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This newsletter is the fifteenth in a series on complexity. Our
informal and formal educational systems, and our everyday life
experiences, help us learn to deal with the complexities of complexity.
Knowledge Theory and Education
M. D. Gall
University of Oregon
Each profession is centered around a particular type of object.
In medicine, it is the human body. In the legal profession, it is the
law. In business, it is goods and services. In engineering, it is
structures and machines.
What then is the essential object of study and practice in the
education profession? In observing schools, we see that teachers’
primary job is to impart the curriculum to students; students are
expected to learn the curriculum; and teachers and others assess
students’ mastery of the curriculum.
We might conclude then that education is centered around curriculum.
But if you think about it, the curriculum and the various subjects that
constitute it (e.g., mathematics, social studies, English) is based on
a body of knowledge. No matter what subject is being taught, the
teacher is helping students acquire knowledge, apply knowledge to
problems and tasks, and sometimes create their own knowledge.
So I contend that knowledge is the essential object of study and
practice in the education profession. If this is true, the education
profession might make greater advances if we improve our understanding
of its foundation in knowledge.
In this article I want to share what I have learned so far about the
nature of knowledge and its implications for education. I draw from my
40-year career in the education profession, mostly as a teacher
educator, and from my study of epistemology (the philosophy of
knowledge), the philosophy of science, and instructional theory.
Knowledge as a Representation of Reality
I define knowledge in this way: Knowledge is a representation of
reality. By “representation” I mean that knowledge is a kind of
recording that an individual has made to encode some aspect of reality.
The recording can take various forms, such as text, diagrams, photos,
videos, music, spreadsheets, and formulas.
Each bit of knowledge is a representation of reality, not the
representation of reality. For example, if someone wants to know the
name of the state university in Eugene, they can ask me and I can give
an oral answer. Or the person can read the name of the university in a
hard copy of a university directory, or they can find the name at a
website. Each is a different representation of the university’s name.
The receptivity of knowledge to different representations is an
important feature of knowledge. Here’s an example. As a doctoral
student in psychology, my classmates and I took a course in statistics.
The professor was indecipherable to most of us. He spent most of the
class putting equations on the board, talking aimlessly (in our
opinion). We called the class a “magical mystery tour.” The textbook,
written by a distinguished professor, was no more helpful. What we did
find helpful was to form study groups where we could talk our way
through the equations, checking our understanding with each other. We
formed our own representations of statistics (mostly oral
communications) that were more comprehensible than those found in the
lectures or the textbook. In fact, our representations enabled us to
make sense of these other representations.
Here’s another example of the receptivity of knowledge to different
representations. In Eugene, Oregon, we have an ongoing film seminar,
open to the public, led by a retired Hollywood film director, Tom
Blank. His motto is, “You haven’t seen a movie until you’ve talked
about it.” For each seminar meeting, he provides some background
information about the movie, screens it, and then we discuss it for
upwards of an hour. I have found that the reality of the movie often
changes dramatically for me as I shift from the representations formed
by the screen images to the representations formed by the discussion
leader, by my fellow attendees, and by my own reflections. Often these
collective representations lead us to focus on features of the film
that we otherwise overlooked while watching the film or in our personal
Consider for yourself what types of representations of reality help you
learn best—lectures, texts, videos, music, the Internet, discussion. Is
it true that a picture is worth a thousand words? And is it possible
that a video is worth a thousand photos? In my opinion, the ability to
present videos is the real promise of computers for improving
education. Videos, digitized for playback on a computer, can present
processes, events, sounds, and objects in a manner that cannot be
duplicated in efficacy by any other form of representation, other than
to be an eyewitness to them. Now consider the repositories of knowledge
that you use. For many centuries, libraries were the primary
repositories of knowledge. The U.S. Library of Congress reflects that
heritage. Now the Internet has become the greatest repository of
knowledge; it can store not just a local library, but the world’s
libraries, in addition to images and sounds of all sorts, and anything
else that can be digitized.
But what does digitization do to the representation of reality? Would
you rather see a photo of van Gogh’s “Starry Night” or the actual
painting in the Museum of Modern Art (as I did recently)? Would you
rather skype with a friend or have a face-to-face conversation? Would
you rather watch a teacher deliver a live lecture or watch a digital
recording of the same teacher? One benefit of watching a digitized
representation of some aspect of reality is that you can do so
repeatedly, each time processing more of the representation. However,
being an eyewitness likely might create a more complete representation
and a different emotional response. Thus, both digitization and
real-life experience can serve as representations of reality, but they
are not necessarily equal in terms of costs and benefits.
