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As We Begin: Dispositions of Mind, Learning, and the Brain in Early Childhood by Tia Henteleff
Erik Jahner, PhD
Erik Jahner, PhD

There’s a line quoted in Tia Henteleff’s As We Begin that lodged itself in my brain and hasn’t left since: “The beginning does not just matter during the beginning. The beginning matters to everything that comes next.” It’s such a simple truth, but one that, once seen clearly, transforms how you think about education—and honestly, how you think about life. At its core, As We Begin: Dispositions of Mind, Learning, and the Brain in Early Childhood is a thoughtful, research-driven, and deeply heartfelt inquiry into early childhood education. But this book isn’t just for preschool teachers or parents of toddlers. It’s for anyone invested in how we learn, grow, and become who we are. Henteleff draws from neuroscience, anthropology, pedagogy, and classroom experience. The result is a book that feels both intellectually expansive and personally grounding.

The throughline of the book is the concept of “dispositions of mind”—a term that might sound academic at first blush but is, in fact, beautifully human. These are the emotional and cognitive tendencies we bring to learning—like curiosity, persistence, and openness. Henteleff emphasizes that dispositions aren’t innate but developed through emotionally rich experiences, trusting relationships, thoughtful pedagogy, and environments that prioritize care and inquiry — through adaptive epigenesis.

What struck me most is how Henteleff keeps returning to the emotional foundations of learning—not as fluff or an afterthought, but as the scaffolding upon which all cognition is built. As quoted from Mary Helen Immordino-Yang, “Emotions are not just messy toddlers in a china shop… they are the shelves supporting cognition.” That image alone reframes so much. It reminds us that cognition is built on a foundation of emotional security and relational trust.

The book is divided into three parts: big ideas, foundational knowledge, and practical applications. This structure makes the complex research digestible without dumbing it down. There’s a section on the brain that could easily veer into textbook territory but instead feels like an invitation to understand how both kids and adults learn.

Henteleff is at her most persuasive when she invites teachers to become “teacher/researchers”—not in the publish-or-perish sense, but in the deeply human sense of observing, questioning, iterating. It’s a disposition, not a job title. And it makes the classroom feel like a site of shared inquiry rather than top-down transmission. There’s a humility in this stance that I find both rare and necessary. Teaching is an interactive dance, not a plug-and-play experience.

And let’s talk about play; an entire chapter devoted to the idea that play is not a break from learning—it is learning. She describes play as both research and rehearsal, a phrase that encapsulates her belief in its cognitive and emotional richness. In a world obsessed with achievement metrics, it’s radical to say: let them play—freely, messily, joyfully. That’s where the real work of becoming happens.

When I’m teaching Cognition or Sensation and Perception, I sometimes find myself in a state of flow—just playing with the ideas alongside my students. It’s like we’re all in this giant intellectual sandbox, testing how concepts stick together, finding joy in the rearrangement. That shared play is where deep learning emerges.

I found the tone refreshingly earnest. Henteleff isn’t offering a panacea; she’s offering a lens—a perspective that might feel ambitious or even aspirational in certain contexts. And yet, that’s part of the book’s power. It invites us to imagine what’s possible, not because it’s easy, but because it’s worth striving for. Even when the ideals feel just out of reach, they give us something valuable to aim toward.

If you’re an educator or a parent, this book might help you see your child’s world with fresh empathy. And as a curious human (my favorite kind), As We Begin is a compelling meditation on how we become who we are—together.

In the end, this book isn’t just about children. It’s about the conditions that allow any of us to learn, connect, and grow. And it’s a quiet, passionate argument for building those conditions with intention, compassion, and curiosity. Here’s to staying a little more playful, a little more reflective, and a lot more open to the developing dispositions that new “beginnings” might bring to “what comes next?”

Hope for Cynics by Jamil Zaki
Erik Jahner, PhD
Erik Jahner, PhD

cynicsWhen I first picked up Hope for Cynics: The Surprising Science of Human Goodness by Jamil Zaki, I thought, “I’m a hopeful person—why would I want to read about how to not be a cynic?” But as I made my way through the early pages, I realized cynicism had quietly become normalized in my life, and I had missed the signs. It had been parasitically pulling my hope away. Maybe it was the political turbulence of recent years, natural disasters, or the perceived decline of intellectual value, but noticed I was infected with cynicism by a thousand little cuts, unaware of the changes around me.

Reading this book was a revelation. I was surprised to discover areas of myself I didn’t even know needed to find hope again. I was surprised by the personal elevation of cynicism I had begun to imbibe from my culture. Zaki’s insights gave me a renewed sense of self and opened my eyes to the warning signs of creeping cynicism. The book helped me begin a journey back to hope and trust. Like many, I had confused cynicism with skepticism. As Zaki points out, cynicism is a lack of faith in people, while skepticism is a lack of faith in assumptions. Through stories of admiration for a close friend, Zaki found the power of “hopeful skepticism”—a blend of curiosity and love for humanity.

