Reflections on the Geographical Association Conference, 2025

It’s just about been a week or so since I came back from the Geographical Association Annual Conference in Oxford, and I thought I’d share some reflections.

First of all, congratulations to Hina Robinson and Steve Brace and the whole events team for a great conference, with a brilliant theme. I thought the Brookes venue was really lovely – the foyer for the exhibition was spectacular, and it was great to see so many people coming along and feeling that energy. It felt like the theme of collaborative geographies was evident amongst the attendees – I felt like I had a lot of conversations over the two days I was there. It was brilliant to have all of Teach First Team Geography in attendance, and being able to share thoughts, reflection and learning with colleagues and friends made it so much better.

Although Krys McInnis couldn’t make it for our session, I was delighted to be able to share a virtual stage with the wonderful storyteller, human and geographer, Alistair Hamill. Between us, we explored some of the narratives that we’ve shared from the writing we are doing, and considered how we bring new readers and non-specialists in to geography’s stories – even if they join us on Chapter 25, rather than from the first page. Thank you to those who chose to come and hear from us – even towards the end of Thursday, amidst a range of exceptional sessions!

Last year, I was very conscious of so many sessions going on, and the range of the experiences that people were having. This year, I had a lot of collaborative and reflective sessions, and a significant number of sustainability, climate action and curriculum conversations. It feels like we are at ‘a moment’ in a number of spaces – with the Francis Review, the sustainability strategy refresh and implementation for September, and the wider discussions about what all of that might mean for assessment and what it means for geography.

Dr Emma Rawlings Smith delivered a brilliant Rex Walford Lecture on what constitutes excellent geography in such uncertain times, and I thought her capturing of the landscape, the challenges and the opportunities for the GA and geographers was exceptional. I don’t think I’ve taken as many notes since I was back at university, many decades ago!

Elsewhere, I enjoyed spending time thinking with colleagues about physical geography, Cambridge assessment, supporting students in under-served communities, and many more besides. Hearing from Pearson colleagues about potential curriculum thoughts, and from the Geographical Association about their reflections on diversity really made me reflect on the moment we are in, and what we might choose to do next – as a subject, as a profession, and as a subject association and community of practice. I’ll be taking time to consider my responses to the GA’s strategy consultation, because I think there’s a lot to reflect on for us.

Of course, the curriculum conversations sit amongst the wider positions of the sustainability landscape and review, and it was inspiring to hear from Juanita Shepherd of the DfE, and explore where the work and policy is at now, and where it can go. That was followed by the always-amazing Kit Rackley and some Climate Ambassador friends (feat. that man Alistair Hamill again), with a thoughtful and practical workshop about making use of the Climate Ambassador scheme to meet the expectations of the Climate Action Plan work. As a current Ambassador, I’m excited to be part of this thousand strong community helping schools, and I’m always thrilled to see others and learn from what we can share.

As ever, I come away from Conference a little nostalgic but very inspired. I love that sense of being part of a brilliant community, powered by tea, kindness and great ideas – and I’m grateful to those who I was privileged to be able to chat to, learn from, and spend time with.

The values of everything, the costs of what things…?

Education does not have a single defined purpose. Although the UK Government has some aegis through the Department for Education, it is devolved to different Governments, and they have their own ideas about priorities and structures. There are National Curriculum guidelines for most subjects, although not all, and there are some useful, supportive and coherent subject communities and associations which identify something akin to disciplinary concepts and practices. Some are aligned strongly with a university and wider academic tradition; others with a model of thinking, and other school subjects align with multiple academic domains (e.g. Religious Education, Physical Education) etc.

So, there are a wide range of educational philosophies, approaches, and values that are applied in different domains. Whether that’s across a regional or geographic grouping, or whether through a structured approach by a multi-academy trust or similar, I think it’s fair to say that we have become more conscious of the way that it’s our values that shape our approach to education.

And, in general, I think that is a good thing. I think it’s right that we have principles and a heterogeneity in education: I do not think we all must agree, nor do I think we should all have exactly the same approach. I might not like a particular approach to teaching and learning, but if there are others who do, and that it works within their values and for their context, then they should have the right to do it.