The Nature of Reality and Knowledge Claims
Now let’s examine the other part of my definition of knowledge.
Knowledge is a representation of reality, but what exactly is reality?
Philosophers have pondered this question for centuries, and there is no
single agreed-upon answer to it. I like the definition provided by the
Wikipedia, based on the Oxford English Dictionary (Oxford Dictionaries,
2010): “reality is the state of things as they actually exist, rather
than as they may appear or might be imagined.” This is close to my own
view of reality, which is that reality is what things are like
independently of our observations of them.
This definition is sensible, but it presents a dilemma. It’s impossible
to know what reality is like independently of our observations. Reality
does not speak to us directly. A tree does not tell us that it is a
tree. An atom does not tell us that it is an atom and that it has
certain properties. All we can do is study these things and make
representations of them. And there is no certain way to determine
whether those representations are valid, because reality does not tell
us that they are valid or not. In a sense, we are always peeking around
the curtain of our representations, hoping that what we see beyond the
curtain is reality itself.
To give you just one example, many climate scientists assert that our
global climate is changing, and some politicians and business people
say they are wrong. The actuality of climate, if there is such a thing,
does not adjudicate in the matter. All we have to go by are
representations, such as those created by scientific studies, computer
models, researchers’ interpretations of their findings, and
policymakers’ judgments about those interpretations. Each of these
representations might be wrong, partially right, or remarkably correct.
The fact that we cannot know reality directly but only indirectly
through our constructed representations suggests what should be a major
goal of education: Teach students to embrace uncertainty. Teach them to
question everything. When researchers conduct a research study, other
researchers are free to question their conceptual framework, their
methods, and their findings. In the arts, a work of art—a poem, a
painting, an opera—does not have one correct, authoritative
interpretation. Its meaning and worth are always uncertain, and can
change from one period of time to another, even among professional
critics. Students need to learn this type of uncertainty.
The fact that an aspect of reality can be represented in different ways
does not mean that all representations have equal validity. Those who
work in the professions, trades, arts, crafts, religious orders,
scientific research, and other human endeavors have developed criteria
for judging whether a knowledge claim is valid. If students are to
acquire and use knowledge effectively, they need to view knowledge not
as an absolute, but as claims that should be judged for their validity
by using criteria, those developed by others and their own.
These judgments of validity are not easy. I’ve been an editor of
several research journals, and I can tell you that, more often than
not, different reviewers of a research manuscript will judge the
meaning and validity of its findings quite differently. My job as an
editor was to adjudicate the validity of these different
representations of the manuscript. Students similarly need to learn how
to adjudicate the validity of knowledge claims across the various
subject areas that make up the curriculum. In public schools, however,
students typically acquire chunks of knowledge without learning that it
is a set of claims whose validity needs to be examined.
Types of Reality
If knowledge is a representation of reality, is there a uniform reality
or do different types of reality exist? In my view, three types of
reality exist—physical reality, psychological reality, and spiritual
reality. Students in public schools mostly acquire knowledge about
physical reality, objects outside ourselves that our sensory organs can
recognize and turn into representations.
The other two realities are internal to ourselves. One is psychological
reality. For example, we can sense anger or anxiety in another, but
only we can experience anger and anxiety within ourselves. Various
types of psychotherapy are available to help people get in touch with
these feelings and control them. Or consider the case of students who
read without comprehension. Researchers have discovered that good
readers cognitively monitor their comprehension and take corrective
action when comprehension fails. Educators have developed ways, such as
the think-aloud method (Wilhelm, 2001), to help all students develop
these internal cognitive processes.
The other internal reality is spiritual reality. When I was much
younger, I took a course on world religions. That was interesting, but
it’s not the same thing as the study of our own spiritual reality,
assuming we are in touch with such a reality. One of my classmates,
Peter Pitzele (1995), represented what I mean by spiritual reality in
recounting his experience in a French class. During class, he notes a
fly “lying on its back, its tiny legs in the air” (p. 5). The fly
eventually gets up and flies away, while Peter, and these are his
words, having “microscopically pursued its every move, am hurtled into
space, glued to its shimmering little form until it dissolves into the
light. And the landscape beyond the window dissolves as well…I am
traveling down a golden cone toward a center infinitely far away. I
travel with the speed of light. In an instant I arrive at the center,
quivering and melting. Some part of my mind is able to observe this
ecstasy, and this part, gasping in astonishment, knows that I have come
to God. This must be God, for here everything is answered.” (pp. 5-6).
