Now in answer to this second class of objectors, it may be frankly

admitted that the study of English literature is primarily, if not

entirely, cultural. A boy may not make a better engineer or practical

chemist for having studied in college the plays of Shakespeare or the

prose of Ruskin. And to the older objectors, who urge that literary

study can ever give that severe intellectual discipline afforded by

the older, narrower college course, we reply that it is not merely the

intellectual powers that need culture and discipline. The ideal

college training will surely not neglect the imagination and emotions,

the faculties which so largely determine the conduct of life. And at

no period in the educational process is the need of wide moral

training so urgent as in those years when the young man is forming

independent judgments and his tastes are taking their final set. The

study of English literature finds its warrant for a place in the

college curriculum principally because, better than any other subject,

it is fitted to cultivate both the emotional and the intellectual

sides of our nature. For in all genuine literature those two elements,

the intellectual and the emotional, are united; you cannot get either

one fully without getting the other. In some forms of literature, as

in poetry, the emotional appeal is the main purpose of the writing;

but even here no really profound or sublime emotion is possible

without a solid basis of thought.

=Appreciation the ultimate aim in the teaching of literature=

This, then, let us understand, is the primary object of all college

teaching in this department. It affords the student opportunity and

incitement to read, during his four years, a considerable number of

our best classics, representative of different periods and different

forms of literature, and to read them with such intelligence and

appreciation as to receive from them that discipline of thought and

feeling which literature better than anything else is fitted to

impart. If the student would or could do this reading by himself,

without formal requirement or assistance, there might be little need

of undergraduate teaching of literature; but every one who knows much

of American college conditions knows that the average undergraduate

has neither time, inclination, nor ability for such voluntary reading.

=Appreciative study of literary masterpieces involves vigorous mental

exercise=

Just here lies a difficulty peculiar to the college teacher in this

department. All studies that appeal primarily to the intellect and

call only for careful attention and vigorous thinking can be

prescribed, and mastery of them rigidly enforced. Indeed, the

ambitious student is often stimulated to more vigorous effort by the

very difficulty of his subject. But the appreciative reading of any

work of literature cannot thus be prescribed. Of course the instructor

may do much to help the student to such appreciation--that, indeed, is

his chief duty; but he will not try to expound or enjoin emotional

effects. Recognizing these limitations upon his work, he often finds

it difficult to avoid one or the other of two dangers that beset all

efforts to teach a vernacular literature; the student must not think

his reading an idle pastime, nor, on the other hand, must he think it

a repellent task. In the first case, he is likely never to read

anything well; in the second case, the things best worth reading he

will probably never read at all. Of the two dangers, the first is the

more serious. The student ought early to learn that no really good

reading is "light reading." And it may be remarked that this lesson

was never more needed than today. There was never a time when people

of all classes read more and thought less. We have what might almost

be called a plague of reading, and an astonishing amount of what is

called "reading matter" rolling out of our presses every year; while,

significantly, we are producing very few books of permanent literary

value. If the college study of literature is to encourage this

indolent receptive temper, and relax the intellectual fiber of the

student, then we might better drop it from the curriculum. The student

must somehow learn that the book that is worth while will tax his

thought, his imagination, his sympathies. He cannot be content merely

to leave the door of his mind lazily open to it. Every teacher knows

the difficulty in any attempt to inspire or direct such a pupil. And

the simpler the subject assigned him, the greater the difficulty. Give

him, for example, a group of the best lyrics in the language, in which

the thought is simple and the sentiment homely or familiar. He will

glance over them in half an hour, and then wonder what more you want

of him. And you may not find it so easy to tell him. For he does not

perceive nice shades of feeling, he has little sense of poetic form,

he has not read the poems aloud to get the charm of their melody, and

he will not let them linger in his mind long enough to feel that the

simplest sentiments are often the most profound and moving. He simply

tries to conjecture what sort of questions he is likely to meet on

examination. Doubtless from this type of pupil better results can be

obtained by the reading of prose not too familiar, that suggests more

questions for reflection and discussion.

=Suggestions for teaching of English literature--Emotional appreciation

to have an intellectual basis=

It is perhaps impossible to lay down a detailed method for the

teaching of English literature. Much depends upon the nature of the

literature read, the temperament of the teacher, the aptitude of the

pupil. Every teacher will, in great measure, discover his own methods.

At all events, no attempts will be made here to give more than a few

suggestions. In the first place, the teacher will remember that every

work of literature--except purely "imagist" poetry, which it is hardly

worth while to teach--is based upon some thought or truth; in most

varieties of prose literature this forms the main purpose of the

writing. The first object of the student's reading, therefore, must be

to understand thoroughly the intellectual element in what he reads;

and here the instructor can often be of direct assistance. And after

such careful reading, the higher emotional values of what he has read

will often disclose themselves spontaneously, so that the reader will

need little further help.

=Abundant oral reading by teacher an aid to appreciation=

Just here it is worth while to note the great value of reading aloud,

both by the teacher as a means of instruction, and by the pupil as a

test of appreciation. All good writing gains vastly when read thus.

Mentally, at all events, we must image its sound if we are to get its

full value. As to poetry, that goes without saying; for the essential,

defining element in poetry is music. You may have truth, beauty,

imagination, emotion, but without music you have not yet got poetry.

But it is hardly less true that prose should be read aloud. "The best

test of good writing," said Hazlitt--and no man in his generation

wrote better prose than he--"is, does it read well aloud." The

sympathetic oral reading of a passage from any prose master, a reading

that naturally indicates points of emphasis, shades of thought,

nuances of feeling, is often better than any formal explanation, for

it reproduces the living voice of the writer. The wise teacher will

avoid the mannerisms of the professed elocutionist or dramatic reader,

but he will not neglect the value of truthful oral interpretation for

many passages of beautiful, or subtle, or powerful writing. And the

student will often give a better proof of intelligent appreciation by

reading aloud, "with good accent and discretion," than by any more

elaborate form of examination.

=Knowledge of author's life and art and of ideals of the times necessary

for comprehension and appreciation=

Some varieties of literature can best be approached indirectly,

through a study of the life of the author, or of the age in which he

lived. As any great work of pure literature must come out of the

author's deepest life, it is evident that any knowledge of that life

gained from other sources may be an important aid in the appreciation

of his work. It is true that in the case of a writer of supreme and

almost impartial dramatic genius, such knowledge may be of

comparatively little value; though few of us will admit that it is

merely an idle curiosity that would be gratified by a fuller knowledge

even of the man William Shakespeare. But all the more subjective forms

of literature, such as the lyric and the essay, can hardly be studied

intelligently without some biographical introduction. Still more

obvious is the need in many instances of some accurate knowledge of

the period in which a given work is produced. For all such writing as

grows directly out of political or social conditions, as oratory, or

political satire, or various forms of the essay, this is clearly

necessary. It would be folly to attempt to read the speeches of Edmund

Burke or the political writings of Swift without historical

introduction and comment. But the historical setting is hardly less

important in many other forms of literature. For the whole cast of an

author's mind, the habitual tone of his feeling on most important

matters, is often largely decided by his environment. It is only a

very inadequate appreciation, for example, of the work not only of

Carlyle and Ruskin but of Tennyson, Browning, and Matthew Arnold, that

is possible without some correct knowledge of the varying attitude of

these men toward important movements in English thought, social,

economic, religious, between 1830 and 1880. It must always be an

important part of the duty of the college teacher of literature to

provide such biographical and historical information.

=Knowledge of an author's style to be result of appreciative study of

his works and not gathered from texts on literary criticism=

All careful study of literature must involve some attention to manner

or style--not so much, however, for its own sake, as a means for the

fuller appreciation of what is read. In strictness, style has only one

virtue, clearness; only one vice, obscurity. A perfect style is a

transparent medium through which we plainly see the thought and

feeling of the writer. Such a style may, indeed, often have striking

peculiarities, but these are really the marks of the writer's

personality, which his style reveals without exaggerating. All

rhetorical study ought, therefore, to accompany or follow, not to

precede, the careful reading for appreciation. No good book ought ever

to be considered a mere _corpus vile_ for rhetorical praxis.

=Careful attention to critical analysis=

Of much greater value is that distinctively critical analysis which

endeavors to discover the different elements, intellectual,

imaginative, emotional, that enter into any work of literature, and to

determine their relative amount and importance. Such analysis may well

form the subject of classroom discussion, and advanced students should

often be required to put the conclusions they have drawn from such

discussion into the form of a finished critical essay. All exercises

of this kind presuppose, of course, that the work criticized has been

read with interest and intelligence; but no form of literary study is

more stimulating or tends more directly to the formation of original

and accurate critical judgments. It affords the best test of real

literary appreciation.

=Content of college course in literature=

Obviously it is impossible with this method of study to cover the

entire field of English literature in the four college years. It is

wiser to read a few great books well than to read many smaller ones

hurriedly. It becomes, therefore, an important question on what

principle these books should be selected and grouped in courses. In

the opinion of the present writer, it is well to begin with a brief

outline sketch of the history of the literature given either in a

textbook or by lectures, and illustrated by a few representative

works, read carefully but without much detailed or intensive study.

Such an introductory course may have little cultural value; but it

furnishes that knowledge of the chronological succession of English

writers, and the varieties of literature dominant in each period, that

is necessary for further intelligent study. This knowledge should,

indeed, be given in the preparatory schools, but unfortunately it

usually is not. When given in college, the course should, if possible,

be assigned to the freshman year. In the later years, the works

selected for study will best be grouped either by period or by

subject. Both plans have their advantages, but in most instances the

first will be found the better. The study of a group of contemporary

writers always gains in interest as we see how they all, with striking

individual differences in temper and subject, yet reflect the social

and moral life of their age. Sometimes the two plans may be united; a

particular form of literature may be studied as the best

representative of a period, as the political pamphlet for the age of

Queen Anne or the extended essay for the first quarter of the

nineteenth century. And in some rare instances a single writer is at

once the highest representative of the age in which he lived and the

supreme master of the form in which he wrote--as Shakespeare for the

drama and Milton for the epic.

=Gradation of courses and adaptation of methods to growing capacities

of students=

These courses should all--in the judgment of the present writer--be

elective, but should be arranged in some natural sequence, those

assigned to a lower year being preparatory to those of a higher. This

sequence need not always be historical; the simpler course may well

precede those which for any reason are more difficult. Methods of

instruction will also naturally change, becoming less narrowly

didactic with the advancement of the student. In the senior year the

teacher will usually prefer to meet his classes in small sections, on

the seminar plan, for informal discussion and the criticism of papers

written by his pupils on questions suggested by their reading. Of such

questions, students who for four years have been reading the

masterpieces of English literature will surely find no lack.

The number of courses that can be offered in the department will

depend in some cases upon the relative size of the faculty and the

student body. For in no other subject is it more important, especially

in the later years, that the classes or sections should be small

enough to allow some intimate personal touch between professor and

student. It may be safely said that no college department of English

literature is well officered or equipped that does not furnish at

least four or five year-long courses of instruction. And certainly no

student can maintain for four years such an acquaintance with the best

specimens of a great literature without gaining something of that

broad intelligence, heightened imagination, and just appreciation of

whatever is best in nature and in human life, which combine in what we

call culture.

=Undergraduate vs. graduate teaching of English literature=

Throughout this paper it has been assumed that what has been termed

appreciation--that is, the ability to understand and enjoy the best

things in literature--is the one central purpose to which all efforts

must be subservient, in the teaching of English literature. But it

should be remembered, as stated at the outset, that this paper has to

do with the college undergraduate only, the candidate for the

bachelor's degree. In the university, and to some extent in the

graduate courses of the college leading to the master's degree, the

subjects and methods of teaching may well be very different. Studies

in comparative literature, studies of literary origins, the

investigation of perplexed or controverted questions in the life or

work of an author, the study and elucidation of the work of an unknown

or little-known writer--all these and many other similar matters may

very properly be the subjects of specialized graduate study. But they

will rarely be found of most profit to undergraduate classes.

