Part 53

Education is the bed-rock on which this republic rests. However excellent its political institutions be, its decay and ultimate downfall is inevitable, if the people fail to do their full duty by themselves in this respect. For, in a democratic republic, political institutions are live forces only so far as the people have the mental and moral requirements for working them well, and these mental and moral requirements can be attained only by education. It is, therefore, in the strictest sense of the word, a _vital_ question for the republic that every one of its sons and daughters receive not only some schooling, but that the education of all be proper and adequate. That is a tremendous task. It constantly grows in scope and intricacy, and at the same time, it becomes of more and more import that it be well accomplished. With the people rests the ultimate decision in everything, and the problems confronting the commonwealth are assuming more and more a character, taxing the highest statesmanship to the utmost. Thus the claims upon the intelligence and the moral soundness of the people are fast being strained far beyond anything ever known by any former generation in this or any other country. And lack of the required intelligence and moral soundness in any one State necessarily affects the whole Union. A State that is derelict to its duty in the education of its people, wrongs not only itself, but also the nation. By its share in the federal government, every State is directly instrumental in laying down the law for the whole country. All the States are thereby made to participate in the payment of the penalty for its intellectual and moral deficiencies. This is, however, by no means the only way in which they are made to suffer by them. What the law does with regard to everything rendered federal by the Constitution; commerce, travel, and interchange of population do in other respects. They are unremittingly and with ever increasing intensity at work, multiplying and rendering more close the organic relations between all the parts of the vast domain, every water-way, railroad-track, and telegraph line performing the functions of the veins in the animal organism. If the blood be poisoned in one limb, the virus cannot be prevented from working its way into the whole system.

To admit that education is in the highest degree a national _interest_, and to deny its being a national _concern_, is, however, a self-contradiction. To contest either the right or the duty of a nation to acknowledge every national interest a national concern, and to deal with it accordingly, is a palpable absurdity. Not as to the Whether, but only as to the How, can the people be restricted by the Constitution. A constitution imposing upon the people an injunction to minister to the needs of the commonwealth, would be as great a political monstrosity as a constitution providing for the dissolution of the state.

This doctrine will not be allowed to pass unchallenged. I shall be asked whether I set myself against the universally accepted fundamental principle of American constitutional law, that the federal government has no powers but those granted to it by the Constitution. I do not. “Where, then,” my interlocutor will go on, “do you find the express grant or the implied power?” Nowhere. “Then you advocate a constitutional amendment to the effect indicated by you?” I do not. I know that such an amendment could not get the vote of a single state, and if there were a possibility of its being adopted by the constitutional number of states, I should be found, to the last, among those fighting it tooth and nail. I can hardly conceive of a more suicidal measure than the adoption of such an amendment. Just because education is the bed-rock on which the republic rests, is it of vital importance that it does not become a federal affair. Self-reliance and responsibility are the main pillars supporting a democratic commonwealth. Kill, in the people of a state and the population of its subdivisions, the habit of self-reliance and the sense of responsibility in regard to the substratum of the whole political and social structure, and they will wither and shrivel up in regard to everything else. The compulsion to tax themselves directly for the establishment and maintenance of schools and the being in close touch with those entrusted with the direction of the educational work are an inestimable boon to the people.

