Part 33

§ 14. But, if adopting Mr. Spencer’s own measure, we estimate the value of knowledge by its influence on action, we shall probably rank “accomplishments” much higher than they have hitherto been placed in the schemes of educationists. Knowledge and skill connected with the business of life, are of necessity acquired in the discharge of business. But the knowledge and skill which make our leisure valuable to ourselves and a source of pleasure to others, can seldom be gained after the work of life has begun. And yet every day a man may benefit by possessing such an ability, or may suffer from the want of it. One whose eyesight has been trained by drawing and painting finds objects of interest all around him, to which other people are blind. A primrose by a river’s brim is, perhaps, more to him who has a feeling for its form and colour than even to the scientific student, who can tell all about its classification and component parts. A knowledge of music is often of the greatest practical service, as by virtue of it, its possessor is valuable to his associates, to say nothing of his having a constant source of pleasure and a means of recreation which is most precious as a relief from the cares of life. Of far greater importance is the knowledge of our best poetry. One of the first reforms in our school course would have been, I should have thought, to give this knowledge a much more prominent place; but Mr. Spencer consigns it, with music and drawing, to “the leisure part of education.” Whether a man who was engrossed by science, who had no knowledge of the fine arts except as they illustrated scientific laws, no acquaintance with the lives of great men, or with any history but sociology, and who studied the thoughts and emotions expressed by our great poets merely with a view to their psychological classification—whether such a man could be said to “live completely” is a question to which every one, not excepting Mr. Spencer himself, would probably return the same answer. And yet this is the kind of man which Mr. Spencer’s system would produce where it was most successful.

§ 15. Let me now briefly sum up the conclusions arrived at, and consider how far I differ from Mr. Spencer. I believe that there is no one study which is suited to train the faculties of the mind at every stage of its development, and that when we have decided on the necessity of this or that knowledge, we must consider further what is the right time for acquiring it. I believe that intellectual education should aim, not so much at communicating facts, however valuable, as at showing the boy what true knowledge is, and giving him the power and the _disposition_ to acquire it. I believe that the exclusively scientific teaching which Mr. Spencer approves would not effect this. It would lead at best to a very one-sided development of the mind. It might fail to engage the pupil’s interest sufficiently to draw out his faculties, and in this case the net outcome of his school-days would be no larger than at present. Of the knowledges which Mr. Spencer recommends for special objects, some, I think, would not conduce to the object, and some could not be communicated early in life, (1.) For indirect self-preservation we do not require to know physiology, but the results of physiology. (2.) The science which bears on special pursuits in life has not, in many cases, any pecuniary value, and although it is most desirable that every one should study the science which makes his work intelligible to him, this must usually be done when his schooling is over. The school will have done its part if it has accustomed him to the intellectual processes by which sciences are learned, and has given him an intelligent appreciation of their value.[191] (3.) The right way of rearing and training children should be studied, but not by the children themselves. (4.) The knowledge which fits a man to discharge his duties as a citizen is of great importance, and, as Dr. Arnold pointed out, is likely to be entirely neglected by those who have to struggle for a livelihood. The schoolmaster should, therefore, by no means neglect this subject with those of his pupils whose school-days will soon be over, but, probably, all that he can do is to cultivate in them a sense of the citizen’s duty, and a capacity for being their own teachers. (5.) The knowledge of poetry, belles-lettres, and the fine arts, which Mr. Spencer hands over to the leisure part of education, is the only knowledge in his program which I think should most certainly form a prominent part in the curriculum of every school.

§ 16. I therefore differ, though with great respect, from the conclusions at which Mr. Spencer has arrived. But I heartily agree with him that we are bound to inquire into the relative value of knowledges, and if we take, as I should willingly do, Mr. Spencer’s test, and ask how does this or that knowledge influence action (including in our inquiry its influence on mind and character, through which it bears upon action), I think we should banish from our schools much that has hitherto been taught in them, besides those old tormentors of youth (laid, I fancy, at last—_requiescant in pace_)—the _Propria quæ Maribus_ and its kindred absurdities. What we _should_ teach is, of course, not so easily decided as what we _should not_.

