Posts Tagged ‘data’

In ELT circles, ‘behaviourism’ is a boo word. In the standard history of approaches to language teaching (characterised as a ‘procession of methods’ by Hunter & Smith 2012: 432[1]), there were the bad old days of behaviourism until Chomsky came along, savaged the theory in his review of Skinner’s ‘Verbal Behavior’, and we were all able to see the light. In reality, of course, things weren’t quite like that. The debate between Chomsky and the behaviourists is far from over, behaviourism was not the driving force behind the development of audiolingual approaches to language teaching, and audiolingualism is far from dead. For an entertaining and eye-opening account of something much closer to reality, I would thoroughly recommend a post on Russ Mayne’s Evidence Based ELT blog, along with the discussion which follows it. For anyone who would like to understand what behaviourism is, was, and is not (before they throw the term around as an insult), I’d recommend John A. Mills’ ‘Control: A History of Behavioral Psychology’ (New York University Press, 1998) and John Staddon’s ‘The New Behaviorism 2nd edition’ (Psychology Press, 2014).

There is a close connection between behaviourism and adaptive learning. Audrey Watters, no fan of adaptive technology, suggests that ‘any company touting adaptive learning software’ has been influenced by Skinner. In a more extended piece, ‘Education Technology and Skinner’s Box, Watters explores further her problems with Skinner and the educational technology that has been inspired by behaviourism. But writers much more sympathetic to adaptive learning, also see close connections to behaviourism. ‘The development of adaptive learning systems can be considered as a transformation of teaching machines,’ write Kara & Sevim[2] (2013: 114 – 117), although they go on to point out the differences between the two. Vendors of adaptive learning products, like DreamBox Learning©, are not shy of associating themselves with behaviourism: ‘Adaptive learning has been with us for a while, with its history of adaptive learning rooted in cognitive psychology, beginning with the work of behaviorist B.F. Skinner in the 1950s, and continuing through the artificial intelligence movement of the 1970s.’

That there is a strong connection between adaptive learning and behaviourism is indisputable, but I am not interested in attempting to establish the strength of that connection. This would, in any case, be an impossible task without some reductionist definition of both terms. Instead, my interest here is to explore some of the parallels between the two, and, in the spirit of the topic, I’d like to do this by comparing the behaviours of behaviourists and adaptive learning scientists.

Data and theory

Both behaviourism and adaptive learning (in its big data form) are centrally concerned with behaviour – capturing and measuring it in an objective manner. In both, experimental observation and the collection of ‘facts’ (physical, measurable, behavioural occurrences) precede any formulation of theory. John Mills’ description of behaviourists could apply equally well to adaptive learning scientists: theory construction was a seesaw process whereby one began with crude outgrowths from observations and slowly created one’s theory in such a way that one could make more and more precise observations, building those observations into the theory at each stage. No behaviourist ever considered the possibility of taking existing comprehensive theories of mind and testing or refining them.[3]

Positivism and the panopticon

Both behaviourism and adaptive learning are pragmatically positivist, believing that truth can be established by the study of facts. J. B. Watson, the founding father of behaviourism whose article ‘Psychology as the Behaviorist Views Itset the behaviourist ball rolling, believed that experimental observation could ‘reveal everything that can be known about human beings’[4]. Jose Ferreira of Knewton has made similar claims: We get five orders of magnitude more data per user than Google does. We get more data about people than any other data company gets about people, about anything — and it’s not even close. We’re looking at what you know, what you don’t know, how you learn best. […] We know everything about what you know and how you learn best because we get so much data. Digital data analytics offer something that Watson couldn’t have imagined in his wildest dreams, but he would have approved.

happiness industryThe revolutionary science

Big data (and the adaptive learning which is a part of it) is presented as a game-changer: The era of big data challenges the way we live and interact with the world. […] Society will need to shed some of its obsession for causality in exchange for simple correlations: not knowing why but only what. This overturns centuries of established practices and challenges our most basic understanding of how to make decisions and comprehend reality[5]. But the reverence for technology and the ability to reach understandings of human beings by capturing huge amounts of behavioural data was adumbrated by Watson a century before big data became a widely used term. Watson’s 1913 lecture at Columbia University was ‘a clear pitch’[6] for the supremacy of behaviourism, and its potential as a revolutionary science.

