Author Archives: Andrew Watson

In schools, optimism helps teachers a lot.

At the beginning of the year, my students JUST DON’T KNOW all sorts of things: how to write a good essay; how to analyze Macbeth; how to define “gerund.”

In all likelihood, your students don’t know things too.

Because I’m often an optimist, I trust that — by the end of the year — they WILL KNOW all those things, and lots more. So, I suspect, are you.

Our optimism prevents despair. (“They’ll just never learn the …”)

At times, however, that optimism can build unreasonable hopes and expectations.

For instance:

I hear a GREAT DEAL of enthusisam about the concept of teaching students “to learn how to learn.”

If students know all the cool stuff that we discuss at Learning and the Brain conferences, surely their academic lives will be better.

The optimist in me says: “that sounds GREAT.” The realist in me says: “I want to slow down and ask some pointed questions…”

A Core Principle

I make my living by explaining cognitive science to teachers. I talk about working memory and attention and retrieval practice and prior misconceptions and executive attention…the list goes on.

When I think about explaining cognitive science to students, I return to this vital question:

Realistically speaking, can students DO SOMETHING with this information?

If the realistic answer to that question (have I written “realistic” often enough?) is not an emphatic “YES,” then I’m very hesitant about sharing it.

For example: retrieval practice.

By now, this blog’s readers know that actively calling information to mind (“retrieval practice”) enhances learning — especially when compared with rereading (“simple review”).

I could link to dozens of sources, but — to keep things simple — I’ll simply highlight this book review, and this website.

Obviously, we teachers should use as much retrieval practice as we reasonably can.

But: should we tell our students about retrieval practice, so they can “learn how to learn”?

Let’s go back to my guiding principle:

Realistically speaking, can students DO SOMETHING with information about retrieval practice?

Well: obviously YES.

Students can…

… make flashcards

… quiz one another (rather than review their notes)

… outline a chapter from memory (rather than reread the chapter).

Students have ALL SORTS of ways to make retrieval practice their own, and to benefit from it.

So, it makes sense to tell students about this part of cognitive science.

In truth, I tell my students about retrieval practice at the beginning of every year. (I once had a student THANK ME for doing so much retrieval practice. No, I’m not making that up.)

In this specific case, students can absolutely “learn how to learn.”

Next Question

If students should learn about retrieval practice, what about other “desireable difficulties”? What about — for example — spacing and interleaving?

You know the drill:

Realistically speaking, can students DO SOMETHING with information about spacing and interleaving?

Honestly, I have my doubts.

Students have relatively little control over their practice schedule. They practice when their homework requires them to do so.

In other words: they can’t simply decide to do half their “gerund” exercises tonight and half later in the week. They have to do them when I assign them.

So: it’s on me (and other teachers) to design our syllabi to space and interleave practice.

But, for the most part, students can’t do much with this information, so I don’t make a big deal about it with them. (I’m relieved to know that Bradley K. Busch largely agrees with me on this point.)

Yes: students should probably know about spacing and interleaving so that they can manage their college study habits well. But until they get to college, that information doesn’t offer them much practical guidance (except in unusual circumstances).

And the next…

Sadly, I think most information from cognitive science fits in this latter category.

That is: TEACHERS should know about working memory. (Teachers should obsess about working memory.)

But, I don’t think students can do much with information on this topic.

That is: when they’re experiencing working memory overload, they don’t have enough working memory left to get metacognitive about working memory reduction strategies.

The potential solution, paradoxically, exacerbates the problem.

Heck, it took me YEARS to figure out how to apply my knowledge of working memory limitations to my teaching. It seems somehow unfair to ask students to accomplish a task that challenged me so greatly.

Heretically, I don’t think that students really need to know much about mindsets either. Instead, I think TEACHERS and SCHOOLS should create policies and practices with this theory in mind.

Those mindset posters probably don’t do any harm.

But if they’re not enacted by the teachers’ words and decisions, that contradiction makes the students’ knowledge useless.

