ON THE GREAT DESIGN OF NATURE'S TEACHING, AND THE METHODS SHE EMPLOYS IN
CARRYING IT ON.
CHAP. I.
_A Comprehensive View of the several Educational Processes carried on by
Nature._
We have seen in the former chapters, that the most probable method of
succeeding in any difficult undertaking is to learn from Nature, and to
endeavour to imitate her. The first great question with the Educationist
then should be, "Does Nature ever teach?" If he can find her so
employed, and if he be really willing to learn, he may rest assured,
that by carefully studying her operations, he will be able to detect
something in the ends which she aims at, and the methods which she
adopts for attaining these ends, that will lead him to the selection of
similar means, and crown him ultimately with similar success.
Now we find that Nature does teach; and in so far as rational beings are
concerned, whether angelic or human, it appears to be her chief and her
noblest employment. In regard to the human family, she no doubt, at a
certain period, intends that the task should be taken up and carried on
by parents and teachers, under her controul; but when we compare the
nature and success of their operations with hers, we perceive the
immense inferiority of their best endeavours, and are obliged to
confess, that in many instances, instead of forwarding her work, they
either mar or destroy it. For in regard to the _matter_ of their
teaching, it may be observed, that they can teach their pupils nothing,
except what they or their predecessors have learned of Nature
before;--and as to the _manner_ in which it is taught, it is generally
so very imperfect, that for their success, teachers are often indebted
in no small degree to the constant interference of Nature, in what is
ordinarily termed the "common sense" of their pupils, for rectifying
many of their errors, and supplying innumerable deficiencies. Of this we
shall by and by have to advert more particularly.
The educational operations of Nature are universal; and she attaches
large rewards to diligence in attending to them. She evidently intends,
as we have said, that the parent and teacher should take up, and follow
out her suggestions in this great work; but even when this is delayed,
or altogether neglected, her part of the proceedings is not abandoned.
Nature is so strong within the pupil, and her educational promptings are
so powerful, that even without a teacher, he is able for a time to teach
himself. In man, and even among many of the more perfect specimens of
the lower creation, Nature has suspended the larger portion of their
comforts and their security, upon attention to her lessons, and the
practical application of that which she teaches. The dog which shuns the
person who had previously beaten him; the infant that clings to its
nurse, and refuses to leave her; the boy who refuses to cross the ditch
he never tried before; the savage who traces the foot-prints of his
game; the man who shrinks from a ruffian countenance; and Newton, when
the fall of an apple prompted him to pursue successively the lessons
which that simple event suggested to him, are all examples of the
teachings of Nature,--specimens of the manner in which she enables her
pupils to collect and retain knowledge, and stimulates them to apply it.
Wherever these suggestions of Nature are individually neglected, there
must be discomfort and danger, and wretchedness to the _person_ doing
so; and wherever they are not taken up by communities, and socially
taught by education of some kind or another, _society_ must necessarily
remain little better than savage.--The opposite of this is equally true;
for wherever they are personally attended to, the individual promotes
his own safety and comfort; and when they are socially taken up and
followed out by education, however imperfectly, then civilization, and
national security, prosperity, and happiness, are the invariable
consequences.
The information which we are to derive from the Academy of Nature, is to
be found chiefly in those instances where she is least interfered with
by the operations of others. In these we shall endeavour to follow her;
and, by classifying her several processes, and investigating each of
them in its order, we shall assuredly be able to arrive at some first
principles, to guide us in imitating the modes of her working, and which
will enable us, in some measure, to share in her success.
When we take a comprehensive view of the educational processes of
Nature, we find them arranging themselves under four great divisions,
blending into each other, no doubt, like the kingdoms of Nature and the
colours of the rainbow, but still perfectly distinct in their great
characteristics.
The _first_ educational process which is observable in Nature's Academy,
is the stimulating of her pupil to such an exercise of mind upon
external objects, as tends powerfully and rapidly to expand and
strengthen the powers of his mind. This operation begins with the first
dawning of consciousness, and continues under different forms during the
whole period of the individual's life.
The _second_ educational process, which in its commencement is perhaps
coeval with the first, is Nature's stimulating her pupil to the
acquisition of knowledge, for the purpose of retaining and using it.
The _third_ consists in the disciplining of her pupil in the practical
use, and proper application of the knowledge received; by which means
the knowledge itself becomes better understood, better remembered, and
much more at the command of the will than it was before:--
And her _fourth_ educational process consists, in training her pupil to
acquire facility in communicating by language, his knowledge and
experience to others.
The _first_ of these four general departments in Nature's educational
process, _is the developement and cultivation of the powers of her
pupil's mind_.--This part of Nature's work begins at the first dawn of
intelligence; and it continues through every other department of her
educational process. For several months during infancy, sensation itself
is but languid. The first indistinct perceptions of existence gradually
give place to a dreamy and uncertain consciousness of personal
identity.--Pain is felt; light is perceived; objects begin to be
defined, and distinguished; ideas are formed; and then, but not till
then, reflection, imagination, and memory, are gradually brought into
exercise, and cultivated. It is the extent and strength of these
faculties, as we shall afterwards see, that is to measure the
educational progress of the child; and therefore it is, that the first
object of Nature seems to be, to secure their proper developement. The
child feels and thinks; and it is these first feelings and thoughts,
frequently repeated, that enable it gradually to extend its mental
operations. It is in this way only that the powers, of the mind in
infants are expanded and strengthened, as there can be no mental culture
without mental exercise. While a child is awake, therefore, Nature
prompts him to constant and unwearied mental exertion; by which means he
becomes more and more familiar with external objects; acquires a better
command over his own mind in perceiving and remembering them; and
becomes more and more fitted, not only for receiving constant accessions
of knowledge, but also for putting that knowledge to use.
The _second_ part of Nature's educational process, we have said,
consists in her powerfully stimulating her pupil to _the acquisition of
knowledge_.--This, which we call the second part of Nature's operations,
has been going on from an early period of the child's history, and it
acts usually in conjunction with the first. As soon as an infant can
distinguish objects, it begins to form ideas regarding them. It
remembers their shape; it gradually acquires a knowledge of their
qualities; and these it remembers, and, as we shall immediately see, is
prompted to put to use upon proper occasions.--It is in the acquisition
of this kind of knowledge that the principle of curiosity begins to be
developed. The child's desire for information is increased with every
new accession; and for this reason, its mental activity and
restlessness, while awake, have no cessation. Every glance of the eye,
every motion of the hands or limbs made to gratify its curiosity, as it
is called, is only an indication of its desire for information:--Every
sight or sound calls its attention; every portable object is seized,
mouthed, and examined, for the purpose of learning its qualities. These
operations at the instigation of Nature are so common, that they are
scarcely observed; but when we examine more minutely into their effects,
they become truly wonderful. For example, were we to hear of an infant
of two or three years of age, having learned in the course of a few
months to distinguish each soldier in a regiment of Negroes, whose
features their very parents perhaps would have some difficulty in
discriminating; if he could call each individual by his name; knew also
the names and the uses of their several accoutrements; and, besides all
this, had learned to understand and to speak their language;--we would
be surprised and incredulous. And yet this would be an accumulation of
knowledge, not much greater than is attained in the same space of time
by many of the feeble unsophisticated pupils of Nature.--Infants, having
no temptation to depart from her mode of discipline, become in a short
period acquainted with the forms, and the uses, and even the names, of
thousands of persons and objects, not only without labour, but with vast
satisfaction and delight.
The training of her pupils to _the practical use of their knowledge_,
forms the _third_ department in Nature's educational process.--This is
the great end which the two previous departments were designed to
accomplish. This is Nature's _chief_ object;--all the others are
obviously subordinate. The cultivation of the mind, and the acquisition
of knowledge were necessary;--but that necessity arose from the
circumstance of their being preparatory to this. Nature, in fact,
appears to have stamped this department of her operations almost
exclusively with her own seal;--repudiating all knowledge that remains
useless, and in a short time blotting it entirely from the memory of her
pupils; while that portion of their acquired knowledge, on the contrary,
which is useful and is put to use, becomes in proportion more familiar,
and more permanent. It is also worthy of remark, that the knowledge
which is most useful, is always most easily and pleasantly acquired.
The superior importance of this department of education is very
observable. In the previous departments of Nature's educational process,
the child was induced to _acquire_ new ideas;--in this he is prompted to
_make use of them_. In the former he was taught to _know_;--in this he
is trained to _act_. For example, if he has learned that his nurse is
kind, Nature now prompts him to act upon that knowledge, and he
accordingly strains every nerve to get to his nurse;--if he has learned
that comfits are sweet, he acts upon that knowledge, and endeavours to
procure them;--and if he has once experimentally learned that the fire
will burn, he will ever afterwards keep from the fire.
Last of all comes the _fourth_, or supplementary step in this beautiful
educational process of Nature. It consists in gradually training her
pupil to _communicate the knowledge and experience which he has
attained_.--It is probable that Nature begins this part of her process
before the child has acquired the use of language;--but as it is by
language chiefly that man holds fellowship with man, it is not till he
has learned to speak that the mental exercise on which its success
depends, becomes sufficiently marked and obvious. It consists, not in
the acquisition of language so much, as in the use of language after it
has been gained. The pupil is for this purpose prompted by Nature to
think and to speak at the same moment;--mentally to prepare one
sentence, while he is giving utterance to its predecessor. That this is
not the result of instinct, but is altogether an acquisition made under
the tuition of Nature by the mental exertions of the infant himself, is
obvious from the fact, that he is at first incapable of it, and never
pronounces three, and very seldom two words consecutively without a
pause between each. This the child continues to do after he is perfectly
familiar with the meaning of many words, and after he can also pronounce
each of them individually. In giving utterance to the first words which
he uses, there is an evident suspension of the mind in regard to every
thing else. His whole attention appears to be concentrated upon the word
and its pronunciation. He cannot think of any thing else and pronounce
the word at the same time; and it is not till after long practice that
he can utter two, three, or more words in a sentence, without hesitation
and a decided pause between them. It is only by degrees that he acquires
the ability to utter a phrase, and at last a short sentence, without
interruption. Nature prompts the child to this exercise, which from the
first attempt, to the full flow of eloquence in the extemporaneous
debater, consists simply in commanding and managing one set of ideas in
the mind, at the moment the person is giving utterance to others. This
cannot be done by _the child_, but it is gradually acquired by _the
man_; and we shall see in its proper place, that this acquisition is
entirely the result of a mental exercise, such as we have here
described, and to which various circumstances in childhood and youth are
made directly subservient.
