Adey
160 years of science education
160 years of science
education: an uncertain link
between theory and practice
Philip Adey
Theories of learning and cognition have always been used to justify
curriculum development in science
In this article I explore some of the impacts of theory
– philosophical, sociological, but mostly psychological
– on the development of science curricula and the
practice of science teaching. I have specifically omitted
reference to atheoretical approaches to science
education. An eminent, retired, chemistry professor
recently told me that his view of education was simple:
‘I give them information, they write it down, they learn
it’. Such an approach may be uncommon amongst
science teachers, and in any case allows of no theory
of learning and teaching and so does not earn itself a
place in this article.
Discovery – a recurring theme
H. E. Armstrong is widely credited as being the father
of modern science education in this country, naming
and introducing his ‘heuristic’ method. Heuristic was
a word coined in the nineteenth century, derived from
the Greek heurisken, to discover, and the implied
learning theory was that pupils would understand
science deeply if they had to discover it for themselves.
But in this implicit theory Armstrong was foreshadowed by Michael Faraday himself. Faraday and
his wife Sarah had no children of their own and they
ABSTRACT
This article explores some of the impacts of
theory – philosophical, sociological, but mostly
psychological – on the development of science
curricula and the practice of science teaching. It
concludes that there is now a greater recognition
of the need for theoretical justifications for
change and for theory-led research into what
works and, above all, why it works.
100yrs
loved to borrow friends’ children for trips to the zoo.
He who discovered the induction of electric current
also discovered the pleasure of inducing understanding
in young people. You have only to read his Christmas
lectures, starting in 1827, to see how much mental
activity he expected of his audience. No passive
recipients they, even if they did not handle the
apparatus themselves.
Perhaps what Armstrong did was to start to theorise
Faraday’s intuitive approach to the development of
scientific understanding in young people and, by giving
it a name, to formalise and justify an approach to teaching science which established a deep vein of faith in
‘practical work’ in British science teaching. This vein
continues to run strongly today as seen when occasional heretical questioning of the value of practical work
(Hodson, 1990; Osborne, 1993) is met by stern rejoinders from the champions of heurism and discovery
learning (Van Praagh, 2000). But heurism is both a lot
more, and sometimes less, than student practical work.
One of the things I would like to demonstrate in this
article is how the spirit of discovery learning has reared
its pretty head over and over again, in various guises,
from the 1890s to the present day. But interwoven with
this somewhat constant theme we will find many other
influences of theory on the practice of science
education.
Science better than Latin
‘Faculty psychology’, popular towards the end of the
nineteenth century, held that much of what was
included in the school curriculum need not be justified
on any plebeian grounds of utility, but served the higher
purpose of developing certain general faculties, such
School Science Review, March 2001, 82(300)
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160 years of science education
as memory, perseverance and logical thinking.
Traditionally, Latin held a pre-eminent place in public
(i.e. private) school curricula as being especially good
for developing all sorts of faculties appropriate for
gentlemen. Questioning of this liberal tradition in
education started, perhaps, with Prince Albert who had
a healthy Germanic respect for engineering and
practical things. At the Great Exhibition of 1851 it
became clear that many of our economic competitors
were far ahead of Britain in the development of
technology. Even then the public schools found it hard
to admit science into the curriculum on grounds of its
utility but were much happier arguing that science was
particularly good for developing certain mental
faculties.
Unfortunately for them, early experimental
psychology soon proved that faculty theory was tosh,
although to this day some proponents of science
process skills seem not to have realised this. In an
article in SSR in 1939, Cyril Burt (later infamous for
gilding the lily of his excellent research by inventing
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researchers and some data) rehearses the demolition
job on faculties, and provides an excellent review on
the evidence of transfer (Burt, 1939). If spending weeks
memorising poems has a significant effect on one’s
ability to memorise new poems, then there has been
transfer of a general ‘memory’ faculty to a new context.
This simply does not happen. What can happen is the
development of understanding of certain general
features or formalities of a subject. Learning the formal
rules of chemical bonding – using for example the idea
of ‘valency’ – allows the student to work out possible
formulae of new compounds she has never actually
encountered. But these rules must be explicitly taught.
