When people ask me what (educational) science can do for teachers, I usually say: quite a lot. Over the past decades, we’ve learned a great deal about how learning works—and what tends to get in its way. We know, for instance, that long-term learning depends on effortful retrieval, not passive exposure. That background knowledge isn’t a nice bonus, but prior knowledge is a precondition for comprehension. That cognitive overload is real, and we’re often overconfident about what we know. These aren’t just theories: they’re insights backed by a lot of studies, from lab research to classroom trials.

But here’s the thing: that knowledge only becomes truly valuable when it meets the real world of education. The complexity of a classroom cannot be captured in a lab setting. A teacher doesn’t work with average effect sizes from studies and meta-analyses, but with real students, each with their own histories, moods, strengths, and struggles in the complex interaction we call the classroom. That’s why it’s not enough for science to speak—we need education to talk back.

Because teachers know things researchers often overlook. They see how a promising intervention collides with time constraints. They know when a “best practice” sounds great in theory but falls flat in practice. And they often sense, long before the data confirms it, when something new isn’t working as intended. Don’t dismiss it as anecdotal; rather, call it expert judgment.

For some time, the conversation between research and practice was one-way: science tells, education listens. But luckily, we started to understand that for real progress, we need mutual respect and dialogue. Teachers shouldn’t just be consumers of evidence, but co-creators of knowledge. And researchers should be willing to have their findings questioned, translated, adapted, or sometimes even ignored, when context demands it.

We also need to resist the temptation of silver bullets. Every few years, a new buzzword promises to transform learning overnight. But profound change is rarely that simple. That’s where a solid understanding of science helps—not to dictate what teachers must do, but to sharpen their judgment, strengthen their decisions, and protect them against hype.

That’s exactly why I’ve taken on this strange role over the past years: standing with one foot in research, the other in schools, and trying to bridge the gap. Sometimes that means explaining why a popular idea doesn’t hold up under scrutiny—something we’ve done in our Urban Myths about Learning and Education books. Sometimes it means defending a practice that works, even when it’s not trendy at that time. Sometimes it means saying: “We don’t know… yet.” But most of all, it means translating insights without oversimplifying them—and listening to educators without romanticising the job.

Because ultimately, both science and education want the same thing: for all students to learn, grow, and thrive. And neither can get there alone. We need each other—now more than ever.