I am not, massively, in favour of the ‘business’-ification of education either. For sure, there are things we can learn from other models of leadership and working, but I’ve reflected enough with colleagues to acknowledge that there are a set of unique features of education’s domain to make it difficult to import wholescale ideas. I think we’ve seen that in places with the ‘what works’ framework from medicine – where a far more universal purpose and desired outcome means that there’s much more commonality in what we want to achieve, and hence in the way we go about improving it. 

But I think education’s pursuit of values may have some hidden challenges, and in particular, I think we’ve lost our way a little bit on establishing the discussions with a full set of information. We are confident in the assertion of our values and the ‘benefits’ of many of our decision-making.

I don’t think we always have full visibility of the costs.

How does this work in other sectors?

Let me explain what I mean by reference to another domain. My wife works in commercial law as a solicitor. Like education, there are a range of professional qualification routes, and then individuals have a number of years of post-qualification experience. This is often tied to pay scales (you might see expectations of 4-6 years PQE) in the same way that we might talk about UPS1-3 in a job advert.

Solicitors at commercial (rather than High Street) firms tend to be banded in to junior, middle and senior leadership roles. A partner might take more time in management, leadership and business strategy (winning clients, thought leadership etc.) in the same way as a member of SLT might. Senior associates (some have other names, like Counsel, or Legal Director) are the middle leaders of the firm. They direct some work, they lead on pieces, but they still have a lot of their time doing law. Finally, the junior lawyers – associates – are often doing the majority of their time in directed work, and have limited leadership or decision-making. There are also support roles – paralegals, and other support staff – who are not qualified as solicitors, but may have significant practical and lived experience.

One of the key divergences from education is that there is a keen sense of output directly linked to time and expertise. A matter or problem might be brought by a client, who will pay the firm not for the scope of the problem, the significance to them, or the intellectual challenge, but primarily through the work and effort it takes the solicitors to solve it. Lawyers charge by the hour, and although they expect to have time during their working day where they might be doing other things, the intent is for time to be ‘billable’ on client matters. For any given client matter, the lead solicitor is expected to be able to estimate what time and cost this will take, and provide an estimate as part of the initial engagement. For some matters, they might even take a ‘fixed fee’ approach. For others, they’ll keep the client updated as they go.

Each tier of expertise has a headline ‘billable rate’. This is – assuming no discounts for bulk buying, or preferential rates for certain clients – what someone of a certain seniority charges per hour of their time. Let’s say that at Imaginary Law Firm, partners might charge £500-800 per hour, senior associates might charge £300-600 per hour, and juniors might charge £150-400 per hour. Whether you have a fixed budget, or you are trying to persuade your client that they should choose your firm, you have to be strategic about how you deploy your resources. You have to know what work is going to cost – in time, and in expertise – and you have to make sure that the right people are doing the right thing. It prioritises efficiency and clear decision-making. You cannot charge an hour’s time for a partner to do the photocopying – you get a junior, or a support role to do that. You don’t bring everyone together on a meeting, because it’s literally a ticking clock of billable time, unless it is essential and adds significant value.

Doesn’t it work like this in education?

Let’s consider some examples of values-aligned things that I think we would all recognise in schools.

Example 1: A senior leader spends multiple duty sessions per week on the front gate, welcoming pupils or being a contact point for parents (or supervising lunch queues, if you prefer). This sets the right tone. This is aligned with our values, and can also be good to build staff culture – they are part of the team, they are doing duties, and they are visible.

Example 2: Staff attend a compulsory twilight CPD for one hour after school each fortnightly cycle. This helps build a teaching and learning culture, coherence of school culture and values, and is a key and attractive part of being a professional educator.

Example 3: Instead of getting a generic textbook or buying an expensive off the shelf option, a Head of Department decides that they will all do their own resource creation and slide decks. It is too expensive to buy textbooks, so staff design and write booklets to accompany this curriculum, and all staff do their own photocopying at the start of term so that it is ready for the students. This is aligned with our values of a contextualised and personal curriculum, avoids headline costs of textbook purchase, and allows people to really enjoy curriculum design and resource creation.