Here then we have the highway of education, marked off, and walled in by
Nature herself. That these four great departments in her educational
process will be much better defined, and their parts better understood,
when experience has given more ample opportunities for their
observation, cannot be doubted; and it is not improbable, that future
investigations will suggest a different arrangement of heads, and a
different modification of their parts also; but still, the great outline
of the whole, we think, is so distinctly marked, that, so far as they
go, there can be little mistake; and by following them, we are most
likely to obtain a large amount of those benefits which education is
intended to secure.--To excel Nature is impossible; but by endeavouring
to imitate her, we may at least approach nearer to her perfections.
It is not enough, however, for us to perceive the great outlines of
Nature's operations in education; we must endeavour to follow her into
the details, and investigate the means which she employs for carrying
them into practical effect. We shall therefore take up the several
departments above enumerated in their order, and endeavour to trace the
laws which regulate her operations in each, for the purpose of assisting
the teacher in his attempts to imitate them.
CHAP. II.
_On the Method employed by Nature for cultivating the Powers of the
Mind._
The _first_ step in Nature's educational process, is the cultivation of
the powers of the mind; and, without entering into the recesses of
metaphysics, we would here only recall to the recollection of the
reader, that the mind, so far as we yet know, can be cultivated in no
other way than by voluntary exercise:--not by mere sensation, or
perception, nor by the involuntary flow of thought which is ever passing
through the mind; but by the active mental operation called
"thinking,"--the voluntary exertion of the powers of the mind upon the
idea presented to it, and which we have denominated "reiteration,"[1] as
perhaps best descriptive of that thinking of the presented idea "over
again," by which alone, as we shall see, the mind is cultivated, and
knowledge increased.
It is also here worthy of remark, that the cultivation of the powers of
her pupil's mind, as a preliminary to their acquiring and applying of
knowledge, appears to be a settled arrangement of Nature, and one which
must be rigidly followed by the teacher, wherever success is to be hoped
for. Analogy, in other departments of Nature's operations, proves its
necessity, and points out its wisdom; for she is never premature, and
never stimulates her pupils to any work, till they have been properly
prepared for accomplishing it. Hence the consistency and importance of
commencing the process of education, by expanding and cultivating the
powers of the mind, preparatory to the future exertions of the pupil;
and hence also the wisdom of requiring no more from the child, than the
state of his mental powers at the time are capable of performing. Our
object, at present, is to discover the means employed by Nature for
accomplishing this preliminary object, that we may, by imitating her
plans, obtain the greatest amount of benefit.
In infancy, and during the early part of a child's life, each of the
thousands of objects and actions which are presented to its observation,
falls equally on the organs of sense, and each of them _might_, if the
child had pleased, have become objects of perception, as well as objects
of sensation. But it is evident, that till the mind occupy itself upon
one or more of these objects, there can be no mental exercise, and, of
course, no mental culture. On the contrary, if the mind shall single out
any one object from the mass that surrounds it,--shall entertain the
idea suggested by its impression on the organs of sense, and think of
it--that is, review it on the mind--there is then mental exercise, and,
in consequence, mental cultivation. From this obvious truth it
necessarily follows, that the cultivation of the mind does not depend
upon the multitude of objects presented to the observation of a child,
but only on those which it really does observe,--which it looks at, and
thinks upon, by an active voluntary exercise of its own powers. The
child, no doubt, _might_ have smelt every odour; it _might_ have
listened to every sound that entered the ear; and it _might_ have looked
upon every image that entered the eye; but we know that it did not. A
few of them only were thought of,--the ideas which they suggested were
alone "reiterated" by the mind,--and therefore they, and they alone,
tended to its cultivation.
As this act of the mind lies at the root of all mental improvement,
during every stage of the pupil's education, it becomes a matter of
considerable importance, that its nature, and mode of operation, should
be thoroughly understood.
Let us for this purpose suppose that a lighted candle is suddenly
presented before a young infant. He looks at it; he thinks of it; his
mind is employed with the flame of the candle in a manner quite
different from what it is upon any thing else in the room. All the other
images which enter the eye fail to make an impression upon the mind; but
this object which the child looks at,--observes,--does this; and
accordingly, while it is passive as to every thing else, the mind is
found to be actively engaged with the candle. He not only sees it, but
he looks at it. This, and similar "reiterations" of ideas by the mind,
frequently repeated by the infant, gradually communicate to it a
consciousness of mental power, and enable him more and more easily to
wield it. Every such instance of the reiteration of an idea,--of the
voluntarily exercise of active thought,--strengthens the powers of the
mind, so that he is soon able to look at and follow with his eyes other
objects, although they are much less conspicuous than the glare of a
candle.
When we examine the matter a little farther in regard to infants, we
perceive, that all the little arts used by the mother or the nurse, to
"amuse the child," as it is called, are nothing more than means employed
to excite this reiteration of ideas by the mind. A toy, for example, is
presented to the infant, and his attention is fixed upon it. He is not
satisfied with passively seeing the toy, as he sees all the other
objects in the room, but he actively looks at it. Nor is this enough;
the toy is usually seized, handled, mouthed, and turned; and each
movement prompts the mind to active thought,--to reiterate the idea
which each of the sensations suggests. These impressions are no doubt
rapid, but they are real; and each of them has been reiterated,--actively
thought of,--before they could either be received, or remembered; and it
is only by these impressions frequently repeated, in which the mind is
vigorously and delightfully engaged, that it acquires that activity and
strength which we so frequently witness in the young.
At a more advanced period during childhood and youth, we find the
cultivation of the mind still depending upon the same principle. It is
not enough that numerous objects be presented to the senses of the
pupil; or that numerous words or sounds be made to vibrate in his ears;
or even that he himself be made mechanically to utter them. This may be
done, and yet the mind may remain perfectly inactive with respect to
them all:--Nay, experience shews, that during such mechanical exercises,
his mind may all the time be actively employed upon something else.
There must therefore, not only be a hearing, or a reading of the words
which convey an idea, but he must make the idea his own, by thinking it
over again for himself. Hence it is that mental vigour is not acquired
in proportion to the number of pages that the pupil is compelled to
read; nor to the length of the discourses which are delivered in his
hearing; nor to the multiplicity of objects placed before him. It is
found entirely to depend upon his diligence in thinking for himself;--in
reiterating in his own mind the ideas which he hears, or reads, or which
are suggested to his mind by outward objects. This is still the same act
of the mind which we have described in the infant, with this very
important difference, however, that a large portion of his ideas is now
suggested by _words_, instead of _things_; but it is the ideas, and not
the words, that the mind lays hold of, and by which its powers are
cultivated. When this act therefore is successfully forced upon a child
in any of his school operations, the mind will be disciplined and
improved;--but wherever it is not produced, however plausible or
powerful the exercise may _appear_ to be, it will on scrutiny be found
to be totally worthless in education,--a mere mechanical operation, in
which, there being no mental exertion, there can be no mental culture.
In the adult, as well as in the young and the infant, the culture of the
mind is carried on in every case by the operation of the same
principle.--However various the means employed for this purpose may be,
they all depend for their success upon this kind of active
thought,--this reiteration of the _ideas_ suggested in the course of
reading, hearing, observation, or reasoning. A man may turn a wheel, or
point pins, or repeat words from infancy to old age, without his mind's
being in the least perceptible degree benefited by such operations;
while the mill-wright, the engineer, or the artist, whose employments
require varied and active thought, cannot pursue his employment for a
single day, without mental culture, and an acquisition of mental
strength.--The reason is, that in mere mechanical operations there is
nothing to induce this act of reiteration,--this active mental exercise
of which we are speaking. In the former case, the individual is left to
the train of thought in the mind, which appears to afford no mental
cultivation;--whereas, in the latter, the mind is, by the acts of
comparing, judging, trying, and deciding, which the nature of his
occupation renders necessary, constantly excited to active
thought,--that is, to the reiteration of the several ideas presented to
it.
These remarks may be thought by some to be exceedingly commonplace and
self-evident.--It may be so. If they be admitted, we ask no more.--Our
purpose at present is answered, if we have detected a principle in
education, by the operation of which the powers of the mind are
invariably expanded and strengthened;--an effect which, so far as we yet
know, in its absence never takes place. It is by means of this principle
alone that Nature accomplishes this important object, both in young and
old; but its effects are especially observable in the young, where, her
operations not being so much interfered with, we find her producing by
its means the most extraordinary effects, and that even during the most
imbecile period of her pupil's existence.
In concluding this part of our investigation, we would very briefly
remark, that the existence of this principle in connection with the
cultivation of the mind, accounts in a very satisfactory manner for the
beneficial results which usually accompany the study of languages,
mathematics, and some other branches of education similar in their
nature.--These objects of study, when once acquired, may never
afterwards be used, and will consequently be lost; but in learning them
the pupil was compelled to think,--to exercise his own mind on the
subjects taught,--to reflect, and to reiterate the ideas communicated to
him, till they had been fully mastered. The mental vigour which was at
first forced upon the pupil, by these beneficial exercises, remains with
him, and is exercised upon other objects, as they are presented to his
observation in ordinary life.--The mind in commencing these studies
gradually emancipates itself from the mechanical tendencies which an
improper system of teaching had previously formed, and now gathers
strength daily by this natural mode of exercising its powers. It is the
effects of this kind of discipline that constitute the chief element of
a cultivated mind. In this principally consists the difference between a
man of "liberal education," and others who have been less highly
favoured.--His superiority does not lie in his ability to read Latin and
Greek,--for these attainments may long ago have been forgotten and
lost;--but in the state of his mind, and the superior cultivation of the
mental powers.--He possesses a clearness, a vigour, and a grasp of mind
above others, which enable him at a glance to comprehend a
statement;--to judge of its accuracy;--and, without effort, to arrange
and communicate his ideas concerning it. This ability, as we have seen,
can be acquired only by active mental exercise, and is not necessarily
the result of extensive reading, nor is it always accompanied by
extensive knowledge. It is the natural and the necessary product of
mental discipline, through which the above described act of
"reiteration," like a golden thread, runs from beginning to end. It is
the fire of intellect, kindled at first perhaps by classical, and
mathematical studies; but which now, collecting force and fuel from
every circumstance of life, glows and shines, long after the materials
which first excited the flame have disappeared.