Jamil Zaki challenges the belief that cynicism is a mark of wisdom. Instead, he reveals it as a reaction to disappointment that ultimately harms our mental health, relationships, and society. The book explores the surprising science behind human goodness, offering evidence that people are far more cooperative and honest than we’re led to believe. Zaki shares how our negativity bias and the media’s focus on bad news distort our worldview, leaving us to think the worst of humanity.

Through his artful blend of science and personal storytelling you will empathize with his protagonists and have your curiosity and sense of exploration expanded. Zaki’s research is fascinating, but it’s his honesty and warmth that make it truly memorable. He weaves in stories of friends, historical figures, and his own life, crafting a narrative that feels both intimate and universal. His reflections on how cynicism has affected him—and how hope has transformed him—are deeply relatable.

Zaki doesn’t stop at diagnosing the problem; he provides practical strategies for change. From practicing gratitude to building stronger relationships, his advice is both research-based and actionable. One of the most impactful lessons for me was learning to appreciate the cynics in my life. I realized I could love them more deeply by understanding where their cynicism came from and recognizing their potential for growth, just as I saw in myself.

By the time I finished Hope for Cynics, I felt reinvigorated. Zaki’s hopeful message reminded me that cynicism isn’t inevitable—it’s a habit we can unlearn. While the tips are thoughtfully collected in the appendix for rapid reminders and exercises, this book isn’t just a collection of tips or research findings; it’s a deeply emotional, thought-provoking journey that will leave you questioning your assumptions and embracing the possibility of human goodness.

Hope for Cynics is an invaluable read for teachers, administrators, students, and anyone looking to foster a more positive and productive environment. The book offers practical strategies for overcoming cynicism, which can be especially beneficial in educational settings where trust, empathy, and collaboration are essential. Teachers and administrators can use the insights to build stronger relationships with students and colleagues, promote a more hopeful and inclusive atmosphere, and counteract the negativity often prevalent in modern discourse. Students, too, will find the book inspiring, as it encourages a shift toward a more balanced, optimistic view of human nature, which can enhance their emotional well-being and academic success. By applying Zaki’s insights, individuals in education can create more trusting, resilient communities.

Whether you’re struggling with cynicism yourself or simply looking for ways to foster a more hopeful outlook, this book offers a roadmap to a richer, more connected life. It’s the kind of book you’ll return to for inspiration and guidance—a heartfelt, empowering read that deserves a spot on everyone’s shelf.

Hidden Brilliance by Lynn Kern Koegel & Claire LaZebnik
Erik Jahner, PhD
Erik Jahner, PhD

brillianceAs parents and educators, we often find ourselves trying to mold children into the expectations of what is “normal.” We fight the wind and we often break a few of our branches in the process. But what if the behaviors we struggle to understand aren’t problems to be fixed, but rather the key to unlocking their unique brilliance? In Hidden Brilliance: Unlocking the Intelligence of Autism, Dr. Lynn Kern Koegel and Claire LaZebnik challenge us to shift our deficit perspective and recognize the untapped potential in children with autism. The authors are not presenting some miracle or hidden jewel, instead, the authors suggest that their strengths are under our noses but we just don’t notice them because we are focused on their lack of fit to our traditional expectations. Dr. Koegel, an expert in autism research, and LaZebnik, a skilled storyteller, combine their expertise to present a deeply insightful book. They emphasize that too often, outdated mindsets, inadequate training, and rigid reliance on standardized testing prevent us from truly seeing the capabilities of children with autism. The authors argue that instead of trying to make neurodivergent children fit into neurotypical molds, we should celebrate and develop their unique strengths, whether it’s extraordinary memory, mathematical skills, artistic talents, or attention to detail. Not every child is going to be judged as extraordinary, but when we emphasize a misfit with tradition we dismiss the innovative perspective and divergent way of thinking that could lead to their success.

The book’s strength is its down-to-earth approach. It’s filled with concise touching, real-life stories of kids who initially struggled with behaviors that seemed disruptive or defiant. Through these narratives, Koegel and LaZebnik show how a shift in perspective can turn frustrating situations into moments of connection and even humor. Perhaps even a game of tic-tac-toe could lead to defiance and exhausting battles about rules or lead to self-discovery and laughter? For parents and teachers, these stories are relatable and inspiring, helping us see how we, too, can foster a more supportive environment for the children in our lives. The authors go beyond theory, offering practical strategies for working with children on the autism spectrum. From improving communication to addressing behaviors often labeled as “disruptive,” the book gives clear, actionable steps. Whether you’re trying to advocate for your child in the school system, find less frustrating ways for them to express themselves, or build a home environment that encourages joy and learning, there are valuable insights here.

By leveraging these strengths, children can experience more success in academics, social interactions, and personal development. The book highlights how this approach can significantly improve a child’s confidence and sense of self-worth. These approaches increase motivation, naturally emerging engagement, and drive. It also provides guidance on creating individualized learning goals that align with a child’s natural talents, helping them not only adapt to the world but thrive in it. Help them make their own path not conform to paths set by others.

