Whether known or unknown, what happened in the past sets the stage for the present, but it is only by entering people’s awareness, that is, by becoming knowledge, that the past contributes to framing their understanding of the present and of themselves. The lively debates concerning what should be fostered as the content of such awareness often focus on which specific events, people, and trends should be taught in history classrooms, displayed in a museum, memorialized in the public square, or recalled as a mark of national identity. In other words, the focus is on what stories about the past should be told.

Less discussed are the criteria that may enable individuals to evaluate the saliency, veracity, and accuracy of the events described, the cogency of the relations identified, the plausibility of the meanings suggested, and the strength of the arguments proposed. Maybe even less reflection is devoted to the nature of historical knowledge, the degree of certainty that it allows, and its suitability for change. Yet, I propose that it is precisely at this level that inquiries about the past may powerfully contribute to personal development. More specifically, reflection on how the process of knowing occurs may foster the ability to critically evaluate the knowledge of the past that one is able to generate or that others may propose, while an understanding of the nature of historical knowledge may favor an appreciation of its possibilities and limits, together with a more appropriate and useful conceptualization of what facts and interpretations are and what their relation may be.

Conversely, when devoid of criteria that can aid the evaluation of inquiries about the past, decisions about the what of history tend to rest uniquely on present concerns or personal preferences; the past, rather than contributing to an understanding of the present, is then used to bolster interpretations of the present in line with one’s ideology, interests, or culture, and history easily becomes a font of division and partisanship, a powerful tool for justifying specific political views or even wars, a means for demonizing what is perceived as different and “other” rather than the occasion for enriching one’s understanding of the features of our shared humanity and of oneself through an encounter with the “otherness” of the past.

The influence that domain-general epistemic beliefs have on learning and teaching has been explored in the cognitive literature for several decades. Much more recent is the study of how beliefs about the nature of knowledge and the process of knowing in specific disciplines influence their teaching and learning. The Beliefs about Learning and Teaching History Questionnaire (BLTHQ; Maggioni et al., 2004, 2009) and the Beliefs about History Questionnaire (BHQ; Maggioni, 2010) were born as an attempt to develop an assessment of epistemic beliefs in history and thus offer a tool for studying their relation with teaching and learning history and their eventual change over time.

Since their publication, these tools have been used to study students’ and teachers’ epistemic beliefs in history in a variety of contexts and with different degrees of success (Stoel et al., 2022). The outcomes of the studies have sometimes suggested modifications of the questionnaires and raised the issue of the suitability of these or other quantitative questionnaires for the study of epistemic beliefs. This body of research has also been enriched by qualitative studies and studies using different quantitative tools. Overall, as a field, I believe that we have gained important insights about the role that epistemic beliefs play in learning and teaching history. At the same time, as some of the studies included in this volume also illustrate, we have been puzzled by some of the findings, which have opened new questions and challenged our methods.

In this chapter, I hope to contribute to this work by briefly reviewing the theoretical principles underpinning the BLTHQ and BHQ and focusing on two findings that have been corroborated by several studies and have often emerged in the experience of teacher educators. I also want to propose an interpretation of these findings in light of Robert Kegan’s constructive-developmental framework (Kegan, 1982, 1994) and derive a few suggestions for pedagogical practice.

BLTHQ and BHQ Theoretical Underpinnings

The BLTHQ and the BHQ built on the educational psychology research on epistemic beliefs and, more specifically, on Marlene Schommer’s idea to assess them with the aid of a quantitative measure (Schommer, 1990). At the same time, these questionnaires tried to overcome the dichotomy between naïve and sophisticated beliefs that characterized Schommer’s work and, more specifically, the idea that beliefs that acknowledged the role of the knower in the generation of knowledge, including those compatible with an “anything goes” view, were sophisticated, while beliefs that granted any role to the object of knowledge were naïve. I was especially worried by the educational and, more broadly, social implications of this view, where little to no space was accorded to evidence in the generation of knowledge.

In addition, such a dichotomy did not seem to reflect the epistemic status of history, even after acknowledging the quite wide range of views among professional historians. On one hand, the generation of knowledge about the past requires a willingness to submit one’s insights to the test of the archive and of other available remnants from the past. On the other hand, subjectivity plays a key role in history not simply at the level of the knower, that is, of the historian whether professional or not; a degree of subjectivity is also present in most of the remnants of the past that mediate the knower’s access to that past.