Peter Pitzele had encountered what I refer to as spiritual reality.
Consider the implications of this multi-dimensional view of reality for
the curriculum. With the advent of the Common Core Standards, educators
are placing increasing emphasis on the reading and writing skills and
the STEM disciplines (science, technology, engineering, mathematics).
These subjects are grounded in physical reality. Students seldom are
given opportunities to explore their internal psychological reality. We
do hear of efforts to train students in good health practices, such as
avoidance of addictive drugs, but this training typically is expository
and prescriptive rather than an exploration of one’s own emotions,
needs, stresses, and motivations. An exception is the incorporation of
meditation in some schools as part of the school day. An example is the
Quiet Time program, “a shelter and a sanctuary where students can clear
their minds and ready themselves to accomplish things socially and
academically” (Nobori, 2014).
Helping students acquire knowledge about their psychological reality is
far from mainstream educational practice. Teaching them about spiritual
reality is even farther away. Because of the separation of church and
state, public schools cannot teach students to explore spiritual
reality. They can teach about world religions (a subject that I took in
high school), but that is not the same thing. I think, though, that
public schools can and should teach students that there is such a thing
as spiritual reality. They can do so by presenting the writings of
individuals who had spiritual awakenings, such as what Peter Pitzele
experienced. Students need not accept the validity of these
representations of spiritual reality, but they should be exposed to
them. Otherwise we leave a huge hole in the curriculum.
Reality Is Infinitely Complex
Consider the complex reality of any school. If we were
creating knowledge representations of it, we could focus on its current
and present students. We could study each student’s past, including
their decision to enter that specific school, and we could study their
future after they leave the school. We could study not only all current
students, but all past students. Having done that, we could move on to
the faculty, the staff, the budget, the grounds, and so on. You could
spend an entire lifetime, and still not know everything about that one
Because reality is so complex, we are forced to specialize. Each
individual is likely to become a specialist in some domain of
knowledge. Specialization sometimes is put down as “knowing more and
more about less and less.” But that’s a good thing, because reality is
Awareness of this feature of reality is important, because the school
curriculum is mostly determined not by students, but by other
stakeholders. Students need to learn that the delivered curriculum is
just a small sliver of all the knowledge that is out there. There
exists a whole other curriculum that is not taught, sometimes called
the null curriculum (Flinders, Noddings, & Thornton, 1986).
I believe that educators should shrink the null curriculum by devoting
some school time, especially in students’ early years, to what I call
exposure. By this, I mean that students should be exposed to a great
many domains of knowledge and the individuals who embrace them—poets,
philatelists, wood carvers, anesthesiologists, plumbers, chiropractors,
CEOs, salespersons, pollsters, social workers. The list goes on and on.
Preferably these domains of knowledge would be explained by individuals
who have those titles rather than by just having students read
descriptions of them. In this way students can discover their interests
and fellow travelers. This exposure would open up the school
curriculum, which traditionally has been highly circumscribed.
As an example of the need to give students time to explore, we can look
to Steve Jobs, the founder of Apple, who only completed one term at
Reed College. He did not like taking courses, and fortunately a dean
allowed him to stay on and audit classes as he wished (Isaacson, 2011).
One of them was a course on calligraphy, taught by a distinguished
expert in that field. This interest in the design of script fostered
Jobs’ interest in aesthetics, which in turn led him to require his
staff at Apple to design computers that were aesthetically pleasing and
incorporated a wide variety of typefaces. The rest of the story is, as
they say, history.
Because reality is so complex, the individuals who create the
curriculum need to be a focus of study. As an example, I refer to a
book I recently came across: American History Revised: 200 Startling
Facts That Never Made It into Textbooks (Morris, 2010). The book is of
interest to me because I once happened to teach U.S. history to eighth
graders for several months. Our focus was colonial life and the
Revolutionary War. I discovered from 200 Startling Facts that the
recruitment of soldiers for the Revolutionary War was terribly
difficult (as it has been for other wars). The author states: “During
the American Revolution, almost as many inhabitants of the American
colonies fought for the British as for the Continental Army: seven
thousand loyalists versus eight thousand patriots. Furthermore, George
Washington had great difficulty securing food for his troops because
local farmers preferred to sell their goods to the British, who could
afford to pay more for them.”
Now one might argue that eighth graders should not be exposed to such
knowledge or only when they are older. But the point is that some
individual or group made the decision not to include representations of
this aspect of colonial reality in the curriculum. My students and I as
their teacher had no way of knowing who limited our exposure and why.
