Edgar Morin died in Paris on 29 May 2026 at the age of 104, bringing to a close one of the most wide-ranging intellectual lives of the last century. Across that long life he returned, again and again, to one central idea: reality is not made of isolated parts that can be fully understood by breaking them down, but of interwoven systems in which order, disorder, uncertainty, part and whole are inseparable.
In a recent Observer article, Dennis Sherwood warns that “a single exam result can change a pupil’s life, but grading in England is a lottery.” The piece highlights a stark tension: exam grades carry life‑changing consequences, yet the system’s own regulator acknowledges that many GCSE, AS and A‑level grades are only reliable to within about one grade either way.
There's a familiar moment in teaching that almost every educator recognises. You hand out the rubric, explain the assignment, and watch thirty faces look back at you with the same expression — a kind of polite blankness that says I understand the words, but I don't yet understand what you mean. The criteria make sense in the abstract. What "good" looks like in practice is another matter entirely.
The annual Skills England report was issued yesterday. As always it made for interesting reading. Coming on the back of the Interim report from Alan Milburn about the parlous state of youth unemployment and education the stakes could not be higher or more urgent.
Edgar Morin died in Paris on 29 May 2026 at the age of 104, bringing to a close one of the most wide-ranging intellectual lives of the last century. Across that long life he returned, again and again, to one central idea: reality is not made of isolated parts that can be fully understood by breaking them down, but of interwoven systems in which order, disorder, uncertainty, part and whole are inseparable.
As educational ministries and professional bodies globally modernise their frameworks, learning objectives have fundamentally shifted. Traditional education models assessed knowledge recall through closed, easily quantifiable test formats.
In a recent Observer article, Dennis Sherwood warns that “a single exam result can change a pupil’s life, but grading in England is a lottery.” The piece highlights a stark tension: exam grades carry life‑changing consequences, yet the system’s own regulator acknowledges that many GCSE, AS and A‑level grades are only reliable to within about one grade either way.
There's a familiar moment in teaching that almost every educator recognises. You hand out the rubric, explain the assignment, and watch thirty faces look back at you with the same expression — a kind of polite blankness that says I understand the words, but I don't yet understand what you mean. The criteria make sense in the abstract. What "good" looks like in practice is another matter entirely.
The annual Skills England report was issued yesterday. As always it made for interesting reading. Coming on the back of the Interim report from Alan Milburn about the parlous state of youth unemployment and education the stakes could not be higher or more urgent.
We are living through an anxious moment in education. AI is reshaping what matters, curriculum is shifting under our feet, and many of the old certainties no longer feel certain at all. In that kind of climate, assessment can easily become another source of pressure: another place where people are asked to act with confidence before they have had the chance to build it. It does not have to be like that.
For years, we’ve been told that education systems need to be more “resilient”. Resilient curriculum. Resilient assessment. Resilient students. In a world of AI, that sounds reassuring, but it quietly sets the wrong ambition. Resilience, in the way we usually use it, means being able to withstand shocks and stay the same. The problem is that AI is not a one‑off storm. It is a permanent change in the climate.
UbD (Understanding by Design®) encourages teachers to design authentic performance tasks: essays, presentations, podcasts, investigations, portfolios, prototypes, and other complex responses that make big ideas visible. But when that work has to be judged, the system often falls back on tools and habits better suited to narrower, more standardised forms of assessment.
Walk into a medieval guildhall and a modern AI lab and, on the surface, they could not be more different. One smells of timber, leather and metal; the other of coffee and electronics. Yet both are wrestling with the same underlying question: how does a community grow and protect its shared sense of what “good” looks like – and keep that sense of quality alive when everything around it is changing?