A rough comparison with the physical sciences may help me to clarify what I mean. A scientist who studies a part of the physical world brings to that study her own questions, theories, prior understandings, and hypotheses, that is, her subjectivity; in this respect, epistemologically speaking, the situation she faces is not much different from the one faced by a historian. Yet, the part of the physical world that constitutes the object of the scientist’s study does not have its own subjectivity. The scientist will certainly interpret that reality, but the subjective factor will reside only on the “knower” side of the relation that makes knowledge possible. In contrast, the historian who studies a particular letter or diary that may shed light on the question of her interest is dealing not only with the subjectivity that she herself is bringing to the enterprise but also with the subjectivity inherent in the object she is studying, which includes the perspective, aims, and context of its author. This double level of subjectivity makes the epistemological landscape of history especially complex and the claims of what can be known about the past quite humble and often conditional; yet, it does not imply that any claim will do or that no (lower-case “t”) truth about the past can be found. I will return to the pedagogical implications of acknowledging this double level of subjectivity toward the end of this chapter.

Schommer’s (1990) framework was not the only one used to approach the study of epistemic beliefs. Besides other attempts to develop questionnaires addressing various dimensions of epistemic beliefs, researchers had also focused on the development of epistemic cognition. I found that developmental approaches to the study of epistemic development, and especially the work by Kuhn and her colleagues (2000), were mirroring quite nicely the developmental progressions described by Lee and his colleagues in relation to epistemically charged concepts such as historical evidence and historical accounts (Lee, 2004; Lee & Ashby, 2000; Lee & Shemilt, 2003). The theoretical descriptions of the Copier, Borrower, and Criterialist stances were based on the integration of these models (Maggioni et al., 2004, 2009). These frameworks and progressions were also compatible with a conceptualization of knowing that acknowledged the role of the knower without discounting the contribution of the reality studied, thus overcoming, at least in my mind, the naïve/sophisticated dichotomy underlying most of the extant questionnaires assessing domain-general epistemic beliefs.

The BLTHQ was built on this initial insight. Since we needed to use this questionnaire to measure eventual changes in the epistemic beliefs of elementary teachers participating in a professional development program, we decided to “translate” theoretical epistemic beliefs about history into statements regarding its learning and teaching. We later realized that this choice might have elicited beliefs about pedagogy or general beliefs about learning rather than epistemic beliefs about history to a greater degree than we had envisioned. It also turned out that some items in the questionnaire did not seem to contribute to explaining differences among individuals or align with any of the theoretical stances we had used to design the questionnaire. Thus, after additional refinement, we decided to drop some of the original statements and tried to focus more squarely on beliefs about history as a discipline. I called the revised questionnaire the BHQ.

As this volume illustrates, I believe that, as a community of researchers and history educators, we have learned quite a bit in these past years, although our instruments may still be too rough for capturing the nuances of epistemic thinking and its changes, nuances that often emerge more clearly from qualitative studies. The next sections discuss two findings that emerged across a broad range of studies and their implications for pedagogical practice.

Epistemic Inconsistency and Epistemic Wobbling

The first finding points to the phenomenon of epistemic inconsistency and epistemic wobbling. I encountered it very early in my research, but it was only after digging into different bodies of literature and several years spent listening to many different people interacting with epistemological statements that I became quite convinced that epistemic inconsistency is not merely an artifact of an unrefined measure, but an actual phenomenon, which has been observed across different countries, populations, and with the use of different instruments and research methods (for a review, see Stoel et al., 2022).

The interesting and pedagogically relevant questions for me then shifted toward understanding what factors and ideas are especially hindering consistency within what I believe are more adaptive epistemic stances, and what pedagogical moves and didactic tools can best support individuals facing such epistemic stumbling blocks. Why one stance should be considered preferable to another may rightly raise a question.

The reasons why I believe that fostering consistency with what we have described elsewhere (Maggioni et al., 2009) as a Criterialist stance is a worthwhile goal can be summarized as follows: first, this set of beliefs favors historical understanding by placing the knower in a position that facilitates her grappling with the epistemological challenges typically encountered in learning about the past. In addition, the habits of mind typical of the Criterialist stance can also be very useful for fostering a critical approach to present-day issues. For example, checking the reliability of one’s sources of information in relation to a specific question of interest and corroborating across them can be very helpful for coming to well-grounded, justified conclusions.

Second, consistency within the Criterialist stance presupposes the habit of acknowledging the role and the responsibility of the knower in the generation of historical knowledge, while favoring a gaze that embraces the otherness of the past that comes to us through its remnants.

