Children often use the term "grown-up people." By it they mean persons
who have come to the age of twenty, or twenty-one, and whose bodily
growth is complete. But there are other kinds of growth, besides that of
the body.
What is a "grown-up" _teacher_? It is not difficult, certainly, to find
some, in every locality, to whom this term could _not_ be applied, with
any propriety. They have been engaged for years in the work, and yet
they are the merest babes. They have no more skill than when they first
took a class in hand. When a boy begins to use a penknife, he is very
awkward. He cuts himself about as often as he cuts the stick. After a
while, however, he learns to manage the matter better. He finds out how
to handle the curious instrument with skill and even with elegance. But
you will see teachers, so called, who seem never to make any of this
progress in their work. They have no more idea now, than they had when
they gave their first lesson, of what they must do to secure attention
and silence, how they must manage to keep all the children busy, how to
secure good attendance, or study of the lesson, how to gain affection
and confidence, how to enforce order and obedience, how to do anything,
except to sit, book in hand, and ask the questions one after the other
round the class, and see that John, George, and James severally say the
answers correctly. This is the idea of teaching with which they begin,
and they make no progress towards anything better. They acquire no
skill. They make no growth. They are "grown-up" bodily. But in all that
pertains to teaching, they are still babes. They whittle as awkwardly
and unskilfully as when the delicate instrument was first put into their
clumsy fingers. They go on from year to year and learn nothing.
Some persons are born teachers, just as some are born poets or
mechanics. That is, they are gifted with a natural aptitude for that
particular work. But those most gifted by nature, are capable of
improvement, and those having least natural gifts for teaching, may
acquire a certain and a very considerable amount of skill, by proper
observation and study. The point which I wish to make, and which I deem
important, is, that teachers should not rest content with their present
qualifications, whatever they may be, whether large or small. Let it be
the aim of every one to be a growing teacher. We come short, if we are
not better teachers this year than we were last. We should aim and
resolve to be better teachers next year than we are now. Our education
as teachers should never be considered as finished. Forgetting the
things which are behind, let us ever press forward. Let us constantly
aim upward. Skill in teaching admits of infinite degrees, and no one
will ever be perfect in it. Efforts at improvement, if persistently
followed up, are always rewarded with success, and success in such a
work brings a most sweet recompense. What satisfaction is equal to that
of feeling that one is steadily increasing in the power of guiding and
moulding the minds of others? Growing skill in anything, even in works
requiring mechanical ingenuity, brings joy to the mind. How much more
intense and pure the joy, when there is a consciousness of growth in
this higher department of mental power?
Will the teacher, who reads these paragraphs, consider the matter? Are
you, as a teacher, growing? or are you working on in dull content in the
same old routine? On your answer to these questions depend very largely,
not only the welfare of your scholars and the amount of good you will
achieve, but your own happiness and satisfaction in your work. The
artist, who produces some great work of genius, has his reward not
merely in the dollars which it may bring to his coffer, but in the
inward satisfaction which successful achievement produces. The true
artist is always struggling towards some unattainable ideal, and his joy
is proportioned to the nearness of his approach to the imagined
perfection. So in proportion as we approach in skill the great Teacher,
will be our joy in the work itself, apart from our joy in the results.
To be a growing teacher requires a distinct aim to this end, and a
resolute and persistent effort. It does not come by chance. It is not a
weed that springs up spontaneously, and matures without culture. It is
not the fruit of mere wishing. There must be _will_, A DETERMINED AND
RESOLUTE WILL. Rules and theories will not accomplish it. There are
books and essays in abundance on the art and practice of teaching. But
back of means we must have, first of all, the propelling power. Have you
made up your mind to be stationary, or have you resolved to go forward?
Will you remain in the wilderness, or will you advance into the promised
land and take possession? Are you a deliberate, predetermined, contented
dwarf, or will you resolutely grow? You may never become a giant, but do
not remain an infant.
If there is any one duty of the teacher more imperative than another, it
is that of continued, persistent self-improvement. No element of
progress is so efficient as a wholesome discontent. "I count not myself
to _have_ attained," says the great apostle of progress. To sit down
self-satisfied with present attainments is in itself a sign that you
have not yet risen much. It is to belong to the owls and the bats of the
lower valleys. One must already have ascended to lofty heights before he
can even see the higher Alps towering beyond.
The teacher who would improve must, in a good sense, be restless. He
must bestir himself. He must study and read and experiment, attend
teachers' meetings and conventions, and take teachers' papers, and find
out what other teachers are doing and have done, ever remembering that
improvement comes mainly by comparison.