'We have a balanced approach.’
I keep hearing it – the word ‘balance’ being used to reassure me that an inquiry approach is still alive in a school, as tables are reorganised into rows and cookie-cutter slide decks are distributed. While the concept of balance is meant to feel comforting and agreeable, it can quietly erode very foundations on which a culture of inquiry is built. In this context, the last thing we are going for is balance.
Hear me out.
To say we are experiencing turbulent and tense times in education right now would be an understatement. I witness this tension played out daily in staffrooms and planning meetings, over coffee with teacher friends and, of course, in online spaces where a degree of anonymity seems, at times to override the art of respectful discourse. While I have found myself gradually retreating from social media commentary, my work does require me at least keep a foot in that door. And when I do step in, there it is – the ‘Punch and Judy show’ as Claxton describes it, replete with endless arguments about ‘best practice’ and ‘evidence’ and ‘what works’.
Those of us less enamoured with the current push (and in some cases a mandate) for a return to direct instruction across the curriculum often suggest we need a more ‘balanced’ approach – a kind of compromise or ‘sweet spot’ between what continues to be placed as opposing ends of the pedagogical continuum. I have noticed the way this idea of ‘balance’ is used by those who might argue for a more student- centred pedagogy as an attempt to reconcile the tension between what can be called “direct” teaching and inquiry-based teaching or between agency and compliance.
But what if balance isn't the goal? What if inquiry isn't something to be balanced with direct instruction, but rather a fundamental stance that determines when and how we use all pedagogical tools?
Balance. It is such a comforting word - and often for good reason. A balanced diet, work-life balance, a balanced view – these all suggest that we’ve managed to get it right – we have found a more agreeable place between extremes. Balanced is neat, satisfying and neutral. When we are balanced, we are not at risk of falling or failing. We get to have our cake and eat it too. Balance doesn’t rock the boat (literally!) - everybody gets a prize.
I’ve been having a good, long think about it. I think our platitudes about balance are little more than thinly veiled fence-sitting, people pleasing or perhaps worse, a failure to bravely stand by a set of principles and values that guide our work – and an understandable but worrying avoidance of a discourse ridden with conflict.
When a school community chooses to intentionally grow a culture of inquiry, they do so based on principles defining the purpose of school, the image of the child, and the role of the educator and the role of the environment. The ethos of inquiry sees the ‘pedagogical compass’ underpinned by the values of agency, equity, democracy, collaboration and curiosity, drawing on the rich and impressive bodies of research that support the cultivation of an inquiry stance to both teaching and learning.
The pedagogy of inquiry is characterised by a thoughtful and varied repertoire. Being ‘explicit’ (directly explaining, modelling, breaking something down step by step ,etc.) has always been part of the repertoire but to suggest that it is somehow ‘in balance’ is misleading at best and problematic at worst. When the pedagogy of inquiry is strong, the educator spends much more time questioning, listening, facilitating, pausing. observing, scaffolding, negotiating - within learning engagements designed for high interactivity, active engagement, deliberate cultivation of competencies, deep understanding, problem finding and solving and sustained dialogue. This is sophisticated and deep work – and requires educators to be creative, collaborate and design in response to learners’ needs. Scripted programs and pre-determined, generic slide decks simply do not align with those values. It is highly intentional work that honours learner agency and voice as well as acknowledging the ‘100 languages’ available to the child as means of investigation and expression.
Of course, Incorporating some explicit teaching into inquiry-based pedagogy is, quite frankly, a given. Positioning inquiry pedagogy as ‘minimal guidance’ and a free-for-all is an old, tired argument. In four decades of working with children and educators on cultivating an inquiry stance, I have witnessed abandonment of guidance and support on very few occasions. I think we can all agree that providing guidance is a key role of the inquiry teacher. That guidance takes many forms – questioning, listening, observing, suggesting, modelling.
But here’s the thing. I am not intending to strike a balance. It’s not a 50/50 thing. And when we do talk about ‘balance’ in this way, we run the risk of perpetuating the false dichotomy at the root of so many current arguments.
If I truly see the child as a capable, competent, curious learner with the right to be an active participant in their learning journey, and if I bring an inquiry stance to my teaching, planning and assessment, then the pedagogy of inquiry will drive my work: influencing the way I curate the classroom environment, the assessment practices, documentation, the language I use and the kind of relationships I nurture with children and their families.
I make no apologies for employing a pedagogy that is driven by a belief that children deserve time to think, to be in dialogue with educators and peers, to play, experiment and problem solve. Explicit teaching (explaining, demonstrating, modelling, step by step processes) are in my repertoire but they are used at the point of need, and for children who require additional or earlier support. Like a pinch of salt or a teaspoon of chilli, well timed, direct teaching can add significant value to the process. Of course, I am fully aware that there are many educators in furious agreement with this and yet they are currently hamstrung by mandates that leave them feeling helpless. I understand the significance of the moral injury incurred. But at the very least, we can keep asking questions, we can think carefully about the language we use to talk about pedagogy, we can raise the question of ‘balance’ in our conversations – we can be ‘half a shade braver.’
Inquiry is not a subject. Inquiry is not something we do on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons to balance the pedagogy of transmission used the rest of the week. Inquiry does not need to be ‘balanced’ with direct teaching. Inquiry is a stance, a culture and a way of being. That way of being evolves from and feeds a way of seeing … the child, the educator, the purpose of school and the concept of learning itself.
So before we promote a ‘balanced’ approach – let’s ask ourselves what we mean. Are we avoiding the contradiction of slavishly following a scripted program in the morning by “doing inquiry” in the afternoon? Are we letting ourselves off the hook when we set the classroom up in rows (strugglers at the front, flyers up the back) but claim to ‘do lots of turn and talk’ so it is ‘balanced?’Are we appeasing anxious parents who read the headlines rather than being clear about the principles that guide our pedagogy and the research that supports it? Are we in danger of seeking balance as a form of conflict avoidance and ultimately eroding the power of inquiry?