CALEB T. WINCHESTER

_Wesleyan University_

XIX

THE TEACHING OF ENGLISH COMPOSITION[60]

=Language an index of mental development=

"Deeds, not words," is a platitude--a flat statement which reduces the

facts of the case to an average, and calls that truth. It is absurd to

imply, as does this old truism, that we may never judge a man by his

words. Words are often the most convenient indices of education, of

cultivation, and of intellectual power. And what is more, a man's

speech, a man's writing, when properly interpreted, may sometimes

measure the potentialities of the mind more thoroughly, more

accurately, than the deeds which environment, opportunity, or luck

permit. It is hard enough to take the intellectual measure even of the

makers of history by their acts, so rapidly does the apparent value of

their accomplishments vary with changing conceptions of what is and

what is not worth doing. It is infinitely more difficult to judge in

advance of youths just going out into the world by what they do. Their

words, which reveal what they are thinking and how they are thinking,

give almost the only vision of their minds; and "by their words ye

shall know them" becomes not a perversion, but an adaptation of the

old text. Would you judge of a boy just graduated entirely by the acts

he had performed in college? If you did, you would make some profound

and illuminating mistakes.

This explains, I think, why parents, and teachers, and college

presidents, and even undergraduates, are exercised over the study of

writing English--which is, after all, just the study of the proper

putting together of words. They may believe, all of them, that their

concern is merely for the results of the power to write well--the

ability to compose a good letter, to speak forcibly on occasion, to

offer the amount of literacy required for most "jobs." But I wonder if

the quite surprising keenness of their interest is not due to another

cause. I wonder if they do not feel--perhaps unconsciously--that words

indicate the man, that the power to write well shows intellect, and

measures, if not its profundity, at least the stage of its development.

We fasten on the defects of the letters written by undergraduates, on

their faltering speeches, on their confused examination papers, as

something significant, ominous, worthy even of comment in the press. And

we are, I believe, perfectly right. Speech and writing, if you get them

in fair samples, indicate the extent and the value of a college

education far better than a degree.

=Disappointing results from teaching of composition=

It is this conviction which, pressing upon the schools and colleges,

has caused such a flood of courses and textbooks, such an expenditure

of time, energy, and money in the teaching of composition, so many

ardent hopes of accomplishment, so much bitter disappointment at

relative failure. I do not know how many are directly or indirectly

teaching the writing of English in America--perhaps some tens of

thousands; the imagination falters at the thought of how many are

trying to learn it. Thus the parent, conscious of this enormous

endeavor and the convictions which inspire it, is somewhat appalled to

hear the critics without the colleges maintaining that we are not

teaching good writing, and the critics within protesting that good

writing cannot be taught.

=Fixing responsibility for alleged failure of composition teaching=

It is with the teachers, the administrators, the theorists on

education, but most of all the teachers, that the responsibility for

the alleged failure of this great project--to endow the college

graduate with adequate powers of expression--must be sought. But these

guardians of expression are divided into many groups, of which four

are chief.

There is first the great party of the Know-Nothings, who plan and

teach with no opinion whatsoever as to the ends of their teaching.

Under the conditions of human nature and current financial rewards for

the work, this party is inevitably large; but it counts for nothing

except inertia. There is next the respectable and efficient cohort of

the Do-Nothings, who believe that good writing and speaking are

natural emanations from culture, as health from exercise or clouds

from the sea. They would cultivate the mind of the undergraduate, and

let expression take care of itself. They do not believe in teaching

English composition. Next are the Formalists, who hold up a dictionary

in one hand, the rules of rhetoric in the other, and say, "Learn

these, and good writing and good speaking shall be added unto you."

The Formalists have weakened in late years. There have been desertions

to the Do-Nothings, for the work of grinding rules into unwilling

minds is hard, and it is far easier to adopt a policy of

_laissez-faire_. But there have been far more desertions into a party

which I shall call, for want of a better name, the Optimists. The

Optimists believe that in teaching to write and speak the American

college is accepting its most significant if not its greatest duty.

They believe that we must understand what causes good writing, in

order to teach it; and that for the average undergraduate writing must

be taught.

=Divergent views on teaching of composition=

The best way to approach this grand battleground of educational

policies is by the very practical fashion of pretending (if pretense

is necessary) that you have a son (or a daughter) ready for college.

What does he need, what must he have in a writing way, in a speaking

way, when he has passed through all the education you see fit to give

him? What should he possess of such ability in order to satisfy the

world and himself? Facts, ideas and imagination, to put it roughly,

make up the substance of expression. Facts he must be able to present

clearly and faithfully; ideas he must be able to present clearly and

comprehensively; his imagination he will need to express when his

nature demands it. And for all these needs he must be able to use

knowingly the words which study and experience will feed to him. He

must be able to combine these words effectively in order to express

the thoughts of which he is capable. And these thoughts he must work

out along lines of logical, reasonable developments, so that what he

says or writes will have an end and attain it. In addition, if he is

imaginative--and who is not?--he should know the color and fire of

words, the power of rhythm and harmony over the emotions, the

qualities of speech whose secret will enable him to mold language to

his personality and perhaps achieve a style. This he should know; the

other powers he must have, or stop short of his full efficiency.

Alas, we all know that the undergraduate, in the mass, fails often to

attain even to the power of logical, accurate statement, whether of

facts or ideas. It is true that most of the charges against him are to

a greater or less degree irrelevant. Weighty indictments of his powers

of expression are based upon bad spelling: a sign, it is true, of

slovenliness, an indication of a lack of thoroughness which goes

deeper than the misplacing of letters, but not in itself a proof of

inability to express. Great writers have often misspelled; and the

letters which some of our capable business men write when the

stenographer fails to come back after lunch are by no means

impeccable. Other accusations refer to a childish vagueness of

expression--due to the fact that the American undergraduate is often a

child intellectually rather than to any defects in composition _per

se_. But it is a waste of time to deny that he writes, if not badly,

at least not so clearly, so correctly, so intelligently, as we expect.

The question is, why?

It would be a comfort to place the blame upon the schools; and indeed

they must take some blame, not only because they deserve it, but also

to enlighten those critics of the college who never consider the kind

of grain which comes into our hoppers. The readers of college entrance

papers could tell a mournful story of how the candidates for our

freshman classes write. Here, for an instance, is a paragraph intended

to prove that the writer had a command of simple English, correct in

sentence structure, spelling, capitalization, and punctuation. The

subject is "The Value of Organized Athletics in Schools"--not an

abstruse one, or too academic:

If fellows are out in the open and take athletics say at a

certain time every-day; These fellows are in good health and

allert in their lessons, while those who take no exercise are

logy and soft. Organized athletics in a school bring the former,

while if a school has no athletics every-thing goes more or less

slipshod, and the fellows are more liable to get into trouble,

because they are nervious from having nothing to do.

This is a little below the average of the papers rejected for entrance

to college. It is not a fair sample of what the schools can do, but it

is a very fair sample of what they often do not do. It was not written

by a foreigner, nor, I judge, by a son of illiterate parents, since it

came from an expensive Eastern preparatory school. The reader, marking

with some heat a failure for the essay from which this paragraph is

extracted, would not complain of the writer's paucity of ideas. His

ideas are not below the average of his age. He would keep his wrath

for the broken, distorted sentences, the silly spelling, the lack

(which would appear in the whole composition) of even a rudimentary

construction to carry the thought. Spelling, the fundamentals of

punctuation, and the compacting of a sentence must be taught in the

schools, for it is too late to cure diseases of these members in

college. They can be abated; but again and again they will break out.

It is the school's business to teach them; and the weary reader sees

in this unhappy specimen but a dark and definite manifestation of a

widespread slovenliness in secondary education, a lack of thoroughness

which appears not only in the failures, but also, though in less

measure, among the better writers, whose work is too good in other

respects not to be reluctantly passed.

Again, it would be easy to place much of the blame for the slipshod

writings of the undergraduate upon the standards set by his elders

outside the colleges. Editors can tell of the endless editing which

contributions, even from writers supposed to be professional, will

sometimes require. And when such a sentence as the following slips

through, and begins an article in a well-known, highly respectable

magazine, we can only say, "If gold rust, what will iron do?"

Yes the Rot--and with a very big R--in sport: for that, thanks to

an overdone and too belauded a Professionalism by a large section

of the pandering press, is what it has got to.

Again, any business man could produce from his files a collection of

letters full of phrasing so vague and inconsequential that only his

business instincts and knowledge of the situation enable him to

interpret it. Any lawyer could give numberless instances where an

inability to write clear and simple English has caused litigation

without end. Indeed, the bar is largely supported by errors in English

composition! And as for conversation conducted--I will not say with

pedantical correctness, for that is not an ideal, but with accuracy

and transparency of thought--listen to the talk about you!

However, it is the business of the colleges to improve all that; and

though it is not easy to develop in youth virtues which are more

admired than practiced by maturity, let us assume that they should

succeed in turning out writers of satisfactory ability, even with

these handicaps, and look deeper for the cause of their relative

failure.

=Democratizing education and immigration the cause of poor quality

of expression=

The chief cause of the prevalent inadequacy of expression among our

undergraduates is patent, and its effects are by no means limited to

America, as complaints from France and from England prove. The

mob--the many-headed, the many-mouthed, figured in the past by poets

as dumb, or, at best, an incoherent thing of brutish noises signifying

speech--is acquiring education and learning how to express it.

Hundreds of thousands whose ancestors never read, and seldom talked

except of the simpler needs of life, are doing the talking and the

writing which their large share in the transaction of the world's

business demands. Indeed, democracy requires not only that the

illiterate shall learn to read and write in the narrower sense of the

words, but also that the relatively literate must seek with their

growing intellectuality a more perfect power of expression. And it is

precisely from the classes only relatively literate--those for whom in

the past there has been no opportunity, and no need, to become highly

educated--that the bulk of our college students today are coming, the

bulk of the students in the endowed institutions of the East as well

as in the newer State universities of the West. The typical

undergraduate is no longer the son of a lawyer or a clergyman, with an

intellectual background behind him.

There is plenty of grumbling among college faculties, and in certain

newspapers, over this state of affairs. In reality, of course, it is

the opportunity of the American colleges. Let the motives be what they

may, the simple fact that so many American parents wish to give their

children more education than they themselves were blessed with is a

condition so favorable for those who believe that in the long run only

intelligence can keep our civilization on the path of real progress,

that one expects to hear congratulations instead of wails from the

college campuses.

Nevertheless, we pay for our opportunity, and we must expect to pay.

The thousands of intellectual immigrants, ill-supplied with means of

progress, indefinite of aim, unaware of their opportunities, who land

every September at the college gates, constitute a weighty burden, a

terrible responsibility. And the burden rests upon no one with more

crushing weight than upon the unfortunate teacher of composition. That

these entering immigrants cannot write well is a symptom of their

mental rawness. It is to be expected. But thanks to the methods of

slipshod, ambitious America, the schools have passed them on still

shaky in the first steps of accurate writing--spelling, punctuation,

sentence structure, and the use of words. Thanks to the failure of

America to demand thoroughness in anything but athletics and business,

they are blind to the need of thoroughness in expression. And thanks

to the inescapable difficulty of accurate writing, they resist the

attempt to make them thorough, with the youthful mind's instinctive

rebellion against work. Nevertheless, whatever the cost, they must

learn if they are to become educated in any practical and efficient

sense; the immigrants especially must learn, since they come from

environments where accurate expression has not been practiced--often

has not been needed--and go to a future where it will be required of

them. Not even the Do-Nothing school denies the necessity that the

undergraduate should learn to write well. But how?

