The teacher who fails to get the attention of his scholars, fails
totally. The pupils may perhaps learn something, because they may give
the lesson some study at home, under the direction of their parents. But
they learn nothing from the teacher. He is really no teacher, though he
may occupy the teacher's seat. There is, and there can be, no teaching,
where the attention of the scholar is not secured. Gaining the attention
is an indispensable condition to the thing called teaching. Not,
however, the only indispensable thing. We have seen a class wrought by
special tricks and devices to the highest pitch of excited
attention,--fairly panting with eagerness, all eyes and ears, on the
very tiptoe of aroused mental activity,--yet learning nothing. The
teacher had the knack of stirring them up and lashing them into a half
frenzy of excited expectation, without having any substantial knowledge
wherewith to reward their eagerness. With all his one-sided skill, he
was but a mountebank. To real, successful teaching, there must be these
two things, namely, the ability to hold the minds of the children, and
the ability to pour into the minds thus presented sound and seasonable
instruction. Lacking the latter ability, your pupil goes away with his
vessel unfilled. Lacking the former, you only pour water upon the
ground.
How shall the teacher secure attention?
In the first place, let him make up his mind that he will have it. This
is half the battle. Let him settle it with himself, that until he does
this, he is doing nothing; that without the attention of his scholars,
he is no more a teacher, than is the chair he occupies. If he is not
plus, he is zero, if not actually minus. With this truth fully realized,
he will come before his class resolved to have a hearing; and this very
resolution, written as it will be all over him, will have its effect
upon his scholars. Children are quick to discern the mental attitude of
a teacher. They know, as if by instinct, whether he is in earnest or
not, and in all ordinary cases they yield without dispute to a claim
thus resolutely put.
This, then, is the first duty of the teacher in this matter. He must go
to his class with the resolute determination of making every scholar
feel his presence all the time. The moment any scholar shows that the
consciousness of his teacher's presence is not on his mind, as a
restraining power, something is wrong. The first step towards producing
that consciousness, as an abiding influence on the minds of the
scholars, is for the teacher to determine in his own mind and bring it
about. Without being arrogant, without being dictatorial, without being
or doing anything that is disagreeable or unbecoming, he must yet make
up his mind to put forth in the class a distinct power of
self-assertion. He must determine to make them feel that he is there,
that he is there all the time, that he is there to every one of them.
In the next place, the teacher must not disappoint the attention which
his manner has challenged. He must have something valuable to
communicate to the expectant minds before him. He must be thoroughly
prepared in the lesson, so that the pupils shall feel that they are
learning from him. His lips must keep knowledge. The human heart thirsts
for knowledge. This is one of its natural instincts. It is indeed often
much perverted, and many are to be found who even show aversion to being
instructed. Yet the normal condition of things is otherwise, and nothing
is more common than to see children hanging with fondness around any one
who has something to tell them. Let the teacher then be sure to have
something to say, as well as determined to say it.
In the third place, the teacher must have his knowledge perfectly at
command. It must be on the tip of his tongue. If he hesitates, and stops
to think, or to look in his book for the purpose of hunting up what he
has to tell them, he will be very apt to lose his chance. Teaching
children, particularly young children, is like shooting birds on the
wing. The moment your bird is in sight, you must fire. The moment you
have the child's eye, be ready to speak. This readiness of utterance is
a matter to be cultivated. The ripest scholars are often sadly deficient
in it. The very habit of profound study is apt to induce the opposite
quality to readiness. A teacher who is conscious of this defect, must
resolutely set himself to resist it and overcome it. He can do so, if he
will. But it requires resolution and practice.
In the fourth place, the teacher must place himself so that every pupil
in the class is within the range of his vision. It is not uncommon to
see a teacher pressing close up to the scholars in the centre of the
class, so that those at the right and left ends are out of his sight; or
if he turns his face to those on one side, he at the same time turns his
back to those on the other. Always sit or stand where you can all the
while see the face of every pupil. I have, hundreds of times, seen the
whole character of the instruction and discipline of a class changed by
the observance of this simple rule.
Another rule is to use your eyes quite as much as your tongue. If you
want your class to look at you, you must look at them. The eye has a
magic power. It wins, it fascinates, it guides, it rewards, it punishes,
it controls. You must learn how to see every child all the time. Some
teachers seem to be able to see only one scholar at a time. This will
never do. While you are giving this absorbed, undivided attention to
one, all the rest are running wild. Neither will it do for the teacher
to be looking about much, to see what is going on among the other
classes in the room. Your scholars' eyes will be very apt to follow
yours. You are the engineer, they are the passengers. If you run off the
track, they must do likewise. Nor must your eye be occupied with the
book, hunting up question and answer, nor dropped to the floor in
excessive modesty. All the power of seeing that you have is needed for
looking earnestly, lovingly, without interruption, into the faces and
eyes of your pupils.
But for the observance of this rule, another is indispensable. You must
learn to teach without book. Perhaps you cannot do this absolutely. But
the nearer you can approach to it, the better. Thorough preparation, of
course, is the secret of this power. Some teachers think they have
prepared a lesson when they have gone over it once, and studied out all
the answers. There could not be a greater mistake. This is only the
first step in the preparation. You might as well think that you have
learned the Multiplication Table, and are prepared to teach it, when you
have gone over it once and seen by actual count that the figures are all
right, and you know where to put your finger on them when required. You
are prepared to teach a lesson when you have all the facts and ideas in
it at your tongue's end, so that you can go through them all, in proper
order, without once referring to the book. Any preparation short of this
will not do, if you want to command attention. Once prepare a lesson in
this way, and it will give you such freedom in the art of teaching, and
you will experience such a pleasure in it, that you will never want to
relapse into the old indolent habit.