IMAGINATION
The creative imagination of science is based upon truth.
Imagination based on reality differs from that based on speculation
Speculative imagination akin to original sin
Education should direct imagination into creative channels
Truth is also the basis of artistic imagination.
All imagination based on sense impressions
Non-seasonal impressions--spiritual truths
Education in sense perception strengthens imagination
Perfection in art dependent on approximation to truth
Exercise of the intelligence aids imagination
Imagination in children.
Immature and therefore concerned with unrealities
Should be helped to overcome immaturity of thought
False methods develop _credulity_, akin to insanity
Period of credulity in the child prolonged for the
amusement of the adult
"Living among real possessions" the cure for illusions
Fable and religion.
Religion not the product of fantasy
Fable in schools does not prepare for religious teaching
The education of the imagination in schools for older children.
Environment and method oppressive
"Composition" introduced to foster imagination
How composition is "taught"
Imagination cannot be forced
The moral question.
Contributions of positive science to morality
Science raises society to level of Christian standards
Parents' failure to teach sex morality
Probable effects of experimental psychology in field of morals
Experimental psychology should be directed to the schools
Progress of medicine and its relation to new psychology
Childish naughtiness a parental misconception
Infant life different from the adult
Hindering the child's development a moral question for the adult
Need of the child "to touch and to act"
How the adult prevents him from learning by doing
Conceptions of good and bad conduct in the school
Mutual aid a high crime in the school
Surveillance for vicious habits originating in the school
Developing the "social sentiment" in the school
"A moral with every lesson" the teacher's aim
Injurious system of prizes and punishments the school's mainstay
The fallacy of "emulation"
Necessity of reforming the school
Good conduct dependent on satisfaction of intellectual needs
Mere sensory education inadequate
Love, the preservative force of life
Christianity teaches necessity of mutual love
The education of the moral sense.
Moral education must have basis of feeling
Adult the stimulus by which child's feeling is exercised
How and when the adult should offer affection
The essence of moral education.
Importance of perfecting spiritual sensibility
Necessity of properly organized environment
Helping the child distinguish between right and wrong
"Internal sense" of right and wrong
Moral conscience capable of development
Our insensibility.
Virtuous person and criminal not detected by contact
The War as an example of moral insensibility
Insensibility distinguished from death of the soul
Spiritually, man must either ascend or die
Morality and religion.
Conversion, the sudden establishing of moral order
The spirit enslaved by sentiments hostile to love
The religious sentiment in children.
Crises of conscience and spontaneous religious feeling
Some original observations by Dr. Montessori
* * * * *
SPONTANEOUS ACTIVITY
IN EDUCATION
I
A SURVEY OF THE CHILD'S LIFE
=The general laws which govern the child's psychical health have their
parallel in those of its physical health=.--Many persons who have asked
me to continue my methods of education for very young children on
lines that would make them suitable for those over seven years of age,
have expressed a doubt whether this would be possible.
The difficulties they put forward are mainly of a moral order.
Should not the child now begin to respect the will of others rather
than his own? Should he not some day brace himself to a real effort,
compelling him to carry out a necessary, rather than a chosen, task?
Finally, should he not learn self-sacrifice, since man's life is not a
life of ease and enjoyment?
Some, taking certain practical items of elementary education, which
present themselves even at the age of six, and must be seriously
envisaged at seven, urge their objection in this form: Now we are face
to face with the ugly specter of arithmetical tables, the arid mental
gymnastics exacted by grammar. What do you propose? Would you abolish
all this, or do you admit that the child must inevitably bow to these
necessities?
It is obvious that the whole of the argument revolves round the
interpretation of that "liberty" which is the avowed basis of the
system of education advocated by me.
Perhaps in a short time all these objections will provoke a smile, and
I shall be asked to suppress them, together with my commentary on
them, in future editions of this work. But at the present time they
have a right to exist, and to be dealt with, although indeed it is not
very easy to give a direct, clear and convincing answer to them,
because this entails the raising of questions on which everybody has
firmly rooted convictions.
A parallel may perhaps serve to save us a good deal of the work.
Indirectly, these questions have been answered already by the progress
made in the treatment of infants under the guidance of hygiene. How
were they treated formerly? Many, no doubt, can still remember certain
practises that were regarded as indispensable by the masses. An infant
had to be strapped and swaddled, or its legs would grow crooked; the
ligament under its tongue had to be slit, to ensure its speaking
eventually; it was important that it should always wear a cap to keep
its ears from protruding; the position of a recumbent baby was so
arranged as not to cause permanent deformity of the tender skull; and
good mothers stroked and pinched the little noses of their nurslings
to make them grow long and sharp instead of round and snub, and put
little gold earrings through the lobes of their ears very soon after
birth "to improve their eyesight." Such practises may be already
forgotten in some countries; but in others they obtain to this day.
Who does not remember the various devices for helping a baby to walk?
Even in the first months after birth, at a period of life when the
nervous system is not completely developed, and it is impossible for
the infant to coordinate its movements, mothers wasted several
half-hours of the day "teaching baby to walk." Holding the little
creature by the body, they watched the aimless movements of the tiny
feet, and deluded themselves with the belief that the child was
already making an effort to walk; and because it does actually by
degrees begin to arch its feet and move its legs more boldly, the
mother attributed its progress to her instruction. When finally the
movement had been almost established--though not the equilibrium, and
the resulting power to stand on the feet--mothers made use of certain
straps with which they held up the baby's body, and thus made it walk
on the ground with themselves; or, when they had no time to spare,
they put the baby into a kind of bell-shaped basket, the broad base of
which prevented it from turning over; they tied the infant into this,
hanging its arms outside, its body being supported by the upper edge
of the basket; thus the child, though it could not rise on its feet,
_advanced_, moving its legs, and was said to be _walking_.
Other relics of a very recent past are a species of convex crowns
which were put round the heads of babies when they were considered
capable of rising to their feet, and were accordingly emancipated from
the basket. The child, suddenly left to himself after being accustomed
hitherto to supports comparable to the crutches of the cripple, fell
perpetually, and the crown was a protection to the head, which would
otherwise have been injured.
What were the revelations of Science, when it entered upon the scene
for the salvation of the child? It certainly offered no perfected
methods for straightening the noses and the ears, nor did it enlighten
mothers as to methods of teaching babies to walk immediately after
birth. No. It proclaimed first of all that Nature itself will
determine the shape of heads, noses, and ears; that man will speak
without having the membrane of the tongue cut; and further, that legs
will grow straight and that the function of walking will come
naturally, and requires no intervention.
Hence it follows that we should leave as much as possible to Nature;
and the more the babe is left free to develop, the more rapidly and
perfectly will he achieve his proper proportions and higher functions.
Thus swaddling bands are abolished, and the "utmost tranquillity in a
restful position" is recommended. The infant, with its legs perfectly
free, will be left lying full length, and not jogged up and down to
"amuse" it, as many persons imagine they are doing by this device. It
will not be forced to walk before it is time. When this time comes, it
will raise itself and walk spontaneously.
In these days nearly all mothers are convinced of this, and vendors of
swaddling-bands, straps, and baskets have practically disappeared.
As a result, babies have straighter legs and walk better and earlier
than formerly.
This is an established fact, and a most comforting one; for what a
constant anxiety it must have been to believe that the straightness of
a child's legs, and the shape of its nose, ears, and head were the
direct results of our care! What a responsibility, to which every one
must have felt unequal! And what a relief to say: "Nature will think
of that. I will leave my baby free, and watch him grow in beauty; I
will be a quiescent spectator of the miracle."
Something analogous has been happening with regard to the inner life
of the child. We are beset by such anxieties as these: it is necessary
to form character, to develop the intelligence, to aid the unfolding
and ordering of the emotions. And we ask ourselves how we are to do
this. Here and there we touch the soul of the child, or we constrain
it by special restrictions, much as mothers used to press the noses of
their babies or strap down their ears. And we conceal our anxiety
beneath a certain mediocre success, for it is a fact that men do grow
up possessing character, intelligence and feeling. But when all these
things are lacking, we are vanquished. What are we to do then? Who
will give character to a degenerate, intelligence to an idiot, human
emotions to a moral maniac?
If it were really true that men acquired all such qualities by these
fitful manipulations of their souls, it would suffice to apply a
little more energy to the process when these souls are evidently
feeble. But this is not sufficient.
Then we are no more the creators of spiritual than of physical forms.
It is Nature, "creation," which regulates all these things. If we are
convinced of this, we must admit as a principle the necessity of "not
introducing obstacles to natural development"; and instead of having
to deal with many separate problems--such as, what are the best aids
to the development of character, intelligence and feeling?--one single
problem will present itself as the basis of all education: How are we
to give the child freedom?
In according this freedom we must take account of principles analogous
to those laid down by science for the forms and functions of the body
during its period of growth; it is a freedom in which the head, the
nose, and the ears will attain the highest beauty, and the gait the
utmost perfection possible to the congenital powers of the
individual. Thus here again liberty, the sole means, will lead to the
maximum development of character, intelligence and sentiment; and will
give to us, the educators, peace, and the possibility of contemplating
the miracle of growth.
This liberty will further deliver us from the painful weight of a
fictitious responsibility and a dangerous illusion.
