eating. The delay between expending the effort and eating the food is rarely more than a few hours, and in foraging, the food immediately follows the effort. The effort could be described as work, and a child who’s poking an anthill or fighting another child when they should be gathering or hunting could be considered to be playing as opposed to working, but the play of hunter-gatherer children is so closely aligned to their ‘work’, and the consequences of playing rather than working are so obvious, that the distinction between play and work is rather blurred.


For a few thousands of years, human beings have been farmers. Farming has advantages over hunting and gathering, which is why it’s been so widely adopted. It increases food security considerably, especially in areas that experience cold or dry seasons, because surplus food can be produced and stored for future use. It also reduces,but doesn’t eliminate, the risk of territorial conflict – having to compete for food with another tribe.

In contrast to hunting and gathering, farming involves a great deal of effort that isn’t immediately rewarded. There’s a delay of months or even years before food results from the effort expended to produce it. Human children, like other mammals, aren’t good at delayed gratification. In addition, their default play patterns, apart from mimicry, don’t closely resemble the skills needed to produce food via agriculture. Ploughing, sowing, irrigating, weeding, protecting, harvesting and storing food involve hard, repetitive effort for no immediate reward to an extent that rarely occurs in hunter-gatherer societies. In addition, farming requires a lot of equipment – tools, containers, buildings, furniture etc, also requiring repetitive effort in their manufacture and maintenance. Communities that survive by subsistence farming can do so only if children do some of the work; they don’t have the spare capacity to allow children to spend their childhood only in play. This means that for farming communities, there’s a clear divide between children’s play and the work involved in producing food.


In England, subsistence farming was a way of life for thousands of years. As the population increased, pressure was put on land use, and areas of common land used for grazing animals, were increasingly ‘enclosed’ – landowners were given legal rights to take them out of public use. Following the Enclosure Acts of the late 18th/early 19th centuries, thousands of families found they didn’t have access to enough land to sustain themselves. They couldn’t survive by making and selling goods either, because of competition from the mass-production of cheap items in factories, made possible by the invention of the steam engine.

This double-whammy resulted in a mass migration to towns and cities to find work, which often consisted of hard, repetitive, dangerous labour in factories, or, because of the huge increase in demand for coal, in mines. Child labour was in great demand because it was cheap and plentiful, and many families couldn’t survive without their children’s earnings. Working in factories or in coal mines put children’s health in jeopardy. Previous generations of children working on the family smallholding might have found the work boring and repetitive and unpaid, but, poor harvests aside, would have had a reasonably good diet, plenty of fresh air and exercise and free time to pay with their friends. In industrial settings, children were working for twelve hours or more a day in dangerous environments, and, in the case of mines, almost complete darkness. The opportunity to play became a luxury.


The terrible working conditions for children didn’t last that long; a series of Factory Acts in the 19th century were followed by the 1870 Education Act which made education compulsory, and further legislation made it free of charge. Increasing prosperity (as a result of the industrial revolution, ironically) meant that most communities had sufficient resources to allow children to spend their childhood learning rather than working.

Learning vs play

Not everybody saw education in the same light, however. For some at one extreme, education was a means to an end; it produced a literate, numerate workforce that would increase national and individual prosperity. For others, education offered a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to be archetypally human; to be free of responsibility and engage only in learning and play – what children do naturally anyway. Not surprisingly, many popular children’s authors (popular because of the increase in child literacy) subscribed to the latter view, including Mark Twain, Louisa M Alcott, Lucy M Montgomery, Edith Nesbitt, Enid Blyton and CS Lewis.

Education has essentially been dominated by these two viewpoints ever since; the ‘traditionalists’ on the one hand and the ‘progressives’ on the other. It’s easy to see how the clear distinction between work and play that emerged with the advent of agriculture, and that became even more stark in the industrial revolution, could carry over into education. And how in some quarters, learning might be seen as children’s ‘work’.

In highly developed industrialised societies, the default play patterns of hunter-gatherers bear little resemblance to the skills children will need in later life. But children’s play is very versatile; they observe, mimic and learn from whatever they see around them, they experiment with technology and become skilled in using it. Children are still ‘doing it for themselves’ as they always have done. The informal education they would get if they didn’t attend school would still provide them, as it has for millennia, with the knowledge and skills they would need to survive as adults.

