Part 44

[186] This proposition has been ably discussed by President W. H. Payne. _Contributions to the Science of Education._ “Education Values.”

[187] “The brewer,” as Mr. Spencer himself tells us, “if his business is very extensive, finds it pay to keep a chemist on the premises”—pay a good deal better, I suspect, than learning chemistry at school.

[188] Helps, who by taste and talent is eminently literary, put in this claim for science more than 20 [now nearer 50] years ago. “The higher branches of method cannot be taught at first; but you may begin by teaching orderliness of mind. Collecting, classifying, contrasting, and weighing facts are some of the processes by which method is taught.... Scientific method may be acquired without many sciences being learnt; but one or two great branches of science must be accurately known.” (_Friends in Council, Education._) Helps, though by his delightful style he never gives the reader any notion of over compression, has told us more truth about education in a few pages than one sometimes meets with in a complete treatise.

[189] J. S. Mill (who by the way, would leave history entirely to private reading, _Address at St. Andrews_, p. 21), has pointed out that “there is not a fact in history which is not susceptible of as many different explanations as there are possible theories of human affairs,” and that “history is not the foundation but the verification of the social science.” But he admits that “what we know of former ages, like what we know of foreign nations, is, with all its imperfectness, of much use, by correcting the narrowness incident to personal experience.” (Dissertations, Vol. I, p. 112.)

[190] It is difficult to treat seriously the arguments by which Mr. Spencer endeavours to show that a knowledge of science is necessary for the practice or the enjoyment of the fine arts. Of course, the highest art of every kind is based on science, that is, on truths which science takes cognizance of and explains; but it does not therefore follow that “without science there can be neither perfect production nor full appreciation.” Mr. Spencer tells us of mistakes which John Lewis and Rossetti have made for want of science. Very likely; and had those gentlemen devoted much of their time to science we should never have heard of their blunders—or of their pictures either. If they were to paint a piece of woodwork, a carpenter might, perhaps, detect something amiss in the mitring. If they painted a wall, a bricklayer might point out that with their arrangement of stretchers and headers the wall would tumble down for want of a proper bond. But even Mr. Spencer would not wish them to spend their time in mastering the technicalities of every handicraft, in order to avoid these inaccuracies. It is the business of the painter to give us form and colour as they reveal themselves to the eye, not to prepare illustrations of scientific text-books. The physical sciences, however, are only part of the painter’s necessary equipment, according to Mr. Spencer. “He must also understand how the minds of spectators will be affected by the several peculiarities of his work—a question in psychology!” Still more surprising is Mr. Spencer’s dictum about poetry. “Its rhythm, its strong and numerous metaphors, its hyperboles, its violent inversions, are simply exaggerations of the traits of excited speech. To be good, therefore, poetry must pay attention to those laws of nervous action which excited speech obeys.” It is difficult to see how poetry can pay attention to anything. The poet, of course must not violate those laws, but, if he _has paid attention_ to them in composing, he will do well to present his MS. to the local newspaper. [It seems the class is not extinct of whom Pope wrote:—

“Some drily plain, without invention’s aid “Write dull receipts how poems may be made.”

_Essay on Criticism._]

[191] Speaking of law, medicine, engineering, and the industrial arts, J. S. Mill remarks: “Whether those whose speciality they are will learn them as a branch of intelligence or as a mere trade, and whether having learnt them, they will make a wise and conscientious use of them, or the reverse, depends less on the manner in which they are taught their profession, than upon _what sort of mind they bring to it—what kind of intelligence and of conscience the general system of education has developed in them_.”—Address at St. Andrews, p. 6.

[192] “Comme vous n’avez pas su ou comme vous n’avez pas voulu atteindre la pensée de l’enfant, vous n’avez aucune action sur son développement moral et intellectuel. Vous êtes le maître de latin et de grec.” Bréal. _Quelques Mots, &c._, p. 243.

[193] Mr. Spencer does not mention this principle in his enumeration, but, no doubt, considers he implies it.