Prediction and controlnudge

The fundamental point of both behaviourism and adaptive learning is the same. The research practices and the theorizing of American behaviourists until the mid-1950s, writes Mills[7] were driven by the intellectual imperative to create theories that could be used to make socially useful predictions. Predictions are only useful to the extent that they can be used to manipulate behaviour. Watson states this very baldly: the theoretical goal of psychology is the prediction and control of behaviour[8]. Contemporary iterations of behaviourism, such as behavioural economics or nudge theory (see, for example, Thaler & Sunstein’s best-selling ‘Nudge’, Penguin Books, 2008), or the British government’s Behavioural Insights Unit, share the same desire to divert individual activity towards goals (selected by those with power), ‘without either naked coercion or democratic deliberation’[9]. Jose Ferreira of Knewton has an identical approach: We can predict failure in advance, which means we can pre-remediate it in advance. We can say, “Oh, she’ll struggle with this, let’s go find the concept from last year’s materials that will help her not struggle with it.” Like the behaviourists, Ferreira makes grand claims about the social usefulness of his predict-and-control technology: The end is a really simple mission. Only 22% of the world finishes high school, and only 55% finish sixth grade. Those are just appalling numbers. As a species, we’re wasting almost four-fifths of the talent we produce. […] I want to solve the access problem for the human race once and for all.

Ethics

Because they rely on capturing large amounts of personal data, both behaviourism and adaptive learning quickly run into ethical problems. Even where informed consent is used, the subjects must remain partly ignorant of exactly what is being tested, or else there is the fear that they might adjust their behaviour accordingly. The goal is to minimise conscious understanding of what is going on[10]. For adaptive learning, the ethical problem is much greater because of the impossibility of ensuring the security of this data. Everything is hackable.

Marketing

Behaviourism was seen as a god-send by the world of advertising. J. B. Watson, after a front-page scandal about his affair with a student, and losing his job at John Hopkins University, quickly found employment on Madison Avenue. ‘Scientific advertising’, as practised by the Mad Men from the 1920s onwards, was based on behaviourism. The use of data analytics by Google, Amazon, et al is a direct descendant of scientific advertising, so it is richly appropriate that adaptive learning is the child of data analytics.

[1] Hunter, D. and Smith, R. (2012) ‘Unpacking the past: “CLT” through ELTJ keywords’. ELT Journal, 66/4: 430-439.

[2] Kara, N. & Sevim, N. 2013. ‘Adaptive learning systems: beyond teaching machines’, Contemporary Educational Technology, 4(2), 108-120

[3] Mills, J. A. (1998) Control: A History of Behavioral Psychology. New York: New York University Press, p.5

[4] Davies, W. (2015) The Happiness Industry. London: Verso. p.91

[5] Mayer-Schönberger, V. & Cukier, K. (2013) Big Data. London: John Murray, p.7

[6] Davies, W. (2015) The Happiness Industry. London: Verso. p.87

[7] Mills, J. A. (1998) Control: A History of Behavioral Psychology. New York: New York University Press, p.2

[8] Watson, J. B. (1913) ‘Behaviorism as the Psychologist Views it’ Psychological Review 20: 158

[9] Davies, W. (2015) The Happiness Industry. London: Verso. p.88

[10] Davies, W. (2015) The Happiness Industry. London: Verso. p.92

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(This post won’t make a lot of sense unless you read the previous two – Researching research: part 1 and part 2!)

The work of Jayaprakash et al was significantly informed and inspired by the work done at Purdue University. In the words of these authors, they even ‘relied on [the] work at Purdue with Course Signals’ for parts of the design of their research. They didn’t know when they were doing their research that the Purdue studies were fundamentally flawed. This was, however, common knowledge (since September 2013) before their article (‘Early Alert of Academically At-Risk Students’) was published. This raises the interesting question of why the authors (and the journal in which they published) didn’t pull the article when they could still have done so. I can’t answer that question, but I can suggest some possible reasons. First, though, a little background on the Purdue research.