If then, as we formerly explained, the arts are to derive benefit from
the investigations of science, we are led to the conclusion, that the
wisdom of the Teacher will consist in taking advantage of the principle
which has been here exhibited. He should not speculate nor theorize, nor
go forward inconsiderately in using exercises, the benefits of which are
at least questionable; but he ought implicitly to follow Nature in the
path which she has thus pointed out to him. One chief object with him
should be, the cultivation of the minds of his pupils; and the only
method by which he can attain success in doing so has now been stated.
He must invent, or procure some exercise, or series of exercises, by
which the act of "reiteration" in the minds of his pupils shall be
regularly and systematically carried on.--He must induce them to think
for themselves, and to exercise the powers of their own minds
deliberately and frequently,--in the same manner as we see Nature
operating in the mind of a lively and active child. When he can
accomplish this, he will, and he must succeed; whereas, if he allow an
exercise to be prepared where this act of the mind is absent, he may
rest assured that he is deceiving both himself and the child.--The laws
of Nature are inflexible; and while she will undoubtedly countenance and
reward these who act upon the principles which she has established, she
will as certainly leave those who neglect them to eat the "fruit of
their own doings."--But the pupil, more than the Teacher is the
sufferer. Under the pure discipline of Nature in the infant and the
child, learning is not only their business, but their delight; and it is
only when her principles are unknown, or violently outraged, that
education becomes a burden, and the school-house a prison.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Note A.
CHAP. III.
_On the Means by which Nature enables her Pupils to acquire Knowledge._
The _second_ stage of the pupil's advance under the teaching of Nature
is that in which she prompts and assists him in the acquisition of
knowledge.--The importance of this department of a child's education has
uniformly been acknowledged;--so much so, indeed, that it has too
frequently absorbed the whole attention of the Teacher, as if the
possession of knowledge were the whole of education.--That this is a
mistake we shall afterwards see; because the value of knowledge must
always be in proportion to the use we can make of it; but it is equally
true, that as we cannot use knowledge till we have acquired it, its
acquisition as a preliminary step is of the greatest importance. Our
intention is at present, to enquire into the means employed by Nature,
for enabling her pupils to acquire, to retain, and to classify their
knowledge; so that, by ascertaining and imitating her methods, we may in
some degree share in her success.
For some time during the early years of childhood Nature is the chief,
or the only Teacher; and the contrast between her success at that time,
and the success of the parent or teacher who succeeds her, is very
remarkable, and deserves consideration.
When we examine this process in the case of infants, we see Nature
acting without interference, and therefore with undeviating success.
Within a few months after the child has attained some degree of
consciousness, we find that Nature, under every disadvantage of body and
mind, has succeeded in communicating to the infant an amount of
knowledge, which, when examined in detail appears very wonderful.--The
child has been taught to know his relations and friends; he has acquired
the ability to use his limbs, and muscles, and organs, and the knowledge
how to do so in a hundred different ways. He has become familiar with
the form, the colour, the texture, and the names of hundreds of articles
of dress, of furniture, of food, and of amusement, not only without
fatigue, but in the exercise of the purest delight, and with increasing
energy. He has begun to contrast objects, and to compare them; and this
capacity he evinces by an undeviating accuracy in choosing those things
which please him, and in rejecting those things which he dislikes. But
above all, the infant, along with all this substantial knowledge, has
been taught to understand a language, and even to speak it. The fact of
all this having been accomplished by a child of only two or three years
of age, is so common, that the mysterious principles which it involves,
are too generally overlooked. We thoughtlessly allow them to escape
observation, as if they were mere matters of instinct, and were to be
ranked with the spider's catching its prey, or the sparrow's building
its nest. But the principles which regulate these different operations
are perfectly dissimilar. In the case of the spider and the sparrow
there is no teaching, and, of course, no learning. Their first web, and
their first nest, are as perfect as the last; but in the case of the
infant, with only two or three exceptions, there is nothing that he
does, and nothing that he knows, which he has not really
learned,--acquired by experience under the tuition of Nature, by the
actual use of his own mental and physical powers.
The benefits accruing to education, from successfully imitating Nature
in this department of her process, will be incalculable; not only in
adding to the amount of knowledge communicated, but in the ease and
delight which the young will experience in acquiring it. All must admit
that the pleasure, as well as the rapidity, of the educational process
in the young, continues only during the time that Nature is their
teacher;--and that her operations are generally checked, or neutralized
by the mismanagement of those who supersede her work, and begin to
theorize for themselves. The proof of this is to be found in the fact,
that although a child is much less capable of acquiring knowledge
between one and three years of age, than he is between eight and ten;
yet, generally, the amount of his intellectual attainments by his school
exercises, during the two latter years, bears no proportion to those of
the former, when Nature _alone_ was his teacher. In the one case, too,
his knowledge was acquired without effort or fatigue, and in the
exercise of the most delightful feelings;--in the other, quite the
reverse.
That we shall ever be able to equal Nature in this part of her
educational process, is not to be expected; but that, by following up
the principles which she has developed, and imitating the methods by
which she accomplishes her ends, we shall become more and more
successful, there can be no doubt. The method, therefore, to be adopted
by us is, to examine carefully the principles which she employs with the
young, through the several stages of her process, and then, by adopting
exercises which embody these principles, to proceed in a course similar
to that which she has pointed out.
In prosecuting this plan, then, our object must be, first, to examine
generally the various means employed by Nature, in the acquisition of
knowledge by the young,--and then to attend more in detail to the mode
by which she applies the principles involved in each.
These general means appear to consist of four distinct principles,
which, for want of better definitions, we shall denominate
"Reiteration," "Individuation, or Abstraction," "Grouping, or
Association," and "Classification, or Analysing."[2]
The _first_ is the act of "Reiteration," of which we have already
spoken, as the chief instrument in cultivating the powers of the mind,
and without which, we shall also find, there can be no acquisition of
knowledge. The _second_ is the principle of "Individuation," by which
Nature communicates the knowledge of single ideas, or single objects, by
constraining the child to concentrate the powers of its mind upon one
object, or idea, till that object or idea is familiar, or, at least,
known. The _third_ is the common principle of "Grouping, or
Association," and appears to depend, in some degree, on the imaginative
powers, by which a child begins to associate objects or truths together,
after they have become individually familiar; so that any one of them,
when afterwards presented to the mind, enables the pupil at a glance, to
command all the others which were originally associated with it. The
_fourth_ is the principle of "Classification, or Analysing," by which
the mind distributes objects or truths according to their nature,--puts
every truth or idea, as it is received, into its proper place, and among
objects or ideas of a similar kind. This classification of objects is
not, as in the principle of grouping, regulated according to their
accidental relation to each other, by which the canary and the cage in
which it is confined would be classed together; but according to their
nature and character, by which the canary would be classified with
birds, and the cage among other articles of household furniture. All
knowledge, so far as we are aware, appears to be communicated and
retained for use, by means of these four principles; and we shall now
proceed to examine the mode in which each of them is employed by Nature
for that purpose.
FOOTNOTES:
[2] Note A.
CHAP. IV.
_On Nature's Method of communicating Knowledge to the Young by the
Principle of Reiteration._
We have, in a former chapter, endeavoured to describe that particular
act of the mind which generally follows simple perception, and by which
an idea, when presented to it, is made the subject of _active thought_,
or is "_reiterated_" again to itself. We have found upon good evidence,
that it is by this process, whether simple or complex, that the powers
of the mind are cultivated; and we now proceed to shew, that it is by
the same act, and by it alone, that any portion of knowledge is ever
communicated.[3] No truth, or idea of any kind, can make an effective
entrance into the mind, or can find a permanent lodgement in the memory,
so as to become "knowledge," until it has successfully undergone this
process.
There are two ways by which we usually acquire knowledge:--The one is by
_observation_, without the use of language, and which is common to us
with those who are born deaf and dumb; and the other is _through the
medium of words_, either heard or read. In both cases, however, the
knowledge retained consists entirely of the several _ideas_ which the
objects or the words convey; and what we are now to shew, is, that these
ideas thus conveyed, can neither be received by the mind, nor retained
by the memory, till they have undergone this process of "reiteration."
While, on the contrary, it will be seen that, whenever this process
really takes place, the idea thus reiterated does become part of our
knowledge, and is, according to circumstances, more or less permanently
fixed upon the memory. We shall for this purpose endeavour to trace the
operation of the principle, both in the case of ideas communicated by
objects without language, and in those conveyed to the mind by means of
words.
That this act of reiteration of an idea by the mind, must take place,
before objects of perception can become part of our knowledge, will, we
think, be obvious, from a consideration of the following facts.--When,
for example, we are in a crowded room, or in the fields, numerous sounds
enter the ear,--thousands of images enter into and impress the eye, yet
not one of these becomes part of our knowledge till it is _thought
of_;--that is, till the idea suggested by the sensation, has not only
been perceived, but reiterated by the mind. This will appear to many so
plain, that any farther illustration of the fact may be deemed useless.
But experience, has shewn, that the illustration of this important
process in education, is not only expedient, but is really necessary; as
the overlooking of this simple principle has often been the cause of
great inconsistencies on the part of teachers. We shall therefore
endeavour to exhibit the working of the principle in various forms, that
it may be fully appreciated when we come to apply it.