Of course for most people survival isn’t enough. The lives of people in communities that ‘survive’ tend to be nasty, brutish and short, and most people don’t want a life like that. The best way we’ve found to improve our quality of life and standard of living beyond ‘survival’ is to increase the efficiency with which we produce food, goods and services. In theory, at least, this frees up time to find ways of improving our quality of life further. In practice, the costs and benefits of increased efficiency tend to be rather unevenly distributed, with some people bearing most of the costs and others enjoying most of the benefits, but that’s another story.

The best way we’ve found to improve efficiency is for communities to have access to the knowledge we’ve acquired about how the world works. It isn’t necessary for everyone to know all about everything; what is necessary is for people have access to knowledge as and when they need it. Having said that, childhood and adolescence present a golden opportunity, before the responsibilities of adulthood kick in, to ensure that everyone has a good basic knowledge about how the world works.


A core characteristic of learning is the acquisition of new information in the form of knowledge and/or skills. But human beings aren’t robots; acquiring knowledge isn’t simply a matter of feeding in the knowledge, pressing a button and off we go. We are biological organisms; acquiring knowledge changes our brains via a biological process and it’s a process that takes time and that varies between individuals.


One of the ways in which humans naturally acquire, assimilate and apply new knowledge is through play. A core characteristic of play is that it isn’t directly related to what you do to survive. Play essentially consists of rehearsing and experimentally applying knowledge and skills in a safe environment – one where the outcomes of your rehearsal and experimentation are unlikely to end in disaster.

The amount learning in play varies. Sometimes the play can consist almost entirely of learning – repetition of knowledge or skills until perfect, for example. Sometimes there’s very little learning – the play is primarily for rest and relaxation. And rest and relaxation play can provide the ‘down-time’ the brain needs in order for new information to be assimilated.

Young humans play more than older ones because they have more new knowledge and skills to assimilate and experiment with, and their play tends to incorporate more learning. For very young children all play is learning.

Older humans tend to play for rest and relaxation purposes because they don’t have to acquire so much knowledge. They do learn through play, but it often isn’t recognised as such; it’s ‘kicking an idea around’ or imagining different scenarios, or experimenting with new knowledge in different configurations. In other words learning through play in adults is often seen as a corollary of work – what you get paid to do – not as play per se.

What emerges from this is that construing learning and play as different things and assuming that children and young people must either be learning or playing, is not a valid way of classifying learning and play. Learning can include play and play can include learning. Since play is one of the ways through which human beings learn anyway, it makes sense to incorporate it into learning rather than to see it as something that distracts from learning.

cognitive load and learning

In the previous two posts I discussed the model of working memory used by Kirschner, Sweller & Clark and how working memory and long-term memory function. The authors emphasise that their rejection of minimal guidance approaches to teaching is based on the limited capacity of working memory in respect of novel information, and that even if experts might not need much guidance “…nearly everyone else thrives when provided with full, explicit instructional guidance (and should not be asked to discover any essential content or skills)” (Clark, Kirschner & Sweller, p.6) Whether they are right or not depends on what they mean by ‘novel’ information.

So what’s new?

Kirschner, Sweller & Clark define novel information as ‘new, yet to be learned’ information that has not been stored in long-term memory (p.77). But novelty isn’t a simple case of information either being yet–to-be-learned or stored-in-long-term memory. If I see a Russian sentence written in Cyrillic script, its novelty value to me on a scale of 1-10 would be about 9. I can recognise some Cyrillic letters and know a few Russian words, but my working memory would be overloaded after about the third letter because of the multiple operations involved in decoding, blending and translating. A random string of Arabic numerals would have a novelty value of about 4, however, because I am very familiar with Arabic numerals; the only novelty would be in their order in the string. The sentence ‘the cat sat on the mat’ would have a novelty value close to zero because I’m an expert at chunking the letter patterns in English and I’ve encountered that sentence so many times.

Because novelty isn’t an either/or thing but sits on a sliding scale, and because the information coming into working memory can vary between simple and complex, that means that ‘new, yet to be learned’ information can vary in both complexity and novelty.