Woe to us, when we believe ourselves responsible for matters that do
not concern us, and delude ourselves with the idea that we are
perfecting things that will perfect themselves quite independently of
us! For then we are like lunatics; and the profound question arises:
What, then, is our true mission, our true responsibility? If we are
deceiving ourselves, what is indeed the truth? And what sins of
omission and of commission must be laid to our charge? If, like
Chanticleer, we believe that the sun rises in the morning because the
cock has crowed, what duties shall we find when we come to our senses?
Who has been left destitute, because we ourselves have forgotten "to
eat our true bread"?
The history of the "physical redemption" of the infant has a sequel
for us which is highly instructive.
Hygiene has not been confined to the task of anthropological
demonstration, such as that which not only made generally known, but
convinced every one, that the body develops spontaneously; because, in
reality, the question of infant welfare was not concerned with the
more or less perfect forms of the body. The real infantile question
which called for the intervention of science was the alarming
mortality among infants.
It certainly seems strange in these days to consider this fact: that,
at the period when infantile diseases made the greatest ravages,
people were not nearly so much concerned with infantile mortality as
with the shape of the nose or the straightness of the legs, while the
real question--literally a question of life and death--passed
unobserved. There must be many persons who, like myself, have heard
such dialogues as this: "I have had great experience in the care of
children; I have had nine." "And how many of them are living?" "Two."
And nevertheless this mother was looked upon as an authority!
Statistics of mortality reveal figures so high that the phenomenon may
justly be called the "Slaughter of the Innocents." The famous graph of
Lexis, which is not confined to one country or another, but deals with
the general averages of human mortality, reveals the fact that this
terrible death-rate is of universal occurrence among all peoples. This
must be attributed to two different factors. One is undoubtedly the
characteristic feebleness of infancy; the other the absence of
protection for this feebleness, an absence that had become general
among all peoples. Good-will was not lacking, nor parental affection;
the fault lay hidden in an unknown cause, in a lack of protection
against a dire peril of which men were quite unconscious. It is now a
matter of common knowledge that infectious diseases, especially those
of intestinal origin, are those most destructive to infant life.
Intestinal disorders which impede nutrition, and produce toxins at an
age when the delicate tissues are most sensitive to them, were
responsible for nearly the entire death-roll. These were aggravated by
the errors habitually committed by those in charge of infants. These
errors were a lack of cleanliness which would astound us nowadays, and
a complete absence of any sort of rule concerning infant diet. The
soiled napkins which were wrapped round the baby under its swaddling
bands would be dried in the sun again and again, and replaced on the
infant without being washed. No care was taken to wash the mother's
breast or the baby's mouth, in spite of fermentation so pronounced as
to cause local disorder. Suckling of infants was carried out quite
irregularly; the cries of the child were the sole guide whereby its
feeding times, whether by night or day, were determined; and the more
it suffered from indigestion and the resulting pains, the more
frequently was it fed, to the constant aggravation of its sufferings.
Who in those days might not have seen mothers carrying in their arms
babies flushed with fever, perpetually thrusting the nipple into the
little howling mouth in the hope of quieting it? And yet those mothers
were full of self-sacrifice and of maternal anguish!
Science laid down simple rules; it enjoined the utmost possible
cleanliness, and formulated a principle so self-evident that it seems
astounding people should not have recognized it for themselves: that
the smallest infant, like ourselves, should have regular meals, and
should only take fresh nourishment when it has digested what has been
given before; and hence that it should be suckled only at intervals of
so many hours, according to the months of its age and the
modifications of physical function in its development. No infant
should ever be given crusts of bread to suck, as is often done by
mothers, especially among the lower orders, to still its crying,
because particles of bread might be swallowed, which the child is yet
incapable of digesting.
The mothers' anxiety then was: what are we to do when the baby cries?
They found to their astonishment after a time that their babies cried
a great deal less, or indeed not at all; they even saw infants only a
week old spending the two hours' intervals between successive meals
calm and rosy, with wide-open eyes, so silent that they gave no sign
of life, like Nature in her moments of solemn immobility. Why indeed
should they cry continually? Those cries were the sign of a state of
things which must be translated by these words: suffering and death.
And for these wailing little ones the world did nothing. They were
strapped up in swaddling clothes, and very often handed over to a
young child incapable of responsibility; they had neither a room nor a
bed of their own.
It was Science which came to the rescue and created nurseries,
cradles, rooms for babies, suitable clothes for them, alimentary
substances specially prepared for them by great industries devoted to
the hygienic sustenance of infants after weaning, and medical
specialists for their ailments; in short, an entirely new world,
clean, intelligent, and full of amenity. The baby has become the new
man who has conquered his own right to live, and thus has caused a
sphere to be created for him. And in direct proportion to the
diffusion of the laws of infantile hygiene, infant mortality has
decreased.
So then, when we say that in like manner the baby should be left at
liberty spiritually, because creative Nature can also fashion its
spirit better than we can, we do not mean that it should be neglected
and abandoned.
Perhaps, looking around us, we shall perceive that though we cannot
directly mold its individual forms of character, intelligence, and
feeling, there is nevertheless a whole category of duties and
solicitudes which we have neglected: and that on these _the life or
death_ of the spirit depends.
The principle of _liberty_ is not therefore a principle of
_abandonment_, but rather one which, by leading us from illusions to
reality, will guide us to the most positive and efficacious "care of
the child."
* * * * *
=The liberty accorded to the child of to-day is purely physical. Civil
rights of the child in the twentieth century=.--Hygiene has brought
liberty into the physical life of the infant. Such material facts as
the abolition of swaddling bands, open-air life, the prolongation of
sleep till the infant wakes of its own accord, etc., are the most
evident and tangible proof of this. But these are merely means for the
attainment of liberty. A far more important measure of liberation has
been the removal of the perils of disease and death which beset the
child at the outset of life's journey. Not only did infants survive in
very much greater numbers as soon as the obstacles of certain
fundamental errors were swept away, but it was at once apparent that
there was an improvement in their development. Was it really hygiene
which helped them to increase in weight, stature, and beauty, and
improved their material development? Hygiene did not accomplish quite
all this. Who, as the Gospel says, can by taking thought add one cubit
to his stature? Hygiene merely delivered the child from the obstacles
that impeded its growth. External restraints checked material
development and all the natural evolution of life; hygiene burst these
bonds. And every one felt that a liberation had been effected; every
one repeated in view of the accomplished fact: children should be
free. The direct correspondence between "conditions of physical life
fulfilled" and "liberty acquired" is now universally and intuitively
recognized. Thus the infant is treated like a young plant. Children
to-day enjoy the rights which from time immemorial have been accorded
to the vegetables of a well-kept garden. Good food, oxygen, suitable
temperature, the careful elimination of parasites that produce
disease; yes, henceforth we may say that the son of a prince will be
tended with as much care as the finest rose-tree of a villa.
The old comparison of a child to a flower is the reality to which we
now aspire; though even this is a privilege reserved for the more
fortunate children. But let us beware of so grave an error. The babe
is a man. That which suffices for a plant cannot be sufficient for
him. Consider the depth of misery into which a paralyzed man has sunk
when we say of him: "He merely vegetates; as a man, he is dead," and
lament that there is nothing but his body left.
The infant as a _man_--such is the figure we ought to keep in view. We
must behold him amidst our tumultuous human society and see how with
heroic vigor he aspires to life.
What are the rights of children? Let us consider them for a moment as
a social class, as a class of workers, for as a fact they are laboring
to produce men. They are the future generation. They work, undergoing
the fatigues of physical and spiritual growth. They continue the work
carried on for a few months by their mothers, but their task is a more
laborious, complex, and difficult one. When they are born they possess
nothing but potentialities; they have to do everything in a world
which, as even adults admit, is full of difficulties. What is done to
help these frail pilgrims in an unknown world? They are born more
fragile and helpless than an animal, and in a few years they have to
become men, to be units in a highly complicated organized society,
built up by the secular effort of innumerable generations. At a
period in which civilization, that is, the possibility of right
living, is based upon rights energetically acquired and consecrated by
laws, what rights has he who comes among us without strength and
without thought? Like the infant Moses lying in the ark of bulrushes
on the waters of the Nile he represents the future of the chosen
people; but will some princess passing by perchance see him?
To chance, to luck, to affection, to all these we entrust the child;
and it would seem that the Biblical chastisement of the Egyptian
oppressor, the death of the first-born, is to be unceasingly renewed.
Let us see how social justice receives the infant when he enters the
world. We are living in the twentieth century; in many of the
so-called civilized nations orphan asylums and wet nurses are still
recognized _institutions_. What is an orphan asylum? It is a place of
sequestration, a dark and terrible prison, where only too often the
prisoner finds death, as in those medieval dungeons whence the victim
disappeared, leaving no trace. He never sees any who are dear to him.
His family name is cancelled, his goods are confiscated. The greatest
criminal may retain memories of his mother, knows that he has had a
name, and may derive some consolation from his recollections,
comparable to the soothing reflections of one who having become blind
recalls the beauty of colors and the splendor of the sun; but the
foundling is as one born blind. Every malefactor has more rights than
he; and yet who could be more innocent? Even in the days of the most
odious tyranny, the spectacle of oppressed innocence kindled a flame
of justice that sooner or later blazed up into revolution. The
persons imprisoned by tyrants because they had happened to be
witnesses of their crimes, and who were cast into dungeons where
darkness and inaudible suffering were henceforth their unhappy
portion, at least roused the people to proclaim the principle of equal
justice for all. But who will lift up his voice for our foundlings?