Let us then suppose two children taken silently through a museum of
curiosities, the one active and lively, the other dull and listless. It
would be found on retiring, that the former would be able to give an
account of many things which he saw, and that the other would remember
little or nothing. In this case, all the objects in the exhibition were
seen by both; and the question arises, "Why does the knowledge of the
one, so much exceed that of the other?" The reason is, that the mind of
the one was active, while the mind of the other was in a great measure
inactive. Both _saw_ the objects; but only one _looked at_ them. The one
actively employed his mind--fixed his eye on an object, and thought of
it; that is, he reiterated the ideas it suggested to him, whether as to
form, or colour, or movement, and by doing so, the ideas thus
reiterated, were effectively received, and given over to the keeping of
the memory. The other child saw the whole; they were perhaps objects of
perception; but he allowed his sensations to die away as they were
received; and his mind was left to wander, or to remain under the dreamy
influence of a mere passive and evanescent train of thought. His
"attention" was not arrested;--his mind was not actively engaged on any
of the articles he saw; in other words, the ideas which they suggested
were not "reiterated."[4]
Now, that it was the want of this mental reiteration which was the
cause, and the only cause, why this very usual means of acquiring
knowledge failed to communicate it, may be proved we think by a very
simple experiment. For if we shall suppose that the child who was
obtaining no knowledge by means of the various curiosities around him,
had been asked at the time a question respecting any of them,--a stuffed
dog, for example,--his attention would have been arrested, and his mind
would have been roused to active thought. The words, "What is that?"
from his teacher, or companion, would have made him look at it, and
reiterate the ideas of its form and colour, so far as to enable him to
give an answer. And if he does so, it will be found afterwards, on
leaving the place, that although he might have remained unconscious of
the presence of all the other objects in the museum, he will remember
the stuffed dog, merely because, by the question, the idea it suggested
was taken up, and reiterated by the mind; while the sensations caused
by all the rest, were allowed to pass away.
There is another circumstance of daily occurrence, which adds to the
evidence that it is this principle which we have called "reiteration,"
which forms the chief, if not the only avenue, by which ideas find
access to the mind; and it is this:--That when at any time we bring to
recollection some former circumstance of life, however remote, or when
we recall any part of our former knowledge or experience, it comes up to
the mind, accompanied with the perfect consciousness, that, at the time
we are thinking of, this act of reiteration had taken place upon it;
that we most assuredly have thought of it before. We are not more
certain that it occupies our thoughts now, than we are that it did so
when it occurred;--that the operation of which we are at present
speaking, did actually then take place; and that it was by our doing so
then, that it is remembered now. This circumstance, when duly
considered, is of itself, we think, a sufficient proof, that no part of
our knowledge,--not a single idea,--can be acquired, or retained on the
memory by any other process, than by this act of reiteration.
Hence then it is plain, that all the knowledge which we receive by
observation, without the use of language, is received and retained on
the memory by the operation of this principle; and we will now proceed
to shew, that the same process must also take place, when our ideas are
received by means of _words_, whether these be spoken or read.
It is of great importance for us to remember, that the only legitimate
use of words is to convey ideas; and that Nature rigidly refuses to
acknowledge any other use to which they may be put. Hence it is, that in
conversation, we are quite unconscious of the words which our friend
uses in communicating his ideas. Nature impels us to lay hold of the
ideas alone; and in proof of this we find, that we have only to attempt
to concentrate our attention upon the _words_ he uses, and then we are
sure to lose sight of the _ideas_ which the words were intended to
convey. Hence it is, that our opinion of the style, and the language,
and the manner of a speaker, when the subject itself is not familiar,
are formed more by indirect impressions, than by direct attention to
these things while he speaks; and oftener by reflection afterwards, than
by any critical observation during the time. The reason of this, we may
remark once for all, is, that what the mind reiterates it
remembers,--but nothing more. If during the hearing, it reiterates the
ideas, it will then remember the ideas; but if it reiterates the words
without the ideas, it will remember nothing but words. Those therefore
who sow words in the minds of the young, hoping afterwards to reap
ideas, are as inconsistent as those who seek to "gather grapes of
thorns, or figs of thistles."[5]
Knowledge is received by the use of words in two ways,--either by oral
speech, or by written language; but in both cases, the reception of the
ideas is still governed by reiteration. We shall endeavour to examine
the operation in both cases.
Let us suppose that a teacher announces to a class of young children,
that "Cain killed his brother Abel,"--and then examines the state of
each child's mind in regard to it. All of them heard the words, but some
only perhaps are now in possession of the truth communicated. Those who
are so, followed the teacher in his announcement, not so much in
reiterating the words, as in reiterating the idea,--the truth itself;
and therefore it is, that they are now acquainted with the fact. Of
those who heard, but have failed to add this truth to their stock of
knowledge, there may be two classes;--those who attended to what was
said, but failed to interpret the words; and those whose attention was
not excited at all. Those who failed to interpret the words, or to
extract the idea from them, reiterated the _words_ to themselves, and
would perhaps be able to repeat the words again, but they do so in the
same manner that a person reads or repeats words in an unknown tongue.
The idea,--the truth,--is not yet perceived, and therefore cannot be
remembered. The others who remember nothing, have reiterated nothing;
their minds remained inactive. They also heard the words, but they
failed to listen to them; in the same way as they often see objects, but
do not look at them. Here it is evident that every child who reiterated
the idea in his own mind, is in possession of the fact communicated; and
all who did not do so, even although they reiterated the words, have no
addition made to their knowledge; which shews that it is only by this
act of the reiteration of the ideas, that any portion of our knowledge
is ever acquired.
That this is a correct exhibition of the principle, and a legitimate
inference from the phenomena, may be still farther proved by an
experiment similar to one formerly recommended. Let the teacher, in the
middle of a story, ask some of the inattentive pupils a question
respecting some of the persons or things he is speaking about, and force
the reiteration of that part of the narrative in the child's mind by
getting an answer, and it will be found at the close, that although he
may remember nothing else of all that he heard, yet he will most
perfectly remember that part about which he was questioned, and
respecting which he returned an answer.
The same thing may be ascertained by our own experience, in hearing a
lecture or sermon, or even in conversation with a friend. In these
cases, as long as our attention is kept up,--that is, as long as we
continue to reiterate the ideas that we hear,--we may remember them; but
when our minds flag, or wander; in other words, when we cease to
reiterate the ideas of the speaker, the sounds enter our ear, but the
matter is gone. All that has been said during that period of inattention
has been lost; it never has formed, and never can form, part of our
knowledge.
Thus we see, that in the act of hearing oral communications, the
principle of reiteration of the ideas is obviously necessary for the
acquiring of knowledge; and we shall now shew, that it is equally
necessary in the act of reading.
Many persons must have witnessed children reading distinctly, and
fluently perhaps, who yet were not made one whit wiser by what they
read. The act of reading was correctly performed, and yet there was no
accession to their knowledge. The cause of this is easily explained. The
_ideas_ conveyed by the words have not been reiterated by the
mind,--perhaps they were never perceived. For as long as the act of
reading is difficult, the words undergo this process first, and the
ideas must be gleaned afterwards. Hence it is, that children, when
hurried from lesson to lesson before they can read them so easily as to
perceive and reiterate the ideas while reading, acquire the habit of
decyphering the words alone, and the eye from practice reads
mechanically, while the mind at the moment is usually wandering, or is
engaged in attending to something else. Nature, as we have before shewed
in the act of hearing, does not intend that the mind should pay
attention both to the words and the ideas at the same time; and reading
being only an artificial substitute for hearing, is made subject to the
same law. It is the _ideas_ that Nature induces us to grapple with; and
the reading of words like the hearing of language, is merely the means
employed to get at them. Hence the necessity of children being taught to
read fluently, and with perfect ease, before they leave the school; and
the neglect of this is the reason why so many after leaving school,
derive so little instruction from the use of books. Of these
individuals, experience shews, that many, who on leaving school could
not collect ideas by their mode of mechanical reading, yet persevere,
and at last teach themselves by long practice to understand what they
read; while there are not a few who, in similar circumstances, become
discouraged, abandon the practice of reading, and soon forget the art
altogether.
Of the correctness of these facts, every one may be convinced, by
recollecting what must often have taken place with himself. When at any
time the mind is exhausted while reading, we continue to read on, page
after page, and when we have finished, we find, that not a single truth
has made its way to the memory. Now this did not arise from any
difficulty in comprehending the ideas in the book, because it does not
make much difference whether the subject has been simple or otherwise;
neither did it arise from the want of all mental activity, for the mind
was so much engaged as to read every word and every letter in the pages
upon which we were occupied. But it arose entirely from the want of that
principle of which we are here speaking. The words were read
mechanically, and the ideas were either not thought of, or at least they
were not reiterated by the mind, and therefore it is that they are
lost,--and no effort can ever again recall them. The proof of the
accuracy of these views will still be found in the circumstance, that
if, while the person is reading, this act of the reiteration of some one
or more of the ideas be in any way forced upon him, _these_ ideas thus
reiterated will afterwards be remembered, although all the others are
lost.
Here then we have arrived at a principle connected with the acquisition
of knowledge, by attending to which education may be made most efficient
for that purpose; but without which, education must remain a mere
mechanical routine of barren exercises. No idea, no truth, we have seen,
can ever form part of our knowledge, till it has undergone this
particular mental process, which we have called "reiteration." If the
idea, or truth, intended to be communicated, be reiterated by the
mind,--thought over again,--it will then be remembered:--but if it be
not reiterated by the mind, it never can. It is also worthy of remark,
that the tenacity with which the memory keeps hold of any idea or truth,
depends greatly upon the vigour of the mind at the time, and still more
perhaps upon the frequency of its reiteration. If a child, however
languid, is forced to this act of reiteration of an idea but once, it
will be remembered for a longer or a shorter time; but if his mind be
vigorous and lively, and more especially if he can be made _repeatedly_
to reiterate the same idea in his mind at intervals, he will on that
account, retain it much more tenaciously, and will have it at the
command of the will more readily. Hence the vividness with which the
scenes and the circumstances of youth arise upon the mind, and the
tenacity with which the memory holds them. These scenes were of daily
occurrence; and the small number of remarkable circumstances connected
with childhood and youth having few rivals to compete with them in
attracting the attention, were witnessed frequently with all the vigour
and liveliness of the youthful mind, as yet unburdened with care. They
were of course frequently subjected to observation, and as frequently
reiterated by the mind, and have on these accounts ever since been
vividly pictured by the imagination, and continue familiar to the
memory. It also accounts for another circumstance of common occurrence.
