EDUCATION
School Curricula and Reform of Teaching.--Value of Language Study.--Economy
of Time.--Practice in Manual Work.--Picturesque Illustrations.--Art
of Lecturing.--Selection of Talents by Means of Examinations.--Women
Students.--Social Difficulties.--Necessity as Instructress.
OUR conversation turned towards a series of pædagogic questions, in
which Einstein is deeply interested. For he himself is actively engaged
in teaching, and never disguises the pleasure which he derives from
imparting instruction. Without doubt he has a gift of making his spoken
words react on wide circles anxious to be instructed, composed not only
of University students, but of many others quite outside this category.
When, recently, popular lectures on a large scale were instituted, he
was one of the first to offer his services in this sound undertaking. He
lectured to people of the working class, who could not be assumed to
have any preliminary information on the subject, and he succeeded in
presenting his lectures so that even the less trained minds could easily
follow his argument.
His attitude towards general questions of school education is, of
course, conditioned by his own personality and his own work in the past.
His first care is that a young person should get an insight into the
relationship underlying natural phenomena, that is, that the curricula
should be mapped out so that a knowledge of facts is the predominating
aim.
"My wish," Einstein declared to me, "is far removed from the desire to
eliminate altogether the fundamental features of the old grammar
schools, with their preference for Latin, by making over-hasty reforms,
but I am just as little inclined to wax enthusiastic about the so-called
humanistic schools. Certain recollections of my own school life suffice
to prevent this, and still more, a certain presentiment of the
educational problems of the future."--"To speak quite candidly," he
said, "in my opinion the educative value of languages is, in general,
much over-estimated."
I took the liberty of quoting a saying that is still regarded as
irrefutable by certain scholars. It was Charles V who said: "Each
additional acquired language represents an additional personality"; and
to suggest the root of language formation he said it in Latin: "Quot
linguas quis callet, tot homines valet." This saying has been handed
down through the ages in German in the form: "Soviel Sprachen, soviel
Sinnen" (An added language means an added sense).
Einstein replied: "I doubt whether this aphorism is generally valid, for
I believe that it would at no time have stood a real test. All
experience contradicts it. Otherwise we should be compelled to assign
the highest positions among intellectual beings to linguistic athletes
like Mithridates, Mezzofanti, and similar persons. The exact opposite,
indeed, may be proved, namely, that in the case of the strongest
personalities, and of those who have contributed most to progress, the
multiplicity of their senses in no wise depended on a comprehensive
knowledge of languages, but rather that they avoided burdening their
minds with things that made excessive claims on their memories."
"Certainly," said I, "it may be admitted that this gives rise to
exaggeration in some cases, and that the linguistic sort of sport
practised by many a scholar degenerates to a mere display of knowledge.
An intellectual achievement of lasting merit has very rarely or never
been the result of a superabundance of acquired linguistic knowledge. An
instance occurs to me at this moment. Nietzsche became a philosopher of
far-reaching influence only after he had passed the stage of the
philologist. As far as our present discussion is concerned, the question
is narrowed down considerably: it reduces itself to inquiring whether we
do sufficient, too little, or too much Greek and Latin. I must remark at
the very outset that, formerly, school requirements went much further in
this respect than nowadays, when we scarcely meet with a scholar even in
the upper classes who knows Latin and Greek perfectly."
It is just this fact that Einstein regards as a sign of improvement and
a result of examining the true aims of a school. He continued: "Man must
be educated to 'react delicately'; he is to acquire and develop
'intellectual muscles'! And the methods of language drill are much less
suited to this purpose than those of a more general training that gives
greatest weight to a sharpening of one's own powers of reflection.
Naturally, the inclination of the pupil for a particular profession must
not be neglected, especially in view of the circumstance that such
inclination usually asserts itself at an early age, being occasioned by
personal gifts, by examples of other members of the family, and by
various circumstances that affect the choice of his future life-work.
That is why I support the introduction into schools, particularly
schools devoted to classics, of a division into two branches at, say,
the fourth form, so that at this stage the young pupil has to decide in
favour of one or other of the courses. The elementary foundation to the
fourth form may be made uniform for all, as they are concerned with
factors on education that are scarcely open to the danger of being
exaggerated in any one direction. If the pupil finds that he has a
special interest in what are called _humaniora_ by the educationist, let
him by all means continue along the road of Latin and Greek, and,
indeed, without being burdened by tasks that, owing to his disposition,
oppress or alarm him."
"You are referring," I interposed, "to the distress which pupils feel in
the time allotted to mathematics. There are actually people of
considerable intelligence who seem to be smitten with absolute stupidity
when confronted with mathematics, and whose school-life becomes poisoned
owing to the torment caused by this subject. There are many cases of
living surgeons, lawyers, historians, and litterateurs, who, till late
in life, are visited by dreams of their earlier mathematical ordeals.
Their horror has a very real foundation, for, whereas the pupil who is
bad at Latin yet manages to get an idea of the language, and he who is
weak in history has at least a notion of what is being discussed, the
one who is unmathematical by nature has to worry his way through
numberless lessons in a subject which is entirely incomprehensible to
him, as if belonging to another world and being presented to him in a
totally strange tongue. He is expected to answer questions, the sense of
which he cannot even guess, and to solve problems, every word and every
figure of which glares at him like a sphinx of evil omen. Sitting on
each side of him are pupils to whom this is merely play, and some of
whom could complete the whole of school mathematics within a few months
at express rate. This leads to a contrast between the pupils, which may
press with tragical force on the unfortunate member throughout his whole
school existence. That is why a reform is to be welcomed that sifts out
in time those who should be separated from the rest, and which adapts
the school curriculum as closely as possible to individual talents."