The Purdue research is important, more than important, because it was the first significant piece of research to demonstrate the efficacy of academic analytics. Except that, in all probability, it doesn’t! Michael Caulfield, director of blended and networked learning at Washington State University at Vancouver, and Alfred Essa, McGraw-Hill Education’s vice-president of research and development and analytics, took a closer look at the data. What they found was that the results were probably the result of selection bias rather than a real finding. In other words, as summarized by Carl Straumsheim in Inside Higher Ed in November of last year, there was no causal connection between students who use [Course Signals] and their tendency to stick with their studies .The Times Higher Education and the e-Literate blog contacted Purdue, but, to date, there has been no serious response to the criticism. The research is still on Purdue’s website .

The Purdue research article, ‘Course Signals at Purdue: Using Learning Analytics to Increase Student Success’ by Kimberley Arnold and Matt Pistilli, was first published as part of the proceedings of the Learning Analytics and Knowledge (LAK) conference in May 2012. The LAK conference is organised by the Society for Learning Analytics Research (SoLAR), in partnership with Purdue. SoLAR, you may remember, is the organisation which published the new journal in which Jayaprakash et al’s article appeared. Pistilli happens to be an associate editor of the journal. Jayaprakash et al also presented at the LAK ’12 conference. Small world.

The Purdue research was further publicized by Pistilli and Arnold in the Educause review. Their research had been funded by the Gates Foundation (a grant of $1.2 million in November 2011). Educause, in its turn, is also funded by the Gates Foundation (a grant of $9 million in November 2011). The research of Jayaprakash et al was also funded by Educause, which stipulated that ‘effective techniques to improve student retention be investigated and demonstrated’ (my emphasis). Given the terms of their grant, we can perhaps understand why they felt the need to claim they had demonstrated something.

What exactly is Educause, which plays such an important role in all of this? According to their own website, it is a non-profit association whose mission is to advance higher education through the use of information technology. However, it is rather more than that. It is also a lobbying and marketing umbrella for edtech. The following screenshot from their website makes this abundantly clear.educause

If you’ll bear with me, I’d like to describe one more connection between the various players I’ve been talking about. Purdue’s Couse Signals is marketed by a company called Ellucian. Ellucian’s client list includes both Educause and the Gates Foundation. A former Senior Vice President of Ellucian, Anne K Keehn, is currently ‘Senior Fellow -Technology and Innovation, Education, Post-Secondary Success’ at the Gates Foundation – presumably the sort of person to whom you’d have to turn if you wanted funding from the Gates Foundation. Small world.

Personal, academic and commercial networks are intricately intertwined in the high-stakes world of edtech. In such a world (not so very different from the pharmaceutical industry), independent research is practically impossible. The pressure to publish positive research results must be extreme. The temptation to draw conclusions of the kind that your paymasters are looking for must be high. Th edtech juggernaut must keep rolling on.

While the big money will continue to go, for the time being, into further attempts to prove that big data is the future of education, there are still some people who are interested in alternatives. Coincidentally (?), a recent survey  has been carried out at Purdue which looks into what students think about their college experience, about what is meaningful to them. Guess what? It doesn’t have much to do with technology.

(This post won’t make a lot of sense unless you read the previous one – Researching research: part 1!)

dropoutsI suggested in the previous post that the research of Jayaprakash et al had confirmed something that we already knew concerning the reasons why some students drop out of college. However, predictive analytics are only part of the story. As the authors of this paper point out, they ‘do not influence course completion and retention rates without being combined with effective intervention strategies aimed at helping at-risk students succeed’. The point of predictive analytics is to facilitate the deployment of effective and appropriate interventions strategies, and to do this sooner than would be possible without the use of the analytics. So, it is to these intervention strategies that I now turn.

Interventions to help at-risk students included the following:

  • Sending students messages to inform them that they are at risk of not completing the course (‘awareness messaging’)
  • Making students more aware of the available academic support services (which could, for example, direct them to a variety of campus-based or online resources)
  • Promoting peer-to-peer engagement (e.g. with an online ‘student lounge’ discussion forum)
  • Providing access to self-assessment tools

The design of these interventions was based on the work that had been done at Purdue, which was, in turn, inspired by the work of Vince Tinto, one of the world’s leading experts on student retention issues.