How did I finally become aware of this knowledge? I subscribe to a free
Internet service, http://delanceyplace.com, which each day delivers
excerpts from a recent book to my email inbox. The books cover many
different domains of knowledge, and so I am exposed to knowledge and
aspects of reality that were not part of my formal schooling. This
exposure supplements my occasional reading of The New York Times list
of best-sellers, my weekly reading of The New Yorker, whose articles
cover a wide range of topics, and occasional forays into bookstores
where I wander about. As educators, we need to ask whether the students
who graduate from our schools have developed their own methods of
constantly exposing themselves to new aspects of reality or whether
they are content to transverse only within well-worn tracks.
Knowledge is Embedded in Communities of Practice
The concept of a community of practice was developed and popularized by
two researchers, Jean Lave and Etienne Wenger (1991). A community of
practice, broadly defined, is a group of individuals who form an
organized group to create or use knowledge for particular purposes.
Indeed, much if not all human knowledge is linked to a community of
practice that created and uses it. Lave and Wenger make the point this
The community of practice of midwifery or tailoring involves much more
than the technical knowledgeable skill involved in delivering babies or
producing clothes. A community of practice is a set of relations among
persons, activity, and world, over time and in relation with other
tangential and overlapping communities of practice. A community of
practice is an intrinsic condition for the existence of knowledge… (p.
One of the most interesting things about knowledge is that it can be
used differently by different communities of practice. Consider
mathematics. In my case, I studied algebra, geometry, trigonometry, and
calculus in high school and statistics at the University of California
at Berkeley. My main professional use of math has been statistical
analysis of psychological research data.
Now my father was a machinist and tool and die maker with an
eighth-grade education. He studied math, too, and used it daily in his
job, but it was a different sort of math. It mostly involved
measurement to get objects lathed to a certain level of tolerance, or
in other words, within an allowable level of measurement error. So,
both of us used math, but different kinds of math, for different
purposes and within different communities of practice.
Lave and Wenger point to apprenticeships as a worthwhile and
historically common way to incorporate new members into a community of
practice. For example, they make this observation: “In the United
States today much learning occurs in the form of some sort of
apprenticeship, especially wherever high levels of knowledge and skill
are in demand (e.g., medicine, law, the academy, professional sports,
and the arts” (p. 63).
One of the great shortcomings of public education is that it most often
conveys knowledge devoid of any community of practice. Many students
have no idea how math, social studies, physics, and other subjects fit
into their present and future life. Education would improve greatly if
teachers helped students make connections between knowledge and the
students’ own current communities of practice, such as their sports and
entertainment activities, and in the communities of practice that they
might someday enter. Apprenticeships, or what I consider its near
equivalent internships, would make these connections even stronger.
With the current emphasis on having students develop higher cognitive
skills, the idea of apprenticeships becomes even more appealing.
The incorporation of communities of practice into the school curriculum
is complicated by the fact that different students will be attracted to
different communities of practice. So, for example, should schools
impart knowledge that is useful for college-bound students and
different knowledge for students who wish to go into the trades, and
still different knowledge for students who wish to become artists or to
pursue a spiritual path? The current vision is that all or most
students will be college-bound. This vision ignores the highly diverse
nature of student interests and talents.
Types of Knowledge
Representations of reality, such as an essay or painting, do not
speak on their own. As we examine them, we interpret them to produce
meaningful knowledge. So, for example, when I look at a painting, I
know that it is a painting because I have learned the concept of a
painting. If I can recognize trees, sheep, and a river in the painting,
it is because I have learned these concepts. If I can determine the
ratio of the painting’s height to its length, it is because I have
learned rules for computing a ratio.
We see, then, that our ability to form concepts and rules is critical
to the development and use of knowledge. I think of concepts and rules,
together with facts, as a typology of knowledge types. One prominent
typology (Gagné, Wager, Golas, & Keller, 2005) includes five
knowledge types that are called categories of learning outcomes:
intellectual skills, cognitive strategies, verbal information, motor
skills, and attitudes.
In my typology, a fact is a representation of one thing that has no
generalization. The name of the institution where I spent most of my
career is the University of Oregon. That’s a fact. It tells you the
name of my school, but of no other school. The University of Oregon is
located in Eugene, Oregon. That’s a fact, because it tells you where
this university is located, but not the location of any other
Concepts are generalizable. A concept is a knowledge representation
that groups things on the basis of shared characteristics. For example,
marriage is a concept. You can group people according to whether they
are married or not. Divorce is another concept. You can group people
according to whether they are married or were married but no longer are.