Einstein called my attention to the fact that this division had already
been made in many schools in foreign countries, as in France and in
Denmark, although not so exclusively as suggested by him. "Moreover," he
added, "I am by no means decided whether the torments that you mentioned
are founded primarily on absence of talent in the pupil. I feel much
more inclined to throw the responsibility in most cases on the absence
of talent in the teacher. Most teachers waste their time by asking
questions which are intended to discover what a pupil does _not_ know,
whereas the true art of questioning has for its purpose to discover what
the pupil knows or is capable of knowing. Whenever sins of this sort are
committed--and they occur in all branches of knowledge--the personality
of the teacher is mostly at fault. The results of the class furnish an
index for the quality of the preceptor. All things being taken into
consideration, the average of ability in the class moves, with only
slight fluctuations, about mean values, with which tolerably
satisfactory results may be obtained. If the progress of the class is
not up to this standard, we must not speak of a bad year but rather of
an inefficient instructor. It may be assumed that, as a rule, the
teacher understands the subject with which he is entrusted, and has
mastered its content, but not that he knows how to impart his
information in an interesting manner. This is almost always the source
of the trouble. If the teacher generates an atmosphere of boredom, the
progress is stunted in the suffocating surroundings. To know how to
teach is to be able to make the subject of instruction interesting, to
present it, even if it happens to be abstract, so that the soul of the
pupil resonates in sympathy with that of his instructor, and so that the
curiosity of the pupil is never allowed to wane."
"That is in itself an ideal postulate. If we assume it to be fulfilled,
how do you wish to see the subjects distributed in the curriculum?"
"We must leave the detailed discussion of this question for another
occasion. One of the main points would be the economy of time; all that
is superfluous, vexatious, and only intended as a drill must be
dropped. At present the aim of the whole course is the leaving
certificate. This test must be given up!"
"Is that serious. Professor? Do you wish to do away with the examination
for matriculation?"
"Exactly. For it is like some fearful monster guarding our exit from
school, throwing its shadow far ahead, and compelling teacher and pupil
to work incessantly towards an artificial show of knowledge. This
examination has been elevated by forcible means to a level which the
violently drilled candidates can keep only for a few hours, and is then
lost to sight for ever. If it is eliminated, it will carry away with it
this painful drilling of the memory; it will no longer be necessary to
hammer in for years what will be entirely forgotten within a few months,
and what deserves to be forgotten. Let us return to Nature, which
upholds the principle of getting the maximum amount of effect from the
minimum of effort, whereas the matriculation test does exactly the
opposite."
"Yes, but who is then to be allowed to enter the university?"
"Every one who has shown himself to be capable not only in a crucial
test of an accidental kind, but in his whole behaviour. The teacher will
be the judge of this, and if he does not know who is qualified, he again
is to be blamed. He will find it so much the easier to decide who is
sufficiently advanced to obtain a leaving certificate, in proportion as
the curriculum has weighed less on the minds of the young people. Six
hours a day should be ample--four at school and two for home-work; that
should be the maximum. If this should appear too little to you, I must
ask you to bear in mind that a young mind is being subjected to strain
even in leisure hours, as it has to receive a whole world of
perceptions. And if you ask how the steadily increasing curriculum is to
be covered in this very moderate number of hours, my answer is: Throw
all that is unnecessary overboard! I count as unnecessary the major part
of the subject that is called 'Universal History,' and which is, as a
rule, nothing more than a blurred mass of history compressed into dry
tables of names and dates. This subject should be brought within the
narrowest possible limits, and should be presented only in broad
outline, without dates having to be crammed. Leave as many gaps as you
like, especially in ancient history; they will not make themselves felt
in our ordinary existences. In nowise can I regard it as a misfortune if
the pupil learns nothing of Alexander the Great, and of the dozens of
other conquerors whose documentary remains burden his memory like so
much useless ballast. If he is to get a glimpse of the grey dawn of
time, let him be spared from Cyrus, Artaxerxes, and Vercingetorix, but
rather tell him something of the pioneers of civilization, Archimedes,
Ptolemy, Hero, Appolonius, and of inventors and discoverers, so that the
course does not resolve into a series of adventures and massacres."
"Would it not be expedient," I interrupted, "to take some of the history
time to branch off into an elementary treatment of the real evolution of
the state, including sociology and the legal code?"
Einstein does not consider this desirable, although he himself is deeply
interested in all manifestations of public life. He does not favour an
elementary political training received at school, presumably above all
owing to the fact that in this branch the instruction cannot be removed
from official influences, and because political questions require the
attention of a mature mind. His picture of how a youth is to meet the
requirements of modern life is something quite different, far removed
from all theories. His whole efforts are directed at finding a means of
counteracting the tendency to overburden one side of the youthful mind.
"I should demand the introduction of compulsory practical work. Every
pupil must learn some _handicraft_. He should be able to choose for
himself which it is to be, but I should allow no one to grow up without
having gained some technique, either as a joiner, bookbinder, locksmith,
or member of any other trade, and without having delivered some useful
product of his trade."
"Do you attach greater importance to the technique itself or to the
feeling of social relationship with the broad masses of the people which
it engenders?"
"Both factors are equally important to me," said Einstein, "and others
become added to these which help to justify my wish in this respect. The
handiwork need not be used as a means of earning money by the pupil of
the secondary school, but it will enlarge and make more solid the
foundation on which he will rest as an ethical being. In the first
place, the school is not to produce future officials, scholars,
lecturers, barristers, and authors, but human beings, not merely mental
machines. Prometheus did not begin his education of mankind with
astronomy, but by teaching the properties of fire and its practical
uses...."