The work done at Purdue had shown that simple notifications to students that they were at risk could have a significant, and positive, effect on student behaviour. Jayaprakash and the research team took the students who had been identified as at-risk by the analytics and divided them into three groups: the first were issued with ‘awareness messages’, the second were offered a combination of the other three interventions in the bullet point list above, and the third, a control group, had no interventions at all. The results showed that the students who were in treatment groups (of either kind of intervention) showed a statistically significant improvement compared to those who received no treatment at all. However, there seemed to be no difference in the effectiveness of the different kinds of intervention.

So far, so good, but, once again, I was left thinking that I hadn’t really learned very much from all this. But then, in the last five pages, the article suddenly got very interesting. Remember that the primary purpose of this whole research project was to find ways of helping not just at-risk students, but specifically socioeconomically disadvantaged at-risk students (such as those receiving Pell Grants). Accordingly, the researchers then focussed on this group. What did they find?

Once again, interventions proved more effective at raising student scores than no intervention at all. However, the averages of final scores are inevitably affected by drop-out rates (since students who drop out do not have final scores which can be included in the averages). At Purdue, the effect of interventions on drop-out rates had not been found to be significant. Remember that Purdue has a relatively well-off student demographic. However, in this research, which focussed on colleges with a much higher proportion of students on Pell Grants, the picture was very different. Of the Pell Grant students who were identified as at-risk and who were given some kind of treatment, 25.6% withdrew from the course. Of the Pell Grant students who were identified as at-risk but who were not ‘treated’ in any way (i.e. those in the control group), only 14.1% withdrew from the course. I recommend that you read those numbers again!

The research programme had resulted in substantially higher drop-out rates for socioeconomically disadvantaged students – the precise opposite of what it had set out to achieve. Jayaprakash et al devote one page of their article to the ethical issues this raises. They suggest that early intervention, resulting in withdrawal, might actually be to the benefit of some students who were going to fail whatever happened. It is better to get a ‘W’ (withdrawal) grade on your transcript than an ‘F’ (fail), and you may avoid wasting your money at the same time. This may be true, but it would be equally true that not allowing at-risk students (who, of course, are disproportionately from socioeconomically disadvantaged backgrounds) into college at all might also be to their ‘benefit’. The question, though, is: who has the right to make these decisions on behalf of other people?

The authors also acknowledge another ethical problem. The predictive analytics which will prompt the interventions are not 100% accurate. 85% accuracy could be considered a pretty good figure. This means that some students who are not at-risk are labelled as at-risk, and other who are at-risk are not identified. Of these two possibilities, I find the first far more worrying. We are talking about the very real possibility of individual students being pushed into making potentially life-changing decisions on the basis of dodgy analytics. How ethical is that? The authors’ conclusion is that the situation forces them ‘to develop the most accurate predictive models possible, as well as to take steps to reduce the likelihood that any intervention would result in the necessary withdrawal of a student’.

I find this extraordinary. It is premised on the assumption that predictive models can be made much, much more accurate. They seem to be confusing prediction and predeterminism. A predictive model is, by definition, only predictive. There will always be error. How many errors are ethically justifiable? And, the desire to reduce the likelihood of unnecessary withdrawals is a long way from the need to completely eliminate the likelihood of unnecessary withdrawals, which seems to me to be the ethical position. More than anything else in the article, this sentence illustrates that the a priori assumption is that predictive analytics can be a force for good, and that the only real problem is getting the science right. If a number of young lives are screwed up along the way, we can at least say that science is getting better.

In the authors’ final conclusion, they describe the results of their research as ‘promising’. They do not elaborate on who it is promising for. They say that relatively simple intervention strategies can positively impact student learning outcomes, but they could equally well have said that relatively simple intervention strategies can negatively impact learning outcomes. They could have said that predictive analytics and intervention programmes are fine for the well-off, but more problematic for the poor. Remembering once more that the point of the study was to look at the situation of socioeconomically disadvantaged at-risk students, it is striking that there is no mention of this group in the researchers’ eight concluding points. The vast bulk of the paper is devoted to technical descriptions of the design and training of the software; the majority of the conclusions are about the validity of that design and training. The ostensibly intended beneficiaries have got lost somewhere along the way.

