can’t help it, root causes and strict discipline: part 2

The second of two posts analysing Old Andrew’s view of the behaviour of children with special educational needs.

special educational needs

In the Can’t Help It model that Old Andrew satirises in Charlie and the Inclusive Chocolate Factory, special educational needs (SEN) are conflated with disability. The child is seen as “ill with ADHD” or “on the autistic spectrum”. And we’ve all seen discussions about whether children ‘really have SEN’. According to one newspaper a 2010 Ofsted report claimed that “many of these pupils did not actually suffer from any physical, emotional or educational problems”.

The SEND Code of Practice defines special educational needs in terms of the “facilities of a kind generally provided for others of the same age in mainstream schools or mainstream post-16 institutions” (p.14). In other words, the definition of SEN is a piece of string. If the facilities generally provided are brilliant, there will be hardly any children with SEN. If they are generally inadequate, there will be many children with SEN.

special educational needs and disability

Another post referred to by Old Andrew is The Blameless Part 3: the Afflicted.   He again pillories Can’t Help It as assuming “if a child is behaving badly in a lesson they must secretly be unable to do the work, and that the most likely reason a child might be unable to keep up with their peers is some form of disability or illness”.

Andrew asks why “a child unable to do their school work would misbehave rather than simply say they couldn’t do it”, completely overlooking communication difficulties ranging from children physically not being able to put the words together if under stress, to feeling intense apprehension about the consequences of drawing the problem to the teacher’s attention in public, such as jeers from peers or the teacher saying ‘you can do it you’re just not trying’ (I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve heard that statement masquerading as ‘high expectations’).

The second charge Andrew levels at Can’t Help It is the assumption that “medical or psychological conditions directly cause involuntary incidents of poor behaviour.” Leaving aside the question of who decides what constitutes poor behaviour, Andrew draws attention to the circular reasoning that Can’t Help It entails. If a medical or psychological condition is defined in terms of behaviour, then the behaviour must be explained in terms of a medical or psychological condition.

That’s a fair criticism, but it doesn’t mean there are no medical or psychological conditions involved. Old Andrew goes on to question the existence of ‘proprioception disorder’, linking it, bizarrely, to a Ship of Fools definition of purgatory. Impaired proprioception is well established scientifically. A plausible mechanism is the variation in function of the different kinds of sensory receptor in the skin and muscles. (The best description of it I’ve found is in the late great Donna Williams’ book Nobody Nowhere.) Whether Andrew has heard of ‘proprioception disorder’ or whether or not it’s formally listed as a medical disorder, is irrelevant to whether or not variations in proprioceptive function are causal factors in children’s behaviour.

It’s the Can’t Help It model that has led, in Andrew’s opinion, to a “Special Needs racket”. I’d call it a mess rather than a racket, but a mess it certainly is.  And it’s not just about children who don’t have ‘genuine disabilities’.  Mainstream teachers are expected to teach 98% of the school population but most are trained to teach only the 70% in the middle range. If teachers don’t have the relevant expertise to teach the 15% or so of children whose performance, for whatever reason, is likely to be more than one standard deviation below average, it’s hardly surprising that they label those children as having special educational needs and expect local authorities to step in with additional resources.

children as moral agents

Old Andrew questions an assumption he thinks is implicit in Can’t Help It – that the child is ‘naturally good’. I think he’s right to question it, not because children are or are not naturally good, but because morality is only tangentially relevant to what kinds of behaviours teachers want or don’t want in their classrooms, and completely irrelevant to whether or not children can meet those expectations. The good/bad behavioural continuum is essentially a moral one, and thus open to debate.

The third post Old Andrew linked to was Needs.  He suggests that framing behaviour in terms of needs “absolves people of responsibility for their actions”. He points out the difficulty of determining what children’s needs are and how to meet them, and goes on to consider an ‘extreme example’ of a school discovering that many of its pupils were starving. If the school feels it has a moral duty to the children, it would feed all those who were starving. But if the school attributes bad behaviour to going without food, it would “cease looking for the most famished child to feed first and start feeding the worst behaved… We would be rewarding the worst behaved child with something they wanted”.  Andrew concludes “Imagine how more contentious other types of “help” (like extra attention, free holidays, help in lessons or immunity from punishment) might be”… Whenever we view human beings as something other than moral agents we are likely to end up advocating solutions which are in conflict with both our consciences and our knowledge of the human mind”.

Andrew has raised some valid points about how we figure out what needs are, how they are best met, and about the Can’t Help It model. But his alternative is to frame behaviour in terms of a simplistic behaviourist model (reward and punishment), and human beings as moral agents with consciences and minds. In short, his critique, and the alternative he posits, are based on his beliefs. He’s entitled to hold those beliefs, of course, but they don’t necessarily form an adequate framework for determining what behaviour schools want, what behaviour is most beneficial to most children in the short and long term, or how schools should best address the behaviour of children with special educational needs (as legally defined).

Andrew seems to view children as moral agents who can control their behaviour regardless of what disability they might have. The moral agents aspect of his model rests on unsupported assumptions about human nature. The behavioural control aspect is called into question by research indicating that the frontal lobes of the brain don’t fully mature until the early 20s.  Moral agency and behavioural control in young people is a controversial topic.

conclusion

The Can’t Help It model is obviously flawed and the Strict Discipline model rests on questionable assumptions. The Root Cause model, in contrast, recognises that preventing unwanted behaviours might require an analysis of the behaviour expected of children, and the reasons children aren’t meeting those expectations. It’s an evidence-based model. It doesn’t rest on beliefs or absolve children of all responsibility. It can identify environmental factors that contribute to unwanted behaviour, and can provide children with strategies that increase their ability to control what they do.  To me, it looks like the only model that’s likely to be effective.