For when, even in early infancy, any event happened which made a deeper
impression upon the mind than usual, that simple circumstance will
generally outlive all its neighbours, and will take precedence in point
of distinct recollection to the close of life. The reason of this is,
not only the deep impression it made upon the mind at the moment, but
principally because it had so strongly excited the feelings, that it was
oftener thought of then and afterwards;--in other words, this act of
reiteration occurred more frequently with respect to it than the
others, and therefore it is now better remembered.
This is a principle then of which the Educationist should take
advantage. For if Nature invariably communicates knowledge by inducing
her pupils to exercise their own minds on the subject taught, it is
plain that the teacher should follow the same plan. His pupils cannot
remain mentally inactive, and yet learn; neither can the mere routine of
verbal exercises either cultivate the mind or increase knowledge. These
are but the husks of education, which may tantalize and weaken, but
which can never satisfy the cravings of the young mind for information.
Their mental food must be of a perfectly different kind, consisting of
_ideas_, and not of _words_; and these ideas they must receive and
concoct by the active use of their own powers. The teacher must no doubt
select the food for his pupils, and prepare it for their reception, by
breaking it down into morsels, suited to their capacities. But this is
all. They must eat and digest it for themselves. The pupil must think
over in his own mind, and for himself, all that he is either to know or
remember. The ideas read or heard must be reiterated by
himself,--thought over again,--if he is ever to profit by them. Without
this, no care or pains on the part of the teacher, no exertion on the
part of the pupil, will be of any avail. All the knowledge that he seems
to acquire in any other way is repudiated by Nature; and however
plausible the exercise may appear, it will ultimately be found fruitless
and vain.
FOOTNOTES:
[3] Note B.
[4] Note C.
[5] Note D.
CHAP. V.
_On the Acquisition of Knowledge by the Principle of Individuation._
Nature, as we have seen, has rendered it imperative that the act of
reiteration should be performed upon every idea before it can have an
entrance into the mind, or be retained by the memory; but as the
individual cannot reiterate, or think over, all the ideas suggested to
him by the innumerable objects of sensation with which he is surrounded,
it next becomes a matter of importance to ascertain the means employed
by Nature for enabling her pupils to receive and retain the greatest
number of ideas, so that they shall ever afterwards remain at the
command of the will. This she accomplishes by the operation of the three
other principles to which we have adverted; namely, "Individuation," or
"Abstraction," "Grouping," or "Association," and "Classification," or
"Analysis."--We shall in this chapter attend to the principle of
"Individuation," and endeavour to trace its nature and uses in the
acquisition of knowledge by the young.
The first thing in an infant that will be remarked by a close observer
of Nature is, that while adding to its knowledge by observation, it
always confines its attention to one thing at a time, till it has
examined it. Before the period when this principle becomes conspicuous
in an infant, the eye, and the other senses are in a great measure
inactive, so far as the mind is concerned; and the first indication of
the senses really ministering to the mind is the eye chusing an object,
and the infant examining that object by itself, without allowing its
attention to be distracted by any thing else.
This operation takes place as soon as an infant is capable of
observation. It fixes its eye upon an object, generally one that is new
to it, and it continues to look upon it till it has collected all the
information that this object can give, or which the limited capacity of
the infant will enable it to receive. Hence with stationary objects this
information is soon acquired; but with moveable objects, or toys, or
things which are capable of varying, or multiplying the ideas received
by the child, the look is more intense, and the attention is sustained
without fatigue for a longer time. Till this information has been
received, the child continues to look on; and if the object be removed,
the eye still follows it with interest, and gives it up at last with
reluctance. That by this concentration of its mind upon one object, the
infant is adding to its knowledge, appears evident from the fact, that
objects which have already communicated their stock of information, and
have become familiar, are less heeded than those that are new or
uncommon. Every new thing excites the curiosity of the child, who is not
content till that curiosity be gratified. This has been called "the love
of novelty;"--but it is not the love of novelty in the very questionable
sense in which many understand that term. On the contrary, it is
obviously a wise provision of Nature, suited to the capacity and
circumstances of children, which is to be taken advantage of, for
conveying such crumbs and morsels of knowledge as their limited powers
are able to receive; and which should never be abused, by presenting to
them an unceasing whirl of names and objects,--a process which fatigues
the mind, and leaves them without any specific information. It is the
same principle, and is to be considered in the same light, as that which
induces the philosopher to confine himself to the investigation of one
phenomenon till he understands it. The information which the child is
capable of receiving from each of the impressions then made is no doubt
small; but it is still information--knowledge.--This is what he is
seeking; and, at this stage of his progress, it is only acquired by the
concentration of the powers of the mind upon one thing at a time.
The effect of this principle in the infant is worthy of remark.--While
the pupil remains under the teaching of Nature, there is no
confusion,--no hurry,--no failure. The tasks which she prescribes for
him are never oppressive, and are constantly performed with ease and
with pleasure.--Although there be no selection made by the parent or
teacher for the child to exercise his faculties upon, yet he
instinctively selects for himself, without hesitation, and without
mistake. All the objects in a room or in a landscape are before him: yet
he is never oppressed by their number, nor bewildered by their
variety.--His mind is always at ease.--He chooses for himself; but he
never selects more for his special observation at one time than he can
conveniently attend to. When the objects are new, his attention is
restricted to one till it be known; and then, but not till then, as we
shall immediately see, he is able, and delights to employ himself in
grouping it with others.
In early infancy this attention to one object is protracted and slow,
till he gradually acquires sufficient energy of mind by practice.--Every
one must have observed how slowly the eye of an infant of two or three
months old moves after an object, in comparison with one of ten.--But
even in the latter case, when the glance is lively and rapid, the same
principle of individuation continues to operate. The information from an
unknown object must still be received alone, and without distraction,
although by that time the child is capable of receiving it more quickly.
He is not now satisfied with viewing an object on one side, but he must
view it on all sides. He endeavours by various means to acquire every
one of the ideas which it is capable of communicating. His new toy is
viewed with delight and wonder; and his eye by exercise can now scan in
a moment its different parts.--But this is not enough; he has now
learned to make use of his other senses, and he employs them also, for
the purpose of becoming better acquainted with the object which he is
contemplating. His toy is seized, mouthed, handled, turned, looked at on
all sides, till all the information it can communicate has been
received;--and then only is it cast aside for something else, which is
in its turn to add to his stock of knowledge.
The circumstance to which we would especially call attention at present
is, the singleness of thought exercised upon the object, during the time
that the child is amused by it.--He attends to nothing else, and he will
look at nothing else; and were his attention forced from it for a
moment, this is evidently done unwillingly; and, when allowed, it
immediately returns to the object. It is also worthy of notice, that if,
while he is so engaged, we attempt to teach him something else, or in
other words, to induce him to divide his attention upon some other new
object, the distraction of his mind is at once apparent; we perceive
that it is unnatural; and we find by experience that he does not profit
by either. Now, from these indications it must be evident, that any
interference with this principle of individuation in teaching any thing
for the first time, must always be hurtful:--on the contrary, by
attending to the principle, and acting upon it in the training of the
young, it must be productive of the happiest effects.--While acted upon,
under the guidance of Nature, its efficiency and power are astonishing.
It is by means of this principle, that the infant mind, with all its
imbecility and want of developement, acquires and retains more real
knowledge in the course of a few months, than is sometimes received at
school afterwards during as many years.--Few things are more cheering in
prospect than the knowledge of this fact; for what may we not expect
from the _man_, when his education while a _child_ shall have been
improved, and approximated to that of Nature!
The operation of the principle of individuation, is not confined to the
infant, but continues to maintain its place during all the after stages
of life, whenever any thing new and uncommon is presented as an object
of knowledge. Every thing is new to the infant, and therefore this
principle is more conspicuous during the early stages of education.--But
it is still equally necessary for the child or the youth in similar
circumstances; and Nature compels him, as it were, still to concentrate
the powers of his mind upon every new object, till he has received and
become familiar with the information it is calculated to furnish.--Every
one must have observed the intensity with which a child examines an
object which he has never seen before, and the anxiety which he evinces
to know all about it.--It requires a considerable effort on his own
part, and still greater on the part of others, to detach his mind from
the object, till it has surrendered the full amount of information which
the young enquirer is seeking. The boy with his new drum will attend to
nothing else if he can help it, as long as he has any thing to learn
concerning it, and the noises it is capable of producing.--And even when
he has tired himself with beating it, he is not satisfied till he has
explored its contents, to find out the cause which has created the
sounds. The girl with her doll, in the same way, will voluntarily think
of nothing else, as long as it can provide her with mental exercise;
that is, as long as it can add something new to her present stock of
knowledge. And it is here worthy of remark, that the apparent exception
in this case, arising from the greater length of time that a doll and a
few other similar toys will amuse a child, is in reality a striking
confirmation, and illustration of the principle of which we are
speaking.--Such toys amuse longer, because it is longer before the
variety of which they are capable is exhausted.--The doll is fondled,
and scolded, and cradled, and dressed, and undressed in so many
different ways, that the craving for new ideas continues for a long
period to be amply gratified;--but the effect would be quite different,
were the very same doll placed where it could only be looked at. Every
new movement with the toy is employed by Nature, for the cultivation of
the mental powers, by reiterating the ideas thus imparted, and on which
the imagination delights to dwell; and also in receiving a knowledge of
individual objects and ideas, which, when once known, are to form the
elements of future groupings, and of an endless variety of information.