"This brings to my mind another analogy," I continued, "namely, that of
the old _Meistersinger_, who were, all of them, expert smiths, tinkers,
or shoemakers, and yet succeeded in building a bridge to the arts. And
at bottom, the sciences, too, belong to the category of free arts. Yet,
a difficulty seems to me to arise. In demanding a compulsory handicraft,
you lay stress on practical use, whereas in your other remarks you
declared science in itself as being utterly independent of practice."
"I do this," replied Einstein, "only when I speak of the ultimate aims
of pure research, that is, of aims that are visible to only a vanishing
minority. It would be a complete misconception of life to uphold this
point of view and to expect its regulative effectiveness in cases in
which we are dealing only with the preliminaries of science. On the
contrary, I maintain that science can be taught much more practically at
schools than it is at present when bookwork has the upper hand. For
example, to return to the question of mathematical teaching: it seems to
me to be almost universally at fault, if only for the reason that it is
not built up on what is _practically_ interesting, what appeals directly
to the senses, and what can be seized intuitively. Child-minds are fed
with definitions instead of being presented with what they can grasp,
and they are expected to be able to understand purely conceptual things,
although they have had no opportunity given them of arriving at the
abstract by way of concrete things. It is very easy to do the latter.
The first beginnings should not be taught in the schoolroom at all, but
in open Nature. A boy should be shown how a meadow is measured and
compared with another. His attention must be directed to the height of a
tower, to the length of his shadow at various times, to the
corresponding altitude of the sun; by this means he will grasp the
mathematical relationships much more rapidly, more surely, and with
greater zeal, than if words and chalk-marks are used to instil into him
the conceptions of dimensions, of angles, or perchance of some
trigonometrical function. What is the actual origin of such branches of
science? They are derived from practice, as, for example, when Thales
first measured the height of the pyramids with the help of a short rod,
which he set up at the ultimate point of the pyramid's shadow. Place a
stick in the boy's hand and lead him on to make experiments with it by
way of a game, and if he is not quite devoid of sense, he will discover
the thing for himself. It will please him to have discovered the height
of the tower without having climbed it, and this is the first thrill of
the pleasure which he feels later when he learns the geometry of similar
triangles and the proportionality of their sides."
"In the matter of physics," pursued Einstein, "the first lessons should
contain nothing but what is experimental and interesting to see. A
pretty experiment is in itself often more valuable than twenty formulæ
extracted from our minds; it is particularly important that a young mind
that has yet to find its way about in the world of phenomena should be
spared from formulæ altogether. In his physics they play exactly the
same weird and fearful part as the figures of dates in Universal
History. If the experimenter is ingenious and expert, this subject may
be begun as early as in the middle forms, and one may then count on a
responsiveness that is rarely observable during the hours of exercise in
Latin grammar."
"This leads me," said Einstein, "to speak in this connexion of a means
of education that has so far been used only by way of trial in
class-teaching, but from an improved application of which I expect
fruitful results later. I mean the school cinema. The triumphal march of
the cinematograph will be continued into pedagogic regions, and here it
will have a chance to make good its wrongs in thousands of picture shows
in showing absurd, immoral, and melodramatic subjects. By means of the
school-film, supplemented by a simple apparatus for projection, it would
be possible firstly to infuse into certain subjects, such as geography,
which is at present wound off organ-like in the form of dead
descriptions, the pulsating life of a metropolis. And the lines on a map
will gain an entirely new complexion in the eyes of the pupil, if he
learns, as if during a voyage, what they actually include, and what is
to be read between them. An abundance of information is imparted by the
film, too, if it gives an accelerated or retarded view of such things as
a plant growing, an animal's heart beating, or the wing of an insect
moving. The cinema seems to me to have a still more important function
in giving pupils an insight into the most important branches of
technical industry, a knowledge of which should become common property.
Very few hours would suffice to impress permanently on the schoolboy's
mind how a power-station, a locomotive, a newspaper, a book, or a
coloured illustration is produced, or what takes place in an electrical
plant, a glass factory, or a gasworks. And, to return to natural
science, many of the rather difficult experiments that cannot be shown
by means of school apparatus may be shown with almost as great clearness
on a film. Taken all in all, the redeeming word in school-teaching is,
for me: an increased appeal to the senses. Wherever it is possible,
learning must become living, and this principle will predominate in
future reforms of school-teaching."
* * * * * * * *
University study was only touched on lightly during this talk. It has
become known that Einstein is a very strong supporter of the principle
of free learning, and that he would prefer to dispense entirely with the
regular documents of admission which qualify holders to attend lecture
courses. This is to be interpreted as meaning that as soon as anyone
desirous of furthering his studies has demonstrated his fitness to
follow the lecturer's reasoning by showing his ability in class
exercises or in the laboratory, he should be admitted immediately.
Einstein would not demand the usual certificate of "general education,"
but only of fitness for the special subject, particularly as, in his own
experience, he has frequently found the cleverest people and those with
the most definite aims to be prone to one-sidedness. According to this,
even the intermediate schools should be authorized to bestow a
certificate of fitness to enter on a course in a single definite subject
as soon as the pupil has proved himself to have the necessary ability.
If he earlier spoke in favour of abolishing the matriculation
examination, this is only an indication of his effort to burst open the
portals of higher education for every one. Nevertheless, I remarked
that, in the course of university work itself, he is not in favour of
giving up all regulation concerning the ability of the student--at
least, not in the case of those who intend to devote themselves to
instruction later. He does not desire an intermediate examination (in
the nature of the _tentamen physicum_ of doctors), but he considers it
profitable for the future schoolmaster to have an opportunity early in
his course to prove his fitness for teaching. In this matter, too,
Einstein reveals his affectionate interest in the younger generation,
whose development is threatened by nothing so much as by incapable
teachers: the sum of these considerations is that the pupil is examined
as little as possible, but the teacher so much the more closely. A
candidate for the teaching profession, who in the early stages of his
academic career fails to show his fitness, his individual _facultas
docendi_, should be removed from the university.
