I’ve written frequently over the years about the effects of classroom decoration on learning.
The headline is: althought many teachers have been trained to DECORATE, those decorations can distract students and thereby reduce learning.
We’ve tested this question for students from kindergarten to college.
We’ve tested them in different disciplines.
Heck, we’ve even tested them over very long periods of time (15 weeks!).
Sure enough: students don’t get used to decorations. Instead, they continue to be distracted and to learn less.
To be clear: I don’t think classrooms should be utterly sterile. But, I do think that research suggests we should take a “less is more” approach to decoration.
This set of findings raises an important corollary: are there other kinds of distraction that should worry us?
How about: distractions from other students…
Experiments Past
Enthusiasm for open classrooms began — I believe — in the 1960s and ’70s.
The basic ideas are:
Philosophically speaking: open classrooms feel less authoritarian — more student-centered than teacher-centered, and
Pedagogically speaking: they allow for a greater variety of combinations and collaborations — across grades, for instance.
The potential hazards, of course, are DISTRACTION. Having all those people and all that noise might make learning much harder.
Of course, this question isn’t easy to research. To do so, we would need…
… large groups of students who
… spend substantial learning time in both environments, and
… measurements that track their relevant academic progress.
Honestly: that’s A LOT to ask of a study.
Crunching the Numbers
I have good news!
A group of scholars in Australia have undertaken just such a study, looking at 7-10 year-old students in several schools.
In this study, researchers tracked classes that switched from open to enclosed to open classrooms (or, the other way around) over three terms.
The measurement of interest: reading words per minute.
Of course, this measurement makes good sense. We teachers REALLY CARE how well our students can read. And this particular measurement correlates with all sorts of academic outcomes.
So, what did the research team find: The envelope please….
Fully two-thirds of students improved more in enclosed classrooms than in open classrooms.
For some students, the classroom difference didn’t matter.
For a few — those with especially good attention, and/or academic background — the open plan resulted in greater improvement.
Those seem like impressive numbers.
Final Thoughts
I’ve looked around for research that contradicts this finding (a habit of mine), and so far I haven’t located anything persuasive. (If you know of such a study, please send it my way!)
Truthfully, I haven’t found lots of research in this field at all — many studies date from the ’70s and ’80s.
In brief, I think we have one very compelling data point. In this study, open classrooms reduce learning for most students, especially those who most need help in school.
If that result holds up with further research, we should be strongly inclined (in most circumstances) to teach students in the self-contained classrooms that foster learning.
I should have known better! I was expecting just another in a long line of basic reiterations of Psychology 101. But this is Paul Bloom! — a talented storyteller and Psychology Professor at University of Toronto engaging a variety of audiences across genres from scientific publications to the New York Times while delivering other top sellers for the curious casual reader such as the Sweet Spot, Against Empathy, and How Pleasure Works. Now he brings us Psych: The Story of the Human Mind — a refreshed and captivating journey into the continually developing field of modern psychology. It transcends the genre of introductory texts by delivering a dynamic and engaging experience akin to enjoying a TED talk, feeding you savory narrative bits to share with friends and reengage your interest in forgotten figures.
While this book was the result of the authors copious lecture notes from years of teaching, this is no dry retelling of psychology, he knows what engaged his students. He offers us deep understanding through human appeal and curiosity relegating your dry introductory psychology text to forgotten corners of dusty bookshelves.
This book serves as a compendium of psychological highlights reintroducing readers to the most influential figures in the field. From the groundbreaking insights of Anna Freud and B.F. Skinner to the revolutionary discoveries of Piaget, Kahneman, and Tversky. While hitting all the main branches and basics of the field, he also offers several often-neglected topics including a section on the controversial figure of Sigmund Freud, explaining why he is often omitted from Psychology courses and why it is important to notice him for his contributions to western culture and thought as well as his betrayals to science and humanity. Even very familiarly stories are filled with titillating narrative about famous individuals in the field. Including the social life and career of Phineas Gage: a famous case study who was impaled by a railroad spike, decimating parts of his frontal cortex. But he also brings an intriguing touch with his treatment of behaviorists such as John Watson, his marriage, and his impact on the American coffee break. This all topped off with discussions of fox-trotting pigs. And these are just some bits of juicy gossip from the first sections.
The book tackles a wide array of thought-provoking questions. From deciphering the intricate relationship between the brain and consciousness, to uncovering ethical controversies such as the Milgram experiments and the current replication crisis, the author leaves no stone unturned. The exploration extends to the origins of knowledge, the disparities between the minds of children and adults, the connection between language and thought, and the impact of biases on perception and memory. Moreover, the book thoughtfully delves into the rationality of human beings, the motivations that drive us, and the significance of emotions such as fear, disgust, and compassion. The author masterfully analyzes how we perceive others, including those from different social and ethnic backgrounds, while also addressing the complex interplay of personality, intelligence, and other traits. In addition, we are treated to his narrative rendition of both the causes and treatments for mental illnesses as well as the pursuit of happiness.
This book will feed your yearning to explore the depths of the human mind, leaving you with refreshed desire to unravel the mysteries of psychology.
