The hardest thing in the world is to change a mind. Just think about how difficult it is for two people from opposing political parties to listen to each other and to learn from each other. You can only imagine, then, how hard it is to teach, since teaching is about changing minds.
And this is where the farce of online learning is really made clear. Changing minds is hard work; it requires ongoing effort by teachers precisely because our brains are structured to make it hard for us to learn new things. At least this is what we learn from cognitive science.

We can learn easier if we think about new concepts via ideas we already have. So let me offer an analogy. We have all studied for driving tests. We know how we do it. We cram. We quickly memorize a bunch of things, and hope that we pass the test. Two days later few of us know how slow we should go when crossing railroad tracks. Our minds haven’t really changed.
On the other hand, learning to drive was a slow, transformative process. To learn to drive our brains had to learn to see and respond to the world in new ways, quite different from walking, and quite different from cramming for a test. We had to learn not just the “facts” of how to drive, but the deeper structures of thought that make it possible for us to be drivers and to make sense of the facts that come before us. There is a fundamental difference between passing a driving exam and being a driver.
It is precisely this kind of deep thinking that true collegiate education seeks to foster. Online education, on the other hand, is more like cramming for the driving exam while sitting in line at the DMV.
Why is this? Well, it’s precisely because of how the brain works. Our brains tend to develop pathways that are hard to change. Real learning requires rewiring, and rewiring requires ongoing interaction between students, course material, and teachers.
The first step is for students to let their guard down. This means that teachers need to earn their students’ trust so that when we start pushing new ideas and concepts, students will be receptive. If their brains shut down, they will resist learning since it’s hard and often scary.
The next step is for students to actually develop new neuronal pathways. This is where the real stuff of education happens. Through discussion, through sophisticated assignments (labs, papers, exams), and through practice, students slowly learn to think more deeply about the material before them.
Take, for example, the challenges I face in my course on the American Revolution. Most students think that the Revolution was about avoiding taxes. It’s deeply wired into their brains. But it’s wrong. The Revolution was about consenting to taxes (“no taxation without representation”). But I can’t simply tell my students this. They would just put this factoid in their short term memory for the test, and then they would forget it. If I want them to know it, I have to help them construct the knowledge in their brains.

This requires real effort. For example, I have my students read James Otis’s objections to the Stamp Tax. We then take apart his argument, step by step, during class discussion. Students focus on passages, struggle through them, and then repeat what they have learned. Because the brain only remembers things it cares about, we then reflect on the deeper significance of Otis’s argument—namely, that a government that taxes without consent is nothing more than brute force. They then write a paper on the topic to help ensure that what they have read and talked about becomes part of their long-term understanding of the Revolution.
When I read their papers I am looking for proof that they have not just memorized what they learned in class, but actually understand whyand how Otis and other Revolutionary leaders came to their conclusions. I want to know that they are thinking in new ways, not just repeating what they heard in class.
But if it takes this much work just to get students to see that the Revolutionaries cared about consenting to taxes, imagine how much more work it takes to get students to develop both the knowledge and thinking habits of a discipline like history or chemistry, or a field such as teaching or engineering. It takes time and the collective effort of many teachers working together to consistently deepen students’ knowledge and skills.
One can tell the difference between a student who has crammed for an assessment—or competency—and one who has actually understood the material. In complex assignments—such as labs and papers—a good teacher can figure out who has gained superficial facts, and who has started to make the deeper connections that characterize actual learning.
Assigning and evaluating these assignments requires teachers who understand their fields and have the time and capability to evaluate how well students are understanding the material. Without such teachers, student learning is at risk.
Old-fashioned conversations are central. When students come into my office to talk, I can push them to think more deeply. I can also assess whether a student is really getting to the structures of a problem, or whether she or he remains at the surface. In short, when I know the students and their work, I can figure out who is actually learning, and help those who are not.
Good teachers seek to transform how students think, not just to develop a predigested set of competencies. Our goals are much more profound, and more difficult. In fact, the best students will often surprise. They will come up with creative ideas that are only possible after much hard work and real learning. But this is good. Creativity is the key to innovation, and innovation is vital if we are to graduate students capable of meeting this generation’s complex social, political, and economic challenges. We do not want all our students to graduate with the same set of competencies; we expect much more from them than that.
This is the kind of work that we do in our brick and mortar old-fashioned classrooms. We take students and slowly, over years, enable them to think more deeply about the subjects they are studying. We encourage depth. We do not get fooled by the right answers (“false positives”), but instead want to be sure that students are actually thinking differently. Getting the right answers is easy; understanding why those answers are right is much more difficult.
In short, we don’t teach students how to pass a driving exam. We teach them to be drivers.
Who would you entrust with your car keys, someone who has mastered the competencies well enough to pass a computer test and sweat through a driving exam, or someone who has learned to drive?
Bill Gates likes to proclaim that colleges are living in the past. Certainly he and others are hoping to make a lot of money off of students. But his brand of technological utopianism is naïve and dangerous. It certainly is not in Washington’s students’ interests.

In reality, changing minds is hard work. There is a fundamental difference between passing an exam or assessment and actually becoming a different kind of person. Our brains resist new challenges. Quick tests can give the illusion of learning, but cognitive scientists have made clear that most of this is just short-term memory. It won’t last. Getting students to think about the world in new ways is not something that can be done easily nor cheaply. Instead, it is a difficult task that takes a lot of time. It is also an act of love, and an obligation that we teachers take very seriously.
To learn more about why teachers matter, take a look at: James Zull, The Art of Changing the Brain: Enriching the Practice of Teaching by Exploring the Biology of Learning.