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can’t help it, root causes and strict discipline: part 1

This week Old Andrew, renowned education blogger, has drawn attention to some of his old posts about children with special educational needs. He identifies two conceptual models that focus on children’s behaviour – and overlooks a third.  In this post, I describe the models and why teachers might adopt one and not the others.

the model muddle

In Charlie and the Inclusive Chocolate Factory Andrew satirises a particular conceptual model of children’s behaviour. I’ll call  the model Can’t Help It. This view is that children identified as having special educational needs, or those from deprived backgrounds, are not responsible for behaving in ways that are unwanted by those around them. The Can’t Help It model is the one that claims criminals abused or neglected in childhood can’t be held responsible for breaking the law. I don’t doubt it’s a view held by some people, and I can understand the temptation to satirise it. It’s flawed because almost everyone could identify some adverse experience in childhood that explains why they behave in ways that distress others.

But satirising Can’t Help It is risky, because of its similarity to another conceptual model, which I’ll call Root Cause. The two models have similar surface features, but a fundamentally different deep structure. The Root Cause model claims that all behaviour has causes and if we want to prevent unwanted behaviour we have to address the causes. If we don’t do that the behaviour is likely to persist. (Ignoring causal factors is a frequent cause of re-offending; prisoners are often released into a community that prompted them to engage in criminal behaviour in the first place).

I’ve never encountered Can’t Help It as such. What I have encountered frequently is something of a hybrid between Can’t Help It and Root Cause. People are aware that there might be causes for unwanted behaviour and that those causes should be addressed, but  have no idea what the causes are or how to deal with them.

If the TES Forum is anything to go by, this is often true for teachers in mainstream schools who’ve had no special educational needs or disability training. They don’t want to apply the usual a reward/punishment approach in the case of a kid with a diagnosis of ADHD or autism, because they know it might be ineffective or make the problem worse. But they know next to nothing about ADHD or autism, so haven’t a clue how to proceed. In some cases the school appears to have just left the teacher to get on with it and is hoping for the best. Teachers in this position can’t apply Root Cause because they don’t know how, so tend to default to either Can’t Help It or to a third model I’ll call Strict Discipline.

Strict Discipline has a long history, dating back at least to Old Testament times. It also has a long history of backfiring. Children have a strong sense of fairness and will resent punishments they see as unfair or disproportionate. The resentment can last a lifetime. A Strict Discipline approach needs a robust evidential framework it’s going to be effective in both the short and long term. In Charlie and the Inclusive Chocolate Factory, Old Andrew rightly eschews Can’t Help It and appears to opt for Strict Discipline, bypassing Root Cause entirely; he describes Charlie, despite “eating nothing but bread and cabbage for six months” as “polite and well-behaved”.

Good behaviour

This evaluation of Charlie’s behaviour begs the question of what constitutes ‘well-behaved’. Teachers who identify as ‘traditional’ often refer to ‘good’ and ‘bad’ behaviour as if both are self-evident. Inevitably, behaviour isn’t that simple. ‘Traditional’ teachers appear to see behaviour on a linear continuum. At one pole is strict adherence to social norms – whatever they are deemed to be in a particular environment. At the other is complete license, assumed to result in extreme anti-social activities.

The flaws of this behaviour continuum are immediately apparent because it’s based on assumptions. The norms set by a particular teacher or school are assumed to be reasonable and attainable by all children. Those are big assumptions, as shown by the variation in different schools’ expectations and in the behaviour of children.

Even very young children are aware of different behavioural expectations. What’s allowed in Miss Green’s class isn’t tolerated in Mr Brown’s. They can do things in their grandparents’ home that their parents wouldn’t like, and that would be completely unacceptable in school. That doesn’t make Mr Brown’s expectations or those of the school right, and everybody else wrong. We all have to behave in different ways in different environments. Most children intuitively pick up and respond appropriately to these variations in expectations, but some don’t. By definition autistic children struggle to make sense of what they are expected to do, and children with attentional deficits get distracted from the task in hand.

It doesn’t follow that children with autism or ADHD should be permitted to behave how they like, nor have all their ‘whims’ catered for. Nor does it follow that every child should be expected to behave in exactly the same way. What it does mean is that if a child exhibits behaviour that’s problematic for others, the causes of the problematic behaviour should be identified and appropriate action taken. In some cases, schools and teachers do not appear to know what that appropriate action should be.

In the next post I’ll look at the flaws in the Strict Discipline model in relation to children with special educational needs.

traditional vs progressive: the meta-debate

The traditional vs progressive education debate has been a contentious one. Some have argued that there’s a clear divide between traditional and progressive education, and others that it’s a false dichotomy. So in addition to the traditional/progressive debate, there’s been a meta-debate about whether or not a traditional/progressive divide actually exists.

the meta-debate

Two features of the meta-debate have puzzled me. One is; amongst those who recognise a traditional/progressive divide, which educational practices are considered traditional and which progressive? The other is; why those who recognise a traditional/progressive divide feel so strongly about people who don’t.

Here for example is the usually mild-mannered Martin Robinson, on his blog Trivium 21C.

So the next time someone argues that progress and tradition are a false dichotomy, think why would they argue this? They are either lying and are using this argument to hide the fact that they are either on one side or the other.”

My initial understanding of Martin’s argument was as follows;

  1. In general, the term traditional means ‘belief, custom or practice being handed down’, ‘from the past’, and ‘conservative in the sense of keeping things the same’. Progressive means ‘advocating reform in political or social matters’, ‘toward the future’ and ‘radical in the sense of reforming things’.
  1. In education, “traditionalists argue for the centrality of subject and progressives argue for the centrality of the child”.
  1. It’s not just Martin who defines the terms in this way; the general meanings are used widely, and the specific educational meanings are shared by John Dewey and Chambers etymological dictionary, no less.
  1. The beliefs, customs and practices referred to by the terms traditional and progressive are mutually exclusive; you can’t prioritise what’s handed down from the past and prioritise reform at the same time, and “the classroom can’t be both subject centred and child centred.”   Therefore the categories traditional and progressive must be mutually exclusive.