[194] “Si l’on partageait toute la science humaine en deux parties, l’une commune à tous les hommes, l’autre particulière aux savants, celle-ci serait très-petite en comparaison de l’autre. Mais nous ne songeons guère aux acquisitions générales, parce qu’elles se font sans qu’on y pense, et même avant l’âge de raison; que d’ailleurs le savoir ne se fait remarquer que par ses différences, et que, comme dans les équations d’algèbre, les quantités communes se comptent pour rien.”—_Émile_, livre i.

[195] This is well said in Dr. John Brown’s admirable paper _Education through the Senses_. (Horæ Subsecivæ, pp. 313, 314.)

[196] After remarking on the wrong order in which subjects are taught, he continues, “What with perceptions unnaturally dulled by early thwartings, and a coerced attention to books, what with the mental confusion produced by teaching subjects before they can be understood, and in each of them giving generalisations before the facts of which they are the generalisations, what with making the pupil a mere passive recipient of others’ ideas and not in the least leading him to be an active inquirer or self-instructor, and what with taxing the faculties to excess, there are very few minds that become as efficient as they might be.”

[197] A class of boys whom I once took in Latin Delectus denied, with the utmost confidence, when I questioned them on the subject, that there were any such things in English as verbs and substantives. On another occasion, I saw a poor boy of nine or ten caned, because, when he had said that _proficiscor_ was a deponent verb, he could not say what a deponent verb was. Even if he had remembered the inaccurate grammar definition expected of him, “A deponent verb is a verb with a passive form and an active meaning,” his comprehension of _proficiscor_ would have been no greater. It is worth observing that, even when offending grievously in great matters against the principle of connecting fresh knowledge with the old, teachers are sometimes driven to it in small. They find that it is better for boys to see that _lignum_ is like _regnum_, and _laudare_ like _amare_, than simply to learn that _lignum_ is of the Second Declension, and _laudare_ of the First Conjugation. If boys had to learn by a mere effort of memory the particular declension or conjugation of Latin words before they were taught anything about declensions and conjugations, this would be as sensible as the method adopted in some other instances, and the teachers might urge, as usual, that the information would come in useful afterwards.

[198] Mr. Spencer and Professor Tyndall appeal to the results of experience as justifying a more rational method of teaching. Speaking of geometrical deductions, Mr. Spencer says: “It has repeatedly occurred that those who have been stupefied by the ordinary school-drill—by its abstract formulas, its wearisome tasks, its cramming—have suddenly had their intellects roused by thus ceasing to make them passive recipients, and inducing them to become active discoverers. The discouragement caused by bad teaching having been diminished by a little sympathy, and sufficient perseverance excited to achieve a first success, there arises a revolution of feeling affecting the whole nature. They no longer find themselves incompetent; they too can do something. And gradually, as success follows success, the incubus of despair disappears, and they attack the difficulties of their other studies with a courage insuring conquest.”

[199] On this subject I can quote the authority of a great observer of the mind—no less a man, indeed, than Wordsworth. He speaks of the “grand elementary principal of pleasure, by which man knows, and feels, and lives, and moves. We have no sympathy,” he continues, “but what is propagated by pleasure—I would not be misunderstood—but wherever we sympathise with pain, it will be found that the sympathy is produced and carried on by subtile combinations with pleasure. We have no knowledge, that is, no general principles drawn from the contemplation of particular facts, but what has been built up by pleasure, and exists in us by pleasure alone. The man of science, the chemist, and mathematician, whatever difficulties and disgusts they may have to struggle with, know and feel this. However painful may be the objects with which the anatomist’s knowledge may be connected, he feels that his knowledge is pleasure, and _when he has no pleasure he has no knowledge_.”—Preface to second edition of _Lyrical Ballads_. So Wordsworth would have agreed with Tranio: (_T. of Shrew_, j. 1.)

“No profit grows where is no pleasure ta’en; In brief, Sir, study what you most affect.”