There can be no doubt but that Einstein has a claim to be heard as an
authority on these questions. There are few in the realm of the learned
in whose faces it is so clearly manifest that they are called to excite
a desire for knowledge by means of the living word, and to satisfy this
desire. If great audiences assemble around him, if so many foreign
academies open their arms to him to make him their own, these are not
only signs of a magnetic influence that emanates from the famous
discoverer, but they are indications that he is far famed as a teacher
with a captivating personality. Let us consider what this signifies in
his profession. Philosophers, historians, lawyers, doctors, and
theologians have at their disposal innumerable words which they merely
need to pronounce to get into immediate contact with their audiences. In
Einstein's profession, theoretical physics, man disappears; it leaves no
scope for the play of emotion; its implement mathematics--and what an
instrument it is!--bristles with formal difficulties, which can be
overcome only by means of symbols and by using a language which has no
means of displaying eloquence, being devoid of expression, emotion, and
regular periods. Yet here we have a physicist, a mathematician, whose
first word throws a charm over a great crowd of people, and who extracts
from their minds, so to speak, what, in reality, he alone works out
before them. He does not adhere closely to written pages, nor to a
scheme which has been prepared beforehand in all its details; he
develops his subject freely, without the slightest attempt at rhetoric,
but with an effect which comes of itself when the audience feels itself
swept along by the current. He does not need to deliver his words
passionately, as his passion for teaching is so manifest. Even in
regions of thought in which usually only formulæ, like glaciers, give
an indication of the height, he discovers similes and illustrations with
a human appeal, by the aid of which he helps many a one to conquer the
mountain sickness of mathematics. His lectures betray two factors that
are rarely found present in investigators of abstract subjects; they are
temperament and geniality. He never talks as if in a monologue or as if
addressing empty space. He always speaks like one who is weaving threads
of some idea, and these become spun out in a fascinating way that robs
the audience of the sense of time. We all know that no iron curtain
marks the close of Einstein's lecture; anyone who is tormented by some
difficulty or doubt, or who desires illumination on some point, or has
missed some part of the argument, is at liberty to question him.
Moreover, Einstein stands firm through the storm of all questions. On
the very day on which the above conversation took place he had come
straight from a lecture on four-dimensional space, at the conclusion of
which a tempest of questions had raged about him. He spoke of it not as
of an ordeal that he had survived, but as of a refreshing shower. And
such delights abound in his teaching career.
* * * * * * * *
It was the last lecture before his departure for Leyden (in May 1920),
where the famous faculty of science, under the auspices of the great
physicist Lorentz, had invited him to accept an honorary professorship.
This was not the first invitation of this kind, and will not be the
last, for distinctions are being showered on him from all parts of the
world. It is true that the universities who confer a degree on him
_honoris causa_ are conferring a distinction on themselves, but Einstein
frankly acknowledges the value of these honours, which he regards as
referring only to the question in hand, and not the person. It gives him
pleasure on account of the principle involved being recognized, and he
regards himself essentially only as one whom fate has ordained as the
personal exponent of these principles.
What this life of hustle and bustle about a scientist signifies is
perhaps more apparent to me, who have a modest share in these
conversations, than to Einstein himself, for I am an old man
who--unfortunately--have to think back a long way to my student days,
and can set up comparisons which are out of reach of Einstein. Formerly,
many years ago, but in my own time, there was an _auditorium maximum_
which only one man could manage to fill with an audience, namely, Eugen
Dühring, the noted scholar, who was doomed to remain a lecturer
inasmuch as he went under in his quarrels with confrères of a higher
rank. But before he made his onslaught against Helmholtz, he was
regarded as a man of unrivalled magnetic power, for his philosophical
and economical lectures gathered together over three hundred hearers, a
record number in those times. Nowadays, in the case of Einstein, four
times this number has been surpassed, a fact which has brought into
circulation the playful saying: One can never miss his auditorium;
whither all are hastening, that is the goal! To make just comparisons,
we must take account of the faithfulness of the assembled crowd, as well
as its number. Many an eminent scholar has in earlier times had reason
to declare, like Faust: "I had the power to attract you, yet had no
power to hold you." Helmholtz began regularly every term with a crowded
lecture-hall, but in a short time he found himself deserted, and he
himself was well aware that no magnetic teaching influence emanated from
him. There is yet another case in university history of a brilliant
personality who, from similar flights of ecstasy, was doomed to
disappointment. I must mention his name, which, in this connexion, will
probably cause great surprise, namely, Schiller! He had fixed his first
lecture in history at Jena, to which he was appointed, and had prepared
for an audience of about a hundred students. But crowd upon crowd
hustled along, and Schiller, who saw the oncoming stream from his
window, was overcome with the impression that there was no end to it.
The whole street took alarm, for at first it was imagined that a fire
had broken out, and at the palace the watch was called out--yet, a
little later in the course, there was a depressing ebb of the tide,
after the first curiosity had been appeased; the audience gradually
vanished into thin air, a proof of the fact that the nimbus of a name
does not suffice to maintain the interest between the lecturer's desk
and the audience.