How and why is it that a piece of research such as this can so positively slant its results? In the third and final part of this mini-series, I will turn my attention to answering that question.

article-2614966-1D6DC26500000578-127_634x776In the 8th post on this blog (‘Theory, Research and Practice’), I referred to the lack of solid research into learning analytics. Whilst adaptive learning enthusiasts might disagree with much, or even most, of what I have written on this subject, here, at least, was an area of agreement. May of this year, however, saw the launch of the inaugural issue of the Journal of Learning Analytics, the first journal ‘dedicated to research into the challenges of collecting, analysing and reporting data with the specific intent to improve learning’. It is a peer-reviewed, open-access journal, available here , which is published by the Society for Learning Analytics Research (SoLAR), a consortium of academics from 9 universities in the US, Canada, Britain and Australia.

I decided to take a closer look. In this and my next two posts, I will focus on one article from this inaugural issue. It’s called Early Alert of Academically At‐Risk Students: An Open Source Analytics Initiative and it is co-authored by Sandeep M. Jayaprakash, Erik W. Moody, Eitel J.M. Lauría, James R. Regan, and Joshua D. Baron of Marist College in the US. Bear with me, please – it’s more interesting than it might sound!

The background to this paper is the often referred to problem of college drop-outs in the US, and the potential of learning analytics to address what is seen as a ‘national challenge’. The most influential work that has been done in this area to date was carried out at Purdue University. Purdue developed an analytical system, called Course Signals, which identified students at risk of course failure and offered a range of interventions (more about these in the next post) which were designed to improve student outcomes. I will have more to say about the work at Purdue in my third post, but, for the time being, it is enough to say that, in the field, it has been considered very successful, and that the authors of the paper I looked at have based their approach on the work done at Purdue.

Jayaprakash et al developed their own analytical system, based on Purdue’s Course Signals, and used it at their own institution, Marist College. Basically, they wanted to know if they could replicate the good results that had been achieved at Purdue. They then took the same analytical system to four different institutions, of very different kinds (public, as opposed to private; community colleges offering 2-year programmes rather than universities) to see if the results could be replicated there, too. They also wanted to find out if the interventions with students who had been signalled as at-risk would be as effective as they had been at Purdue. So far, so good: it is clearly very important to know if one particular piece of research has any significance beyond its immediate local context.

So, what did Jayaprakash et al find out? Basically, they learnt that their software worked as well at Marist as Course Signals had done at Purdue. They collected data on student demographics and aptitude, course grades and course related data, data on students’ interactions with the LMS they were using and performance data captured by the LMS. Oh, yes, and absenteeism. At the other institutions where they trialled their software, the system was 10% less accurate in predicting drop-outs, but the authors of the research still felt that ‘predictive models developed based on data from one institution may be scalable to other institutions’.

But more interesting than the question of whether or not the predictive analytics worked is the question of which specific features of the data were the most powerful predictors. What they discovered was that absenteeism was highly significant. No surprises there. They also learnt that the other most powerful predictors were (1) the students’ cumulative grade point average (GPA), an average of a student’s academic scores over their entire academic career, and (2) the scores recorded by the LMS of the work that students had done during the course which would contribute to their final grade. No surprises there, either. As the authors point out, ‘given that these two attributes are such fundamental aspects of academic success, it is not surprising that the predictive model has fared so well across these different institutions’.

Agreed, it is not surprising at all that students with lower scores and a history of lower scores are more likely to drop out of college than students with higher scores. But, I couldn’t help wondering, do we really need sophisticated learning analytics to tell us this? Wouldn’t any teacher know this already? They would, of course, if they knew their students, but if the teacher: student ratio is in the order of 1: 100 (not unheard of in lower-funded courses delivered primarily through an LMS), many teachers (and their students) might benefit from automated alert systems.