One of the most refreshing aspects of Hidden Brilliance is its optimism. It recognizes the challenges that parents and teachers face, but it also advocates for a hopeful and proactive outlook. Rather than focusing on the unknowns of the future, the book encourages us to celebrate the many small victories and stay open to the possibilities of growth and connection. The book resonates deeply with those who have ever felt their child’s potential was overlooked or misunderstood by traditional systems. It empowers parents to trust their instincts and see beyond labels while offering teachers strategies to support each child’s journey toward fulfilling their unique potential.

Overall, Hidden Brilliance is a must-read for parents, teachers, and anyone working with children on the autism spectrum. But … it is also a great guide for parents of all children: there is no “normal” child that conforms to society. Help them find their way, give them feedback that helps them grow not stifles them. This guide looks beyond surface behaviors helping you discover the incredible talents that children with autism possess. With its mix of heartwarming stories and practical advice, it offers a fresh, hopeful approach to understanding autism. Above all, this book reminds us that by embracing a child’s individual brilliance, we can help them shine in a world that too often overlooks their light.

Should Teachers Be Excited about “Neural Synchrony”?
Andrew Watson
Andrew Watson

This blog — and this company — exist to give good advice to everyone who cares about learning and teaching.

A futuristic drawing of two heads facing each other, with dramatic lines showing extensive and expansive thinking

To accomplish that mission, we rely — as much as possible — on solid research.

An important part of our mission: to warn against bad advice. And, of course, we’re especially worried about people who give that bad advice with the label “All The Research Shows…”

So:

No, learning styles are not a thing.

No, Brain Gym doesn’t do anything special for your brain.

And no, “brain food” shouldn’t really grab your attention.

Like Celine Dion’s heart, the list could go on and on.

The Potential Joys of “Synchrony”

In recent years, I’ve seen an increasing number of claims about the importance of “neural synchrony.”

The claim sounds something like this:

“When students are working effectively together in groups, we see an increased level of neural synchrony among them.”

The technical definition of neural synchrony is complicated enough to stun a badger, but sounds more-or-less like what you think it would be: “neural networks in different people firing in ways that kinda rhyme.”

The good news about “neural synchrony” is that … well … it’s good. Right? I mean, it SOUNDS really good.

If my neurons are firing in ways that align with my students’ neurons, we can reasonably assume that something special and good is happening. Can’t we?

Before I answer that question, I want to back up a step and talk about the difference between psychology and neuroscience. (I promise: I’ll get back to all those synchronous neurons in a few paragraphs.)

Grab a Scalpal, or Grab a Quiz

As teachers and school leaders, we’re really interested in “stuff going on inside students’ heads.”

We have — to oversimplify things a lot — two basic academic approaches to studying “stuff inside the head.”

We might think like a biologist, and study all the damp and sticky stuff: neurons, and the pre-frontal cortex, and neurotransmitters, and blood flow, and the amygdala, and so forth.

We call this field neuroscience.

Neuroscience often requires gloves and scalpels, and occasionally fMRI and EEG gizmos.

Or, we might focus on mental function, and study things like attention, or memory, or motivation, or learning, or critical thinking, or curiosity.

We call this field psychology.

All of those mental functions result from something biological (studied by “neuroscience”), but we can study them without putting on gloves and grabbing a scalpel.

So, I might give my students a retrieval practice quiz and then measure how much they remembered a week later. This research involves psychology (I measured “remembering”) but not neuroscience (I didn’t look at biological stuff).

Here’s why we care: “neural synchrony” lies squarely in the world of neuroscience. We’re talking biology here.

The Charms, and Perils, of Neuro-Advice

Why does the difference between psychology and neuroscience matter? Here goes:

We live in a cultural moment when people REALLY CARE about neuroscience. If you want to get people excited about whatever you’re saying, throw the word “brain” into your title.

I mean, if eating blueberries benefits the brain, then we should all eat blueberries! Because: brain!! (Caveat: I don’t know of any special brain benefits to eating blueberries.)

For this reason, I assume, people seem to have gotten very excited about the topic of “neural synchony.”

Alas, our cultural fascination with neuroscience leads us to a willingness…even an eagerness…to believe neuro-guidance MUST be true.

If a teaching strategy helps my brain synchronize with my students’ brains, it must be gold standard. No?

No.

The ever-wise Pedro de Bruyckere has recently written about a study looking at “neural synchrony” between parents and children.

This study gets a bit complicated because it combines neuroscience (“neural synchrony”) with psychology (“attachment theory”).

But the headlines should force us to reconsider our all-too-easy assumption that “neural synchrony” must be a good thing.

Why?

Because: mothers who have a good enough relationship with their child (“secure attachment”) show LESS neural synchrony than those who have a difficult relationship with their child (“insecure attachment”).

Yes: in this one study, increased neural synchrony correlates with decreased quality of parent-child relationship.

De Bruyckere quotes the press release describing the study:

“Increased brain-to-brain synchrony may reflect a neural compensation mechanism to overcome otherwise less attuned interaction elements.” (emphasis added)

In brief, in this research, “neural synchony” doesn’t show that upliftingly good brain things are happening; it shows a compensation strategy for difficulties.

To be clear, I think it’s entirely possible that brain synchrony might — under other circumstances — reveal basically good things.

