year 1902 out of the population of over 75,000,000, 17,460,000 pupils
attended institutions of learning. This number would be increased by
more than half a million if private kindergartens, manual training
schools, evening schools, schools for Indians, and so forth were taken
into account. The primary and intermediate schools have 16,479,177
scholars, and private schools about 1,240,000. This ratio is changed in
favour of the private institutions when we come to the next step above,
for the public high schools have 560,000 and the private ones 150,000
students. The remainder is in higher institutions of learning. To
consider for the moment only the public schools; instruction is imparted
by 127,529 male and 293,759 female teachers. The average salary of a
male teacher is more than $46 a month, and of the female teacher $39.
The expenditures were something over $213,000,000; and of this about 69
per cent. came from the local taxes, 16 per cent. from the state taxes,
and the remainder from fixed endowments. Again, if we consider only the
cities of more than 8,000 inhabitants, we find the following figures: in
1902 America had 580 such cities, with 25,000,000 inhabitants, 4,174,812
scholars and 90,744 teachers in the municipal public schools, and
877,210 students in private schools. These municipal systems have 5,025
superintendents, inspectors, etc. The whole outlay for school purposes
amounted to about $110,000,000.
The high schools are especially characteristic. The increase of
attendance in these schools has been much faster than that of the
population. In 1890 there were only 59 pupils for every 10,000
inhabitants; in 1895 there were 79; and in 1900 there were 95. It is
noticeable that this increase is entirely in the public schools. Of
those 59 scholars in 1890, 36 were in public high schools and 23 in
private. By 1900 there were 25 in private, but 70 in the public schools.
Of the students in the public high schools 50 per cent. studied Latin, 9
per cent. French, 15 per cent. German. The principal courses of study
are English grammar, English literature, history, geography,
mathematics, and physics. In the private schools 23 per cent. took
French, 18 per cent. German, 10 per cent. Greek. Only 11 per cent. of
students in the public high schools go to college, but 32 per cent. of
those in private schools. Out of the 1,978 private high schools in the
year 1900, 945 were for students of special religious sects; 361 were
Roman Catholic, 98 were Episcopalian, 96 Baptist, 93 Presbyterian, 65
Methodist, 55 Quaker, 32 Lutheran, etc. There were more than 1,000
private high schools not under the influence of any church. One real
factor of their influence is found in the statistical fact that, in the
public high schools, there are 26 scholars for every teacher, while in
the private schools only 11.
The following figures will suffice to give an idea of the great
differences which exist between the different states: The number of
scholars in high schools in the state of Massachusetts is 15 to every
1,000 citizens; in the state of New York, 11; in Illinois, 9; in Texas,
7; in the Carolinas, 5; and in Oklahoma, 3. In the private high schools
of the whole country the boys were slightly in the majority; 50.3 per
cent. against 49.7 per cent. of girls. In order to give at least a
glimpse of this abyss, we may say that in the public high school the
boys were only 41.6 per cent., while the girls were 58.4 per cent.
So much for the schools proper. We shall later consider the higher
institutions—colleges, universities, and so forth—while the actual
expanse of the school system in America, as we have said before, is
broader still. In the first place, the kindergarten, a contribution
which Germany has made, deserves notice. Very few creations of German
thought have won such complete acceptance in the New World as Froebel’s
system of education; and seldom, indeed, is the German origin of an
institution so frankly and freely recognized. Froebel is everywhere
praised, and the German word “Kindergarten” has been universally adopted
in the English language.
Miss Peabody, of Boston, took the part of pioneer, back in the fifties.
Very soon the movement spread to St. Louis and to New York, so that in
1875 there were already about one hundred kindergartens with 3,000
children. To-day there must be about 5,000 kindergartens distributed
over the country, with about a quarter of a million children. During
this development various tendencies have been noticeable. At first
considerable stress was laid on giving some rational sort of occupation
to the children of the rich who were not quite old enough for school.
Later, however, philanthropic interest in the children of the very
poorest part of the population became the leading motive—the children,
that is, who, without such careful nurture, would be exposed to
dangerous influences. Both of these needs could be satisfied by private
initiative. Slowly, however, these two extremes came to meet; not only
the richest and poorest, but also the children of the great middle
classes from the fourth to the sixth year, were gradually brought under
this sort of school training. As soon as the system was recognized to be
a need of the entire community, it was naturally adopted into the
popular system of instruction. To-day two hundred and fifty cities have
kindergartens as a part of their school systems.