I think many people would praise these things as good examples of leadership, culture and values in schools. Of course, I think we’d be able to identify a number of other more challenging scenarios – perhaps extensive data drops, triple marking, or significant time spent on mock examinations at key points in the year – which may be part of the expectations, without necessarily being so clearly aligned with and driven by our values… but for now, let’s consider those another time!

What are the issues of this approach?

In and of themselves, I don’t think there is anything ‘wrong’ with the examples here, provided that the decision has been made with a full understanding of benefits and costs.

For Example 1, clearly there are huge benefits in terms of the impact the senior leader might have on the pupil and staff culture, and the relationship they build with the reality on the ground. But what are the costs? In a law firm, they’d look at the partners’ hourly rate and ask 1. Is this the most effective use of this person’s time and costs? 2. What else could (and should) they be doing with that strategic expertise instead? We might reflect on this in schools. If the senior leader has a wonderful and healthy work life balance, does not take excessive work or worry home, and the school’s staffing ratio is such that their time doing duty does not have leadership or strategic implications, then the full consideration of those costs leads to the same outcome.

But if doing duty leaves that leader harried, meaning that they can’t get their own lunch, meet their own workload within the school day, and have excessive work to take home (or worse), then perhaps the staffing, fiscal and workload costs aren’t worth it. Maybe we’d be better hiring a lunch time supervisor to supervise lunch, and let the senior leader do strategic leadership?

For our second example, we might be very positive about the impact of teaching and learning. But how much does it physically cost us to have all of our staff present in one place at one time? What’s the ‘hourly rate’ of the staff? How much are we prepared to spend to do that kind of training, and do we even consider it in our ‘budget’ for CPD? We might know exactly how much it costs to hire an external expert, and evaluate their impact very rigorously. Do we ever do the same for the internal work? Our law firm knows – and either considers, or absorbs – the costs of staff meetings, professional development and training. Billables make it obvious, and you are probably expected to apportion a percentage of your time on ‘non-billable’ activities like this. What are our ‘non-billable’ activities in education? Are we still doing them, even after the suggestions about being involved in displays, or admin excesses?

Again, setting aside the fiscal implications, what are the workload and wellbeing ‘costs’ here, and how do we know what they are? If Teacher A, who loves this stuff and has done their Masters in Teaching & Learning in it, is happily engaged and enthused, it might be a key part of their happiness and motivation at work that week. But poor Teacher B, who was already feeling like they had a few hours of work to do when they got home that night, and a set of exams to mark for Year 11 ahead of a data drop deadline… they can’t imagine a worse way to be spending their time. And Teacher C, who has other life responsibilities – whether parenting, caring, or looking after their own health – what are the costs to them? Do they have to pay for additional out of hours care for their own child, or make alternative travel arrangements as a result? How do we know the impact and effectiveness of our training, and the use of our staff time? What about other staff time? Meetings? Assemblies? Accompanying a form to supervise X? Duties?

For Example 3, there’s a great value in a curriculum that suits the needs of our learners and our contexts, and it’s hard to quantify that. But the budget submission for that Department looks great! They’ve not had to request additional funds for textbooks or curriculum resources. At the end of the year, they might even have a little left over. “Use it or lose it”, the Department are told, and they think up some things to spend the money on so that all of the allocated funds are spent.

We think little of asking highly paid middle leaders to spend tens/hundreds of hours on design – many because they like it, some because they know it needs to be done – or photocopying, admin tasks or resources. Some schools have admin support, of course, and where possible, you might have someone to produce your booklets for you – but it’s rare they will be involved in learning design or anything beyond reprographics.

How much time does it take a Department team to design and build a great set of resources and booklets? Do we know? Do we allocate them time, or expect it to be done without tracking it? How do we know what that’s cost them, and have a reasonable comparison against the commercial option?

Reflections

I am not advocating for a business model of education. I don’t think we should have hourly rates, and always be looking for the lowest-cost operation, or the most efficient. That’s a grim vision of schools, and an unpleasant reality. Many of these things help us build relationships that make our teaching better, and help us to look after young people and nurture them. It’s not how many of us approach education as a career, and we can’t put a price on some of those things.