But we shouldn’t assume that “more neural synchrony” = “more good stuff.”

The Bigger Picture

Longtime readers will recognize a theme here.

Over and over (and over) again, teachers get neuroscience-flavored advice — advice that sounds really persuasive because it’s got brainy words attached.

Teach this way because oxytocin!

Start your lessons this way because amygdala!!

Schools should do this because neuroplasticity!!!

In every case, neuroscience research might make a teaching strategy plausible. But — and this is a really important point — we have to test the advice with actual students in actual classrooms first.

That classroom research will almost always be psychology (memory, attention, motivation) not neuroscience (neuron, fMRI, prefrontal cortex, EEG, dopamine).

So: should we be excited when we read about neural synchrony?

Only if the teaching advice that follows has been tested in classrooms first.

For teachers, neuroscience research is fascinating; psychology research is useful.

Insight into a Bright Mind by Nicole Tetreault
Erik Jahner, PhD
Erik Jahner, PhD

brightmindInsight into a Bright Mind: A Neuroscientist’s Personal Stories of Unique Thinking is a profoundly personal book, authored by Nicole Tetreault who finds neuroscience deeply meaningful on a personal level, shaping her understanding of herself and the world around her. The book is a neuroscience-informed exploration of her own personal reflections as an individual who is twice exceptional, recounting experiences with teachers, peers, and her children and interpreting the often-misunderstood lives of other exceptional individuals. The narrative reveals how the author’s early encounters with neuroscience have been intricately woven into a deeper understanding of herself, transforming the book into a piece of literature rather than mere information. You will be introduced to her personal experience from running, to Barbie, mathematics, and coloring with her mother. You will experience her pain, frustration, and joy. This emotionally evocative narrative not only ignites curiosity but also prompts introspection into one’s own development and story.

The book excels in translating neuroscience into culturally relevant ideas including autism, giftedness, gender, intelligence, and creativity just to name a few. This is an example of how neuroscience can enrich our understanding of ourselves and others beyond appreciating biology alone. Crafted with aesthetic expertise, each paragraph is not only enjoyable to read but also brims with a fascinating array of information about the brain.

Prior to reading this book, I had assumed that the topic might not interest me, deeming it too specialized and applicable only to a niche audience. However, the book defies these expectations by delving into the stories of exceptional minds and brains, shedding light on what they can reveal about ourselves and our interactions. Celebrating diversity, it aims to elucidate and dispel misconceptions that arise when attempting to confine individuals into narrow categories.

Unlike typical neuroscience for the layperson or confessions from a research bench that require diligent study and note-taking, this book seamlessly integrates neuroscience into an exploratory narrative, leaving readers eager for more. While packed with neuroscience, the text remains accessible due to the author’s adept translation and incorporation into an engaging writing style.

Each chapter within the book serves as a compelling essay into the exceptional experiences and the unique nature of each brain which defies categorization. The initial chapters provide a solid foundation in neuroscience, dispelling common myths and the development of the brain, showcasing its uniqueness akin to a snowflake and a development that is equally complex as it unfolds and interacts with our world. Subsequent chapters delve into the intellectual, personal, and sensory experiences of gifted individuals, offering readers a profound appreciation for their exceptional perspective. As the narrative progresses, emotions and attention are explored in depth, each chapter contributing to a deeper understanding and enjoyment of the subject.

We then see an intriguing exploration of neurological uniqueness beyond descriptions of autism spectrum to enlighten the reader with a deeper more appreciative understanding of some of the differences that get lumped together into some diagnoses. We then get a surprising connection between the brain and the gut that is sure to only further tantalize your curiosity and expand your dinner conversations. Moreover, the book offers invaluable advice for parents throughout, presenting alternative perspectives on situations that may initially seem discouraging from a child’s developmental standpoint. It not only encourages parents to embrace their child’s unique abilities but also offers insights into how these abilities may not always align with the development of other skills. The lesson offered is clear. Help your child identify their strengths, those strengths may often be hidden by asynchronous development, and then foster an environment with love and informed support to help your child explore their potentials. The last chapter gives some concrete steps you will enjoy putting into practice as a parent or teacher.

Furthermore, Insight into a Bright Mind transcends being merely informative, emerging as a creative masterpiece in its own right. I believe this book hits a specific area where neuroscience, culture, and creativity meet. Few authors have been able to achieve this, and I would place this book in the realm of Oliver Sacks with a pinch of Walt Whitman or Maya Angelou bringing together science, story-telling, and poetry.  Elegantly structured and vividly written, it tantalizes the senses, resembling a captivating novel as readers delve into the author’s mind and, in turn, reflect on their own.

The Neuroscience of You by Chantel Prat
Erik Jahner, PhD
Erik Jahner, PhD

pratWhat a blast! Despite diving into countless neuroscience introductions, this journey felt uniquely enjoyable, resonating with me both as an educator and an eager neuroscience explorer. Chantel Prat’s The Neuroscience of You: How Every Brain Is Different and How to Understand Yours effortlessly blends captivating storytelling with profound insights into the emerging understandings and mysteries of the human brain. Prat’s background as a professor of neuroscience at the University of Washington and her expertise in a variety of cross-disciplinary fields and translation of psychology and neuroscience in several popular science outlets makes her book feel deeply personal and conversational. Through personal anecdotes, and reflective questions and surveys that make the book relevant to you, Prat makes neuroscience accessible and appealing to newcomers and seasoned enthusiasts alike.