Society does not perceive that they too are men; they are indeed only
the "flowers" of humanity. And to save honor and good name, what
society would not with one accord sacrifice more "flowers"?
The wet nurse is a social custom. A luxurious custom, on the one hand.
Not very long ago, a girl of the middle-and not even the upper
middle-class, who was about to marry, boasted in the following terms
of the domestic comfort promised her by her future husband: "I am to
have a cook, a housemaid, and a wet nurse." On the other hand, the
robust peasant girl who has given birth to a son, looking complacently
at her heavy breasts, thinks: "I shall be able to get a good place as
wet nurse." It is only quite recently that hygiene has cried shame
upon those mothers whose laziness makes them refuse to suckle their
own children; in our times queens and empresses who suckle their
children are still cited admiringly as examples to other mothers. The
_maternal duty_ of suckling her own children prescribed to mothers by
hygienists is based on a physiological principle: the mother's milk
nourishes an infant more perfectly than any other. In spite of this
clear indication, the duty is far from being universally accepted.
Often in our walks we still see a robust mother accompanied by a wet
nurse gorgeously attired in red or blue, with gold and silver
embroideries, carrying a baby. Wealthy mothers have untidily dressed
wet nurses who do not go out with them, who always follow the modern
nurse, an expert in infantile hygiene, who keeps the baby "like a
flower."
And what of the other child?... For every infant who has a double
supply of human milk at his disposal, there is another child who has
none. The wealth in question is not an industrial product. It is
apportioned by Nature with careful precision. For each new life, the
ration of milk. Milk cannot be produced by any means other than the
production of life. Cow-keepers know this well; their good cows are
hygienically reared, and calves are sent to the butcher. Yet what
distress is felt whenever the young of some animal is parted from its
mother! Is it not so in the case of puppies and kittens? When a pet
dog has given birth to a litter so numerous that she cannot suckle
them all, and it is necessary to destroy some of the puppies, what
sincere grief is felt by the mistress of the house, whose own baby is
being suckled by a magnificent wet nurse! Well--the thing which
excites her compassion above all is the eager, whimpering mother, who
does not understand whether she has or has not the strength to suckle
all the shapeless puppies she has borne, but who cannot lose one of
them without despair. The wet nurse is quite another affair; she came
of her own accord to offer her milk for sale. What the other--her own
child--was to do, no one cared.
Only a clearly defined _right_, a _law_, could have protected him, for
society is based on rights. These, it is true, are the rights of
property, which are absolute; steal a loaf, even if you are starving,
and you are a thief. You will be punished by the law and outlawed by
society. The rights of property constitute one of the most formidable
of the social bases. An administrator of landed estate who should
sell the property belonging to his master, make money out of it for
his own enjoyment, and leave the rightful owner in the direst poverty,
is a criminal difficult to imagine. For who would buy a property
without the signature of the owner? Society is so constituted that
certain crimes would not only be punished if committed, but are almost
impossible to commit. Yet in the case of young infants, this crime is
committed every day, and is not regarded as a crime, but as a luxury.
What can be a more sacred right than that of the baby to his mother's
milk? He might say of this in the words of the Emperor Napoleon: "God
has given it to me." There can be no doubt whatever as to the
legitimacy of his claim; his sole capital, milk, came into the world
with and for him. All his wealth is there: strength to live, to grow,
to acquire vigor are contained in that nourishment. If the defrauded
infant should become weak and rickety, what would become of him,
condemned by poverty to a hard calling? What a claim for damages, what
a question of accident during work with permanent injury resulting
therefrom might be raised if some day the infant could present himself
after the manner of a man before the tribunal of social justice!
In civilized countries rich mothers have been induced to suckle their
children because hygienists have proved that this is beneficial to the
baby's health, but not because it has been recognized that the "civil
right" of the adult extends to the infant. These mothers consider
countries where the wet nurse is still an institution as less _highly
developed_, but on the same plane of civilization as their own.
It may be asked: what if the mother is ill and _unable_ to suckle her
child? In such a case the child of the sick woman is the unfortunate
one. Why should another have to suffer for his misfortune? However
poverty-stricken individuals may be, we do not allow them to take from
others the wealth that is so urgently needed by them. If in these days
an Emperor could be cured of terrible sufferings by immersion in a
bath of human blood, he could not bleed healthy men for the purpose as
a barbarian Emperor would have done. These are the things that make up
our civilization. This it is which differentiates us from pirates and
cannibals. The rights of the adult are recognized.
But not the rights of the infant. [1] What an implication of baseness
the fact carries with it: we recognize the rights of adults indeed,
but not those of the child! We recognize justice, but only for those
who can protest and defend themselves; and for the rest, we remain
barbarians. Because to-day there may be peoples more or less highly
developed from the hygienic point of view, but they all belong to the
same civilization--a civilization based on the _right of the
strongest_.
When we begin seriously to examine the problem of the moral education
of the child, we ought to look around us a little, and survey the
world we have prepared for him. Are we willing that he should become
like us, unscrupulous in our dealings with the weak? that like us, his
consciousness should harbor ideas of a justice which stops short at
those who make no protests? Are we willing to make him like ourselves
half a civilized man in our dealings with our equals, and half a wild
beast when we encounter the innocent and oppressed?
[Footnote 1: Of course, should the child of the wet nurse have died,
there can be no question of an infringement of its rights. But such
cases have no relation to those in which the rich mother requires a
nurse for the child she is unable to suckle herself, owing to
pathological reasons.
I may draw attention to a precautionary measure which has become a law
in Germany: this prohibits the acceptance of a post as wet nurse by a
mother until six months after the birth of her own child. This
interval is considered sufficiently long to guarantee the health of
the infant. Moreover, the special care devoted to artificial feeding
in Germany provides a satisfactory substitute for wet nursing, in the
case of children who are deprived of maternal nourishment. Such laws
and provisions are a first step towards the recognition of the "civil
rights" of poor infants.]
If not, then before we offer moral education to the child, let us
imitate the priest who is about to ascend to the altar: he bows his
head in penitence and confesses his own sins before the whole
congregation.
This outlawed child is like a dislocated arm. Humanity cannot work at
the evolution of its morality until this arm has been put into its
place; and this will also end the pains and the paralysis of the
injured muscles attached to it: women. The social question of the
child is obviously the more complete and profound; it is the question
of our present and of our future.
If we can reconcile to our conscience deeds of such grave injustice,
not to say crimes, without recognizing them as such, what minor forms
of oppression shall we not readily condone in our dealings with the
child?
* * * * *
=How we receive the infants that come into the world=.--Let us look
around. Only of late has any preparation been made to receive this
sublime guest. It is not very long ago that little beds for children
were first made; among all the innumerable tasteless, superfluous, and
extravagant objects of commerce, let us see what things are intended
for the child. No washstands, no sofas, no tables, no brushes. Among
all the many houses, there is not one house for him and his like, and
only rich and fortunate children have even a room of their own, more
or less a place of exile.
Let us imagine ourselves subjected for even a single day to the
miseries to which he is condemned.
Suppose that we should find ourselves among a race of giants, with
legs immensely long and bodies enormously large in comparison with
ours, and also with powers of rapid movement infinitely greater than
ours, people extraordinarily agile and intelligent compared with
ourselves. We should want to go into their houses; the steps would be
each as high as our knees, and yet we should have to try to mount them
with their owners; we should want to sit down, but the seats would be
almost as high as our shoulders; clambering painfully upon them, we
should at last succeed in perching upon them. We should want to brush
our clothes, but all the clothes-brushes would be so huge that we
could not lay hold of them nor sustain their weight; and a
clothes-brush would be handed to us if we wanted to brush our nails.
We should perhaps be glad to take a bath in one of the washstand
basins; but the weight of these would make it impossible for us to
lift them. If we knew that these giants had been expecting us, we
should be obliged to say: they have made no preparations for receiving
us, or for making our lives among them agreeable. The baby finds all
that he himself needs in the form of playthings made for dolls; rich,
varied and attractive surroundings have not been created for him, but
dolls have houses, sitting-rooms, kitchens and wardrobes; for them all
that the adult possesses is reproduced in miniature. Among all these
things, however, the child cannot live; he can only amuse himself. The
world has been given to him in jest, because no one has yet recognized
him as a living man. He discovers that society has prepared a mockery
for his reception.
That children break their toys is so well known that this act of
destruction of the only things specially manufactured for them is
taken to be a proof of their intelligence. We say: "He destroys it
because he wishes to understand [how things are made];" in reality he
is looking to see if there is anything interesting _inside_ the toys,
because externally they have no interest whatever for him; sometimes
he breaks them up violently, like an angry man. Then, according to us,
he is destroying out of naughtiness.
It is the tendency of the child actually to live by means of the
things around him; he would like to use a washstand of his own, to
dress himself, really to comb the hair on a living head, to sweep the
floor himself; he too would like to have seats, tables, sofas,
clothes-pegs, and cupboards. What he desires is to work himself, to
aim at some intelligent object, to have comfort in his own life. He
has not only to "behave like a man," but to "construct a man;" such is
the dominant tendency of his nature, of his mission.