I am, however, a big fan of making good decisions. And I believe that an underlying principle of good decision-making is to have as much information as possible. I think, all too often, that we have a significant bias towards visible values, benefits and costs, and we don’t look too hard for others. While law has clear and transparent structures for hours, and the underpinning principles of effective cost-management that accompanies that, education all too often assumes that staff costs and staff time are invisible.

We don’t consider the ‘hourly rate’ of our senior and middle leaders, and think about whether some of those asks should sit at their level. We don’t count and know the true costs of implementing a decision based on work that our staff can do, compared to an external or commercial solution. While directed time and some of the recommendations for workload reduction give hints as to things that might not be cost effective, the mechanism for solving those things is not clear – and so many will end up with teachers, or not being done.

How do we bring a better sense of visibility to some of these hidden costs? How do we ensure that our decision-making is effective and efficient in the round, using all of the information? And if we still value certain things highly enough to do them, how do we support, accommodate or balance that for the individuals concerned?

Education should not be utilitarian nor commercial. There are a number of things here that are done deliberately in accordance with the values of a particular school and setting, and that are rightly praised as good practice. But I think – in a workload, wellbeing, recruitment and retention crisis – we need to also praise and think about good quality decision making as a key practice too. I’m all in favour of more information, and a sense of the values *and* costs of what we want to achieve together.

Are we on the cusp of a paradigm shift?

I’ve written before (Preece, 2022) about the nature of the thinking, debates and extent to which we have been able to apply Kuhn’s ideas in education – and there’s a link to lots of that content here, because I think it’s helpful to contextualise.

But I guess my big question is this – are we on the edge of a paradigm shift? With the transformation of the educational landscape, structurally symbolised by:

  • A new Government, and new Education Secretary
  • A Curriculum & Assessment Review
  • Proposed changes to OFSTED
  • A ground-swell change in use of Edu Twitter as a social media platform shifting voices and emphasis

It feels like there could be a moment where some of the big frameworks and landscape markers shift a little – and I’m not sure if this is the moment of evolution, or the combination makes it a more revolutionary phase of where we’re at!

I’d be fascinated to see people’s thoughts!

The Structure of Scientific Revolution: Creating Paradigms

How did the idea of ‘paradigms’ come to exist, and do they apply?

Some years ago, on returning to blogging, Joe Kirby argued that teachers lead the “scientific revolution in education”, showing the stages of adoption from 1999’s “What Works Clearing House” approach (DfE, 2010) towards the ResearchEd movement (Kirby, 2021). He cites a linear development of key articles, implicitly suggesting progression of knowledge accumulated, and points towards a range of schools and thinkers who have grown in the “cognitive science” era (Boxer, 2019; Sealy, 2020; Willingham, 2009).

Whether directly intended or not, Kirby’s article echoed the language of Thomas Kuhn’s 1962 philosophical and sociological work on the “Structure of Scientific Revolution” and the progress of scientific language and progression thinking that have come to be applied to the cognitive science “paradigm” in modern pedagogical discourse.

The philosophy of science is as critical and contested a topic as any other disciplinary debate. Before Kuhn’s work, the widely held view of science was dominated by a philosophy of how it ought to be done (the “scientific method” exemplified by Popper), and a narrative of progress towards a ‘truth’ through consistent and logical progression by incremental steps. As new experiments were conducted, they built up on to the old truths, and built towards a better understanding of the world. Naughton (2012) argues for this as a positivist ‘Whig’ interpretation of science and historiography, often written by those outside the scientific community.

Thomas Kuhn did not come from outside the community. Born in 1922 in Cincinnati, he studied Physics at Harvard, graduating in 1943 before a short period of war service where he studied radar. Returning to Harvard post-war, he completed his PhD in 1949, and was elected to the university’s Society of Fellows. His path to studying quantum mechanics might have been fixed, were it not for an appointment to teach a course on science for humanities students, as part of the General Education in Science curriculum intended to ensure a broad education for all Harvard graduates (Naughton, 2012).

