MUSIC AND EDUCATION
"Music is not only a source of noble pleasure--everyone admits
that, at any rate in theory--it is a form of intellectual and
spiritual training with which we really cannot afford to dispense"
_Sir Henry Hadow_
We may agree that education consists in the bringing of the latent
possibilities of the individual into action, and one of the most
important parts in the process of education is played by memory. The
fact that memory places on record our first impression of a thing is the
reason why we are able to recognise it on the second occasion: otherwise
we should have to make its acquaintance afresh every time. It is memory
again which enables us to retain the mental pattern of an action we have
once performed, and so to do it the more easily a second time, and on
subsequent occasions. Thus we see that everything we express, whether in
word, thought, or deed, leaves its mark within us: this impress is, as
it were, a brick in our life's edifice, and it has added something to
that disposition of mind which constitutes our character.
Mental growth is thus profoundly influenced by the things we express,
for whatever we express forthwith becomes part of ourselves. Anything,
therefore, that teaches us to express the fine, the noble, or the
beautiful, leaves the self by the fact of that expression with the
impress of that fineness, nobility, or beauty henceforth in the
character. We do not mean that by the utterance of a praiseworthy
sentiment a man at once grows estimable, but we do mean that the
sentiment according to its intrinsic value and worth has become an
element in his make-up. We observe every day in the contrary direction
that giving vent to continual complaint soon makes a person grow
sour-minded: and incidentally it also makes him grow sour-visaged. It is
frequently possible to tell a man's philosophy from his countenance.
Those whose efforts are devoted to preaching a violent discontent seem
to run to type, acquiring a discontented kind of countenance to match
their views. Equally so a person whose outlook is more balanced, and
whose character is gentler, will gradually inscribe a finer type of
characteristic both in mind and body. The case is very much the same
with Art. Those to whom Art stands for beauty and love must necessarily
be building themselves of their thoughts, and so be tending towards
their ideal. Thus so far as music becomes the expression of spirit and
love, so far its influence upon the individual is permanent and
progressive in these directions.
Apparent exceptions will at once spring to mind, and we may ask why
musicians as a class do not stand out specifically as more spiritual
than their fellows. There are many reasons. Not all musicians pursue
their calling with insight and understanding: mere perfunctory
performance has the effect of influencing in the direction of the
commonplace and the casual, and music is never the sole influence at
work, and not always the chief. The character is the result, on balance,
of ALL the forces that have played their part, just as the annual
balance on profit and loss account represents the net result of all the
transactions that have taken place. Unless the spiritual forces at work
in an individual's life outweigh the material, the net result will still
be on the side of the latter, even though he may have had music in his
soul.
When we look at the adolescent of to-day, particularly the town-bred
youth of from sixteen to twenty years, we may well ask what opportunity
he gets for the expression of any theme of beauty, or for any
impression of the like. The mind has a kind of breathing motion, as have
the lungs: it takes in, stores up and assimilates, and then expresses.
Education must allow for both processes. But our youthful friend has
left school, and is probably engaged in some more or less strenuous work
which brings him into the closest contact with grown men. From these he
derives most of his inspiration: much of it is highly coloured, and some
of it is certainly degrading. He does not read, and so knows nothing of
the inspiration of literature, and the past is to him a closed book. He
comes across nothing artistic, and he hears no concerts. He never goes
to church, and you can see him by the thousand loafing about in any
large town on a Sunday. "The modern townsman... has forgotten the habits
and sentiments of the village from which his forefathers came. An
unnatural and unhealthy mode of life, cut off from the sweet and
humanising influences of nature, has produced an unnatural and unhealthy
mentality, to which we shall find no parallels in the past. Its chief
characteristic is profound secularity or materialism. The typical town
artisan has no religion and no superstitions: he has no ideals beyond
the visible and tangible world of the senses."[20]
[Note 20: W. R. Inge.]
