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COMENIUS
The Great Educators
EDITED BY NICHOLAS MURRAY BUTLER
COMENIUS
AND
THE BEGINNINGS OF EDUCATIONAL
REFORM
BY
WILL S. MONROE, A.B.
PROFESSOR OF PSYCHOLOGY AND PEDAGOGY IN THE
STATE NORMAL SCHOOL AT WESTFIELD, MASS.
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS
1900
COPYRIGHT, 1900, BY
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS
Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing & Co.—Berwick & Smith
Norwood Mass. U.S.A.
PREFACE
The present volume is an effort to trace the reform movement in
education from Vives, Bacon, and Ratke to Comenius, who gave the
movement its most significant force and direction; and from him to the
later reformers,—Francke, Rousseau, Basedow, Pestalozzi, Fröbel, and
Herbart. A variety of ideas, interests, and adaptations, all distinctly
modern, are represented in the life-creeds of these reformers; and,
in the absence of a more satisfactory term, the progressive movement
which they represent has been styled realism,—sometimes called the “new
education.”
It has been well said that “the dead hand of spiritual ancestry lays
no more sacred duty on posterity than that of realizing under happier
circumstances ideas which the stress of age or the shortness of life
has deprived of their accomplishment.” Many of the reforms represented
by the realists occupy no inconsiderable place in the platforms of
modern practitioners of education; and in the belief that a history of
the movement might contribute toward the ultimate reforms which realism
represents, it has seemed expedient to focus such a survey on the life
and teachings of the strongest personality and chief exponent of the
movement.
The condition of education in Europe during the sixteenth century is
briefly told in the opening chapter; following are given the traces
of the educational development of Comenius in the writings of Vives,
Bacon, and Ratke; three chapters are devoted to the life of Comenius
and the reforms in which he actively participated; an exposition
of his educational writings has three chapters; a chapter is given
to the influence of Comenius on Francke, Rousseau, Pestalozzi, and
other modern reformers; and the closing chapter sums up his permanent
influence. The volume has two appendices,—one giving tables of dates
relating to the life and writings of Comenius, and the other a select
annotated bibliography.
In the exposition of the writings of Comenius, the author has made
liberal use of English and German translations from Latin and Czech
originals. In the case of the _Great didactic_, the scholarly
translation by Mr. Keatinge has, in the main, been followed. Free
translations of portions of this work had been made by the author
before the appearance of Mr. Keatinge’s book; and in some instances
these have been retained. As regards the account of Comenius’ views
on the earliest education of the child, the author’s edition of the
_School of infancy_ has been followed; and in the discussion of reforms
in language teaching, he is indebted to Mr. Bardeen’s edition of
the _Orbis pictus_, and to Dr. William T. Harris for the use of the
handsome Elzevir edition of the _Janua_, which is the property of the
Bureau of Education.
WILL S. MONROE.
STATE NORMAL SCHOOL,
WESTFIELD, MASS.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
EUROPEAN EDUCATION IN THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY
PAGE
Humanism, realism, and naturalism
characterized—Devotion of the sixteenth century to
the humanistic ideal—Study of Latin eloquence—Style
the chief aim—Neglect of the mother-tongue—Views
of John Sturm and the Jesuits—Devotion to
Cicero—Decadence of the later humanists—Erasmus
and Melanchthon on the enrichment of the course
of study—Satires of Rabelais directed against the
humanists—Protests of Montaigne—Attitude of Ascham
and Mulcaster—Transition from humanism to realism 1
CHAPTER II
FORERUNNERS OF COMENIUS
Traces of the intellectual development of Comenius.