It is here of importance to recollect, that almost all the information
received by children, is of a sensible kind. They can form little or no
idea of abstract truths. The mind and the memory must be stored with
sensible objects,--first individually, and then by grouping,--before the
child can arrive at a capacity for abstraction. Nature's first object,
therefore, is to store the memory and imagination of the young with the
names and images of things, which, as we have seen, are acquired
individually, and, when once known, are remembered for future use. But
those things which they have not yet seen, or felt, or heard, or tasted,
are totally beyond their conception, and cannot be of any service,
either in grouping, or classification.--Hence the great importance of
allowing the young mind to act freely in acquiring new ideas by this
principle of individuation; as without this, all the lessons into which
such ideas shall afterward be introduced, must be in a great measure
lost. Even adults can form no idea of an unknown object, except by
compounding it of something that they already know. And this is at least
equally the case with children; who, till they can group and compare
objects which they have seen, can realize no idea of any thing, however
simple, that has not previously been subjected to the senses.--Hence,
therefore, the importance at this period of a child's education, of
confining the attention chiefly to sensible objects, and of not
confounding his faculties, by too early an introduction of abstract
ideas.
Here then we have been able to detect the method by which Nature
selects, and enables her pupils to prepare the materials of which their
future knowledge is to be compounded. These materials are the ideas of
sensible objects, and their properties and uses; which must be gathered
and stored one by one. By inducing them to attempt to seize even two at
a time, they will most probably lose both, and their powers of
collecting and storing will, by the same attempt, be injured and
weakened. It is by means of this principle of individuation, that, with
the most intense craving for information, and while placed among
innumerable objects calculated to gratify it, the infant and the child
remain perfectly collected, without the slightest appearance of
distraction of mind, or confusion of ideas. With his thirst of knowledge
ardent and constant, it enables him with the greatest delight to add
hourly to his stores of knowledge, without difficulty, without
irritation, and without fatigue.
The application of these truths to the business of education, we shall
attend to in its proper place; in the meantime we may remark, of how
much importance it is, that all knowledge communicated to the young be
simple, and that for some time it consist chiefly of sensible objects,
and their qualities;--objects which they either know, or can have access
to. Abstract subjects are not suited for children, till they can group,
and classify, and compare the sensible objects with which they are
already acquainted. The aim of the teacher, therefore, ought to be,
strictly to follow Nature in this early stage of her operations, and to
furnish food for his pupils, of the proper kind, and in proper
proportions;--keeping the thinking powers constantly in healthful
exercise, by giving as many ideas as the mind can reiterate without
fatigue; but carefully avoiding all hurry or force, seeing that the
powers of the mind are greatly weakened and injured by a multiplicity of
objects, particularly when they are presented so rapidly, that the
thoughts have not time to settle upon them, nor the mind to reiterate
the ideas which they suggest.
CHAP. VI.
_On the Application of Knowledge by the Principle of Association, or
Grouping._
Another principle which exhibits itself in the acquisition of knowledge
by Nature's pupils, is that of "grouping," or associating objects
together, after they are individually known. A child, or even an infant,
who is frightened, or alarmed, or who suffers any severe injury,
remembers the several circumstances, and has the place, the persons, and
the things connected with the event, all associated together, and
grouped into one scene or picture on the memory. These objects may have
been numerous; but by the operation of this principle, they have all
been apprehended, and united so powerfully with each other, that no
future effort of the child can either separate or obliterate any portion
of them; and so comprehensive, that the recollection of any one of the
circumstances instantly recalls all the others.
These groupings in the mind of a child, formed chiefly by means of the
imagination, are almost wholly compounded of sensible objects; and the
only necessary prerequisite for their formation appears to be a
knowledge of the individual elements of which they are to be composed.
If an unknown object be presented to the mind in connection with the
others that are known, it is generally excluded, and the things
previously known retained. For example, in the case supposed above, of
an accident occurring to a child, there would be thousands of objects
present, and all cognisable by the senses; but not one of all these that
were unknown, that is, that had not previously undergone the process of
individuation, is found to form part of the remembered group.
There is another circumstance connected with the operation of this
principle in the young, which is of importance. Almost the whole of a
child's knowledge is composed of these groupings. Before the
developement of the reasoning powers, by which the individual is enabled
to _classify_ the elements of his knowledge, there is no way of
remembering these elements in connection with each other, except by this
principle. If, therefore, we change the order or relative position of
the elements or objects which compose the scene, or group, we draw the
attention of the pupil altogether from the former, and create another
which is entirely new;--in the same way as the transposition of the
figures in any sum, forms another of an entirely different amount. The
drawing-room, for example, is seen by the children of the family with
the fire-place, the cabinet, the sofas, the tables, and other stationary
ornaments, in certain relative positions, and this grouping of those
objects is to them in reality all that they know of the room. Any
material change in shifting these objects to other places in the
apartment, would, to the _parent_, whose judgment is ripened, produce
feelings comparatively slight; but, to the younger branches of the
family who group, but cannot as yet classify, it would appear like the
complete annihilation of the former apartment. The different arrangement
of a few of the articles only, would to them create another, and an
entirely different room.
This leads us to observe another circumstance connected with the
operation of this principle, in the instruction of the young, which is
the remarkable fact, that, by making the child familiar with a very few
primitive elements, a parent or teacher may communicate an almost
infinite variety of groupings, or stories, for cultivating the mind, and
increasing the knowledge of his pupil. Hence it is, that hundreds of
agreeable and useful little histories have been composed for children,
with no other machinery than a mamma and her child, and the occasional
introduction of a doll or a dog, a cat or a canary bird. To the child,
there is in these numerous groupings no appearance of sameness, nor want
of variety; and although so much circumscribed in their original
elements, they never fail to amuse and delight.
The most important circumstance, however, connected with the working of
this principle in the education of the young, appears to be the
necessity of a previous familiarity with the individual objects, before
the child is called upon to group them. If this has been attended to,
the grouping of these into any combination will be easy and
pleasant;--but if his attention be called from the group, to examine
exclusively even but one of its elements, the operation is checked, the
mind becomes confused, its powers are weakened, and the grouping has
again to commence under serious disadvantages.
To illustrate this point, let us suppose a child introduced to the
bustle and sports of a common fair. Here he sees thousands both of
familiar and strange objects, all of which are calculated to excite his
mind to increased attention; and yet the child, while greatly amused, is
still perfectly at his ease. There is not the slightest indication of
his being incommoded by the numerous objects about him; no confusion of
ideas, no distraction of mind, no mental distress of any kind; but, on
the contrary, in the midst of so much to see and to learn, the young
looker-on is not only at his ease, but appears to be delighted. The
reason of this is, that he is not by any external force compelled to
attend to _all_ that he sees; and Nature within directs him to attend to
no more than he is able to group, or reiterate in his thoughts. We shall
endeavour to examine this condition of the child's mind in such
circumstances a little more particularly.
The child in the circumstances supposed, must either be a spectator in
general, or an examiner in particular; in other words, he must either
employ himself with the principle of combination or grouping, or with
the principle of individuation,--but he never attempts to employ himself
with both at the same time. If he amuses himself as an observer in
general, he is engaged in grouping objects which are already familiar to
him; but while he is so engaged, he never directs his attention to any
one unknown object for the purpose of examining it for the first time by
itself. He passes over all the minute and unknown objects with a glance,
and attends only to the grouping or associating of those which are
already familiar. Nature induces him, while thus employed, to pass by
all these minute and unknown objects; because, if he were to do
otherwise, his observation in general would instantly be recalled, and
his whole attention would be monopolized by the object which he had
resolved to examine, to the exclusion of every other for the time. This,
however, is not what he seeks; and he employs himself entirely in the
grouping of things which are already known. His mind is left at ease,
and in the possession of all its powers; he looks only at those things
which please him; and he passes over all the others without effort or
difficulty.
But if the boy shall come to something strange and new, which he is
desirous of studying more closely, he immediately becomes an examiner in
particular; but, at the same moment, he ceases to be an observer in
general. The extended business of the fair, and the several groupings of
which it is composed, are lost sight of for the moment;--the principle
of individuation begins to act, and the operation of the principle of
association, or grouping, is at the same moment brought to a stand. The
two are incompatible, and cannot act together; and therefore Nature
never allows the one to interfere with the other.
To shew the evil effects of overlooking this important law of Nature in
the education of a child, we have only to attend to the painful results
which would be the consequence of acting contrary to it, even in the
vigorous mind of an adult. Let us for this purpose suppose a person of a
powerful understanding, and a capacious mind, ushered for the first
time, and for only five minutes into a crowded apartment in some eastern
caravansary, or eastern bazaar, in which every thing to him was new and
strange; and let us also suppose that it was imperatively demanded of
him, that he should, in that short space of time, make himself
acquainted with all that was going on, and be able, on his retiring,
minutely to describe all that he saw. The first moment he entered, and
the first strange object that caught his eye, would convince him that
_the thing was impossible_. If, without such a demand, he had been
introduced into such a place, and had seen various groups of strange
persons differently employed, each engaged in a manner altogether new to
him, and the nature of which was wholly unknown, he might look on with
perfect composure, and considerable amusement, because he could attend,
like the boy in the fair, either to the general mass, to isolated
groups, or to individual things. He would in that case attend to no more
than he was able to understand; and would placidly allow the other parts
of the scene to pass without any particular attention. But the
imperative injunction here supposed,--this pressure from without,--this
artificial and unnatural demand upon him,--entirely alters the case. If
he even attempted to make himself master of all the particulars of the
scene in a circumscribed portion of time, he would find himself
bewildered and confounded. The very attempt to individualize and to
group so many various objects at the same moment, within such a limited
period, would be enough to prostrate all the powers of his mind. He
might perhaps be able to observe the persons and their costume, because
varieties of persons and dresses are daily and constantly objects of
observation, and are grouped without difficulty; but of their several
employments, of which he was previously ignorant, he could know nothing,
and on retiring, he would neither be able to remember nor to describe
them. In such an experiment, it would be found, that the more anxious he
was to perfect his task and to answer the demand, in the same proportion
would he find himself harassed and distressed, and the powers of his
mind overstretched and weakened. And if this would be the result of
confounding the principles of individuation and grouping in an
adult,--a person of good understanding, and of vigorous mind,--how much
more hurtful must such a task be, when demanded from children or youths
of ordinary capacity, during their attendance at school!