I agreed with Martin on some points. Beliefs, customs and practices have indeed been handed down, and political and social reforms have been carried out. Subject centred and child centred education has certainly happened. And there’s widespread agreement on what traditional and progressive mean generally, and in education. However at this point Martin appears make some assumptions, and this is where we parted company.

assumptions

The first assumption is that because certain beliefs, customs and practices exist out there in the real world, the categories to which people assign those beliefs, customs and practices, must also exist out there in the real world; the categories have external validity.

The second assumption is that if there is widespread agreement on what the terms traditional and progressive refer to, the categories traditional and progressive have, for all intents and purposes, a universal meaning; the categories are also reliable.

The third assumption is that the beliefs, customs and practices assigned to the categories traditional and progressive are mutually exclusive, therefore the categories traditional and progressive must be mutually exclusive.

Those assumptions were the only reasons I could think of that would prompt Martin to accuse people of lying or covering up if they claimed that tradition vs progress was a false dichotomy.

I think the assumptions are unfounded, largely because, although there might be widespread agreement about what traditional and progressive refer to, that agreement isn’t universal. Other proponents of the traditional/progressive divide apply different criteria.

differences of opinion

Here’s Old Andrew’s definition from 2014; “Progressive teaching is that which rejects any of the pillars of traditional teaching. These are 1) the existence of a tradition i.e. a body of knowledge necessary for developing the intellect. 2) The use of direct instruction & practice as the most effective methods of teaching. 3) The authority of teachers in the classroom.”*

And here’s Robert Peal, in his book Progressively Worse;

It has become fashionable to pose the ideas of progressive education against those of, for want of a better term, ‘traditional’ education. Educational commentators are likely to say that such ‘polarising rhetoric’ establishes ‘false dichotomies’. When in reality a sensible mix of the two approaches is required. This is true. …Such dichotomies, (skills/knowledge, child-centred/ teacher-led) are perhaps better thought of as sitting at opposite ends of a spectrum.” (p.8)

Each of the three commentators appears to believe that a traditional/progressive divide exist out there in the real world, but they have different ideas about where the divide lies. Or if there are several divides. Or whether the divide is actually a spectrum. But despite differences of opinion about exactly where the divide is, or whether there are any divides as such, each of the commentators cheerfully castigates anyone who questions the location or the existence of the divide.

Robert Peal says in a blogpost that those criticising the categorisation of issues in education are “more often than not just trying to shut down debate.”  Old Andrew has also alleged that those who think the divide is a false dichotomy are in denial about the existence of the debate.

I was perplexed. I just couldn’t see how a wide range of educational theories or practices could be shoe-horned into two mutually exclusive categories, but I wasn’t lying about that, or covering anything up, and I can hardly be accused of wanting to shut down debate.  Then a recent Twitter exchange shed more light on the subject.

trad:prog values

Although proponents of a traditional/progressive divide often refer to values, I’d had no idea that they were basing the divide primarily on values. Or for that matter, what values they might be basing it on.   Martin’s post now made more sense. If he defines traditional and progressive education in terms of single mutually exclusive core values that he believes exist out there in the real world, then I can see why he might feel justified in accusing people who disagree of lying or covering up.

who disagrees?

One problem for people who disagree with proponents of the traditional/progressive divide is that the proponents appear to assume their definition of traditional and progressive education is valid (which is questionable) and reliable (which it clearly isn’t if other proponents of the divide don’t agree about where the divide is).

A second problem is an assumption that the core values that characterise traditional and progressive education are mutually exclusive. I would question that as well. Clearly, education can’t be subject centred and child centred at the same time, but who decided a label can be attached to only one value? Or that education has to be centred on only one thing?

A third problem is that although proponents of the traditional/progressive divide might be arguing that the divide exists only at the level of values (and in Martin’s case might involve only two core values), each of the proponents I’ve cited has made numerous references to practice. This might explain why I, and others, have gone ‘Dichotomy? What dichotomy?’, or have claimed to be eclectic, or somewhere between the two, or whatever.

I’ve argued previously that it might be helpful to represent abstract concepts like traditional and progressive diagrammatically. I still think this would be a good move. A few Venn diagrams and a bit of graphical representation would force all of us to clarify exactly what we mean.

*I can’t locate the original tweets, but blogged about them here.

When is a word not a word? The ‘dog debate’.

A post appeared recently on the TES Reading Theory and Practice blog about the relationship between synthetic phonics and comprehension. Its focus is the UK’s statutory phonics screening check taken annually by all eligible children in Years 1 and 2.

The post, written by the late thumbshrew (aka Tweeter @MarianRuthie) seemed to me well-reasoned, informative and remarkably uncontroversial considering the heated debate that has polarised around decoding and comprehension. But it wasn’t long before the controversy got under way. Another blogger, @oldandrewuk, took issue not with the post as a whole, but with one comment about the categorisation of words. This is the sentence he questioned;

The check is made up of nonwords and real words (although, whether any ‘word’ presented like this, in isolation, is genuinely a word is a debatable point).”

@oldandrewuk observed, on Twitter;

Phonics denialist claims it’s “debatable” whether a word presented in isolation is actually a word: Beyond satire.

A lively discussion ensued, which @MarianRuthie referred to as the ‘dog debate’. @oldandrewuk attempted to refute thumbshrew’s claim using the letter string ‘d-o-g’. His reasoning was that if ‘d-o-g’ is indisputably a word, then the claim “whether any ‘word’ presented like this, in isolation, is genuinely a word is a debatable point” is invalid.