We have seen him in the _Case dei Bambini_ happy and patient, slow and
precise like the most admirable workman, and the most scrupulous
_conservator_ of things. The smallest trifles suffice to make him
happy; it delights him to hang up his clothes on pegs fixed low down
on the walls, within reach of his hands; to open a light door, the
handle of which is proportioned to the size of his hand; to place a
chair, the weight of which is not too great for his arms, quietly and
gracefully. We offer a very simple suggestion: give the child an
environment in which everything is constructed in proportion to
himself, and let him live therein. Then there will develop within the
child that "active life" which has caused so many to marvel, because
they see in it not only a simple exercise performed with pleasure, but
the revelation of a spiritual life. In such harmonious surroundings
the young child is seen laying hold of the intellectual life like a
seed which has thrown out a root into the soil, and then growing and
developing by one sole means: long practice in each exercise.
When we see little children acting thus, intent on their work, slow in
executing it, because of the immaturity of their structure, just as
they walk slowly because their legs are still short, we feel
intuitively that life is being elaborated within them, as a chrysalis
slowly elaborates the butterfly within the cocoon. To impede their
activity would be to do violence to their lives. But what is the usual
method with young children? We all interrupt them without compunction
or consideration, in the manner of masters to slaves who have no human
rights. To show "consideration" to young children as to adults would
even seem ridiculous to many persons. And yet with what severity do we
enjoin children "not to interrupt" us! If the little one is doing
something, eating by himself, for instance, some adult comes and feeds
him; if he is trying to fasten an overall, some adult hastens to dress
him; every one substitutes an alien action to his, brutally, without
the smallest consideration. And yet we ourselves are very sensitive as
to our rights in our own work; it offends us if any one attempts to
supplant us; in the Bible the sentence, "And his place shall another
take" is among the threats to the lost.
What should we do if we were to become the slaves of a people
incapable of understanding our feelings, a gigantic people, very much
stronger than ourselves? When we were quietly eating our soup,
enjoying it at our leisure (and we know that enjoyment depends upon
being at liberty), suppose a giant appeared and snatching the spoon
from our hand, made us swallow it in such haste that we were almost
choked. Our protest: "For mercy's sake, slowly," would be accompanied
by an oppression of the heart; our digestion would suffer. If again,
thinking of something pleasant, we should be slowly putting on an
overcoat with all the sense of well-being and liberty we enjoy in our
own houses, and some giant should suddenly throw it upon us, and
having dressed us, should in the twinkling of an eye, carry us out to
some distance from the door, we should feel our dignity so wounded,
that all the expected pleasure of the walk would be lost. Our
nutrition does not depend solely on the soup we have swallowed, nor
our well-being upon the physical exercise of walking, but also upon
the liberty with which we do these things. We should feel offended and
rebellious, not at all out of hatred of these giants, but merely from
our recognition of the innate tendency to free functions in all that
pertains to life. It is something within us which man does not
recognize, which God alone knows, a something which manifests itself
imperceptibly to us to the end that we may complete it. It is this
love of freedom which nourishes and gives well-being to our life, even
in its most minute acts. Of this it was said: "Man does not live by
bread alone." How much greater this need must be in young children, in
whom creation is still in action!
With strife and rebellion they have to defend their own little
conquests of their environment. When they want to exercise their
senses, such as that of touch, for instance, every one condemns them:
"Do not touch!" If they attempt to take something from the kitchen,
some scraps to make a little dish, they are driven away, and
mercilessly sent back to their toys. How often one of those marvelous
moments when their attention is fixed, and that process of
organization which is to develop them begins in their souls, is
roughly interrupted; moments when the spontaneous efforts of the young
child are groping blindly in its surroundings after sustenance for its
intelligence. Do we not all retain an impression of something having
been forever stifled in our lives?
Without being able to give any definite reason, we feel that something
precious was lost on our life-journey, that we were defrauded and
depreciated. Perhaps at the very moments when we were about to create
ourselves, we were interrupted and persecuted, and our spiritual
organism was left rickety, weak, and inadequate.
Let us imagine to ourselves certain adults, not mature and stable like
the majority of grown men, but in a state of spiritual auto-creation,
as are men of genius. Let us take the case of a writer under the
influence of poetic inspiration, at the moment when his beneficent and
inspiring work is about to take form for the help of other men. Or
that of the mathematician who perceives the solution of a great
problem, from which will issue new principles beneficial to all
humanity. Or again, that of an artist, whose mind has just conceived
the ideal image which it is necessary to fix upon the canvas lest a
masterpiece be lost to the world. Imagine these men at such
psychological moments, broken in upon by some brutal person shouting
to them to follow him at once, taking them by the hand, or pushing
them out by the shoulders. And for what? The chess-board is set out
for a game. Ah! such men would say, "You could not have done anything
more atrocious! Our inspiration is lost; humanity will be deprived of
a poem, an artistic masterpiece, a useful discovery, by your folly."
But the child in like case does not lose some single production; he
loses himself. For his masterpiece, which he is composing in the
recesses of his creative genius, is the new man. The "caprices," the
"naughtinesses," the "mysterious vapors" of little children are
perhaps the occult cry of unhappiness uttered by the misunderstood
soul.
But it is not only the soul that suffers; the body suffers with it.
For the influence exercised by the spirit on the entire physical
existence is a characteristic of man.
In an institution for deserted children, there was one extremely ugly
little creature, who had nevertheless greatly endeared himself to a
young woman who had the care of him. This nurse one day told one of
the patronesses that the child was growing very pretty. The lady went
to look at it, but found it very ugly, and thought to herself that
daily habit soon accustoms us to the defects of others. Some time
after this the nurse made the same remark as before, and the lady
good-naturedly paid another visit; impressed by the warmth with which
the young woman spoke of the child, she was touched to think that love
had made the speaker blind. Several months elapsed, and finally the
nurse, with a triumphant air, declared that henceforth no mistake
would be possible, for the child had undoubtedly become "beautiful."
The lady, astounded, had to admit that this was true; the body of the
child had actually been transformed under the influence of a great
affection.
When we delude ourselves with the idea that we are giving _everything_
to children by giving them fresh air and food, we are not even giving
them this: air and food are not sufficient for the body of man; all
the physiological functions are subject to a higher welfare, wherein
the sole key of all life is to be found. The child's body lives also
by joyousness of soul.
Physiology itself teaches us these things. A frugal meal taken in the
open air will nourish the body far better than a sumptuous repast in a
close room, where the air is impure, because all the functions of the
body are more active in the open air, and assimilation is more
complete. In like manner a frugal meal eaten in common with beloved
and sympathetic persons is much more nutritious than the food a
humble, harassed secretary would partake at the lordly table of a
capricious master. Liberty in this case is the cry that explains all.
_Parva domus sed mea_ (a little house, but my own), has been quoted
ever since the Roman epoch to indicate which is the most healthful of
houses. Where our lives are oppressed, there can be no health for us,
even though we eat of princely banquets or in splendid buildings.
* * * * *
=With man the life of the body depends on the life of the
spirit=.--Physiology gives an exhaustive explanation of the mechanism
of such phenomena. Moral activities have such an exact correspondence
with the functions of the body that it is possible to appreciate by
means of these the various emotional states of grief, anger,
weariness, and pleasure. In _grief_, for instance, the action of the
heart becomes feebler, as under a paralyzing influence; all the
blood-vessels contract, and the blood circulates more slowly, the
glands no longer secrete their juices normally, and these disturbances
manifest themselves in a pallor of the face, an appearance of
weariness in the drooping body, a mouth parched from lack of saliva,
indigestion caused by insufficiency of the gastric juice, and cold
hands. If prolonged, grief results in mal-nutrition and consequent
wasting, and predisposes the debilitated body to infectious diseases.
_Weariness_ is like a rapid paralysis of the heart; it may induce
fainting, as expressed in the popular phrase "dead tired"; but a
reflex action will nearly always restore the sufferer, like an
automatic safety-valve; thus a yawn, that is to say, a deep, spasmodic
inspiration, which dilates the pulmonary alveoli, causes the blood to
flow to the heart like a suction pump, and sets it in motion again. In
_anger_ there is a kind of tetanic contraction of all the capillaries,
causing extreme pallor, and the expulsion of an extra quantity of bile
from the liver. _Pleasure_ causes dilatation of the blood-vessels; the
circulation, and consequently all the functions of secretion and
assimilation are facilitated; the face is suffused with color, the
gastric juice and the saliva are perceptible as that healthy appetite
and that watering of the mouth which invite us to supply fresh
nourishment to the body; all the tissues work actively to expel their
toxins, and to assimilate fresh nourishment; the enlarged lungs store
up large quantities of oxygen, which burn up all refuse, leaving no
trace of poisonous germs. It is an injection of health.
In Italy, where after the abolition of the death penalty the
punishment of solitary confinement was substituted, we have a proof
even more eloquent of the influence of the spirit upon the functions
of the body. With our modern measures of hygiene in prisons, the
prison cell cannot be called a place of torture for the body: it is
merely a place where all spiritual sustenance is withheld. It consists
of a cell with perfectly bare gray walls, opening only into a narrow
strip of ground enclosed by high walls, where the criminal may walk
in the fresh air, because the open country is all around him, though
it is hidden from his sight. What is lacking here for the body? It is
provided with food, and a shelter from the weather, it has a bed and a
place where it can take in fresh stores of pure oxygen; the body can
rest, nay more, it can do nothing but rest. The conditions seem almost
ideal for any one who does not wish to do anything, and desires simply
to vegetate. But no sound from without, no human voice ever reaches
the ear of the being here incarcerated; he will never again see a
color or a form. No news from the outer world ever reaches him. Alone
in dense spiritual darkness, he will spend the interminable hours,
days, seasons, and years. Now, experience has shown that these
wretched persons cannot live. They go mad and die. Not only their
minds but their bodies perish after a few years. What causes death? If
such a man were a plant, he would lack nothing, but he requires other
nourishment. Emptiness of the soul is mortal even to the vilest
criminal, for this is a law of human nature. His flesh, his viscera,
his bones perish when deprived of spiritual food, just as an oak-tree
would perish without the nitrates of the earth and the oxygen of the
air. This slow death substituted for violent death was, indeed,
denounced as very great cruelty. To die of hunger in nine days like
Count Ugolino is a more cruel fate than to be burnt to death in half
an hour like Giordano Bruno; but to die of starvation of the spirit in
a term of years is the most cruel of all the punishments hitherto
devised for the castigation of man.