Third, experiencing and reflecting on what making meaning may look like and feel like when these beliefs are espoused in relation to the process of historical understanding (i.e., in relation to an important, but limited aspect of one’s experience) may facilitate generalization of the principle that is at the root of such beliefs to arrive at a way of understanding and relating to oneself and to the world that is more capable of withstanding the demands of modern life (Kegan, 1994).

In what follows, I delve more deeply into this last reason by briefly summarizing the insights I gained from the literature with regard to epistemic inconsistency, especially in relation to the development of adolescents, young adults, and adults. In re-reading more carefully Perry’s work (1970), which is often cited as one of the founding studies of epistemic development, I noticed that such inconsistency had emerged also in his pivotal study, but it got buried in a footnote and mostly ignored by further research. More specifically, he had found that the college students he studied tended to interpret different sectors of their experience (e.g., academic, religious, career) on the basis of beliefs typical of different epistemic positions. In other words, epistemic positions seemed to be contextual and multiple positions could be manifested by the same individual at the same time. Since his focus was on tracking development, assigning each individual to the level of epistemic development that was demonstrated in most instances seemed an acceptable way of tracking development over time, while simplifying the scoring of the interviews without lowering interrater reliability.

A similar occurrence was also noted by King and Kitchener (2002). For this reason, they characterized epistemic development as the movement of a wave embracing at any time a number of beliefs belonging to different stages. Within the developmental psychology perspective, I have always found the work on women’s ways of knowing (Belenky et al., 1997) and the work by Robert Kegan (1982, 1994) especially enlightening. These lines of research explored the connection between epistemic development and the self and further characterized epistemic inconsistency as part of one’s developmental journey.

I was drawn to these lines of research because I had noted that individuals can be very uncomfortable when they realize that they entertain inconsistent beliefs, but are unable to reconcile them. In my research and teaching experience, these reactions usually surfaced after students or teachers were asked to reflect on epistemically charged statements (e.g., the ones comprised in the BHQ) or as the outcome of learning experiences purposely designed to foster an emergence of student epistemic beliefs. When asked to articulate their thinking, students’ and teachers’ response to the realization that the epistemic views they entertained had been challenged, together with their inability to effectively address the challenge, usually had a strong affective connotation. It was quite evident to me that these students and teachers were not dealing with abstract, far-away ideas; what they felt to be at stake was deeply personal.

It is at this level that I have found the work of Robert Kegan (1982, 1994) very useful. I am sharing here the insights I have gained, with no pretense to convey the breadth and depth of his research; those who finds these brief remarks enticing may want to read his work directly. Building on Piaget’s (e.g., 1952, 1954) and Perry’s (1970) work, and more generally on the main tenets of constructivism and developmentalism, Kegan proposes a view of the person as an evolving, inherently meaning-making being. It is only within this meaning-making context that what happens to the person becomes an experience, a feeling, a perception, a thought. Meaning-making embraces both the process of developing a logical, predictive theory about the world and the more existential process of dealing with questions and answers about the meaning (or meaninglessness) of life, which guide one’s commitment. According to Kegan, how a person makes meaning across a variety of contexts depends on the specific principle of mental organization that characterizes her development at a certain point in her lifetime.

More specifically, the way in which people think about their own thinking, their feelings, their relating to others, and their inner experiences depends on the specific principle that guides the organization of meaning across these different contexts. It is this principle that develops across time and characterizes the mental capacity of the person. In his work, Kegan explores how the principles that inform how people construct meaning develop over the lifespan, together with the transformations in consciousness that occur over time. In doing so, he extends prior developmental research by looking at adulthood as comprising a variety of capacities of mind, rather than being the end-point of personal development.

For example, elementary/early middle school children have usually reached what Kegan (1994, pp. 28–30) calls a second order of consciousness, and tend to organize their experience according to the “durable categories” principle. In talking about the past, they can link one event to another and build a story, but only in concrete terms, without organizing it under an abstract theme, although they can identify simple relations of cause and effect. In the context of learning history, and in line with prior research in the domain (Lee, 2004), this principle suggests that these students can understand and use primary concepts (i.e., peasants, king) and learn narratives that may include relations of cause and effect, but they will struggle to understand the different nature of colligatory concepts, such as the Middle Ages or the French revolution, and thus the more explicit role of the historian in the generation and ordering of historical knowledge.