Even if it were economically possible to do without direct taxes, political reasons would peremptorily forbid their abolishment. On account of their moral effect, no state could dispense with them, and least of all a democracy. All indirect taxes are paid more or less unconsciously; the people, however, must be kept conscious that the public purse means their own pockets. The more they lose sight of this, the wider the door is opened to paternalism, and paternalism is a more deadly enemy of liberty than despotism and tyranny. These, if any vitality be left in the people, ultimately kindle the desire for liberty, while paternalism acts upon it as an opiate and ends by killing it through the systematic enervation of self-government. If this is to be kept alive not only in form, but also in essence and in spirit, the people must constantly be held to teach themselves in illustrating by their own acts the irrefutable truth, that not the rights, but the self-imposed duties are the vital principle of true democracy. Nothing, however, is more apt to drive this all-important fact irresistibly home, implanting it ineradicably in their whole feeling and in their conscious thinking, than the necessity to vote, as directly as possible, out of their own pockets the money required for preserving intact and in vigor the prerequisite of _all_ that is needed for the preservation of the nation’s vitality. If it be not deemed irreverent, I should say that every dollar a man voluntarily votes out of his pocket to provide for the educational needs of the community, preaches to him a political “Sermon on the Mount.” “Liberty and self-government,” it says, “must be paid for;—state and society are in their very essence ethical conceptions;—they must totter, fall, and crumble to pieces, unless they rest on an ethical foundation;—to preserve, broaden, and deepen this foundation, by providing for the required intellectual and moral equipment of the generations in whose hands the future destinies of the commonwealth will lie, is the paramount duty of the people;—no one has the right to exempt himself from doing his share in the fulfilment of this duty, for the heirloom of the past, enjoyed by the present, is but a trust to be left, with accrued interest, to the future;—the fulfilment of this duty ought to be considered rather a privilege than a sacrifice, for every farthing paid for the maintenance of the humblest village school is an integral part of the nation’s life-insurance premium;—glory in this responsibility to the whole country, for it constitutes you, with the wealthiest and mightiest, a joint builder of its greatness;—glory in thus bearing witness by the fruit of the sweat of your brow, that you, too, are sworn in on the creed that man does not live by bread alone;—glory in and render thanks for being thus held to keep ablaze in your own bosom and help kindle in the bosom of the lowliest child of the community, the sacred fire of idealism.”

That by many, perhaps by most people, this appeal is not heard in distinct words, I do not contest. But that is no reason to make light of it. Utterly lost it never is. Something of it sinks into the mind even of the dullest and most hard-hearted, though it be but in the form of a faint and vague feeling. To make them lose this, is to deprive them of the best they have. Democracy is not a mill-pond, on which a fragile boat can outride the wildest tempest. It is the open sea, on which the proudest and stoutest craft is sure to be swamped, sooner or later, if it be not properly ballasted. True idealism, however, never was a more essential part of the ballast, than in these times and in this country. It stands more in need of it than any other state, because its unparalleled opportunities are appallingly powerful incentives to plunge headlong into the materialistic tendencies of the age. Therefore, it is ruthless to lay hands on anything tending to keep alive and foster true idealism in the people. For this reason it would be, in my opinion,—not in intention, but in effect,—a dastardly crime, under any plea whatever, to release the people from the obligation to provide in their local organisations for the education of their youths.

Therefore, I even deem it upon the whole more beneficial than detrimental that many of the higher and most of the highest educational institutions of the country are the free gift of high-minded men and women to the people. I have never agreed with those who have contended in this country that the duty of the commonwealth does not extend beyond providing for primary and, at the most, to some extent for secondary education, and that it would not be fair and proper to tax all for the establishment and maintenance of colleges and universities, which, in the nature of the case, only a small minority can frequent. It would be hard to name a more promising sign of the times, than that this doctrine has of late lost so much of its former hold upon public opinion, that one would have to search long for an advocate of it in its original rigor. It is eminently in the interest of all, that there be an ample number of men and women who have received the highest education. Therefore, it is evidently not only justified, but imperative, that the commonwealth furnish the means for supplying its want. But if the views held in this respect on the continent of Europe had prevailed in the United States, the American people would have been the poorer of one of the vastest and most grateful fields for manifesting idealistic public-spiritedness. An inestimable loss, for idealistic public-spiritedness is not the least of the causes to which it is due that American democracy has stood the test; and idealistic public-spiritedness, like every virtue, grows stronger and more fruitful by being practised. Every donation for educational purposes prompts others to follow suit, and is, apart from its direct beneficent effects, a most valuable object-lesson to the whole nation. With equal impressiveness, the rich and the poor are reminded of the treasures which “neither moth nor rust doth corrupt.” On every educational institution brought into existence in such a way are indelibly inscribed the two magic words to which this country owes it greatness: Help yourself, and Public Spirit; every one of them is a living protest, as well against paternalism—whether it present itself in the socialistic or in any other garb—as against the setting up of the golden calf as the idol of the republic. Therefore, everything tending to seriously check these manifestations of idealism and public spirit in regard to higher education would be deplorable, even if it were in itself commendable, for paternalism and materialism are too rampant to leave anything undone that is calculated to keep them down.