Burt writes:
the people who write the best English are usually
people who have discovered for themselves the
underlying principles of good composition, not
the people who have been taught composition as
a school subject. On the other hand it is not
absolutely essential that the pupils should make
the discovery alone and unaided. The teacher
Figure 1 One of the first heuristic lessons at Christ’s Hospital in 1899 (courtesy Christ’s Hospital School).
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School Science Review, March 2001, 82(300)
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can stage-manage situations so that the need for
the principle is realised.
(p. 659)
Now there’s a bridge between Armstrong and Nuffield.
But before we get to Nuffield, we need to take a little
diversion.
American pigeons
Behaviourism was the big theoretical idea in the
psychology of learning in the 1950s. It derived from
Pavlov’s famous salivating dog and B. F. Skinner’s
experiments with pigeons, in which he showed that
the poor bird-brains could be trained to do the most
remarkable tricks (hop on one leg and then peck a red
triangle) to get a pellet of food. Behaviourists saw
learning as no more than change in behaviour – after
all, that was all that could be observed. Skinner was
scornful of ‘mentalistic’ constructs such as motivation,
intelligence or even thought itself. None of these could
be directly observed or measured so there was no point
in discussing them. Rather, he believed, we should
concentrate on shaping observable behaviour and this
could be achieved by reinforcing desired behaviours
and ‘extinguishing’ undesired behaviours. Extinction
came about through absence of reinforcement,
although occasionally a little punishment (the odd
electric shock, for example) may be necessary. Well,
it worked for pigeons, so why not for humans?
Considering the number of unreconstructed
physicists – those who believe that what they see is
what they get – still lurking in mahogany corners of
British grammar school labs in the 1950s, it is a little
surprising that behaviourism never really had much
influence on science education in Britain. As an
approach to teaching and learning it has a wonderfully
simple and apparently very ‘scientific’ look to it, as
well as being rather egalitarian. No messing about with
nasty emotions or interpretations or alternative
constructions which require attention; just programme
the learning experiences appropriately and any
behaviour can be produced in anyone. For a young
scientist it should have been a very appealing approach
to learning, yet only on the fringes of British science
education was it ever taken seriously. (Here I have to
confess that I was one of those fringes. My first published work (Adey, 1967) was strictly behaviourist.)
Perhaps the inherent pragmatism of the British
protected us from embracing a view of learning which
leads inexorably to programmed learning, delivered
by teaching machines, in which nothing is considered
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important if it cannot be measured. We might, in
passing, pray that the same pragmatism and common
sense defends us against the current urban myth that
teaching might somehow be undertaken by computers.
Guided discovery: the Nuffield
developments
Armstrong’s heuristic method had proved rather
expensive in time and laboratory facilities. In its purest
form it may have met one of the demands on science
learning, the development of deep understanding of
some topics, but it could not meet the other demand,
that school leavers should actually know quite a lot
about how their bodies worked, what materials were
like, and the nature of energy. So the pure form was
reinvented as Nuffield Chemistry, Biology and
Physics, and there was a direct link through Christ’s
Hospital, where Armstrong had taught and developed
his ideas and where Gordon van Praagh was teaching
in the ’50s and ’60s. I suspect that Gordon, Frank
Halliwell, Ernest Coulson, Eric Rogers and Bunny
Dowdeswell – some of the main players in the guided
discovery movement of the 1960s funded by Nuffield
– were less influenced by Cyril Burt’s theoretical
justifications than by the need to compromise between
the demands of discovery and of acquiring knowledge.
They were certainly driven by a belief that learning
science should be like doing science – or at least like
doing some idealised version of real science where
hypotheses are generated, predictions made,
experiments conducted to test the predictions, and then
the hypotheses supported or refuted.
This belief seems to have arisen from the
experience of the fun and stimulation of teaching clever
boys and girls, with whom one could do intellectual
battle. And of course it worked brilliantly with such
children, and gave a generation of grammar and public
school teachers and students a wonderful experience.
For about 15 years, from 1965 to 1980, advanced thinking in science education in England and Wales and in
many commonwealth countries was dominated by the
Nuffield approach. In Scotland the parallel movement
was spawned by ‘Curriculum Paper No. 7’, perhaps
the best-known product of which was Science for the
’70s , soon over-optimistically renamed Science 2000.
