Pedagogical puritan or pragmatist?

In 2016, I sat in a packed lecture hall at the NCTM annual conference in San Francisco. The room was so full that people were crouched in the aisles and pressed against the walls, eager to hear a prominent educationalist talk about revolutionising mathematics education through more inclusive, progressive approaches. The talk was engaging enough, but it wasn’t the speaker’s message that has stayed with me all these years. The one word that comes to mind to describe the atmosphere is ‘evangelical’. I was unnerved by the fervour with which the message was received.

Around the same time, another movement was taking hold, although its impact in Australia wasn’t broadly noticeable until more recently. The ‘direct instruction knowledge rich’ cabal, as Guy Claxton¹ calls it, has now firmly taken hold and exerts powerful influence on educational policy. Once again, I’m unnerved.

These two extremes, pushing opposing philosophies, seem to dominate educational discourse. These polarising positions create false binaries that oversimplify the complexities of teaching. I now think of those who hold such rigid views as ‘pedagogical puritans’. But what does pedagogical puritanism look like in practice?

Pedagogical puritanism is not just a label; it’s a mindset that insists on rigid, one-size-fits-all methods. It’s the belief that the ‘I do, we do, you do’ structure must be followed in every lesson, with no room for deviation. It’s the insistence that students must understand the problem, devise a plan, carry out the plan, and review those steps every time they solve a problem—writing out and labelling each stage meticulously². It’s declaring that unless all fourteen practices in your framework are implemented, no significant change will occur.

None of this helps teachers or their students. I recall one memorable and disheartening occasion where I discussed the value of teaching with all three forms of problem solving (for, about, and through) at a conference. Afterwards, I was besieged by teachers from across the sector, pleading for help in navigating their school’s focus on using ‘through’ in almost all lessons. In workshops on selecting tasks, teachers frequently express frustration at being hamstrung by mandated units of work that don’t suit their specific context. Pedagogical puritanism is rife, and it’s stifling both educators and learners.

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I describe myself in social media bios as a ‘dirty lefty’, ironically adopting a term that Peter Dutton, now Leader of the Australian Opposition, used in a 2011 tweet to deliberately polarise the debate on refugees and immigrants. Bernard Keane wrote a good explainer here. My intent was to mock Dutton’s divisive rhetoric, but as time passes, I wonder if this irony only reinforces the very divisions I wanted to critique. (After all, social media isn’t exactly a place for subtlety.) As Keane asks, ‘Do you become part of the anger machine, or do you find another way to answer?

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In 2017, after a long and divisive campaign marred by political failings, Australia legalised same-sex marriage. The process should have been straightforward—a parliamentary vote or even a plebiscite reflecting the electorate’s views. Instead, the change came through a non-binding, voluntary postal survey sent to voters. Sally Rugg was one of the key activists for the Yes campaign. In her book How Powerful We Are, she outlines the campaign’s organising strategy. The Australian voting population was divided into five groups, numbered 1-5, and categorised by their attitudes towards marriage equality.

The 1s were strong supporters—vocal advocates who attended rallies and actively promoted the cause. The 2s supported marriage equality but were less engaged, needing reminders to return their ballots. The 3s were undecided, sympathetic but unsure about the implications of changing the law, and easily swayed by fear-based arguments. The 4s opposed marriage equality, accepting LGBTQ individuals but believing in traditional marriage, while the 5s were staunchly against LGBTQ rights altogether.

Rugg believed there was no point engaging with the 5s, writing “you can’t convince everyone of everything, and you shouldn’t try to.”³

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Teaching is a complex business. I understand the desire—and the need—for theories to help make sense of the mess and for solutions that can be broadly applied. But pedagogical puritanism is narrow, as well as reductionist. It has a limited view of the purpose of education and oversimplifies the nature of teaching and learning.

For every 1 in education, there’s an opposing 5. Just as in the marriage equality debate, where there were staunch supporters and vocal detractors, education is full of extremes. But is it really worth engaging with the most rigid on either side? Focusing too much on these extremes often inflames tensions rather than fostering meaningful solutions. Pedagogical puritanism is turning education into a battleground, where the real needs of students and teachers are lost amidst the noise.

So, how do we avoid becoming part of the anger machine? How do we resist engaging in these binary battles and instead focus on productive, meaningful change?

What we need is pedagogical pragmatism. An approach that recognises the diversity of classrooms, adapts to the needs of both teachers and students, and allows for flexibility. Pedagogical pragmatism acknowledges that no single framework can address the complexity of education. Instead, it encourages us to focus on the areas where we can make real progress, rather than getting bogged down in rigid, unproductive debates.

Just as with political polarisation, the solution in education lies in moving beyond (or perhaps in from) the extremes. We must embrace complexity, rather than fearing it. We need to acknowledge that while some students thrive under structure, others need room to explore, and teachers need the freedom to adjust their methods accordingly.

Systems, sectors, and schools play a significant role in shaping how teachers approach pedagogy. Many have chosen the limitations of puritanism over the advantages of pragmatism. Some adopt a prescriptive focus, imposing rigidity and leaving little room for teachers to use their professional judgement.

Despite systemic influences, educators still have a choice. In the face of complexity and diversity in classrooms, what will you be? A puritan, holding tightly to rigid frameworks that may not serve every student? Or a pragmatist, willing to adapt, to listen, and to meet the needs of real classrooms?

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1. Claxton, G. (2021) The Future of Teaching, and the Myths that Hold it Back, Routledge. p. 10. ↩︎
2. The bane of my first year mathematics course. The lecturer adhered so strictly to Pólya’s problem-solving framework that it generally hindered rather than helped anyone trying to learn any actual mathematics. ↩︎
3. The Yes campaign’s strategy focused on mobilising the 1s and 2s, knowing that if enough people who already supported marriage equality returned their ballots, the campaign could succeed. The decision not to spend time or energy on the 3s, 4s, and 5s was based on limited resources and a pragmatic understanding that engaging with more undecided or opposed voters might dilute their efforts to mobilise the supportive base. I’m not trying to make an argument for the same strategy in pedagogical debates, although I do find it helpful to think of the 1s and 5s. ↩︎

Photo by Brendan Church on Unsplash