=Solutions proposed by four types of instructors=

The Know-Nothing school proposes no ultimate solution and knows none,

unless faithfully teaching what they are told to teach, and accepting

the sweat and burden of the day, with few of its rewards, be not in

its blind way a better solution than to dodge the responsibility

altogether.

The Formalists labor over precept and principle--disciplining,

commanding, threatening--feeling more grief over one letter lost, or

one comma mishandled, than joy over the most spirited of incorrect

effusions. They turn out sulky youths who nevertheless have learned

something.

The Do-Nothings propose a solution which is engaging, logical--and

insufficient. They are the philosophers and the aesthetes among

teachers, who see, what the Formalists miss, that he who thinks well

will in the long run write as he should. Their special horror is of

the compulsory theme, extracted from unwilling and idealess minds.

Their remedy for all ills of speech and pen is: teach, not writing and

speaking, but thinking; give, not rules and principles, but materials

for thought. And above all, do not force college students to study

composition. The Do-Nothing school has almost enough truth on its side

to be right. It has more truth, in fact, than its principles permit it

to make use of.

The umpire in this contest--who is the parent with a son ready for

college--should note, however, two pervading fallacies in this

_laissez-faire_ theory of writing English. The first belongs to the

party of the right among the Do-Nothings--the older teachers who come

from the generation which sent only picked men to college; the second,

to the party of the left--the younger men who are distressed by the

toil, the waste, the stupidity which accompany so much work in

composition.

The older men attack the attempt to teach the making of literature.

Their hatred of the cheap, the banal, and the false in literature that

has been machine-made by men who have learned to express finely what

is not worth expressing at all, leads them to distrust the teaching of

English composition. They condemn, however, a method of teaching that

long since withered under their scorn. The aim of the college course

in composition today is not the making of literature, but writing; not

the production of imaginative masterpieces, but the orderly

arrangement of thought in words. Through no foresight of our own, but

thanks to the pressure of our immigrants upon us, we have ceased

teaching "eloquence" and "rhetoric," and have taken upon ourselves the

humbler task of helping the thinking mind to find words and a form of

expression as quickly and as easily as possible. The old teacher of

rhetoric aspired to make Burkes, Popes, or De Quinceys. We are content

if our students become the masters rather than the servants of their

prose.

The party of the left presents a more frontal attack upon the teaching

of the writing of English. Show the undergraduate how to think, they

say; fill his mind with knowledge, and his pen will find the way. Ah,

but there is the fallacy! Why not help him to find the way--as in

Latin, or surveying, or English literature? The way in composition can

be taught, as in these other subjects. Writing, like skating, or

sailing a boat, has its special methods, its special technique, even

as it has its special medium, words, and the larger unities of

expression. The laws which govern it are simple. They are always in

intimate connection with the thought behind, and worthless without it;

but they can be taught. Ask any effective teacher of composition to

show you what he has done time and again for the freshman whose

sprawling thought he has helped to form into coherent and unified

expression. And do not be deceived by analogies drawn from our

colleges of the mid-nineteenth century, where composition was not

taught, and men wrote well; or from the English universities, where

the same conditions are said (with dissenting voices) to exist. In the

first place, they had no immigrant problem in the mid-century, nor

have they in Oxford and Cambridge. In the second, the rigorous

translation back and forward between the classics and the mother

tongue, now obsolete in America, but still a requisite for an English

university training, provides a drill in accuracy of language whose

efficiency is not to be despised.

The student must express his intellectual gains even as he absorbs

them, or the crystallization of knowledge into personal thought will

be checked at the beginning. The boy must be able to say what he

knows, or write what he knows, or he does not know it. And it is as

important to help him express as to help him absorb. The teachers in

other departments must aid in this task or we fail; but where the

whole duty of making expression keep pace with thought and with life

is given to them, they will be forced either to overload, or to

neglect all but the little arcs that bound their subjects. And since

they are specialists in other fields, and so may neglect that

technique of writing which in itself is a special study, their task,

when they accept it, is hard, and their labor, when it is forced upon

them, too often ineffective. Composition must be taught where college

education proceeds--that is the truth of the matter; and if not taught

directly, then indirectly, with pain and with waste.

The school of the Optimists approaches this question of writing

English with self-criticism and with a full realization of the

difficulties, and of the tentative nature of the methods now in use,

but with confidence as to the possibility of ultimate success. In

order to be an Optimist in composition you must have some stirrings of

democracy in your veins. You must be interested in the need of the

average man to shape his writing into a useful tool that will serve

his purposes, whether in the ministry or the soap business. This is

the utilitarian end of writing English. And you must be interested in

developing his powers of self-expression, even when convinced that no

great soul is longing for utterance, but only a commonplace human

mind--like your own--that will be eased by powers of writing and of

speech. It is here that composition is of service to the imagination,

and incidentally to culture; and I should speak more largely of this

service if there were space in this chapter to bring forward all the

aspects of college composition. It is the personal end of writing

English. If the average man turns out to be a superman with mighty

purposes ahead, or if he has a great soul seeking utterance, he will

have far less need of your assistance; but you can aid him,

nevertheless, and your aid will count as never before, and will be

your greatest personal reward, though no greater service to the

community than the countless hours spent upon the minds of the

multitude.

In order to be an Optimist it is still more important to understand

that writing English well depends first upon intellectual grasp, and

second upon technical skill, and always upon both. As for the first,

your boy, if you are the parent of an undergraduate, is undergoing a

curious experience in college. Against his head a dozen teachers are

discharging round after round of information. Sometimes they miss;

sometimes the shots glance off; sometimes the charge sinks in. And his

brain is undergoing less obvious assaults. He is like the core of soft

iron in an electro-magnet upon which invisible influences are

constantly beating. His teachers are harassing his mind with methods

of thinking: the historical method; the experimental method of

science; the interpretative method of literature. Unfortunately, the

charges of information too often lodge higgledy-piggledy, like

bird-shot in a signboard; and the waves of influence make an

impression which is too often incoherent and confused. If the

historians really taught the youth to think historically from the

beginning, and the scientists really taught him to think

scientifically from the beginning, and he could apply his new methods

of thought to the expression of his own emotions, experiences, life,

then the teacher of composition might confine himself to the second

of his duties, and teach only that technique which makes writing to

uncoil itself as easily and as vividly as a necklace of matched and

harmonious stones. In the University of Utopia we shall leave the

organization of thought to the other departments, and have plenty left

to do; but we are not yet in Utopia.

At present, the teacher of composition stands like a sentry at the

gates of knowledge, challenging all who come out speaking random words

and thoughts; asking, "Have you thought it out?" "Have you thought it

out clearly?" "Can you put your conclusions into adequate words?" And

if the answers are unsatisfactory, he must proceed to teach that

orderly, logical development of thought from cause to effect which

underlies all provinces of knowledge, and reaches well into the

unmapped territories of the imagination. But even in Utopia

composition must remain the testing ground of education, though we

shall hope for more satisfactory answers to our challenges. And even

in Utopia, where the undergraduate perfects his thinking while

acquiring his facts, it will be the duty of the teacher of writing to

help him to apply his intellectual powers to his experiences, his

emotions, his imagination, in short, to self-expression. And there

will still remain the technique of writing.

=How to teach college students the art of self-expression?=

Theoretically, when the undergraduate has assembled his thoughts he is

ready and competent to write them, but practically he is neither

entirely ready nor usually entirely competent. It is one thing to

assemble an automobile; it is another thing to run it. The technique

of writing is not nearly as interesting as the subject and the thought

of writing; just as the method of riding a horse is not nearly as

interesting as the ride itself. And yet when you consider it as a

means to an end, as a subtle, elastic, and infinitely useful craft,

the method of writing is not uninteresting even to those who have to

learn and not to teach it. The technique of composition has to do with

words. We are most of us inapt with words; even when ideas begin to

come plentifully they too often remain vague, shapeless, ineffective,

for want of words to name them. And words can be taught--not merely

the words themselves, but their power, their suggestiveness, their

rightness or wrongness for the meaning sought. The technique of

writing has to do with sentences. Good thinking makes good sentences,

but the sentence must be flexible if it is to ease the thought. We can

learn its elasticity, we can practice the flow of clauses, until the

wooden declaration which leaves half unexpressed gives place to a

fluent and accurate transcript of the mind, form fitting substance as

the vase the water within it. This technique has to do with

paragraphs. The critic knows how few even among our professional

writers master their paragraphs. It is not a dead, fixed form that is

to be sought. It is rather a flexible development, which grows beneath

the reader's eye until the thought is opened with vigor and with

truth. It is interesting to search in the paragraph of an ineffective

editorial, an article, or theme, for the sentence that embodies the

thought; to find it dropped like a turkey's egg where the first

opportunity offers, or hidden by the rank growth of comment and

reflection about it. Such research is illuminating for those who do

not believe in the teaching of composition; and if it begins at home,

so much the better. And finally, the technique of writing has to do

with the whole, whether sonnet, or business letter, or report to a

board of directors. How to lead one thought into another; how to

exclude the irrelevant; how to weigh upon that which is important; how

to hold together the whole structure so that the subject, all the

subject, and nothing but the subject shall be laid before the reader;

this requires good thinking, but good thinking without technical skill

is like a strong arm in tennis without facility in the strokes.

The program I have outlined is simpler in theory than in practice. In

practice, it is easier to discover the disorder than the thought which

it confuses; in practice, technical skill must be forced upon

undergraduates unaccustomed to thoroughness, in a country that in no

department of life, except perhaps business, has hitherto been

compelled to value technique. Even the optimist grows pessimistic

sometimes in teaching composition.

And yet in the teaching of English the results are perhaps more

evident than elsewhere in the whole range of college work. It is

wonderful to see what can be accomplished by an enthusiast in the

sport of transmuting brains into words. When the teacher seeks for his

material in the active interests of the student--whether athletics or

engineering or literature or catching trout--when he stirs up the

finer interests, drawing off, as it were, the cream into words, the

results are convincing. Writing is one of the most fascinating, most

engaging of pursuits for the man with a craving to grasp the reality

about him and name it in words. And even for the undergraduate, whose

imagination is just developing, and whose brain protests against

logical thought, it can be made as interesting as it is useful.

The teaching of English composition in this country is a vast industry

in which thousands of workmen are employed and in which a million or

so of young minds are invested. I do not wish to take it too

seriously. There are many accomplishments more important for the

welfare of the race. And yet, if it be true that maturity of intellect

is never attained without that clearness and accuracy of thinking

which can be made to show itself in good writing, then the failure of

the undergraduate to write well is serious, and the struggle to make

him write better worthy of the attention of those who have children to

be educated. I do not think that success in this struggle will come

through the policy of _laissez-faire_. All undergraduates profit by

organized help in their writing; many require it. I do not think that

success will come by a pedantical insistence upon correctness in form

without regard to the sense. Squeezing unwilling words from

indifferent minds may be discipline; it certainly is not teaching. I

think that success will come only to the teacher who is a middleman

between thought and expression, valuing both. When we succeed in

making the bulk of the undergraduates really think; when we can

inspire them with a modicum of that passion for truth in words which

is the moving force of the good writer; when the schools help us and

the outside world demands and supports efficiency in diction; then we

shall carry through the program of the Optimists.

HENRY SEIDEL CANBY

_Yale University_

Footnotes:

[60] Reprinted in revised form from _College Sons and College

Fathers_, Harper and Brothers.