The first part of the book introduces neuroscience basics in relatable terms, avoiding overwhelming terminology while still challenging experts with nuanced concepts. Prat ensures the content remains current, reflecting modern understandings rather than outdated perspectives. Delving into familiar core topics like brain localization, hemisphere specialization, neurochemical dynamics, and brain rhythms, she leaves readers feeling empowered to explore their own brain’s unique mix. But she adds some amazing flavor to the topic as is clear with her reference to the neurochemical makeup of the brain as “mixology.” In each section as you apply the concepts there is a necessary and important qualification of “it depends.” You walk away feeling like you are ready to start being your own mixologist realizing the importance of environment, developmental, and genetic variation involved in the process of designing you. You are set up for some fun life designing and biohacking. Along with this preparation, you are set to participate in understanding the developing field of neuroscience. She emphasizes that you are right in the middle of this scientific journey and prepares you to take your own journeys into the wide field of emerging studies.

Building on this foundation, the second part of the book delves deeply and personally into essential cognitive skills, offering robust theory and engaging narratives to help readers understand and utilize their brain’s inner workings. From focusing and adapting to navigating, predicting, and building curiosity, the book covers key aspects of cognitive function, concluding with a fascinating exploration of the brain’s social nature and its role in human interaction. This second part of the book is wonderfully up to date adding nuance and understanding of the science that is currently being evaluated. Hopefully, you walk away from these sections with new questions and ideas as you will better understand your interaction with the world but also be more curious about it.

One of the most important aspects of this book is that each individual is unique. Our unique mix of genes and environment has prepared each of us to interact with our world in our own way. But she also points out that it is this same mix that unites us.

This book deals artfully with the tension between freedom and determination, between scientific terminology and layperson accessibility, and between abstract theory and personal relevance. It is well-rounded so regardless of your expertise level you are bound to get something enjoyable from this text.

Above all, Prat’s passion for neuroscience shines through and is contagious, infusing the book with the excitement of a favorite theme park ride, promising endless returns for those eager to deepen their understanding. Additionally, the book serves as an excellent introduction to cutting-edge research and notable researchers in the field, making it an invaluable resource for anyone curious about the latest developments in neuroscience.

How Teachers Can Use Neuroscience in Education
Andrew Watson
Andrew Watson

I recently saw two very different looks at neuroscience and learning, and I thought they made a useful pairing for this blog. Here goes…

 

Regular readers know that I’ve recently been exploring research into movement and learning. That is: does walking around – especially outside – help us think, learn, attend, and create?

An image of a brain in a human head, with EEG waves in the background

Because I really want the answer to be “yes,” I force myself to be extra skeptical when I look at the research. And even with all that extra skepticism, the answer is – for the most part – YES!

How do we know?

Well, various researchers have people walk around – or sit still – and then do various mental tasks. Often (although not always), they do better after walking than after sitting.

BOOM.

But wait! Wouldn’t it be great to have more evidence than walkers’ “performance on mental tasks”? Wouldn’t it be great to know what’s going on in their brains?

Beyond “Mental Tasks”

I recently read a Twitter post about this study:

Researchers at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign had several 9 and 10-year-olds take various tests in reading comprehension, spelling, and math.

Researchers also had these students take tests on “attentional control” — which means, more or less, what it sounds like.

Students took these various tests once after sitting still for 20 minutes, and another time after walking at a moderate pace for 20 minutes.

Sure enough, these young students controlled their attention more effectively after walking than after sitting. And, they did better on the reading comprehension test after walking than after sitting.

Now: here’s the brain part.

Researchers also hooked students up to an electroencephalography (EEG) array while they took those tests.

EEG measures electrical activity on the outer-most layer of the brain, so – VERY roughly – it shows how various brain surfaces are acting at particular moments in time.

Here’s where things get very technical. (Neuroscience is ALWAYS very technical.)

EEGs produce up-and-down squiggles; they look a bit like lie detector tests in the movies.

Research with adults has consistently shown that exercise produces a change at the third squiggle in various brain regions. Because that squiggle (sort of) goes up, it’s called the “third positivity,” or P3.

This P3 (third positive squiggle) correlates with better attentional control in adults. Researchers hypothesized that they would get the same result with these young children.

Results, Please

Here’s the big neuroscience news – researchers DID get the same results for children as addults

Changes in P3, induced by walking, took place when the students did better at attentional control.

So, why does this research finding matter?

If students’ minds behave differently after walking – they perform better at attentional control – we would expect that their brains behave differently.

Now we know: they do!

In the field, we call this pattern “converging evidence.” Two very different kinds of research — psychology AND neuroscience — support the same conclusion.

Now we can be even more confident that walking benefits cognition – even though, as you remember, I’m trying to be extra skeptical.

