In praise of less praise

Late in my teaching career, a sophomore in one of my English classes had made exceptional strides in her writing and understanding of literature.  She was a new citizen, still learning the language, so she worked extra hard at her studies.  Her work habits made it evident that she would be successful in whatever she attempted, both in school and beyond.  In her self-evaluation at the end of that school year, she was proud of what she had accomplished and wrote:  "This year in your class I have increased my self of steam."

That innocent, well-intended phrase still makes me smile.  She was a good sport and confident enough to laugh at herself when I showed her how to correctly spell self-esteem during her final evaluation conference.  I count her as one of those success stories you cherish as a teacher.  I still remember where she sat and how she never took her eyes off the speaker in class, whether teacher or fellow student.  But what sticks with me as much is the image she inadvertently coined.  Oddly, it conjures up not just its intended meaning, but also an opposing vision.  I hear egos deflated when I think of it, confidence hissing away like air escaping from a balloon.  This is a tough and fragile business, this belief in yourself.  I know.  I have seen too many youngsters gain confidence, only to lose it all with a single failure or an unkind word from a teasing classmate.  Self of steam.

The concept of self-esteem as a necessary underpinning for productive behavior gained prominence the same year (1969) I entered graduate studies in Secondary Education.  That was the year Nathaniel Branden, a Canadian-born psychologist and sometime romantic partner of Ayn Rand, published his book, The Psychology of Self Esteem.   In it he argued that healthy self-regard is a basic human need and that without it people are more prone to self- and socially-destructive behavior (e.g. anxiety, depression, violence).  His work led eventually to the National Association for Self Esteem in the 1980's.  Although Branden's practices and beliefs about self esteem became more nuanced over time, they were misinterpreted from the start.  The pop culture understanding of his ideas led to praise for praise's sake, and an industry of cheap trophies for every member of  every youth soccer league in America--even for kids with two left feet.

The notion that self-esteem is a pre-requisite for healthy, productive behavior found especially fertile ground in schools, shaping expectations for how teachers should treat children.  Praise for even the smallest accomplishments became a staple of accepted pedagogy in the 1970's and continues to influence classroom practice today.  I know it had an impact on how I thought about myself as a teacher early in my career.  A part of my role, I believed, was to encourage the discouraged.  Build up their confidence so they could engage with my subject matter.  I tried to look for any positive behaviors--even minimal effort, diligence, interest, cooperation, a paper (no matter how lousy) handed in on time, a comment in class discussion (no matter how inane)--and praise them highly.

But I was predisposed even then to be suspicious of too much praise for a couple of reasons and became almost immediately more sparing with my compliments, although not with my encouragement.   I was raised in the old school where praise (if given at all) was for what you did, not for what you could do.  My taciturn mother gave only a nod for things well done, rarely more, although it was easy enough to tell when she was proud of me or my brother.  I was also prone to self-criticism even as a youngster.  The final word is still to be spoken on whether that was a genetic or learned inclination.  But the fact of the matter is that I found my own flaws quite early on and worked hard to hide or overcome at least the ones that I was aware of.  My mindset (more on that term later) was to dismiss praise for something I had done or said or written. feeling that I could always do better or that my praiseworthy deeds paled in comparison to others more deserving.

Educators and parents, it seems, have also begun to question the value of excessive praise.  How much praise is enough?  When should it be given, if ever?  What consequences does praise have for how we view ourselves and our abilities?  Does praise affect different people in different ways?

Stanford psychologist Carol Dweck has spent decades exploring facets of those question.  The premise of her book, Mindset, is that our beliefs about intelligence and talent influence the way we respond to encouragement and failure.  She has found that our "mindset" is a significant factor in whether we enjoy success in whatever we attempt.  I have just begun reading the book after it was mentioned in a recent article in the Washington Post [1] about brain research, debunking the notion that building self-esteem in students is imperative if they are to have the confidence to learn.  As Dweck puts it, researchers over the past 3 decades have discovered that you can't "hand children self-esteem on a platter."

Empty praise is particularly deadly for youngsters.  But, so is praise that rewards children for being "clever" or "intelligent."  What studies have found, quoted in the Post article, is that children "rewarded for being smart become more likely to shy away from hard assignments that might tarnish their star reputations."

What works is praise for "trying hard or taking risks," especially if it is accompanied by an explanation of how our brains literally grow with new learning.  That puts accomplishment in the hands of the learner, who realizes that sticking with even a difficult or frustrating task can help create new neural pathways.  It can make you smarter.  And it implants the notion that learning is a lifelong process, fueled by curiosity and the satisfaction that comes with each new bit of skill, information and understanding.  In short, our mindset about the nature of learning makes a difference in how, and even whether, we learn.

I have heard this expressed in a slightly different form as an explanation for why some cultures produce more female scientists and mathematicians than the U. S.  In America, the explanation goes, we believe that some people are born with talent and intelligence and others are not.   In this mindset, the die is cast early on, so effort by the untalented is futile.  Remember the Barbie dolls programmed to say, "I'm not good at math"?  Sadly, I often heard that excuse or something similar ("I'm not a writer") voiced by children of both sexes when they came upon an academic challenge that moved them out of their comfort zone.  In Asia, by contrast, effort is what counts.  If you work hard at something--spend hours in tutoring beyond classroom time, for example--you can master it.   That is true for boys and girls.

Although these are both oversimplifications of cultural attitudes, the second "mindset" is much closer to the truth.  What research shows time after time is that intelligence is malleable.  Labeling a handful of students "gifted" early on or saying that girls are not good at math discredits the potential of an enormous number of kids, most of whom have the capacity to learn as much or more than their supposedly more intelligent peers.  And it really does no service to those in gifted programs either, who often become praise junkies, dependent on outside validation of their accomplishments.  Hearing constant praise (which can morph into self-praise) for mediocre work--especially for effort that merely repeats what is already mastered rather than risks covering new ground--can lead to a false sense of ability, such as those American students who reported themselves as good at math, and yet scored much lower than their peers from other nations on standardized measures.

What all students can prosper from, according to Dweck, is praise that "encourages risk-taking and learning from failure . . . experiences that make way for invention, creativity, and resilience."   We need students to build up a head of steam to power themselves through life and learning.  Like the boilers of old, their cerebral engines need to be constantly fed by the fuel of curiosity and intellectual challenge.  They need a mindset which says, with effort I can learn.  And we need to reserve our praise for effort that produces instructive failure and real success.

[1] Chandler, M. A., "Telling kids they're great isn't so good, schools find," Washington Post, 16 Jan. 2012.