XX

THE TEACHING OF THE CLASSICS

=Significance of recent criticisms of the teaching of the classics=

Methods of teaching are determined to a large extent by appreciation

of the objects to be attained. If teachers make clear to themselves

just what they wish to accomplish, they will more easily develop the

means. The storm of objection now rising against the study of the

Classics indicates clearly that there is a general dissatisfaction

with the result of this study. There is a striking unanimity on this

subject among persons of widely different talent and experience, of

whom some are still students, while others are looking back upon their

training in school and college after years of mature life. Their

adverse criticism is all the more significant because often expressed

with obvious regret. Some, who have had unusual opportunities for

observation, state their opinion in no uncertain language. For

example, Mr. Abraham Flexner, in his pamphlet "A Modern School," on

page 18 says: "Neither Latin nor Greek would be contained in the

curriculum of the Modern School--not, of course, because their

literatures are less wonderful than they are reputed to be, but

because their present position in the curriculum rests upon tradition

and assumption. A positive case can be made out for neither." The

president of Columbia University, in his Annual Report for 1915-1916,

page 15, speaking of the "teachers of the ancient classics," says:

"They have heretofore been all too successful in concealing from their

pupils the real significance and importance of Greek and Latin

studies." Such criticisms, however, do not prove that the study of the

Classics cannot accomplish all that its advocates claim for it, but

only that it is not now accomplishing satisfactory results.

Undoubtedly there are various causes for a depreciation of classical

studies at the present time. Other subjects, such as mathematics, are

suffering from a similar disparagement. In recent years interest has

centered more and more in studies designed to develop powers of

observation, give knowledge of certain facts, or provide equipment for

some particular vocation, to the neglect of those which discipline the

mind or impart a general culture. It is certainly important,

therefore, to consider the relative values of these various studies.

To do so it is desirable to examine the aims of classical teaching and

the methods by which these aims may be realized; for it is at least

possible that the widespread dissatisfaction with this teaching is due

not so much to the subject itself as to defects and insufficiency in

the methods employed.

=The present aims of classical teaching=

Not all teachers of the Classics agree in all respects as to the aims

of their teaching. Certain aims, however, are common to all the

classical departments in American colleges. These are:

1. To train students, through the acquisition and use of the ancient

languages, in memory, accuracy, analysis and logic, clearness and

fluency of expression, and style.

2. To enable certain students to read with profit and enjoyment the

masterpieces of Greek and Latin literature.

3. To impart to certain students a knowledge, as complete as possible,

of the classical civilization as a whole. To a complete knowledge of

this civilization belongs all that the ancients possessed or did, all

that they thought or wrote, whether or not any particular part of it

had an influence upon later times or is, in itself, interesting or

valuable now. All parts alike are phenomena of the life of these

ancient peoples and so of the life of the human race.

4. To impart a knowledge and understanding of the thoughts and ideas,

the forms of expression, the institutions, and the experiences of the

ancients, in so far as these are either actually valuable in

themselves to the modern world or have influenced the development of

modern civilization.

Besides these aims which are common to all, there are certain others

less generally pursued by classical teachers in this country. Among

these are:

5. To make students familiar with "the Greek (and Latin) in English,"

i.e. with the etymology and history of words in our own language which

had their origin in or through Greek or Latin.[61]

6. To trace the influences of the classic literature upon modern

literature and thought.[62]

7. To train those who expect to teach the Classics in pedagogical

methods, and to familiarize them with modern pedagogical

appliances.[63]

8. To teach the language of the New Testament and of the Church

Fathers.[64]

The classical departments of some colleges also give courses in Modern

Greek[65]: such courses, however, belong properly to the field of

Modern Languages.

Now it is by no means certain that all of these aims properly concern

all classes of students. On the contrary, every one would doubtless

agree that those described under Nos. 7 and 8 do not concern the

average student of the Classics. It is also a debatable question

whether it should be the aim of classical teaching to give all

classical students some knowledge of the classic civilization as a

whole; whether, for example, Aristophanes and Plautus, however

important these authors may be for a complete understanding of the

ancient life and literature, are worth while for all classical

students alike. It is far more important, however, to determine

whether, in that which seems to many persons the chief business of a

classical department, all who study the masterpieces of the ancient

literatures should be taught to study them in the original language.

=Teaching from the originals only=

No one doubts that classical departments should provide courses on the

ancient literature in the original, or that the aesthetic qualities of

a literature can be _fully_ appreciated only in the original language.

Some people, however, maintain that every literary production is

primarily a work of art, and consequently that its aesthetic qualities

are its most essential qualities: that to teach the classical

literature through the medium of translations would be aiming at an

imperfect appreciation of its most essential qualities, and would also

divert students from the study of its original form. Yet in most

colleges courses on painting and sculpture are given through the

medium of photographs, casts and copies, and no one questions the

value and effectiveness of such courses, or doubts that they tend to

increase the desire of the students to know the originals themselves.

Similarly courses on Greek literature in translations are given at

many American colleges, for example at Bucknell, California, Colorado,

Harvard,[66] Idaho, Illinois, Kansas, Lafayette, Leland Stanford,

Michigan, Missouri, New York University, North Dakota, Pennsylvania,

Syracuse, Tennessee, Vermont, Washington University, Wesleyan, and

Wisconsin: courses in Latin literature in translations at California,

Colorado, Kansas, Leland Stanford, Pennsylvania, Tennessee, and

Washington University. Besides these there are courses at some

colleges on Greek or Roman Life and Thought,[67] or Life and

Letters,[68] or Civilization,[69] most of which do not involve the use

of the ancient languages on the part of the students. For example, at

Brown courses which require no knowledge of the ancient languages are

given in both Greek and Roman "Civilization as Illustrated by the

Literature, History and Monuments of Art."[70] Harvard also offers

courses entitled "A Survey of Greek Civilization" and "A Survey of

Roman Civilization, Illustrated from the Monuments and Literature," in

which a knowledge of the ancient languages is not required.

In deciding the question here at issue it is essential to distinguish

between the different kinds of literature. The value of certain

literary productions undoubtedly consists chiefly in the aesthetic

qualities of their form; that is, the excellence and influence of

these productions depends upon the particular language actually used

by the author. Such works of literature lose very much in translation,

and it may be asserted with some reason that they lose their most

essential qualities. It may well be doubted, therefore, whether any

one can derive great pleasure or benefit from the study of the poems

of Sappho or the odes of Horace, for example, unless these are studied

in the original. The value of other literary productions, on the other

hand, lies partly in their form and partly in their content, or in

their content alone. It is quite a different question, therefore,

whether one may derive a satisfactory pleasure and benefit from a

translation of the _Agamemnon_ of AEschylus or Thucydides' _History of

the Peloponnesian War_, of Lucretius or Tacitus, to say nothing of

such books as Aristotle's _Constitution of Athens_.

=Teaching only from classical texts=

There is another and still more important question connected with the

theory of classical teaching, namely whether all classical courses

should be based upon or begin with the study of some classical text.

Some are of the opinion that it is the business of classical teachers

to teach the Greek and Latin languages, and the literatures in these

languages, and that anything which cannot be taught best through the

study of some portion of the classical literature in the original

should be taught by some other department of the college. Consequently

in some institutions courses on ancient literature in English

translations are given by the English Department,[71] courses on Greek

and Roman History, Archaeology, and Philosophy by the Departments of

History, Archaeology, and Philosophy, respectively, courses on the

Methods and Equipment of Teaching the Classics by the Department of

Pedagogy.

Others, less extreme in their views, hold (_a_) that any study of the

Greek or Roman civilization apart from the original ancient literature

would be vague, discoursive, and unprofitable, and in particular that

a discussion of a literature or of literary forms without an

immediate, personal acquaintance with this literature or these

literary forms in the original would not be useful, and (_b_) that

such courses would have little permanent value for the students

because it would not be possible to compel the students to make much

effort for themselves.

Quite the opposite opinion on this most important question is held by

those who believe (_a_) that the study of the Classics should not be

confined to those who are now able, or may in the future be expected,

to read the ancient literature in the original, (_b_) that there are

some things even about the ancient literature and civilization which

can be taught more effectively without the loss of time and the

division of attention involved in reading the ancient authors in the

original, and (_c_) that in courses such as those dealing with ancient

history ancient books on these subjects, either in the original or in

translations, cannot properly be used as textbooks for the reason

that, quite apart from their errors and misconceptions, these books do

not contain, except incidentally, those phases of the ancient life

which are the most interesting and valuable to the modern world. Such

persons consider that the attempt to convey an appreciation of the

ancient literature through those limited portions of it which can be

read by the students in the original is necessarily ineffective. They

hold that to appreciate any literature one must study it as

literature,--i.e., as English literature should be studied by English

students, French literature by French students,--and that literary

study of this sort properly begins where translation and exegesis

leave off. And finally, they maintain that the effort to give students

a lively knowledge of ancient life or ancient history through the

ancient texts is precisely like the effort to illustrate ancient life

by ancient works of art; e.g., to give a student an idea of an ancient

soldier by showing him an ancient picture of a soldier. Such

illustrations convey instead the impression that ancient life was both

unattractive and unreal, that the study of it is childish and

unpractical.[72]

=Courses in the ancient languages=

Many classical courses are designed primarily to teach the classical

languages themselves, or to give mental training through the study and

use of these languages. Until recently most American colleges required

for admission an elementary knowledge of these languages involving

commonly at least three years of preparatory training in Greek and

from three to five years of preparatory Latin. Now, however, many

colleges provide courses for beginners in Greek, some also for

beginners in Latin. For example, courses for beginners in Greek are

given at Bryn Mawr, University of California, Chicago, Colorado,

Columbia, University of North Dakota, Dartmouth, Harvard, Idaho,

Illinois, Johns Hopkins, Kansas, Lafayette, Leland Stanford, Michigan,

New York University, Northwestern, University of Pennsylvania,

University of Tennessee, Vanderbilt, Vermont, Washington University,

Wesleyan, Williams, Wisconsin, Yale, and elsewhere. Courses for

beginners in Latin are given, for example, at the Universities of

Idaho, Pennsylvania, and Wisconsin. Ordinarily these courses resemble

in general plan and method the corresponding courses in secondary

schools; but inasmuch as the students are more mature, the progress is

much more rapid.

=The "Natural Method"=

In some institutions the attempt is made in teaching ancient Greek and

Latin to employ methods used by the teachers of modern languages. Some

classical teachers have even adopted to some extent the so-called

"natural" or "direct" method of language teaching[73]: commonly such

attempts have not been very successful, and where some degree of

success has been attained the success seems due to the personality and

enthusiasm of the individual teacher. Others have contented themselves

with devoting a part of certain courses to exercises designed to show

the students that the classical languages were at one time in daily

use among living people and were the media of ordinary conversation[74].

Students in such courses commonly memorize certain colloquial phrases

and take part in simple conversations in which these phrases can be

used. Such methods, skillfully employed, undoubtedly relieve the

tedium of the familiar drill in grammar and "prose composition," and

may help materially in imparting both a knowledge of the ancient

languages and a facility in reading the ancient authors.

An interesting experiment is now being tried at the University of

California in a course in Greek for beginners, given by Professor James

T. Allen. The description of the course in the university catalogue is

as follows: "An Introduction to the Greek Language based upon graded

selections from the works of Menander, Euclid, Aristophanes, Plato,

Herodotus, and the New Testament. The method of presentation emphasizes

the living phrase, and has as its chief object the acquiring of reading

power. Mastery of essential forms; memorizing of quotations; practice in

reading at sight." This course has had considerable success. More than

three hundred students have been enrolled thus far in a period of six or

seven years, and some of these have testified that it was one of the

most valuable courses they have had in any subject. One of the chief

advantages has been that the students, while learning forms and

vocabulary, are reading some real Greek, and that of first-rate

quality.[75]

=Use of modern literature in ancient Greek or Latin=

Various attempts have been made, especially in recent years, to

provide for classical students modern stories in ancient Latin, in the

belief that modern students will acquire a practical knowledge of the

language more readily from such textbooks than from any parts of the

ancient literature.[76] The story of Robinson Crusoe was translated

into Latin by G. F. Goffeaux, and this version has been edited and

republished by Dr. Arcadius Avellanus, Philadelphia, 1900 (173 pages).