So, here we have the FIRST way that teachers can use neuroscience to support their teaching:

After psychology research suggests that a teaching suggestion might be beneficial, neuroscience can provide converging evidence to make this idea even more persuasive.

FANTASTIC. (By the way: I’ll come back to this study about walking and attentional control at the end of this blog post.)

The Matrix Could Be Real?

I said that I’d seen two articles about neuroscience worth sharing. The first – as you’ve seen – is very specific and researchy.

The second article – pointed out to me by my friend Rob McEntarffer — spends time speculating, musing, and wondering.

 

Crudely speaking, this article wonders if something Matrix-like could happen. Could Laurence Fishburne ever download kung fu into Keanu Reeves?

The article, in WIRED Magazine, opens with a fascinating scene. Doctors have implanted electrodes in a patient’s fusiform face area – the FFA. (Most neuroscientists think that the FFA helps the brain identify and recognize human faces.)

When the researchers stimulate the FFA, this patient – very briefly – sees human features on a blank box: an ear, a sideways smile, an eye.

In other words, electrical current applied to the brain surface created bits of a face. THE MATRIX EXISTS.

Wait. [Sound of record scratch.] Nope. No it doesn’t.

This article does a great job pointing out all the extraordinary complexities going from this tiny baby step to actually “implanting learning in the brain.”

As in, we are nowhere near being able to do anything remotely like that.

Glitches in the Matrix

The idea itself seems plausible. As Adam Rogers writes:

The brain is salty glop that turns sensory information into mind; you ought to be able to harness that ability, to build an entire world in there.

However, all sorts of problems get in the way.

At a very basic level, there are just too many neurons for us to be able to control precisely — something like 50,000 to 100,00 in an area the size of a grain of rice.

To make anything like perception happen, we’d have to get thousands of those stimuli just right. (Imagine how complex LEARNING would be.)

The proto-matrix also faces a timing problem:

Perception and cognition are like a piano sonata: the notes must sound in a particular order for the harmonies to work.

Get that timing wrong and adjacent electrical pings don’t look like shapes — they look like one big smear, or like nothing at all.

Finally — and this point especially merits attention:

The signals you see when a brain is doing brain things aren’t actually thought; they’re the exhaust the brain emits while its thinking.

In other words: all those cool brain images can’t necessarily be reverse engineered. We can measure electrical activity when a brain does something — but artifically recreating such electrical activity won’t guarantee the same underlying thought process.

So, here’s the SECOND way to use neuroscience in teaching:

When teachers understand how fantastically complicated neuroscience — and the underlying neurobiology of thought and learning — truly are, we can see through hype and extravagant claims often made about this field.

Rogers’s article does a GREAT job highlighting that complexity.

An Example

I promised to return to that study about walking and attention, so here goes:

I do think that this study offers some converging neuroscientific evidence that movement prior to learning enhances attentional control.

However, twitter post citing this study implied it reaches a different conclusion: movement during learning is good for attention, creativity, etc.

That is: it claimed that teachers should design lessons that get students up and moving, and that this research requires this conclusion.

In particular, it highlights this image to show changes in brain activity between walking and sitting.

Rogers’s article in WIRED encourages us to think about all the neural complexity underlying this blithe suggestion.

After all, that image is simply a representation of a few dozen P3 graphs:

Many graphs showing electroencephalography results at the 3rd positivity.

Unless we have a clear idea what those squiggles mean, we shouldn’t be too confident about that image showing “changes in brain activity.”

And, by the way, people are often much too confident in interpreting such images. As in: it happens EVERY DAY.

To be clear: I think some movement during class often makes sense — although, as always, the students’ age and the school’s culture will influence this decision.

And this neuroscience research does provide “converging evidence” that movement built into the school day is a good idea.

But it certainly doesn’t require teachers to have students walking from place to place during lessons; that’s not what the any of these researchers measured, and it’s not what they claim.

TL;DR

Neuroscience research focusing on the brain can benefit teachers by supporting — or contradicting — psychology research focusing on the mind.

If both kinds of research point the same direction, we can be especially confident that a teaching suggestion makes sense.

And a deep understanding of the complexity of neuroscience (a la Rogers’s WIRED article) can help us resist overconfident advice that seems to have (but really does not have) neuroscientific backing.


Hillman, C. H., Pontifex, M. B., Raine, L. B., Castelli, D. M., Hall, E. E., & Kramer, A. (2009). The effect of acute treadmill walking on cognitive control and academic achievement in preadolescent children. Neuroscience159(3), 1044-1054.

Warning: Misguided Neuroscience Ahead
Andrew Watson
Andrew Watson

I recently ran across a version* of this chart:

An (inaccurate) chart listing neurotransmitters: their effects and activities that enhance them

As you can see, this chart lists several neurotransmitters and makes recommendations based on their purported roles.

If you want to feel love, you should increase oxytocin. To do so, play with your dog.

If you want to feel more stable, you should boost serotonin. To do so, meditate, or go for a run.

And so forth.

On the one hand, this chart seems harmless enough. It recommends that we do quite sensible things — who can argue against “self-care,” or “hugging your children”? — and so can hardly provoke much controversy.

