When a lad goes to school, he first learns to read and write. Having
mastered the alphabet, he is instructed in the art of reading,
_i.e._, the compounding of literal sounds to form words. Immediately,
from the first step, no matter whether he be English or French, he
begins to learn that most frequently letters lose their alphabetical
value when they are united with others. He finds out that everything
is almost entirely arbitrary and devoid of rule; and when a French
pupil asks why A and U together give the sound of O, the unfortunate
teacher can but reply with the famous phrase, which the child will
hear so often during his life: _It is so, because it is so._
After this initial illogical dogmatic exercise, the child starts
learning grammar and arithmetic.
Alas! here again the fine _explanation_: _It is so ..._ continues to
be in vogue.
In grammar, with every rule, he finds one, two, three, innumerable
exceptions. Hence the rule is soon drowned under a flood of
exceptions. We Frenchmen have actually founded a proverb: _There is
no rule without an exception._ True it is that all these exceptions
have historical reasons, but these reasons can only be appreciated
when one knows many ancient and modern languages. That study is
philology, and philology is not a science to be understood by
children!
The study of arithmetic might be a more logical exercise, but of all
departments of mathematics, arithmetic is in theory the most
abstruse. While algebraical reasoning is most frequently analytical,
arithmetical reasoning is generally synthetical, and, consequently,
more difficult to understand.
As a result of the great difficulty of arithmetical theories, the
teacher is, willy-nilly, commonly compelled to make the lad learn
results by heart without any explanation, and the young pupil adopts
parrot-method, which he takes as models to be followed, but not to be
verified. To these are added lessons from prose and poetical extracts
also to be learned by rote, and, above all, Roman and Greek history
is taught, which is quite unintelligible on account of the great
diversity between ancient and modern customs.
In fine, our children can only come to one conclusion: Everything in
human ken is arbitrary, devoid of rule, illogical. If, after long
years of such instruction, a spark of logicality still remains in our
mind, it proves that our natural logicality is powerful and enduring!
Now let us inquire what would happen if our children should learn our
valued Esperanto immediately on entering school.
Here they find perfect logic. Reading would be but a game, the
grammatical rules would ever be free from exceptions. Everything
would be explicable, everything could, and ought to, be explained.
Accurate use of the International Language would force them into a
severe analysis of their thoughts. They would no longer be accustomed
to write and think in accordance with models prepared and sanctioned
by popular usage, and even for the concise expression of their
thoughts in their mother tongue they would derive great benefit from
this analytical exercise.
I, personally, have found that the study of Esperanto has
demonstrated to me much of my own tongue, which hitherto I had not
understood or appreciated. Innumerable gallicisms, even incorrect use
of words, have I discovered with astonishment.
On discussing this subject with Esperantist friends, I have found
that I am not alone in thinking thus. All are unanimous.
Do you, dear Friend-in-Esperanto, who read this article, not agree?
_Laŭsence tradukita de_ H.B.M.