An abridgement of the original edition was edited by P. A. Barnett,

under the title _The Story of Robinson Crusoe in Latin, adapted from

Defoe by Goffeaux_, Longmans, Green and Co., 1907. Among original

compositions in ancient Latin for students may be mentioned (1)

Ritchie's _Fabulae Faciles_, A First Latin Reader, edited by John

Copeland Kirtland, Jr., of Phillips Exeter Academy, Longmans, Green &

Co., 1903 (134 pages). (2) _The Fables of Orbilius_ by A. D. Godley,

London, Edward Arnold, two small pamphlets, illustrated, containing

short and witty stories for beginners. (3) _Ora Maritima_, A Latin

Story for Beginners, by E. A. Sonnenschein, seventh edition, 1908,

London, Kegan, Paul and Co.; New York, The Macmillan Company (157

pages). This is the account of the experiences of some boys during a

summer in Kent. (4) _Pro Patria_, A Latin Story for Beginners by

Professor E. A. Sonnenschein, London, Swan, Sonnenschein and Co.; New

York, The Macmillan Company, 1910 (188 pages). (5) _Rex Aurei Rivi,

auctore Johanne Ruskin, Latine interpretatus est Arcadius Avellanus,

Neo-eboraci_, 1914 (Published by E. P. Prentice). (6) F. G. Moore:

_Porta Latina_, Fables of La Fontaine in a Latin Version, Ginn and

Co., 1915.

A series of translations of modern fiction is now being produced under

the title of The Mount Hope Classics, published by Mr. E. P. Prentice,

37 Wall Street, New York City. The translator is Dr. Arcadius

Avellanus. The first of these appeared in 1914 under the title

_Pericla Navarci Magonis_, this being a translation of _The Adventures

of Captain Mago_, or _With a Phoenician Expedition, B. C. 1000_, by

Leon Cahun, Scribner's, 1889. The second volume, _Mons Spes et Fabulae

Aliae_, a collection of short stories, was published in 1918. The

third, _Mysterium Arcae Boule_, published in 1916, is the well-known

Mystery of the Boule Cabinet by Mr. Burton Egbert Stevenson. The

fourth, _Fabulae Divales_, published in 1918, is a collection of fairy

stories for young readers to which is added a version of Ovid's _Amor

et Psyche_.

Over these books a lively controversy has arisen between Dr. Avellanus

and Mr. Charles H. Forbes, of Phillips Academy, Andover.[77]

Undoubtedly the translator's style and vocabulary are far from being

strictly in accord with the present canons of classical Latin. He

employs a multitude of words and idioms unfamiliar to those whose

reading has been confined to the masterpieces of the ancient

literature which are most commonly studied. On the other hand, the

ancient language is made in these books a medium of modern thought.

The stories presented hold the attention, the vividness of the

narrative captivates the reader and carries him through the

obscurities of diction and of style to a wholly unexpected realization

that Latin is a real language after all.

It is a serious question whether students can ever acquire a mastery

of a language, or even a sufficient knowledge of it really to

appreciate its literature, unless they learn to use this language to

express their own thoughts. But it is evident that it is impossible

adequately to express modern ideas in the language of Caesar and

Cicero. Those who would exclude the Latin of comparatively recent

authors such as Erasmus from the canon of the Latin which may be

taught, as well as those who confine their teaching to the translation

and parsing of certain texts, are raising the question whether the

Latin language should be taught at all in modern times.

Naturally less effort has been made to provide for students modern

literature in ancient Greek. At least one such book, however, is

available, _The Greek War of Independence, 1821-27, told in classical

Greek for the use of beginners_ (with notes and exercises) by C. D.

Chambers: published by Swan, Sonnenschein and Co.

=Courses in "Prose Composition"=

In nearly all American colleges courses in Greek and Latin composition

are given, either as a means of mental training or in order to give a

more complete mastery of these languages and a greater facility in

reading the literature. In some places, for example at the University

of California, a series of courses is given in both Greek and Latin

composition culminating in original compositions, translations of

selections from modern literature, and conversation in the ancient

languages. Courses in Latin conversation[78] are given in other places

also, and courses in the pronunciation of ancient Greek and Latin.[79]

All such courses belong to the general field of the study of the

classical languages as distinguished from the study of the literature,

history, or any other phase of the classical civilization. This branch

of language study, of course, includes such purely linguistic courses

as those in Comparative Philology, Comparative Grammar, the Morphology

of the Ancient Languages, Syntax, Dialects, etc.

=Courses in literature=

The bulk of classical teaching in American colleges is devoted to the

literature. The great majority of all college courses in Latin and

Greek have the same general characteristics.[80] A certain limited

portion of text is assigned for preparation. This text is then

translated by the students in class, and the translation corrected.

Grammatical and exegetical questions and the content of the passage

are discussed. Most of the time at each meeting of the class is

consumed in such exercises. Generally lectures or informal talks are

given by the instructor upon the life and personality of each author

whose work is read, upon the life and thought of his times, upon the

literary activity as a whole, and upon the value of those selections

from his works which are the subject of the course. Sometimes the

students are required to read more of the original literature than can

be translated in class. Generally some collateral reading in English

is assigned. Often the instructor reads to the class, usually from the

original, other portions of the ancient literature.

The number and extent of such courses in the different institutions

vary according to the strength of the faculty, the plan of the

curriculum, and the number and demands of the students in each. In the

main, however, the list of selections from the ancient literature

presented in such courses in all the colleges is much the same. Many

of these courses deal with one particular author and his works, such

as Sophocles, Plato, Plautus, or Horace. Others deal with some

particular kind of literature, such as Greek tragedy or oratory, Latin

comedy, etc., or with a group of authors of different types combined

for the sake of variety.[81]

=Methods commonly pursued=

The methods as well as the aims of such courses are well exemplified

in the following passages contained in the _Circular of Information_

for 1915-1916 of the University of Chicago, page 211: "Ability to read

Greek with accuracy and ease, and intelligent enjoyment of the

masterpieces of Greek literature are the indispensable prerequisites

of all higher Greek scholarship. All other interests that may attach

to the study are subordinate to these, and their pursuit is positively

harmful if it prematurely distracts the student's attention from his

main purpose."

It is not immediately apparent what distinction is made here, if there

is any, between the "prerequisites" and the "main purpose" of

classical scholarship. What the chief aim of classical teaching is

according to this view, however, is made clear by the two paragraphs

which follow, as well as by the descriptions of the individual courses

offered by the Chicago faculty.

"In the work of the Junior Colleges the Department will keep this

principle steadily in view, and will endeavor to teach a practical

knowledge of Greek vocabulary and idiom, and to impart literary and

historic culture by means of rapid viva voce translation and

interpretation of the simpler masterpieces of the literature.... In the

Senior Colleges the chief stress will be laid on reading and exegesis,

but the range of authors presented to the student's choice will be

enlarged."

=Value of such courses=

The advantage of such courses is that they make the students who take

them familiar with at least some limited portions of the best of the

ancient literature in its original form, and most people are agreed

that this is the only way in which students can be taught to

appreciate that part of this literature, the value of which lies

chiefly or wholly in its form. But people are not agreed upon two most

serious questions which arise in this connection. The first is whether

all students are capable of appreciating at all literature of this

sort, especially when it is conveyed in an ancient and difficult

language. The other question is how much of the classical literature

really depends for its values chiefly upon its form. To say that the

Psalms and the Gospels have no value or little value for the world

apart from the original form and language in which they were written

would, of course, be absurd. Is it any less absurd to say that the

study of the Homeric poems, the Attic tragedies, the works of

Thucydides and Plato would have little value for students unless this

literature were studied in the original language? These questions

cannot properly be ignored any longer by teachers of the Classics.

=Defects of these courses=

The defects of such courses are manifest to most persons. Students who

pursue these courses through most of the years of secondary school and

college fail to acquire either such a knowledge of the Greek and Latin

languages as would enable them to read with pleasure and profit a

Greek or Latin book, or such a knowledge of the Greek and Roman

literature and civilization as would enable them to appreciate the

value of classical studies. Many of them graduate from college without

even knowing that there is anything really worthy of their attention

in the classical literatures. The fact stares the teachers of the

Classics grimly in the face that they are not accomplishing the aims

which they profess.

One explanation of this fact suggests itself. In the classical courses

commonly given in American colleges the attention paid to the content

of the literature, to the author and his times--the lectures and

readings by the instructor, the discussion of archaeological,

historical, literary, and philosophical matters introduced into the

course,--distract attention from the study of the language itself, and

check this study before a real mastery of the language has been

secured. On the other hand, the time and still more the attention

devoted in these courses to the mere process of translation detracts

from the appreciation of the literature and obstructs the study of

the life and thought. In attempting to accomplish both purposes in

these courses the teachers fail to accomplish either, and the result

is chiefly a certain mental training, the practical value of which

depends largely upon the mental capacity and skill of each individual

teacher, and is not readily appreciated.

=Courses not requiring knowledge of the ancient languages=

To obviate some of these defects, and also to provide courses on Greek

and Roman culture for those unfamiliar with the ancient languages,

courses which require no use of these languages are now given at

various colleges on Classical Literature or Civilization.[82] A course

on the "Greek Epic" at the University of California is described as

follows: "A study chiefly of the Iliad and the Odyssey; their form,

origin, and content; Homeric and pre-Homeric Aegean civilizations;

relative merits of modern translations; influence of the Homeric poems

on the later Greek, Roman, and modern literature. Lectures (partly

illustrated), assigned readings, discussions, and reports." The course

at Harvard entitled "Survey of Greek Civilization" is "A lecture

course, with written tests on a large body of private reading (mostly

in English). No knowledge of Greek is required beyond the terms which

must necessarily be learned to understand the subject." "The

prescribed reading includes translations of Greek authors as well as

modern books on Greek life and thought." The lecturer frequently reads

and comments upon selections from the ancient literature. At Brown

University a course is given on Greek Civilization, including the

following topics: I Topography of Greece, II Prehistoric Greece, III

The Language, IV Early Greece (The Makers of Homer, Expansion of

Greece, Tyrannies, The New Poetry, etc.), V The Transition Century,

600-500 B. C. ((_a_) Government and Political Life, (_b_) Literature,

(_c_) art), VI The Classical Epoch, 500-338 B. C. ((_a_) Political and

Military History, (_b_) Literature, (_c_) The Fine Arts), VII The

Hellenistic and Graeco-Roman Periods, ((_a_) History, (_b_) Literature,

(_c_) Philosophy, (_d_) Learning and Science, (_e_) Art), VIII The

Sequel of Greek History (The Byzantine Empire, the Italian

Renaissance, Mediaeval and Modern Greece). This is described as "Wholly

a lecture course, with frequent written tests, examination of the

notebooks, and a final examination on the whole. Definite selections

of the most conspicuous authors are required in English translations."

The Lecturer also reads selections from Homer, the Greek drama,

Pindar, etc. Similar courses on Roman civilization are given at both

Brown and Harvard. There is also a course of fifteen lectures on

"Greek Civilization" at Vermont; "The Culture History of Rome,

lectures with supplementary reading in English," at Washington

University; "Greek Civilization, lectures and collateral reading on

the political institutions, the art, religion, and scientific thought

of ancient Greece in relation to modern civilization," at Wesleyan;

"The Role of the Greeks in Civilization" at Wisconsin.[83]

=Defects of the lecture system=

Whatever success such courses may have, they are open to one

criticism. Most, if not all of them, appear to be primarily lecture

courses, with more or less collateral reading controlled by tests and

examinations. The experience of many, however, justifies to some

extent the belief that college students derive little benefit from

collateral reading controlled only in this way, because such reading

is commonly most superficial. Little mental training, therefore, is

involved in courses such as those just described, and the ideas which

the students acquire in them are chiefly those given to them by

others. And it may reasonably be doubted whether the value to the

students of ideas received in this way is comparable to the value of

those which they are led to discover for themselves. So far, then, as

such courses fail to accomplish the purposes for which they were

designed, their failure may be due wholly to this cause.

