Part 28

§ 112. What about the education of the other “nation,” a nation of which the verb “to rule” has for many centuries been used in the passive voice, but can be used in that voice no longer? A century ago, with the partial exception of Scotland and Massachusetts, there was no such thing as school education for the people to be found anywhere in Europe or America. But from 1789 onwards power has been passing more and more from the few to the many; and as a natural consequence folk-schools (for which we have not yet found a name) have become of vast importance everywhere. The Germans, as we have seen, have been the disciples of Pestalozzi, and their elementary education in everything bears traces of his ideas. The English have organised a great system of elementary education in total ignorance of Pestalozzi. As usual, we seem to have supposed that the right system would come to us “in sleep.” But has it come? The children of the poor are now compelled by the law to attend an elementary school. What sort of an education has the law there provided for them? The Education Department professes to measure everything by results. Let us do the same. Suppose that on his leaving school we wished to forecast a lad’s future. What should we try to find out about him? No doubt we should ask what he knew; but this would not be by any means the main thing. His skill would interest us, and still more would his state of health. But what we should ask first and foremost is this, Whom does he love? Whom does he admire and imitate? What does he care about? What interests him? It is only when the answers to these questions are satisfactory, that we can think hopefully of his future; and it is only in so far as the school-course has tended to make the answers satisfactory, that it deserves our approval. Schools such as Pestalozzi designed would have thus deserved our approval; but we cannot say this of the schools into which the children of the English poor are now driven. In these schools the heart and the affections are not thought of, the powers of neither mind nor body are developed by exercise, and the children do not acquire any interests that will raise or benefit them.

§ 113. An advocate of our system would not deny this, but would probably say, “The question for us to consider is, not what is the best that in the most favourable circumstances might be attempted, but what is the best that in very restricted and by no means favourable circumstances, we are likely to get. The teachers in our schools are not self-devoting Pestalozzis, but only ordinary men and women, and still worse, ordinary boys and girls.[171] It would be of no use talking to our teachers (still less our pupil-teachers) about developing the affections and the mental or bodily powers of the children. All such talk could end in nothing but silly cant. As for character, we expect the school to cultivate in the children habits of order, neatness, industry. Beyond this we cannot go.”

And yet, though this seems reasonable, we feel that it is not quite satisfactory. If so much depends in all of us on “admiration, hope, and love,” we can hardly consider a system of education that entirely ignores them to be well adapted to the needs of human nature. If Pestalozzi was right, we must be wrong. We have never supposed the object of the school to be the development of the faculties of heart, of head, and of hand, but we have thought of nothing but learning—learning first of all to read, write, and cipher, and then in “good” schools, one or more “extra subjects” may be taken up, and a grant obtained for them. The sole object, both of managers and teachers, is to prepare for the Inspector, who comes once a year, and from an examination of five hours or so, pronounces on what the children have learnt.

§ 114. The engineer most concerned in the construction of this machine, the Right Hon. Robert Lowe, announced that there could be “no such thing as a science of education;” and as when we have no opinion of our own we always adopt the opinion of some positive person, we took his word for it. But what if the confident Mr. Lowe was mistaken? What if there _is_ such a science, and the aim of it is that children should grow up not so much to _know_ something as to _be_ something? In this case we shall be obliged sooner or later to give up Mr. Lowe and to come round to Pestalozzi.[172] Science is correct inferences drawn from the facts of the universe; and where such science exists, confident assertions that it does not and cannot exist are dangerous for the confident persons and for those who follow them. Even if “there is no such thing as a science of education,” such a thing as _education_ there is; and this is just what Mr. Lowe, and we may say the English, practically deny. They make arrangements for instruction and mete out “the grant” according to the results obtained, but they totally fail to conceive of the existence of _education_, education which has instruction among its various agents.