Mary Waring (1979) captures the flavour of these days
of dominance by the Nuffield single-subject originators, generating exciting teaching and learning but,
ironically for would-be scientists, omitting any
systematic evaluation of the effects of their teaching
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160 years of science education
methods on achievement or attitudes of pupils. Waring
describes how in 1963 they did seek the advice of
Kenneth Lovell, as a leading psychologist concerned
with education, but were told that psychologists were
not yet able to give specific recommendations on
curriculum matters.
The gradual sunset of the Nuffield single-subject
guided-discovery approach was heralded by the
comprehensive school movement. As grammar school
teachers came face to face for the first time with the
wide ability range that existed in the population, they
discovered that methods which worked well with able
children could not simply be watered down to meet
the needs of all pupils. In spite of brave attempts to
move into the age of integrated science (Nuffield
Combined Science) the whole movement finally
foundered. The fatal weakness of the original Nuffield
approach, it could be argued, was that it had no
theoretical model to justify the faith in guided
discovery. That, exacerbated by lack of experimental
evaluation of effects, made it difficult for guideddiscovery proponents to muster rational arguments
against simple transmission as a method of teaching.
Such arguments were not needed while it worked with
some sectors of the pupil population but when, with a
different population of teachers and pupils, it was
perceived ‘not to work’, guided discovery found itself
up a creek without a theory.
Before leaving this phase of science education in
Britain one must recognise the very different set of
materials produced by Hilda Misselbrook and others
as Nuffield Secondary Science. This material was
produced ab initio as a resource bank for teachers of
the (then) secondary modern population. It drew on
the same guided-discovery idea as the single-subject
Nuffield materials, but otherwise was entirely original.
Its passing may have owed more to its being associated
too closely with secondary modern schools, just as they
became defunct.
Genetic epistemology
The English-speaking world discovered Piaget in the
early 1960s, and it was the science educators (people
like Bob Karplus at the Lawrence Hall of Science in
Berkeley California) who were his greatest champions.
But, while in the US the idea of children having to
construct knowledge for themselves offered a radical
alternative to behaviourism and much conflict in
psychology departments, in the UK and in Australasia
the absorption of Piagetian ideas into science education
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was a more natural progression from Armstrong’s
heurism, especially in its guided, Nuffield, form. After
all, Piaget’s notions that ‘thought is internalised action’
and that cognitive development proceeds at least in
part in response to ‘cognitive conflict’ generated by
surprising observations would have come as no surprise to Faraday, master of the scientific demonstration.
Thus in Piaget, Nuffield might have found a
theoretical justification for much of its practice, and
yet this did not happen. In 1970 Michael Shayer wrote
a seminal paper in Education in Chemistry (Shayer,
1970) in which he showed how science curricula could
be analysed for the level of intellectual demand they
made, in terms of Piagetian stages (early and late
concrete, early and late formal operations). This
provided precisely the explanation for the difficulty
experienced by so many teachers in trying to adapt
the activities for comprehensive school populations.
It was the first section of an explanatory theoretical
model which Shayer and his colleagues elaborated
throughout the 1970s from their base in the Concepts
in Secondary Mathematics and Science (CSMS)
project, above a betting shop in Lillie Road in Fulham,
London. At the time, this set the Piagetian-based
explainers at odds with the faith-based guided
discoverers. That many of us worked together at the
Chelsea College Centre for Science and Mathematics
Education made the tensions even more interesting.
The Piagetian school certainly did not have everything its own way. Indeed, while the Americans and
Australians developed science curricula explicitly
based on the idea of matching intellectual demand to
supposed Piagetian stages (SCIS, ASEP), in the UK
only ‘Science 5/13’ explicitly acknowledged cognitive
development as a factor to consider in designing
activities. Excellent though this material was, it had
relatively little impact partly because it spanned the
usual primary–secondary school divide, and partly
because it depended on primary and middle school
teachers developing their own pupil material from
ideas in the teachers-only packs.