I, however, see at least two reasons to warn against it.

Willingham’s Razor

Most everyone has read Dan Willingham’s Why Don’t Students Like School?  (If you haven’t: RUN, don’t walk, to do so.)

Professor Willingham has also written a less well known book called When Can You Trust the Experts?, which offers lots of wise advice on seeing though bad “expert” advice.

One strategy he recommends:

Reread the “brain-based” teaching advice, and mentally subtract all the brainy words. If the advice makes good sense without them, why were they there in the first place? **

In the lists above, do we really need the names of the neurotransmitters for that advice to make sense?

To feel a sense of accomplishment, accomplish something.

If you want to feel better, eat chocolate.

To calm down, walk (or run) outdoors.

Who could object to these suggestions? Do we need multi-syllable words to embrace them?

I worry, in fact, that such charts create bad mental habits for teachers. Those habits sound like this:

If someone knows complicated neuro-terminology, then their teaching advice must be accurate. When a blogger uses the phrases “corpus callosum” and “research says,” therefore, I have to take their teaching advice.

No, you really DON’T have to take their advice. LOTS of people use the language of neuroscience to make their suggestions sounds more authoritative.

As I’ve written elsewhere, neuroscience rarely produces classroom-ready teaching advice.

PSYCHOLOGY gives teachers great ideas about memory and attention and learning and motivation.

A biological understanding of what’s happening during those mental functions (i.e., neuroscience) is fascinating, but doesn’t tell teachers what to do.

In brief: beware people who use neuro-lingo to advise you on practical, day-to-day stuff. Like, say, that chart about “happiness chemicals.”

When Simplification Leads to Oversimplification

My first concern: the chart misleadingly implies that neuroscientific terminology makes advice better.

My second concern: the chart wildly oversimplifies fantastically complicated brain realities.

For instance, this chart — like everything else on the interwebs — calls oxytocin “the love hormone.”

A smiley face with the word "oxytocin" as the smile

However, that moniker doesn’t remotely capture its complexity. As best I understand it (and my understanding is very tentative), oxytocin makes social interactions more intense — in both positive AND NEGATIVE directions.

So: when we add oxytocin, love burns brighter, hatred smoulders hotter, jealously rages more greenly.

To call it the “love hormone” is like saying “the weather is good.” Well, the weather can be good — but there are SO MANY OTHER OPTIONS.

The statement isn’t exactly wrong. But its limited representation of the truth makes it a particular kind of wrong.

So too the idea that dopamine is a “reward chemical.” Like oxytocin’s function, dopamine’s function includes such intricate nuance as to be difficult to describe in paragraphs — much less a handy catchphrase. ***

By the way: the most comprehensive and useful description of neurotransmitters I know comes in Robert Sapolsky’s book Behave. As you’ll see, they’re REALLY complicated. (You can meet professor Sapolsky at our conference in February.)

TL;DR

Yes, walking outside and hugging children and exercising are all good ideas for mental health.

No, we don’t need the names of neurotransmitters to make that advice persuasive.

We might worry about taking advice from people who imply that neuro-lingo does make it more persuasive.

And we can be confident that neurotransmitters are much, MUCH more complicated than such simplistic advice implies.


* I’ve made my own modified version of this chart. The point of this blog post is not to criticize the individuals who created the original, but to warn against the kind of thinking that produced it. “Name and shame” isn’t how we roll.

** I’m paraphrasing from memory. I’m on vacation, and the book is snug at home.

*** [Update on 12/30/22] I’ve just come across this study, which explores some of the contradictions and nuances in the function of serotonin as well.

“It’s Good for the Brain!”: The Perils of Pollution, the Benefits of Blueberries
Andrew Watson
Andrew Watson

When I talk with teachers about psychology and neuroscience research, I frequently get a question in this shape:

“I’ve heard that X is really good for the brain. Is that really true?”

In this sentence, X might be blueberries. It might be water. It might be nature walks. Perhaps it’s a good night’s sleep, or green tea, or coffee, or merlot ice cream. (I think I made up that last one, but anything’s possible…)

So, should schools start serving blueberries, merlot ice cream, and green tea (and black coffee) to our students? Perhaps with a side of salmon — brain food for sure!

Works (Almost) Every Time

Here is a completely unsurprising research finding: the brain is a part of the body.

The brain is, in fact, physically attached to the body.

For this reason, everything that is good for the body is good for the brain. (Because, again, the brain is a part of the body.)

Is sleep good for the brain? Well, it’s good for the body, so; yes.

How about water? Yup.

Fruits/veggies? Sure.

Exercise? I’m in!

Simply put, when we take care good care of our bodies, we simultaneously tend to our brains — as a physical, biological object.

Said the other way around: we don’t need to develop special “brain enhancing” diets or programs or regimens. Anything that promotes our students’ physical health will automatically help their brains.

I was, in fact, inspired to write this post by an article I saw today about pollution. The summary:

“Higher exposure to air pollution is associated with higher functional brain connectivity among several brain regions in preadolescents.”