To contend that the existing decentralisation in regard to education must be done away with, would, for these reasons, be a truly Quixotic charge upon windmills: the venture must result in broken bones. It cannot, and, if it could, ought not to be done, for this decentralisation is the natural outgrowth of the whole historical development of the commonwealth and in perfect accordance with the underlying principle of its political and social structure. But it would be strange logic to conclude from this that it can have worked no harm, or that the evil consequences it may have had cannot be remedied. Can it be denied that, apart from the primary schools, it sounds almost like mockery to speak of an American system of education? If we look at the schools of a higher grade, we are confronted by a bewildering chaos, and the nearer the top, the worse the confusion becomes. That the effects of this are not altogether good, will be universally admitted, though opinions will differ as to the weight that ought to be attached to the bad consequences in the aggregate and severally. To me, some of them seem to be of a very serious character, and I hold that they must from year to year become of more consequence. To say that somebody has been through a “high school,” does not convey sufficiently definite information as to either the kind or the amount of instruction he has received. To know that somebody is a graduate of an “academy,” a “college,” a “university,” means to know next to nothing as to his mental equipment. To gauge our man, we must inquire, What academy, what college, what university? Having learned that, we are in hundreds of cases not a whit wiser than before. We have to ask for the calendar of the institution, and, after having read that, we shall often be still pretty much at sea, for, as the Germans say, “paper is patient,” and the printing of a first-class programme implies by no means of necessity first-class instruction. This may be considered by some of little or no moment, because the degrees confer no rights whatever. But they are, nevertheless, not senseless gewgaws. If they be deemed such, their abolishment must be insisted upon, for then they are as much out of place in this country as orders or other meaningless titles. They are intended to be certificates of knowledge and mental training. If they lose this character, they are nothing, or worse than nothing. It is, however, self-evident that they must be deprived of this character, exactly to the extent that the educational institutions bearing the same name and conferring the same degrees differ from each other. Do you not think it more than likely that, if a law were passed making it obligatory to add to the letters indicating a degree the name of the institution by which it was conferred, an astounding number of ornamental tails to names would be cut off forever?

This would not be done, if the degrees merely failed to be definite and reliable certificates of knowledge and mental training. They do positive harm, because the institutions conferring them have little more in common than the name, their educational standard differing in the extremes, as much as the crippled shrub and the sturdy oak. While the public do not know what value to attach to the degree, a large percentage of the recipients are betrayed into offensive and pernicious self-deception. Upon the official averment of their _alma mater_, they lay the flattering unction to their soul that they have received a much better intellectual outfit than they really possess. These institutions practically reverse the precept of the Greek sage: not “know thyself,” but “deceive thyself” is the maxim imprinted on their diplomas. And this self-deception is a subtle, contagious virus. It is at least doubtful, whether more will take warning by looking through the false pretense, or be lured by it into the same mistaken notions as to the requirements of genuine higher education. To have practically no fixed standards for the different grades of higher education must as inevitably have mischievous effects upon the intellectual life of a people, as its economic life must be demoralised by allowing everybody to coin money of the same outward appearance, but of any alloy he pleases. Not that harm has been done by the almost unlimited freedom enjoyed by the educational institutions owing their existence to private munificence, is to be wondered at; it is astonishing that the deleterious effects have not been much worse. A premium is offered for sailing under a false flag. If a college may be called a university, and an academy a college, it would be more than surprising if the grander name were not frequently preferred, for it flatters alike the vanity of the donors, the instructors, and the pupils, and will—with more or less reason—be expected to work as a bait. With the name goes the right to confer degrees, and the exercising of this privilege is to serve the same purposes. But the name renders it necessary to keep up appearances, and that is an expensive pleasure. The masquerading in a pretentious guise cuts down the allowance of wholesome food. Worthless universities instead of good colleges, inferior colleges instead of satisfactory academies and fitting schools, are but too often the result. No name will deprive the rose of its sweet scent; but the buttercup cannot, with impunity, call itself a rose.