By the end of adolescence, a person tends to develop what Kegan (1994, pp. 28–32) calls a third order of consciousness, characterized by the cross-categorical meaning-making principle (socialized mind). Not only can the person recognize her own point of view, she can also acknowledge other people’s point of view. Further, she can internalize the values and rules of her group or society, which become her own. From the point of view of history, adolescents can understand how history is written and internalize the “procedural rules” of the historians’ community. They can also identify the themes and values expressed in a particular narrative of events. Yet, at this level of development, adolescents are not able to step out of the system of rules and values provided by the community (the disciplinary community, in this case). Thus, they have not developed a personal criterion (or set of criteria) to decide whether a certain narrative may be preferable to another one, as long as both respect the procedural rules established by the community.

What happens when a person at this level of development is confronted by the possibility that the story validated by her community conveys only a limited view of the past, even if it was produced in accordance with the procedural rules of the disciplinary community? How to decide about other complementary or alternative views? In pondering these questions, she may realize that the principle that informs her meaning-making leaves her at a loss. She may also realize that the disequilibrium is not circumscribed to making sense of the past, but she may feel that it challenges the very principle organizing her whole experience, including her relationships, the values she holds, and the way in which she sees herself. If the textbook, even if good, does not tell the whole and true story about the past, and the history teacher (i.e., the authority) does not have certain and complete knowledge either, what about the knowledge that she has thus far borrowed from other books or other authorities? Far from being a mere theoretical business, her very self and the way in which she has thus far made sense of the world are at stake. If a person does not flee from this realization, the position in which she finds herself is vertiginous.

In order to make meaning out of the challenging experience described above, a person would need a move toward the development of what Kegan (1994, pp. 92–95) calls a self-authoring mind (fourth order of consciousness), that is, she should become able to look at the values and rules she has received from her group and allow herself to evaluate them. She would come to see that there are different historical theories and historiographic traditions, each one with its own values, interests, and merits, but she would retain the responsibility to evaluate them and to contribute her own voice. Yet, developmental research suggests that such a move does not tend to happen till later in adulthood, and not for everyone.

Although I believe that Kegan’s third and fourth order of consciousness provide especially useful insights for phenomena observed in research on learning and teaching history, this is not the end of the developmental story. For example, in order to realize that each theory and tradition, actually each discipline, offers just a partial way of understanding reality, a person would need to develop what Kegan calls a self-transforming mind (fifth order of consciousness; 1994, pp. 290–291). Only by relativizing the kind of knowing experienced by the person within any particular system (e.g., a disciplinary community), can the person become able to reflect critically on the systems (e.g., the disciplines) themselves. Not only does she become able to conceive that others may have a different set of values and opinions that make sense within their own system of reference, but she also embraces the difference and potential conflict as what may enrich and transform her own way of understanding, precisely through the encounter and exchange with what is other.

Within this framework of developmental theory, I think that epistemic wobbling can be understood as the growing pains of an evolving mind, challenged to make meaning out of an experience that is, for its present way of thinking, quite over its head, just to cite Kegan again (1994).

For example, I have found in my research and, more generally, in my teaching experience that people tend not to welcome the complexity of the epistemic landscape of history. As soon as they realize that the past and history are not isomorphic and that history cannot grant certain and exhaustive access to the past, they tend to find the kind of epistemic quagmire that ensues not pleasant at all. I have seen this discomfort emerging especially when people are asked to justify their degree of agreement or disagreement with statements describing specific epistemic beliefs. I also saw it emerging clearly in working with teachers during different professional development programs, and also in my social studies methods classes when teacher candidates were challenged, maybe for the first time, to think deeply about the nature of the knowledge they possessed about the past.

The discomfort that the epistemic nature of history introduces is not merely cognitive; rather, it tends to evoke strong feelings. Developmental considerations aside, I wonder if this may result from the fact that past events and people have deep significance for our lives as individuals and as societies, with their history based on and conveying values and meanings that matter deeply for our lives today.

By reflecting on epistemological statements or maybe after an experience with historical sources that did not nicely align with each other, people may come to realize that a degree of subjectivity is inescapable in knowing about the past; what should they do, then, with all the facts that they have thus far believed and that play a significant role in their personal identity and choices? Doubting all of them may likely be overwhelming, especially if individuals are not equipped with the kind of epistemic thinking (i.e., an organizing principle, in Kegan’s framework) that could be helpful for overcoming the impasse. Their mind may be a socialized mind, but not ready to become a self-authoring mind, yet. My hypothesis is that, at least in the short term, epistemic inconsistency, though painful when squarely faced, may allow the self to continue making sense of her experiences, while providing the space for working on the disequilibrium.

