EDUCATION
Lord Rosebery, whom the worthy Mr. Crosland dislikes on purely racial
grounds, is usually credited as the originator of what has latterly
become the Englishman's watchword, "Educate, educate, educate!"
Whether it was the Scotch half of Lord Rosebery or the English half
that prompted him to this simple human cry, I shall not pretend to
say. On the other hand, it is certain that when his Lordship offered
the English such a profound piece of advice, he gave them exactly
the counsel that they most needed; for, though the English boast of
their knowledge, though they are the arrogant possessors of seats of
learning out of which can come nothing but perfection, though they
possess ancient universities and ancient public schools, though they
have a school-board system and free education, and though their country
is overrun with middle-sized men who play billiards and drink bitter
beer and call themselves schoolmasters, they are indubitably and
unmistakably an uneducated people.
Until the passing of the Elementary Education Act of 1870, learning
in England amounted practically to a luxury. Only the rich might be
permitted to know things. It was a case of schools, colleges, and
universities for the sons of noblemen and gentlemen. The rascally lower
classes might look after themselves. It is open to question whether the
rascally lower classes were not, on the whole, educationally better
off in that day than they are at present. That, however, is by the
way. But in the later sixties the reformer got his eagle eye on the
rascally lower classes. He perceived that the rascally lower classes
were in bad case. They got drunk, they used foul language, they smoked
short pipes, and, Heaven help them! they could not read. Anticipating
the English or Scotch half of Lord Rosebery, as the case may be, the
reformer said, "Educate, educate, educate!" And it was so. The English
have been educating ever since. They educated to such purpose that
thirty years later Lord Rosebery felt it incumbent upon himself to bid
them educate, educate, educate! In those thirty years the rascally
lower classes learned somewhat. They were supposed to discover, _inter
alia_, that knowledge was power. They were told that a hodman who could
write his name was a better hodman than the hodman whose sign-manual
was a cross. They were led shrewdly to infer that their pastors and
masters and general betters owed their supremacy to knowledge; and
that if they, the rascally lower classes, would only instruct their
children, these same children might wax great in the land and carry
burdens no more. The rascally lower classes sent their children to
school, some of them cheerfully, some of them with groans; and the
stars began to shine over England's darkness.
What has come to pass all men know. Every Englishman gets the
smatterings of a literary education, and believes in his heart that
he was cut out by the Almighty to be a clerk. The honest trades and
handicrafts are no longer desirable in the minds of English youth. To
take one's coat off with a view to livelihood is a business for dolts
and fools. Advertise in England for an office-boy and you shall receive
five hundred applications; advertise for a boy to learn plumbing, and
you will be offered, perhaps, two daft-looking lads, who after much
thrashing have managed to attain the age of fourteen years.
The fact is, that the English do not know what education means. At
the public schools, and at the universities of Oxford and Cambridge,
education has become, to a great extent, a social matter. You go to
these places to learn, certainly; but you also go with a view to the
formation of a desirable and influential acquaintance, and to get
upon your forehead the mark which is supposed to make glorious the
public-school and university-bred Englishman. As a general rule, that
mark is altogether imperceptible to the eyes of the unelect, who, if
the truth must be told, discover the university man not so much by
his manners or conversation as by his ineptitudes. When one comes to
consider the principles upon which the public-school and university
system are worked, one is quite prepared to admit that, were it not for
the element of snobbery patent in the system, English public schools
and universities alike would in the long run have to be disestablished.
As it is, they are the conventional resort of aristocratic adolescence,
and permitted to exist only on condition that, if a low middle-class
person can find the money and keep up the style, he, too, may join the
angelic host. To the man of temperament, to the scholar, to the man
who loves learning for learning's sake, the English universities have
precious little to offer.