In preparation for the course, Kuhn read old scientific texts in detail for the first time, and his encounter with the work of Aristotle changed his mindset. He had hoped to understand how much mechanics Aristotle had known, given how his work had inspired Galileo and Newton, but was completely dismayed to learn that Aristotle appeared – by the present standards – to know almost nothing. Kuhn later wrote that “Aristotle appeared not only ignorant of mechanics, but [to be] a dreadfully bad physical scientist as well. About motion, in particular, his writings seemed to me full of egregious errors, both of logic and of observation” (Kuhn, 1987). The inspiration of Kuhn’s work was to recognise what we would now consider to be contextual historiography – we must understand the cultural, intellectual and logical framework that created the intellectual tradition of Aristotle’s day, and to see the connection between that time and our own as “phases” and leaps, rather than a logical and linear progression.

Kuhn’s central thesis was that development in scientific knowledge and understanding happens in different phases. The first, he described as “normal science”. In this phase, the scientific community – who share a common intellectual language and framework of thinking – engage in “mopping up”. Much of the work in this phase of science is focused on solving puzzles thrown up by discrepancies by what we predict should happen, and what we observe or cannot observe. Anomalies tend to be resolved either by incremental changes to our knowledge, specific tailoring of the conditions, or by exposing observational or experimental error. As philosopher Ian Hacking succinctly describes it in his preface to one of the many revised editions of Structure: “Normal science does not aim at novelty but at clearing up the status quo. It tends to discover what it expects to discover.”

Kuhn argued that this normal science was often grounded in a particular achievement or publication, which the scientific community acknowledged as the foundation for a period of understanding. Many of the ‘classics’ of science have served as this foundation:

“Aristotle’s Physica, Ptolemy’s Almagest, Newton’s Principia and Opticks, Franklin’s Electricity, Lavoisier’s Chemistry, and Lyell’s Geology—these and many other works served for a time implicitly to define the legitimate problems and methods of a research field for succeeding generations of practitioners. They were able to do so because they shared two essential characteristics. Their achievement was sufficiently unprecedented to attract an enduring group of adherents away from competing modes of scientific activity. Simultaneously, it was sufficiently open-ended to leave all sorts of problems for the redefined group of practitioners to resolve. Achievements that share these two characteristics I shall henceforth refer to as ‘paradigms,’ a term that relates closely to ‘normal science.’ By choosing it, I mean to suggest that some accepted examples of actual scientific practice—examples which include law, theory, application, and instrumentation together— provide models from which spring particular coherent traditions of scientific research. These are the traditions which the historian describes under such rubrics as ‘Ptolemaic astronomy’ (or ‘Copernican’), ‘Aristotelian dynamics’ (or ‘Newtonian’), and so on.”

(Kuhn, 1970: II, ii. 10)

Kuhn’s conceptualisation of these major foundational periods as “paradigms” has become a transformational language by which we now commonly refer to an intellectual or conceptual framework in a period of time.

In education, we’ve seen evidence of paradigmatic thinking in the descriptions of positivist progression of cognitive science in the discipline, and we can certainly see a proliferation of cognitive-science thinkers and publications that do exactly what Kuhn described in the “normal science” phase. Exploring the boundaries, implications and applications of the paradigm, we can see a clear sense in which the intellectual and conceptual framework of pedagogy is unified around a central thesis (e.g. Sweller’s Cognitive Load Theory) or approach.

Historically, the recent publication of OFSTED’s Education Inspection Framework (Ofsted, 2019) and Subject Research Reviews (Ofsted, 2021) amplifies this paradigm through the inspectorate, and wider organisations such as the Education Endowment Foundation disseminate it through the non-research community into the practitioner space (Edovald & Nevill, 2020) creating a language and framework that is localised to the UK education system. These aspects of our education debate suggest accordance with the scientific frameworks proposed by Kuhn, and we could certainly make an argument for a “Gove” era of educational thought, for instance.

The Structure of Scientific Revolution: Challenging Paradigms

Do paradigms and structures apply to education? What challenges do we see?

But not everyone agrees – either with cognitive science, or with the positivist framework. There are different philosophies of education with numerous labels and sides. How can this be reconciled with a scientific method?