If a robust and brutal criminal can perish from starvation of the
soul, what will be the fate of the infant if we take no account of his
spiritual needs? His body is fragile, his bones are in process of
growth, his muscles, overloaded with sugar, cannot yet elaborate their
powers; they can only elaborate themselves; the delicate structure of
his organism requires, it is true, nutriment and oxygen; but if its
functions are to be satisfactorily performed, it requires joy. It is a
joyous spirit which causes "the bones of man to exult."
II
A SURVEY OF MODERN EDUCATION
=The precepts which govern moral education and instruction=.--Although
the adult relegates the child to an existence among toys, and
inexorably denies him those exercises which would promote his internal
development, he claims that the child should imitate him in the moral
sphere. The adult says to the child: "Do as I do." The child is to
become a man, not by training and development, but by imitation. It is
as if a father were to say in the morning to his little one: "Look at
me, see how tall I am; when I return this evening, I shall expect you
to have grown a foot."
Education is greatly simplified by this method. If a tale of some
heroic deed is read to the child, and he is told to "become a hero";
if some moral action is narrated and is concluded with the
recommendation, "be thou virtuous"; if some instance of remarkable
character is noted together with the exhortation, "you too must
acquire a strong character," the child has been put in the way of
becoming a great man!
If children show themselves discontented and restless, they are told
that they want for nothing, that they are fortunate to have a father
and a mother, and to conclude, they are exhorted thus: "Children, be
happy--a child should always be joyous"; and behold! the mysterious
yearnings of the child are supposed to be satisfied!
Adults are quite content when they have acted thus. They straighten
out the character and the morals of their children as they formerly
straightened their legs by bandaging them.
True, rebellious children occasionally demonstrate the futility of
such teachings. In these cases a good instructor chooses appropriate
stories showing the baseness of such ingratitude, the dangers of
disobedience, the ugliness of bad temper, to accentuate the defects of
the pupil. It would be just as edifying to discourse to a blind man on
the dangers of blindness, and to a cripple on the difficulties of
walking. The same thing happens in material matters; a music-master
says to a beginner: "Hold your fingers properly; if you do not, you
will never be able to play." A mother will say to a son condemned to
sit bent double all day on school benches, and obliged by the usages
of society to study continually: "Hold yourself gracefully, do not be
so awkward in company, you make me feel ashamed of you."
If the child were one day to exclaim: "But it is you who prevent me
from developing will and character; when I seem naughty, it is because
I am trying to save myself; how can I help being awkward when I am
sacrificed?" To many this would be a revelation; to many others merely
a "want of respect."
There is a method by which the child may be brought to achieve the
results which the adult has laid down as desirable; it is a very
simple method. The child must be made to do whatever the adult wishes;
the adult will then be able to lead him to the heights of goodness,
self-sacrifice and strength, and the moral child will be created. To
dominate the child, to bring him into subjection, to make him
obedient--this is the basis of education. If this can be done by any
means whatever, even by violence, all the rest will follow; and
remember, it is all for the good of the child. The child could not be
molded by any other means. It is the first and principal step in what
is called "educating the will of the child," one which will henceforth
enable the adult to speak of himself as Virgil speaks of God.
After this first step the adult will examine himself to see what are
the things he finds most difficult, and these he will exact from the
child _in time_, that the child may accustom himself to the necessary
difficulties of man's life. But very often the adult also imposes
conditions which he himself _has not the fortitude to accept_ even
partially ... as, for instance, the task of listening motionless for
three or four hours every day, during a course of years, to a dull,
wearisome lecturer.
* * * * *
=It is the teacher who forms the child's mind. How he teaches=.--The
same conception governs the school: it is the teacher who must form
the pupil; the development of the child's intelligence and culture are
in his hands. He has a truly formidable task and a tremendous
responsibility. The problems that present themselves to him are
innumerable and acute; they form as it were a hedge of thorns
separating him from his pupils. What must first of all be devised, to
win the attention of his pupils, so that he may be able to introduce
into their minds all that seems to him necessary? How is he to offer
them an idea in such a manner that they will retain it in their
memories? To this end, it is essential that he should have a knowledge
of psychology, the precise manner in which physical phenomena are
produced, the laws governing memory, the psychical mechanism by means
of which ideas are formed, the laws governing the association of
ideas, by means of which very gradually ideas proceed to the most
sublime activities, impelling the child to reason. It is he who,
knowing all these things, must build up and enrich the mind. And this
is no easy matter, because, in addition to this difficult work, there
is always the difficulty of difficulties, that of inducing the child
to lend himself to all this endeavor, and to second the master, and
not show himself recalcitrant to the efforts made on his behalf. For
this reason the _moral_ education is the point of departure; before
all things, it is necessary to _discipline_ the class. The pupils must
be induced to _second_ the master's efforts, if not by love, then by
force. Failing this point of departure, all education and instruction
would be _impossible_, and the school _useless_.
Another difficulty is that of economizing the powers of the pupils,
that is to say, utilizing them to the utmost without wasting them. How
much rest is necessary? How long should any particular work be carried
on? Perhaps ten minutes' rest may be necessary after the first
three-quarters of an hour of occupation; but after another
three-quarters of an hour, a pause of fifteen minutes may be required,
and so on throughout the day; finally, a quarter of an hour's rest may
be needed after ten minutes' occupation. But what instruction is best
adapted to the powers of a child during the various hours of the day?
Is it best to begin with mathematics or with dictation? At what hours
will the child be most inclined to exercise his powers of imagination,
at 9 in the morning or at 11?
Other anxieties must assail a perfect teacher! How should he write on
the blackboard so that the children seated at a distance may see? for
if they do not see his work is of no avail. And how much light shall
fall upon the blackboard, in order that all may see clearly the white
characters on the black surface? Of what size should be the script
specially chosen by the master to suit distant vision? This is a
serious matter, because if the child, obliged by discipline to look
and learn from a distance, should put too great a strain upon his
powers of visual accommodation, he may in time become short-sighted;
then the teacher would have manufactured a blind person. A serious
matter indeed!
* * * * *
What consideration has ever been given to the state of anxiety of such
a teacher? To get some idea of his anxiety we may think of a young
wife about to become a mother, who should set herself such problems as
the following: how can I create an infant, if I know nothing of
anatomy; how can I form its skeleton? I must study the structure of
the bones carefully. I must then learn how the muscles are attached;
but how will it be possible to put the brain into a closed box? And
must the little heart go on beating continually until death? Is it
possible that it will not weary?
In like fashion, she might ponder thus over her new-born babe: it is
evident that he will not be able to walk if he does not first of all
understand the laws of equilibrium; if he is left to himself, he will
not be able to understand these till he is twenty; I must therefore
prepare to teach him these laws prematurely in order that he may be
able to walk as quickly as possible.
The schoolmaster is the person who builds up the intelligence of the
pupil; the intelligence of the pupil increases in direct proportion to
the efforts of the teacher; in other words, he knows just what the
master has made him know and understands neither more nor less than
the master has made him understand. When an inspector visits a school
and questions the pupils he turns to the master, and if he is
satisfied says: "Well done, teacher!" For the result is indubitably
the work of the master; the discipline by which he has fixed the
attention of his pupils, even to the psychical mechanism which has
guided him in his teaching, all is due to him. God enters the school
as a symbol in the crucifix, but the creator is the teacher.
A good deal of help is given to teachers in their superhuman task.
There is a kind of division of labor, by virtue of which more advanced
experts prepare the schemata of instruction; basing them upon
psychology, if the teaching is on a scientific plan, or on the
principles laid down by one of the great pedagogists such as Herbart,
for example; moreover, the sciences, such as hygiene and experimental
psychology, are further invoked to overcome many practical
difficulties and to help in the arrangement of schoolrooms, the
drawing up of the curriculum, time-tables, etc.
Here, for instance, are notes for lessons on a psychological basis,
that is to say, lessons which take account of the proper _order of
succession_ in which the psychical activities should develop in the
mind of the child; by exercises of this kind, the pupil will not only
learn, but will develop his intelligence in accordance with the laws
governing its formation. [2]
[Footnote 2: These two examples are taken from the well-known review,
_I Diritti della Scuola_, Year xiv.]
OBJECT LESSON
A Candle: _Education of the sensory and perceptive faculties_.
_Sight_.--White, solid.
_Touch_.--Greasy, smooth.
_Nomenclature_.--Parts of the candle: wick, surface, extremity, edges,
upper part, lower part, middle part. The candles we use are made of
_wax_ mixed with _stearine_. Stearine is made of the fat of oxen and
sheep and pigs. Hence they are called stearine candles. There are also
_wax_ candles. These are yellowish and less greasy. Wax is produced by
bees. There are also tallow candles; these are very greasy and have a
disgreeable smell when burning.