Vives a realist—His early training in Spain
and France—Educational activity in Belgium and
England—Views on the education of women—Theory of
education—Comparison of Comenius and Vives. Bacon
the founder of modern realism—Views on the education
of his day—Attacks mediævalism—Study of nature
and the inductive method—Individual differences
among children. Ratke—Studies at Hamburg and
Rostock—Visits England and becomes acquainted with
the philosophy of Bacon—His plan of education—Its
reception by the universities at Jena and
Giessen—Organization of the schools at Gotha—Call
to Sweden—Summary of Ratke’s views—Harmony of his
teachings with those of Comenius. Campanella,
Andreæ, and Bateus—Their influence on the life and
teachings of Comenius 15
CHAPTER III
BOYHOOD AND EARLY LIFE OF COMENIUS: 1592–1628
Ancestry of Comenius—Attends the village school
at Strasnitz—Studies Latin in the gymnasium at
Prerau—Character of the Latin schools of his
day—Enters the college at Herborn—Studies theology
and philosophy—Inspired by the teachings of
Alsted—Makes the acquaintance of the writings of
Ratke—Continues his studies at Heidelberg—Begins
his career as a teacher at Prerau—Ordained as
a clergyman—Installed as pastor and school
superintendent at Fulneck—Persecution 38
CHAPTER IV
CAREER AS AN EDUCATIONAL REFORMER: 1628–1656
Flight to Poland—Appointed director of the
gymnasium at Lissa—Reforms introduced—Literary
projects—Need of a patron—Call to England—Friendship
with Hartlib—Interest of the English
Parliament—Discontent with existing educational
institutions—Lewis de Geer, his Dutch patron—Call
to Sweden—Interview with Oxenstiern—Located at
Elbing—Reform of the Swedish schools—Return to
Poland—Consecration as senior bishop—Consequences
of the treaty of Westphalia—Ecclesiastical
ministrations—Call to Hungary—Reform of the schools
at Saros-Patak—Plan of a pansophic school—Return to
Lissa—The city burned—Flight of Comenius from Poland 47
CHAPTER V
CLOSING YEARS: 1656–1670
Flight to Amsterdam—Reception by Lawrence de
Geer—Religious freedom in Holland—Publication of the
complete edition of his writings—Other educational
activities—The “one thing needful”—Death at
Amsterdam and burial at Naärden—Family history of
Comenius—Alleged call to the presidency of Harvard
College—Portraits—Personal characteristics 71
CHAPTER VI
PHILOSOPHY OF EDUCATION
The _Great didactic_—Conditions under which
produced—Aim of the book—Purpose of education—Man’s
craving for knowledge—Youth the time for
training—Private instruction undesirable—Education
for girls as well as boys—Uniform methods. Education
according to nature—How nature teaches—Selection
and adaptation of materials—Organization of pupils
into classes—Correlation of studies. Methods of
instruction—Science—Arts—Language—Morals—Religion.
Types of educational institutions—The mother’s
school—School of the mother-tongue—Latin
school—University. School discipline—Character and
purpose of discipline—Corporal punishment only in
cases of moral perversity 83
CHAPTER VII
EARLIEST EDUCATION OF THE CHILD
_School of infancy_—Circumstances under which
written—View of childhood—Conception of infant
education. Physical training—Care of the body—The
child’s natural nurse—Food—Sleep—Play and exercise.
Mental training—Studies which furnish the symbols
of thought—Nature study—Geography—History—Household
economy—Stories and fables—Principle of
activity—Drawing—Arithmetic—Geometry—Music—Language—Poetry.
Moral and religious
training—Examples—Instruction—Discipline—Some
virtues to be taught—Character of formal religious
instruction 109
CHAPTER VIII
STUDY OF LANGUAGE
Dominance of Latin in the seventeenth
century—Methods of study characterized by Comenius.
The _Janua_—Purpose and plan—Its success. _Atrium_
and _Vestibulum_—Their relation to the _Janua_.
The _Orbis pictus_—Its popularity—Use of pictures.
_Methodus novissima_—Principles of language
teaching—Function of examples—Place of oral and
written language in education 123
CHAPTER IX
INFLUENCE OF COMENIUS ON MODERN EDUCATORS
Francke—Early educational undertakings—The
institution at Halle—Character of the
Pædagogium—Impulse given to modern education.
Rousseau—The child the centre of educational
schemes—Sense training fundamental—Order and method
of nature to be followed. Basedow—Protests against
traditional methods—Influenced by the _Émile_—His
educational writings—The Philanthropinum.
Pestalozzi—Love the key-note of his system—Domestic
education—Education of all classes and sexes—The
study of nature—Impulse given to the study of
geography. Fröbel—His relations to Comenius and
Pestalozzi—Educational value of play and principle
of self-activity—Women as factors in education.