I mentioned this example at the time when Einstein's gift for teaching
had gradually increased the number of his hearers to the record figure
of 1200, yet I did not on this occasion detect any inordinate joy in him
about his success. I gained the impression that he had strained his
voice in the vast hall. His mood betrayed in consequence a slight
undercurrent of irritation. In an access of scepticism he murmured the
words, "A mere matter of fashion." I cannot imagine that he was entirely
in earnest. It goes without saying that I protested against the
expression. But, even if there were a particle of truth in it, we might
well be pleased to find such a fashion in intellectual matters, one that
persists so long and promises to last. The world would recover its
normal healthy state if fashions of this kind were to come into full
swing. It is, of course, easy to understand on psychological grounds
that Einstein himself takes up a sort of defensive position against his
own renown, and that he occasionally tries to attack it by means of
sarcasm, seeing that he cannot find serious arguments to oppose it.
* * * * * * * *
Whether Einstein's ideas and proposals concerning educational reform
will be capable of realization throughout is a question that time alone
can answer. We must make it clear to ourselves that, if carried out
along free-thinking lines, they will demand certain sacrifices, and it
depends on the apportionment of these sacrifices as to what the next, or
the following, generation will have to exhibit in the way of mental
training.
An appreciable restriction will have to be imposed on the time given to
languages. It is a matter of deciding how far this will affect the
foundations that, under the collective term _humaniora_, have supported
the whole system of classical schools for centuries. The fundamental
ideas of reform, which, owing to the redivision of school-hours and the
economy of work, no longer claim precedence for languages, indicate that
not much will be left of the original Latin and Greek basis.
We have noticed above that Einstein, although he does not, in principle,
oppose the old classicism, no longer expects much good of it. But
nowadays the state of affairs is such that it is hardly a question of
supporting or opposing its retention in fragmentary form. Whoever does
not support it with all his power strengthens indirectly the mighty
chorus of those who are radically antagonistic to it. And it is a
remarkable fact that this chorus includes many would-be authorities on
languages who have influence among us because they are champions of the
cause of retaining languages.
They do not wish to rescue languages as such, but only the German
tongue; they point to the _humaniora_ of classical schools, or to
_Humanisterei_, as they call it, as the enemy and corrupter of their
language. In what sense they mean this is obvious from their articles of
faith, of which I should like to cite a few in the original words of one
of their party-leaders:
"Up to the time of the hazardous enterprise of Thomasius (who first
announced lectures in the German language in 1687) German scholars as a
body were the worst enemies of their own tongue.--Luther did not take
his models for writing German from the humanistic mimics who aped the
old Latins. In the case of many, including Lessing and Goethe, we
observe them making a definite attempt to shake themselves free from the
chaos of humanistic influences in Germany--The inheritance of
pseudo-learned concoctions of words stretches back to pretentious
humanism as do most of essential vices of learned styles.--The
far-reaching and lasting corruption of the German language by this
poisonous Latin has its beginnings in the humanism of the sixteenth
century."
And, quite logically, these heralds extend their attacks along the whole
academic front. For, according to their point of view, the whole army of
professors is deeply immersed in the language slime of the traditional
humanism of the Greeks and Latins. "The whole language evil of our
times," so these leaders say, "is at bottom due to scientists, who, in
the opinionated guise of a language caste, and without enriching our
conceptions in the slightest, seek by tinkling empty words to give us
the illusion of a new and particularly mysterious occult science, an
impression which is unfortunately often produced on ignorant minds....
However many muddy outlets official institutions and language
associations may purge and block up, ditch-water from ever new quagmires
and drains pours unceasingly into the stately stream of our language."
Thus the attack on the Latin and Greek language foundation in schools
identifies itself with the struggle against the academic world as a
whole, and a scholar who does defend the classical system of education
with all his might finds himself unconsciously drifting into the ranks
of the brotherhood which in the last instance is seeking his own
extermination.
This danger must not be under-estimated. It is just this peril, so
threatening to our civilization, that moves me to show my colours
frankly here. I am not a supporter of bookworm drudgery in schools, but
I feel myself impelled to use every effort in speech and writing to
combat the anti-humanists whose password, "For _our_ language," at root
signifies "Enemies of Science!"
We must put no weapons into their hands, and the only means to avoid
this is, in my opinion, to state our creed emphatically and openly after
the manner of almost all our classical writers.
This creed, both as regards language and substance, is to be understood
as being based on the efficacy of the old classical languages. It is the
luminous centre of the life and work of the men who caused Bulwer to
proclaim our country the country of poets and thinkers. The
superabundance of these is so excessive that it is scarcely fair to
mention only a few names such as Goethe, Lessing, Schiller, Wieland,
Kant, and Schopenhauer. Our literature would be of a provincial standard
and not a world possession if this creed had not asserted its sway at
all times.
If the question is raised as to where our youth is to find time for
learning ancient languages under the present conditions of crowded
subjects, the answer is to be furnished by improved methods of
instruction. My personal point of view is that even the older methods
were not so bad. Goethe found himself in no wise embarrassed through
lack of time in acquiring all sorts of knowledge and mental equipment,
although even as a boy of eight years he could write in Latin in a way
which, compared with the bungling efforts of the modern sixth-form boy,
seems Ciceronian. Montaigne could express himself earlier in Latin than
in French, and if he had not had this "Latin poison" injected into his
blood he would never have become Montaigne.
It seems to me by no means impossible that the cultured world will one
day in the distant future return to the once self-evident view of
classical languages, and indeed just for reasons of economy of time,
unless the universal language so ardently desired by Hebbel--not to be
confused with the artificial patchwork called Esperanto--should become a
reality. But even this language, at present Utopian, but one which will
help to link together the nations, will disclose the model of the
ancient languages in its structure. Scientific language of the present
day shows where the route lies; and this route will be made passable in
spite of all the efforts of Teutonic language saints and assassins of
humanism to block it.