Taking up the responsibility for one’s own knowledge implied by a self-authoring mind may feel scary, as one of the students in one of my studies told me. She stated that she did not want to be taught to deal with conflicting evidence because, and I quote, “Then you have to think and to be like ‘Oh, what is, which is right?’ And then you can make the mistake of being wrong and then you’ll tell everyone the wrong thing and change what really happened” (Maggioni, 2010, p. 221). Conversely, I have also witnessed the satisfaction of those who, after reflection, capture a glimpse of how liberating and empowering such a new way of thinking could be.

Developing (or not) the Capacity to Think Historically

The second finding that I want to recall here regards the implementation of curricula aiming to develop historical thinking. In the past decades, several history curricula have explicitly listed among their goals an introduction to historical inquiry, which includes the analysis of primary and secondary sources, and heuristics such as sourcing, contextualization, and corroboration. More rarely, reformed curricula have focused on the development of historical questions—which is telling, but unfortunate in my view, since such a move would enable students to experience some explicit agency in what historical knowledge is generated and thus contribute to their epistemic development.

Teacher education has likewise tried to prepare teachers for this task. New didactic tools have been developed and tested, and several studies have reported on their preliminary effects. Some lines of research and some curricula have broadened this aim, making the point that thinking historically cannot be reduced to a set of strategies or heuristics. Terms such as “historical understanding” or “development of historical consciousness” hint, in my view, at such a broader conception of what history is and should accomplish in the curriculum and in the education of the whole person.

As a result of these new goals and pedagogical approaches, students have been introduced to the use of multiple sources and, more generally, to some form of historical inquiry, but rarely has attention been given to their simultaneous epistemic development. I believe that it is mainly for this reason that thinking historically has often been reduced to its procedural component, which comprises strategies that can be singled out and applied to the “problem” at hand. Rather than being used as a means to illustrate the epistemic nature of history and thus equip students with a lens necessary for a critical understanding of the past, often exercises with multiple sources tend to be just that, an exercise in problem-solving.

The results of this approach are mixed at best because, together with heuristics that could potentially serve them well, students also develop habits and ideas that actually hinder historical understanding. For example, the idea that there are always two sides to every story. Why only two, and how to choose among them? Or the idea that reliability is an inner, absolute quality of a source, independent of the question it can help to explore. Another problematic idea is that “the truth” regarding a particular event or question can be reduced to a quantitative problem and thus identified with the narrative supported by the higher number of sources, irrespective of their reliability. Even sourcing, that is, considering the author of a specific source, its context, and audience, tends often to be conceived and practiced as an end in itself, rather than serving as an aid to the interpretation of the source.

A corollary is that texts (whether written or otherwise) are conceived as mainly authorless, and reading is often reduced to extracting “the” meaning or “the” main idea from the text, not engaged in as a dialogue between a writer and a reader, in which both of them contribute their voices. The confusion between bias and perspective and the dichotomy of facts versus opinions are additional examples of potential stumbling blocks.

In other words, once translated into pedagogical practice, an education to thinking historically has often been detached from the kind of epistemic development that it requires. Going back to Kegan’s framework for development, it seems to me that thinking historically would require at a minimum a self-authoring mind, while most high-school students are still struggling with developing a socialized mind. Note that the way of thinking afforded by a socialized mind allows for internalizing the procedural rules of the disciplinary community and the values and themes expressed by a particular narrative, but it still does not enable the person to “step out” of the rules of the community and express her own voice. Note also that, based on developmental research, many adults do not manifest the features of a self-authoring mind in making sense of their experiences. As a result, there is likely a mismatch between the goals listed in the history curricula and the students’ (and most teachers’ or aspiring teachers’) epistemic development.

Pedagogical Implications

I suggest a few pedagogical implications of these findings and understandings, together with several questions that I hope will be useful for future research and reflective practice.

First, if sense is not found ready-made in the world or in the past, but we make sense of the world and of the past, historical understanding implies being able to reflect on the criteria guiding our own constructions, so that the encounter with the past is marked by the empathy necessary for understanding. Yet, this implies a level of epistemic development that does not characterize adolescents and is still foreign to many adults. Can we foster such development, and if so, how? If not, what curricular goals could be propaedeutic to such a move, while also creating the conditions for historical understanding?