Herbart—Assimilation of sense-experience—Training in
character—Doctrine of interest 142
CHAPTER X
PERMANENT INFLUENCE OF COMENIUS
General neglect of Comenius during the eighteenth
century—Causes—Intrenchment of humanism—Summary of
the permanent reforms of Comenius—Revived interest
in his teachings—National Comenian pedagogical
library at Leipzig—The Comenius Society—Reviews
published for the dissemination of the doctrines of
Comenius—Conquest of his ideas 165
APPENDICES
I. TABLE OF DATES 173
II. SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY 175
INDEX 181
COMENIUS
CHAPTER I
EUROPEAN EDUCATION IN THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY
Humanism, realism, and naturalism
characterized—Devotion of the sixteenth century to
the humanistic ideal—Study of Latin eloquence—Style
the chief aim—Neglect of the mother-tongue—Views
of John Sturm and the Jesuits—Devotion to
Cicero—Decadence of the later humanists—Erasmus
and Melanchthon on the enrichment of the course
of study—Satires of Rabelais directed against the
humanists—Protests of Montaigne—Attitude of Ascham
and Mulcaster—Transition from humanism to realism.
“Education in Europe,” says Oscar Browning,[1] “has passed through
three phases, which may conveniently be called humanism, realism, and
naturalism. The first is grounded upon the study of language, and
especially of the two dead languages, Greek and Latin. The second is
based upon the study of things instead of words, the education of the
mind through the eye and the hand. Closely connected with this is the
study of those things which may be of direct influence upon and direct
importance to life. The third is not in the first instance study at
all. It is an attempt to build up the whole nature of man,—to educate
first his body, then his character, and lastly his mind.”
The sixteenth century was wedded to the humanistic ideal of education.
Without regard for the diversity of avocations, classical culture was
held to be the safest and best training for the manifold duties of
life. Aristotle’s _Politics_ was considered the wisest utterance on the
direction of affairs of state; Cæsar’s _Commentaries_ the safest guides
to military eminence; the practical Stoicism of the Latin authors the
most infallible basis for ethics and the regulation of conduct; and as
for agriculture, had not Virgil written a treatise on that subject?
It was clear in the minds of the sixteenth-century humanists that
classical culture furnished the best preparation, alike for theologians
and artisans.
To accomplish this purpose, as soon as the child was considered
sufficiently matured for linguistic discipline, and this varied from
the sixth to the ninth years, he was initiated into the mysteries
of Latin eloquence. His preliminary training consisted in a verbal
study of the Latin grammar for purposes of precision in speech and
successful imitation; but, as the grammar was printed in Latin, with
its hundreds of incomprehensible rules and exceptions, all of which had
to be “learned by heart,” the way of the young learner was, indeed, a
thorny one. True, the classical authors were later read, but chiefly
for the purpose of gleaning from them choice phrases to be used in
the construction of Latin sentences, or for purposes of disputations
in dialectics. Logic and history were given most subordinate places
in the course of study, the former merely that it might give greater
precision in writing and speaking, and the latter that it might
furnish illustrations in rhetorical exercises.
This conception of education was almost universally held in the
sixteenth century, by Protestants like Trotzendorf and Sturm, as well
as by Catholics like Aquaviva and the members of the Society of Jesus.
Nor was it confined to elementary and secondary education; for, as
Professor Paulsen[2] has shown, the conquest of European universities
by the humanists was complete by the second decade of the sixteenth
century. The statutes of most of the universities at this time make the
speaking of the Latin compulsory. That at Ingolstadt reads: “A master
in a bursary shall induce to the continual use of Latin by verbal
exhortations and by his own example; and shall also appoint those who
shall mark such as speak the vulgar tongue and shall receive from them
an irremissible penalty.” Again: “That the students in their academical
exercises may learn by the habit of speaking Latin to speak and express
themselves better, the faculty ordains that no person placed by the
faculty upon a common or other bursary shall dare to speak German.
Any one heard by one of the overseers to speak German shall pay one
kreutzer.” There grew out of this prohibition a widespread system
of spying. The spies reported to the university authorities on such
students (_vulgarisantes_ they were called) who persisted in speaking
in the mother-tongue. In spite, however, of statutes, spies, fines, and
floggings, the boys in the sixteenth century spoke little Latin when
they were alone by themselves. Cordier,[3] writing in 1530, says, “Our
boys always chatter French with their companions; or if they try to
talk Latin, cannot keep it up.”
The old ecclesiastical Latin of the Middle Ages had been superseded by
the classical Latin of the Roman poets, and all the energies of the
educational institutions were thrown into the acquisition and practice
of Latin eloquence. The classics were read for the phrases that might
be culled for use in the construction of Latin sentences; these, with
disputations, declamations, and Latin plays, were the order of the
century. Since education consisted in the acquisition of a graceful and
elegant style, the young learner, from the first, applied himself to
the grammatical study of Latin authors, regarding solely the language
of the classics, and taking subject-matter into account only when this
was necessary to understand the words.