Studying the disciplinary history, Kuhn argued that paradigms will last for a period of time. However, over longer periods, the tensions and anomalies begin to accumulate beyond what is understandable and explained by the existing paradigm. Eventually, the scientific community will begin to test and question the paradigm itself, and the discipline enters a period of crisis, characterized by:

“a proliferation of compelling articulations, the willingness to try anything, the expression of explicit discontent, the recourse to philosophy and to debate over fundamentals”

(Kuhn, 1970: 91)

The crisis is only resolved by a revolutionary change in world-view – a paradigm shift – in which the old way of viewing the problem is replaced by a completely new one. The shift in knowledge is substantive, rather than incremental, and requires an adjusted frame of reference, often with new disciplinary content, understanding and intellectual frameworks. And, having shifted, the scientific community revert to their ‘normal science’, based on the new framework. This, Kuhn argued, would continue through time, with varying lengths of paradigmatic understanding depending on the discipline.

Kuhn’s retrospective study of his own discipline of Physics could easily identify the “revolutions” of Aristotle, Copernicus, Newton and Einstein as significant and demarcated paradigms towards a progression of disciplinary understanding. Not all disciplines have such clearly identifiable paradigms: it seems nearly impossible to claim that we do in education. The political shifts in Government or Minister might offer the closest approximation of such clear lines.

For many, the biggest critique of Kuhn’s work was in exploring one of the implications of this paradigmatic process. He argued that competing paradigms are “incommensurable” – in other words, there are no objective and quantifiable ways of assessing their relative merits. It is not possible, for example, to make a checklist to compare Newtonian mechanics (objects, planets) and quantum mechanics (dealing with sub-atomic level processes) in a rational way. Indeed, the nature of the historiographic approach suggests that this should not be possible, because the quantum knowledge is not something that Newton had access to. We cannot judge his thinking and compare his work against it, much like Kuhn’s exposition of Aristotle’s understanding of mechanics. 

The challenge, then, is to understand what drives a particular paradigm shift to take place. If rival paradigms are truly incommensurable, the contentious implication was that scientific revolutions were based – at least in part – on non-scientific, humanistic and irrational grounds. A number of writers in the scientific community might object to this characterization, and the unwritten implication that the major changes were merely groundswell shifts in community thinking.

Competing Cultures? Education as Art or Science?

Is education a paradigm? Or are we competing cultures?

To accept Kuhn’s philosophy, there must be an underlying conceptual agreement with his perspective on science as “a truth”, that can be debated and wrangled in to a conceptual and observable paradigm that we can all accept and agree on. And yet, we have the potential to recognise a number of issues with this – particularly in the application of educational pedagogy.

This debate of values and epistemology is not a new concept, and an alternative framework to Kuhn’s has been proposed. In 1959, the physicist and author C P Snow delivered a controversial Rede Lecture in which he described the “Two Cultures and the Scientific Revolution”. He referred to a gulf of mutual incomprehension, lack of sympathy and lack of engagement between “literary intellectuals” on one hand, and “natural scientists” on the other. Snow described how great scientists were happy to confess ignorance of literature and artistic engagement, ascribing little value to traditional cultural interests in the application of their work, while the humanities group had little to no insight into the edifice of the scientific world.

“A good many times I have been present at gatherings of people who, by the standards of the traditional culture, are thought highly educated and who have with considerable gusto been expressing their incredulity at the illiteracy of scientists. Once or twice I have been provoked and have asked the company how many of them could describe the Second Law of Thermodynamics. The response was cold: it was also negative. Yet I was asking something which is about the scientific equivalent of: Have you read a work of Shakespeare’s?

So the great edifice of modern physics goes up, and the majority of the cleverest people in the western world have about as much insight into it as their Neolithic ancestors would have had … As though the scientific edifice of the physical world was not, in its intellectual depth, complexity and articulation, the most beautiful and wonderful collective work of the mind of man”

Snow, 1959: 14-15

Snow’s lecture, which set out to show the problems of the gulf between cultures, explored the issues of how fixed epistemic understanding led to mutual distrust and polarised debate. The parallels between debates and perspectives in education and pedagogical communities may be drawn out in different threads, and it is ironic to note that Snow was heavily critiqued in a number of humanities spaces. It could be argued that education – with the personal values at the heart of the epistemology and perspective of the individual teacher, leader, or academic researcher – is a world of multiple cultures, not a positivist world of a “single scientific truth”

Where are we now?