Telling students about mindsets (probably) doesn’t help them learn how to learn. Behaving and speaking as if we have a growth mindset helps students learn.

An Alternative Perspective

I’ll say all this in a different way: I believe teachers have a distinct and vital role in students’ learning.

Students have their work to do — obviously. And we have ours.

Those two roles sometimes overlap. But just as often, they remain distinct.

We should know our subject.

And, we should know from cognitive science.

In those few cases (retrieval practice!) where students can use that knowledge immediately, we should eagerly share it with them.

In the more common cases where they can’t (e.g.: Posner’s tripartite theory of attention; dopytocin), we should put it to use, but not burden students with extraneous cognitive load.

This perspective might not be uplifting and optimistic, but I hope its realism will ultimately help my students learn better.

You will often hear about an exciting strategy to help students learn: they should teach one another.

Imagine a unit on — say — “siege warfare.” And, imagine that my student (let’s call him Lancelot) learns enough about siege warfare to teach his classmates about …

… its strategic and tactical requirements,

… the benefits and detriments of siege warfare,

… the changes in siege warfare over time,

Well, Lancelot has LEARNED A LOT about the topic.

Even better, if Lance learns enough to teach this material effectively, that extra level of mental lift will no doubt benefit his understanding.

It seems that “students teaching students” could result in deeper learning. What’s not to love?

What’s Not To Love

Long-time readers know that I struggle to accept uplifting advice. If a teaching suggestion sounds really heartwarming and feels really good, I worry that all that feel-good warmth has distracted me from the skepticism that is my job.

In this case, “students teaching students” SOUNDS so wonderful. For that reason, I feel compelled to ask some tough questions and offer some downbeat assertions.

First Concern

We know that humans have limited cognitive resources. For instance, adults have alarmingly small working memory capacities — and most of our students have less than we do.

How should Lancelot use those limited resources of his?

I — as the teacher Merlin — could ask him to focus on learning the topic.

Or, I could ask him to divide those resources: use some working memory to understand the core ideas, and some working memory to think about effective explanations and exercises that will help his classmates learn.

Sadly, the more WM that goes to teaching others, the less that Lance has to understand the topic.

Or,  if Lance uses all his WM for understanding sieges and none for teaching, then his teaching will be really ineffective.

After all: who knows better than teachers that good teaching requires LOTS of cognitive resources.

In other words: I worry that asking Lance to teach his peers will have several bad outcomes:

Either: Lance won’t understand the topic well;

Or: his classmates won’t learn very much;

Or: both.

I might not like that conclusion; it certainly isn’t heartwarming. But a basic understanding of working memory’s limitations makes it hard for me to reject this perspective.

Second Concern

When I ask Lance to teach the other knights at the round table, I’m asking him to do two distinct mental tasks:

First: he has to understand siege warfare (or covalent bonds, or exponent rules, or…)

Second: he has to repackage that understanding into specific explanations and tasks that help others understand. (After all, that’s what teaching is.)

Note, however, that if Lance doesn’t understand covalent bonds, he can’t possibly teach that concept to others effectively.

For that reason, I (teacher Merlin) need at least one additional step:

I need to ensure that Lance understands the chemistry REALLY WELL before I set him off on his teaching question.

Here’s the kicker: our students typically are novices in the topics we want them to learn. Because Lance is a novice on the topic of covalent bonds, he simply CAN’T KNOW whether or not he understands them well.

As a beginner, he doesn’t understand enough to know if he understands.

Unless I structure my unit plan with great foresight and lots of double-checking, it’s likely that I’ll ask someone who simply cannot know if he knows to teach his classmates.

Whether or not I have helped Lance learn, I almost certainly have fallen short on my responsibility to ensure that Lance’s classmates learn.

Thoughtful Pushback

Because I’m the luckiest guy on the MBE planet, I spent this last week working with 50 teachers in an online workshop. We discussed working memory and long-term memory and attention and schema theory — and all their myriad classroom applications.

Honestly, they were one of the most thoughtful and engaging groups I’ve ever worked with.