For everyday purposes, I think @oldandrewuk’s argument carries some weight. To the best of my knowledge, the reasonable people on the Clapham omnibus don’t spend time debating whether or not ‘dog’, or ‘cat’ or ‘bus’ are words – they take that for granted and get on and use them as such. But thumbshrew’s post wasn’t discussing the status of words for everyday purposes, but their status in an assessment of children’s facility with phonemes and graphemes. @oldandrewuk was questioning the criteria she used to determine whether a letter string was a word or not. And words are notoriously slippery customers.

When is a word not a word?

We’re all familiar with variability in the meaning of words, but whether something is a word or not isn’t always clear either. Take words presented in isolation. When we speak, the way we say a particular word is affected by the words that precede and follow it. If I say aloud “the dog barked” the ‘g’ in ‘dog’ is barely audible, whereas if I say “the bark of the dog” the ‘g’ in ‘dog’ is much clearer. If ‘dog’ were to be excised from the first phrase, presented in isolation and people asked to say what word it was, they’d be just as likely to respond with ‘dot’ or ‘doll’ as ‘dog’. Or, if given the option, they might say it isn’t a word at all, since ‘d’ followed only by a short ‘o’ isn’t used in English.

Written English poses other challenges. Because English spelling is largely standardised and because we leave a space fore and aft when writing words, ‘dog’ looks pretty much the same in isolation as it does in a sentence, so people don’t have the same difficulty in identifying written words taken from sentences as they do with spoken English. But not all five year-olds (or adults unfamiliar with the Roman alphabet) perceive ‘dog’ in a sans serif font as being the same as ‘dog’ in a font with serifs – and could consider ‘dog’ in a gothic typeface not to be a word at all.

Then there are heteronyms (words that have the same spelling but different meanings and pronunciation) where context determines what meaning and pronunciation should be used – ‘wind’ as in whistling or ‘wind’ as in bobbin. I once found myself having an argument with my mother, then in her 50s, about the word ‘digest’. For the noun, the stress is on the first syllable. For the verb it’s on the second. My mum insisted they were both pronounced like the verb and claimed she couldn’t hear any difference. I thought she was just being difficult until it emerged that my son had a very similar problem differentiating between similar speech sounds.

Words are an integral part of spoken and written English. They are relatively rarely encountered in isolation, and the context in which they occur can be crucial in determining their meaning and pronunciation. You could, as thumbshrew implied, define ‘word’ in terms of the role a sound or letter string plays in spoken or written language and argue that by definition any letter string presented in isolation isn’t a word.

But individuals’ perceptions of spoken and written English don’t determine whether a letter string is a genuine word or not. Unlike French, English doesn’t have an official body to make such decisions. Scrabble players might appeal to the OED, but then use words in the course of conversation that aren’t yet in the dictionary. How we treat novel words highlights the criteria we use to determine whether a sound or letter string is a word or not.

A new word coined by an academic might gain immediate acceptance as a genuine word due to the academic’s expertise and the need to label a newly discovered phenomenon. A street slang term, in contrast, might have only a brief period of usage in within a small community. Would the slang term qualify as a word? Or what about ‘prolly’, a contraction of ‘probably’ used in social media. Does ‘prolly’ qualify as a genuine word or not? Is ‘digest’ used as a noun but with the stress on the second syllable a genuine word? Or how about a toddler who calls a fridge a ‘sputich’? If her family understand and use the word ‘sputich’ in conversation does that make it a genuine word?

Prototype theory

During the course of the ‘dog debate’ I attempted to shed some light on what makes a sound or letter string a word by appealing to prototype theory. In the 1970s Eleanor Rosch showed that people use the features of items to categorise them. Frequently occurring features are highly prototypical for particular categories; features that occur less frequently are less prototypical. For example, birds typically have beaks, wings, feathers, lay eggs and fly, but some birds can’t fly, so flight isn’t as highly prototypical a feature as the others. In a Venn diagram illustrating prototypicality in birds, robins would be near the middle of the circle because they show all prototypical features. Ostriches and penguins would be nearer the edge of the circle. The circle wouldn’t have a clear boundary because it would blur into feathered reptiles.

Words are also things that can be categorised. One prototypical feature of words is frequency of usage. Another is the degree of agreement on whether it’s a word or not. If a word is used very frequently by all and sundry, it’s highly prototypical. ‘Dog’, @oldandrewuk’s example, would be near the centre of a Venn diagram representing the category ‘word’. Chances are ‘sputich’ would fall outside it. As for ‘prolly’, there would likely be differences of opinion over whether or not it was a word, indicating that the category ‘word’ also has fuzzy rather than crisp boundaries.

Because the criteria for whether or not something is a genuine word or not – usage and agreement – are on a scale that could range from 0% to 100%, deciding whether or not a letter string is a word isn’t a straightforward task. And, as @ded6ajd pointed out in the Twitter debate, a word isn’t necessarily a letter string. Words can take the form of sequences of speech sounds, patterns of marks, and gestures, implying that a word is an actually an abstract construct.

So where does all that leave the ‘dog debate’?

Back to the ‘dog debate’

As I said, I think @oldandrewuk’s argument carries some weight for everyday purposes. However, in relation to the point he took issue with, I think there are two flaws in his challenge. If I’ve understood correctly, he’s saying that if a letter string exists whose status as a word is undisputed, that invalidates thumbshrew’s claim that it’s debatable whether any ‘word’ presented in isolation is genuinely a word. To demonstrate he needs only to cite one example, and chooses ‘dog’. If no one is debating the status of ‘dog’, then the status of ‘dog’ isn’t debatable, therefore the claim that the status of ‘any’ word is debatable is false.

But @oldandrewuk’s challenge rests on an implicit assumption that not finding anyone who disputes the status of ‘dog’ is the same as the status of ‘dog’ being undisputed. It isn’t. That’s equivalent to claiming that if no one has ever seen a crow whose plumage isn’t black, we can safely conclude all crows must be black. Of course that conclusion isn’t safe since we cannot possibly gather data on all crows.