The worst, however, is, that even the best institutions of the higher order are made to pay a heavy penalty for the shortcomings of those of the lower rank. Not getting the proper material, they do not turn out as good work as they in themselves might do. Much valuable time, which ought to be devoted to going on with the building, must be spent in mending and strengthening the deficient foundation, which, after all, does not acquire the requisite solidity, because mending is necessarily patchwork. Nor is the damage confined to the pupils that have been sent up from inefficient schools. These act as a drag upon those who have come adequately prepared. To render matters worse, the deficiencies are neither the same with all, nor is it known beforehand where they will be found and how far they will extend. Neither are the curricula the same, nor is there any guaranty that the same curriculum means the same work done. Here so many things have been taught, that everything has suffered in regard to thoroughness. There, specialisation has commenced so early, that the basis is too narrow and too shallow. Training for a special purpose has encroached upon education. All these difficulties greatly hamper the institution. But they do more. They exercise a strong pressure upon it to stray from the right path, for they are powerful incentives to yield to the evil tendency, more to measure, than to weigh the work done. This is, in my opinion, the most deplorable of all the bad consequences which the lack of a uniform system, resulting from the decentralisation of education, has thus far had; and it is all the more dangerous, because the measuring principle is so well fitted to be clad in the seductive garb of a lucid and clear-cut system.

I do not expect that every one of my propositions will be universally assented to. But can any unprejudiced observer dispute that there is enough truth in what I have said to prompt the people seriously to ponder the question, where this is going to end? If no conscious, energetic, and concerted effort be made to counteract the evil effects of decentralisation, the very fact of higher education having assumed such a kaleidoscopic character renders inevitable its becoming more and more kaleidoscopic. The founders, boards of trustees, presidents, and faculties of new institutions are almost compelled to give their individual notions on higher education, to a dangerous extent, free scope. Having a hundred different patterns presented to their consideration, the temptation is well-nigh irresistible not to adopt any one of them, but to devise a new one. A new experimenting laboratory is set up. That its experiments will be, positively or negatively, of some value, is to be supposed. In most cases, however, the public interest would have been better served by a good factory, renouncing the risky ambition of dabbling with new inventions.

A European is struck with wonderment that, considering the extent to which decentralisation in higher education has been carried, not infinitely more harm has been done, and that the harm it does, seems to impress the Americans comparatively so little. Neither can be understood, unless one fully realises to what a degree the American commonwealth is still in its formative period, and what an astounding educational power there is in American life. To the former it is principally due, that the deleterious effects mentioned are here in fact of much less consequence, than they would be, where the advantages of an historical development, counting by more than centuries, are paid for by the rigidity of age; and the latter supplements and corrects the work of the schools so effectively, that it is not surprising to find even many a keen-sighted and highly accomplished American more or less blindfolded as to this. Because the ultimate results are satisfactory, it is taken for granted, that the educational conditions of the country must be all right, while a searching critical examination irresistibly forces upon one the question, whether a good deal is not achieved in spite of them. If this be so, failure to promptly attend to what is defective in them will surely be punished, for thanks to the rapidity with which the United States are being filled up, their formative period is fast drawing to a close, and with its close, the educational power of American life will be, in some important respects, very sensibly diminished. The peculiar advantages, they have thus far enjoyed, are steadily growing weaker, while intellectually and morally, the difficulties confronting the whole civilised world, and difficulties peculiar to them, are as steadily making greater demands upon the people. Growth of population and development of economical life, with all its attending circumstances, constantly working at the further nationalisation of the American people, and the problems to be solved growing more and more intricate, disaster must become inevitable, if education does not keep abreast of this double movement; and this it cannot do, if we do not energetically and systematically go to work to nationalise education without consolidating it. Nor have we any time to lose, for the task is by no means easy. Every inch of ground gained will be the price of an arduous and protracted struggle.

From the Federal Government no direct assistance is to be derived, for the question is not within the province of its constitutional powers, and if it were, we ought not to ask its interference, because, as I said, to nationalise education without consolidating it, is to be the aim. Public opinion, unaided by law, must effect the reform. Public opinion, however, is in this country even more powerful than the law. It is sure finally to overcome not only all active, but even all passive resistance, which is always much harder to overcome. But is there any possibility of ever inducing public opinion to take the question up in full earnest? I am confident there is, and at all events it must be tried. The difficulty of the task is no excuse for not undertaking it. It only admonishes us, not to waste time, strength, and enthusiasm in vain attempts to carry the fortress by assault. The works are so extended and so strong that only a methodical siege requiring a great deal of skill, patience, and determination, offers any chance of success. Two preliminary questions must, therefore, be answered, ere operations can be commenced: who is to conduct the campaign, and by what tactics can the approaches be pushed on the fastest?