You could map it on a 2×2 matrix like this;

novelty, complexity & cognitive load

novelty, complexity & cognitive load

A sentence such as ‘the monopsonistic equilibrium at M should now be contrasted with the equilibrium that would obtain under competitive conditions’ is complex (it contains many bits of information) but its novelty content would depend on the prior knowledge of the reader. It would score high on both the novelty and complexity scales of the average 5 year old. I don’t understand what the sentence means, but I do understand many of the words, so it would be mid-range in both novelty and complexity for me. An economist would probably give it a 3 for complexity but 0 for novelty. Trying to teach a 5 year-old what the sentence meant would completely overload their working memory. But it would be a manageable challenge for mine, and an economist would probably feel bored.

Kirschner, Sweller & Clark reject ‘constructivist, discovery, problem-based, experiential and inquiry-based approaches’ on the basis that they overload working memory and the excessive cognitive load means that learners don’t learn as efficiently as they would using explicit direct instruction. If only it were that simple.

‘Constructivist, discovery, problem-based, experiential and inquiry-based approaches’ weren’t adopted initially because teachers preferred them or because philosophers thought they were a good idea, but because by the end of the 19th century explicit, direct instruction – the only game in town for fledgling mass education systems – clearly wasn’t as effective as people had thought it would be. Alternative approaches were derived from three strategies that young children apply when learning ‘naturally’.

How young children learn

Human beings are mammals and young mammals learn by applying three key learning strategies which I’ll call ‘immersion’, trial-and-error and modelling (imitating the behaviour of other members of their species). By ‘strategy’, I mean an approach that they use, not that the baby mammals sit down and figure things out from first principles; all three strategies are outcomes of how mammals’ brains work.


Most young children learn to walk, talk, feed and dress themselves and acquire a vast amount of information about their environment with very little explicit, direct instruction. And they acquire those skills pretty quickly and apparently effortlessly. The theory was that if you put school age children in a suitable environment, they would pick up other skills and knowledge equally effortlessly, without the boredom of rote-learning and the grief of repeated testing. Unfortunately, what advocates of discovery, problem-based, experiential and inquiry-based learning overlooked was the sheer amount of repetition involved in young children learning ‘naturally’.

Although babies’ learning is kick-started by some hard-wired processes such as reflexes, babies have to learn to do almost everything. They repeatedly rehearse their gross motor skills, fine motor skills and sensory processing. They practice babbling, crawling, toddling and making associations at every available opportunity. They observe things and detect patterns. A relatively simple skill like face-recognition, grasping an object or rolling over might only take a few attempts. More complex skills like using a spoon, crawling or walking take more. Very complex skills like using language require many thousands of rehearsals; it’s no coincidence that children’s speech and reading ability take several years to mature and their writing ability (an even more complex skill) doesn’t usually mature until adulthood.

The reason why children don’t learn to read, do maths or learn foreign languages as ‘effortlessly’ as they learn to walk or speak in their native tongue is largely because of the number of opportunities they have to rehearse those skills. An hour a day of reading or maths and a couple of French lessons a week bears no resemblance to the ‘immersion’ in motor development and their native language that children are exposed to. Inevitably, it will take them longer to acquire those skills. And if they take an unusually long time, it’s the child, the parent, the teacher or the method of that tends to be blamed, not the mechanism by which the skill is acquired.


The second strategy is trial-and-error. It plays a key role in the rehearsals involved in immersion, because it provides feedback to the brain about how the skill or knowledge is developing. Some skills, like walking, talking or handwriting, can only be acquired through trial-and-error because of the fine-grained motor feedback that’s required. Learning by trial-and-error can offer very vivid, never-forgotten experiences, regardless of whether the initial outcome is success or failure.


The third strategy is modelling – imitating the behaviour of other members of the species (and sometimes other species or inanimate objects). In some cases, modelling is the most effective way of teaching because it’s difficult to explain (or understand) a series of actions in verbal terms.