§ 115. In one respect the analogy between the educator and child and the gardener and plant, an analogy in which Pestalozzi no less than Froebel delighted, entirely breaks down. The gardener has to study the conditions necessary for the health and development of the plant, but these conditions lie outside his own life and are independent of it. With the educator it is different. Like the gardener he can create nothing in the child, but unlike the gardener he can further the development only of that which exists in himself. He _draws out_ in the young the intelligence and the sense of what is just, the love of what is beautiful, the admiration of what is noble, but this he can do only by his own intelligence and his own enthusiasm for what is just and beautiful and noble. Even industry is in many cases _caught_ from the teacher. In a volume of essays (originally published in the _Forum_), in which some men, distinguished as scholars or in literature in the United States, have given an account of their early years, we find that almost in every case they date their intellectual industry and growth from the time when they came under the influence of some inspiring teacher. Thus even for instruction and still more for education, the great force is _the teacher_. This is a truth which all our “parties” overlook. They wage their controversies and have their triumphs and defeats about unessentials, and leave the essentials to “crotchety educationists.” In such questions as whether the Church Catechism shall or shall not be taught, whether natural science shall or shall not figure in the time-table (without scientific teachers it can figure nowhere else), whether the parents or the Government shall pay for each child twopence or threepence a week, whether the ratepayers shall or shall not be “represented” among the Managers in “voluntary” schools, in all questions of this kind _education_ is not concerned; and yet these are the only questions that we think about. In the end it will perhaps dawn upon us that in every school what is important for education is not the time-table but the teacher, and that so far as pupil-teachers are employed education is impossible. Elsewhere (_infra_ p. 476) I have told of a man in the prime of life (he seemed between 40 and 50 years old) whose time was entirely taken up in teaching a large class of children, boys and girls, of six or seven years. He most certainly could and did educate them both in heart and mind. He made their lessons a delightful occupation to them, and he exercised over them the influence of a good and wise father. Here was the right system seen at its best. I do not say that all or even most adult teachers would have exercised so good an influence as this gentleman; but so far as they come up to what they ought to be and might be they do exercise such an influence. And this of course can be said of no _pupil_-teacher.

§ 116. As regards schools then, schools for the rich and schools for the poor, the great educating force is the personality of the teacher. Before we can have Pestalozzian schools we must have Pestalozzian teachers. Teachers must catch something of Pestalozzi’s spirit and enter into his conception of their task. Perhaps some of them will feel inclined to say: “Fine words, no doubt, and in a sense very true, that education should be the unfolding of the faculties according to the Divine idea; but between this high poetical theory and the dull prose of actual school-teaching, there is a great gulf fixed, and we cannot attend to both at the same time.” I know full well the difference there is between theories and plans of education as they seem to us when we are at leisure and can think of them without reference to particular pupils, and when all our energy is taxed to get through our day’s teaching, and our animal spirits jaded by having to keep order and exact attention among veritable schoolboys who do not answer in all respects to “the young” of the theorists. But whilst admitting most heartily the difference here, as elsewhere, between the actual and the ideal, I think that the dull prose of school-teaching would be less dull and less prosaic if our aim was higher, and if we did not contentedly assume that our present performances are as good as the nature of the case will admit of. Many teachers (perhaps I may say most) are discontented with the greater number of their pupils, but it is not so usual for teachers to be discontented with themselves. And yet even those who are most averse from theoretical views, which they call unpractical, would admit, as practical men, that their methods are probably susceptible of improvement, and that even if their methods are right, they themselves are by no means perfect teachers. Only let the _desire_ of improvement once exist, and the teacher will find a new interest in his work. In part, the treadmill-like monotony so wearing to the spirits will be done away, and he will at times have the encouragement of conscious progress. To a man thus minded, theorists may be of great assistance. His practical knowledge may, indeed, often show him the absurdity of some pompously enunciated principle, and even where the principles seem sound, he may smile at the applications. But the theorists will show him many aspects of his profession, and will lead him to make many observations in it, which would otherwise have escaped him. They will save him from a danger caused by the difficulty of getting anything done in the school-room, the danger of thinking more of means than ends. They will teach him to examine what his aim really is, and then whether he is using the most suitable methods to accomplish it.

Such a theorist is Pestalozzi. He points to a high ideal, and bids us measure our modes of education by it. Let us not forget that if we are practical men we are Christians, and as such the ideal set before us is the highest of all. “Be ye perfect, even as your Father in heaven is perfect.”

The Pestalozzian literature in German and even in French is now considerable, but it is still small in English. The book I have made most use of is _Histoire de Pestalozzi par R. de Guimps_ (Lausanne, Bridel), with its translation by John Russell (London: Sonnenschein. Appleton’s: N. Yk.). In Henry Barnard’s _Pestalozzi and Pestalozzianism_ are collected some good papers, among them Tilleard’s trans. from Raumer. We also have H. Kruesi’s _Pestalozzi_ (Cincinatti: Wilson, Hinkle, & Co.). I have already mentioned Miss Channing’s _Leonard and Gertrude_. The _Letters to Greaves_ are now out of print. A complete account of Pestalozzi and everything connected with him, bibliography included, is given in M. J. Guillaume’s article _Pestalozzi_, in Buisson’s _Dictionnaire de Pédagogie_. (See also _Pestalozzi_ par J. Guillaume (Hachette) just published.)