There was no study of the mother-tongue preliminary to the study of
the classics. Children began at once the study of the Latin grammar,
and they had to write Latin verses before they had been exercised in
compositions, in the vernacular, or, for that matter, before they
had been trained to express their thoughts in Latin prose. And still
more remarkable, as Oscar Browning points out, “the Latin taught was
not the masculine language of Lucretius and Cæsar, but the ornate and
artificial diction of Horace and Virgil, and, above all, of Cicero.”
“There is no doubt,” he adds, “that narrow and faulty as it was, it
gave a good education so long as people believed in it. To know Horace
and Virgil by heart became the first duty of the scholar. Speeches
in Parliament were considered incomplete if they did not contain at
least one Latin quotation. A false quantity was held to be a greater
crime than a slip in logical argument. Cicero not only influenced the
education of English statesmen, but had no inconsiderable effect on
their conduct.”
The humanist educators of the sixteenth century not only neglected the
study of the mother-tongue—they proscribed it. The _Ratio_[4] of the
Jesuits forbids its use except on holidays, and Sturm at Strasburg
abbreviated the recreation periods of his pupils because of risks
of speaking in the mother-tongue on the playground. And all this
proscription of the vernacular that students might acquire eloquence in
a foreign tongue. Well does Raumer[5] ask, “Why did they continue, like
a second Sisyphus, their fruitless endeavors to metamorphose German
into Roman youths, and to impart to them, in defiance of the laws of
human nature, another tongue?”
They were themselves deceived in assuming that they could call to life
the ancient culture of Rome and Greece. Indeed, they believed that they
had discovered ways of training which would develop scholars capable of
producing Latin works equal to the masterpieces that they had studied
in their schools. John Sturm, one of the most ardent of the humanists,
said: “The Romans had two advantages over us; the one consisted in
learning Latin without going to school, and the other in frequently
seeing Latin comedies and tragedies acted, and in hearing Latin orators
speak. Could we recall these advantages in our schools, why could we
not, by persevering diligence, gain what they possessed by accident and
habit—namely, the power of speaking Latin to perfection? I hope to see
the men of the present age, in their writing and speaking, not merely
followers of the old masters, but equal to those who flourished in the
noblest age of Athens and Rome.” But how misguided and mistaken!
Not only did Latin monopolize the curriculum of the sixteenth-century
school, but the study was primarily philological, for grammatical
structure, and only secondarily for the content of the literature,
for a correct understanding of the author. As a matter of fact, the
method of study was such as to make intelligent comprehension of the
author’s thought next to impossible, since the humanists simply culled
out phrases which might be imitated and used in the exercises of style.
Raumer says of this kind of teaching: “The author was not an end, but
only a means to an end—the cultivation of deified Roman eloquence in
boys. And why? Precisely as the peacock was used by the jackdaw. They
borrowed the author’s words and phrases, grouped them together, and
learned them by heart, in order subsequently to apply them in speech or
writing. Borrow is too feeble an expression; for the jackdaw designed
not merely to borrow the peacock’s feathers, but to represent them
as his own. The doctrine of imitation, as set forth by Sturm and the
others, was, after all, a mere jackdaw theory. The pupil was taught
how, by a slight alteration, to disguise phrases from Cicero, and then
to use them in writing or speech, exactly as if they were his own
productions, so adroitly smuggling them in that the readers or hearers
might not suspect from whence they were taken. Says Sturm: ‘When the
teacher gives out themes for composition, he should draw attention to
those points where imitation is desirable, and show how similarity
may be concealed by a superadded variation.’ Again: ‘We must, in the
first place, take care that the similarity shall not be manifest. Its
concealment may be accomplished in three ways—by adding, by taking
away, and by alteration.’”