The working out of ideas by research scientists leads to enrichment of
language. And since, as is quite natural, they draw copiously on antique
forms of expression, they are really the trustees of an instruction that
makes these expressions intelligible not merely as components of an
artificial language like Volapük but as organic growths. That is how
they proceed when they carry on their research, or describe it and
lecture on their own subject. But if they are to decide how the school
is to map out its course in actual practice, the problem of time again
becomes their chief consideration--that is, they feel in duty bound to
give preference to what is most important. Hence there results the wish
to reduce the hours apportioned to the language subjects as much as
possible.
On this matter we have a detailed essay by the distinguished Ernst Mach
mentioned earlier, who exposes the actual dilemma with the greatest
clearness. He treats this exceedingly important question in all its
phases, and arrives at almost the same conclusion as Einstein. At the
outset he certainly chants a Latin psalm almost in the manner of
Schopenhauer. Its lower tones represent an elegy lamenting that Latin is
no longer the universal language among educated people, as it was from
the fifteenth to the eighteenth century. Its fitness for this purpose is
quite indisputable, for it can be adapted to express every conception
however modern or subtle it may be.
What a profusion of new conceptions was introduced into science by Sir
Isaac Newton, to all of which he succeeded in giving correct and precise
Latin names! The natural inference suggests itself to us that young
people should learn the ancient classical tongues--and yet a different
result is coming about; the modern child is to be content with
understanding words with a world-wide currency, without knowing their
philological origin.
It is not necessary to be a schoolmaster to feel the inadequacy of this
proceeding. It is true that without knowing Arabic we can grasp the
sense and meaning of the word "Algebra," and in the same way we can
extract the essence of a number of Greek and Latin expressions without
digging at their etymological roots. But these expressions are to be
counted in hundreds and thousands, and are increasing daily, so that we
are put before the question whether, merely from the point of view of
time, it is practicable to learn them as individual foreign terms or as
natural products of a root language with which we have once and for all
become familiar.
It is scarcely necessary for me to point out that Einstein himself is
not sparing in the use of these technical expressions, even when he is
using popular language. He assumes or introduces terms of which the
following are a few examples: continuum, co-ordinate system,
dimensional, electrodynamics, kinetic theory, transformation, covariant,
heuristic, parabola, translation, principle of equivalence, and he is
quite justified in assuming that every one is fully acquainted with such
generally accepted expressions as: gravitation, spectral analysis,
ballistic, phoronomy, infinitesimal, diagonal, component, periphery,
hydrostatics, centrifugal, and numberless others which are diffused
through educated popular language in all directions. Taken all together
these represent a foreign realm in which the entrant can always succeed
in orientating himself when he receives explanations, examples, or
translations, whereas with a little preliminary knowledge of the ancient
languages he immediately feels himself at home with them; in this we
have not even taken into consideration the general cultural value of
this training in view of the access it gives to the old literature and
to Hellenic culture.
Perhaps I am going too far in adopting the attitude of a _laudator
temporis acti_ towards Einstein's very advanced opinion. We are here
dealing with a question in which nothing can be proved, and in which
everything depends on disposition and personal experiences. In my own
case this experience includes the fact that at a very early age, in
spite of the very discouraging school methods, I enjoyed the study of
Latin and Greek, and that I learned Horatian odes by heart, not because
I had to, but because they appealed to me, and finally that Homer opened
up a new world to me. When Einstein expresses his abhorrence of drill, I
agree with him; but these languages need not be taught as if we are on
parade. We see thus that it is a question of method and not of the
subject involved. Einstein gives the subject its due by recommending a
double series of classes. He allows the paths to diverge, giving his
special blessing to the group along the one without setting up obstacles
to prevent the other pilgrims from attaining happiness in their own way.
* * * * * * * *
We spoke of higher education for women, and Einstein expressed his views
which, as was to be expected, were tolerant, and yet did not suggest
those of a champion of the cause. It was impossible to overlook the fact
that in spite of his approval he had certain reservations of a
theoretical nature.
"As in all other directions," he said, "so in that of science the way
should be made easy for women. Yet it must not be taken amiss if I
regard the possible results with a certain amount of scepticism. I am
referring to certain obstacles in woman's organization which we must
regard as given by Nature, and which forbid us from applying the same
standard of expectation to women as to men."
"You believe, then, Professor, that high achievements cannot be
accomplished by women? To keep our attention on science, can one not
quote Madame Curie as a proof to the contrary?"
"Surely only as one proof of brilliant exceptions, more of which may
occur without refuting the statute of sexual organization."
"Perhaps this will be possible after all if a sufficient time for
development be allowed. There may be much fewer geniuses among the other
sex, but there has certainly been a concentration of talent. Or, in
other words, totally ignorant women have become much rarer. You,
Professor, are fortunate in not being in a position to compare young
women of to-day with those of forty or more years ago. This I can do,
and just as once I found it natural that there should be swarms of
little geese and peacocks, I never recover from my astonishment nowadays
at the amount of knowledge acquired by young womanhood. It requires a
considerable effort on my part very often to avoid being completely
overshadowed by a partner at dinner. The more this stratum of talent
increases, the more we have reason to expect a greater number of
geniuses from them in the future."
"You are given to prognostication," said Einstein, "and calculate with
probabilities which sometimes are lacking in foundation. Increased
education and even an increase of talents are quantitative assumptions
that make an inference regarding higher quality reaching to genius
appear very bold."--A passing look of ominous portent flashed over his
face, and I noticed that he was preparing to launch a sarcastic
aphorism. So it was, for the next words were: "It is conceivable that
Nature may have created a sex without brains!"
