This article from Education Week suggests that teachers ought to learn neuroscience.

That strikes me as a colossal waste of teachers' time.

The offered justification is that a high percentage of teacher's hold false beliefs about the brain, and thus ought to be "armed" to evaluate claims that they encounter in professional development sessions, the media, etc.

But it takes an awful lot of work for any individual to become knowledgeable enough about neuroscience to evaluate new ideas. And why would it stop at neuroscience? One could make the same case for cognitive psychology, developmental psychology, social psychology, sociology, cultural studies, and economics, among other fields

Further, this suggestion seems like unnecessary duplication of effort. What's really needed is for a few trusted educators to evaluate new ideas, and to periodically bring their colleagues up to date.

In fact, that's how the system is set up. But it's not working.

First, the neuro-myths mentioned in the article ought to be defused during teacher training. Some programs do so, I'm sure, but most appear not to be doing a good enough job. It's certainly true that textbooks aimed at teachers don't do enough in this regards. Learning styles, for example, go unmentioned, or perhaps get a paragraph in which the theory is (accurately) said to be lacking evidence. Given the pervasiveness of these myths, schools of education ought to address the problem with more vigor.

Second, there is virtually always someone in the district central office who is meant to be the resource person for professional development: is this PD session likely to be legit, or is this person selling snake oil?  If teachers are exposed to PD with sham science, the right response, it seems to me, is not to suggest that teachers learn some neuroscience. The right response is outrage directed at the person who brought the knucklehead in there to do the PD session.

Third, it would make perfect sense if professional groups helped out in this regard. The Department of Education has tried with the What Works Clearinghouse and with it's various practice guides. These have had limited success. It might be time for teachers to take a try at this themselves.

Teachers don't need to learn neuroscience, or better put, teachers shouldn't need to learn neuroscience--not to be protected from charlatans. Teachers need to learn things that will directly help their practice. Charlatan protection ought to come from institutions: from schools of education, from district central offices, and (potentially) from institutions of teachers' own creation.
 
 
Every year as the AERA convention approaches, Rick Hess writes a column poking fun at some silly-sounding titles in the program. Hess's point seems to be "Is any of this really going to help kids learn better?" (That's my summary, not his.)

I respect Hess, but I think he misses the more interesting point here. Hess's real beef, I suggest, is not with the AERA, but with schools of education, and with all education researchers.

Putting researchers from very different disciplines--history, critical theory, economics, psychology, etc.--in one school because they all study "education" sounds like a good idea. The problem is that it doesn't lead to a beautiful flowering of interdisciplinary research. Researchers ignore one another.

Why? Because these researchers start with different assumptions. They set different goals for education. They have different standards of evidence. They even have different senses of what it means to "know" something. So mostly they don't conduct interdisciplinary research. Mostly they ignore one another.

No, the Foucault crowd is not going to improve science education in the next ten years. The wheel on which the Humanities turns revolves much more slowly and less visibly than the cycle of the sciences. I admit I only dimly understand what they are up to, but I nevertheless believe they have a contribution to make.

But the fault lies not just with schools of education for sticking these varied researchers in one building.

A perhaps more significant problem is that there is little sense among education researchers that their particular training leads to expertise well suited to addressing certain problems and ill-suited to other problems. I think that education researchers would be smart to stake out their territory "We have methods that will help solve these problems."

Too often we forget our limitations. (I named this blog "Science and Education" to remind myself that, although I'll be tempted, I should not start mouthing off about policy, but should leave that to people like Rick who understand it much more deeply.) When the charter school affiliated with Stanford was in trouble a year or two ago, how many education researchers lacked an opinion? And how many of those opinions were really well informed?

Education research would look less silly if all of us made clear what we were up to, and stuck to it.