In this mad race for Latin eloquence, the sixteenth-century humanists
became more and more circumscribed in the choice of authors. Sturm,
for example, placed Cicero at the head of the list, because of the
faultless models of his eloquence. The Jesuits likewise held Cicero in
high esteem. Said one of their writers, “Style should be drawn almost
exclusively from Cicero, although the most approved of the historians
need not on that account be overlooked.” Again: “The pattern we should
follow in style is comprehended in the words of the rule, ‘imitate
Cicero.’ As in the study of theology we follow the divine Thomas
Aquinas, and in philosophy Aristotle, so in the humanities Cicero must
be regarded as our peculiar and preëminent leader. For he has been
crowned by the palm of superior praise by the common consent of the
world. But some, misguided by a wilful and self-formed taste, have
gone astray, preferring a style totally different from that of Cicero;
such an erratic course is quite at variance with the genius of our
institutions and hostile to the spirit of prompt obedience.”
This servile devotion to Cicero, it should be recalled, was a
marked departure from the more varied and richer curricula of the
fifteenth-century humanists,[6] when men of the stamp of Vittorino
da Feltre, Leonardo Bruni, Vergarius, Sylvius, and Guarino were the
standard-bearers of humanism. Many causes had conspired to bring
about this decadence; and perhaps the most fundamental cause was
the senseless worship of forms of expression. The later humanists
worshipped the _forms_ of thought. “Beauty of expression,” says
Professor Laurie,[7] “was regarded as inseparable from truth and
elevation of thought. The movement soon shared the fate of all
enthusiasms. The new form was worshipped, and to it the spirit and
substance were subordinated. Style became the supreme object of the
educated classes, and successful imitation, and thereafter laborious
criticism, became marks of the highest culture.”
This use of the classics as instruments in grammatical drill and
vehicles of communication had become well-nigh universal by the middle
of the sixteenth century. Erasmus, himself one of the most ardent
advocates of classical learning, perceived apparently the narrowing
tendencies of humanistic training, and urged that students be taught
to know many things besides Latin and Greek in order that they might
the better comprehend the classics. He recommended the addition of
geography, arithmetic, and natural science to the school course.
And Melanchthon, with all his enthusiasm for classical learning,
thought the humanities insufficient to satisfy all the needs of
culture. He advised the incorporation of physics, mathematics, and
astronomy into the curriculum. “Although the nature of things cannot
be absolutely known, nor the marvellous works of God traced to their
original, until, in the future life, we shall listen to the eternal
counsel of the Father,” he writes, “nevertheless, even amid this our
present darkness, every gleam and every hint of harmony of this fair
creation forms a step toward the knowledge of God and toward virtue,
whereby we ourselves shall also learn to love and maintain order and
moderation in all our acts. Since it is evident that men are endowed by
their Creator with faculties fitted for the contemplation of nature,
they must, of necessity, take delight in investigating the elements,
the laws, the qualities, and the forces of the various bodies by which
they are surrounded.”
As has already been shown, however, the humanists took little interest
in the study of subjects not discussed by classical authors. Absorbed
in a world of books, as Mr. Quick[8] suggests, they overlooked the
world of nature. Galileo had in vain tried to persuade them to look
through his telescope, but they held that truth could not be discovered
by any such contrivances—that it could be arrived at only by the
comparison of manuscripts. “No wonder,” remarks Mr. Quick, “that they
had so little sympathy with children, and did not know how to teach
them.”
Fortunately for the history of education, there were critics in the
sixteenth century who did not conform to the dogma of linguistic
discipline, and who called attention to the need of educational
reform. Whatever the merits of the classical languages, protested
these critics, they must derive their value ultimately from the rank
they take as literature. The protest of Rabelais early in the century
was not only one of the first but one of the most effective charges
against contemporary practices. In his famous satire he intrusted the
young giant Gargantua to the care and training of the humanist educator
Tubal Holofernes, who spent five years and a quarter in teaching him
to say his A B C’s backward; thirteen years on Donatus’ Latin grammar
and the composition of Latin verses and sentences; thirty-four years
more in the study of Latin eloquence, after which the schoolmaster
dies, when, as Rabelais concluded, Gargantua had grown more ignorant,
heavy, and loutish. “In this confused and ribald allegory,” says Mr.