XVII.

FRIEDRICH FROEBEL.

(1783-1852.)

§ 1. I now approach the most difficult part of my subject. I have endeavoured to give some account of the lessons taught us by the chief Educational Reformers. No doubt my selection of these has been made in a fashion somewhat arbitrary, and there are names which do not appear and yet might reasonably be looked for if all the chief Educational Reformers were supposed to be included. But the plan of my book has restricted me to a few, and I am by no means sure that some to whom I have given a chapter are as worthy of it as some to whom I have not. I have in a measure been guided by fancy and even by chance. One man, however, I dare not leave out. All the best tendencies of modern thought on education seem to me to culminate in what was said and done by Friedrich Froebel, and I have little doubt that he has shown the right road for further advance. Of what he said and did I therefore feel bound to give the best account I can, but I am well aware that I shall fail, even more conspicuously than in other cases, to do him justice. There are some great men who seem to have access to a world from which we ordinary mortals are shut out. Like Moses “they go up into the Mount,” and the directions they give us are based upon what they have seen in it. But we cannot go up with them; so we feel that we very imperfectly understand them; and when there can be not the smallest doubt of their sincerity we at times hesitate about the nature of their visions. For myself I must admit that I very imperfectly understand Froebel. I am convinced, as I said, that he has pointed out the right road for our advance in education; but he was perhaps right in saying: “Centuries may yet pass before my view of the human creature as manifested in the child, and of the educational treatment it requires, are universally received.” It has already taken centuries to recover from the mistakes made at the Renascence. For the full attainment of Froebel’s standpoint perhaps a few additional centuries may be necessary.

§ 2. Friedrich Wilhelm August Froebel[173] was born at Oberweissbach, a village of the Thuringian Forest, on the 21st April, 1783. He completed his seventieth year, and died at Marienthal, near Bad-Liebenstein, on the 21st June, 1852. Like Comenius, with whom he had much in common, he was neglected in his youth; and the remembrance of his own early sufferings made him in after life the more eager in promoting the happiness of children. His mother he lost in his infancy, and his father, the pastor of Oberweissbach and the surrounding district, attended to his parish but not to his family. Friedrich soon had a stepmother, and neglect was succeeded by stepmotherly attention; but a maternal uncle took pity on him, and for some years gave him a home a few miles off at Stadt-Ilm. Here he went to the village school, but like many thoughtful boys he passed for a dunce. Throughout life he was always seeking for hidden connexions and an underlying unity in all things. In his own words: “Man, particularly in boyhood, should become intimate with nature—not so much with reference to the details and the outer forms of her phenomena as with reference to the Spirit of God that lives in her and rules over her. Indeed, the boy feels this deeply and demands it” (_Ed. of M._, Hailmann’s trans., p. 162). But nothing of this unity was to be perceived in the piecemeal studies of the school; so Froebel’s mind, busy as it was for itself, would not work for the masters. His half-brother was therefore thought more worthy of a university education, and Friedrich was apprenticed for two years to a forester (1797-1799). Left to himself in the Thuringian Forest, Froebel now began to “become intimate with nature;” and without scientific instruction he obtained a profound insight into the uniformity and essential unity of nature’s laws. Years afterwards the celebrated Jahn (the “Father Jahn” of the German gymnasts) told a Berlin student of a queer fellow he had met, who made out all sorts of wonderful things from stones and cobwebs. This “queer fellow” was Froebel; and the habit of making out general truths from the observation of nature, especially of plants and trees, dated from his solitary rambles in the Forest. No training could have been better suited to strengthen his inborn tendency to mysticism; and when he left the Forest at the early age of seventeen, he seems to have been possessed by the main ideas which influenced him all his life. The conception which in him dominated all others was the _unity of nature_; and he longed to study natural sciences that he might find in them various applications of nature’s universal laws. With great difficulty he got leave to join his elder brother at the university of Jena; and there for a year he went from lecture-room to lecture-room hoping to grasp that connexion of the sciences which had for him far more attraction than any particular science in itself. But Froebel’s allowance of money was very small, and his skill in the management of money was never great; so his university career ended in an imprisonment of nine weeks for a debt of thirty shillings. He then returned home with very poor prospects, but much more intent on what he calls the course of “self-completion” (_Vervollkommnung meines selbst_) than on “getting on” in a worldly point of view. He was soon sent to learn farming, but was recalled in consequence of the failing health of his father. In 1802 the father died, and Froebel, now twenty years old, had to shift for himself. It was some time before he found his true vocation, and for the next three-and-a half years we find him at work now in one part of Germany now in another,—sometimes land-surveying, sometimes acting as accountant, sometimes as private secretary.