From a theoretical perspective, the idea of
explicitly arranging one’s science teaching activities
so that they were appropriate to the intellectual
development levels of children fell foul of two
mutually supportive streams of feeling in education
in the late 1970s and early ’80s. The first was the
egalitarian perspective of Dick West, Director of the
Secondary Science Curriculum Review and then
Senior Science Inspector of the immensely influential
Inner London Education Authority. The second was
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the growth of the movement under Ros Driver in Leeds
that appropriated to itself the label ‘constructivism’.
Both objected to what they saw as the ‘labelling’ of
children as being at a particular stage of cognitive
development, West from a sociological perspective and
Driver on the basis of psychological evidence of
décalage – the apparent context-dependency of any
particular intellectual performance of a child.
In spite of these respectably-founded concerns,
there is an influence of Piagetian thinking on science
education in the UK to this day. It is not explicit, but
an analysis of the cognitive demands of the National
Curriculum level descriptors shows a clear progression
from early concrete operations through to mature
formal. The National Curriculum developers probably
did not have a copy of Shayer and Adey (1981) by
their sides as they developed the first ‘statements of
attainment’ in the late ’80s, but they did ask Michael
Shayer to check the progression of difficulty through
their levels 1 to 10. The levels proved to map on to
Piagetian stages remarkably well. Consciously or
unconsciously, the work of CSMS combined with their
experience as teachers allowed the National
Curriculum developers to describe to themselves the
characteristics of ‘easy’and ‘difficult’, and to use these
to fight off the demands of politicians and university
admissions tutors for ever-more material and higher
conceptual levels.
The pro- and anti-Piagetian argument continues to
this day and this is not the place to rehearse the
evidence and arguments of each side. It might be worth
recording, however, that all the main players in the
exercise of these differences in person and in print
remained on friendly personal terms with one another.
Before turning to constructivism (in the alternative
constructs sense), we need to deal with an odd
aberration in the development of science education in
the UK – the process skill movement.
Processes
Sad to say, the process skill movement also originated
in the US, being based on the ideas of the American
psychologist Robert Gagné. In the ’80s one could
hardly pick up an academic paper on science education
which did not refer to Gagné, but the two things for
which he was famous were both fatally flawed. One
was the idea that one could deconstruct any conceptual
understanding into its logical subcomponents, and subsubcomponents, and design one’s teaching starting
with these elements to build up to the over-arching
160 years of science education
concept. You will see the behaviourist origins of this
simple-minded idea which is philosophically vacuous
(since there is no logical end to finding prerequisite
knowledge) and empirically wrong. Gagné’s other bad
idea was that the content of science did not matter:
what young scientists needed to learn were the
processes of science – measurement, observation,
hypothesis generation, experimental design, and so on.
I have already taken a swipe at the process skill
movement as neo-faculty psychology, but for a proper
and elegant hatchet-job – well perhaps coupe de grâce
would be a better term – see Robin Millar and Rosalind
Driver’s (1987) paper in Studies in Science Education.
In a nutshell, you cannot have processes without
content, and in any case this is not the way that real
science is conducted.
Alternative constructs
The great idea that Rosalind Driver (1983) and her
colleagues brought to UK science education was that
the way children interpret observations and
information depends critically on the conceptions they
already hold about phenomena. That children have to
construct their own meanings was already well
established by the Piagetian school, but the working
out of this ‘constructivism’ in terms of the resistance
to change of already-existing alternative constructs in
the child’s mind was a major achievement of the
Children’s Learning in Science Project based in Leeds.
Driver drew inspiration from two creative New
Zealand science educators, Roger Osborne and Paul
Freyberg (1985) and from her mentor Jack Easley at
the University of Chicago, and she drew her theoretical
foundation from a cognitive psychologist, David
Ausubel, and a psychotherapist, George Kelly. The
Kelly connection is a little odd, since he was more
interested in the personal construction of beliefs,
attitudes and other aspects of personality than in the
development of cognitive concepts. But Ausubel’s
theory of meaningful learning spelled out how we
make meaning of signals reaching working memory
by referring to existing concepts in long-term memory.
If the existing concepts are inadequate then the interpretation of the new information may be inadequate
also. Ausubel himself acknowledged his debt to Piaget,
and took a stronger line on the impossibility of young
children developing formal concepts than many of
those who used his theory.