James P. Munroe,[9] “Rabelais led the way out of ancient superstition
into modern science. More than this, he taught in it that the study
of Nature, observation of her laws, imitation of her methods, must
be at the root of every true system of education. He showed that the
Nature spirit is the true spirit of good teaching. Ever since his
day civilized mankind has been trying to learn this lesson of his
and to apply it in the schools. For three centuries the leaders in
education, under his direct inspiration, have been slowly and painfully
transforming the false pedagogy of the cloister into the true pedagogy
of out-of-doors. Writers and teachers, schools and universities, have
been engaged in a halting and irregular struggle to transfer education
from a metaphysical to a physical basis, to lead it away from the habit
of deductive speculation into one of inductive research. This transfer
Rabelais made boldly and at once. He did not, of course, elaborate
the educational ideal of to-day, but he plainly marked out the lines
upon which that ideal is framed. He taught truth and simplicity, he
ridiculed hypocrisy and formalism, he denounced the worship of words,
he demanded the study of things, he showed the beauty of intellectual
health, of moral discipline, of real piety. Best of all, he enunciated
the supreme principle of Nature, which is _ordered freedom_.”
Montaigne,[10] also, in France, was equally severe in his criticisms
on the humanists. He denounced in no uncertain terms the methods of
introducing Latin to beginners and the harsh and severe discipline
so common in the schools of Europe during the sixteenth century.
“Education ought to be carried on with a severe sweetness,” he wrote,
“quite contrary to the practice of our pedants, who, instead of
tempting and alluring children to a study of language by apt and gentle
ways, do, in truth, present nothing before them but rods and ferules,
horror and cruelty. Away with this violence! Away with this compulsion!
There is nothing which more completely dulls and degenerates
the nature of a bright child.” Again: “Our schools are houses of
correction for imprisoned youths; and children are made incorrigible
by punishment. Visit them when the children are getting their lessons,
and you will hear nothing but the outcries of boys under execution
and the thundering noises of their teachers, drunk with fury. It is a
pernicious way to tempt young and timorous souls to love their books
while wearing a ferocious countenance and with a rod in hand.”
Montaigne was equally convinced of the pedagogic error of the humanists
in regarding classical knowledge as synonymous with wisdom. “We
may become learned from the learning of others,” he said, “but we
never become wise except by our own wisdom.... We are truly learned
from knowing the present, not from knowing the past any more than
the future.... Yet we toil only to stuff the memory and leave the
conscience and understanding void. And like birds abroad to forage for
grain, bring it home in their beak, without tasting it themselves, to
feed their young, so our pedants go picking knowledge here and there
out of several authors, and hold it at their tongue’s end, only to spit
it out and distribute it among their pupils.”
Roger Ascham,[11] in the quaint preface of his _Scholemaster_, also
bears testimony against the harsh discipline of the sixteenth century.
During the great plague in London, in 1563, Ascham and some friends
were dining at Windsor with Sir William Cecil. While there he learned
that many of the students at Eton had run away because of the severe
punishments administered at this famous public school. “Whereupon,”
says Ascham, “Sir William took occasion to wish that some discretion
were in many schoolmasters in using correction than commonly there is,
who many times punish rather the weakness of nature than the fault
of the scholar, whereby many scholars that might else prove well, be
driven to hate learning before they know what learning meaneth; and so
are made willing to forsake their book, and to be willing to put to
any other kind of living.” This incident led to the composition of the
_Scholemaster_, which was a guide for “the bringing up of youth,” in
which gentleness rather than severity is recommended, and “a ready way
to the Latin tongue,” in which an honest effort is made to simplify
language teaching and adapt it to the tastes and interests of young
learners.
Richard Mulcaster,[12] another Englishman and humanist of the
sixteenth century, questioned seriously the wisdom of his associates
and contemporaries in their exclusion of the mother-tongue from the
course of study. In his _Elementarie_ he asked: “Is it not a marvellous
bondage to become servants to one tongue, for learning’s sake, the most
part of our time, with loss of most time, whereas we may have the very
same treasure in our own tongue with the gain of most time? our own
bearing the joyful title of our liberty and freedom, the Latin tongue
remembering us of our thraldom and bondage. I love Rome, but London
better; I favor Italy, but England more: I honor the Latin, but I
worship the English.” Mr. Quick is right in maintaining that “it would
have been a vast gain to all Europe if Mulcaster had been followed
instead of Sturm. He was one of the earliest advocates of the use of
English instead of Latin, and good reading and writing in English were
to be secured before Latin was begun.”
These were some of the voices raised against the bookish classical
learning of the sixteenth century; but it remained for Vives, Bacon,
and Ratke to convince Europe of the insufficiency of the humanistic
ideal, and for Comenius, the evangelist of modern pedagogy, to bring
about the necessary reforms. The part played by each in the transition
from humanism to realism, from classical learning and philology to
modern thought and the natural sciences, will be briefly traced in the
succeeding chapters of this work.