Rules are relationships between concepts. Mathematical formulas such as
E = mc2 are rules. That formula expresses a relationship among three
concepts—mass, energy, and light. Golf, which I play, has a huge number
of rules, all of them questionable. Grip the club in a certain way,
take it away into a backswing in a certain way, and create a downswing
in a certain way. And follow those rules consistently, which should
lead (in theory at least) to a repeatable golf swing.
Facts, concepts, and rules can vary in importance, significance, and
value, depending on the individual or group. February 18 has some
significance to me, because that is my birth date. House is a concept,
so all things called a house have certain things in common; however,
houses vary in monetary value. A discovery about the speed of neutrinos
is important to atomic physicists and to those with a general interest
in science, but probably of no importance, meaning, or significance to
the general public. Crime is a concept to which we attribute negative
The fact that humans have created different types of knowledge to
represent and interpret reality has important consequences for
curriculum. To illustrate, I will draw again on my experience teaching
the American Revolutionary War to eighth-graders. The American
Revolutionary War constitutes a set of facts, but “revolutionary war”
is a concept. So should I teach this topic as a set of facts about the
war (mostly about nations, battles, generals, towns, and dates) or
should I teach the concept of a revolutionary war and its related
concepts, revolution and revolt?
It happens that the Soviet Union was undergoing a revolution
(1989-1991) that led to its dissolution while I was teaching my course.
I decided to tape segments of PBS’ MacNeil/Lehrer news hour reporting
this revolution and show them to the class. The students were quite
interested in watching these segments, because they knew that something
important in the world was happening, but weren’t sure what it was. I
also asked students to bring something to class having to do with
revolution or war. One student brought in his dad’s military dog tag; I
brought in a CD of the Beatles’ song “Revolution” and played it for the
class. In this way, students learned not only about the American
Revolutionary War, but also about the concept of revolution and the
various reasons why people organize a revolt. As a result of my focus
on concepts and not just facts, the students probably were in a better
position to study any other revolt or war throughout recorded history.
This example suggests that it requires significantly more effort to
design instruction for the teaching of concepts than for the teaching
of facts. One needs to search for the examples, preferably in different
media, whereas facts are inherently simple and can reside comfortably
in textbooks or on the Web. The teaching of rules is complex, too,
especially if the teacher wants to show how the rules were developed
and their application across many different situations. Thus, I would
argue that the design of instruction for teaching concepts and rules is
beyond the capacity of the individual teacher. If this is true, we need
to rethink how instruction should be designed and delivered to students.
Knowledge Creation, Acquisition, and Use
Knowledge can be thought of as having three stages. First, someone has
to create knowledge. Then others can acquire that knowledge. Finally,
those who have acquired this knowledge can apply it. My analysis might
seem simplistic, but I find it helpful in thinking about knowledge as
the foundation of education.
Researchers are in the business of creating new knowledge, hopefully,
knowledge that has wide application. Others create local knowledge, for
example, a shop owner who develops and maintains an inventory, perhaps
using a computer application, of the store’s goods. (The inventory is
knowledge, because it represents the store’s goods.)
I think that students should have many opportunities to create
knowledge. This might be in the form of doing projects, such as
gathering information about a particular topic and organizing it into a
report. The most useful activity, though, would involve creating
knowledge within a community of practice. To illustrate, permit me to
share a personal example. In all of my education, which included
parochial school, a prep school in New England, and an Ivy League
college, the most valuable learning occurred in my doctoral program in
psychology at the University of California at Berkeley. We were
required to do research projects from the beginning of our program and
were assigned a professor to guide us. I did not have a clue about how
to start such a project (my college major was English), so my advisor
recommended that I start reading articles that reported psychological
research. Gradually I figured out the steps of a research project,
found a problem that interested me (whether incubation facilitates
creativity), collected data, and wrote up the results in two papers
that were published in refereed journals. All this with just a course
on statistics and a good advisor. I never did take a course on research
methodology, although I have co-authored two textbooks on this subject.
Rather than being stimulated to create knowledge, students generally
are engaged in the task of acquiring knowledge that others have
created. The instruction is bound within the artificial constraints of
a classroom, with the teacher lecturing, assigning homework, and
testing how much knowledge each student has acquired. Perhaps this
emphasis on knowledge acquisition is what leads many students to be
bored by their school subjects and eventually drop out of school.
