INDUCTION.
We are now prepared to inquire into the mind's method of approach to
any and all subjects. We have considered the aim of education, the
value of different subjects as helping toward that aim, the natural
interests which give zest to studies, and finally the general plan of
combining and relating topics so as to bring about unity of purpose and
unity of matter in the mind. As a child enters upon the work of
acquisition are there any regulatives to guide the process of learning?
_Induction_, or the _concept-bearing process_, shows the tendency of
our minds to advance from the inspection of particular objects and
actions to the understanding of general notions or concepts. The study
and analysis of this process casts us forthwith into the midst of
psychology, and calls for a knowledge of that succession and net-work
of mental activities discussed in all the psychologies; sensation,
discrimination, perception, analysis and synthesis, comparison,
judgment, generalization or concept, reasoning. An inquiry into these
mental activities, which are among the most important in psychology, is
necessary as a basis of induction and of general method.
But even the more profound study of psychology does not necessarily
give insight into correct methods of teaching. Many great
psychologists have had little or no interest in teaching. Even eminent
specialists in electricity and chemistry have not often been those to
draw the immediate practical benefit from their studies. The
application of psychology to the work of instruction constitutes a
distinct field of inquiry and experiment. The output of the best
experimental thinking in this direction may be called pedagogy.
The process of induction or concept-building leads the mind, as above
indicated, through a series of different acts. We may first observe
how far the mind is unnaturally inclined to follow this process, and
whether it is a mark of healthy mental action in children and in
adults. Later we may examine more closely the successive stages in the
process itself.
To get at the _natural process_ it is well to observe first the action
of a _child's_ mind. By analyzing a simple case of a farmer's child we
may trace the mental steps in forming a general notion. So long as it
has seen no barn except that on its father's farm, the word _barn_
means to it only that particular object. But when it discovers that
one of the neighbors has a similar building called a barn, it learns to
put these different objects under one head, and the general notion
_barn_ as a building for horses, cattle, and feed, gradually rises in
the mind. Long before the child is six years old (school age) it may
have seen enough of such barns for the general notion to be distinctly
formed. By observing different objects, by comparing and grouping
similar things together, it has formed a general notion in a regular
process of induction, and that without any help from teachers.
At two and three years of age, or as soon as a child begins to
recognize and name new objects (because of their resemblance to things
previously seen) this tendency to concept-building is manifest.
Another illustration: The child has seen the family horse several times
till the word horse becomes associated with that animal. While out
walking it sees another horse, and pointing its finger says "horse."
The memory of the first horse and the similarity calls forth the
natural conclusion that this is a horse, though it may not be able to
formulate the sentence. More horses are seen and compared till the
word becomes the name of a whole class of animals. By a gradual
process of observation, comparison, and judgment the word horse comes
to stand for a large group of objects in nature.
A child's mind is naturally very _active_ in detecting resemblances and
in grouping similar objects together. It notices that there are
certain people called women, others called men; that certain animals
are called sheep, others cattle. One class of objects receives the
name book, another stove, etc. The work of observing, comparing, and
classifying is a perpetual operation in the child's active moods. In
this way, what may appear at first as an interminable confusion or blur
of objects in nature begins to fall into groups and classes with
appropriate names. It is the child's own way of bringing order out of
the apparent chaos of his surroundings. All this process of
classification is natural and nearly unconscious, and results in a
better understanding and interpretation of the things around him.
Observe next the work of an educated _adult_, and how he increases and
arranges his knowledge. If he is an incipient dry-goods merchant he
learns by sight and touch to detect the quality of goods. He compares
and classifies his experiences and becomes in time an expert in judging
textile fabrics. On the other hand he becomes acquainted by personal
contact with various customers and learns how to classify and judge
them both as buyers and as debtors.
If a _botanist_ finds a new plant he examines its stem, leaves, root,
flower, seed, and environment. While entering into these details he is
also comparing it with familiar classes of plants. Finally, he is not
satisfied till he can definitely locate it in his previous system.
With every new plant that he discovers he travels over the whole road
from the individual particulars to the general classes of his whole
system. The merchant and the scientist follow out with painstaking
care and industry the same course which was involuntarily taken by the
child; namely, observation of particulars, comparing and grouping into
classes. The same habit of mind may be observed in all people who are
growing knowledgewards and who possess any thoughtful instincts. In
building up concepts, especially with the adult, induction is
constantly mingled with deduction. As fast as general notions are
formed they are used to interpret new objects. As the amount of this
organized and classified knowledge increases, we reason more and more
deductively.