[200] This remark, I am glad to say, is much less true now (1890) than when first published. Indeed some purveyors of books for children are getting to rely too exclusively on the pictures, just as I have noticed that an organ-grinder with a monkey seldom or never has a good organ. Of large pictures for class teaching, some of the best I have seen (both for history and natural history) are published by the S.P.C.K.

[201] Tillich’s boxes of bricks (sold by the B’ham Midland Educational Supply Company, and by Arnold, Briggate, Leeds), are very useful for “intuitive” arithmetic: for higher stages one might say the same of W. Wooding’s “Decimal Abacus” with vertical wires.

[202] The grammar question is still a perplexing one. There are Inspectors who require children (as I once heard in a remote country school) to distinguish “7 kinds of adverbs.” Then we have children discriminating after the fashion of one of my own pupils, (I quote from a grammar paper,) “Parse _it_.” “_It_ is a prepreition. Almost all small words are prepreitions.” In such cases it is very hard indeed to find any common ground for the minds of the old and the young. The true way I believe is to lead the young to make their own observations. The way is very very slow, but it developes power. I have lately seen an interesting little book on these lines, called _Language Work_ by Dr. De Garmo (Bloomington, Ill., U.S.A.)

[203] Books for a beginner should contain a little matter in much space, and, as they are usually written, they contain much matter in a little space. Nothing can be truer than the saying of Lakanal, “L’abrégé est le contraire de l’éléméntaire: That which is abridged is just the opposite of that which is elementary.” When shall we learn what seems obvious in itself and what is taught us by the great authorities? “Epitome,” says Ascham, “is good privately for himself that doth work it, but ill commonly for all others that use other men’s labour therein. A silly poor kind of study, not unlike to the doing of those poor folk which neither till, nor sow, nor reap themselves, but glean by stealth upon other’s grounds. Such have empty barns for dear years.” (_School Master_, Book ij.) Bacon says (_De Aug._, lib. vj., cap. iv.), “Ad pædagogicam quod attinet brevissimum foret dictu.... Illud imprimis consuluerim ut caveatur a compendiis: Not much about pedagogics.... My chief advice is, keep clear of compendiums.” And yet “the table of contents” method which I suggested in irony I afterwards found proposed in all seriousness in an announcement of Dr. J. F. Bright’s _English History_: “The marginal analysis has been collected at the beginning of the volume so as to form an abstract of the history _suitable for the use of those who are beginning the study_.”

I would rather listen to Oliver Goldsmith: “In history, such stories alone should be laid before them as might catch the imagination: instead of this, they are too frequently obliged to toil through the four Empires, as they are called, where their memories are burthened by a number of disgusting names that destroy all their future relish for our best historians.” (Letter on _Education_ in _the Bee_: a letter containing so much new truth that Goldsmith in re-publishing it had to point out that it had appeared before Rousseau’s _Emile_.) A modern authority on education has come to the same conclusion as Goldsmith. “The first teaching in history will not give dates, but will show the learner men and actions likely to make an impression on him. Der erste Geschichtsunterricht wird nicht Jahreszahlen geben, sondern eindrucksvolle Personen und Thaten vorführen.” (L. Wiese’s _Deutsche Bildungsfragen_, 1871.)

[204] Dr. Jas. Donaldson has well said of the educator:—“The most unguarded of his acts, those which come from the depth of his nature, uncalled for and unbidden, are the actions which have the most powerful influence.” _Chambers’ Information_ sub v. _Education_, p. 565.

[205]

“That you are wife To so much bloated flesh _as scarce hath soul_ _Instead of salt to keep it sweet_, I think Will ask no witnesses to prove.”

BEN JONSON: _The Devil is an Ass_, Act i. sc. 3.

