Blast from the Past: This entry first appeared on November 6, 2021 and was re-issued on August 2, 2025. We’re at the beginning of the 2025-26 school year. Reading scores haven’t recovered from the COVID debacle, too many kids and teachers are missing school, and many states have adopted laws or policies aimed at beefing up decoding instruction. Concerns about the “science of reading” continue to arise in media coverage and policy debates, so this earlier published article still has relevance. This blog argues that the reform of reading instruction should depend on instructional studies rather than on computer simulations and neurological research. I still believe that. Unfortunately, the current administration in Washington has gutted federally-supported reading research – undermining ongoing studies and blocking the publication of completed investigations. Fortunately, a great deal of educational research is conducted by independent scholars who are not reliant on federal money, (though, to tell the truth, the federally supported studies often have been more rigorous and ambitious. It’s a real loss, and this entry helps explain why). This essay includes minimal style revisions.
I’ve been getting lots of questions about the “science of reading.”
What is the “science of reading?”
That depends on who you talk to. There is no agreed upon definition. Nor is there any official body like the Académie Française that can dictate a meaning by fiat. In 2020, Reading Research Quarterly published a science of reading issue online with more than 50 articles. There weren’t 50 definitions, but it was close.
The disagreements seemed to turn on two points: the role of instructional research and the scope of reading included.
Some use that term in reference to neurological and cognitive science studies of how brains process written words (e.g., Reading in the Brain: The New Science of How We Read by Stanislas Dehaene or Reading at the Speed of Language by Mark Seidenberg). The problem with that approach, as valuable as those studies can be, is that it ignores instructional research – the studies that consider the impact of how and what we teach. That wouldn’t be so bothersome if its purveyors weren’t trying to tell us what and how to teach while ignoring the direct evidence.
No one in medicine applies basic scientific findings to medical practice without intermediary tests of effectiveness and safety. Imagine physicians administering COVID vaccines without proof that they work.
Despite careful attention to basic research, only about 10% of medical therapies ever make it through the testing process. “Can’t miss” hypotheses based on terrific basic science research often fail to work in medicine and why would it be any different in reading education? A century of failed hypotheses in teaching (e.g., right-handedness training, learning styles, programmed readers, eye training) should disabuse us of this idea (Shanahan, 2020).
To me, a science of reading – if we are talking about education – requires that our prescriptions for teaching be tempered by rigorous instructional evaluations. If a claim hasn’t been tried out and found effective, then the claims – no matter how heartfelt – aren’t part of reading science.
Basic research shows that phonological activation takes place when people read words silently and simulations are showing that computers’ responses to words are affected by the statistical properties of the words they process. Such findings suggest that readers look for visual patterns when they read and that reading requires those patterns to be processed phonologically. That’s fascinating, but it doesn’t reveal how we can best teach reading.
As cool as those studies are, I don’t argue for explicit systematic phonics and phonemic awareness instruction because of them. I advocate such teaching because there are more than 100 studies showing that it improves kids’ learning (National Early Literacy Panel, 2008; National Reading Panel, 2000). Those brain studies, admittedly, strengthen the case, but without them I’d still teach phonics. Conversely, if I only had the brain evidence, then no deal – that should not determine our teaching routines.
When someone tells you what to do in the classroom based on a “science of reading,” be skeptical. Ask to see the research that shows that teaching those things or in those ways makes kids learn better.
Besides this fundamental dispute over the importance of instructional research in any effort to prescribe instruction, there was a disagreement as to what aspects of reading count as a science of reading.
Historically, science of reading has usually been used to refer to word reading or “decoding” in current parlance. If someone says your school isn’t aligned with the science of reading, they probably are saying that you aren’t teaching phonemic awareness and phonics like they think you should. There is nothing wrong or misleading about using the term that way.
But any science of reading instruction necessarily includes much more than that. Many of those Reading Research Quarterly articles aimed to expand the scope to include more than phonics teaching.
Much of the popular use of the science of reading term is specifically about phonics, but I don’t believe anyone disputes that other topics are part of this science as well, including vocabulary, reading comprehension, domain knowledge, oral language, and so on. Reading researchers shouldn’t feel threatened when someone says that science should dictate the inclusion of phonics instruction in a reading program. That in no ways says that science shouldn’t be used in the same way with all the other complex of skills and abilities on which reading depends.
How Does Science of Reading Differ from National Reading Panel?
The last time science of reading debates broke out was in the 1990s. Then, the federal government intervened. The term used then was not “science of reading,” but “scientifically based reading instruction (SBRI).” That focused specifically on instructional studies and provided a legal definition of the term. Scientists were empaneled to determine the scope of the matter through explicit reviews of the research.
I served on that panel. That effort led to strong public support for explicit teaching of phonemic awareness, phonics, oral reading fluency, vocabulary, and reading comprehension. Based on those reviews, the feds adopted policies that promoted such instruction in the primary grades. At that time, fourth grade reading achievement rose in the U.S. – something we haven’t seen since those policies lapsed.
To me, the National Reading Panel results are part of a science of reading. But it was carried out in the late 1990s. During the past two decades research has expanded. Topics like writing and spelling to improve reading, text complexity, teaching reading comprehension tailored to the specific demands of science and social studies, differentiation of instruction, quality of instruction, and text structure have all generated extensive bodies of research since the Panel closed its books. A science of reading will always be a moving target – knowledge is always conditional and research should always be an ongoing enterprise).
How do I know if an instructional program or approach is part of a science of reading?
This question comes up a lot these days. And no wonder.
A couple of weeks ago I issued a blog that explained that some widely touted practices are not supported by science. You wouldn’t believe the messages I received from people angry with me for writing that. They assured me that those practices were supported by the science, and they knew it because they believed it.
I asked an author about this. She worked on a program that relied on some of those unproven practices, and it was being marketed under the science banner.
She knew there was no research supporting what she was selling. She defended her approach since, as she explained, it was “just logical that those things work given the science.”
She may be right about that. I don’t know. I do know that my hunches, biases, deeply held beliefs, and inklings aren’t science – and I don’t know how hers are so sanctified.
In fact, she was embracing not only practices that haven’t yet been studied, but even some that had been rejected by empirical research.
Unfortunately, the only real protection against such logical overreach is caveat emptor, buyer beware. When someone tells you that something is part of the science of reading, ask for the study or studies that proved it improved learning. Marshalling support for such claims shouldn’t be on the users’ shoulders but on those who make the claims.
There is nothing wrong with advocating or adopting instructional approaches without evidence – if everyone recognizes that to be the case. When untested practices are promoted under a guise of a science of reading, it isn’t okay. It’s dishonest, false advertising, fake news; it’s just another case of someone trying to manipulate you to do what they want you to do.
References
National Institute of Child Health and Human Development. (2000). Report of the National Reading Panel: Teaching Children to Read: Reports of the Subgroups. Washington, DC: U.S. Government Printing Office.
Shanahan, T. (2020). What constitutes a science of reading? Reading Research Quarterly, 55(S1), S235-S247. https://ila.onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/abs/10.1002/rrq.349
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