§ 3. But in all this his “outer life was far removed from his inner life.” “I carried my own world within me,” he tells us, “and this it was for which I cared and which I cherished.” In spite of his outward circumstances he became more and more conscious that a great task lay before him for the good of humanity; and this consciousness proved fatal to his “settling down.” “To thee may Fate soon give a settled hearth and a loving wife” (thus he wrote in a friend’s album in 1805); “me let it keep wandering without rest, and allow only time to learn aright my true relation to the world and to my own inner being. Do thou give bread to men; be it my effort to give men to themselves” (K. Schmidt’s _Gesch. d. Päd._, 3rd ed. by Lange, vol. iv, p. 277).

§ 4. As yet the nature of the task was not clear to him, and it seemed determined by accident. While studying architecture in Frankfort-on-the-Main, he became acquainted with the director of a model school who had caught some of the enthusiasm of Pestalozzi. This friend saw that Froebel’s true field was education, and he persuaded him to give up architecture and take a post in the model school. “The very first time,” he says, “that I found myself before thirty or forty boys, I felt thoroughly at home. In fact, I perceived that I had at last found my long-missed life-element; and I wrote to my brother that I was as well pleased as the fish in the water: I was inexpressibly happy.”

§ 5. In this school Froebel worked for two years with remarkable success; but he felt more and more his need of preparation, so he then retired and undertook the education of three lads of one family. Even in this he could not satisfy himself, and he obtained the parents’ consent to his taking the boys to Yverdun, and there forming with them a part of the celebrated institution of Pestalozzi. Thus from 1807 till 1809 Froebel was drinking in Pestalozzianism at the fountain head, and qualifying himself to carry on the work which Pestalozzi had begun. For the science of education had to deduce from Pestalozzi’s experience principles which Pestalozzi himself could not deduce; and “Froebel, the pupil of Pestalozzi, and a genius like his master, completed the reformer’s system; taking the results at which Pestalozzi had arrived through the necessities of his position, Froebel developed the ideas involved in them, not by further experience but by deduction from the nature of man, and thus he attained to the conception of true human development and to the requirements of true education” (Schmidt’s _Gesch. d. Päd._).

§ 6. Holding that man and nature, inasmuch as they proceed from the same Source, must be governed by the same laws, Froebel longed for more knowledge of natural science. Even Pestalozzi seemed to him not to “honour science in her divinity.” He therefore determined to continue the university course which had been so rudely interrupted eleven years before, and in 1811 he began studying at Göttingen, whence he proceeded to Berlin. In his Autobiography he tells us: “The lectures for which I had so longed really came up to the needs of my mind and soul, and made me feel more fervently than ever the certainty of the demonstrable inner connexion of the whole cosmical development of the universe. I saw also the possibility of man’s becoming conscious of this absolute unity of the universe, as well as of the diversity of things and appearances which is perpetually unfolding itself within that unity; and then when I had made clear to myself, and brought fully home to my consciousness the view that the infinitely varied phenomena in man’s life, work, thought, feeling, and position were all summed up in the unity of his personal existence I felt myself able to turn my thoughts once more to educational problems” (_Autob._ trans. by Michaelis and Moore, p. 89).

But again his studies were interrupted, this time by the king of Prussia’s celebrated call “To my people.” Though not a Prussian, Froebel was heart and soul a German. He therefore responded to the call, enlisted in Lützow’s corps, and went through the campaign of 1813. His military ardour, however, did not take his mind off education. “Everywhere,” he writes, “as far as the fatigues I underwent allowed, I carried in my thoughts my future calling as educator; yes, even in the few engagements in which I had to take part. Even in these I could gather experience for the task I proposed to myself.” Froebel’s soldiering showed him the value of discipline and united action, how the individual belongs not to himself but to the whole body, and how the whole body supports the individual.

Froebel was rewarded for his patriotism by the friendship of two men whose names will always be associated with his, Langethal and Middendorff. These young men, ten years younger than Froebel, became attached to him in the field, and were ever afterwards his devoted followers, sacrificing all their prospects in life for the sake of carrying out his ideas.