When I explained my skepticism about “students teaching students,” two participants pushed back with thoughtful rejoinders.

One said (I’m summarizing, not quoting):

When parents ask me how they can help their children study, I say:

“have them teach you the topic we worked on in class. Even if you don’t know a lot about it, you’ll know enough to be able to spot the weaknesses in their explanations, and to ask follow up questions.

And, you’ll get to know more about their school lives!”

Another said (more summarizing):

I have my students teach each other as a kind of review.

That is: each of them uses marker to draw a particular diagram (say: the digestive system) on their desks.

Then, they rotate to the next desk, and annotate in a different color: they add, they ask questions, they suggest updates.

Then, they rotate again, and add in yet a different color.

So, when a student gets back to her original desk, she has learned SO MUCH from her peers. And, she has helped her peers by making her own annotations.

In other words: we have LOTS of reasons to ask students to teach others.

 “Teaching” vs. teaching

These comments helped my clarify my thinking, because they force me to define “teaching” more precisely.

In the first place, I should say that I think both of these teachers’ strategies are EXCELLENT. In both cases, students are — basically — using retrieval practice to review material.

That is: both teachers have already taught the concepts to their students. When students explain ideas to their parents, or recreate and annotate diagrams on desks, they must re-activate their prior knowledge.

In this case, students don’t simply review concepts (“review” = less effective). They retrieve concepts (“retrieve” = more effective).

However, neither of these excellent strategies precisely fits my definition of teaching. When I think of teaching, I think of…

… explaining a concept or procedure to someone who doesn’t yet know or understand it,

… with the result that this person does know or understand it.

So, for instance, the strategy of “teaching parents” succeeds whether or not the parents understand. The goal isn’t to benefit the person being “taught” (the parent), but to benefit the person “teaching” (the student who’s doing the explaining).

Or, the strategy of “teaching the digestive system” probably succeeds because the teacher ALREADY taught the material. The students aren’t providing original instruction; they’re reviewing (and perhaps adding to) knowledge they got from the teacher.

In other words: I worry about “students teaching students” depending on the definition of “teach.”

Having students explain ideas to someone else sounds like a great idea — as long as I don’t need “someone else” to understand.

Having student review ideas with each other sounds like a great idea — especially if Merlin already explained those ideas in detail.

TL;DR

Teachers should certainly invite students to explain their thinking to other people.

We should ask them to review with one another.

But, except in unusual circumstances, Merlin should teach Lance — and all the other round-table knights — before asking him to explain or review.

A final note. I think graduate students should be able to learn concepts independently and explain them well enough for others to understand. That’s their professional goal.

Perhaps college students can do so…although (remembering my own overconfident college days) I worry that this strategy might not succeed.

In my view, K-12 students almost certainly can’t meet the 2-part definition of “teach” above — certainly not without LOTS of careful training and review.

A final, final note.

This blog post (atypically) cites no research. I’ll start looking at research on the topic of “students teaching students” and report back.

If you have suggestions of studies you like, please let me know!

On Sunday of this week, I published my response to my interview with Dr. Morgan Polikoff.

When I shared it with him, he responded that I had misrepresented his position.

I try hard never to misrepresent another’s position — especially when I disagree with it. For that reason, I have removed the post.

A wise friend recently asked a question that goes something like this:

Research shows that new memories connect to the places where they’re formed.

So: if I study geometry in the library, I’ll do better on a geometry test taken in the library than on the same test taken in a nearby classroom.

Why? Because my understanding of geometry is somehow connected to this particular place. (Researchers call this “context-dependent learning.”)

So, here’s the question:

Doesn’t it make sense for students to study in the room where they will ultimately take the test?

This question, it seems to me, highlights two important truths about the intersection of research and education.

Let’s explore:

Truth #1:

Psychology researchers discover ALL SORTS of useful information about learning (and therefore about teaching).

So, indeed, we do have a good research pool showing that we remember more of a topic in the place where we studied it. (Say: geometry in the library.)

That’s really helpful to know!