Kuhn’s work, itself, began a new paradigm of scientific understanding: not of any particular discipline, but of the sociology of science and how knowledge was constructed in individual communities of practice. Researchers began to examine and debate the ways in which paradigms were created, discussed and explored. Science had lost the hallowed ‘sacred, untouchable product of the Enlightenment’ approach, and become recognised as the outcome of debates and discussion by people practicing the discipline.

Our challenge is that education and pedagogy does not possess a rich paradigmatic disciplinary history of its’ own. It has so often been shaped by political, cultural and social contexts, and by the influences from specific subjects and disciplines. Teachers will come into the profession having encountered their own disciplinary lenses first – whether as an Arts graduate or a Sciences graduate, your view of the world will inevitably have been shaped by your grounding, academic and personal views and perspectives. This makes it hard to effectively understand the education debates as a neutral observer: your values and epistemology will inevitably impact on your emergent philosophy of teaching.

Education is not a neutral act: the observable phenomenon is fundamentally a human experience, and our values and perspectives are just as important in driving our understanding as the observable features. Kirby (2021) recognised this challenge, arguing that “science won’t resolve divergences of values for those of us in teaching”. But are we truly within a scientific paradigm in crisis? Can we truly observe it at the time, or must it be identifiable in retrospective? Or are there alternative interpretations?

This is where I think the present situation finds us. With the Francis Curriculum and Assessment Review, an OFSTED shake up and other wider transformations on the educational horizon, including the wide spread movement towards BlueSky away from EduTwitter, one of the questions is whether we are undergoing the culture shocks of a wobble, or of a paradigm shift. We have shifted a community from one platform – with cultures, norms and algorithms – to another, which allows the emergence or change of people, thinkers and voices.

In some of the reviews and debates over pedagogy, curriculum and assessment we certainly see a number of debates taking place which might be regarded as characteristic of Kuhn’s crisis period – and the recourse to philosophy and debate of fundamentals will be familiar to many of us as we observe the communities of practice in which we participate. I joined one of the Curriculum Framework online webinars, and was struck anew by the fierce intent of people to express their particular opinion and take on what was essential to change – whether that was about assessment, particular skills, or approaches to issues like climate and sustainability education – which all seemed vital to them.

So, is this a paradigm shifting, messy science, or just a clash of cultures? Without a “mission statement” for what education is for, universally, in the UK – or even the constituent devolved nations – every pluralist perspective on the purpose, nature and approach to curriculum, assessment and intent can be valid. It would be difficult to argue that there is coherent framework thinking and a philosophical agreement – and in the webinars, getting a handle on that diverse and critical perspective was really important as a thought process.

Unlike other domains, I am not convinced that a single definable purpose for education is desirable – and yet, without it, I fear that many of the structural intentions and frameworks to bring about positive change will always create messy clashes of cultures without resolution.

Love to hear your thoughts if you have them!

References:

References available

Andrews (2021) Three lists: Why education’s ‘scientific revolution’ is failing and what we need to do about it. Accessed online at https://bernardandrews.wordpress.com/2021/07/12/three-lists-why-educations-scientific-revolution-is-failing-and-what-we-need-to-do-about-it/ on 30/08/21.

Boxer (2019) The ResearchED Guide to Explicit & Direct Instruction: An Evidence Informed Guide for Teachers, John Catt

Department for Education (2010): The Importance of Teaching: The Schools White Paper, accessible online: https://www.gov.uk/government/publications/the-importance-of-teaching-the-schools-white-paper-2010

Edovald & Nevill (2021) Working Out What Works: The Case of the Education Endowment Foundation in England, ENCU Review of Education, 4 (1), 46-64

Kirby (2021) Teachers Lead the Scientific Revolution in Education: 44+ Seminal Articles, accessed online at: https://pragmaticreform.wordpress.com/2021/08/28/scientific-revolution on 30/08/21.

Kuhn (1962, 1970) The Structure of Scientific Revolution, Chicago: University of Chicago Press, (1970: 2nd Ed with postscript)

Kuhn (1987) in The Probablistic Revolution, Volume I: Ideas in History, eds. Lorenz Kruger, Lorraine, J. Daston, and Michael Heidelberger (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1987), excerpt from pp. 7-22, available online: http://www.units.miamioh.edu/technologyandhumanities/kuhn.htm

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