Meanwhile there has sprung up still another tendency, which took its
origin in Chicago. Chicago probably has the best institution with a four
years’ course for the preparation of teachers for the kindergarten. In
this school not only the professional teachers, but the mothers, are
welcomed. And through the means of this institution in Chicago, the
endeavour is slowly spreading to educate mothers everywhere how to bring
up their children who are still in the nursery so as to be bodily,
intellectually, and morally sound. The actual goal of this very
reasonable movement may well be the disappearance of the official
kindergarten. The child will then find appropriate direction and
inspiration in the natural surroundings of its home, and the
kindergarten will, as at first, limit itself chiefly to those rich
families who wish to purchase their freedom from parental cares, and to
such poor families as have to work so hard that they have no time left
to look after their children. A slow reaction, moreover, is going on
among the public school teachers. The child who comes out of the Froebel
school into the primary school is said to be somewhat desultory in his
activities, and so perhaps this great popularity of the kindergarten
will gradually decrease. Nevertheless, for the moment the kindergarten
must be recognized as a passing fashion of very great importance, and,
so far as it devotes itself philanthropically to children in the poor
districts, its value can hardly be overestimated.
Now, all this instruction of the child before he goes to school is much
less significant and less widely disseminated than those thousandfold
modes of instruction which are carried on for the development of men and
women after they have passed their school days. Any one who knows this
country will at once call to mind the innumerable courses of lectures,
clubs of study, Chautauqua institutions, university extension courses,
women’s clubs, summer and correspondence schools, free scientific
lectures, and many other such institutions which have developed here
more plentifully than in any other country. After having dwelt on the
kindergarten, one is somewhat tempted to think also of these as men and
women gardens. There is really some resemblance to a sort of
intellectual garden, where no painful effort or hard work is laid out
for the young men and women who wander there carelessly to pluck the
flowers. But it is, perhaps, rather too easy for the trained person to
be unjust to such informal means of culture. It is really hard to view
the latter in quite the right perspective. Whosoever has once freed
himself from all prejudices, and looked carefully into the psychic life
of the intellectual middle classes, will feel at once the incomparable
value of these peculiar forms of intellectual stimulation, and their
great significance for the self-perfection of the great masses.
While the kindergarten was imported from Germany, the university
extension movement came from England. This movement, which was very
popular about a decade ago, is decidedly now on the wane. Those forms of
popular education which are distinctly American have shown themselves to
possess the most vigour. There is one name which, above all others, is
characteristic of these native institutions. It is Chautauqua. This is
the old Indian name for a lake which lies very pleasantly situated in
the State of New York, about two hours by train from Buffalo. The name
of the lake has gone over to the village on its banks, the name of the
village has been carried over to that system of instruction which was
first begun there, and now every institution is called Chautauquan which
is modelled after that system. Even to-day the school at Chautauqua is
the fountain-head of the whole movement. Every summer, and particularly
through July and August, when the school-teachers have their vacation,
some ten thousand men and women gather together to participate in a few
weeks of recreation and intellectual stimulation. The life there is
quiet and simple; concerts and lectures are given in the open air in an
amphitheatre which seats several thousand, and there are smaller classes
of systematic instruction in all departments of learning. The teachers
in special courses are mostly professors. The lecturers in the general
gatherings are well-known politicians, officials, scholars, ministers,
or otherwise distinguished personalities. For the sake of recreation,
there are excursions, dramatic performances, and concerts. A few hours
of systematic work every day serve as a stimulus for thought and
culture, while the mutual influence of the men and women who are so
brought together and the whole atmosphere of the place generate a real
moral enthusiasm.
The special courses which range from Greek, the study of the Bible, and
mathematics to political economy, philosophy, and pedagogics, are
supplemented on the one hand by examinations from which the
participators get a certificate in black and white which is highly
prized among teachers; and on the other side, by suggestions for the
further carrying on by private reading of the studies which they have
elected. The enthusiastic banner-bearer of Chautauqua is still to-day
one of its founders, Bishop Vincent. He has done more than any one else
toward bringing harmony into the monotonous and intellectually hungry
lives of hundreds of thousands throughout the country, and especially of
public school teachers. And in this work the instruction, the religious
strengthening, the instillation of personal contentment, patriotic
enthusiasm, æsthetic joy in life, and moral inspiration, are not to be
separated.
When Theodore Roosevelt, who was then governor of New York, spoke in the
Chautauqua amphitheatre to more than ten thousand persons, he turned
enthusiastically to Bishop Vincent and said, “I know of nothing in the
whole country which is so filled with blessing for the nation.” And when
he had finished, the whole audience gave him the Chautauqua salute; ten
thousand handkerchiefs were waved in the air—an extraordinary sight,
which in Chautauqua signifies the greatest appreciation. This custom
began years ago, when a deaf scholar had given a lecture, and while the
thundering applause was sounding which the speaker himself could not
hear, Bishop Vincent brought out this visible token of gratification;
and this form of applause not only became a tradition there, but also
spread to all other Chautauqua institutions throughout the country.
