In Nicholas Nickleby, the book in which Charles Dickens attempted to set
forth the evils of the boarding school system in England in his day, one
of the things at which we have sometimes pointed a finger of ridicule
really sets forth an important pedagogical principle. It is that part of
the story which tells how Squeers, the schoolmaster, first taught a boy
to spell a word—usually incorrectly—and then sent him to perform some
manual task associated with it. The imperfect spelling cannot be called
good pedagogy, and the work to be done was not always calculated to
contribute to the dignity of a gentleman, but it is a fact that there is
something about the actual doing of a thing which enables the memory the
more tenaciously to retain the concept of the thing itself.
In other words, there is some strange but very real and definite
association between the mind and the muscle. They act in close cooperation
with one another. The mind may be capable of learning things without the
corresponding action of the muscle, but it can learn a thing very much
more easily and permanently with that cooperative action.
This is a principle which runs through all educational effort. It has had
expression from quite remote times. An apostle reminded his hearers of
their duty to be doers of the word and not hearers only. His words
constituted a very good educational gospel. We not only owe it to
ourselves and to the world to act in accordance with the best of our
knowledge, but we actually learn better the thing which we take the time
and pains to do.
We have always had a certain notion that it is important to keep note
books. We have usually supposed that the chief value of a note book is in
the fact that it affords a means of quickly referring to any facts which
may have fled from memory. If this were the value of a note book, however,
those who keep them and then never look at them again would derive no
benefit from the process. Yet there are thousands of people who know that
they have received large value from the keeping of note books to which
they have never referred since they were written. The fact is that the
great value of a note book lies in the power of muscular action to record
upon the tablet of the mind the thing written down on paper. The fingers
themselves seem to possess a certain power to remember. We know a thing
better after having written it. One reason may be that the necessity of
writing it has forced us to think it through, but another undoubtedly is
the fact that the movement of the muscles inscribes its story in the
processes of the brain.
It is frequently noticeable, too, that a thing is better remembered after
it has been spoken. To give a class recitation upon it, to deliver an
address upon it, to make it a subject of conversation with a friend, or
even to talk aloud about it to the silences often engraves its subject
matter in the memory in an indelible fashion. The very movement of the
muscles of speech cooperated with the mind in making the subject an
everlasting possession. All this is simply another indication of the
principle involved. It also submits proof that there is a certain value
in saying what one honestly thinks or truly knows.
In this discussion lies a point of high value to the teacher. It is one
thing to get a pupil to take in the knowledge of a fact in such a way as
to retain it until some seemingly more commanding fact has forced it from
his thought. It is a very different, and a much better, thing to help him
to assimilate the matter in question. When knowledge has once been
assimilated, nothing save a mental breakdown can ever rob its owner of it.
It is then a part of himself. This is the goal of the teacher, and one of
the chief paths to it is to induce the pupil to live his knowledge as he
gains it.
When this is done, knowledge becomes more than a thing of the mind alone.
It is not our concern to merely educate the brain. It is our commission to
educate the whole life and to cultivate the entire being. Genuine
education is a symmetrical process, and the person who has really learned
a thing will profit from it in every interest of his life. As knowledge
becomes a matter of action, it becomes a matter of purpose, ideal,
and character.
In other words, it is translated into terms of life. It is at this point
that the teacher’s work reaches its highest stage of being and usefulness.
It is in this sense that both he and his work are immortal.
It would be a serious question whether our earnest attempts at teaching
the race would be altogether worth their while if they amounted to nothing
more than getting the young to know so many things, to possess such and
such a sized storehouse of knowledge, filled with appropriately selected
and labelled morsels of fact. It becomes a tremendously worthwhile
proposition, however, when it is seen as a means to a larger and richer
life. As knowledge is taught to a pupil, it should be as a means of
enabling him to live more happily, wholesomely, and successfully. It
should be as a sort of transfusion of blood for the living of the
larger life.
The principle stated here works both ways and with equal beauty either
way. Not only is it true that the actual doing of a thing enables one to
learn it better and works the knowledge deeper into life and experience,
but it is also true that it best vindicates the useful mission
of education.
It is not mere bookishness that the world will want on the part of the
girls and boys when they shall at last come to take their places in the
ranks of endeavor. It will be expecting people who are capable of earning
their keep. It will want them not only to be brilliant and cultivated, but
also to be able to meet practical questions and perform everyday tasks.
The boy or girl who has been trained to do the things he knows to do is
the one who will best prove to the world the value of the school and the
importance of the work of the teacher. The sending of such young people
into the arena of action will bring a flood of service which will spell
out an ever-accelerated progress for civilization.
It is definite action alone which achieves progress. All the mere
knowledge possible to men would not be of any real help, except insofar as
it finds its expression in definite and positive action. Mere knowledge is
like mere good intentions. Their presence is no better than their absence
until they are incarnated into deeds. Knowledge has the largest of all
potentialities for the good of mankind when it becomes calculated action
and wise service. For this reason, the entertaining of such an educational
ideal is significant for the good of the world as well as for the
educational progress of the pupil himself.
A Korean boy came to a missionary one day with the information that he had
learned the entire Sermon on the Mount by heart. The missionary
congratulated him upon his effort, but reminded him that it was a better
thing to follow its teachings than to learn to repeat its words.
“Oh,” said the boy, “That’s the way I learned it.” He had solved an
important pedagogical problem. It was the same old process that we saw in
the Squeers school. There it was grotesquely conceived and followed out,
but the effect lay along the right track. When a boy learned a thing, he
was told to go and do it.
The modern school must teach boys and girls much more dependable knowledge
than was imparted at Dotheboys Hall, and no modern teacher will abuse his
privilege and opportunity as did Mr. Squeers; but it will be a good thing
if it is remembered in the modern schoolroom that the educational ideal is
twofold. It demands, first, that the child shall be taught to know a
thing. It requires, second, that he shall not fail to make definite use of
the knowledge which he has gained. Thus it will be made to mean the most
in education to him and the most in service to the world.