§ 17. I now come to consider Mr. Spencer’s second chapter, in which, under the heading of “Intellectual Education,” he gives an admirable summing up of the main principles in which the great writers on the subject have agreed, from Comenius downwards. These principles are, perhaps, not all of them unassailable, and even where they are true, many mistakes must be expected before we arrive at the best method of applying them; but the only reason that can be assigned for the small amount of influence they have hitherto exercised is, that most teachers are as ignorant of them as of the abstrusest doctrines of Kant and Hegel.

§ 18. In stating these principles Mr. Spencer points out that they merely form a commencement for a science of education. “Before educational methods can be made to harmonise in character and arrangement with the faculties in the mode and order of unfolding, it is first needful that we ascertain with some completeness how the faculties _do_ unfold. At present we have acquired on this point only a few general notions. These general notions must be developed in detail—must be transformed into a multitude of specific propositions before we can be said to possess that _science_ on which the _art_ of education must be based. And then, when we have definitely made out in what succession and in what combinations the mental powers become active, it remains to choose out of the many possible ways of exercising each of them, that which best conforms to its natural mode of action. Evidently, therefore, it is not to be supposed that even our most advanced modes of teaching are the right ones, or nearly the right ones.” It is not to be wondered at that we have no science of education. Those who have been able to observe the phenomena have had no interest in generalising from them. Up to the present time the schoolmaster has been a person to whom boys were sent to learn Latin and Greek. He has had, therefore, no more need of a science than the dancing-master.[192] But the present century, which has brought in so many changes, will not leave the state of education as it found it. Latin and Greek, if they are not dethroned in our higher schools, will have their despotism changed for a very limited monarchy. A course of instruction certainly without Greek and perhaps without Latin will have to be provided for middle schools. Juster views are beginning to prevail of the schoolmaster’s function. It is at length perceived that he has to assist the development of the human mind, and perhaps, by-and-bye, he may think it as well to learn all he can of that which he is employed in developing. When matters have advanced as far as this, we may begin to hope for a science of education. In Locke’s day he could say of physical science that there was no such science in existence. For thousands of years the human race had lived in ignorance of the simplest laws of the world it inhabited. But the true method of inquiring once introduced, science has made such rapid conquests, and acquired so great importance, that some of our ablest men seem inclined to deny, if not the existence, at least the value, of any other kind of knowledge. So, too, when teachers seek by actual observation to discover the laws of mental development, a science may be arrived at, which, in its influence on mankind, would perhaps rank before any we now possess.

§ 19. Those who have read the previous Essays will have seen in various forms most of the principles which Mr. Spencer enumerates, but I gladly avail myself of his assistance in summing them up.

1. We should proceed from the simple to the complex, both in our choice of subjects and in the way in which each subject is taught. We should begin with but few subjects at once, and, successively adding to these, should finally carry on all subjects abreast.

Each larger concept is made by a combination of smaller ones, and presupposes them. If this order is not attended to in communicating knowledge, the pupil can learn nothing but words, and will speedily sink into apathy and disgust.