=The study of literature apart from its original language=

It is entirely possible to conceive of courses in which no use of the

ancient languages would be required, but in which the students would

acquire by their own efforts a knowledge of the classical literature

and civilization far more extensive and more satisfying than in

courses largely devoted to translating from Greek and Latin. Such

courses would not merely substitute English translations for the

originals, and treat these translations as the originals are treated

in courses of the traditional type; the ancient literature would be

studied in the same way as English literature is studied. For example,

in a course of this kind on Greek literature, in dealing with the

Odyssey the students would discuss in class, or present written

reports upon, the composition of the poem as a whole, and the relation

to the main plot of different episodes such as the quest of

Telemachus, his visit to Pylos and Lacedaemon, the scene in Calypso's

cave, the building of the raft, the arrival of Odysseus among the

Phaeacians, his account of his own adventures, his return to Ithaca,

the slaying of the wooers, etc.; also the characters of the poem,

their individual experiences and behavior in various circumstances,

and the ideas which they express, comparing these characters and ideas

with those of modern times. In dealing with the drama, the students

would study the composition of each play, present its plot in

narrative form, and criticize it from the dramatic as well as from the

literary standpoint; they would discuss the characters and situations,

and the ideas embodied in each.[84] In dealing with Thucydides they

would discuss the plan of his book and the artistic elements in its

composition; also the critical standards of the author, his methods,

his objectivity, and his personal bias. They would study the debates

in which the arguments on both sides of great issues are presented,

expressing their own opinions on the questions involved. They would

study the great descriptions, such as the account of the siege of

Plataea, the plague at Athens, the last fight in the harbor of

Syracuse, making a summary in their own language of the most essential

or effective details. Lastly they would discuss such figures as

Pericles, Nicias and Alcibiades, Archidamus, Brasidas and Hermocrates,

their characters, principles, and motives. In dealing with Plato they

would study the character of Socrates and those ideas contained in the

Platonic dialogues which can be most readily comprehended by college

students.

=Classical studies not confined to the ancient authors=

The study of "The Classics" is not properly confined to the Greek and

Latin literatures: it includes the military, political, social, and

economic history of the ancient Greeks and Romans, their institutions,

their religion, morals, philosophy, science, art, and private life.

The geography and topography of ancient lands, anthropology and

ethnology, archaeology and epigraphy contribute to its material. It is

not necessary that all these subjects be taught by members of a

classical department. In particular it is the common practice in this

country to relegate the study of ancient philosophy to the Department

of Philosophy, whereas in England and on the Continent such

distinctions between departments are not recognized. But certainly

these branches of the study of the classical civilization should be

taught best by those most familiar with the classical civilization in

all its phases, and most thoroughly trained in the interpretation and

criticism of its literature. It is also obvious that the teaching of

the classical literature would be emasculated if it were separated

from these other subjects mentioned. Only, such subjects as history

should not be taught from the literary point of view. History should

be an account of what actually took place, derived from every

available source and not from a synthesis of a literary tradition. In

this respect the teachers of the Classics have from the earliest times

made the most serious mistakes. To some extent the same charges may be

brought against the methods and traditions of the teachers of modern

history. The teaching of Greek and Roman history, however, is affected

in a peculiar degree by the traditions of classical scholarship. The

historical courses given by most classical teachers are based upon the

translation and discussion of the works of certain ancient authors,

whose accounts are not only false and misleading in many respects, but

characteristically omit those factors in the ancient life which are

the most significant and interesting to the modern world. Such courses

begin by implanting false impressions which no amount of explanation

can eradicate. The ancient world, therefore, is made to appear to

modern students unreal and unworthy of serious attention: it is not

strange that they are dissatisfied with such teaching, and that it

seems to many practically worthless. A true picture of the life and

experience of the ancient Greeks and Romans would appear both

interesting and profitable to a normal college student.

=Summary of objects to be sought in the teaching of the classics=

The aims of the teaching of the Classics in American colleges should

be to give, in addition to a training of the mind:

1. An appreciation of the best of the classical literature. For this

is, in many respects, the best literature which we have at all, even

when without any allowances it is compared with the best of modern

literatures. Much of it is universal in character. It is also the

foundation of the modern literatures. By learning to appreciate it,

students would learn to judge and appreciate all literature.

2. A familiarity with the characters and narratives of the ancient

literature. The knowledge of these characters, their behavior under

various vicissitudes of fortune, and their experiences, would of

itself be a valuable possession and equipment for life.

3. A knowledge of the ideas of the ancient Greeks and Romans, revealed

and developed in their literature, and tested in the realities of

their life. Many of these ideas are of the utmost value today, and are

in danger of being overlooked and forgotten in this materialistic age

of ours, unless they are constantly recalled to our minds by such

studies.

4. A knowledge of the actual experiences of the ancients, as

individuals and as nations, their experiments in democracy and other

forms of government, in imperialism, arbitration, and the like, their

solutions of the moral, social, and economic problems which were as

prominent in their world as in ours.

To realize these aims old methods should be revised and improved, new

methods developed. For there can hardly be a study more valuable and

practical than this.

WILLIAM K. PRENTICE

_Princeton University_

Footnotes:

[61] For example, at the University of Kansas.

[62] Leland Stanford, Michigan, Princeton.

[63] California, North Dakota, Harvard, Idaho, Illinois, Kansas,

Leland Stanford, Michigan, Oberlin, Otterbein, Pennsylvania, Vermont,

Wisconsin, Yale, etc. Some of these courses are offered only to

graduate students, and some are given by the Departments of

Pedagogics.

[64] In New Testament or Patristic Greek at Austin, Bucknell,

California, Cornell, Harvard, Illinois, Lafayette, Michigan, Millsaps,

Trinity, Wesleyan. In Patristic Latin, Bucknell and elsewhere.

[65] Brown, Cornell, Leland Stanford.

[_N. B._ These lists are by no means complete.]

[66] History of Greek Tragedy. Lectures with reading and study of the

plays of AEschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides. Requires no knowledge of

the Greek language.

[67] E.g., Columbia, Lafayette.

[68] California, Washington University.

[69] Colorado, Idaho, Syracuse, Vermont, Washington University,

Wesleyan, Wisconsin.

[70] It should be noted that at Brown the titles of the classical

departments are "The Department of Greek Literature and History" and

"The Department of Roman Literature and History."

[71] At Cornell and Oberlin, for example.

[72] See especially Clarence P. Bill. "The Business of a College Greek

Department," _Classical Journal_, IX (1913-14), pp. 111-121.

[73] See the article by Mr. Theodosius S. Tyng in _Classical Weekly_,

VIII (1915), Nos. 24 and 25. Also M. J. Russell: "The Direct Method of

Teaching Latin," in the _Classical Journal_, XII (1916), pages

209-211, and other articles on this subject in the _Classical Journal_

and the _Classical Weekly_ in recent years.

[74] For example, "Latin Conversation," at Columbia; "Oral Latin," at

Leland Stanford; "Sight Reading and Latin Speaking," at New York

University.

[75] See Professor Allen's article, "The First Year of Greek," in the

_Classical Journal_, X (1915), pages 262-266.

[76] As early as the seventeenth century books were produced which may

be regarded as the forerunners of this sort of modern composition in

the ancient language. One of these was published in 1604 under the

title: "Iocorum atque seriorum tum novorum tum selectorum atque

memorabilium libri duo, recensente Othone Melandro." Another is the

"Terentius Christianus seu Comoediae Sacrae--Terentiano stylo a Corn.

Schonaeo Goudono conscriptae, editio nova Amstelodami 1646": this

includes dramas such as Naaman (princeps Syrus), Tobaeus (senex),

Saulus, Iuditha, Susanna, Ananias, etc. Still another is the "Poesis

Dramatica Nicolai Amancini S. J.," in two parts, published in 1674 and

1675. A century later there appeared a story which, judging from its

title, was designed primarily for students: "Joachimi Henrici Campe

Robinson Secundus Tironum causa latine vertit Philippus Julius

Lieberkuehn," Zullich, 1785.

[77] See the _Classical Journal_, XI (1914), pages 25-32; _Classical

Weekly_, IX (1915-16), pages 149-151; X (1916), pages 38 f.;

_Classical Weekly_, X (1916), pages 37 f.

[78] See note 2, page 411.

[79] Columbia.

[80] This is true of the courses in secondary schools and graduate

courses in universities also; but in the secondary and graduate

schools the proportion of translation courses to the others is

smaller.

[81] For example, at Harvard one course includes Plato, Lysias, Lyric

Poetry, and Euripides, with lectures on the history of Greek

literature; another Livy, Terence, Horace and other Latin Poets.

[82] See above, page 407 f.

[83] For a fuller list of institutions where classical courses not

requiring a knowledge of the ancient languages are given see above,

page 407.

[84] "Die hoechste Aufgabe bei der Lektuere des griechischen Dramas sei

das Stueck Leben, das uns der Dichter vor Augen fuehrt, in seinem vollen

Inhalt miterleben zu lassen." C. Wunderer, in _Blaetter fuer das

Gymnasial-Schulwesen_, Vol. LII (1916), 1.

XXI

THE TEACHING OF THE ROMANCE LANGUAGES

=The college course must emphasize power, not facts=

IT is well at times to emphasize old truths, mainly because they are

old and are consecrated by experience. One of these, frequently

combated nowadays, is that any college course--worthy of the name--has

other than utilitarian ends. I therefore declare my belief that the

student does not go to college primarily to acquire facts. These he

can learn from books or from private instruction. _Me judice_--he goes

to college primarily to learn _how to interpret_ facts, and to arrive

through this experience at their practical as well as their theoretic

value: as respects himself, as respects others, and in an ever

widening circle as regards humanity in general. The first object,

thus, of a college course is to humanize the individual, to emancipate

him intellectually and emotionally from his prejudices and conventions

by giving him a wider horizon, a sounder judgment, a firmer and yet a

more tolerant point of view. "Our proclivity to details," said

Emerson, "cannot quite degrade our life and divest it of poetry." The

college seizes upon the liberating instinct of youth and utilizes it

for all it is worth. We summarize by saying that the college prepares

not merely for "life" but for "living"; so that the society whom the

individual serves will be served by him loyally, intelligently, and

broad-mindedly, with an increasing understanding of its aims and

purposes.

=The college can attain its aim only when the student brings necessary

facts from secondary schools=

This, let us assume, is the somewhat lofty ideal. What about its

concrete realization? Especially when the subject is a language,

which, considering that it consists of parts of speech, inflections,

phonetics, etc., is a very practical matter and apparently far removed

from the ideal in question. Every language teacher is familiar with

this stock objection. How often has he not been told that his

business is not to teach French culture or Spanish life, but French

and Spanish? And as everybody knows, French and Spanish are not

learned in a day, nor, indeed, if we judge by the average graduate of

our colleges, in four years of classroom work. It is not my purpose to

combat the contention that college French or Spanish or Italian could

be taught better, and that from a utilitarian point of view the

subject is capable of a great deal of improvement. As Professor

Grandgent has trenchantly said "I do not believe there is or ever was

a language more difficult to acquire than French; most of us can name

worthy persons who have been assiduously struggling with it from

childhood to mature age, and who do not know it now: yet it is treated

as something any one can pick up offhand.... French staggers under the

fearful burden of apparent easiness." I do not think these words

overstate the case. All the more reason, then, to bear in mind that

the burden of this accomplishment should not fall on the college

course alone, or, I should even say, on the college course at all. For

the fact is that a thorough knowledge of the Romance tongues cannot be

acquired in any college course, and to attack the problem from that

angle alone is to attempt the impossible. It is on the school, and not

on the college, that the obligation of the practical language problem

rests. If our students are to become proficient in French--in the

sense that they can not only read it but write and speak it with

passable success--the language must be begun early, in the grade

school (when memory and apperception are still fresh), and then

carried forward systematically over a period of from six to seven

years. But this will require on the part of our schools: (1) a longer

time allotment to the subject than it now generally has, (2) a closer

articulation between the grade-school, high-school, and college

courses, and (3) the appointment of better and higher-paid teachers of

the subject. An encouraging move is being made in many parts of the

country to carry out this plan, though of course we are still a long

way from its realization; and when it is realized we shall not yet

have reached the millennium. But at least we shall have given the

practical teaching of the subject a chance, comparable to the

opportunity it has in Europe; and the complaint against the French and

Spanish teacher--if there still be a chronic complaint--will have

other grounds than the one we so commonly hear at present.