Few we believe will doubt the general accuracy of the above results in
the cases supposed;--but some may perhaps question, whether they really
do arise from the interference of these two antagonist principles during
the experiment. To shew that this is the real cause of the distress
felt, and the weakness and prostration of mind produced during it, we
have only to institute another experiment which is exactly parallel. Let
us suppose the same person, and for the same limited period, ushered
into the traveller's room in a well frequented hotel, and let us also
suppose, that the very same demand is made imperative, that he shall
observe, and again detail when he retires, all that he sees. Let us also
suppose, that the number of persons here is equally great, and that
their employments are all equally diversified, but that each is familiar
to him; and we will at once see that the difficulty of the task is
really as nothing. A child could accomplish it. His eye would be able to
group the whole in an instant, without effort, and without fatigue. If
he saw one party at supper, another at tea, another group at cards, and
others amusing themselves at draughts and backgammon; one minute instead
of five, would be quite enough to make him master of the whole. On
retiring, he would be able to tell the employment of every group in the
room; and if any of his acquaintances had made part of the number, he
would be able to tell who they were, where they were sitting, and how
they were occupied. In doing all this he would find no difficulty; and
yet the knowledge he has received is entirely new, and so extensive,
that it would take at least ten fold more time to rehearse it, than it
took to acquire it. The entire scene also would be permanently imprinted
by the imagination upon the memory; and the whole, or any part of it,
could be recalled, and reviewed, and rehearsed, at any future period.
Here then are two cases, precisely similar in their nature, and
undertaken by the very same person, where the results are widely
different; and we now see, that the difference arises entirely from the
principle of individuation having prepared the way in the one case,
while it was not allowed to operate in the other.
From these circumstances taken together, we perceive, that the grouping
of objects, when once they are individually familiar, is never a
difficult task, but is rather one of gratification and pleasure;--and we
also are taught, that the amount of knowledge thus pleasantly
communicated to a child may be most extensive and valuable, while the
materials necessary for the purpose, being comparatively few, may be
previously rendered familiar with very little exertion. It is the
confounding of these two principles in the communication of knowledge,
that makes learning appear so forbidding to the young, and prevents that
cultivation of the mental powers by their exercises which these would
otherwise infallibly produce. By keeping each in its proper place, a
child will soon acquire a thorough knowledge of the few elements
necessary for the purpose; and these, when acquired, may be grouped by
the teacher into thousands of forms, for extending the knowledge, and
for invigorating the mind of his delighted pupil.
The benevolence and wisdom of this beautiful arrangement in the
educational process of Nature, are truly wonderful; and in proportion as
it is so, every deviation from it on our parts will be attended with
disappointment and evil. If all our ideas were to be acquired and
retained by the principle of individuation alone, the memory being
without help or resting place, would soon become so overpowered by their
number, that our knowledge would be greatly circumscribed, and its use
impeded. Of the benefits arising from attention to the principle we
have many apt illustrations in ordinary life, among which the various
groupings of the ten numeral figures into sums of any amount, and the
forming of so many thousands of words by a different arrangement of the
letters of the alphabet, are familiar examples. When a child knows the
ten numerals, he requires no more teaching to ascertain the precise
amount of any one number among all the millions which these figures can
represent. The value of such an acquirement can only be appreciated by
considering the labour it would cost a child to gain a knowledge of all
these sums individually, and the overwhelming burden laid upon his
memory if each of the millions of sums had to be remembered by a
separate character. By the knowledge and various groupings of only ten
such characters, the whole of this mighty burden is removed.
In the art of writing, the same principle is brought into operation with
complete success, by the combination, or various groupings of the
twenty-six letters of the common Roman alphabet in the formation of
words. The value of this adaptation of the principle will be obvious, if
we shall suppose, that a person who is acquainted with all the modern
European languages, had been compelled to discriminate, and continue to
remember, a distinct arbitrary mark or character for the many thousands
of words contained in each. We may not be warranted, perhaps, to say
that such a task would be impossible; but that it would be inconceivably
burdensome can admit of no doubt. We have, indeed, in the writings of
the Chinese, although it is but one language, a living monument of the
evil effects of the neglect of this principle in literature, and the
unceasing inconveniences which daily arise from that empire continuing
to persevere in it. There is comparatively but little combination of
characters in their words, and the consequences are remarkable. In that
extensive empire, the highest rewards, and the chief posts of honour
and emolument, are held out to those who are most learned, whatever be
their rank or their station; and yet, amidst a population immersed in
poverty and wretchedness, not one person in a thousand can master even
one of their books; and not one in ten thousand of those who profess to
read, is able to peruse them all. The reason of this simply is, the
neglect of this natural principle of grouping letters, or the signs of
sounds, in their written language. With us, the elements of all the
words in all the European languages are only twenty-six; and the child
who has once mastered the combination of these, in any one of our books,
has the whole of our literature at his command.
The application of this principle to the elements of general knowledge
is equally necessary, as its application to written language. The
difficulty of remembering the many thousands of unconnected characters
in Chinese literature, is an exact emblem of what will always be the
case with children in respect to their general knowledge, when this
principle of association, or grouping, is neglected. Adults acquire and
retain a large portion of _their_ knowledge, as we shall afterwards see,
by the principle of classification and analysis; but _children_ are not
as yet capable of this; and they must receive their knowledge by the
grouping of a few simple elements previously known, or they will not be
able to receive and retain knowledge at all. The amount of this
knowledge also, it should be kept in mind, is not at all in proportion
to the number or the variety of the elements of which that knowledge is
composed. We have formerly alluded to this, and it may be farther
illustrated by a circumstance of daily occurrence. A seaman when he
observes a vessel at a distance knows her class and character in an
instant, whether she be a sloop or a brig, a schooner or a ship, and he
forms an instantaneous idea of all her parts grouped into a whole. His
memory, instead of being harassed in remembering the shape, and place,
and position of each of its several parts, is relieved of the whole by
the operation of this principle of association. The whole rigging, about
which his mind is occupied, is composed of only _three_ elements,--ropes,
and spars, and sails,--with each of which he has long ago made himself
familiar. All the remaining parts of this kind of knowledge are a mere
matter of grouping. By previously observing the varied arrangement of the
spars, and ropes, and sails, on the several masts of the different kinds
of vessels, he has already grouped them into one whole, and each is
remembered by itself without effort, and without mistake. They are
retained, as it were, painted by the imagination upon the memory, and may
at any after period be recalled and reviewed at pleasure. Hence the sight
of a vessel in the distance calls up the former pictures to the mind, and
enables the practised eye of the mariner to decide at once as to the kind
and character of what he so imperfectly sees.--This helps also to explain
the reason why children are so gratified with pictures when presented to
the eye; and why they are best pleased when the figures are most simple
and distinct, and particularly, when the objects grouped in the picture
have previously been familiar. Pictures are indeed a pretty close
imitation of Nature in this part of her work; and they are defective
chiefly on account of their want of _motion_ and _continuity_.
These last are two great and inimitable characteristics in all the
groupings painted upon the memory by the imagination.
From all this it is obvious, that there is an essential difference
between a child's acquiring the knowledge of things individually, and
acquiring a knowledge of their several associations. The two must never,
if possible, be confounded with each other. When they are kept distinct
in the education of a child, he has an evident pleasure in attending to
either; but as soon as they are allowed to interfere, and more
especially when they are systematically blended together in the same
exercise, he experiences confusion, irritation, and fatigue. There is no
necessity, however, for this ever being the case. All that is required
is, that the few individual elements that are to be grouped or
associated in a lesson, whether they be objects or ideas, shall
previously be made familiar to the pupil. These, when once known, may be
brought before the mind of the child in any variety of order or form,
and will be received readily and pleasantly, and will be retained by the
memory without confusion, and without effort. By attention to these two
principles, keeping each in its proper place, and bringing each to aid
and uphold the other in its proper order, it will be found, that a child
may be taught more real knowledge in one week, than is often
communicated in other circumstances in the course of a year.
CHAP. VII.
_On the Acquisition of Knowledge by the Principle of Analysis, or
Classification._
There is yet another principle brought into operation by Nature to
enable her pupils to receive, to retain, and to make use of their
knowledge. This is the principle of Classification, or Analysis.[6] The
difference between this and the former principle described we think is
sufficiently marked. The principle of Association, or Grouping, is
carried on chiefly by means of the imagination, and begins to operate as
soon as the mind is capable of imagining any thing; but the principle of
Classification, or Analysis, is more intimately connected with the
judgment. The consequence of this is, that it is but very partially
called into action during the early stages of a child's education, and
is never able to operate with vigour, till the reasoning powers of the
pupil begin to develope themselves.
The characteristic differences between the two principles, and their
respective uses in education, may be illustrated by a circumstance of
every-day occurrence. For example, a child who from infancy has been
brought up in a house of several apartments, gets acquainted with each
of the rooms by means of its contents. He has been in the habit of
seeing the heavy pieces of furniture in each apartment in a certain
place and order, and the room and its furniture, therefore, are
identified together, and remain painted upon his imagination exactly as
he has been in the habit of seeing them. In this case, the articles of
furniture in the room are grouped, and not classified; and are
remembered together, not on account of their nature and uses, but purely
on account of their position, and their relative arrangement in the
room. Most of our readers perhaps, will remember the strange feelings
produced in their minds during some period of their childhood, when in
the house of their infancy, some material alteration of this kind was
effected in one or more of the rooms. A change in the position of a bed,
or the abstraction or introduction of a chest of drawers, a wardrobe, or
other bulky piece of furniture, causes in the mind of the child an
effect much deeper, and more extensive, than in the adult. The former
picture of the place never having been observed or contemplated in any
other aspect, is painted by the imagination, and fixed upon his memory,
by long continued familiarity. But by this change it is suddenly
defaced; and the new group, partaking as it will do of some of the
elements of the old, produces feelings which are strange and
unaccountable, and entirely different from those of his parents, who
have been in the habit of contemplating the room and its furniture more
by the exercise of the judgment, than of the imagination; that is, more
by their uses, than by their appearance.
The cause of this strangeness of feeling in a child, arises from the
predominance of the principle of grouping, over that of classification.