An important mediator in the development of the
alternative constructs movement was Joe Novak
School Science Review, March 2001, 82(300)
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160 years of science education
(Novak and Gowin, 1984) who argued that the guided
discovery movement (Nuffield and all that) was
confusing two separate parameters. One was that of
discovery-versus-reception learning, which describes
a practical choice of teaching methods. The other, more
important parameter, is the distinction between rote
learning, in which children learn things parrot-fashion,
and meaningful learning in which they really understand the material. Novak accepted that practical work
might well enhance meaningful learning, as pupils see
the colour changes, smell gases and feel forces.
However, practical work is often not meaningful to
pupils if they simply go through the motions and hope
that they might hit the answer somehow.
‘Constructivism’, in Driver’s sense, has entered
deeply into the psyche of British science teachers. Even
if the term has become a catch-all phrase used as
shorthand for ‘good science teaching’, and even if it
has sometimes been hi-jacked by loopy post-modern
radical constructivists who argue against any reality
(all is personal, all is interpretation), the idea that we
cannot simply transmit information and that children
cannot simply discover science for themselves unaided
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is now a useful commonplace of science teaching and
learning in the UK.
Cognitive acceleration
In January 2000 the Minister of State for Education
and Employment publicly recognised the value of the
Cognitive Acceleration through Science Education
programme at King’s College London. Is this the
beginning of the end for CASE? In any case, does
CASE really deserve a mention in an article devoted
to science education? True, the cognitive acceleration
idea was first worked out through science, but its
progenitors always argue that science is being used as
no more than a vehicle for the development of general
thinking skills, useful across the curriculum, and we
now have CAME (maths), CATE (technology) and
CAGE (geography). French and RE cannot be far
behind, if only because their acronyms will be so
appropriate.
Well, it is worth a small mention at least because
it is impacting now on thousands of science teachers
Figure 2 Pupils engaged in a CASE intervention in the 1990s (© Julian Anderson).
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School Science Review, March 2001, 82(300)
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in secondary schools throughout the UK. I would claim
that it is the most overtly theoretical influence that has
ever informed the science curriculum, and that each
of the elements of CASE teaching (concrete preparation, cognitive conflict, social construction,
metacognition and bridging) can be traced directly to
their origins in the cognitive psychologies of Jean
Piaget and Lev Vygotsky. The objective of teaching
for cognitive acceleration is the development in pupils
of general ‘reasoning patterns’ (Piaget called them
schema) such as control of variables, proportionality,
equilibrium and probability. These very general ways
of thinking can be applied to many contexts in the
science curriculum. We (Adey and Shayer, 1994) see
them as general strategies which pupils have to
construct for themselves, so we are still talking about
constructivism. But while the alternative construct
movement is concerned with the construction of
science concepts, in cognitive acceleration we believe
we are constructing more general thinking strategies.
I have tried, not very successfully so far, to coin the
term ‘meta-constructivism’ to described this process.
Looking at it another way, the problems that pupils
encounter in CASE lessons are designed to encourage
them to discover more powerful ways of thinking. You
see, the discovery idea keeps popping up.
Affective aspects of
science learning
There is an important stream in the development of
science teaching and learning in the UK which has
run parallel, and is complementary, to the movements
informed by one view or another of cognitive
conceptual development, and that is represented by
the work of John Head, Alison Kelly and others on the
affective influences on learning.
There are two requirements for effective learning.
The student has to be able to learn, that is, possess the
necessary processing capability and prior knowledge,
and the student has to be willing to learn, that is possess
the necessary motivation to engage in the task and to
persevere. Generally, more attention has been paid to
the former than to the latter, to cognitive aspects rather
than to affective. One line of work which did something
to rectify this imbalance came from the girls-andscience movement (e.g. Kelly, 1981). During the 1970s
and ’80s there was concern about the limited uptake
of physical science by girls. Literally hundreds of
studies were made of possible gender differences in
abilities, but a meta-analysis revealed that they could
160 years of science education
not account for the lack of girls studying physics and
chemistry (Hyde, 1981). It did become clear that boys
were more interested in a ‘technical fix’ while girls
were more interested in the application of science for
human purposes (Head, 1985). Such findings provide
another perspective for selecting curriculum material.