After Oxford and Cambridge, one turns to London and the non-resident
foundations, all of them, I believe, modern. Here, as it seems to
me, the English err again. Broadly speaking, these institutions,
wittingly or unwittingly, devote their energies to the preparation of
young men for the Civil Service. If you are an English board-school
teacher at L80 a year and you discover that a second-class clerk in
the Circumlocution Department commences at L300 a year, and that,
roughly, the examination to be passed is the same as for matriculation
at London, you naturally go in bald-headed for matriculation at
London. For the learning you get by these efforts you have not the
smallest respect. If, on presenting yourself for examination by the
Civil Service Commissioners, you come out sufficiently high on the
list to secure an appointment, well and good. If not, your labour
has been wasted. It is this spirit which is at the bottom of the
English ignorance. With them, learning, education, is a means to an
end, and not in the least its own exceeding great reward. Hence a
properly educated Englishman is almost as rare as a blue rose. For the
masses--the rascally lower orders, that is to say--there are the board
schools. Here for thirty years past has been enacted about the sweetest
travesty of education that the mind of man could conceive. For the
teaching of the children of the rascally lower orders, the wise English
Government, with the assistance of the wise English school boards, has
invented what is to all intents and purposes a new type of man. And
his name shall be called Schoolmaster. He began Heaven knows how. But
if you inquire into him, you will find that he has spent three years
at a Government training college, and that prior to this experience
he was for some years a pupil teacher; also that he is a son of the
people, and that his father drove an engine or kept a shop. In these
latter circumstances he was, perhaps, fortunate. The marvellous fact
about him is that, in spite of his years of pupil-teachership and of
his three years at a Government training college, he is not a man of
either learning or culture. I am told that an English pupil teacher is
not expected to fash himself by the study of either Latin or Greek. Two
books of Euclid will see him through the stiffest of his examinations.
He does not need to have even a nodding acquaintance with modern
languages; and as for science, if he really wants some, he must pick it
up at evening classes. Even when he passes into the Government training
college,--where, by the way, he is instructed and boarded and lodged
gratis,--his studies do not become in any way profound. The history of
England, the geography of the world, arithmetic according to Barnard
Smith, algebra according to Dr. Todhunter, Latin and Greek according
to Dr. William Smith (Part I.), with a little French,--a very little
French,--bring him to the end of his tether.
Really, the whole business is childish. Any youth of average capacity
should get through the entire three years' course in six weeks. Of
course, there is the so-called technical training to reckon with;
that is to say, a man at one of these colleges is supposed to spend
a great deal of his time, and no doubt does, in perfecting himself
as a teacher; but one would have thought that actual practice in an
ordinary school would be the best instructor in this respect. In
any case, nobody can consider closely the English schoolmaster as
manufactured at Government training colleges without perceiving that
the Government turns out a very remarkable article indeed. I have no
desire to belittle a hard-worked, and probably underpaid, body of
public servants. Their profession is a thankless one. I do not think
for a moment a single man of them went into it with his eyes open,
and I know for a certainty that the school boards and the Government
between them have so hedged it round with petty annoyances that a
man possessed of feeling must loathe it. It is probably this feeling
of loathing of his work that keeps the English schoolmaster down. He
knows that it is vain for him to go a hair's-breadth out of the beaten
tracks. The school boards must have grants; the Government inspectors
must be satisfied. There is only one method of ensuring these desirable
consummations: that one way amounts to sheer mechanism and slog. The
English schoolmaster must have no temperament. If he possess such a
thing, he is bound to come to great grief. Hence the whole weight of
the English system is, from first to last, employed in the work of
knocking temperament out of him and keeping it out. His three years'
free training particularly tend to make a slack, unthinking sap-head
of him. He gets a parchment which entitles him to call himself a
certificated teacher, and he is taught to imagine that for downright
learning there is nothing like himself under the sun. In this latter
surmise he is quite right. The schoolmaster in England, though he will
probably be another quarter of a century waking up to the fact, counts
for next to nothing. Men of parts avoid him; men of no parts laugh at
him. For himself, I imagine, he will long continue to believe in his
heart that he is a great man, a little lower, perhaps, than a parson,
but certainly a little higher than a policeman.
The real value of English education, like the real value of most other
things, becomes apparent when it is put to the test of practical
affairs. Any employer of labour will tell you that, whether an English
boy come to him from a board school or a school of a higher grade,
whether he be the son of a ploughman or of what the English call a
professional man, he is always and inevitably a good deal of a fool.
You have to teach him how to lick stamps. You have to teach him that,
excepting in so far as he can write and read, what he has learned at
school is not wanted; you have to teach him how many beans make five;
you have to teach him that punctuality and accuracy are worth more in
business than all the botany he ever learned; and all the time you
have to watch him like a cat watching a mouse. "Fire out the fools!"
once exclaimed Dr. Robertson Nicoll. I do not think it is too much to
say that, if the average English employer took the hint, he would have
nobody left to do his business for him.