Second, we often ask students to be self-directed learners, and, even more so, we hope to educate teachers who are self-directed learners. In so doing, we are asking students to distinguish between what they should do (i.e., their understanding of what they are expected to do) and what they want to do, but this may not be a distinction readily understandable by a socialized mind. According to that way of thinking, what the society wants (i.e., the teacher, the authority) is what I want. The oxymoron, “The teacher wants us to be self-directing,” suggests what students may hear when they are asked to take charge of their own learning. “Why doesn’t the teacher just tell us the answer?” illustrates the gap between well-intentioned pedagogical practices and students’ development.

I believe that we, as educators, need to be aware that, by advocating for self-direction, we are expecting students and certain teachers to change the way they understand themselves, the world, and the relation between the two. We are also asking them to risk the loyalty they may have toward authorities; even if we are not asking them to change such loyalties, we are asking them to relativize them, to alter their relationship to them, to go back to them, if they so choose, as actors and not as subjects. To a socialized mind, this move often feels more like a frightful path than an exciting discovery of new possibilities. Even when people embrace it, their steps in the new landscape may be plagued by the worry that their trust in themselves and their own questions and goals is misplaced.

What features may characterize a space that is felt to be safe enough for exploring how the world would look if one let herself grow into this new way of thinking? I have found that just letting people know that they may feel uncomfortable or confused as a result of what I am going to propose and that such feelings may be a good sign that they are working on their own growth goes a long way in creating a facilitative climate.

Third, it is not impossible, in my view, to introduce students to the discourse typical of the disciplines even if they keep thinking according to the principles of a socialized mind, since this way of thinking enables them to join a community and espouse its rules and values. They would follow those rules (or apply the strategies and heuristics) because the community tells them to do so. These strategies and heuristics will enable them to deal with the level of subjectivity that, in history, is inherent in the object of knowledge; for example, they will learn to consider the perspective of a source and use it to sharpen their interpretation of that source. Yet, we would not enable students to be critical of what they are being socialized into; that is, we would not enable them to fully evaluate the level of subjectivity that is proper to the knower. The authority/teacher would retain the ultimate responsibility for the rules of the community; for example, the teacher will remain in charge of what counts as a good historical question worthy of exploration.

These rules may be benign and even necessary in consideration of the students’ level of development; I could even envision them as stepping stones on the way to development of historical understanding. Yet, as educators striving to foster the development of the whole person, we need to be aware that people not educated in looking critically at the kind of discourse that regulates a community (be it disciplinary, ideological, cultural, religious, or other) will not be equipped to critically evaluate the discourse of less-benevolent communities they may be socialized into. We are back to the difference between training and education, or learning and knowing. Yet, even if, as educators, we aim for the development of critical thinkers, we need to meet students and teachers where they are and accompany them while they develop a more complex and comprehensive way of thinking. What would such an accompaniment look like?

In other words, and this is my last point, how can we foster and support such development, which is painful because it springs from the awareness that one’s current way of seeing and experiencing is limited? This may be the one-billion dollar question. In concluding, I share four suggestions that seem in line with the developmental literature.

First of all, we need to propose inquiries that cannot be exhausted too quickly, together with creating a safe and supported space in which their complexity can be explored. I have found that it is very easy to err in both respects: aiming too low, and proposing pseudo inquiries that may build the content knowledge decided on by the teacher or the curriculum, but fail to prompt epistemic development, or aiming too high, by exposing students to the indeterminacy of historical inquiry without providing at the same time the support, encouragement, and understanding they need.

Second, we need to help students to use these inquiries as a means to explore their own way of thinking, to identify their own limits and, yes, their inconsistencies, and to develop a more adequate way of thinking. Fostering a culture in which reflection and a spirit of humility are valued may be important steps in this direction. Providing time and a safe and welcoming space for reflecting on the ideas that most commonly act as stumbling blocks has proved often useful in my work as teacher educator.

Third, we need to look at and evaluate the steps taken by each person within the context of their own overall developmental trajectory, allowing each one the necessary time to grow and meeting each one where they may be. In this context, well-designed instruments for the assessment of student epistemic beliefs become important pedagogical tools for accomplishing this work.

Finally, given the key role played by the written text in history, we need to pay attention to the teaching of reading in the context of other disciplines and academic subjects, and especially, I believe, in language arts. Unfortunately, several well-established reading pedagogies are grounded in learning theories that are at odds with the kind of epistemic development discussed in this chapter and include practices and ideas about text and learning from texts that may gravely hinder historical understanding (Maggioni et al., 2015). Again, being aware of where our students happen to stand at a certain point in time and how they think may be a very wise pedagogical move.