More recently work on gender differences and assessment reveals that performance is not solely determined
by ability and knowledge but also by liking or not
liking the assessment procedure (Gipps and Murphy,
1994).
Conclusion
Looking back, can we see the outline of any highway
along which the practice of science education has
developed? Can we detect any increasing sense of
direction and purpose as theoretical insights feed into
practice? Even making allowance for my rose-tinted
spectacles, as one who believes deeply that teachers
have both a right and desire to understand why they
are being asked to teach in a particular way, I think I
would offer a qualified ‘Yes’ answer to both questions.
What, it seems to me, differs in the current round of
speculation about science education from almost all
that has gone before in the last century is a greater
recognition of the need for theoretical justifications
for change and for theory-led research into what works
and, above all, why it works. I think here not only of
our own cognitive acceleration work, but also of the
type of analysis of the purposes of science education
in the new millennium conducted by scholars from
York, King’s, Leeds and elsewhere (Millar and
Osborne, 1998). More than ever teachers are aware
that the nature of science and of scientific methods is
not simple. The species of which my chemistry
professor friend (‘I tell them, they write it down, they
learn it’) is an example is facing extinction. There is
far wider understanding of the problem of interpretation – that data are not simply given and read off,
but must be processed through existing understanding,
using current processing capability, mediated by
motivational styles and affective mind sets.
Along with this greater awareness of the
complexity of teaching and learning science, there is
an increased sense that we, as teachers, can have much
more impact on children’s learning and motivation than
was previously believed. Not long ago, psychological
theory was used (or rather, misused) to suggest that
individual pupil progress was determined by more or
less fixed entities such as IQ or social class. Now the
School Science Review, March 2001, 82(300)
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160 years of science education
alternative frameworks movement and the cognitive
acceleration work have challenged ideas of psychological determinism and the social environment is now
considered only a correlate, not a determiner, of the
cognitive and motivational environment. The impact
on teaching science is that science may be seen as one
particularly good vehicle for developing pupils’ general
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intellectual abilities. Can we convince the curriculum
managers in our schools to give us more time, because
of the wonderful service we are providing to the whole
school?
The final message is therefore an optimistic one.
Teachers and schools do matter.
Acknowledgement
I would like to thank my friend and colleague John Head for his many suggestions in planning this article and
for his contributions to it, as well as the many opportunities he has provided over the years for discussing the
impact of psychology on science education. I have frequently used his (1982) paper on a similar theme both as
a model and as a source of information. I would also like to thank Mick Nott for his comments on an earlier draft
and for finding the wonderful 1939 Burt article in SSR.
References
Adey, P. and Shayer, M. (1994) Really raising standards:
cognitive intervention and academic achievement. London:
Routledge.
Millar, R. and Driver, R. (1987) Beyond process. Studies in
Science Education, 14, 33–62.
Adey, P. S. (1967) Chemistry learning programmes for Vth
and VIth form use. Education in Chemistry, 3(3), 302–305.
Millar, R. and Osborne, J. ed. (1998) Beyond 2000: science
education for the future. London: King’s College London,
School of Education.
Burt, C. (1939) Formal training. School Science Review,
20(81), 653–666.
Novak, J. D. and Gowin, D. B. (1984) Learning how to learn.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Driver, R. (1983) The pupil as scientist? Milton Keynes: Open
University Press.
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Head, J. (1985) The personal response to science. Cambridge:
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Shayer, M. and Adey, P. (1981) Towards a science of science
teaching. London: Heinemann.
Hodson, D. (1990) A critical look at practical work in school
science. School Science Review, 70(256), 33–40.
Van Praagh, G. (2000) Practicals have not gone. Education in
Science, 188, June, 30.
Hyde, J. S. (1981) How large are cognitive gender
differences? American Psychologist, 36(8), 892–901.
Waring, M. (1979) Social pressures and curriculum
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Kelly, A. (1981) Science achievement as an aspect of sex
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Kelly, A. Manchester: Manchester University Press.
Philip Adey is Professor of Cognition, Science, and Education at King’s College London and Director of the
Centre for the Advancement of Thinking.
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