There is, however, one thing that our young friend does: he sings. We
see him, in company with three or four of his fellows, marching along
the street singing the latest music-hall ditty, with all the approved
music-hall inflections and mannerisms. Sometimes the group will be
accompanied by one of their companions on a mouth organ, and
occasionally they will attain to the dignity of two-, or even three-part
singing. Now and again we find them "throwing back" to the days of
Hucbald the Fleming, and running their harmony in a kind of diaphony a
fifth below the melody. But they sing because they like to sing. The
idea naturally suggests itself that if more firms and works would assist
in making provision for brass bands, string orchestras, and choral
societies among their employees, the music would prove to be a
humanising agency of the greatest value. Especially would this be the
case if some of the higher officials of the firm, not even excluding the
directors, would join on a footing of musical equality with the rest.
The aloofness of class is a potent cause of misunderstanding, but Art
knows nothing of social distinctions. If we knew more of each other we
should probably fight a good deal less, and it is just here that the
power of music might be used in healing fashion.
On one occasion in a suburban district, outside a branch of the Y.W.C.A.
on a Sunday evening, we stopped to listen to some excellent
part-singing, and we could not help thinking what an educative influence
it would surely prove in the lives of the music-makers. We could wish
that such opportunities were more generally available. The provision of
Municipal facilities, which would cost very little, would probably be a
most sound investment. But everything would in such case hinge upon the
conductor: mere perfunctory work at the husk of music would quickly damn
any such scheme. In addition it would do definite harm by creating a
permanent distaste for music in the minds of those who first were
attracted. Something has, of course, been done in the way of providing
organ recitals and so on, but we are here suggesting that the working
classes should be provided with the chance of being their own
music-makers. The use of a room, a fee to the conductor, and possibly a
small grant towards the cost of music would be all that was necessary,
but who can tell what might be the result in harmony and good feeling?
Folk dances, and the singing of old folk tunes, as taught in the
elementary schools, are of great value. There is a grace and poetry of
movement about some of the children thus taught, which is engaging in
the extreme. Nor can this be without its reflex action upon the mind of
the child. When taught to move easily and to express fluently in pose
and gesture, the child will have acquired some tendency towards a
corresponding facility of expression in other directions. According to
the songs chosen the singing itself provides outlet for the emotions,
and stimulates imaginative play. The prosaic life and surroundings of
the slum child are sufficiently deadening, and the new mental pictures
thus given are in the nature of windows opening on new vistas of life.
They suggest views that could come to the child mind in perhaps no other
way. The finer type of patriotism can be encouraged by such songs as
Parry's "England" (John o' Gaunt's Verse), and the more spiritual
element by the same composer's "Jerusalem" (words by Blake); while as an
example of the imaginative scene we might mention Dr. Wood's "The
Knight's Tomb." Regarding the simpler type of song, we recall the case
of an Inspector of Music in Schools who was moved, almost to tears, by
the rendering of "Will ye no come back?" by a class of children who had
been taught by a truly inspired instructress. A dull teacher, and there
are too many, does frequently damp and quench the fires that should be
fanned; and the personal element is an enormous factor in the
situation.
The mental and intellectual value of music should by no means be
overlooked. The mental alertness developed by sight-reading is of much
importance. Some children are slow thinkers, and react lethargically: as
a class, country children are mentally much slower than town-bred
youngsters. A city child quickly has to learn to look after himself, and
to make his own decisions on the spur of the moment, and consequently
his mental processes are more fluent than those of the bumpkin type. But
anything that can be done to accelerate this reaction time is so much
added to the efficiency of the individual. Sight-reading, we believe,
possesses a special value in this direction. Singing at sight is also a
means of developing the co-ordination of the various faculties. There
are numbers of people who know things ought to be done, and yet fail to
do them. In the case of sight-singing, the mental picture has to be
immediately translated into action, it is the essence of the proceeding.
The child is thus developing not only the mental faculties, but is also
acquiring increased power of regulation and co-ordination, through the
training of the faculties of the cerebellum.
It is now becoming generally recognised that the interest of the young
in music may be expressed in intellectual and emotional enjoyment, and
not only instrumentally and vocally. In other words we realise that good
listeners and appreciative understanders of music are, in their way, as
essential as executants. "Shocking as it may seem, hundreds of children
'learn music' for the length of their school life and never hear a
masterpiece, and indeed, hear no music at all except such as their own
untrained musical sense and half-trained fingers can compass."[21] In
increasing measure the teaching of music appreciation is coming into
vogue, and as an aid to this the piano-player and gramophone are
demonstrating their value. The slogan of the musical advance guard is "a
gramophone in every school." Teachers who are competent to give
first-class expositions of the classics in schools are naturally few and
far between, and it would be impossible for even the first-class, with
the best will in the world, to cover a range in any way commensurate
with that which can be reached mechanically. Therefore the mechanical
piano-player with a constant change of rolls, and the gramophone with
its ever-increasing list of records, are adjuncts to education which are
at present only in the stage of small beginnings. They possess
drawbacks and disadvantages, of course, but these are far outweighed by
the many solid points that tell in their favour.