To-day there are more than three hundred of these, many of them in
beautifully situated summer resorts, and some equipped with splendid
libraries, banquet halls, casinos, and clubs. Some of these concentrate
their energies in particular lines of learning, and of course they are
very different in scope and merit. And nevertheless the fundamental
trait of idealism shows through all these popular academies.
Among other varieties of popular instruction there are the attempts at
university extension, which are very familiar. The chief aim is here to
utilize the teaching forces and other means of instruction of the higher
educational institutions for the benefit of the great masses. Often the
thing has been treated as if it were a matter of course, in a political
democracy, that colleges and universities ought not to confine
themselves to the narrow circles of their actual students, but should go
out and down to the artisans and labourers. But it was always asserted
that this education should not consist merely in entertaining lectures,
but should involve a form of teaching that presupposed a certain
participation and serious application on the part of the attendants. And
the chief emphasis has been laid on having every subject treated in a
series of from six to twelve meetings, on distributing to the hearers a
concise outline of the lectures with references to literature, on
allowing the audience after the lecture to ask as many questions as it
desired, and on holding a written examination at the end of the course.
Any one who has passed a certain number of these examinations receives a
certificate. In one year, for example, there were 43 places in which the
University of Philadelphia gave such courses of lectures. The University
of Chicago has arranged as many as 141 courses of six lectures each, in
92 different places. Other higher institutions have done likewise; and
if indeed the leading universities of the East have entirely declined to
take part, nevertheless the country, and particularly the West, is
everywhere scattered with such lecture courses.
These lectures can be divided into two groups; those which are
instructive and educate their hearers, and those which are inspiring and
awaken enthusiasm. The first are generally illustrated with stereopticon
pictures, the last are illustrated with poetical quotations. Here, as
everywhere in the world, the educational lectures are often merely
tiresome, and the inspiring ones merely bombastic. But the reason for
the rapid decline in this whole movement is probably not the bad quality
of the lectures, but the great inconvenience which the lecturers feel in
going so far from their accustomed haunts. It is not to be doubted that
very much good has come after all from this form of instruction. The
summer schools have a similar relation to the higher institutions, but a
much more thorough-going character; and while the university extension
movement is waning, the summer school instruction is on the increase.
First of all, even the leading universities take part in it, although it
is mostly the second violins who render the music; that is to say,
younger instructors rather than the venerable professors are the ones
who teach. High school teachers and ministers often return in this way
to their alma mater, and the necessity of devoting one’s self for six
weeks to a single subject gives to the whole enterprise a very much more
scholarly character. That interesting summer school which was held a few
years ago in Cambridge is still remembered, when Harvard invited at its
own expense 1,400 of the most earnest Cuban school teachers, and
instilled in them through six long weeks something of American culture.
Again, and this quite independent of the higher institutions and of any
formal courses, there are the institutions for free lectures. Indeed,
there are so many that one might almost call them lecture factories. The
receptive attitude of the American public of all classes toward lectures
surpasses the comprehension of the European. In many circles, indeed,
this is positively a passion; and the extraordinary plentifulness of
opportunity, of course, disciplines and strengthens the demand, which
took its origin in the same strong spirit of self-perfection.
A favourable fact is undoubtedly the high perfection to which the
lecture has been cultivated in America. As compared with European
countries, a larger proportion of lectures may fairly be called works of
art as regards both their content and their form. The American is first
of all an artist in any sort of enthusiastic and persuasive exposition.
For this very reason his lectures are so much more effective than
whatever he prints, and for this reason, too, the public flocks to hear
him. This state of things has also been favoured by the general custom
of going to political meetings and listening to political speeches. In
Boston and its suburbs, for example, although it is not larger than
Hamburg, no less than five public lectures per day on the average are
delivered between September and June. In contrast to German views, it is
considered entirely appropriate for lecturers on all public occasions to
receive financial compensation; just as any German scholar would accept
from a publisher some emolument for his literary productions. This is,
of course, not true of lectures at congresses, clubs, or popular
gatherings. In a state like Massachusetts, every little town has its
woman’s club, with regular evenings for lectures by outside speakers;
and the condition of the treasury practically decides whether one or two
hundred dollars shall be paid for some drawing speaker who will give a
distinguished look to the programme; or whether the club will be
satisfied with some teacher from the next town who will deliver his last
year’s lecture on Pericles, or the tubercle bacillus, for twenty
dollars. And so it is through the entire country; the quantity decreases
as one goes South, and the quality as one goes West.