The second flaw is this: Even if we were able to interrogate every living English speaker about their opinions on the status of ‘dog’ and we found universal agreement that ‘dog’ was a word, we still wouldn’t know whether all those people were using the same criterion for whether a letter string was a word or not, or what their views might be about other words. On the face of it there might appear to be no debate about the status of ‘dog’, but put a random sample of those in agreement about its status in a room together and get them to talk about their criteria for what constitutes a word, and it’s likely that a debate would start pretty quickly.

There is no universal standard for what constitutes a genuine word. If it were easy to establish one, the French, with their historic penchant for standardisation, would have come up with one by now. Words aren’t like weights or measures, where in principle you could cut a piece of metal to an arbitrary length, put it in a glass case and agree that it’s the international standard for a cubit. Words are more like populations of organisms, with new ones arising and old ones falling out of use and being forgotten continually. One person’s word might be another person’s non-word.

And that’s the nub of the problem. For @oldandrewuk near-as-dammit universal agreement about a letter string’s status as a genuine word, in isolation or not, is good enough. For thumbshrew, it isn’t; she’s aware of the different criteria people use for ‘word’ and concludes that the status of letter strings presented in isolation is debatable.

Personally, I think thumbshrew is right – that it is debatable whether any ‘word’ presented in isolation is genuinely a word and that @oldandrewuk’s challenge is flawed. But because research shows that people identify written words in isolation as words more readily than they do spoken words, frankly I don’t think it would be much of a debate.

A more important point, which @oldandrewuk doesn’t take up, is why there are ‘genuine words’ in the phonics check at all. It would make far more sense for all the letter strings to be pseudo-words. This would give a more accurate picture of children’s phonemic and graphemic awareness, would reduce the impact of confounding factors such as word recognition and avoid the need to have a debate about what constitutes a genuine word.

seven myths about education – what’s missing?

Old Andrew has raised a number of objections to my critique of Seven Myths about Education. In his most recent comment on my previous (and I had hoped, last) post about it, he says I should be able to easily identify evidence that shows ‘what in the cognitive psychology Daisy references won’t scale up’.

One response would be to provide a list of references showing step-by-step the problems that artificial intelligence researchers ran into. That would take me hours, if not days, because I would have to trawl through references I haven’t looked at for over 20 years. Most of them are not online anyway because of their age, which means Old Andrew would be unlikely to be able to access them.

What is more readily accessible is information about concepts that have emerged from those problems, for example; personal construct theory, schema theory, heuristics and biases, bounded rationality and indexing, connectionist models of cognition and neuroconstructivism. Unfortunately, none of the researchers says “incidentally, this means that students might not develop the right schemata when they commit facts to long-term memory” or “the implications for a curriculum derived from cultural references are obvious”, because they are researching cognition not education, and probably wouldn’t have anticipated anyone suggesting either of these ideas. Whether Old Andrew sees the relevance of these emergent issues or not is secondary, in my view, to how Daisy handles evidence in her book.

concepts and evidence

In the last section of her chapter on Myth 1, Daisy takes us through the concepts of the limited capacity of working memory and chunking. These are well-established, well-tested hypotheses and she cites evidence to support them.

concepts but no evidence

Daisy also appears to introduce two hypotheses of her own. The first is that “we can summon up the information from long-term memory to working memory without imposing a cognitive load” (p.19). The second is that the characteristics of chunking can be extrapolated to all facts, regardless of how complex or inconsistent they might be; “So, when we commit facts to long-term memory they actually become part of our thinking apparatus and have the ability to expand one of the biggest limitations of human cognition” (p.20). The evidence she cites to support this extrapolation is Anderson’s paper – the one about simple, consistent information. I couldn’t find any other evidence cited to support either idea.

evidence but no concepts

Daisy does cite Frantz’s paper about Simon’s work on intuition. Two important concepts of Simon’s that Daisy doesn’t mention but Frantz does, are bounded rationality and the idea of indexing.

Bounded rationality refers to the fact that people can only make sense of the information they have. This supports Daisy’s premise that knowledge is necessary for understanding. But it also supports Freire’s complaint about which facts were being presented to Brazilian schoolchildren. Bounded rationality is also relevant to the idea of the breadth of a curriculum being determined by the frequency of cultural references. Simon used it to challenge economic and political theory.

Simon also pointed out that not only do experts have access to more information than novices do, they can access it more quickly because of their mental cross-indexing, ie the schemata that link relevant information. Rapid speed of access reduces cognitive load, but it doesn’t eliminate it. Chess experts can determine the best next move within seconds, but for most other experts, their knowledge is considerably more complex and less well-defined. A surgeon or an engineer is likely to take days rather than seconds to decide on the best procedure or design to resolve a difficult problem. That implies that quite a heavy cognitive load is involved.

Daisy does mention schemata but doesn’t go into detail about how they are formed or how they influence thinking and understanding. She refers to deep learning in passing but doesn’t tackle the issue Willingham raises about students’ problems with deep structure.

burden of proof

Old Andrew appears to be suggesting that I should assume that Daisy’s assertions are valid unless I can produce evidence to refute them. The burden of proof for a theory usually rests with the person making the claims, for obvious reasons. Daisy cites evidence to support some of her claims, but not all of them. She doesn’t evaluate that evidence by considering its reliability or validity or by taking into account contradictory evidence.

If Daisy had written a book about her musings on cognitive psychology and education, or about how findings from cognitive psychology had helped her teaching, I wouldn’t be writing this. But that’s not what she’s done. She’s used theory from one knowledge domain to challenge theory in another. That can be a very fruitful strategy; the application of game theory and ecological systems theory has transformed several fields. But it’s not helpful simply to take a few concepts out of context from one domain and apply them out of context to another domain.