This conclusion strikes me as entirely sensible. Pollution changes the body; unsurprisingly it changes the brain. (Say it with me: the brain is a part of the body.)

Checking the Details

This first answer to the question works most of the time.

If, however, we need a more specific answer, we can easily investigate.

I once heard that, because brains need appropriate levels of hydration, we should think of water as “brain food.” The speaker exhorted us with this cry: “A bottle of water on every desk!”

And yet, the speaker’s logic collapses immediately. Yes, too little water is bad for the brain (because it’s bad for the body). We do want students to be properly hydrated.

But this obvious truth does not remotely suggest that additional water above that level yields extra benefits.

Yes, we should let students drink if they’re thirsty. Yes, a hot day in an arid climate might prompt us to provide “a glass of water on every desk.”

But we don’t need to make a big deal about extra water as an avenue toward extra learning.

You won’t be surprised to know: when I googled “Water is brain food,” the top hits were NOT research studies. They were advertisements for companies selling water.

Magical Blueberries

For reasons I don’t fully understand, the “brain food” claim often settles on blueberries. They’ve got antioxidants, I’m told. They’re great.

I’ve done just a little research here, and so far I’m underwhelmed.

First: there honestly isn’t much research on this topic.

Second: the research often focuses on rats. (Long time readers know my mantra: “Never change your teaching based on research into non-human animals.)

Third: the research on humans focuses on aging and dementia.

Now, I’m 56. I’m ALL IN FAVOR of dietary changes that reduce the likelihood of dementia.

But the idea that “because blueberries are brain food, students should nosh on them before a test” has absolutely no research backing (that I can find).

Students should eat blueberries because fruits and vegetable — in the right proportion — provide health benefits for the body. As far as I can tell, we don’t need to focus on targeted brain benefits.

TL;DR

Most everything that is good for the body is also good for the brain. So, don’t worry about special “brain benefit” claims.

If, instead, someone claims that X is good for learning, we teachers should indeed pay close attention — and especially pay attention to the details of the research.

The Goldilocks Map by Andrew Watson
Erik Jahner, PhD
Erik Jahner, PhD

The Goldilocks Map: A Classroom Teacher’s Quest to Evaluate ‘Brain-Based’ Teaching Advice is an entertaining and eye-opening conversation that seeks to help the reader develop a way of thinking that is sorely missing in today’s discourse around teaching and the brain. It is often stated that we need to be critical consumers of brain-based research as we apply it to the classroom; this book gives a roadmap showing us how. Andrew Watson takes us on this “quest” that reflects his 16 years of teaching experience and subsequent “Mind, Brain, Education” degree. The coaching in this book is an essential introduction for the developing teacher, the experienced teacher seeking to develop their understanding, as well as the experienced researcher who could always use a course in effective translation and writing. The experience Watson offers is delightful for all.

Andrew Watson embeds this search for understanding of the Neuroscience and Psychology of education through a playful and humorous narrative. For some readers, embedding neuroscience in the quests of Aladdin, Goldilocks, and Middle Earth may be off-putting. But seriously, you need to relax a bit and enjoy. In fact, accepting this narrative style is an essential element in disarming our pretentious mindsets and allows one to approach this field with an authentic search for understanding and intellectual transparency while still embracing the simple joys of good storytelling.

The book is not an encyclopedic rehashing of implications of neuroscience for education, but it fills an important gap.  Through a series of deep dives into themes such as environmental enrichment, spaced learning, and music in education, the reader is coached on how to locate, evaluate, and communicate research around these topics and more. As someone who regularly translates between neuroscience and education, I found the book refreshing and very useful.

One of the books greatest strengths is its attention to language use in research and translation. Watson highlights the word use and phrasing used by advocates for neuroeducation and calls our attention to some of the ridiculousness in original publications as well as our subsequent attempts to explain this research to colleagues. However, he does not diminish the research but elevates it by revealing the intention behind published words making the research more accessible. Without careful intention, we may catch ourselves and our peers exercising some common missteps by using language to obfuscate our lack of understanding or to add gravitas to otherwise empty phrases. I guarantee that you will humbly find your own words reflected in these pages and gain strategies to communicate more effectively.

Watson also is taking us on an active quest of discovery by not seeking our passive acceptance of research and application. Each chapter empowers the reader, as a member of the mind, brain, education community, to engage the community with a sense of exploration. Teachers are not simply consumers of research; the translation they enact brings to bear their expertise in acts of community involvement that make this research living. In my opinion, researchers are too often placed on pedestals and some researchers hide in their ivory towers of academia. Here we have the tools to pull this community together and flatten the illusion of a hierarchy.

There are also plenty of unanticipated “gems” in this book that will inspire you to take a moment to go on your own exploratory journey to accompany the pages. I found myself on many occasions pulling up a suggested web resource and learning something new or exploring an article I previously read out of pure curiosity inspired by these pages. I frequently jotted down particularly important turns of phrase and thought experiments that I could put to immediate use in my own scientific practice to not only make my work easier to understand for others but also to help make my own goals transparent to me.

This intellectual, entertaining, and often humorous engagement with the field is just what we all needed – useful as an introduction and useful to get us back on track.