=Limitations of elementary and intermediate courses as college courses=

In the meantime, let us remember that the college has other, and more

pressing, things to do than to attempt to supply the shortcomings of

the school. It is certainly essential that the college should continue

and develop the practical work of the school in various ways, such as

advanced exercises and lectures in the foreign idiom, special

conversation classes, and the like--if only for the simple reason that

a language that is not used soon falls into desuetude and is

forgotten. But assuredly the so-called elementary, intermediate, and

advanced courses in French and Spanish (as given in college) do not

fall under that head. They exist in the college by _tolerance_ rather

than by sound pedagogical theory, and the effort now being made to

force all such courses back into the school by reducing the college

"credits" they give is worthy of undivided support. Not only are they

out of place in the college program, but the burden of numerous and

often large "sections" in these courses has seriously impeded the

college in its proper language work. The college in its true function

is the clarifier of ideas, the correlator of facts, the molder of

personalities; and the student of modern languages should enter

college prepared to study his subject from the college point of view.

Much of the apparent "silliness" of the French class which our more

virile undergraduates object to would be obviated if a larger

percentage of them could at once enter upon the more advanced phases

of the subject. It is, then, to their interest, to the interest of the

subject, and to the advantage of the college concerned, that this

reform be brought about.

=Aim of the teaching of Romance languages in the college=

In any case, the function of a college subject can be stated, as

President Meiklejohn has stated it, in terms of two principles. He

says: "The first is shared by both liberal and technical teaching.

The second applies to liberal education alone. The principles are

these: (1) that activity guided by ideas is on the whole more

successful than the same activity without the control of ideas, and

(2) that in the activities common to all men the guidance of ideas is

quite as essential as in the case of those which different groups of

men carry on in differentiation from one another." As applied to the

Romance languages, this means that while the college must of course

give "technical" instruction in language, the emphasis of that

instruction should be upon the "ideas" which the language expresses,

in itself and in its literature. It is not enough that the college

student should gain fluency in French or Spanish, he must also and

primarily be made conscious of the processes of language, its logical

and aesthetic values, the civilization it expresses, and the thoughts

it has to convey. While it may be said that all thorough language

instruction accomplishes this incidentally, the college makes this

_the_ aim of its teaching. The college should furnish an objective

appraisal of the fundamental elements of the foreign idiom, not merely

a subjective (and often superficial) mastery of details. For the old

statement remains true that--when properly studied--"proverbs, words,

and grammar inflections convey the public sense with more purity and

precision than the wisest individual";[85] and what shall we say when

"literature" is added to this list?

=Status of Romance languages in representative colleges--Early status=

From these preliminary observations let us now turn to the present

status of Romance languages in some of our representative

colleges.[86] One gratifying fact may be noted at once. Whereas a

quarter of a century ago Greek and Latin were still considered the

_sine qua non_ of a liberal education, today French and German, and to

a lesser extent Spanish and Italian, have their legitimate share in

this distinction. Indeed, to judge merely by the number of students,

they would seem to have replaced Latin and Greek. To be sure, several

colleges, as for instance Amherst and Chicago, alarmed by this swing

of the pendulum, have reserved the B.A. degree for the traditional

classical discipline. But in the first case the entire curriculum

includes "two years of Greek or Latin," and in the second the B.A.

students comprise but a very small percentage of the college body; and

while in both cases Latin and Greek are required subjects, Romance is

admitted as an elective, in which--to mention only Amherst--six

consecutive semester courses, covering the main phases of modern

French literature, can be chosen. As noted, the recognition of modern

languages as cultural subjects is relatively recent. As late as 1884 a

commission, appointed by the Modern Language Association, found that

"few colleges have a modern language requirement for admission to the

course in arts; ... of the fifty reported, three require French, two

offer an election between French and German, and two require both

French and German." And of these same colleges, "eighteen require no

foreign language, twenty-nine require either French or German, and

eighteen require both French and German, for graduation in the arts."

Obviously, few (at most seven) of the colleges examined admitted

students prepared to take advanced courses in French; and only

eighteen, or 36 per cent, allowed students to begin French in the

freshman year, over one half of the entire number postponing the

beginners' French until the sophomore, junior, or even senior year. It

is clear, therefore, that as late as 1864, and in spite of such

illustrious examples as that set by Harvard in the appointment of

Ticknor to the Smith professorship in 1816, the Romance languages

could hardly be classed as a recognized college subject. At best, they

were taught on the principles that "it is never too late to learn,"

and although this teaching failed from the "practical" point of view,

it yet had little or no opportunity to concern itself with the

cultural aspects of the subject. No wonder the commission

reported[87] that in the circumstances "a mastery of language, as well

as a comprehensive study of the literature, is impossible." With the

part played by our Greek and Latin colleagues in keeping the modern

languages out of the curriculum we need not deal in detail here. It is

enough, in order to explain their attitude, to observe that previous

to 1884 the teaching of modern languages was generally poor: it was

intrusted for the most part to foreigners, who, being usually ignorant

of the finer shades of English and woefully ignorant of American

students, could not have been expected to succeed, or to native

Americans, who for various and often excellent reasons lacked the

proper training, and therefore succeeded--when in rare cases they did

succeed--in spite of their qualifications rather than because of them.

Add to all this the conviction natural to every classicist, that Latin

and Greek are the keys to all Western civilization and that without

them Romance literatures (not to say "languages") are incomprehensible,

and the situation up to the 90's is amply clear.

=Contemporary status of Romance Languages in college curricula=

Today, then, conditions are changed, and for better or worse the

Romance tongues are on a par with other collegiate subjects. A glance

at the latest statistics is instructive. In 1910, out of 340 colleges

and universities in the United States, 328 taught French; 112 (the

universities) offered more than four years' instruction, 50 offered

four years, 90 three years, 68 two years, and only 8 one year. The

present status can easily be divined: the interest in Spanish has

certainly not waned, while the interest in French has grown by leaps

and bounds. Some curtailment there has been, owing to the adoption of

the "group system" of studies on the part of most of the colleges, and

as the colleges are relieved of more and more of the elementary work

there doubtless will be more. But, in any case, it is safe to say that

French, Spanish, and Italian are now firmly installed as liberal

studies in the curricula of most of our colleges. Now, how do they

fulfill this function? What changes will be necessary in order that

they may fulfill it better? What particular advantages have they to

offer as a college subject? A brief consideration of each of these

points follows.

In general, our colleges require fifteen units of entrance credit and

about twenty collegiate units for the college degree.[88] Of the

entrance units, a maximum of four in French and two in Spanish is

allowed; and of the college units, an average of five, or about one

fourth of the entire college work,[89] must be taken consecutively in

_one_ department of study or in not more than _two_ departments. This

last group of approximately five units thus constitutes, so to speak,

the backbone of the student's work. It is his so-called "principal

sequence" (Chicago) or his "two majors" (Amherst) or his "major

subject" (Wisconsin and Colorado); and while in the case of Amherst it

cannot be begun "until after the freshman year," in general it must be

begun by the junior year. Considerable variety prevails, of course, in

carrying out this idea; for example, Johns Hopkins requires "at least

two courses in the major and at least two in some cognate subject."

Harvard states that "every student shall take at least six of his

courses in some one department, or in one of the recognized fields of

distinction." Princeton demands of "every junior and senior ... at

least two 3-hour courses in some one department." But almost all

representative colleges now recognize four general groups of study:

Philosophy (including history), language, science, and mathematics;

and the student's work must be so arranged that while it is fairly

evenly distributed over three of the groups it is at the same time

definitely concentrated in one of them.

=Normal prescription in a Romance Language=

In answer to our first question, it follows that the student entering

with the maximum of French should be able, before graduation, to get

enough advanced courses to give him an intelligent grasp of the

literature as well as the language. In our better-equipped colleges

this is undoubtedly the case. Harvard, for instance, would admit him

to a course (French 2) in French Prose and Poetry, which includes some

"composition," to be followed by (6) a General View of French

Literature, (8) French Literature in the Eighteenth Century, (9)

French Literature in the Seventeenth Century, (16) Comedy of Manners

in France, (17) Literary Criticism in France; and in some of these

courses the linguistic aspects would be considered in the form of

"themes," "reports," etc., while the student could choose (5) Advanced

French Composition for that special purpose. Other colleges (e.g.,

Johns Hopkins, Chicago, Stanford) offer the same or similar

opportunities. So that, although titles of courses are often

deceptive, the general plan of offering (1) an introductory course in

which both the language and the literature are treated, (2) a

survey-course in literature, leading to (3) various courses in

literature after 1600, and supported by (4) at least one specific

course in language, now constitutes the normal collegiate "major" in

French; and, on the whole, it would be difficult in the present

circumstances to devise a better plan.

=Changes in current practice that will enhance effectiveness of teaching

of Romance Languages--Danger of minimizing the language phase=

It is obvious that the success of any plan depends on the thoroughness

with which it is carried out, and this in turn depends on the

qualifications and energy of those who have the matter in hand. That

contingency does not concern us here. But what is worth noting is that

the fourth point mentioned above,--the specific language part of the

"major"--might be strengthened, especially since some excellent

institutions omit this consideration entirely. The danger of falling

between two stools is never greater, it seems, than in treating both

language and literature. An instructor who is bent on elucidating the

range of Anatole France's thought naturally has little time to deal

adequately with his rich vocabulary, his deft use of tense, the subtle

structure of his phrase--and yet who can be said really to "know" such

an author if he be ignorant of either side of his work? "Thought

expands but lames," said Goethe--unless it is constantly controlled by

fact. In order to give the undergraduate that control, it is essential

that he should be placed in the position everywhere to verify his

author's thought. How difficult it is to bring even the best of our

undergraduates to this point I need not discuss. But at least once in

the process of his work he might be held to a stricter account than

elsewhere. And if we ask ourselves by what method this can best be

accomplished, I believe the answer is by some _special_ course in

which the language of several representative writers is treated as

such.[90] The point could be elaborated, particularly in view of the

present-day tendency to dwell unduly on so-called _realia_, French

daily life, and the like--all legitimate enough in their proper time

and place. But enough has been said to show that excellent as the

present plan is, it could without detriment enlarge the place given to

linguistics. In this bewildered age of ours we are forever hearing the

cry of "literature," more "literature": not only our students but our

teachers--and the connection is obvious--find language study dull and

uninspiring, oblivious to the fact that the fault is theirs and not

the subject's. Yet, as we observed above, French is "hard," and its

grammatical structure, apparently so simple, is in truth very

complicated. Manifestly, to understand a foreign literature we must

understand the language in which it is written. How few of our

students really do! Moreover, language and literature are ultimately

only parts of one indivisible entity: Philology--though the fact often

escapes us. "The most effective work," said Gildersleeve,[91] "is done

by those who see all in the one as well as one in the all." And

strange as it appears to the laity, a linguistic fact may convey a

universal lesson. I hesitate to generalize, but I believe most of our

colleges need to emphasize the language side of the French "major"

more.