The reason is that theoretical concepts aren’t free-standing; they are embedded in a conceptual framework. If you’re challenging theory with theory, you need to take a long hard look at both knowledge domains first to get an idea of where particular concepts fit in. You can’t just say “I’m going to apply the concepts of chunking and the limited capacity of working memory to education, but I shan’t bother with schema theory or bounded rationality or heuristics and biases because I don’t think they’re relevant.” Well, you can say that, but it’s not a helpful way to approach problems with learning, because all of these concepts are integral to human cognition. Students don’t leave some of them in the cloakroom when they come into class.

On top of that, the model for pedagogy and the curriculum that Daisy supports is currently influencing international educational policy. If the DfE considers the way evidence has been presented by Hirsch, Willingham and presumably Daisy, as ‘rigorous’, as Michael Gove clearly did, then we’re in trouble.

For Old Andrew’s benefit, I’ve listed some references. Most of them are about things that Daisy doesn’t mention. That’s the point.

references

Axelrod, R (1973). Schema Theory: An Information Processing Model of Perception and Cognition, The American Political Science Review, 67, 1248-1266.
Elman, J et al (1998). Rethinking Innateness: Connectionist Perspective on Development. MIT Press.
Frantz, R (2003). Herbert Simon. Artificial intelligence as a framework for understanding intuition, Journal of Economic Psychology, 24, 265–277.
Kahneman, D., Slovic, P & Tversky A (1982). Judgement under Uncertainty: Heuristics and Biases. Cambridge University Press.
Karmiloff-Smith, A (2009). Nativism Versus Neuroconstructivism: Rethinking the Study of
Developmental Disorders. Developmental Psychology, 45, 56–63.
Kelly, GA (1955). The Psychology of Personal Constructs. New York: Norton.

seven myths about education: finally…

When I first heard about Daisy Christodoulou’s myth-busting book in which she adopts an evidence-based approach to education theory, I assumed that she and I would see things pretty much the same way. It was only when I read reviews (including Daisy’s own summary) that I realised we’d come to rather different conclusions from what looked like the same starting point in cognitive psychology. I’ve been asked several times why, if I have reservations about the current educational orthodoxy, think knowledge is important, don’t have a problem with teachers explaining things and support the use of systematic synthetic phonics, I’m critical of those calling for educational reform rather than those responsible for a system that needs reforming. The reason involves the deep structure of the models, rather than their surface features.

concepts from cognitive psychology

Central to Daisy’s argument is the concept of the limited capacity of working memory. It’s certainly a core concept in cognitive psychology. It explains not only why we can think about only a few things at once, but also why we oversimplify and misunderstand, are irrational, are subject to errors and biases and use quick-and-dirty rules of thumb in our thinking. And it explains why an emphasis on understanding at the expense of factual information is likely to result in students not knowing much and, ironically, not understanding much either.

But what students are supposed to learn is only one of the streams of information that working memory deals with; it simultaneously processes information about students’ internal and external environment. And the limited capacity of working memory is only one of many things that impact on learning; a complex array of environmental factors is also involved. So although you can conceptually isolate the material students are supposed to learn and the limited capacity of working memory, in the classroom neither of them can be isolated from all the other factors involved. And you have to take those other factors into account in order to build a coherent, workable theory of learning.

But Daisy doesn’t introduce only the concept of working memory. She also talks about chunking, schemata and expertise. Daisy implies (although she doesn’t say so explicitly) that schemata are to facts what chunking is to low-level data. That just as students automatically chunk low-level data they encounter repeatedly, so they will automatically form schemata for facts they memorise, and the schemata will reduce cognitive load in the same way that chunking does (p.20). That’s a possibility, because the brain appears to use the same underlying mechanism to represent associations between all types of information – but it’s unlikely. We know that schemata vary considerably between individuals, whereas people chunk information in very similar ways. That’s not surprising if the information being chunked is simple and highly consistent, whereas schemata often involve complex, inconsistent information.

Experimental work involving priming suggests that schemata increase the speed and reliability of access to associated ideas and that would reduce cognitive load, but students would need to have the schemata that experts use explained to them in order to avoid forming schemata of their own that were insufficient or misleading. Daisy doesn’t go into detail about deep structure or schemata, which I think is an oversight, because the schemata students use to organise facts are crucial to their understanding of how the facts relate to each other.

migrating models

Daisy and teachers taking a similar perspective frequently refer approvingly to ‘traditional’ approaches to education. It’s been difficult to figure out exactly what they mean. Daisy focuses on direct instruction and memorising facts, Old Andrew’s definition is a bit broader and Robert Peal’s appears to include cultural artefacts like smart uniforms and school songs. What they appear to have in common is a concept of education derived from the behaviourist model of learning that dominated psychology in the inter-war years. In education it focused on what was being learned; there was little consideration of the broader context involving the purpose of education, power structures, socioeconomic factors, the causes of learning difficulties etc.

Daisy and other would-be reformers appear to be trying to update the behaviourist model of education with concepts that, ironically, emerged from cognitive psychology not long after it switched focus from behaviourist model of learning to a computational one; the point at which the field was first described as ‘cognitive’. The concepts the educational reformers focus on fit the behaviourist model well because they are strongly mechanistic and largely context-free. The examples that crop up frequently in the psychology research Daisy cites usually involve maths, physics and chess problems. These types of problems were chosen deliberately by artificial intelligence researchers because they were relatively simple and clearly bounded; the idea was that once the basic mechanism of learning had been figured out, the principles could then be extended to more complex, less well-defined problems.