_Memory_.--Have you ever seen a candle-factory? Have you ever seen a
bee-hive? Of what are the cells of the honeycomb made? When do you
light a candle? Have you ever carried a lighted candle carelessly? Did
not this cause a disaster?
_Imagination_.--Draw the outline of a candle on the blackboard.
_Comparison, association, abstraction_.--Similarity and difference in
candles of stearine, wax, and tallow.
_Judgment and reasoning_.--Are candles useful? Were they more useful
formerly, or now that we have gas and electric light?
_Sentiments_.--Children are greatly pleased by a visit to a
candle-factory. It is indeed very agreeable to see how candles used by
so many people are made. When we can satisfy our desire for
instruction we feel pleasure and contentment.
_Volition_.--What should we do with the fat of pigs if we did not know
how to make it into stearine? What should we do with wax if we did not
know how to utilize it? Man is able to work and to transform many
products into useful substances and objects. Work is our life. Blessed
be the workers! Let us also love work and devote ourselves diligently
thereto.
(N.B.--The children are all to listen without moving.) Any kind of
lesson may be based on the same psychical plan, even a moral lesson.
For instance:
_Moral education derived from the observation of actions_.
(N.B.--The actions are all invented and narrated.)
_Agreeable manners. Incident_.--"Is it true, Miss, that the village
church is more than a kilometer from here? My mother has ordered me to
go there. I thought I had arrived, and I was so pleased. I have come a
long way, and I am so very, very tired." "Indeed," replied the girl,
who was standing at the gate of her home, "you are still a kilometer
and a half from the church. But come through my gate, and take the
short cut I will show you through my fields. You will get to the
church in five minutes." What an amiable girl!
_Successive relations of cause and effect_.--The village girl showed
amenity to the little traveler. The latter reached the church quickly,
was saved much fatigue, and felt great relief.
_Memory_.--Have you always been pleasant to your companions? Have you
always been ready to lend a comrade anything he has asked for? Have
you always thanked those who have done you favors in an agreeable
manner?
_Comparison, association, abstraction_.--Comparison between an
agreeable child and a boorish one.
_Judgment, reasoning_.--Why is it necessary to be courteous to all? Is
it sufficient to give help solely to show oneself to be amiable?
_Sentiments_.--He who is amiable has a soul rich in sweetness and
suavity. What sympathy he evokes in all! The disagreeable person is
irritated by trifles. He excites disgust and fear in others. He who
is affable shows love to his neighbor.
_Volition_.--Children, accustom yourselves to be pleasant to every
one. You should be pleasant when you are conferring some favor,
otherwise the favor will seem irksome. When you want something, do you
ask for it arrogantly? If so, it will be easier to say no than yes to
you. On the other hand, if you ask politely for something, will it not
be difficult to refuse you?
It will perhaps be more interesting to follow a lesson actually given,
and accepted as a model for teachers in general. I therefore reproduce
one of the lessons which gained a prize at a competition of teachers
held in Italy. [3] In this, according to the subject or theme, only one
primary psychical activity was to be dealt with: viz. sensory
perception. (The compositions were distinguished not by the names of
the authors, but by mottoes.)
[Footnote 3: This was published in the review, _La Voce delle Maestre
d'Asilo_, Year viii.]
_Motto_.--Things are the first and best teachers.
I set myself the following limits:
_To give an idea of icy cold in contrast to that of heat_. [This would
be amply sufficient in itself, for these ideas are not grains to pick
up one after the other, but sublime psychical facts of great
complexity, and, consequently, very difficult to assimilate.]
_Combine with the idea to be imparted, the cultivation of a sense of
compassion and pity for the very poor_, to whom winter brings such
severe suffering; a feeling I have already tried many times to arouse.
The above is for my own guidance; what follows is for the children.
"Children, how comfortable we are here! Everything is clean;
everything is in order; I am so fond of you; you are so fond of me.
Isn't this true, children?
_Children_.--I am, I am. Me too (correct).
Tell me, Gino, are you cold? You said no at once. Well, no, you are
right; we are really very cozy here. There, in that corner (I point)
there is a thing which gives out much ...
_Children_.--Heat. It is the stove.
But outside, where there is no stove, over there, towards the horizon
(the children are to a certain extent familiar with this word), there
is no warmth.
_Children_.--It's cold there (an answer due to the clarity of the laws
of contrast).
Last night ... while we were asleep, while your mother perhaps was
mending your clothes ... dear mother, how kind she is!... well, last
night, so many, many white flakes fell softly from the sky!...
Snow, snow! exclaim the children.
Children! let us say: so many snowflakes fell. How beautiful the snow
is! Let us go and look at it closely.
_Children_.--Yes, yes, yes, yes.
It is so beautiful that I see you would all like to take a little. But
perhaps this is not allowed. To whom does the snow belong? (No
answer.) Who bought it? Who made it? You? No. I? No. Your mother? No.
Then did your father buy it? (They look at me in astonishment; these
are really very strange questions.) No, again. Well then, the snow
belongs to every one. And if this is so, we may take a little handful
of it. (Evident signs of joy.) I will hand round the boxes you made
yesterday. (These children have not desks with lockers in which they
may put their little works. Using the boxes will be a good way of
demonstrating the utility of their work.) They will do very well to
hold the beautiful snow. (I talk to them as I distribute the boxes,
that their attention may not flag.) I will take mine too, the one I
made with you. It is larger than yours; so which will hold more snow,
mine or yours?
_Children_.--Yours.
Come then, children. Put a white handful into your boxes. How
delightful!
(Going.) Just stop a moment; how comfortable we are here! Put one hand
over your face. How warm your face is, and how warm your hand is too!
We shall see whether your hands will still be so warm after you have
touched the snow.
_Children_.--They will be cold.
Yes, indeed. (Going out.) How beautiful it is! It fell down from
above. The sky has given the earth a beautiful dress, all ...
_Children_.--White.
At this juncture my children, accustomed to that principle of
healthful, ordered liberty which is the main factor in the formation
of character, touch and gather up the snow; some of them break the
pure surface with little drawings. I let them. I wait a minute, then I
make as it were a sudden assault upon their attention:
Children, I too will take a little snow, but together with all of you.
Stop. Stand up. Look well at me. Let us take away a little strip of
the great cloak. Let us put it in our boxes. That's right.
(Re-entering the schoolroom.) Oh! how cold it is! The children who are
not well wrapped up are the coldest. Poor little things! And those
who haven't that thing full of burning coal in their houses!
_Children_.--The stove.
How cold they will be! Come now, quickly; all to your places. Put the
boxes on the desk. How cold the snow is! Did you notice how cold it
made your hands, which were quite warm?
_Children_.--My hand is cold! Mine too! Etc.
In the courtyard, I saw Caroline take a little snow, and then suddenly
let it fall; she was not strong enough to bear such cold. But then she
tried again, and the second time she did not drop it.
_Child_.--I didn't. I putted it (correct) quickly into my box.
Children, when the cold is as great as the cold of the snow, it is
called _frost_. Say that, Guido. What is the word? Now you, Giannina.
And the snow which is so cold is ... what? Who can guess?
_A child_.--Frozen.
Say: the snow is _frozen_.
We came indoors, because it is frosty outside, and inside it is ...
_Children_.--Warm.
But we brought with us a frozen thing which is called ...
_Children_.--Snow.
What is it the stove gives us? _Do you remember?_ [4]
_Children_.--Heat.
I want Maria to tell me. And now, Peppino.
[Footnote 4: The children are expected to know that the stove gives
out heat, by an effort of _memory_.]
Do you know, our mouths also give out heat. Open yours. Not too much!
Hold up one hand in front of it, the right hand. Breathe on it as I
am doing. Let us breathe again; now let us send our breath outwards,
as I am doing. Again ... again ... again. That's right. Now feel. You
see your mouth too gives out a little ...
_Children_.--Heat.
Now let us try putting a little snow into it. A little piece like
this. Oh! the heat of the mouth is escaping, it has already gone at
the icy touch of the snow.
_Children_.--Our mouths are cold now.
Yes, that's right. They are very, very cold, so cold that they are
what we call ...
_Children_.--Freezing.
Perhaps Giuseppe doesn't know. He didn't say it with the others. Say
it again, that he may say it with you. Again. That will do. Bravo,
Giuseppe. So our mouths were ...
_Children_.--Freezing.
Let us eat another little piece of snow. The snow turns to water in
our mouths, because it is made of water only. Now bread is made of
water too, but not _only_ of water. What does the baker want to make
the dough for bread?...
_Children_.--Flour.
And what else?
_Children_.--Salt.
And what else?
_Children_.--Yeast.
I see Luigi is still eating snow, and Alfonso too, and Pierino. Do you
like it?
_Children_.--Yes, Signora.
Do you like it?
_Children_.--Yes, Signora. Me too, me too (correct).
Well, eat a little more, but not much, it might make you ill. It is so
freezing (I repeat this word very often, because it expresses the idea
I am trying to convey).
When it snows it is so very cold, and just think that there are many
children, many people, who are not warmly dressed and have no stoves;
they are very poor. They suffer very much, and some of them die; poor
people! How fortunate we are, on the other hand! We have so many
garments (they have learned this word) to cover ourselves with; we
have a stove at home and one at school, to warm us. How lucky we are!