In acquiring knowledge along the line of induction, we are on the road
to the solution of the _puzzle_, that nature puts to every child. To
every infant, indeed, the world is an enormous riddle or puzzle, whose
parts lie in fragments about him, waiting the operation of his curious
and inventive mind toward the reconstruction of the whole. Endless
variety and complexity confront us all in the beginning. There is
indeed an order and classification of things in nature, but it does not
appear on the surface, and for centuries men remained ignorant of the
underlying harmony. Nature is full of valuable secrets, but they lie
concealed from the careless eye. They are to be detected by prying
deeper into individual facts, by putting a thing here and a thing there
together, by pondering on the relationship of things to each other in
their nature, appearance, and cause. It is a remarkable fact that we
not only increase knowledge best by analyzing, comparing, and
classifying objects, experience, and phenomena--even into old age--but
that the deeper we penetrate into the individual qualities and inner
nature of objects, the more we extend and classify our information, the
simpler all the operations of nature become to our understanding. The
surprising simplicity and unity of nature in her varied phenomena is
one of the mature products of scientific study. The most scientific
thinker, then, is only trying to reduce to a simple explanation the
same puzzle which confronted the infant in its cradle. The problem is
the same and the method similar.
It is plain that the process of classifying objects and phenomena in
nature and in society is the _beginning of scientific knowledge_. A
child begins to learn as soon as it notices the resemblances in things
and arranges them into groups. It will appear later that the mind does
not follow a strictly logical method in gaining its groups, that it
falls into natural errors and misconceptions; but in spite of these
eccentric movements, the general trend is toward classifications and
toward the language symbols that express them. In this power to
associate, classify, and symbolize the products of experience in words
is seen the marked difference between man and the animals. The latter
have little power to compare and generalize, that is, to think. On a
still higher plane, the difference between a careless, loose observer
and a well-trained scientific thinker is largely a difference in
accuracy, in inductive and deductive processes.
The important thing for the teacher to determine is whether this
inductive or concept-building tendency furnishes any _solid ground upon
which to base the work of instruction_. Admitting that it is a natural
process, common to both old and young in acquiring knowledge, perhaps
it can be neglected because it will take care of itself. If it is
self-active, needing no artificial stimulus, let it alone. On the
contrary, if in a healthy pursuit of knowledge it brings the varied
mental powers into a natural sequence where they will strengthen and
support one another, it should be studied and used by teachers. It
would be very commonplace to say that each of the faculties or
activities involved in the inductive process should be disciplined and
strengthened by school studies. There is but little difference of
opinion on this subject, though some would lay more stress upon sense
training, some on memory, some on reasoning. The ground for this
general conviction is the notorious fact that with children every one
of these acts, is performed in a _faulty and superficial manner_. The
observations of children are very careless and unreliable. Even adults
are extremely negligent and inaccurate in their observations of natural
objects, persons, and phenomena. But the mental powers brought to bear
in observation are simple and elementary. The exercise of higher
mental powers, such as analysis, comparison, judgment, and reasoning,
is prone to be still more accidental and erroneous.
Acknowledging then the necessity for training all these powers, how can
it best be done? Not by delegating to each study the cultivation of
one kind or set of mental activities, but by observing that _the same
general process_ underlies the acquisition of knowledge in each
subject, and that all the kinds of mental life are brought into action
in nearly every study. In short, the inductive process is a natural
highway of human thought in every line of study, bringing all the
mental forces into an orderly, successive, healthful activity. We may
yet discover that the inductive process not only gives the key to an
interesting method of mastering different branches of knowledge, but in
developing mental activity it brings the various mental powers into a
strong natural sequence.
One of the great ends of intellectual culture is gradually _to
transform this careless, unconscious, inductive tendency in children
into the painstaking and exact scrutiny of the student, and later of
the specialist_.
Although the inductive process is a common highway of thought in all
stages of intellectual growth from childhood to maturity, certain parts
of the road are much more frequently traveled in childhood, and still
others in youth and maturity. It is the work of pedagogy to adapt its
materials to these _changing phases_ of soul life in children. In the
analysis of the inductive and deductive processes we desire to come at
the solution of this problem.
Considered as a whole, there is a simple phase of the inductive process
which is best explained by the terms absorption and reflection. It
appears in the study of simple as well as of complex objects, and
indicates clearly the fundamental rhythm of the mind in acquiring and
elaborating its knowledge. This action of the mind is a shuttle-like
movement, a constant running back and forth between two extremes,
_absorption_ and _reflection_. We will test this statement upon
examples. When we are in the mood for learning let some new object, a
_sawmill_, attract the attention. A quick general glance at the place
and its surroundings tells us what it is. Now trace the operation of
the mill as it draws up the logs singly from the rafts lying on the
margin of the river and converts them into lumber. You observe first
how the logs are carried up an inclined slide by means of an endless
chain with hooks, into the mill. You examine this first piece of
machinery and notice its mode of action. As the logs enter the upper
story of the mill, they are thrown by heavy levers to either side and
roll down toward the saws. Here is another piece of machinery in its
proper place. Having been stripped of the loose pieces of bark, the
logs are grasped by another set of iron hands, lifted firmly to the
carriage and passed to the circular or band-saw, which takes off the
side slabs and squares them for the gang-saw. The squared logs are
then carried along over rollers and collected before the gang-saws.