Cognitive load

This brings us back to the issue of cognitive load. It isn’t the case that immersion, trial-and-error and modelling or discovery, problem-based, experiential and inquiry-based approaches always impose a high cognitive load, and that explicit direct instruction doesn’t. If that were true, young children would have to be actively taught to walk and talk and older ones would never forget anything. The problem with all these educational approaches is that they have all initially been seen as appropriate for teaching all knowledge and skills and have subsequently been rejected as ineffective. That’s not at all surprising, because different types of knowledge and skill require different strategies for effective learning.

Cognitive load is also affected by the complexity of incoming information and how novel it is to the learner. Nor is cognitive load confined to the capacity of working memory. 40 minutes of explicit, direct novel instruction, even if presented in well-paced working-memory-sized chunks, would pose a significant challenge to most brains. The reason, as I pointed out previously, is because the transfer of information from working memory to long-term memory is a biological process that takes time, resources and energy. Research into changes in the motor cortex suggests that the time involved might be as little as hours, but even that has implications for the pace at which students are expected to learn and how much new information they can process. There’s a reason why someone would find acquiring large amounts of new information tiring – their brain uses up a considerable amount of glucose getting that information embedded in the form of neural connections. The inevitable delay between information coming into the brain and being embedded in long-term memory suggests that down-time is as important as learning time – calling into question the assumption that the longer children spend actively ‘learning’ the more they will know.

Final thoughts

If I were forced to choose between constructivist, discovery, problem-based, experiential and inquiry-based approach to learning or explicit, direct instruction, I’d plump for explicit, direct instruction because the world we live in works according to discoverable principles and it makes sense to teach kids what those principles are, rather than to expect them to figure them out for themselves. However, it would have to be a forced choice, because we do learn through constructing our knowledge and through discovery, problem-solving, experiencing and inquiring as well as by explicit, direct instruction. The most appropriate learning strategy will depend on the knowledge or skill being learned.

The Kirschner, Sweller & Clark paper left me feeling perplexed and rather uneasy. I couldn’t understand why the authors frame the debate about educational approaches in terms of minimal guidance ‘on one side’ and direct instructional guidance ‘on the other’, when self-evidently the debate is more complex than that. Nor why they refer to Atkinson & Shiffrin’s model of working memory when Baddeley & Hitch’s more complex model is so widely accepted as more accurate. Nor why they omit any mention of the biological mechanisms involved in learning; not only are the biological mechanisms responsible for the way working memory and long-term memory operate, they also shed light on why any single educational approach doesn’t work for all knowledge, all skills – or even all students.

I felt it was ironic that the authors place so much emphasis on the way novices think but present a highly complex debate in binary terms – a classic feature of the way novices organise their knowledge. What was also ironic was that despite their emphasis on explicit, direct instruction, they failed to mention several important features of memory that would have helped a lay readership understand how memory works. This is all the more puzzling because some of these omissions (and a more nuanced model of instruction) are referred to in a paper on cognitive load by Paul Kirschner published four years earlier.

In order to fully understand what Kirschner, Sweller & Clark are saying, and to decide whether they were right or not, you’d need to have a fair amount of background knowledge about how brains work. To explain that clearly to a lay readership, and to address possible objections to their thesis, the authors would have had to extend the paper’s length by at least 50%. Their paper is just over 10 000 words long, suggesting that word-count issues might have resulted in them having to omit some points. That said, Educational Psychologist doesn’t currently apply a word limit, so maybe the authors were trying to keep the concepts as simple as possible.

Simplifying complex concepts for the benefit of a lay readership can certainly make things clearer, but over-simplifying them runs the risk of giving the wrong impression, and I think there’s a big risk of that happening here. Although the authors make it clear that explicit direct instruction can take many forms, they do appear to be proposing a one-size fits all approach that might not be appropriate for all knowledge, all skills or all students.

Clark, RE, Kirschner, PA & Sweller, J (2012). Putting students on the path to learning: The case for fully guided instruction, American Educator, Spring.
Kirschner, PA (2002). Cognitive load theory: implications of cognitive load theory on the design of learning, Learning and Instruction, 12 1–10.
Kirschner, PA, Sweller, J & Clark, RE (2006). Why Minimal Guidance During Instruction Does Not Work: An Analysis of the Failure of Constructivist, Discovery, Problem-Based, Experiential, and Inquiry-Based Teaching Educational Psychologist, 41, 75-86.