All this is no new phenomenon in American life. In the year 1639
lectures on religious subjects were so much a matter of course in New
England, and Bostonians were so confirmed in the habit of going to
lectures, that a law was passed concerning the giving of such lectures.
It said that the poor people were tempted by the lecturer to neglect
their affairs and to harm their health, as the lectures lasted well into
the night. Scientific lectures, however, came into popular appreciation
not earlier than the nineteenth century. In the first decade of that
century, the famous chemist, Silliman, of Yale University, attained a
great success in popular scientific lectures. After the thirties
“lyceums” flourished throughout the land, which were educational
societies formed for the purpose of establishing public lecture courses.
To be sure, these were generally disconnected lectures, in which
political and social topics predominated. Those were the classic days of
oratory, when men like Webster, Channing, Everett, Emerson, Parker,
Mann, Sumner, Phillips, Beecher, Curtis, and others enthused the nation
with their splendid rhetoric, and presented to the masses with pathos
that we no longer know those great arguments which led to the Civil War.
The activities of later decades emphasized the intellectual side.
Splendid institutions have now been organized for popular lectures and
lecture courses in all the leading cities. Thus the Peabody Institute in
Baltimore, the Pratt Institute in New York, the Armour Institute in
Chicago, and the Drexel Institute in Philadelphia have come into
existence. The catalogue of the lectures and courses which, for
instance, the Pratt Institute announces every winter fills a whole
volume; and nevertheless, every one who pays his annual fee of five
dollars is entitled to take part in all of them. Every day from morning
to night he may listen to lectures by men who are more or less well
known throughout the country, and who come specially to New York in
order to give their short courses of some six lectures.
The highest undertaking of this sort is the Lowell Institute in Boston.
In 1838, after a tour through Egypt, John A. Lowell added a codicil to
his will, whereby he gave half of his large income for the free,
popular, scientific instruction of his native town. The plan that has
been followed for sixty years is of inviting every winter eight or ten
of the most distinguished thinkers and investigators in America and
England to give cycles of six or twelve connected lectures. The
plentiful means of this foundation have made it possible to bring in the
really most important men; and on the other hand, for just this reason
an invitation to deliver the Lowell Lectures has come to be esteemed a
high honour in the English-speaking world. Men like Lyell and Tyndall
and many others have come across the ocean; even Agassiz, the well-known
geologist, came to the New World first as a Lowell lecturer, and then
later settled at Harvard University. Up to this time some five thousand
lectures have been held before large audiences by this institute. The
great advantage which this has been to the population of Boston can in
no wise be estimated, nor can it ever be known how much this influence
has done for the spirit of self-perfection in New England.
In a certain sense, however, we have already overstepped the field of
popular education. The high standard of the Lowell Institute and the
position of its speakers have brought it about that almost every course
has been an original exposition of new scientific lines of thought.
While the other popular courses have got their material second-hand, or
have been at least for the speaker a repetition of his habitual
discourses to students, in the Lowell Institute the results of new
investigations have been the main thing. And so we have come already to
the domain of productive science, of which we shall have later to treat.
One who looks somewhat more deeply will realize that, outside the Lowell
Institute, there is no thought in by far the larger part of these
lectures and readings, of original scientific endeavour. And the
question inevitably comes up, whether the intellectual life of the
country does not lose too much of its strength because the members of
the community who should be especially devoted to intellectual
production are enticed in so many different ways into the paths of mere
reproduction. To be sure, it is never a professional duty with these
men, but the temptation is so great as to overcome the latent resistance
of even the best of them. There are a few, it is true, who see their
highest goal in these popular and artistic expositions of their
department of science; and a few who feel that their highest call, their
most serious life-work, is to bear science philanthropically out to the
masses. But it is different with most of them. Many like the rewards; it
is such an easy way for the ready speaker, perhaps, of doubling his
salary from the university: and especially the younger men whose income
is small, find it hard to resist the temptation, although just they are
the ones who ought to give all their free energy to becoming proficient
in special lines of investigation. Yet even this is not the chief
motive. In countless cases where any financial return to the speaker is
out of the question, the love of rhetoric exerts a similar temptation.
The chief motive, doubtless, is that the American popular opinion is so
extraordinarily influenced by the spoken word, and at the same time
popular eloquence is spread abroad so widely by the press, that not only
a mere passing reputation, but also a strong and lasting influence on
the thought of the people, can most readily be gotten in this way.