From two to four of them are clasped firmly together and then forced up
against the teeth of the parallel group of saws, issuing from them as a
batch of lumber. The boards are then passed on to a set of men at
small circular saws, by whom they are sorted and the edges trimmed,
while still others with trucks carry them to the yard for stacking.
Take note of the operation of the mind as it passes from one part of
the machinery to another. Each part is first examined by itself to get
its construction and method. Then its relation to what precedes and
what follows is noted. Finally, in review you survey the whole process
in its successive stages and understand each part and its relation to
the whole and to the purpose of the mill. We might call this an
analysis and synthesis of the process of making lumber, or in other
words absorption and reflection. In the observation of such a complex
piece of machinery as a large mill the mind swings back and forth many
times between absorption in the study of parts and reflection upon
their relation to each other.
Having examined the mill in detail and grasped its parts as a connected
whole, the next step is to observe its relation to the river, to the
rafts and rafting-boats, and further back to the pineries and
logging-camps up the river. (Northern Minnesota and Wisconsin.) The
occupations and sights along the Upper Mississippi and its head-waters,
the pineries, and even the spring floods, are intimately connected,
causally, with the saw-mills and lumber yards lower down. Or going in
the opposite direction from the saw-mill, we follow the lumber till it
is used in the various forms of construction. Some of it enters the
planing-mills and is converted into moldings, finishing lumber, sashes,
blinds, etc. In all forms it is loaded upon the cars, and shipped
westward to be used in the construction of houses and bridges.
Before we get through with the line of thought engendered by observing
the saw-mill, we have canvassed the whole lumber industry from the
pineries to the plans of architects and builders in the actual work of
construction. Not only has there been this progress of the mind from
one object or machine to another of a _series_ connected by cause and
effect, but there has been also a constant tendency to pass from the
individual machines of which the series is composed to the classes of
which these objects are typical. A circular-saw or a gang-saw is each
typical of a class of saws. The same is true of each part of the
machinery, as well as of the saw-mill or planing-mill considered as a
whole. Each of these objects, whether simple or complex, suggests
others similar which we have observed or seen represented in pictures.
Each part of the machinery in turn becomes the center of a set of
comparisons leading from the concrete object in question to the general
notion of the class to which it belongs. For example, the steam engine
in a mill is typical of all stationary engines used for driving
machinery. But the parts of the engine are also typical of similar
parts in other engines and machines, as the drive-wheel, cylinder,
boiler, etc.
In all these cases we become absorbed in one thing for a while, only to
recover ourselves and to reflect upon the thing in its wider relations,
either tracing out connections of cause and effect, as in a series of
machines, or passing from the single example to the class of which it
is typical. Absorption and reflection! The mind swings back and forth
like a pendulum between these two operations. Herbart, who closely
defined this process, called it the _mental act of breathing_, because
of the constancy of its movement. As regularly as the air is drawn
into the lungs and again expelled, so regularly does the mind lose
itself in its absorption with objects only to recover itself and
reflect upon them.
In the inspection of a large _printing press_ in one of our newspaper
publishing-houses we meet with a similar experience. The attention
becomes centered upon the press for a close analysis and synthesis of
its parts. The cogs, wheels, rollers, inking-plate, the chases for the
type, the application of the power, the springs and levers, each part
receives a close inspection, and the secret of its connection with
other parts is sought for. There is a vigorous effort not only to
understand each part but also the connection of the whole. The
shuttle-like movement of the mind back and forth between the parts,
absorbed for a moment, reflecting for a moment, continues until the
complex mechanism is understood. When this process has been
satisfactorily completed, we are ready to turn our minds again to the
other objects and rooms of the printing establishment. The work of the
compositors, setting up different kinds of type, the proof-reading, the
editorial work, the reporters, all come in for a share of attention.
The reporters lead us to the great world outside whose happenings are
brought here for publication. On the other hand, following the
distribution of papers as they issue from the press, we think of
news-boys, news-stands, mail-service, railroads, and postoffices. But
the inspection of a printing press also leads the thoughts in other
directions and suggests other presses, great and small, in other times
and places, other printing establishments, until the whole business of
printing and publishing books and papers springs into the thought.
If we desire to understand clearly the business of publishing a
newspaper, we must enter into an observation of the parts of the
process from the collection of its news to its distribution by the
mails and carriers. Besides noting these parts we must observe their
causal connection with each other and the rôle that each plays in the
economy of the whole. The causal series thus clearly outlined produces
insight into an occupation, while every typical machine or appliance is
one of a cross series intercepting the original series. The
acquisition and assimilation of knowledge in different subjects will be
found to exhibit the mental states of absorption and reflection as just
illustrated. Observe the manner in which we study a poem. It is first
read and interpreted sentence by sentence, glancing from verse to verse
to get the connections. When the whole piece has been read and
understood in its parts and connections, the suggested lines of thought
are taken up and followed out in their wider applications. Take for
example the "Burial of Moses," and in the proper analysis and study of
the poem, such a process of absorption and reflection is observable.