=Relative positions of French, Spanish, and Italian in a college course=

As for Italian and Spanish, few of the colleges as yet grant these

subjects the importance given to French. For one reason, entrance

credit in Italian is extremely rare, and neither there nor in Spanish,

in which it is now rather common, owing to the teaching of Spanish in

the high schools, does it exceed two units. Some work of an elementary

nature must therefore be done in the college; indeed, at Amherst

neither language can be begun until the sophomore year--though

fortunately this is an isolated case. Further, even when the college

is prepared to teach these subjects adequately, it is still a

debatable question whether they are entitled to precisely the same

consideration as their more venerable sister. It is unnecessary to

point out that such great names as Dante, Petrarch, Boccaccio,

Alfieri, Leopardi, Carducci, Cervantes, Calderon, Lope de Vega,

Benavente, _e tutti quanti_, are abundant evidence of the value of

Italian and Spanish culture. They unquestionably are. Where the

emphasis is cultural, it would certainly be unwise to neglect Italian,

since the Renaissance is Italian and underlies modern European culture

in general. On the other hand, Spanish is, so to speak, at our very

doors because of our island possessions: it is the _one_ foreign

language which calls for no argument to make the undergraduate willing

to learn to speak, and Spanish literature, especially in the drama,

has the same romantic freedom as English literature and is thus

readily accessible to the American type of mind. Pedagogically, thus,

the question is far from simple. But while it is impossible to lay

down any fixed precept, it seems worth while to remember: that the

French genius is preeminently the vehicle of definite and clear ideas,

that in a very real sense France has been and is the intellectual

clearinghouse of the world, and that potentially, at least, her

civilization is of the greatest value to our intellectually dull and

undiscriminating youth. From French, better than from Italian and

Spanish, he can learn the discipline of accurate expression, of clear

articulation, and the enlightenment that springs from contact with

"general ideas." Moreover, we must not forget that the undergraduate's

time is limited and that under the "group system" some discrimination

must necessarily be made. Granted, then, that, all things considered,

the first place will doubtless be left to French, the question remains

whether the attention given to Spanish and Italian is at least

adequate. And do the colleges extract from them the values they

should?

As a general proposition, we may take it for granted that the college

should offer at least _four_ units in each of these subjects. For

Spanish, certainly, the tendency will be to make the proportion

larger. But two units devoted to learning the language and two devoted

to the literature may be regarded as essential, and are as a matter of

fact the common practice. Several illustrations will make this clear.

_Johns Hopkins_ offers: in Italian, 1. Grammar, Short Stories, etc.,

2. Grammar, Written Exercises, Selections from classic authors,

Lectures on Italian Literature; in Spanish, 1. Grammar, Oral and

written exercises, Reading from Alarcon, Valdes, etc., 2. Contemporary

Novel and Drama, Oral practice, Grammar and Composition, 3. The

Classic Drama and Cervantes, oral practice, etc., History of Spanish

Literature. _Illinois_: in Italian, 1a-1b Elementary Course, 2a-2b

Italian Literature, nineteenth century; in Spanish, 1a-1b Elementary

Course, 2a-2b Modern Spanish, 3a-3b Introduction to Spanish

Literature, 4a-4b Business Correspondence and Conversation, 5a-5b

Business Practice in Spanish, 11a-11b The Spanish Drama of the

Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, 17a-17b The Spanish Drama of the

Nineteenth Century. _Harvard_: in Italian, 1. Italian Grammar, reading

and composition, 4. General View of Italian Literature, 5. Modern

Italian Literature, 2. Italian Literature of the Fifteenth and

Sixteenth Centuries, 10. The Works of Dante; in Spanish, 1. Spanish

Grammar, reading and composition, 7. Spanish Composition, 8. Spanish

Composition and Conversation (advanced course), 4. General View of

Spanish Literature, 5. Spanish Prose and Poetry of the Eighteenth and

Nineteenth Centuries, 2. Spanish Literature of the Sixteenth and

Seventeenth Centuries.[92]

Since Spanish and Italian fall into the department of Romance

languages, in order to make up his "major" the student is at present

compelled to combine them with French. On the whole, this arrangement

appears to me wise. To be sure, the deans of our colleges of commerce

and administration will say that, granting the greater cultural value

of French, the business interests of the country will force us

nevertheless to give Spanish the same place in the curriculum as

French. And the more radical educators will affirm with Mr.

Flexner:[93] "Languages have no value in themselves; they exist solely

for the purpose of communicating ideas and abbreviating our thought

and action processes. If studied, they are valuable only in so far as

they are practically mastered--not otherwise." I have taken a stand

against this matter-of-fact conception of education throughout this

chapter. I may now return to the charge by adding that the banality of

our college students' thinking stares us in the face; if we wish to

quicken it, to refine it, we should have them study other media of

expression _qua_ expression besides their own (that is what Europe did

in the Renaissance, and the example of the Renaissance is still

pertinent); that if Mr. Flexner's reasoning were valid the French

might without detriment convey their "ideas" in Volapuek or Ido (I

suggest that Mr. Flexner subject Anatole France to this test); and

that instead of being valueless in themselves, on the contrary,

languages are the repositories of the ages: "We infer," said Emerson,

"the spirit of the nation in great measure from the language, which is

a sort of monument in which each forcible individual in the course of

many hundred years has contributed a stone." In other words, however

great the claim of Spanish as "a practical subject" may be and

whatever concessions our schools and colleges may make to this fact, I

still believe that Spanish should be subordinated as a college subject

to the study of French. In principle we may admit the Spanish "major,"

as in fact we do at present with the Italian "major"; but some

knowledge of French on the part of the student should be presupposed,

or if not, it should be a required part of the Spanish sequence. This

may seem extreme, but in reality few students would wish to proceed

far in Spanish without some French, and, practically, the knowledge of

one Romance tongue is always a great aid in the study of another.

=Training teachers of Romance Languages=

Thus we see that, with the addition here and there of an extra course

(where the college is not up to the standard as we have outlined it),

and an added stress on the advanced linguistics, the present

curriculum in Romance apparently provides an excellent working basis.

If properly carried out--and the success of all teaching depends of

course ultimately on the teacher--it ought to fulfill all legitimate

needs, so far as the strictly collegiate aims are concerned.

A word is now in order as to its fitness for those students who are

planning to take Romance as a profession. Normally these students

would coincide with those who are taking up "special honors" in

Romance languages; and for the latter group most of our colleges now

make special provision--in the form of "independent work done outside

the regular courses in the major subject and at least one other

department during the junior and senior year (Wisconsin)," or as

Amherst states it, "special work involving collateral reading or

investigation under special conditions." In general, this gives the

candidate certain professional options among the courses listed (in

cases where the college is part of the university) as "primarily for

graduates." In this way the student is able to add to his "major" such

subjects as Old French (Chicago), Introduction to Romance Philology

(Columbia), Practical Phonetics (Chicago), a Teachers' Course

(Wisconsin), etc. Personally I am of the opinion that the day has

passed when any of our graduates who has not at least a Master's

degree in Romance should be recommended to a teaching position. But

evidently any such hard and fast rule is bound to be unfair,

especially since a large percentage of our students is compelled to

earn a living immediately upon graduation. Thus here again--as in the

elementary courses as now given in the colleges--we are confronted

with a makeshift which only time and continued effort can correct. In

the meantime the value of such professional courses depends to a very

marked degree upon the success with which they can be carried out

where they are counted toward a higher degree (M.A. or Ph.D.) the

difficulty is not so great, since their introductory nature is

self-evident; but where they conclude, so to speak, the student's

formal training the difficulty of making them "fit in" is often sadly

apparent. At any rate, in this borderland between cultural and

professional studies, where the college is merging with the university

or professional school, the necessity for the able teacher is a

paramount issue. If the transition is to be successful, the obligation

rests upon the teacher so to develop his subject that the

specializing will not drown out the general interest but will inform

it with those values which only the specialist can impart.

=Final contributions of Romance Languages to the American college student=

And now as to our final consideration: What particular advantages have

the Romance tongues to offer as a college subject? An obvious

advantage is: an understanding of foreign peoples. The Romance

languages are modern. They are spoken today over a large part of the

habitable globe. We stand in direct relations with those who speak

them and write them. Above all, a large share of the world's best

thought is being expressed in them. The point requires no arguing,

that translations cannot take the place of originals: _traduttore

traditore_, says an excellent Italian proverb. If we are really to

know what other nations think,--whether we accept or reject their

thought makes little or no difference here,--we can do so only by

knowing their language. And the better we know it, the greater our

insight will be. To speak at least _one_ foreign language is not only

a parlor accomplishment: it is for whoever is to be a citizen-of-the-world

a necessity. There is a Turkish proverb that he who knows two

languages, his own and another, has two souls. Certainly there is no

better way to approach a nation's soul than through its language. But,

in the second place, the Romance tongues have certain artistic

qualities which English in a great measure lacks. The student who has

intelligently mastered one of them has a better sense of form, of

delicate shades of expression, and--if the language be French--of

clarity of phrase: what Pater termed _nettete d'expression_. He learns

to respect language (as few Americans now do), to study its

possibilities in a way which a mere knowledge of English might never

have suggested, and to appreciate its moral as well as its social

power: for French forces him to curb his thought, to weigh his

contention, to be simple and clear in the most abstruse matters. In a

famous essay on the Universality of French, Rivarol said: "Une

traduction francaise est toujours une _explication_."

And lastly, in themselves and in the civilizations they stand for,

the Romance tongues are the bridge between ourselves and antiquity.

Since the decline in the study of Greek and Latin, this is a factor to

be seriously considered. It is the fashion today to berate the past,

to speak of the dead hand of tradition, and to flatter ourselves with

the delusion of self-sufficiency. To be sure, the aim of education is

never to pile up information but to "fit your mind for any sort of

exertion, to make it keen and flexible." But the best way to encompass

this is to feed the mind on ideas, and ideas are not produced every

day, nor for that matter every year, and luckily all ideas have not

the same value. There are the ideas of Taine, of Rousseau, of

Voltaire, of Descartes, of Montaigne, of Ficino, of Petrarch, of

Dante, of Cicero, of Aristotle, of Plato; and in a moment I have run

the gamut of all the centuries of our Western civilization. Who will

tell me which ideas we shall need most tomorrow? Evidently, we cannot

know them all. But we can at least make the attempt to know the best.

And incidentally let it be said that he who professes the Romance

tongues can no more dispense with the Classics than the Classics can

today afford to dispense with Romance: French, Italian, and Spanish

are the Latin--and one might add the Greek--of today. But to return to

our theme: to deny our interest in the past is to throw away our

heritage, to sell our mess of pottage to the lowest bidder. If the

Romance languages have one function in our American colleges, it is

this: To keep alive the old humanistic lesson: _nihil humani a me

alienum puto_; to the end that the modern college graduate may

continue to say with Montaigne: "All moral philosophy is applied as

well to a private life as to one of the greatest employment. Every man

carries the entire form of the human condition. Authors have thitherto

communicated themselves to the people by some particular and foreign

mark; I ... by my _universal_ being, not as a grammarian, a poet, or a

lawyer." The college course in the Romance languages should prepare

for a profession, but it must first help to prepare thinking men and

women.

WILLIAM A. NITZE

_University of Chicago_

Footnotes:

[85] The quotation is from Emerson, _Nominalist and Realist_.

[86] I make no attempt in this article, written before 1917, to treat

actual teaching conditions: the premises are too uncertain.

[87] The above statistics are from C. H. Handschin, _The Teaching of

Modern Languages in the United States_, Washington, 1913, pages 40ff.