[Note 21: Percy Scholes. "Everyman and his Music."]
The standard of musical accomplishment to be found in the various
schools is of very wide range. In the elementary schools there is a
certain uniformity of scheme, if not of achievement. But in the Public
Schools, and in the preparatory schools which act as feeders to them,
there is no uniformity of scheme, and the range of achievement is from a
very great deal to just nothing at all. Too much depends upon the
individual outlook of the Headmaster. If he be musical, then the music
prospers: but if he be not interested in the subject, then the music
languishes accordingly. This is not rational. Either music has its value
as an educational subject, in which case it ought to be in the
curriculum independent of the vagaries of the Headmaster for the time
being; or else it has no educational value, and should never be there.
Whims in such a matter are out of place: but they are nevertheless too
often a deciding factor. In many schools music is frankly regarded as a
nuisance, a sort of frilling that is inappropriate to the rigid texture
of education. It touches the emotions, and the Public School man has a
horror of being even so much as suspected of having emotions.
The average net result is that music has been tolerated rather than
encouraged, and most often the boy who elects to study music has to do
so at the expense of his playtime. Class singing is sometimes taken in
the regular school hours, but more often not. The consequence is that it
is frequently regarded as a grind and a bore: an attitude scarcely
conducive to any appreciation of its inner significance. Again, the
influence of the Music Master is of extraordinary importance: his
subject is identified in the boy mind with himself, and if the master be
not respected for his own personality, then the music suffers in
precisely that degree. A fine influence can be trusted to make itself
felt in every circumstance, though perhaps battles may have to be fought
before victory is achieved, and if the musician has grasped the
fundamentals of his Art, and realises that it is not so much himself as
the spirit that works through him, then the work that he can do both for
music and for his little musicians is beyond all price.
In one Public School with which we were closely acquainted the standard
of music was extremely high. The "Head" had his own ideas, which
occasionally came out in unexpected guise. For example, every Sunday
morning there was a choir-practice before Chapel for the non-singers.
This, of course, is a contradiction in terms, but an effective procedure
in reality. All the boys who were not in the choir had to attend a
practice for the musical part of the service, while the choir had the
privilege of a free time. There was no grievance about this, and it was
taken simply as a matter of routine. Further, in addition to the usual
Shields that were won and kept for the year by the various competing
"Houses," for cricket, football, sports, cross-country running, etc.,
there was a "House-singing Shield." This was competed for by the various
houses, each of which had to put up an S.A.T.B. (four-part) choir. The
competition consisted in the singing; of a compulsory glee, chosen by
the authorities some months in advance, and a voluntary part-song
selected by the competing choir. Both were to be sung without
accompaniment. If the house-master happened to be musical he generally
undertook the training of the choir: but if he were not, then a head boy
took it on. The standard achieved was, as a rule, remarkably good. At
the time of which we speak there were five competing houses in a school
of some two hundred boys, and this means that in the school there were
five complete four-part choirs capable of singing an unaccompanied
part-song. Practically every boy belonged to one or other of the
choirs, for marks were added to the total in proportion as the number of
boys singing rose, as compared with the total number in the house.
We cite this case from our own experience in order to show what has
actually been accomplished in the way of fostering the love of music in
one Public School. We are aware that this standard would appear entirely
visionary to the authorities of some other schools: there are some to
whom the idea of one choir singing in two parts seems more than is
practicable. But when music is recognised as an integral part of
education, as it used to be in Greece, then we may look forward to a
different standard indeed. We may also recognise that unless education
itself pays some attention to the emotional and feeling side of life, it
is leaving neglected an element which has no little to do with national
stability and sanity, since these can only be grounded upon the
manifestation of spirit in love and service.