How do we know that we know something?
More importantly, how do we know that our children know something?
The traditional way of testing knowledge is exactly that—a test. Students answer a variety of questions about a specific topic to prove that they understand that topic. In theory, it’s a very efficient way to gauge a student’s understanding. We can quickly and easily see the percentage of understanding that a student has and move on to the next topic accordingly.
This theory of knowing, while very clean and organized, also runs on an assumption of perfect memory and retention—something very few people actually possess. In actuality, memory and cognition are messy, tangled, complicated systems that vary widely from one person to the next (and sometimes, from one day to the next).
What we really have are two ways of knowing something — understanding through doing and understanding through labeling.
For example: I can read a book about sailing and learn quite a bit. I can learn about the mast and the hull, the keel, sails, and rigging. This is all incredibly important information around sailing—these names matter and exist for a reason. I’m gaining knowledge of labels.
But when I actually get in a sailboat and take it out on the water for the first time . . . knowing one thing is called a mast and the other thing is called a jib doesn’t actually help me get from one dock to another. Or keep me from capsizing the whole thing!
What I really need to know, especially at the beginning of learning to sail, is how to use all the things on the boat. I need to know how to move the rudder, adjust the sail, tighten the rigging, secure the anchor, and so on. This kind of knowledge is the knowledge of doing or applying—of using the tools in front of me to accomplish my goal.
So, do labels matter? Well, of course they matter! But they’re only part of the process. And they’re not the most important or deepest part, either.
Think of it this way:
The weaving and integration of “labels” and “application” create a rich, in-depth understanding of something. Go back to the sailing example: if I can navigate from one point to another and clearly communicate with my fellow crew members about what needs to happen with what parts of the boat, the likelihood of success goes up exponentially.
And when we weave labels and application together enough, with enough practice and learning over time, we reach the deepest knowledge, which is our ability to manipulate and create. When we can make something new from the information and experience we’ve gained, then we’ve truly reached mastery.
This is true across the board. Pick any subject, and odds are that this depth of knowledge process is accurate. Now, it may not be the order that we acquire the knowledge—sometimes we actually do first, then learn the labels second (I’ll talk more about this later). So the order of learning may be different, but the depth of understanding and retention of information is what really matters.
Labels are surface knowledge. Application is second layer knowledge. The active combination of those two things is the third layer. And the unique implementation of synthesized information and action is mastery.
This is a great way to understand how we build knowledge over time—and a great perspective to have about how our kids gain knowledge across their learning years.
Here’s a common problem: gaining these layers of knowledge takes time, but we don’t always give the time and explicit teaching that it requires. Instead, we often get this:
We often teach surface knowledge: a lot of labels and a little application. And then we test for this kind of knowledge. Testing for label knowledge is fine, as long as we know that’s what we’re testing for and don’t expect students to have a depth of knowledge that we haven’t taught them.
But too often we teach and test at the surface layers while expecting students to have creative, unique, rich output.
Let’s put this in terms of literacy. Take reading comprehension, for example.
When it’s time to dig into a good book, there are some label-type pieces of information we need to cover. Things like the characters' names and traits, basic events in the story, setting, and so on. These are often the kinds of things that get discussed and even tested for.
And then, oftentimes, there is a leap and students are asked to write papers or do projects that require analysis, synthesis, deep connections, and critical observations. This is creative, unique output—the deepest level of knowledge. It’s a great thing to expect from students!
Here’s the most important part:
We can only expect this kind of knowledge and output when we have taught students how to get to this level and what to do once they’ve reached it.
The path has to be explicitly laid in front of them, with guidance and care that supports their learning at every step.
In terms of comprehension, this means that we have to start with talking about characters, setting, and plot. But then we have to teach students how to make connections, what metaphors are, how to identify a thesis—and how to formulate written work around those ideas.
This takes time! And ongoing, explicit effort. And in truth, it’s not easy for either the educator or the student. But it is how to get real, accurate, effective output from your students.
We are going to explore this concept in more depth with specific language arts concepts (including comprehension and grammar) in future blogs. Stay tuned!