[206] I fortify myself with the following quotation from the _Book about Dominies_ by “Ascott Hope” (Hope Moncrieff). He says that a school of from twenty to a hundred boys is too large to be altogether under the influence of one man, and too small for the development of a healthy condition of public opinion among the boys themselves. “In a community of fifty boys, there will always be found so many bad ones who will be likely to carry things their own way. Vice is more unblushing in small societies than in large ones. _Fifty boys will be more easily leavened by the wickedness of five, than five hundred by that of fifty._ It would be too dangerous an ordeal to send a boy to a school where sin appears fashionable, and where, if he would remain virtuous, he must shun his companions. There may be middle-sized schools which derive a good and healthy tone from the moral strength of their masters or the good example of a certain set of boys, but I doubt if there are many. Boys are so easily led to do right or wrong, that we should be very careful at least to set the balance fairly” (p. 167); and again he says (p. 170), “The moral tone of a middle-sized school will be peculiarly liable to be at the mercy of a set of bold and bad boys.”

[207] As I have been thought to express myself too strongly on this point, I will give a quotation from a master whose opinion will go far with all who know him. “The moral tone of the school is made what it is, not nearly so much by its rules and regulations, or its masters, as by the leading characters among the boys. They mainly determine the public opinion amongst their schoolfellows—their personal influence is incalculable.” Rev. D. Edwardes, of Denstone.

[208] About Preparatory Schools I find I am at issue with my friend the Head Master of Harrow (See _Public Schools_, by Rev. J. E. C. Welldon, in _Contemporary R._, May, 1890). I do indeed incline to his opinion that very young boys should not be at a public school, but I cannot agree that they should be at a middle-sized boarding school. I hold that they should live in a _family_ (their own if possible) and go to a day school. Day Schools have now been provided for girls, but for young boys they do not seem in demand. English parents who can afford it send their sons to boarding schools from eight years old onwards. This seems to me a great mistake of theirs.

[209] “What is education? It is that which is imbibed from the moral atmosphere which a child breathes. It is the involuntary and unconscious language of its parents and of all those by whom it is surrounded, and not their set speeches and set lectures. It is the words which the young hear fall from their seniors when the speakers are off their guard: and it is by these unconscious expressions that the child interprets the hearts of its parents. That is education.”—Drummond’s _Speeches in Parliament_.

[210] In what I have said on this subject, the incompleteness which is noticeable enough in the preceding essays, has found an appropriate climax. I see, too, that if anyone would take the trouble, the little I have said might easily be misinterpreted. I am well aware, however, that if the young mind will not readily assimilate sharply defining religious formulæ, still less will it feel at home among the “immensities” and “veracities.” The great educating force of Christianity I believe to be due to this, that it is not a set of abstractions or vague generalities, but that in it God reveals Himself to us in a Divine Man, and raises us through our devotion to Him. I hold, therefore, that religious teaching for the young should neither be vague nor abstract. Mr. Froude, in commenting on the use made of hagiology in the Church of Rome, has shown that we lose much by not following the Bible method of instruction. (See _Short Studies: Lives of the Saints_, and _Representative Men_.)

[211] This theory of the educator’s task which makes him a disposer or director of influence rather than a teacher, led Locke to decry our public schools, for in them the traditions and tone of the school seem the source of influence, and the masters are to all appearance mainly teachers. Locke’s own words are these:—“The difference is great between two or three pupils in the same house and three or four score boys lodged up and down; for let the master’s industry and skill be never so great, it is impossible he should have fifty or a hundred scholars under his eye any longer than they are in the school together, nor can it be expected that he should instruct them successfully in anything but their books; the forming of their minds and manners requiring a constant attention and particular application to every single boy which is impossible in a numerous flock, and would be wholly in vain (could he have time to study and correct everyone’s particular defects and wrong inclinations) when the lad was to be left to himself or the prevailing infection of his fellows the greatest part of the four-and-twenty hours.” But the educator who considers himself a director of influences must remember that he is not the only force. The boy’s companions are a force at least as great; and if he were brought up in private on Locke’s system, he would be entirely without a kind of influence much more valuable than Locke seems to think—the influence of boy companions, and of the traditions of a great school. On the other hand, it cannot be denied that our public schools used to be, and perhaps are still to some extent, under-mastered, and that the masters should not be the mere teachers which, from overwork and other causes, they often tend to become. The consequence has been that the real education of the boys has in a great measure passed out of their hands. What has been the result? A long succession of able teachers have aimed at giving literary instruction and making their pupils classical scholars. Both manners and bodily training have been left to take care of themselves. Yet such is the irony of Fate that the majority of youths who leave our great schools are not literary and are not much of classical scholars, but they are decidedly gentlemanly and still more decidedly athletic.