_A child_.--I have no stove at home.
I know you have not, Emilio, and I am very sorry. Children, you must
be kind to Emilio and Giuseppina, because they are very ...
_Children_.--Poor.
Have you eaten it all?
_Children_.--No, Signora.
Now let us go into the courtyard and throw away the rest of the snow.
Then we will put the boxes on this table to dry. And to-morrow I will
show you a pretty picture of country covered with snow. Come along;
bring your boxes, and when you have emptied them put them back where I
told you."
I intend to repeat this lesson in another form, combining others with
it, and referring in it to other ideas, which bear a relation to that
here set forth.
As everything in the physical and moral world is one and indivisible,
bound together in closest union, human development is gravely impeded
by the presentment of isolated educational facts in a desultory
manner, because it is impossible to disconnect things united by a
sacred and eternal law.
* * * * *
In the above "model" lesson, it is claimed that only two perceptions
are dealt with, those of cold and heat, and that the child has been
allowed a good deal of liberty, but of a judicious kind.
Now it would be exceedingly difficult to limit the perceptions
strictly to two, especially when dealing with persons placed in an
environment abounding in stimuli, who have already stored up a whole
chaos of images. But such being the object in view, it is necessary to
eliminate as far as possible all other perceptions, to arrest those
two, and so to polarize attention on them that all other images shall
be obscured in the field of consciousness. This would be the
scientific method tending to isolate perceptions; and it is in fact
the practical method adopted by us in our education of the senses. In
the case of cold and heat, the child is "prepared" by the isolation of
the particular sense in question; he is placed blindfolded in a silent
place, to the end that thermic stimuli alone may reach him. In front
of the child are placed two objects perfectly identical in all
characteristics perceptible to the muscular tactile sense: of the same
dimensions, the same shape, the same degree of smoothness, the same
resistance to pressure; for instance, two india-rubber bags, filled
with the same quantity of water, and perfectly dry on the outside. The
sole difference is the temperature of the water in the two bags; in
the hot one, the water would be at a temperature of sixty degrees
centigrade; in the cold, at ten degrees centigrade. After directing
the child's attention to the object, his hand is drawn over the hot
bag, and then over the cold one; while his hand is on the hot bag the
teacher says: It is hot! While he feels the cold one he is told: It
is cold. And the lesson is finished. It has consisted merely of two
words, and of a long preparation designed to ensure that as far as
possible, the two sensations corresponding to these two words shall be
the only ones that reach the child. The other senses, sight and
hearing, were protected against stimuli; and there was no perceptible
difference in the objects offered to the touch save that of
temperature. Thus it becomes approximately probable that the child
will achieve the perception of two sensations exclusively.
And what about the liberty of the child, we shall be asked?
Well, we admit that every lesson infringes the liberty of the child,
and for this reason we allow it to last only for a few seconds: just
the time to pronounce the two words: hot, cold; but this is effected
under the influence of the preparation, which by first isolating the
sense makes, as it were, a darkness in the consciousness, and then
projects only two images into it. As if from the screen before a magic
lantern, the child receives his psychical acquisitions, or rather they
are like seeds falling on a fertile soil; and it is in the subsequent
free choice, and the repetition of the exercise, as in the subsequent
activity, spontaneous, associative, and reproductive, that the child
will be left "free." He receives, rather than a lesson, a determinate
impression of contact with the external world; it is the clear,
scientific, pre-determined character of this contact which
distinguishes it from the mass of indeterminate contacts which the
child is continually receiving from his surroundings. The multiplicity
of such indeterminate contacts will create chaos within the mind of
the child; pre-determined contacts will, on the other hand, initiate
order therein, because with the help of the technique of isolation,
they will begin to make him distinguish one thing from another.
The technique of our lessons is governed by experimental psychology.
And this trend, without doubt, is in contrast to that of the past,
which was governed by speculative psychology, on which the whole of
the educational methods commonly in use in schools has hitherto been
based.
It was Herbart who used the philosophical psychology of his day as a
guiding principle to reduce pedagogic rules to a system. From his
individual experience he believed he could deduce a universal method
of developing the mind, and be made this the psychological basis of
methods of teaching. The German pedagogist, whose methods are now,
thanks to Credaro, formerly Professor of Pedagogy at the University of
Rome, and afterward Minister of Education, adopted for elementary
education throughout Italy, gave a unique type of lesson on the four
well-known periods (the formal steps): clarity, association, system,
method. These may be explained approximately as follows: presentation
of an object and its analytical examination (clarity); judgment and
comparison with other surrounding objects or with mnemonic images
(association); definition of the object deduced from preceding
judgments (system); new principles derived from the idea which is thus
deepened, and which will lead to practical application of a moral
order (method).
The teacher must guide the child's mind on these lines in every kind
of teaching; he must, however, never substitute his own intelligence
for that of the child, but rather make the child himself think, and
induce him to exercise his own activity. For instance, in the
association period, the master must not say: "Look at such and such
an object, and at such and such another; see how much alike they are,
etc...." He should ask the pupil: "What do you see when you look
around? Is there not something which is like, etc.?" Again, in the
definition period, the master should not say: "A bird is a vertebrate
animal covered with feathers; it has two limbs which have been
transformed into wings," but by rapid questions, corrections, and
analogies, he should induce the child to find the precise definition
for himself. If the mental process of Herbart's four periods is to
come naturally, it would be essential that great interest in the
object should exist; it is interest which would keep the mind amused,
or, as the famous pedagogist would say, plunged in the idea, and would
maintain it in a system nevertheless embracing multilateral ideas; and
hence it is necessary that "interest" should be awakened and should
persist in all instruction. It is well known that a pupil of Herbart's
must, to this end, supplement Herbart's four periods by a prior
period, that of interest; linking all new knowledge to the old, "going
from the known to the unknown," because what is absolutely new can
awake no interest.
"To make oneself interesting artificially," that is, interesting to
those who have no interest in us, is indeed a very difficult task; and
to arrest the attention hour after hour, and year after year, not of
one, but of a multitude of persons who have nothing in common with us,
not even years, is indeed a superhuman undertaking. Yet this is the
task of the teacher, or, as he would say, his "art": to make this
assembly of children whom he has reduced to immobility by discipline
follow him with their minds, understand what he says, and learn; an
internal action, which he cannot govern, as he governs the position
of their bodies, but which he must win by making himself interesting,
and by maintaining this interest. "The art of tuition," says Ardigo,
"consists mainly of this: to know up to what point and in what manner
one can maintain the interest of pupils. The most skilful teachers are
those who never fatigue one fraction of the pupil's brain, but act in
such a manner that his attention, turning now here, now there, may
rest itself and, gaining strength, return to the principal argument of
the discourse with renewed vigor."
A much more laborious art is that which leads the child to find by
means of its own mental processes, not what it would naturally find,
but what the teacher desires, although he does not say what he desires;
he urges on the child to associate his ideas "spontaneously"--as the
teacher associates them--and even succeeds in making the child compose
definitions with the exact words he himself has fixed upon, without
having revealed them. Such a thing would seem the result of some
occult science, a kind of conjuring trick. Nevertheless, such methods
have been and still are in use, and in some cases they form the sole
art of the teacher.
When in 1862 Tolstoy was making his tours of inspection in the schools
of Germany, he was struck by this method of tuition, and among the
pedagogic writings describing his school, Iasnaja Poliana, he
reproduces a lesson which deserves to be recorded, although perhaps it
would no longer be possible to find an example of such a lesson in any
German school.
IASNAJA POLIANA, 1862.
Calm and confident, the professor is seated in the
class-room; the instruments are ready; little tables with the
letters, a book with the picture of a fish. The master looks
at his pupils; he knows beforehand all they are to
understand; he knows of what their souls consist, and various
other things he has learned in the seminary.
He opens the book and shows the fish. "Dear children, what is
this?" The poor children are delighted to see the fish,
unless indeed they already know from other pupils with what
sauce it is to be served up. In any case, they answer: "It is
a fish." "No," replies the professor (all this is not an
invention nor a satire, but an exact account of what I have
seen without exception in all the best schools in Germany,
and in those English schools which have adopted this method
of teaching). "No," says the professor. "Now what is it you
do see?" The children are silent. It must not be forgotten
that they are obliged to remain seated and quiet, each one in
his place, and that they are not to move. "Well, what do you
see?" "A book," says the most stupid child in the class.
Meanwhile, the more intelligent children have been asking
themselves over and over again what it is they do see; they
feel they cannot guess what the teacher wants, and that they
will have to answer that this fish is not a fish, but
something the name of which is unknown to them. "Yes, yes,"
says the master, eagerly, "very good indeed, a book. And what
else?" The intelligent ones guess, and say joyfully and
proudly: "Letters." "No, no, not at all!" says the teacher,
disappointed; "you must think before you speak." Again all
the intelligent ones lapse into mournful silence; they do not
even try to guess; they think of the teacher's spectacles,
and wonder why he does not take them off instead of looking
over the top of them: "Come then; what is there in the book?"
All are silent. "Well, what is this thing?" "A fish," says a
bold spirit "Yes, a fish. But is it a live fish?" "No, it is
not alive." "Quite right. Then is it dead?" "No." "Right.
Then what is this fish?" "A picture." "Just so. Very good!"