If you’re interested in this story, check out How We Learn by Benedict Carey. He’s a science writer for the New York Times, and has a story-teller’s knack for making even dry material fascinating.

In this case, the story begins with scuba-diving, so it’s exciting all on its own.

Of course, the good research news doesn’t stop there. For example:

We’ve got lots of good research (say, from Dr. Barbara Fenesi) suggesting that mid-lecture exercise breaks benefit learning.

Also: we’ve got research (say, from Dr. Faria Sana) showing that off-task laptop use distracts the laptop user. Even worse, it distracts the people sitting behind the off-tasker!

This list could go on for pages.

Each of these research pools might result in practical school-keeping suggestions:

Students should study in the room where they take the exam!

Classes should stop for exercise breaks!!

Schools should forbid laptops!!!

And so forth.

So, again: Truth #1 is that psychology research has LOTS of potentially useful information for teachers.

I promised that my friend’s question would prompt two truths. So, here’s the second…

Truth #2:

Psychology researchers and teachers think about similar questions in very different ways.

For that reason, teachers should KNOW about psychology research, but shouldn’t necessarily DO what research implies.

Let’s take these examples one at a time.

Yes, because of “context dependent learning,” students will do better on tests if they study in the room where the test will be held.

But as a teacher, I don’t want my students to know the material for the test. I want them to KNOW THE MATERIAL, full stop.

For instance: when my students learn about comedy and tragedy, I want them to write good papers about Macbeth and Fences.

But — MUCH more important – I want them to think about comedy and tragedy at unexpected times in the future.

If you watched the 3^rd episode of “Last of Us,” you know that it fundamentally rewrites the basic rules of comedy. I didn’t anticipate that connection when I taught my students about comedy and tragedy…but I certainly hope that they make it spontaneously.

And – crucially – I hope they make the connection somewhere other than our classroom. I don’t want their knowledge to be bound up in one context; I want their knowledge to be gloriously flexible.

So, my advice to my friend is: do NOT have students study where they will take the test. Have students study in many different places so that their knowledge doesn’t become dependent on only one context.

The Bigger Picture

As you can see, the practical teaching advice implied by research doesn’t always make actual classroom sense. (In fact, teachers often assume that researchers are offering advice; often, they’re simply answering research questions.)

Let’s keep going with that idea.

Should we interrupt class for exercise breaks? Fenesi’s research implies we should.

Well, maybe.

When I teach my acting classes, my students are already up and moving. What additional benefit would exercise provide?

If I taught in a business school, or a divinity school, or a meditation retreat, it’s not obvious that exercise fits the appropriate classroom vibe.

Teachers benefit from knowing about Fenesi’s exercise research, but we should apply it flexibly.

Well, surely we should ban laptops; Sana’s research is regularly cited to make that case.

Again: maybe.

If I taught in a large lecture hall and had no way to control students’ laptop use, I’d certainly consider doing so. But:

Professors can explain the perils of laptop multitasking, and ask TAs to keep an eye out for potential distractors. (A friend of mine does just this.)

In my own classroom, it’s relatively easy to see who is or isn’t multitasking; why forbid a useful tool if I don’t have to?

Here again, I’m glad that Sana’s research offers us guidance, but we have to think for ourselves as we apply it to the classroom.

TL;DR

Q: Should students study in the room where they will take the test?

A: Like so much “research-based teaching advice,” this idea seems like a tempting application of a simple research finding.

BUT, we always have to think beyond these findings to understand how research can best guide our classroom practice.

Carey, B. (2015). How we learn: the surprising truth about when, where, and why it happens. Random House Trade Paperbacks.

Fenesi, B., Lucibello, K., Kim, J. A., & Heisz, J. J. (2018). Sweat so you don’t forget: Exercise breaks during a university lecture increase on-task attention and learning. Journal of Applied Research in Memory and Cognition, 7(2), 261-269.

Sana, F., Weston, T., & Cepeda, N. J. (2013). Laptop multitasking hinders classroom learning for both users and nearby peers. Computers & Education, 62, 24-31.