In tracing the biography of John Quincy Adams or of Alexander Hamilton,
the facts of personal experience and action first absorb the attention
from step to step in the study of his life. But reflection on the
bearings of these personal events, upon contemporaries, and upon public
affairs is noticed all along. The same mental process is observed in
studying a battle in history, a sentence in grammar, a squirrel in
natural history, or a picture in art.
The effect of such mental absorption and reflection is to build up
_concepts_. Series of causally related parts are also formed, but each
series in the end becomes a more complete complex concept; that is, a
representative of many similar series. The inspection of one printing
establishment suggests others which are brought into comparison till
the general notion, publishing-house, is more clearly conceived. The
same is true in the lumber trade. The concept lumber-business is not
confined to Minneapolis or Chicago, but is common to the great lake
region, Maine, Washington, Norway, and other countries. Concepts
become more varied and complex with the advance of studies, and there
is scarcely anything we learn by observation or reflection that does
not ultimately illustrate and build up our concepts. The observation
of even the miscellaneous objects in a large city leads to a variety of
concepts, and in the end, by comparison, to the general notion, _city_.
How strong the concept-creating tendency of all experience and thought
is, can be seen in the _words_ of language. The processes of thought
become petrified in language. All progress in knowledge and
acquisition of new ideas is reflected in language by an increase of
words. But an examination of words in common use will show that they
are nearly all the names of concepts. Proper names are the principal
exception. Every common noun, verb, adjective, adverb, and preposition
is the name of a concept; for example, horse, beauty, to steal,
running, over, early, yellow, grape, ocean, etc. To understand these
concepts there must be somewhere a progress from the individual to the
abstract, an induction from particulars to a general concept.
Abstract or general notions cannot be acquired at first hand without
specific illustrations. Even where the deductive process is supposedly
employed, a closer examination will uncover the concrete or individual
illustrations in the background, and until these are reached the
concept has no clear meaning. The _concrete examples_, whether
introduced sooner or later by way of explanation, are the real basis of
the understanding of the concept. It is customary to invert the
inductive process and to drive it stern forwards through grammar,
geography, and other studies. Take, for example, the word boomerang as
it comes up in a geography or reading lesson. Webster's dictionary,
which is recommended to children as a first resort in such
difficulties, calls it "A remarkable missile weapon used by the natives
of Australia." This gives a faint notion by using the familiar word
_weapon_. The picture accompanying the word in the dictionary gives a
more accurate idea because nearer the concrete. The best possible
explanation would be a real boomerang thrown by a native South-Sea
Islander. In the absence of these, a picture and a vivid description
are the best means at our disposal. The common mistake is in learning
and reciting the definition while neglecting the concrete basis. By
way of further illustration, try to explain to children, who have never
heard of them before, the egg-plant, palm-tree, cactus, etc.
It would be of interest to inquire into the process of concept-building
in each of the _school studies_, where it appears under quite varying
forms. The natural sciences are perhaps the best examples of
concept-building from concrete materials, advancing regularly through a
series of concepts from the individuals and species to the most general
classes of plants, animals, etc. In chemistry and physics the laws and
general principles are based on substances, experiments, and processes
observable by the senses. Grammar and language, when studied as a
science, advance from concept to concept through etymology and syntax.
In geography and history the concepts are less definite and more
difficult to formulate, and yet there are many typical ideas which are
to be developed and illustrated in each of these studies; in history,
for example, colony, legislature, governor, general, revolution,
institutions and customs, political party, laws of development, causal
relations, inventions, etc.; in geography, continents, oceans, forms of
relief, kinds of climate and causes, occupations, products, commerce,
etc. The fundamental truths and relations and rules of arithmetic must
be developed from objects and illustrations. Reading, spelling, and
writing are arts, not sciences, and are more concerned with skill in
execution than with the acquisition of a body of scientific truths.
And yet certain general truths are emphasized and applied in these
studies.