§ 20. That we must proceed from the known to the unknown is something more than a corollary to the above;[193] because not only are new concepts formed by the combination of old, but the mind has a liking for what it knows, and this liking extends itself to all that can be connected with its object. The principle of using the known in teaching the unknown is so simple, that all teachers who really endeavour to make anything understood, naturally adopt it. The traveller who is describing what he has seen and what we have not seen tells us that it is in one particular like this object, and in another like that object, with which we are already familiar. We combine these different concepts we possess, and so get some notion of things about which we were previously ignorant. What is required in our teaching is that the use of the known should be employed more systematically. Most teachers think of boys who have no school learning as entirely ignorant. The least reflection shows, however, that they know already much more than schools can ever teach them. A sarcastic examiner is said to have handed a small piece of paper to a student and told him to write _all he knew_ on it. Perhaps many boys would have no difficulty in stating the sum of their school-learning within very narrow limits, but with other knowledge a child of five years old, could he write, might soon fill a volume.[194] Our aim should be to connect the knowledge boys bring with them to the schoolroom with that which they are to acquire there.[195] I suppose all will allow, whether they think it a matter of regret or otherwise, that hardly anything of the kind has hitherto been attempted. Against this state of things I cannot refrain from borrowing Mr. Spencer’s eloquent protest. “Not recognising the truth that the function of books is supplementary—that they form an indirect means to knowledge when direct means fail, a means of seeing through other men what you cannot see for yourself, teachers are eager to give second-hand facts in place of first-hand facts. Not perceiving the enormous value of that spontaneous education which goes on in early years, not perceiving that a child’s restless observation, instead of being ignored or checked, should be diligently ministered to, and made as accurate and complete as possible, they insist on occupying its eyes and thoughts with things that are, for the time being, incomprehensible and repugnant. Possessed by a superstition which worships the symbols of knowledge instead of the knowledge itself, they do not see that only when his acquaintance with the objects and processes of the household, the street, and the fields, is becoming tolerably exhaustive, only then should a child be introduced to the new sources of information which books supply, and this not only because immediate cognition is of far greater value than mediate cognition, but also because the words contained in books can be rightly interpreted into ideas only in proportion to the antecedent experience of things.”[196] While agreeing heartily in the spirit of this protest, I doubt whether we should wait till the child’s acquaintance with the objects and processes of the household, the streets, and the fields, is becoming tolerably exhaustive before we give him instruction from books. The point of time which Mr. Spencer indicates is, at all events, rather hard to fix, and I should wish to connect book-learning as soon as possible with the learning that is being acquired in other ways. Thus might both the books, and the acts and objects of daily life, win an additional interest. If, _e.g._, the first reading-books were about the animals, and later on about the trees and flowers which the children constantly meet with, and their attention was kept up by large coloured pictures, to which the text might refer, the children would soon find both pleasure and advantage in reading, and they would look at the animals and trees with a keener interest from the additional knowledge of them they had derived from books. This is, of course, only one small application of a very influential principle.

§ 21. One marvellous instance of the neglect of this principle is found in the practice of teaching Latin grammar before English grammar. As Professor Seeley has so well pointed out, children bring with them to school the knowledge of language in its concrete form. They may soon be taught to observe the language they already know, and to find, almost for themselves, some of the main divisions of words in it. But, instead of availing himself of the child’s previous knowledge, the schoolmaster takes a new and difficult language, differing as much as possible from English, a new and difficult science, that of grammar, conveyed, too, in a new and difficult terminology, and all this he tries to teach at the same time. The consequence is that the science is destroyed, the terminology is either misunderstood, or, more probably, associated with no ideas, and even the language for which every sacrifice is made, is found, in nine cases out of ten, never to be acquired at all.[197]

§ 22. 2. “All development is an advance from the indefinite to the definite.” I do not feel very certain of the truth of this principle, or of its application, if true. Of course, a child’s intellectual conceptions are at first vague, and we should not forget this; but it is rather a fact than a principle.

§ 23. 3. “Our lessons ought to start from the concrete, and end in the abstract.” What Mr. Spencer says under this head well deserves the attention of all teachers. “General formulas which men have devised to express groups of details, and which have severally simplified their conceptions by uniting many facts into one fact, they have supposed must simplify the conceptions of a child also. They have forgotten that a generalisation is simple only in comparison with the whole mass of particular truths it comprehends; that it is more complex than any one of these truths taken simply; that only, after many of these single truths have been acquired, does the generalisation ease the memory and help the reason; and that, to a mind not possessing these single truths, it is necessarily a mystery. Thus, confounding two kinds of simplification, teachers have constantly erred by setting out with “first principles,” a proceeding essentially, though not apparently, at variance with the primary rule [of proceeding from the simple to the complex], which implies that the mind should be introduced to principles through the medium of examples, and so should be led from the particular to the general, from the concrete to the abstract.” In conformity with this principle, Pestalozzi made the actual counting of things precede the teaching of abstract rules in arithmetic. Basedow introduced weights and measures into the school, and Mr. Spencer describes some exercise in cutting out geometrical figures in cardboard, as a preparation for geometry. The difficulty about such instruction is that it requires apparatus, and apparatus is apt to get lost or out of order. But if apparatus is good for anything at all, it is worth a little trouble. There is a tendency in the minds of many teachers to depreciate “mechanical appliances.” Even a decent black-board is not always to be found in our higher schools. But, though such appliances will not enable a bad master to teach well, nevertheless, other things being equal, the master will teach better with them than without them. There is little credit due to him for managing to dispense with apparatus. An author might as well pride himself on being saving in pens and paper.