Researchers later learned a good deal about complex, less well-defined problems, but Daisy doesn’t refer to that research. Nor do any of the other proponents of educational reform. What more recent research has shown is that complex, less well-defined knowledge is organised by the brain in a different way to simple, consistent information. So in cognitive psychology the computational model of cognition has been complemented by a constructivist one, but it’s a different constructivist model to the social constructivism that underpins current education theory. The computational model never quite made it across to education, but early constructivist ideas did – in the form of Piaget’s work. At that point, education theory appears to have grown legs and wandered off in a different direction to cognitive psychology. I agree with Daisy that education theorists need to pay attention to findings from cognitive psychology, but they need to pay attention to what’s been discovered in the last half century not just to the computational research that superseded behaviourism.

why criticise the reformers?

So why am I critical of the reformers, but not of the educational orthodoxy? When my children started school, they, and I, were sometimes perplexed by the approaches to learning they encountered. Conversations with teachers painted a picture of educational theory that consisted of a hotch-potch of valid concepts, recent tradition, consequences of policy decisions and ideas that appeared to have come from nowhere like Brain Gym and Learning Styles. The only unifying feature I could find was a social constructivist approach and even on that opinions seemed to vary. It was difficult to tell what the educational orthodoxy was, or even if there was one at all. It’s difficult to critique a model that might not be a model. So I perked up when I heard about teachers challenging the orthodoxy using the findings from scientific research and calling for an evidence-based approach to education.

My optimism was short-lived. Although the teachers talked about evidence from cognitive psychology and randomised controlled trials, the model of learning they were proposing appeared as patchy, incomplete and incoherent as the model they were criticising – it was just different. So here are my main reservations about the educational reformers’ ideas:

1. If mainstream education theorists aren’t aware of working memory, chunking, schemata and expertise, that suggests there’s a bigger problem than just their ignorance of these particular concepts. It suggests that they might not be paying enough attention to developments in some or all of the knowledge domains their own theory relies on. Knowing about working memory, chunking, schemata and expertise isn’t going to resolve that problem.

2. If teachers don’t know about working memory, chunking, schemata and expertise, that suggests there’s a bigger problem than just their ignorance of these particular concepts. It suggests that teacher training isn’t providing teachers with the knowledge they need. To some extent this would be an outcome of weaknesses in educational theory, but I get the impression that trainee teachers aren’t expected or encouraged to challenge what they’re taught. Several teachers who’ve recently discovered cognitive psychology have appeared rather miffed that they hadn’t been told about it. They were all Teach First graduates; I don’t know if that’s significant.

3. A handful of concepts from cognitive psychology doesn’t constitute a robust enough foundation for developing a pedagogical approach or designing a curriculum. Daisy essentially reiterates what Daniel Willingham has to say about the breadth and depth of the curriculum in Why Don’t Students Like School?. He’s a cognitive psychologist and well-placed to show how models of cognition could inform education theory. But his book isn’t about the deep structure of theory, it’s about applying some principles from cognitive psychology in the classroom in response to specific questions from teachers. He explores ideas about pedagogy and the curriculum, but that’s as far as it goes. Trying to develop a model of pedagogy and design a curriculum based on a handful of principles presented in a format like this is like trying to devise courses of treatment and design a health service based on the information gleaned from a GP’s problem page in a popular magazine. But I might be being too charitable; Willingham is a trustee of the Core Knowledge Foundation, after all.

4. Limited knowledge Rightly, the reforming teachers expect students to acquire extensive factual knowledge and emphasise the differences between experts and novices. But Daisy’s knowledge of cognitive psychology appears to be limited to a handful of principles discovered over thirty years ago. She, Robert Peal and Toby Young all quote Daniel Willingham on research in cognitive psychology during the last thirty years, but none of them, Willingham included, tell us what it is. If they did, it would show that the principles they refer to don’t scale up when it comes to complex knowledge. Nor do most of the teachers writing about educational reform appear to have much teaching experience. That doesn’t mean they are wrong, but it does call into question the extent of their expertise relating to education.

Some of those supporting Daisy’s view have told me they are aware that they don’t know much about cognitive psychology, but have argued that they have to start somewhere and it’s important that teachers are made aware of concepts like the limits of working memory. That’s fine if that’s all they are doing, but it’s not. Redesigning pedagogy and the curriculum on the basis of a handful of facts makes sense if you think that what’s important is facts and that the brain will automatically organise those facts into a coherent schema. The problem is of course that that rarely happens in the absence of an overview of all the relevant facts and how they fit together. Cognitive psychology, like all other knowledge domains, has incomplete knowledge but it’s not incomplete in the same way as the reforming teachers’ knowledge. This is classic Sorcerer’s Apprentice territory; a little knowledge, misapplied, can do a lot of damage.

5. Evaluating evidence Then there’s the way evidence is handled. Evidence-based knowledge domains have different ways of evaluating evidence, but they all evaluate it. That means weighing up the pros and cons, comparing evidence for and against competing hypotheses and so on. Evaluating evidence does not mean presenting only the evidence that supports whatever view you want to get across. That might be a way of making your case more persuasive, but is of no use to anyone who wants to know about the reliability of your hypothesis or your evidence. There might be a lot of evidence telling you your hypothesis is right – but a lot more telling you it’s wrong. But Daisy, Robert Peal and Toby Young all present supporting evidence only. They make no attempt to test the hypotheses they’re proposing or the evidence cited, and much of the evidence is from secondary sources – with all due respect to Daniel Willingham, just because he says something doesn’t mean that’s all there is to say on the matter.

cargo-cult science

I suggested to a couple of the teachers who supported Daisy’s model that ironically it resembled Feynman’s famous cargo-cult analogy (p. 97). They pointed out that the islanders were using replicas of equipment, whereas the concepts from cognitive psychology were the real deal. I suggest that even the Americans had left their equipment on the airfield and the islanders knew how to use it, that wouldn’t have resulted in planes bringing in cargo – because there were other factors involved.