Much needless confusion has been caused by raising the question _where
to begin_ in learning. Do we proceed from the whole, to the parts, or
from the parts to the whole? In making the acquaintance of sense
objects it seems clear that we first perceive wholes (somewhat vaguely
and indefinitely). The second impulse is to analyze this whole into
its parts, then recombine them (synthesis) into a whole which is more
definitely and fully grasped. A house, for example, is generally first
perceived as a whole; and later it is examined more particularly as to
its materials, rooms, stairways, conveniences, furnishings, etc. The
same is true with a mountain, a butterfly, a man. Thus far we have
proceeded from the whole to the parts and then back again; analysis and
synthesis. The next movement is from this whole or object toward a
group of similar objects, a class notion. By comparing one thing with
others similar, a class notion is formed which includes them all. Each
individual is a whole, but is also a type of the entire group. The
general mental movement is successively in two directions from any
particular object; first, from the whole to the parts, then grasping
this whole in a richer, fuller sense, the mind seeks for relations
which bind this object with others similar into a group, a more complex
product, a concept. There may appear to be an exception to this rule
in the case of a city, a continent, a railroad, or any concrete object
so large and complex that it cannot be grasped by a single effort of
sense perception. But even here it is usual with us first to represent
the whole object to our thought by means of a sketch, map, or figure of
speech, so as first to get a quick survey of the whole thing. In
history, also, we first grasp at wholes, then enter into a detailed
account of an event, a campaign, a voyage, a revolution, etc. There
are many complex wholes in geography and history with which it is not
wise to begin, because it requires a long and painful effort to get at
the notion of the whole. The wholes we have in mind are those which
can be almost instantly grasped. Not, for example, an outline of
American history or of the world's history. The choice of suitable
wholes with which to begin is based upon the child's interest and
apperceptive powers.
Having thus examined into the general nature of the inductive process
and the extent of its application to school studies and to other forms
of acquiring knowledge, we are led to a closer practical discussion of
each of the two chief stages of induction: First, _observation or
intuition_; that is, the direct perception through the senses or
through consciousness, of the realities of the external world and of
the mind. Second, association of ideas with a view to generalizing and
_forming concepts_.
_Intuition_[1] implies object lessons in a wide sense. By object
lessons is usually meant things in nature perceived through the senses.
But it is necessary to extend the idea of object lessons beyond the
objects and phenomena of the physical world, to which it has been
usually limited. It includes perception of our own mental states.
These direct experiences of our own inner states are the primary basis
of our understanding of other people's feelings, mental states, and
actions. In short, an understanding of the phenomena of individual
life, (the acts of persons) of society, and of history, is based upon a
knowledge of our own feelings and mental acts, and upon the accuracy
with which we have observed and interpreted similar things in other
persons. We have already seen that a right appreciation of companions,
biographies, social life, and history, is the strongest of
psychological forces in its formative influence upon character. For
this reason, also, history includes the first and most important body
of school studies. But object lessons drawn from physical nature do
not measurably qualify us for a better appreciation of individual and
social life and action. The fundamental illustrative materials for
history are drawn from another source, from the depth of the heart and
inner experience of each person. Many words in our own school books
can be illustrated and explained by objects and activities in physical
nature, but a large part of the words in common use in our readers and
school books can be explained by no external objects. They depend for
their interpretation upon the child's own feelings, desires, joys,
griefs, etc., and upon similar phenomena observed in others.
Object lessons in this liberal sense point to the direct exercise of
the senses and intuitions in the acquisition of experience of all
sorts. They include the objects, persons, and events that we see
around us and our own experiences in ordinary life--the grass, plants,
trees, and soils; the animals, wild and tame, with their structure,
habits, and uses; the rocks, woods, hills, streams, seasons, clouds,
heat, and cold. There is also the observation of devices and
inventions; tools, machinery and their workings, the different raw and
manufactured products, with their ways of growth and transformation.
Besides these are the various kinds and dispositions of men, different
classes and races of people, with great variety of character,
occupation, and education. Their actions, modes of dress, and customs
are included. But we have many other primary and indispensable lessons
to learn from the playground, the street, from home and church, from
city and country, from travel and sight seeing, from holidays and work
days, from sickness, and healthful excursions. Even a child's own
tempers, faults, and successes are of the greatest value to himself and
to the teacher in a proper self-understanding and mastery. By object
lessons, therefore, we mean all that a child becomes conscious of
through the direct action of his senses and of his mind upon external
nature or inner experience. It is desired that a child's knowledge in
all direct experience be simple, clear, and according to the facts.
All words that he uses become only signs of the realities of his
experience. Every word stands for a potent thought in his own life
history. Of course object lessons in this rich and real sense can not
be confined to such few objects--birds, leaves, models, and straws--as
can be brought into a school room. All the world, especially the
outside world, becomes
"A complex Chinese toy
Fashioned for a barefoot boy."
Many of the most interesting objects and phenomena in nature and of
man's construction can not be observed in the school room at all, for
instance, the river, the bridge, the forest, the flight of birds, the
sunrise, the storm, the stars, etc. Still they must know these very
things and know how to use them better in constructing the mind's
treasures than they are wont to do. In reading, grammar, geography,
arithmetic, and nature study, we desire to ground school discussions
daily upon the clear facts of experience, of personal observation. We
need to clear up all confused and faulty perceptions and to stimulate
children to make their future observations more reliable.
We have already seen the importance of object lessons in this full and
real sense to _interest_. Interest in every study is awakened and
constantly reenforced by an appeal, not to books, but to life. Much of
the dull work in arithmetic, geography, and other studies is due to the
neglect of these real, illustrative materials.
