Walking the skepticism tightrope

Adam Grant’s ReThinking podcast consistently challenges my perspectives, often sparking new insights about mathematics education even when the topics seem unrelated. An episode from December 2022 with data scientist and circus performer Andrea Jones-Rooy is a good example. Their conversation explored why data should not be treated as absolute truth but rather as imperfect descriptions of reality, requiring both skepticism and curiosity for meaningful interpretation.

A key idea that resonated with me was their metaphor of critical thinking as walking a tightrope between curiosity and skepticism. Grant describes how people often fall off one side:

“You need skepticism to apply your critical thinking capabilities and say, well, how might this conclusion be incomplete or maybe misleading? What other information is missing? But then, not to stop there, but also to say, do the strengths of this, this study outweigh the limitations. Did it teach me something I didn’t know before? And is there value in one of the lessons I can glean, even if I don’t agree with every single choice the researchers made?”

Grant goes on to make a key point:
“I feel like I see a growing number of people falling off the first side. They think they’re being critical thinkers, but they’re actually just being cynics and saying, I don’t believe this community of experts and experts are not trustworthy.”

This metaphor strikes at the heart of some of the discourse in education. Educators and researchers alike often slip into reflexive dismissals rather than thoughtful critique. For example, teachers might respond to academic insights with statements like: “That’s just theory. Real classrooms are different.” “This wouldn’t work with my students.” “Another theory from people who haven’t been in a classroom for years.” Similarly, researchers might reject teachers’ expertise with statements like: “That’s just anecdotal evidence.” “One classroom isn’t a valid sample.” “You’re too close to be objective about your practice.”

The dynamic plays out just as strongly between researchers and educators from different orientations. For example, advocates of explicit teaching might dismiss inquiry-based learning as “constructivist ideology” or “lacking proper controls” while inquiry-based learning proponents might reject explicit teaching as “focussed on the wrong outcomes” or “ignoring student agency”. Even within educational research, we see the same pattern of reflexive dismissal that reinforce the false dichotomies that fragment educational discourse, rather than substantive engagement with evidence.

These examples aren’t expressions of healthy skepticism—they’re knee-jerk reactions that shut down engagement before it begins. True critical thinking, as Jones-Rooy argued, combines fearlessness with humility, asking not just “What might be wrong with this?” but “What might I learn from this?”. It’s the difference between dismissing cognitive load theory as “more academic jargon” and asking “How might these ideas help me understand student learning, even if I disagree with some of the premises?”. Or between rejecting teacher intuition as “personal opinion” and asking “What insights about classroom dynamics might this experienced teacher see that our methods and measures miss?”.

Grant and Jones-Rooy only focused on falling off the skepticism side into cynicism. Falling off the curiosity side of the tightrope is equally problematic in education. I’ve seen this firsthand at conferences where speakers’ ideas are embraced with almost evangelical fervour, or when schools adopt new frameworks and programs without examining their foundations and fit. This isn’t true engagement with evidence either. When we suspend our critical faculties in favour of unconditional acceptance, we’re not really learning—we’re conforming. It’s as problematic as cynicism, just in the opposite direction.

Our current landscape actually reinforces both extremes, forcing unquestioning acceptance of initiatives while simultaneously fostering cynicism. The solution lies in between. It is neither uncritical trust nor reflexive dismissal, but informed exploration. The question isn’t “Should I accept or reject this?” but “How can I thoughtfully engage with this, adapt it, and learn from it?”. I suggest a few more pertinent questions towards the end of this blog post. The challenge is creating conditions that balance skepticism and curiosity.

We need environments where questioning is welcomed and thoughtful engagement encouraged—where skepticism isn’t mistaken for resistance, and acceptance isn’t conflated with understanding. It means looking for value even when disagreeing with some aspects, asking “How could this be improved?” rather than “Why is this wrong?” It means considering how ideas might be adapted rather than simply adopted or dismissed outright.

As I’ve argued before regarding pedagogical pragmatism, the key is maintaining some form of balance. Moving beyond false dichotomies in education isn’t just about combining teaching approaches—it’s about how we think and engage with ideas. Just as a tightrope walker must constantly adjust to stay centred, educators and researchers must continually manage skepticism and curiosity. We need both the fearlessness to question thoughtfully and the humility to learn continuously, lest we fall into extremes of cynicism or uncritical acceptance, both of which stifle progress in education.

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Photo by Jesse Bowser on Unsplash