I highly recommend this book to students of the mind as it contextualizes and updates much of what they are learning in the classroom and though our own exploration. It also becomes an essential companion for professors and instructors, reigniting their appreciation for the joy found in the history and storytelling of psychology. Even the most seasoned psychology instructor will discover new ways of presenting material and uncover juicy bits of social history that will captivate their students. This book unveils the identities of the remarkable individuals who shaped the field and the cultural movements they inspired, reminding us that psychology is not lists of facts about minds, its humans pushing the limits of our mind to make sense of ourselves.
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.
In the last few years, I’ve increasingly wondered if “schema theory” just might work a special kind of magic.
If I understand it right (and if it’s true), then schema theory unites two distinct topics:
the cognitive science behind good teaching, and
the curriculum.
Because that result would be, ahem, SPECTACULAR, the theory merits careful attention.
In this post, I’ll try to explain:
What schema theory is,
Why teachers should care, and
What its limitations seem to be.
I’m thinking of this post as the first of a series: I hope to flesh out this concept more substantially over time.
What Is Schema Theory?
Schema theory models the mental structure of knowledge.
In other words: if I say that I know something, schema theory tells me what that knowledge might look and act like in the mind.
This theory rests on two key points.
First: a schema comprises a vast, interconnected web of declarative and procedural knowledge.
So, if I say “I know what a ‘pet’ is,” I’m claiming to have a “pet” schema. That schema includes declarative/procedural knowledge:
Specific animals: dog, cat, goldfish, hamster.
Concepts, like “tame” or “belongs inside the home.”
Procedures, like “take for a walk” or “clean the litterbox.”
Second: in those schema, the bits of knowledge function together fluently, which is to say automatically.
If I tell a friend that I’ve gotten a new pet, she would IMMEDIATELY know a) that I’m talking about a particular group of animals, b) that my furniture might be in peril, and c) that our early morning walks might be disrupted if I’m bringing a dog along.
She doesn’t have to stop and think her way through all those pieces. They spring instantly to mind, because she has activated the “pet”schema.
Similarly, if I told her I’d gotten a pet lion, she would IMMEDIATELY think
“Lions aren’t typically pets!”
“I wouldn’t want a lion inside my house!!”
“I wonder who has to clean THAT litterbox!!!”
Those thoughs all happen unprompted because I’ve violated the “pet” schema, and she’s trying to make “lion” fit into it.
To review these two key points:
LOTS of intricately connected declarative and procedural information,
used FLUENTLY/AUTOMATICALLY together.
That’s a (very basic definition of a) schema.
Why Teachers Should Care About Schema
Two reasons (at least).
First:
We teachers often struggle to identify our goal. Do we want our students to…
… achieve today’s learning objective?
… demonstrate proficiency in the curriculum?
… meet the state standards?
If yes, which of these goals takes priority?
In my view, the concept of “schema” brings all those goals together.
When students build effective and useful schema, they unite granular bits (say, “learning objectives”) into larger coherent and fluent wholes (say, “the curriculum” as a way of meeting “state standards”).
In other words, no matter which way we think about students’ acadecmic and curricular progress, we can talk about “schema.” Conversations that once seemed fragmented and incoherent can come together into a complex, thoughtful whole.
Second:
Cognitive science helps us understand the strategies that most effectively build schema.
How do we get all those small bits (“cat, dog, clean litterbox, tame, not lion”) to fit together so they operate fluentely as a whole (“pet”)?
Well, let’s talk about working memory. And retrieval practice. And generative learning. And desirable difficulties. And…
In other words:
We can use the same conceptual structure (“schema theory”) to unite the content we want to teach with cognitive science.
We’ve got one big framework that captures both curriculum and pedagogy.
That’s (potentially) AMAZING AND HELPFUL.
Just imagine how clarifying such conversations could be.
What Are the Limitations of Schema Theory?
In a word: research. As far as I can tell, we ain’t got much.
When I ask about the research basis for schema theory — asking for a “research basis” is a hobby of mine — I get incomplete answers.
Some folks refer me to scholars who wrote in the 1950s (or 1930s). That’s an interesting theoretical basis, but it isn’t current psychology research.
Others point to individual studies here and there. (Anderson 1983 gets a lot of attention.) But those individual studies — in my view — don’t (yet) remotely add up to strong support for the theory.
One scholar I spoke with responded with this question: “well, how would you research the theory? What study would you do?”
That’s an important question…but in this field we focus on research-based assertions. We can’t simply wave away the need for research.
I’ve been trying to make sense of this research field in recent months; I’m currently working with a friend to organize it all.
So, here’s the conundrum I face:
Schema theory could be spectacularly useful.
We don’t seem to have lots of research making a strong case for the theory (although LOTS of people act as if we do).
Of course, at Learning and the Brain, we’re ALL ABOUT the research. Until I see more, I’m always hesitant to espouse the theory — no matter how useful — too strongly.
Some Additional (Unrelated) Notes
First:
Oddly, schema theory lives a double life.
In Britain, it’s old news. I believe they went through a “schema theory” phase 20 years ago, and now Brits (well, Brits on eduTwitter, anyway) talk about schemas as if we all know what they are.
In the US, almost no one talks about them at all. (I am, as far as I know, the only person in Learning-and-the-Brain world to do so regularly).
Second:
Technically speaking, the plural of “schema” is “schemata” (think “stigma/stigmata”). Very few people actually use that word. Some say “schemas.” Others use “schema” as both singular and plural.
Third:
If you know from schema theory, you’re quite possible vexed that this post is so inadequate.
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.
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!