Of the six great sources of interest, (Herbart's) three, the
_empirical_, the _esthetic_, and the _sympathetic_, deal entirely with
concrete objects or with individuals, while even the _speculative_ and
_social_ interests are often based directly upon particular persons or
phenomena. In addition to this it may be said that the interests of
children are overwhelmingly with the concrete and imaginative phases of
every subject, and only secondarily with general truths and laws. The
latter are of greater concern to older children and adults. Object
lessons therefore contain a life-giving element that should enter into
every subject of study.
Nor should these interesting, illustrative object lessons be limited to
the lower grades. They contain the combustible material upon which an
abiding interest in any subject is to be kindled. There are indeed
other and perhaps higher sources of interest, but they are largely
dependent upon these original springs that flow from the concrete
beginnings.
In the second place, object lessons supply a stock of _primary ideas_
which form the foundation of all later progress in knowledge. This is
not a question of interest merely, but of _understanding_, of capacity
to get at the meaning of an idea. Concepts are not the raw materials
with which the mind works, but they are elaborated out of the raw
products furnished by the senses and other forms of intuition. As
cloth is manufactured out of the raw cotton and wool produced on the
farm or in southern fields, so concepts are a manufactured article,
into whose texture materials previously gathered enter. Concepts do
not grow up directly from the soil of the mind any more than ready-made
clothing grows on bushes or on the backs of the wearers. Concepts must
be made out of stuff that is already in the mind, as woolen blankets
are spun and woven out of fleeces. Our present contention is that the
mind shall be filled up with the best quality of raw stuff, otherwise
there will be defect and deficiency in its later products. The stuff
out of which concepts are built is drawn from the varied experiences of
life. On account of this intimate relation between the realities of
life and school studies they cannot be separated. Every branch,
especially in elementary studies, must be treated concretely and be
built up out of sense materials. Every study has its concrete side,
its illustrative materials, its colors of individual things taken from
life. Every study has likewise its more general scientific truths and
classifications. The prime mistake in nearly all teaching and in the
text-book method is in supposing that the great truths are accessible
in some other way than through the concrete materials that lie properly
at the entrance. The text-books are full of the abstractions and
general formulae of the sciences; but they can, in the very nature of
the case, deal only in a meager way with the individual objects and
facts upon which knowledge in different subjects is based. This
necessary defect in a text-book method must be made good by excursions,
by personal observation, by a constant reference of lessons to daily
experience outside of school, by more direct study of our surroundings,
by the teacher perfecting himself in this kind of knowledge and in its
skillful use.
There was a current belief at one time that object lessons should form
a _special study_ for a particular period of school life, namely, the
first years. It was thought that sufficient sense-materials could be
collected in two or three years to supply the whole school curriculum.
But this thought is now abandoned. Children in the earlier grades may
properly spend more time in object study than in later grades, but
there is no time in school life when we can afford to cut loose from
the real world. There is scarcely a lesson in any subject that can not
be clarified and strengthened by calling in the fresh experiences of
daily life.
The discussion of the concept and of the inductive process has shown
that _concepts cannot be found at first hand_. There must be
observation of different objects, comparison, and grouping into a
class. A person who has never seen an elephant nor a picture of one,
can form no adequate notion of elephants in general. We can by no
shift dispense with the illustrations. The more the memory is filled
with vivid pictures of real things, the more easy and rapid will be the
progress to general truths. Not only are general notions of classes of
objects in nature, or of personal actions built up out of particulars,
but the general laws and principles of nature and of human society must
be observed in real life to be understood. We should have no faith in
_electricity_ if it were simply a scientific theory, if it had not
demonstrated its power through material objects. The idea of
_cohesion_ would never have been dreamed of, if it had not become
necessary to explain certain physical facts. The spherical form of the
earth was not accepted by many even learned men until sailors with
ships had gone around it. Political ideas of popular government which
a few centuries ago were regarded as purely utopian are now accepted as
facts because they have become matters of common observation. The
_circulation of the blood_ remained a secret for many centuries because
of the difficulties of bringing it home to the knowledge of the senses.
These examples will show how difficult it is to go beyond the reach of
sense experience. Even those philosophers who have tried to construct
theories without the safe foundation of facts have labored for naught.
The more our thought is checked and guided by nature's realities the
less danger of inflation with pretended knowledge. Bacon found that in
this tendency to theorize loosely upon a slender basis of facts was the
fundamental weakness of ancient philosophy. Nature if observed will
reiterate her truths till they become convincing verities, while the
study of words and books alone produces a _quasi-knowledge_ which often
mistakes the symbol for the thing.
Having this thought in mind, _Comenius_, more than two and a half
centuries ago, said, "It is certain that there is nothing in the
understanding which has not been previously in the senses, and
consequently to exercise the senses carefully in discriminating the
differences of natural objects is to lay the foundation of all wisdom,
all eloquence, and of all good and prudent action. The right
instruction of youth does not consist in cramming them with a mass of
words, phrases, sentences, and opinions collected from authors. In
this way the youth are taught, like Aesop's crow in the fable, to adorn
themselves with strange feathers. Why should we not, instead of dead
books, open the living book of nature? Not the shadows of things, but
the things themselves, which make an impression upon the senses and
imagination, are to be brought before the youth."