But back to the differences between the results at Purdue and Marist and at the other institutions. Why were the predictive analytics less successful at the latter? The answer is in the nature of the institutions. Essentially, it boils down to this. In institutions with low drop-out rates, the analytics are more reliable than in institutions with high drop-out rates, because the more at-risk students there are, the harder it is to predict the particular individuals who will actually drop out. Jayaprakash et al provide the key information in a useful table. Students at Marist College are relatively well-off (only 16% receive Pell Grants, which are awarded to students in financial need), and only a small number (12%) are from ‘ethnic minorities’. The rate of course non-completion in normal time is relatively low (at 20%). In contrast, at one of the other institutions, the College of the Redwoods in California, 44% of the students receive Pell Grants and 22% of them are from ‘ethnic minorities’. The non-completion rate is a staggering 96%. At Savannah State University, 78% of the students receive Pell Grants, and the non-completion rate is 70%. The table also shows the strong correlation between student poverty and high student: faculty ratios.

In other words, the poorer you are, the less likely you are to complete your course of study, and the less likely you are to know your tutors (these two factors also correlate). In other other words, the whiter you are, the more likely you are to complete your course of study (because of the strong correlations between race and poverty). While we are playing the game of statistical correlations, let’s take it a little further. As the authors point out, ‘there is considerable evidence that students with lower socio-economic status have lower GPAs and graduation rates’. If, therefore, GPAs are one of the most significant predictors of academic success, we can say that socio-economic status (and therefore race) is one of the most significant predictors of academic success … even if the learning analytics do not capture this directly.

Actually, we have known this for a long time. The socio-economic divide in education is frequently cited as one of the big reasons for moving towards digitally delivered courses. This particular piece of research was funded (more about this in the next posts) with the stipulation that it ‘investigated and demonstrated effective techniques to improve student retention in socio-economically disadvantaged populations’. We have also known for some time that digitally delivered education increases the academic divide between socio-economic groups. So what we now have is a situation where a digital technology (learning analytics) is being used as a partial solution to a problem that has always been around, but which has been exacerbated by the increasing use of another digital technology (LMSs) in education. We could say, then, that if we weren’t using LMSs, learning analytics would not be possible … but we would need them less, anyway.

My next post will look at the results of the interventions with students that were prompted by the alerts generated by the learning analytics. Advance warning: it will make what I have written so far seem positively rosy.

Pearson’s ‘Efficacy’ initiative is a series of ‘commitments designed to measure and increase the company’s impact on learning outcomes around the world’. The company’s dedicated website  offers two glossy brochures with a wide range of interesting articles, a good questionnaire tool that can be used by anyone to measure the efficacy of their own educational products or services, as well as an excellent selection of links to other articles, some of which are critical of the initiative. These include Michael Feldstein’s long blog post  ‘Can Pearson Solve the Rubric’s Cube?’ which should be a first port of call for anyone wanting to understand better what is going on.

What does it all boil down to? The preface to Pearson’s ‘Asking More: the Path to Efficacy’ by CEO John Fallon provides a succinct introduction. Efficacy in education, says Fallon, is ‘making a measurable impact on someone’s life through learning’. ‘Measurable’ is the key word, because, as Fallon continues, ‘it is increasingly possible to determine what works and what doesn’t in education, just as in healthcare.’ We need ‘a relentless focus’ on ‘the learning outcomes we deliver’ because it is these outcomes that can be measured in ‘a systematic, evidence-based fashion’. Measurement, of course, is all the easier when education is delivered online, ‘real-time learner data’ can be captured, and the power of analytics can be deployed.

Pearson are very clearly aligning themselves with recent moves towards a more evidence-based education. In the US, Obama’s Race to the Top is one manifestation of this shift. Britain (with, for example, the Education Endowment Foundation) and France (with its Fonds d’Expérimentation pour la Jeunesse ) are both going in the same direction. Efficacy is all about evidence-based practice.

Both the terms ‘efficacy’ and ‘evidence-based practice’ come originally from healthcare. Fallon references this connection in the quote two paragraphs above. In the UK last year, Ben Goldacre (medical doctor, author of ‘Bad Science’ and a relentless campaigner against pseudo-science) was commissioned by the UK government to write a paper entitled ‘Building Evidence into Education’ . In this, he argued for the need to introduce randomized controlled trials into education in a similar way to their use in medicine.