I grasped the sense of this grotesque remark, which was in no way to be
taken literally. It was intended as an amusing exaggeration of what he
had earlier called the reason for his failing expectation: the organic
difference which, being rooted in the physical constitution, had
somewhere to express itself on the mental plane, too. The soul of woman
strong in impulse shows a refinement of feeling of which we men are not
susceptible, whereas the greatest achievements of reason probably depend
on a preponderance of brain substance. It is this plus beyond the normal
amount that gives promise of great discoveries, inventions, and
creations. We can just as little imagine a female Galilei, Kepler, and
Descartes, as a female Michelangelo or Sebastian Bach. But when we think
of these extreme cases, let us also recall the balance on the other
side: although a woman could not create the differential calculus, it
was she that created Leibniz; similarly she produced Kant if not the
Critique of Pure Reason. Woman, as the author of all great minds, has at
least a right of access to all means of education and to all advancement
that is proffered by universities. And in this connexion Einstein
expressed his wish clearly enough.
* * * * * * * *
One of the most discussed themes in matters touching school education is
at the present time: "the selection of gifted pupils." It has developed
into a principle that is generally recognized by the great majority, the
only point of disagreement being in respect to the number that is to be
selected.
The idea running through it is that derived from Darwin's theory of
selection: man completes the method of selection practised by Nature. He
sifts and chooses, and allows those that are more talented to come to
the fore more rapidly and more decidedly; he favours their advancement
and makes easy their ascent.
This principle has really always been in existence. It started with the
distribution of prizes in ancient Olympia and reaches to the present-day
examinations that are clearly intended as a means of selecting talents.
A greater discrimination based on a systematic search for talents was
reserved for our own day.
It was scarcely a matter of doubt to me what attitude Einstein would
take up towards this matter. I had already heard him say hard words
about the system of examinations, and knew his leaning towards allowing
each mind to develop its power freely and naturally.
In effect, Einstein declared to me that he would hear nothing of a
breeding of talents in a sort of sporting way. The dangers of the
methods of sport would creep in and lead to results that had only the
appearance of truth. From the results so far obtained it was impossible
to come to a final decision about it. Yet it was conceivable that a
selective process conducted along reasonable lines would in general
prove of advantage in education, particularly in the respect that many a
talent that would ordinarily become stunted owing to its being kept in
darkness would now have an opportunity of coming to light.
This resolved itself into a talk bearing on many questions, and of which
I should like to state the main issue here. It was specially intended to
make clear the gambling method that Einstein repudiates, and the danger
of which seems still more threatening to me than to him.
If certain pedagogues, whose creed is force, were to have their way, the
"most gifted" pupils would be able, or would be compelled, to rush
through school at hurricane speed, and, at an age at which their fellows
were still spending weary hours at their desks, they would have to
clamber to the topmost branches of the academic tree. All things are
possible, and history even furnishes cases of such forced marches.
Luther's friend Melanchthon qualified at the age of thirteen to enter
the University of Heidelberg, and at the age of seventeen he became a
professor at Tübingen, where he gave lectures on the most difficult
problems of philosophy, as well on the Roman and Greek writers of
classical antiquity. This single instance need only be generalized, and
we have the new ideal rising up before our astonished gaze: a race of
professorial striplings whose upper lips are scarcely darkened with the
down of youth! It is a mere matter of making an early discovery of the
most gifted, and then raising the scaffolding up which the precocious
know-alls can climb as easily as possible.
[Interposed query: Where are these discoverers of talent, and how do
they prove their own talent? There was a good opportunity for them in a
case which I must here mention. Einstein told me in another connexion
that, as early as 1907, that is, when he was still very young in years,
he had not only succeeded in successfully representing the Principle of
Equivalence, one of the main supports of the General Principle of
Relativity, but had even published it; yet it made not the slightest
impression on the learned world. No one suspected the far-reaching
consequences, and no one pointed out this flaming up of a new talent of
the highest order. And just as this was able to remain concealed from
the learned Areopagus of the world at that time, so a similar lack of
understanding may easily be possible on a smaller scale at school. We
know actually that among the recognized great men of science, there were
many who did only moderately well at school; as, for example, Humphry
Davy, Robert Mayer, Justus Liebig, and many others. Wilhelm Ostwald goes
so far as to affirm: "Boys ordained to be discoverers later in life
have, almost without exception, been bad at school! It is just the most
gifted young people who have resisted most strongly the form of
intellectual development prescribed by the school! Schools never cease
to show themselves to be the bitter, unrelenting enemies of genius!"--in
spite of all efforts at selection which have always been in vogue in the
guise of advancement into higher forms.]
But the new mode of selection is intended to prevent mistakes and
oversights. Is this possible? Do not the traces of previous attempts
inspire distrust? There was once a very ideal selection that had to
stand the test of one of the most eminent bodies in existence, the
French Academy. Its duty was to discover geniuses on an incomparably
higher plane. It, however, repudiated or overlooked: Molière,
Descartes, Pascal, Diderot, the two Rousseaus, Beaumarchais, Balzac,
Béranger, the Goncourts, Daudet, Emile Zola, and many other extremely
gifted people, whom it should really have been able to find.
The only true, and at the same time necessary as well as sufficient,
breeding is carried out by Nature herself in conjunction with social
conventions, which promise the more success the less they assume the
character of incubators and breeding establishments. If you wish to
apply tests to discover pupils of genius in any class, examine as much
as you like, excite interest and ambition, distribute prizes even, but
not for the purpose of separating at short intervals the shrewd and
needle-witted heads from the rest; and do not lose sight of the fact
that among those who appear as the sheep as a result of these
systematized tests to discover ingenuity there are many who, ten or
twenty years later, will take up their positions as men of eminent
talent.
There is no essential difference between the forced promotion of such
pupils and the breeding of super-men according to Nietzsche's recipe as
exemplified by his Zarathustra.
