Inspiring Questions
I use this title advisedly, because I believe that it requires more
genuine inspiration to lead the average scholar to ask questions than
to perform any other part of the teacher's difficult task. How easy to
ask our own questions, to put in our own answers in order to draw them
out again, were that all of it! But to transform the passive into the
active, the auditor into the investigator, the questioned into the
questioner, that is the goal of the true teacher's endeavor.
Shall we count a recitation successful when the teacher has been earnest
and zealous in his inquisition, the scholars ready and full in their
responses? A single question, borne, it may be, on a voice so timid that
it is scarcely audible in the buzzing room, yet sprung from some young
heart just moved with the sudden desire of truth, is worth all the rest.
If the teacher wishes to carry his scholars beyond the parasite stage,
which is just as dangerous intellectually as physically, both to the
parasite and its supporter, he must learn first that this weaning
comes not without thoughtfulness and design. He must learn that, even
more carefully than he plans the questions he is to ask his scholars,
he must plan to inspire them to ask questions themselves. He will be
most successful if, from the many matters which could be brought up in
the lesson, he selects two or three of prime importance, and schemes
to elicit the questioning enthusiasm of his class along those few
lines. But how to do it?
In the first place, the teacher must be a questioner himself. An old
hen can hardly teach the eagle's brood to fly. Do not hesitate to tell
your scholars of the doubts you once had, and how you won certainty
from them. Show them by example that doubt is never a thing to be
afraid of or ashamed of, unless it be a lazy doubt, viciously pleased
with its own fog.
Then there is a question-inspiring face and attitude. If the teacher
assumes the manner pontific and speaks _ex cathedra_, and has the air
of one who says the ultimate word, he will smother every question. A
sympathetic, open face, and the hearty spirit of good-fellowship, are
the best invitations to inquiries.
Nor must the teacher be in a hurry, hastening from verse to verse with
the nervous dispatch of an auctioneer. How many times must even a wise
man look at a beetle, and how long, before he is moved to ask a wise
question concerning it? Don't we sometimes make the recitation a mere
exhibition of shooting-stars?
Then, too, be on the watch for questions. How far ahead can you see a
question coming? Before the scholar has made up his mind to ask it, if
you have seeing eyes. An almost imperceptible quiver of the lips:
"Question, Thomas?" Eyes suddenly wider: "What were you about to ask,
Mary?" Forehead wrinkled: "Anything to say on that point, Edward?"
And if the question is a good one, why, "A capital question, Thomas!"
"I hoped that some one would ask that, Mary!" A good question is more
to be praised than a good answer, because it is rarer and more
original; but does it always receive our hearty commendation?
Though the question leads you far out of your way, turn aside for it
as gladly as you would turn from the road to pick up a diamond. Though
you must leave the climax of the lesson unreached, see in this the
climax. Though you are in full harangue, eagerly showing forth some
great truth, stop short at once. A question in hand is worth a whole
system of theology in the bush.
And even if the question be trivial, or pointless, or utterly
irrelevant, in anticipation of other possible questions, this one is
not to be scornfully or slightingly waved aside. Don't kill the goose
that lays golden eggs when she chances to lay one of pewter!
Half-statements, when shrewdly managed, will often elicit questions.
"Yes, God was terribly angry with the Jews,--terribly. Think how
powerful God is, and how awful his anger must be! You want to ask
something, Billy? Whether it is right for God to be angry? Well, I am
glad you asked that, because I want to tell you the difference between
his anger and ours."
An over-statement will often draw out the longed-for inquiry. "When
John urged every one with two coats to give one to some person who had
no coat, what did he mean but this,--that, as long as any one in the
world is poor, those who have more than they need ought to keep giving
to those who have less than they need? I see that you have a word for
us, Lizzie. What is it? How about the lazy people and the bad men? I
hoped some one would bring up that point!"
And when your half-statement or over-statement is accepted without
remonstrance by your scholars, a little jolly scolding as you make the
correction yourself, and a warning that they must do better thinking
the next time, will work wonders.
Sometimes the best plan is a direct call. "What do you think about
that statement, now? Haven't you some question to ask about it? Don't
you want to know something more about it?" If not a question follows,
at least the scholars will know that you are expecting them to
originate lines of thought and inquiry; and that is one thing gained.
This question is sometimes asked: "What modern teacher is so
successful as Socrates, who made his scholars teachers in their turn?"
The question touches a fundamental truth in pedagogics,--that the
teacher's goal is the scholar's independence of the teacher. By brave
example of sturdy thought, by sympathetic insight into the doubts and
needs of the opening mind, by enthusiasm and winning tact, let us
strive in this direction, as in all others, to be worthy followers of
Him who made of his disciples teachers at whose feet the great Greek
himself would have been glad to sit.