As Fallon observed in the preface to the Pearson ‘Efficacy’ brochure, this all sounds like ‘common sense’. But, as Ben Goldacre discovered, things are not so straightforward in education. An excellent article in The Guardian outlined some of the problems in Goldacre’s paper.

With regard to ELT, Pearson’s ‘Efficacy’ initiative will stand or fall with the validity of their Global Scale of English, discussed in my March post ‘Knowledge Graphs’ . However, there are a number of other considerations that make the whole evidence-based / efficacy business rather less common-sensical than might appear at first glance.

  • The purpose of English language teaching and learning (at least, in compulsory education) is rather more than simply the mastery of grammatical and lexical systems, or the development of particular language skills. Some of these other purposes (e.g. the development of intercultural competence or the acquisition of certain 21st century skills, such as creativity) continue to be debated. There is very little consensus about the details of what these purposes (or outcomes) might be, or how they can be defined. Without consensus about these purposes / outcomes, it is not possible to measure them.
  • Even if we were able to reach a clear consensus, many of these outcomes do not easily lend themselves to measurement, and even less to low-cost measurement.
  • Although we clearly need to know what ‘works’ and what ‘doesn’t work’ in language teaching, there is a problem in assigning numerical values. As the EduThink blog observes, ‘the assignation of numerical values is contestable, problematic and complex. As teachers and researchers we should be engaging with the complexity [of education] rather than the reductive simplicities of [assigning numerical values]’.
  • Evidence-based medicine has resulted in unquestionable progress, but it is not without its fierce critics. A short summary of the criticisms can be found here .  It would be extremely risky to assume that a contested research procedure from one discipline can be uncritically applied to another.
  • Kathleen Graves, in her plenary at IATEFL 2014, ‘The Efficiency of Inefficiency’, explicitly linked health care and language teaching. She described a hospital where patient care was as much about human relationships as it was about medical treatment, an aspect of the hospital that went unnoticed by efficiency experts, since this could not be measured. See this blog for a summary of her talk.

These issues need to be discussed much further before we get swept away by the evidence-based bandwagon. If they are not, the real danger is that, as John Fallon cautions, we end up counting things that don’t really count, and we don’t count the things that really do count. Somehow, I doubt that an instrument like the Global Scale of English will do the trick.

In order to understand more complex models of adaptive learning, it is necessary to take a temporary step sideways away from the world of language learning. Businesses have long used analytics – the analysis of data to find meaningful patterns – in insurance, banking and marketing. With the exponential growth in computer processing power and memory capacity, businesses now have access to volumes of data of almost unimaginable size. This is known as ‘big data’ and has been described as ‘a revolution that will transform how we live, work and think’ (Mayer-Schönberger & Cukier, ‘Big Data’, 2013). Frequently cited examples of the potential of big data are the success of Amazon to analyze and predict buying patterns and the use of big data analysis in Barack Obama’s 2012 presidential re-election. Business commentators are all singing the same song on the subject. This will be looked at again in later posts. For the time being, it is enough to be aware of the main message. ‘The high-performing organisation of the future will be one that places great value on data and analytical exploration’ (The Economist Intelligence Unit, ‘In Search of Insight and Foresight: Getting more out of big data’ 2013, p.15). ‘Almost no sphere of business activity will remain untouched by this movement,’ (McAfee & Brynjolfsson, ‘Big Data: The Management Revolution’, Harvard Business Review (October 2012), p. 65).

The Economist cover

With the growing bonds between business and education (another topic which will be explored later), it is unsurprising that language learning / teaching materials are rapidly going down the big data route. In comparison to what is now being developed for ELT, the data that is analyzed in the adaptive learning models I have described in an earlier post is very limited, and the algorithms used to shape the content are very simple.