There has always been a strong tendency in the schools to teach _words,
definitions, and rules_ without a sufficient knowledge of the objects
and experiences of life that put meaning into these abstractions. The
result is that all the prominent educational reformers have pointedly
condemned the practice of learning words, names, etc., without a
knowledge of the things signified. The difference is like that between
learning the names of a list of persons at a reception, and being
present to enter into acquaintance and conversation with the guests.
The oft-quoted dictum of Kant is a laconic summary of this argument.
"General notions (concepts) without sense-percepts are empty." The
general definition of composite flowers means little or nothing to a
child; but after a familiar acquaintance with the sunflower, dandelion,
thistle, etc., such a general statement has a clear meaning. Concepts
without the content derived from objects are like a frame without a
picture, or a cistern without water. The table is spread and the
dishes placed, but no refreshments are supplied.
Having completed the discussion of _intuition_, including object
lessons, that is, the preparatory step to the inductive process, we
reach the second, _reflection_ and _survey_. We are seeking for a
general term that covers the several steps in the latter part of the
inductive process. It includes comparison, classification, and
abstraction. It may be discussed from the standpoint of "association
of ideas," and contributes directly to concentration.
We have in mind, chiefly, that thoughtful habit which is not satisfied
with simply acquiring a new fact or set of ideas, but is impelled to
trace them out along their various connections. We have to do now not
with the acquisition but with the _elaboration_ and _assimilation_ of
knowledge. The _acquisition_ of knowledge in the ordinary sense is one
thing; its _elaboration_ in a full sense sets up a standard of progress
which will put life into all school work and reach far beyond it, and
in fact is limited only by the individual capacity for thought. In
school, in reading and study, we have been largely engaged in acquiring
knowledge on the principle that "knowledge is power." But no practical
man needs to be told that much so-called school knowledge is not power.
Facts which have been simply stored in the memory are often of little
ready use. It is like wheat in the bin, which must first pass through
the mill and change its entire form before it will perform its
function. Facts, in order to become the personal property of the
owner, must be worked over, sifted, sorted, classified, and connected.
The process of elaborating and assimilating knowledge is so important
that it requires more time and pains than the first labor of
acquisition. Philosophers will admit this at once, but it is hard for
us to break loose from the traditions of the schoolmasters. The mind
is not in all respects like a _lumber-yard_. It is, to be sure, a
place for storing up knowledge, just as the yard is a deposit for
lumber. But there the analogy ceases and the mind begins to resemble
more the contractor and builder. There is planing, sawing, and
hammering; the materials collected are prepared, fitted, and mortised
together, and a building fit for use begins to rise. Knowledge also is
for use, and not primarily for storage. That simple acquisition and
quantity of knowledge are not enough is illustrated by the analogy of
an army. Numbers do not make an army, but a rabble. A general first
enlists raw recruits, drills and trains them through a long period, and
finally combines them into an effective army. Many of our ideas when
first received are like disorderly raw recruits. They need to be
disciplined into proper action and to ready obedience.
In connection with assimilation the analogy between the _stomach_ and
the mind is of still greater interest. The food received into the
stomach is taken up by the organs of digestion, assimilated and
converted into blood. The process, however, takes its course without
our conscious effort or co-operation. Knowledge likewise enters the
mind, but how far will assimilation go on without conscious effort? If
kept in a healthy state the organs of digestion are self active. Not
so the mind. Ideas entering the mind are not so easily assimilated as
the food materials that enter the stomach. A cow chews her cud once,
but the ideas that enter our minds may be drawn from their receptacle
in the memory and worked over again and again. Ideas have to be put
side by side, separated, grouped, and arranged into connected series.
There is, no doubt, some tendency in the mind toward involuntary
assimilation, but it greatly needs culture and training. Many people
never reach the _thinking_ stage, never learn to survey and reflect.
The tendency of the mind to work over and digest knowledge should
receive ample culture in the schools. There is a mental inertia
produced by pure memory exercise that is unfavorable to reflection. It
requires an extra exertion to arrange and organize facts even after
they are acquired. But when the habit of reflection has been
inaugurated it adds much interest and value to all mental acquisitions.
There are also well-established principles which guide the mind in
elaborating its facts. The _laws of the association_ of ideas indicate
clearly the natural trend of mental elaboration. The association of
things because of contiguity in time and place is the simplest mode.
The classification of objects or activities on the basis of
resemblance, is the second form and that upon which the inductive
process is principally founded. In the third case objects and series
are easily retained in memory when the relation of cause and effect is
perceived between them. These natural highways of association,
especially the second and third, should be frequently traveled in
linking the facts of school study with each other. Indeed the outcome
of a rational survey of an object or fact in its different relations is
an association of ideas which is one of the best results of study.