§ 24. 4. “The genesis of knowledge in the individual must follow the same course as the genesis of knowledge in the race.” This is the thesis on which I have no opinion to offer.

§ 25. 5. From the above principle Mr. Spencer infers that every study should have a purely experimental introduction, thus proceeding through an empirical stage to a rational.

§ 26. 6. A second conclusion which Mr. Spencer draws is that, in education, the process of self-development should be encouraged to the utmost. Children should be led to make their own investigations, and to draw their own inferences. They should be told as little as possible, and induced to discover as much as possible. I quite agree with Mr. Spencer that this principle cannot be too strenuously insisted on, though it obviously demands a high amount of intelligence in the teacher. But if education is to be a training of the faculties, if it is to prepare the pupil to teach himself, something more is needed than simply to pour in knowledge and make the pupil reproduce it. The receptive and reproductive faculties form but a small portion of a child’s powers, and yet the only portion which many schoolmasters seek to cultivate. It is indeed, not easy to get beyond this point; but the impediment is in us, not in the children. “Who can watch,” ask Mr. Spencer, “the ceaseless observation, and inquiry, and inference, going on in a child’s mind, or listen to its acute remarks in matters within the range of its faculties, without perceiving that these powers it manifests, if brought to bear systematically upon studies _within the same range_, would readily master them without help? This need for perpetual telling results from our stupidity, not from the child’s. We drag it away from the facts in which it is interested, and which it is actively assimilating of itself. We put before it facts far too complex for it to understand, and therefore distasteful to it. Finding that it will not voluntarily acquire these facts, we thrust them into its mind by force of threats and punishment. By thus denying the knowledge it craves, and cramming it with knowledge it cannot digest, we produce a morbid state of its faculties, and a consequent disgust for knowledge in general. And when, as a result, partly of the stolid indolence we have brought on, and partly of still-continued unfitness in its studies, the child can understand nothing without explanation, and becomes a mere passive recipient of our instruction, we infer that education must necessarily be carried on thus. Having by our method induced helplessness, we make the helplessness a reason for our method.” It is, of course, much easier to point out defects than to remedy them: but every one who has observed the usual indifference of schoolboys to their work, and the waste of time consequent on their inattention or only half-hearted attention to the matter before them, and then thinks of the eagerness with which the same boys throw themselves into the pursuits of their play-hours, will feel a desire to get at the cause of this difference; and, perhaps, it may seem to him partly accounted for by the fact that their school-work makes a monotonous demand on a single faculty—the memory.

§ 27. 7. This brings me to the last of Mr. Spencer’s principles of intellectual education. Instruction must excite the interest of the pupils and therefore be pleasurable to them. “Nature has made the healthful exercise of our faculties both of mind and body pleasurable. It is true that some of the highest mental powers as yet but little developed in the race, and congenitally possessed in any considerable degree only by the most advanced, are indisposed to the amount of exertion required of them. But these, in virtue of their very complexity will in a normal course of culture come last into exercise, and will, therefore, have no demands made on them until the pupil has arrived at an age when ulterior motives can be brought into play, and an indirect pleasure made to counterbalance a direct displeasure. With all faculties lower than these, however, the immediate gratification consequent on activity is the normal stimulus, and under good management the only needful stimulus. When we have to fall back on some other, we must take the fact as evidence that we are on the wrong track. Experience is daily showing with greater clearness that there is always a method to be found productive of interest—even of delight—and it ever turns out that this is the method proved by all other tests to be the right one.”

§ 28. As far as I have had the means of judging, I have found that the majority of teachers reject this principle. If you ask them why, most of them will tell you that it is impossible to make school-work interesting to children. A large number also hold that it is not desirable. Let us consider these two points separately.