All the children repeat: "It is a picture," and they think
that is all. Not at all. They have to say that it is a
picture which represents a fish. By the same method the
master induces the children to say that it is a picture which
represents a fish. He imagines that he is exercising the
reasoning faculties of his pupils, and it never seems to
enter his head that if it is his duty to teach children to
say in these exact words, "it is a book with a picture of a
fish," it would be much simpler to repeat this strange
formula and make his pupils learn it by heart.
As a pendant to this old-fashioned lesson witnessed by Tolstoy in an
elementary school in Germany, we may cite the following lesson
recently set forth by a distinguished French pedagogist and
philosopher, whose text-books are classics in the schools of his own
country and in those of many foreign lands, and are also in use in the
teachers' training colleges in Italy. As the sub-title on the
title-page informs us, it is one of a series of "lessons designed to
mold teachers and citizens who shall be conscious of their duties, and
useful to families, to their fatherland, and to humanity." [5] We are
therefore in the ambit of secondary schools. The lesson we cite is a
practical application of the principle of giving lessons by means of
interrogation (Socratic method), and deals with a moral theme: rights.
[Footnote 5: F. Alengry, _Education based upon Psychology and
Morality_.]
"You boys have never mistaken your companion Paul for this
table or this tree?--Oh, no!--Why?--Because the table and the
tree are inanimate and insensible, whereas Paul lives and
feels.--Good. If you strike the table it will feel nothing
and you will not hurt it; but have you any right to destroy
it?--No, we should be destroying something belonging to
others.--Then what is it you respect in the table? the
inanimate and insensible wood, or the property of the person
to whom it belongs?--The property of the person to whom it
belongs.--Have you any right to strike Paul?--No, because we
should hurt him and he would suffer.--What is it you respect
in him? the property of another, or Paul himself?--Paul
himself.--Then you cannot strike him, nor shut him up, nor
deprive him of food?--No. The police would arrest us if we
did.--Ah! ah! you are afraid of the police. But is it only
this which prevents you from hurting Paul?--Oh! no, Sir. It
is because we love Paul and do not want to make him suffer,
and because we have no right to do so.--You think then that
you owe respect to Paul in his life and his feelings, because
life and feeling are things to respect?--Yes, sir.
Are these all you have to respect in Paul? Let us enquire;
think well.--His books, his clothes, his satchel, the
luncheon in it.--Well. What do you mean?--We must not tear
his books, soil his clothes or his satchel, or eat his
luncheon.--Why?--Because these things are his and we have no
right to take things belonging to others.--What is the act of
taking things that belong to others called?--Theft.--Why is
theft forbidden?--Because if we steal we shall go to
prison.--Fear of the police again! But is this the chief
reason why we must not steal?--No, Sir, but because we ought
to respect the property as well as the persons of
others.--Very good. Property is an extension of human
personality and must be respected as such.
And is this all? Is there nothing more to respect in Paul
than his body, his books and his copy-books? Do you not see
anything else? Can you not think of anything more? I will
give you a hint: Paul is an industrious pupil, an honest,
good-natured companion; you are all fond of him, and he
deserves your affection. What do we call the esteem we all
feel for him, the good opinion we have of him?--Honor ...
reputation.--Well, this honor, this reputation, Paul acquired
by good conduct and good manners. These are things which
belong to him.--Yes, Sir; we have no right to rob him of
them.--Very good; but what do we call this kind of theft,
that is, the theft of honor and reputation? And first of all,
how can we steal them? Can we take them and put them in our
pockets?--No, but we can speak evil of him.--How?--We could
say that he had done harm to one of his companions ... that
he had stolen apples from a neighboring orchard ... that he
had spoken ill of another.--That is so. But how could you rob
him of honor and reputation by speaking thus?--Sir, people
would no longer believe him if they had a bad opinion of him;
he would be beaten, scolded, and left to himself.--Then if
you speak evil of Paul, and what you say is false, do you
give him pleasure?--No, Sir, we should cause him pain, and do
him a wrong, which would be very odious and wicked of
us.--Yes, boys, this lying with intent to injure would be
odious and wicked, and it is called calumny. I will explain
later that evil speaking differs from calumny or slander in
that what is said is not untrue, and I will point out the
terrible consequences of evil speaking and slander.
Now let us sum up what we have said: Paul is a living and
sensitive creature. We ought not to cause him suffering, to
rob him, or to slander him; we ought to respect him. The
honorable things in Paul constitute rights, and make him a
moral person. The obligation laid upon us to respect these
rights is called _duty_. The obligation and the duty of
respecting the rights of others is also called _justice_.
_Justice_ is derived from two Latin words (_in jure stare_),
meaning: to keep oneself in the right.
The duties of justice enumerated by us are to be summed up
thus: Not to kill ... not to cause suffering ... not to steal
... not to slander. Always reflect upon the words you say in
which "Not" is followed by a verb in the imperative
infinitive. What does that mean?
An obligation, a command, a prohibition.--Go on, explain. The
obligation of respect ... the command to respect rights ...
the prohibition of stealing. How may all these things be
summed up? _In doing no evil_."
* * * * *
=Positive science makes its appearance in the schools=.--Positive
science was invited to enter into schools as into a chaos where it was
necessary to separate light from darkness, a place of disaster where
prompt succor was essential.
* * * * *
=Discoveries of medicine: distortions and diseases=.--The first science,
indeed, to penetrate into the school was medicine, which organized a
special hygiene for the occasion, a kind of Red Cross service. The
most interesting part of the hygiene that penetrates into schools was
that which diagnosed and described the "diseases of school children,"
that is to say, the maladies contracted solely as a result of study in
school. The most prevalent of these maladies are spinal curvature and
myopia. The first is caused by excessive sitting, and by the injurious
position of the shoulders in writing. The second arises from the fact
that in the spot where the child has to remain seated, there is not
sufficient light for him to see clearly; or this spot is too far from
the blackboard, or from the places where the child has to read, and
the prolonged effort of accommodation induces myopia. Other minor
generalized maladies were also described: an organic debility so
widely diffused that hygiene prescribed as an ideal treatment a
gratuitous distribution of cod-liver oil or of reconstituent remedies
in general to all pupils. Anemia, liver complaints, and neurasthenia
were also studied as school diseases.
Thus a new field was opened to hygiene in connection with the most
fertile source of professional disease, and reading and writing were
carefully studied in relation to pedagogical methods, and in relation
to spinal curvature and defective refraction of the eyes.
The figure of the child, that victim of unsuitable and
disproportionate work, was not hereby brought into strong relief, as
might have been expected, by the aid of medicine, but a new branch of
"legal medicine" came into being. It was, indeed, medicine which drew
attention to the diseases and deaths of the victims in orphan asylums,
victims of artificial or irrational feeding, in conjunction with wet
nursing; it was medicine which passed in review one by one all those
individual cases which proclaim this legal fact: children have no
civil rights. Medicine now entered into another sphere where the
victims were not "cases," but the generality, the child-population in
its entirety; and now it is the law itself which imposes duties upon
them, and condemns them _en masse_ to labor for many years in a
manner which entails physical torture. If a branch of legal medicine
has arisen in connection with criminals, how is it that none should
ever have arisen in connection with the innocent?
* * * * *
=Science has not fulfilled its mission in its dealings with
children=.--Medicine has confined itself to the treatment of diseases
artificially produced. It has diagnosed a cause of disease and left
this cause undisturbed, content merely to alleviate the resultant
evils befalling a multitude of victims. It has not taken up the
attitude proper to its great and dignified rôle of "protector" of
life; it has merely come forward, like the Red Cross Service during
war, to heal the wounded and alleviate the condition of the suffering;
it has not considered that the authority it enjoys as the guardian of
health would enable it to utter the supreme cry of peace, putting an
end to a war so dangerous, unjust, and inhuman.
As, in its struggle against microbes, it was the standard-bearer in
the most glorious of victories over death, so, fighting directly
against the causes of the impoverishment of generations, it might have
aspired to bear the banner of protector of posterity. Instead of this,
it confined itself to the elaboration of a branch of study that mimics
science: school hygiene; thus making itself the accomplice of a social
wrong.
Let us glance into a recent treatise of school hygiene, which merely
sums up the ideas and the work of the world at large:
"We will briefly indicate the conditions favorable to the
development of spinal curvature. The age when the malady
usually appears is that of second infancy, hence its name of
spinal curvature of the adolescent; spinal curvature caused
by rickets, which appears in early childhood, is rarer, and
is of less direct interest to us here. The commonest cause,
and that on which our attention should be primarily
concentrated, is the vicious attitude adopted by the majority
of our pupils during their school work; this cause is so
universal that we may call spinal curvature the professional
disease of the pupil. Doctor Legendre, in a formula which may
be judged over-severe, though unhappily it is only too
well-founded, said of our schools that they are factories for
the production of the deformed and the myopic.
"The main cause of myopia is to be found in the very
conditions under which children are gathered together in
schools: insufficiency of light, the over-small type common
in school-books, the frequent use of the blackboard, on which
the teacher is not always careful to make the size of the
characters he traces proportionate to the distance at which
they have to be read, are so many causes of ocular fatigue.
The visual keenness of a given eye, says Doctor Leprince,
decreases rapidly when the intensity of the light falls below
a certain limit. The pupil, working with insufficient light,
repairs the defective keenness of which this is the cause, by
increasing the visual angle under which the details of the
object he is looking at appear to him; in other words, _he
brings that object inordinately close to him_.