The volume and variety of data and the speed of processing are now of an altogether different order. Jose Ferreira, CEO of Knewton, one of the biggest players in adaptive learning in ELT, spells out the kind of data that can be tapped[1]:

At Knewton, we divide educational data into five types: one pertaining to student identity and onboarding, and four student activity-based data sets that have the potential to improve learning outcomes. They’re listed below in order of how difficult they are to attain:

1) Identity Data: Who are you? Are you allowed to use this application? What admin rights do you have? What district are you in? How about demographic info?

2) User Interaction Data: User interaction data includes engagement metrics, click rate, page views, bounce rate, etc. These metrics have long been the cornerstone of internet optimization for consumer web companies, which use them to improve user experience and retention. This is the easiest to collect of the data sets that affect student outcomes. Everyone who creates an online app can and should get this for themselves.

3) Inferred Content Data: How well does a piece of content “perform” across a group, or for any one subgroup, of students? What measurable student proficiency gains result when a certain type of student interacts with a certain piece of content? How well does a question actually assess what it intends to? Efficacy data on instructional materials isn’t easy to generate — it requires algorithmically normed assessment items. However it’s possible now for even small companies to “norm” small quantities of items. (Years ago, before we developed more sophisticated methods of norming items at scale, Knewton did so using Amazon’s “Mechanical Turk” service.)

4) System-Wide Data: Rosters, grades, disciplinary records, and attendance information are all examples of system-wide data. Assuming you have permission (e.g. you’re a teacher or principal), this information is easy to acquire locally for a class or school. But it isn’t very helpful at small scale because there is so little of it on a per-student basis. At very large scale it becomes more useful, and inferences that may help inform system-wide recommendations can be teased out.

5) Inferred Student Data: Exactly what concepts does a student know, at exactly what percentile of proficiency? Was an incorrect answer due to a lack of proficiency, or forgetfulness, or distraction, or a poorly worded question, or something else altogether? What is the probability that a student will pass next week’s quiz, and what can she do right this moment to increase it?

Software of this kind keeps complex personal profiles, with millions of variables per student, on as many students as necessary. The more student profiles (and therefore students) that can be compared, the more useful the data is. Big players in this field, such as Knewton, are aiming for student numbers in the tens to hundreds of millions. Once data volume of this order is achieved, the ‘analytics’, or the algorithms that convert data into ‘actionable insights’ (J. Spring, ‘Education Networks’ (New York: Routledge, 2012), p.55) become much more reliable.

An integral part of adaptive learning programs, both the simple models already described and the much more complex systems that are currently under development, is an element of gamification. The term refers to the incorporation of points, levels (analogous to the levels in a typical computer game) and badges into the learning experience. In Duolingo, for example, users have a certain number of ‘lives’ that they can afford to lose without failing an exercise. In addition, they can compare their performance with that of other users, and they can win ‘lingots’, a kind of in-game currency which allows them to ‘buy’ lost ‘lives or to compensate for a day of inactivity.

duolingo lingots

Gamification and adaptive learning go together like hand in glove because of the data that is generated by the adaptive software (see the next post: Big data, analytics and adaptive learning). The whole thing is premised on comparing the performance of different students, so score cards and leader boards and so on are hardly surprising.

The idea behind this, in case it needs pointing out, is that it can make learning fun and, so, students will be more motivated to do the work, which seems more like play. It is a much hyped idea in education: eltjam referred to the ‘snowballing sexiness’ of the term. In an ELT context, most references to gamification are very positive. See, for example, eltjam’s blog post on the subject or Graham Stanley’s conference presentation on the subject. An excellent infographic summary of and advertisement for the benefits of gamification can be found at the Knewton website.

Not everyone, however, is so positive. Gamification has been described by some writers and researchers as the ‘pointsification’ of everything – the reductionist process of regarding all actions with points and increased personal scores (see, for example, Neil Selwyn, 2013, Distrusting Educational Technology, p.101). The motivation it may generate is clearly extrinsic, and this may not be a good long-term bet. Adults (myself included) get bored of gamification elements very quickly. For both adults and younger learners, once you’ve figured out how to play the system and get extra points (and there’s always a way of finding shortcuts to do this), interest can wane quickly. And once gamification becomes a standard feature of educational experiences (and not just English language learning), its novelty value will disappear.