[212] I append a note written from a different point of view—“_With how little wisdom!_” certainly seems to cover most departments of life. _Seems?_ Yes; but are we not apt to overlook the wisdom that lies in the great mass of people? In some small department we may have investigated further than our class-mates, and may see, or think we see, a good deal of stupidity in what goes on. But in most matters we do not investigate for ourselves, but just do the usual thing; and this seems to work all right. There must be a good deal of wisdom underlying the complex machinery of civilised life. Carlyle’s “Mostly fools!” will by no means account for it. At times one has a dim perception that people in general are not so stupid as they seem. Perhaps a long life would in the end lead us to say like Tithonus,

“Why should a man desire in any way “To vary from the kindly race of men?”

There is a higher wisdom than the disintegrating individualism of Carlyle. Far better to believe with Mazzini in “the collective existence of humanity,” and remembering that we work in a medium fashioned for us by the labours of all who have preceded us, regard our collective powers as “grafted upon those of all foregoing humanity.” (Mazzini’s _Essays_: _Carlyle_.) This is the point of view to which Wordsworth would raise us:—

“Among the multitudes “Of that huge city, oftentimes was seen “.........................the unity of man, “One spirit over ignorance and vice “Predominant, in good and evil hearts; “One sense for moral judgements, as one eye “For the sun’s light. The soul when smitten thus “By a sublime _idea_, whence soe’er “Vouchsafed for union or communion, feeds “On the pure bliss and takes her rest with God.”

_Prelude_ viij, _ad f._

Though unable to share in “the pure bliss” of Wordsworth we may take refuge with Goethe in the thought that “humanity is the true man,” and enjoy much to which we have no claim as individuals. Tradition, blind tradition, must rule our actions through by far the greatest part of our lives; and seeing we owe it so much, we should be tolerant, even grateful.

[213] Professor Jebb has lately given us the main ideas of the great Scholar Erasmus. “In all his work,” says the Professor, “he had an educational aim.... The evils of his age, in Church, in State, in the daily lives of men, seemed to him to have their roots in _ignorance_; ignorance of what Christianity meant, ignorance of what the Bible taught, ignorance of what the noblest and most gifted minds of the past, whether Christian or pagan, had contributed to the instruction of the human race.” (Rede Lecture, 1890.) Erasmus evidently fell into the error against which Pestalozzi and Froebel lift up their voices, often in vain—the error of forgetting that knowledge is of no avail without intelligence. What is the use of lighting additional candles for the blind?

APPENDIX.

=History of this Book.=—Some wise man has advised us never to find fault with ourselves, for, says he, you may always depend on your friends to do it for you. So, having looked through the proofs of this book, I abstain from fault-finding. I fancy I _could_ find fault more effectively than my friends or even my professional critics. As the _Spectator’s_ “Correspondent in an easy chair” says very truly; the author has read his book many times; the critic has read it _at most_ once. In fact the critic gives to the book (in some cases to the subject of the book also) no greater number of hours than the author has given months, perhaps years. Partiality blinds the author, no doubt, but unless he is a fatuous person it does not blind him so much as his haste blinds the critic. An author of note said of a book of his, which had been much criticised: “The book has faults, but I am the only person who has discovered them,” to which a friend maliciously appended: “For _faults_ read _merits_.” Whatever was the truth here, I am inclined to think the author has the best chance of putting his finger on the weak places.