My initial response to reading Seven Myths about Education was one of frustration that despite making some good points about the educational orthodoxy and cognitive psychology, Daisy appeared to have got hold of the wrong ends of several sticks. This rapidly changed to concern that a handful of misunderstood concepts is being used as ‘evidence’ to support changes in national education policy.

In Michael Gove’s recent speech at the Education Reform Summit, he refers to the “solidly grounded research into how children actually learn of leading academics such as ED Hirsch or Daniel T Willingham”. Daniel Willingham has published peer-reviewed work, mainly on procedural learning, but I could find none by ED Hirsch. It would be interesting to know what the previous Secretary of State for Education’s criteria for ‘solidly grounded research’ and ‘leading academic’ were. To me the educational reform movement doesn’t look like an evidence-based discipline but bears all the hallmarks of an ideological system looking for evidence that affirms its core beliefs. This is no way to develop public policy. Government should know better.

traditional vs progressive teaching

Educational approaches adopted by teachers have been presented in terms of ‘traditional’ or ‘progressive’ for many years. These terms have long served as signposts to point in the general direction of particular teaching philosophies or methods, but it looks as if in recent years they have become reified; what happens when abstract ideas are treated as if they have a concrete existence. Attempts have been made to define ‘traditional’ and ‘progressive’, or to point out the advantages of one over the other, and they are often presented as polar opposites, as if approaches to teaching form a spectrum with extreme ‘traditional’ methods at one end and extreme ‘progressive’ methods at the other. I don’t think it’s possible to arrive at a general definition of ‘traditional’ or ‘progressive’ teaching, and it certainly isn’t helpful to frame the debate in that way. Here’s why.

Defining traditional and progressive teaching

‘Teaching’ can be adequately defined in fairly simple terms, but in the real world ‘teaching’ is a pretty complex thing involving many activities and processes. If we were to define ‘teaching’ not verbally, but in the form of a Venn diagram, it would be a set containing many elements. If we then tried to divide the elements in our set {teaching} into two subsets {traditional} and {progressive}, that might help us discover the characteristics of ‘traditional’ and ‘progressive’ teaching.

Some elements, such as ‘only use talk and chalk’ would clearly fall into the set {traditional} whereas ‘always using discovery learning’ would clearly fall into the set {progressive}. But some elements, like ‘reading for more information’ or ‘asking questions’ would fall into both sets i.e. the intersection of the sets. Some elements I found difficult to allocate; I couldn’t decide if ‘watching a dvd’ or ‘using a whiteboard’ could be included in {traditional} because both technologies are so recent they wouldn’t qualify as ‘traditional’ for historical reasons. However, they could both be used in ‘direct instruction’, one of the elements that’s frequently cited as a feature of a traditional approach. The more elements I tried to allocate to either the {traditional} or {progressive} set, the more elements ended up in the intersection of the two. I came to the conclusion that it’s impossible to arrive at a general definition of ‘traditional’ and ‘progressive’ teaching, not just because different people have different ideas about what constitutes ‘traditional’ or ‘progressive’, but because it’s not a valid way of representing teaching – it doesn’t reflect accurately what happens in the real world.

An analogy would be comparing ‘the olden days’ with ‘modern times’. These are useful verbal signposts pointing to what happened a long time ago and what happened recently, but to an historian interested in tool manufacture, the 18th century would be ‘modern times’, whereas to an IT specialist the 1960s are ‘the olden days’. Even if you were to agree a boundary between the two, as say, midnight on January 1st 2000, there would be many things that were going on in the olden days that are still happening in modern times, so a clear definition would be impossible.

Working definitions

Some people do want to frame teaching in terms of traditional or progressive, however. If they do, and if they want to discuss those issues with others, it’s important that they explain their own definitions, so everyone knows exactly what they are talking about. Working definitions are widely used for concepts that are a bit fuzzy. For example, a sociologist studying the way single parents behave might define a single parent as living in a home where ‘no other adult is resident for more than five nights a year’. Or as ‘self-identifying as a single parent’. Both are valid definitions; they both map accurately on to the lives of lone adults looking after children. Sociologists recognise that the situations of single parents vary widely, so trying to find a definition that accommodates all of them might be a pointless exercise. But if the definitions used for each study are clear, then at least everybody knows what’s being referred to.

The problem with ambiguities

The subject of my previous post was Old Andrew’s definition of traditional and progressive teaching. Most people wouldn’t have a problem with a working definition even if they disagreed with it, as long as it made clear what the person using the definition was talking about. My problem with Old Andrew’s definition was that even as a working definition it contains ambiguities.

There are two potential sources of ambiguity in a working definition; ambiguity in the terminology used, or ambiguity inherent in the thing that you’re trying to define. One example of ambiguous terminology is Old Andrew’s use of the term ‘practice’. ‘Practice’ could mean learning by ‘rehearsal’- a key feature of ‘traditional’ teaching, or learning by ‘doing’ – a key feature of ‘progressive’ approaches. Sometimes the constructs themselves can be ambiguous; in his definition old Andrew equates ‘tradition’ with ‘body of knowledge’ – when both are rather fuzzy complex concepts with blurred boundaries that themselves need working definitions before people can be clear what’s being referred to.

I can’t say that Old Andrew’s working definition of traditional teaching is right or wrong; it’s his working definition and it’s helpful to have it for future discussions. What I can say is that it contains ambiguities that need further clarification. What I can also say is that although you could have as many working definitions of traditional or progressive teaching as there are people talking about them, it will be impossible to arrive at a standard definition of traditional or progressive teaching that everybody signs up to because the number of ambiguities involved is so great. The Venn diagram exercise suggests that because of the ambiguities, traditional and progressive aren’t actually helpful ways to frame the debate. The terms simply add an unnecessary additional layer of complexity.

Old Andrew responded to my criticism of his definition. I’ve replied by commenting on my previous post.