He has as yet no knowledge of any of the apartments in the house, except
what he has received by grouping their contents. When, therefore, their
arrangement is materially altered, the reasoning powers not being as yet
able to soften down the effect, the former apartment appears to the
child as if it had ceased to exist. He can scarcely believe it to be the
same. He never thinks of the _uses_ of the articles in the apartment,
but only of their _appearance_;--the first being an act of the
judgment,--the latter of the imagination. In a similar manner he thinks
of the kitchen and its furniture, not as a part of the household
economy, but only in connection with the articles it contains. The
dresser, the jack, and the tin covers, are never thought of in
connection with their uses; but are identified with the kitchen, merely
because they have always been seen there, and seen together. In like
manner, the seats, the tables, and the ornaments of the drawing-room,
are not connected in the child's mind because they are what are commonly
called "drawing-room furniture," for that would imply a degree of
reasoning of which he is as yet unacquainted; but they are remembered
together, as they have always been observed in that particular place,
and are now pictured on the mind, in the position in which they are
usually beheld. Their particular locality in the room, and their
relative position with respect to each other, are of far more importance
in assisting the memory of the child, than any knowledge which he has as
yet acquired of their respective uses.
Though a child had in this way gained an exact knowledge of every
apartment in a house, it is obvious that there may not have been, during
the whole process, a single act of the understanding. Many of the lower
animals are capable of collecting all the knowledge he has received; and
even infants are, to a certain extent, in the daily habit of acquiring
it. But the classification of objects, according to their nature and
uses, is an operation of a perfectly different kind. Hence it is, that a
change in the arrangement of the furniture of a room acts so slightly on
the feelings of the adult, and so powerfully on the young. In the
former, the reasoning powers neutralize the effect produced; to the
latter, the change appears a complete revolution.
This principle of classification, though peculiar to the mature mind, is
not restricted to any particular class of men. It is found to be
universal, wherever the reasoning powers are capable of acting. It is no
doubt conspicuous in civilized societies, because there it is more
cultivated; but it is not confined to them. The savage is prompted to
its exercise under the tuition of Nature. For example, the various
articles and arts which he employs in hunting, are all regularly
classified in his mind, and retained upon his memory, as perfectly
distinct from those which he employs in fishing; and neither of these
classes of articles are ever confounded with his implements and weapons
of war. His hooks and lines, are as naturally classified in his mind
with his nets and his canoe, as his club or his tomahawk is with his
other weapons used in battle. It is by this means that Nature aids the
memory in the retention of knowledge, and keeps all the successive
accumulations of the individual at the command of the will. When
cultivated, as Nature designs that it should be, it forms an extensive
cabinet in the mind, where every department of knowledge has its
appropriate place; and which, when once systematically formed, can be
furnished at leisure. When a new idea is acquired, it is immediately put
in its place, and associated with others of the same kind; and when any
portion of the knowledge which we have accumulated is required, we know
at once the particular place where it is to be found.
The benefits of this principle in the above form are extensively felt
and acted upon in society, even where the principle itself is neither
observed nor known; for in the family, in the work shop, and in the
manufactory, it is of the last importance. It is upon this principle
that a clergyman, for the help of his own memory, as well as for
assisting the memory of his hearers, arranges the subject of his sermons
in a classified form;--his text is the root of the classification. This
he divides into heads, which form the first branch in this table; and
these again he sometimes sub-divides into particulars, which form a
second branch depending on the first, and all proceeding from the
root,--the original text. Similar, but more extensive, is the plan
adopted in the divisions and subdivisions of objects in the Sciences,
such as Botany, Zoology, Chemistry, &c. in all of which the existence of
this principle in Nature's educational process is acknowledged and
exemplified. In these sciences, the efficiency of the principle in
facilitating the reception of knowledge, and in assisting the memory in
retaining it, and in putting it to use, is universally acknowledged.
But there is another form in which the same principle appears, not so
obvious indeed, but it is one which is at least equally important in the
education of the young. Nature always brings it into operation when a
teacher, while communicating any series of _connected truths_, such as a
portion of history or of science, gives more of the details than the
mind of his pupil can receive, or his memory retain at one time. It may
be desirable that the pupil should be made thoroughly acquainted with
all the minute, as well as with the general circumstances of a history
or a science; but if so, it must be done, not at once, but by degrees,
or steps. It is usually done by repeating the course,--"revising," as it
is called,--and that perhaps more than once;--going over all the
exercises again and again, till the several parts are perceived and
remembered in their connection. In these "revisings," the mind forms an
analytical table of the subject for itself, consisting of successive
steps, formed by the successive courses. By the first course, or
hearing, it is chiefly the great outlines of the subject that are
perceived; and these form the first branch of a regular analytical
table, which every succeeding course of reading or hearing tends to fill
up. This will perhaps be best understood by an example.
Let us suppose that a young person sits down to read a history for the
first time, and that he reads it with attention and care. When we
examine the state of his mind after he has finished it, we find that,
independently of what, by the principle of grouping, he has got in the
form of episode, he has been able to retain only the great outlines of
the history, and no more. He remembers perhaps of whose reign he has
been reading, and the principal events that took place during it; but
the intermediate and minor events, as connected with the history, he has
not been able to remember. Nothing has been imparted by this first
reading, but the great landmarks of the narrative. These are destined to
form the first branch of a regular analytical table, of which the reign
of the particular monarch is the root. This is the frame-work of the
whole history of that period, however numerous the minor circumstances
may be; and a second reading will only enlarge his knowledge of the
circumstances under each of the heads. In other words, it will enable
him to sub-divide them into more minute details or periods, and thus
form a series of second branches from each. Now it is quite obvious,
that when this analysis of the circumstances of that period is once
formed in the mind, no new event connected with it can ever come to his
knowledge without being classed with some of the others. It will be
disposed of according to the relation which it bears to the parts
already existing; and thus the whole texture will be regularly framed,
and every event will have its proper place, and be readily available for
future use. One part may be filled up and finished before another; but
the regular proportions of the whole remain undisturbed. The pupil has,
by the original outline and its several branches, got a date and a place
for every new fact which he may afterwards glean, either in his reading
or his conversation; and he has a place in which to put it, where it can
easily be found. When placed there, it is safe in the keeping of the
memory, and will always afterwards be at the command of the will.
The connection of these circumstances, with the principle in education
which we are at present endeavouring to illustrate, may not to some be
very apparent. We shall therefore take another example from a
circumstance similar to what occurs every day in ordinary life, and in
which the principle, in the hands of Nature, is abundantly conspicuous.
In the example we are here to give, she forms the several steps of the
classification in a number of hearers by _once_ reading a subject, very
similar to what she does successively in the mind of one individual by
_repeated_ readings.
Let us then suppose a teacher with two or three hundred pupils,
including every degree of mental capacity, from the youngest child who
is able to understand, up to his own classical assistant; and that he
reads to them the history of Joseph as given in the Book of Genesis. Let
us also suppose, that they all give him their best attention, and that
they all hear the narrative for the first time. Such an experiment, let
it be observed, has its parallel every day, in the church, in the class
room, and in the seminary; and similar effects to those we are about to
describe invariably take place in each of them.
When the teacher has read and concluded this lengthened exercise, it
will be found, that no two individuals among his hearers have acquired
the same amount of knowledge. Some will have received and retained more
of the circumstances, and some less, but no two, strictly speaking, will
be alike. Those whose minds were incapable of connecting the several
parts of the narrative into a whole, will retain what they have received
in disjointed groups and patches,--episodes, as it were, in the
narrative,--without being able very clearly to perceive its general
design. This class, upon whom the principle of association chiefly has
been at work, we leave out, and confine ourselves to the state of
knowledge possessed by those who are in a greater or less degree capable
of classification, and of taking some cognisance of the narrative as a
connected whole.
Among this latter class, some will have retained no more than the bare
outline of the history, interspersed with groupings, as in the younger
children. They will remember little more than that Joseph was at first a
boy in his father's house;--that he was afterwards a slave, and in
prison;--and at last, a great man and a governor. Here the _whole
history_ is divided into three distinct heads, or eras,--the first
branch of an analytical table of the whole story, from one or other of
which all the other particulars, of whatever kind, must of necessity
take their rise, and branch off in their natural order. An advanced
class of the auditors will have retained some of the more obvious
circumstances connected with _each of these three great divisions_, as
well as the divisions themselves. They will not only remember that
Joseph was a boy in his father's house, but they will also be able to
remember the more prominent subdivisions of the narrative regarding him
while there; such as his father's partiality, his dreams, and his
brothers' hatred. The second great division will be recollected as
including the particulars of his being sold, his serving in Potiphar's
house, and his conduct in prison; and the third division will be
remembered as containing his appearance before Pharoah, his laying up
corn, his conduct to his brothers, and his reception of his father and
family. These subdivisions, it will at once be perceived, form the
_second branch_ of a regular analytical table, each of which has sprung
from, and is intimately connected with, some one or other of the three
great divisions forming the first branch, of which the "History of
Joseph" is the comprehensive root.
In like manner, a third class of the pupils, whose minds have been
better cultivated, and whose memories are more retentive, will not only
remember all this, but they will also remember, in connection with each
of these subdivisions, many of the more specific events included in, or
springing from them, and which carry forward this regular analytical
table one step farther. As for example, under the subdivision entitled
"Joseph's conduct to his brethren," they will remember the "detention of
Simeon,"--"the feast in the palace,"--"the scene of the cup in the
sack," and "Joseph's making himself known." Even these again might be
subdivided into their more minute circumstances, as a fourth, or even a
fifth branch, if necessary, all of which might be exactly delineated
upon paper, as a regular analytical table of the history of Joseph.
Here, then, we have an example of Nature herself dividing an audience
into different classes, and that by one and the same operation,--by one
reading,--forming in each class part of a regular analytical table of
the whole history, each class being one step in advance of the other.
The first has the foundation of the whole fabric broadly and solidly
laid; and it is worthy of remark, that there is not one of the ideas
acquired by the most talented of the hearers, that is not strictly and
regularly derived from some one or other of the three general divisions
possessed by the first and the least advanced; and any one of the ideas
may be regularly traced back through the several divisions to the root
itself. The additional facts possessed by the second class, are nothing
more than a more full developement of the circumstances remembered by
the first; and those obtained by the third, are but a more extensive
developement of the facts remembered by the second.