Assuming that super-men are justified in existing at all, they will come
about of themselves, but cannot simply be manufactured. Workmen, taken
as a class, represent super-men more definitely than an individual such
as Napoleon or Cæsar Borgia. So the "super-scholar" exists perhaps
already to-day, not as an individual phenomenon, but as a whole,
representing his class. Whoever has had experience in these things will
know that nowadays there are difficult subjects in which it is possible
to apply to pupils of fifteen years of age tests that are far above the
plane of comprehension of pupils of the same age in former times,
provided that the average is considered, that no accidental or
artificial separation has occurred, that no pretentiously witty
questions have had to be answered, and that there has been no systematic
and inquisitive search for talent.
Let us rest satisfied if we find that the sum-total of talent is
continually on the increase. On the other hand, it is by no means proved
that we are doing civilization a service by persisting in the impossible
project of abolishing from the world the struggle for existence
prescribed by Nature. It is an elementary fact, and one that is easy to
understand, that many talents perish unnoticed. On the other hand,
observe the long list of eminent men who fought their way upwards out of
the lowest stages of existence only to recognize that the difficulties
that have been overcome are mostly necessary accompaniments of talent,
that is, that Nature's way of selection is to oppose obstacles and raise
difficulties in order to test their powers. In the case of the poor
lens-grinder Spinoza and many others ranging to Béranger, who was a
waiter, what a chain of desperate experiences, yet what triumphs!
Herschel, the astronomer, was too poor to buy a refracting telescope,
and it was just this dispensation of poverty that made him succeed in
constructing a reflecting type composed of a mirror. Faraday, the son of
a blacksmith without means, made his way for years as a bookbinder's
apprentice. Joule, one of the founders of the mechanical theory of heat,
started as a beer-brewer. Kepler, the discoverer of the planetary laws,
was descended from a poverty-stricken innkeeper. Of the members in
Goethe's circle, Jung-Stilling, of whom Nietzsche was so fond, was a
tailor's apprentice; Eckermann, Goethe's intimate associate, was a
swine-herd, and Zelter was a mason. We could add many recent names to
this list, and very many more if we continue the line backwards to
Euripides, whose father was a publican and whose mother was a vendor of
vegetables. This might serve as a basis for many reflections about the
"upward course of the talented," and about its less favourable reverse
side. For one might put the apparently paradoxical question whether a
soaring career for many or all talents is a necessity for our
civilization, or whether it would not be better to have a substratum
interspersed with talent, to cultivate a mossy undergrowth which is to
serve as nourishment for the blooming plants of the upper layer.
Maximum is not equivalent to optimum, and we learned elsewhere that
Einstein is far removed from identifying them. In the previous case it
was a question of the problem of population; and in the course of the
discussion he mentioned that we are subject to an old error of
calculation when we regard it as a desirable aim to have a maximum
number of human beings on the earth. It seems, indeed, that this false
conclusion is already in process of being corrected. A beginning is
being made with new and very active organizations and unions whose
programme is to reduce the number so that an optimum may be attainable
by those left.
If we extend this line of reasoning still further, we arrive at the
depressing question whether too much might not be done for talent, not
only as regards breeding it, but also in favouring the greatest number.
It is quite possible that in doing so, we might overlook, or take
insufficient account of the harm that might be done to the lower
stratum, in that we should be depriving it of forces which, according to
the economy of Nature, should remain and act in concealment.
This fear, as here expressed, is not shared by Einstein. However
brusquely he repudiates breeding, he speaks in favour of smoothing the
way for talent. "I believe," he said, "that a sensible fostering of
gifts is of advantage to humanity generally and prevents injustice being
done to the individual. In great cities which give such lavish
opportunities of education, this injustice manifests itself less often;
but it occurs so much the more in rural districts, where there are
certainly many cases of gifted youths who, if recognized as such at the
right age, would attain to an important position, but who, together with
their gifts, become stunted, nay, go to ruin, if the principle of
selection does not penetrate to their circle."
This brings us to the most difficult and most dangerous point. The
spectre of responsibility is rapping at the portals of society, and is
reminding us insistently that it is our duty to see that no injustice be
done to any talent that may be among us. And this duty is but little
removed from the demand that it should be disburdened of the worries of
daily life, for, so the moral argument runs, talent will ripen the more
surely the less it has to combat these ceaseless disturbances of
ordinary life.
But this thesis, so evident on moral grounds, will never be proved
empirically. On the contrary, we have good reason to suppose that
necessity, the mother of invention on the broader scale, will often in
the case of the individual talent prove to be the mother of its best
results. Goethe required for his development an unchallenged life of
ease, whereas Schiller, who never emerged from his life of misery, and
who, up to the time when he wrote _Don Carlos_, had not been able to
earn sufficient with his pen to buy a writing-desk, required distress to
make his genius burst into flower. Jean Paul recognized this blessing of
gloomy circumstances when he glorified poverty in his novels. Hebbel
followed him along this path by saying that it is more fruitful to
refuse the most talented person the necessities of life than to grant
them to the least gifted. For among a hundred who have been chosen by
the method of sifting, there will be only one on the average who will
receive the certificate of excellence in the test of future generations,
for the latter use entirely different methods of sifting from that
practised by a committee of examiners who expect ready answers to
prepared questions.
This projects us on to the horns of a severe dilemma that scarcely
allows of escape. The consciousness of duty towards the optimum
expresses itself only in a maximum of assistance, and overhears the
whispered objection of reason that Nature has also coarser means at her
disposal to attain her ends; in her own cruelty of selection she often
enough proves the truth of Menander's saying, which, freely translated,
says: to be tormented is also part of man's education. The fact that
Einstein--with certain reservations--favours the giving of help to the
selected few, it is for me a proof, among many others, of his love
towards his fellow-men, which fills his heart absolutely, all questions
of relativity notwithstanding.