Such connections of resemblance and difference or of cause and effect
are abundant and interesting in the natural sciences and physical
geography, also in history and languages.
The Herbartians draw an important distinction between _psychical_ and
_logical_ concepts or general notions. The _psychical_ concept is
worked out naturally by a child or an adult as a result of the chance
experiences of life. It is usually a work of accident; is incomplete,
faulty, and often misleading. The _logical_ concept, on the other
hand, is scientifically correct and complete. It includes all the
common characteristics of the group and excludes all that are not
essential. It is a product of accurate and mature thinking. We all
possess an abundance of psychical concepts drawn from the miscellaneous
experiences of life. It is a large share of the school work, as we
have seen, to develop logical concepts out of these immature and faulty
psychical concepts. A child is disposed to call tadpoles fishes; and
later porpoises and whales are faultily classed with the fishes in the
same way. Nearly all our psychical concepts are subject to such loose
and faulty judgments. Even where one is accurate in his observations,
the conclusions naturally drawn are often wrong. For example, a child
that has seen none but red squirrels would naturally think all
squirrels red, and include the quality red in his general notion. Most
of our empirically derived general notions are spotted with such
defects. What relation have these facts to induction? We claim that
general notions should be experimentally formed; that is, by a gradual
collection of concrete or illustrative materials, and that the logical
concepts are the final outcome of comparison and reasoning toward
conclusions. In other words, we must begin with psychical concepts
with all their faults; we must make mistakes and correct them as our
experience enlarges, and gradually work out of psychical into logical
methods and results. Our text-books usually give us the logical
concept first, the rule, definition, principle, in its most complete
and accurate statement. This does violence to the child's natural
mental movement.
The final stage of induction is the _formulation_ of the general
truths, the concepts, principles, and laws which constitute the science
of any branch of knowledge. These truths should be well formulated in
clear and expressive language and mastered in this form. Moreover, the
results reached, when reduced to the strict scientific form, are the
same in the inductive methods as in the deductive or common text-book
method. Not that the effect on the mind of the learner is the same but
the body of truth is unaltered. The general truths of every subject
can be easily found well arranged in text-books. But we are more
anxious to know how the youth may best approach and appreciate these
truths than simply to see them stored in the mind in a well-classified
form.
A rich man in leaving a fortune to his son would more than double the
value of the inheritance if he could teach him properly to _appreciate_
wealth and form in him the disposition and ability to use it wisely.
In the same way the best part of knowledge is not simply its
possession, but an appreciation of its value. The method of reaching
scientific knowledge through the inductive process, that is by the
collection and comparison of data with a view to positive insight, will
give greater meaning to the results. Interest is awakened and
self-activity exercised at every step in the progress toward general
truths. By the reflective habit these truths will be seen in their
origin and causal connection, and the line of similarity, contrast,
causal relation, analogy and coincidence will be thoughtfully traced.
Possibly the progress toward formulated knowledge will be less rapid by
induction, but it will be real progress with no backward steps. It may
well be doubted whether, with average minds, real scientific knowledge
is attainable except by a strong admixture of inductive processes.
Perfection in the form and structure of our concepts is not to be
attained by children nor by adults, but the ideal of scientific
accuracy in general notions is to be kept constantly in view and
approximated to the extent of our ability.
After all, _deduction_ performs a much more important part in the work
of building up concepts than the previous discussion would indicate.
As fast as psychical concepts are formed we clamber upon them and try
to get a better view of the field around us. Like captured guns, we
turn them at once upon the enemy and make them perform service in new
fields of conquest. If a new case or object appears we judge of it in
the light of our acquired concepts, no matter whether they are complete
and accurate or not. This is deduction. We are glad to gain any
vantage ground in judging the objects and phenomena constantly
presenting themselves. In fact, it is inevitable that inductive and
deductive processes will be constantly dovetailed into each other. The
faulty concepts arrived at are brought persistently into contact with
new individual cases. They are thus corrected, enlarged, and more
accurately grasped. This is the series of mental stepping-stones that
leads up gradually to logical concepts. The inductive process is the
fundamental one and deduction comes in at every step to brace it up.
This is only another illustration that mental processes are intimately
interwoven, and, except in thought, not to be separated. In the
discussion of apperception in the following chapter we shall see that,
in the process of gaining knowledge, our acquired ideas and concepts
play a most important role. They are really the chief assimilating
agencies. But in spite of all this we shall scarcely be led again to
the standpoint that logical or scientific concepts should be the
starting point in the study of any subject.
[1] Intuition is popularly used in a sense different from the above.
We are in need of a word which has the same meaning as the German word,
_Anschauung_, for which there is no popular equivalent in English.
Intuition, as defined by Webster, is nearly the same: "direct
apprehension, or cognition; immediate knowledge, as in perception or
consciousness."
For a discussion of this term, see Quick's Educational Reformers, p.
361, Appleton's edition.