The neologism “neuromyth” has now become part of discourse in the field of mind, brain, and education. Put together, the terms “neuro” and “myth” may seem sensible, even seductive. “Neuro” (or “neural”) refers to the nervous system, and more specifically to the brain. We speak of neuroimaging methods or neuroscientific research. “Myth” refers to a false belief (i.e., a misconception), typically based on findings that have not been substantiated, or that are extrapolated too far and therefore are not supported by evidence. Sometimes these are referred to as “urban myths” or “folk myths.” Within the educational world, a “neuromyth” typically refers to a claim that a certain practice is based on “solid” evidence from brain research—and yet that claim does not withstand scrutiny. Such myths are typically strongly held and often uncontested.

It seems clear that we should not accept or transmit “neuromyths.” Yet, when it comes to research with educational implications, this two‐word phrase needs to be unpacked, and its invocation scrutinized.

As an example, I draw primarily on a recent article in this journal. Blanchette Sarrasin, Riopel, and Masson (2019) put forth the following “neuromyth”: “Students have a predominant intelligence profile, for example, logico‐mathematical, musical, or interpersonal, which must be considered in teaching.” This example caught my attention because it clearly draws from the theory of multiple intelligences, which I developed in the early 1980s (Gardner, 1983). This so‐called “neuromyth” disturbed me both because, as stated, it says nothing about the brain, and because it is not an idea that I (or anyone else to my knowledge) has put forth or defended. I return to this example after introducing some basic contextual factors in this—or indeed in any—area that purports to span research and practice.

First, there is a difference between a purely scientific claim—for example, the human brain has approximately 100 billion neurons—and a scientific claim with putative educational implications. The purely scientific claim can be supported or undermined by further research, and textbooks can accordingly be updated. However, we cannot simply claim that we should make more or better use of these billions of neurons for educational purposes, let alone that we know how to do so. It depends on the desired purposes, how they are to be achieved, even whether more or less “use” is a good thing. The educational claim turns out to be either circular or vacuous. Indeed, once one moves from “science” to “education” one has indubitably entered the realm of cultural values. Simply put, there is no good education or bad education. It all depends on what you want to achieve, how, and over which time period, and at what costs.

Second, the mention of “brain” or “neurological evidence”—or in fact even a photograph or drawing of the brain—is itself a loaded practice. There is evidence that simply including such linguistic or visual citation makes an article more convincing to readers—even when no changes whatsoever have been made to the wording (McCabe & Castel, 2008). So, we need to be particularly wary of attempts to “wave the neuro‐flag.”

Third, and this stricture is applicable to any assertion, not just to statements in this arena of discourse, any statement can be made more or less plausible just by including hedges, hypotheticals, and avoiding excessive claims. So‐called “neuromyths” are generally stated concretely and absolutely, asserting that particular assertions are “always” or “completely” true—or, as in the aforementioned example “must” rather than “sometimes,” “usually,” “for the most part,” or “under these conditions.” As any test‐maker knows, if one wants to “trap” a respondent and make him or her appear gullible to “neuromyths,” just point out one instance in which the concrete truism does not hold, and the entire theoretical premise is falsified and hence abandoned. The baby is thrown out with the bathwater, so to speak.

While I begin with a mischaracterization of my own work, so‐called “neuromyths” abound. In addition to the ones investigated by Blanchette Sarrasin et al. (2019), one can hardly escape references in the media, including the popular scientific press, to claims about the male brain versus the female brain, the left brain versus the right brain, the brain as a single functioning unit, or, alternatively, the brain as a set of independently functioning modules.

Those who would wave the “neuromyth” flag need to attend to these points. Otherwise, they may have created rather than exposed a “neuromyth”—conflating science and practice, using a visual trick or a linguistic twist, assuming that the educational implications of scientific claims are either simply true or false. While some implications are unjustified and should be summarily dismissed, many others sit in a gray area, where there may be some truth to them in some situations. Extensive research is required to characterize their truthfulness and usefulness in various educational situations.

Even when these warnings are borne in mind, there are other pitfalls, especially relevant for psychological and neurological research. One consideration is alertness to the population on which educational recommendations are based. Much neural evidence comes from studies of animals—but there is a large distance between findings obtained with rodents and findings obtained with human beings. But even when the population that has been studied consists of Homo sapiens, generalizations are risky. So much of published research is based on college sophomores who take psychology courses, and perhaps 90% of all research is based on contemporary Western populations; we simply do not know whether similar findings would be obtained with human populations in other times and places and under other conditions (Henrich, Heine, & Norenzayan, 2010).

And then there is the difference between tendencies and absolutes. Psychologists may have defined five major personality factors (Goldberg, 1993)—but these by no means exhaust all personality factors, let alone their numerous and often complex interactions and situational dependencies. Left‐handers may on the average be more likely than right‐handers to think spatially and creatively and therefore to study architecture, but this information is by no means helpful in individual cases. That is, we cannot go from statistical differences between groups, no matter how strong, to claims about specific individuals (Feller, 2008). And of course, as every methodological guidebook reminds us, one cannot infer causation from correlation. Left‐handers may be more likely to study architecture, but we have no idea of why this happens to be the case, or how easily this observation could be dissolved or even reversed. Finally, and importantly, there are all kinds of left‐handers, for various reasons.

As someone who has worked in this area of research for nearly half a century, I am amazed at how prevalent is the following tendency: laypersons, and even authorities confuse or confound “mind” and “brain.” Brain refers to tissue within the skull, while mind is a construct invoked by psychologists as well as laypersons to refer to cognition, personality, emotions, will, and the like—each of which is a construct we have posited. “Brain” should be invoked only when there is direct evidence obtained by studies of the nervous system; and yet the terms “neuro” or “brain” are routinely invoked even when the evidence is purely psychological, or even anecdotal.

Let me now return to the example of a “neuromyth” presented above, a “neuromyth” apparently derived from my own research and writings. Despite the author's claim, the theory of multiple intelligences does not qualify as a “neuromyth.” To begin with, there is no mention of the brain—and indeed, while brain evidence was cited in my original work, I have never claimed that “MI” is a neurological theory—it is a psychological theory, pure and simple. Furthermore, in my writings, I have gone to great pains to emphasize that even if the theory is plausible, no educational recommendations follow directly from it. Education always involves values, and from the same claims, one can draw a variety of implications, even ones that are apparently contradictory to one another. For example, if there are several intelligences, one can either teach to strength or to bolster weakness or, indeed, do both! One can either organize the curriculum around each intelligence separately, or one can deliberately attempt to integrate them (Gardner, 1995).

Third, I have gone to equally great length to separate the notion of “intelligences” from that of “learning styles”—the latter a phrase that I do not like and which, indeed, does not make sense to me. And yet, in the article by Blanchette Sarrasin and colleagues and other writings, the two concepts are confounded.

One wonders about the source of the claim that assertions about multiple intelligences constitute a “neuromyth.” In the published article, there is only one citation, Willingham (2004). When I contacted the senior author, she mentioned two other citations. In all three cases, I have responded in writing to the critics. Indeed, there is an entire 400‐page book Howard Gardner Under Fire in which I respond to these and other critiques (Shaler, 2006). I would ask that both researchers and educators review these writings and exchanges before connecting the theory that I developed with the provocative, and contentious phrase “neuromyth.”

The authors might respond that the myths are not my (Howard Gardner's) responsibility. Agreed, but, alas, such characterizations risk throwing out the theoretical baby with the extraneous and unsourced bathwater.