In the third stage, the learner has the opportunity to apply knowledge.
In early grades, students learn decoding and then apply this knowledge
to reading text. In later grades, they will be asked to write an essay
that requires them to apply knowledge they have acquired. At many grade
levels they will be asked to solve mathematical or scientific problems
of the sort that one commonly sees in textbooks and college admission
tests. My criticism of these school activities is that they are often
artificial. As an example, this type of math problem comes to mind:
When will two trains traveling different rates of speed from opposite
locations pass each other on a set of parallel tracks? Who really cares
Once again, the concept of a community of practice is relevant.
Opportunities to apply knowledge are valuable, but much more so if
learners are applying knowledge that interests them to problems of
practice that also interest them. To illustrate, consider the fact that
many companies have developed a specialization called knowledge
management (Frappaolo, 2006). For knowledge managers, the purpose of
knowledge creation and acquisition is to use it to improve an
organization’s ability to innovate and respond to market conditions.
Peter Drucker, the noted management theorist, argues that knowledge,
not labor or raw material or capital, has become our most important
economic resource (Drucker, 1994). But it is not knowledge itself, but
rather the application of knowledge that is key. For example, Drucker
states that the comparative advantage of one country over another in
the world economy is this: “The comparative advantage that now counts
is in the application of knowledge—for example, in Japan’s total
quality management, learn manufacturing processes, just-in-time
delivery, and price-based costing, or in the customer service offered
by medium-sized German or Swiss engineering companies.”
I have tried to make the case that knowledge is the
fundamental object of study and practice for the education profession.
Philosophers, instruction design specialists, and others have developed
a set of concepts that provide the basis for a theory of knowledge, or
what I call knowledge theory. The primary concepts that comprise
knowledge theory are: representations; types of reality; reality
complexity; knowledge claims and validity; types of knowledge;
communities of practice; knowledge creation, acquisition, and
The brief sketch of knowledge theory that I present here calls into
question the soundness of many current schooling practices—the lack of
curriculum diversity, the selective nature of the curriculum,
instruction devoid of a community of practice, almost exclusive
reliance on classroom instruction over real-world experience, and the
prevalence of sterile representations of reality in textbooks. In
addition to serving as a critique of current practices, knowledge
theory can also point the way to new practices that enhance learners’
personal lives and participation in society and the workplace.
Some people think that the Common Core Standards and the increasing use
of technology (e.g., providing students with iPads) will elevate public
education to a new level. However, I see two major problems with this
vision. One is that education is still pre-scientific, certainly when
compared to professions such as medicine and engineering. It relies on
tradition rather than on theory and research.
The other major problem is that public education is highly fragmented
because of the commonly held belief in local control of schools. Local
communities and individual teachers lack the resources required to
develop high-quality curriculum materials based on a careful analysis
of knowledge that diverse learners at different developmental levels
need. For example, no community or state would think of developing its
own cars or films for theatrical release. The costs would be too great
and the talent pool is too small. Yet schools and individual teachers
continue to rely heavily on their own limited resources to create and
implement instruction. Even teachers who design good instruction
eventually retire and take with them whatever craft knowledge they have
The alternative is to gather a great pool of diverse talent experts and
give it the resources to develop representations of reality, using
multiple media but especially video; make these representations easily
accessible for diverse settings and students (most likely using
computers and the Internet); and then disseminate them, with training
in their use, to teachers and to students who are capable of learning
Oxford Dictionaries (2010). Compact Oxford English dictionary of current English. 3rd ed. New York: Oxford University.
Pitzele, P. (1995). Our fathers' wells: A personal encounter with the myths of Genesis. New York: Harper.
Wilhelm, J. (2001). Improving comprehension with
think-aloud strategies: Modeling what good readers do. Revised and
updated. New York: Scholastic.
Meredith “Mark” Gall is an emeritus professor of education
at the University of Oregon and a fellow of the American Psychological
Association and the American Educational Research Association. He
earned a bachelors and masters degree at Harvard University and a
doctorate in psychology at the University of California at Berkeley.
While at the University of Oregon, he served as director of graduate
programs in curriculum and instruction, director of the summer program
on teaching skills, and department head for teacher education. He
served as executive or consulting editor for several research journals
and is co-author of Tools for Learning: A Guide to Teaching Study
Skills, Clinical Supervision and Teacher Development (6th ed.),
Educational Research: An Introduction (8th ed.), and Applying
Educational Research (7th ed. in progress). Dr. Gall welcomes feedback
on his article at: firstname.lastname@example.org.
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