SUBLIME CHAOS
=Acquisitiveness.=--In fancy, at least, we may attain a position over
and far above the city of London and from this vantage-place, with the
aid of strong glasses, watch a panorama that is both entrancing and
bewildering. The scene bewilders not alone by its scope, but still more
by its complexity. The scene is a shifting one, too, never the same in
two successive minutes. Here is Trafalgar Square, with its noble
monument and the guardian lions, reminding us of Nelson in what is
accounted one of the most heroic naval engagements recorded in history.
As we look, we reconstitute the scene, far away, in which he was
conspicuous, and reread in our books his stirring appeal to his men.
Thence we glance up Regent Street and see it thronged with equipages
that betoken wealth and luxury. Richly dressed people in great numbers
are moving to and fro and giving color to the picture. A shabby garb
cannot be made to fit into this picture. When it appears, there is
discord in the general harmony. All this motion must have motives behind
it somewhere; but we can only conjecture the motives. We have only
surface indications to guide us in our quest for these. But we are
reasonably certain that these people are animated by the instinct of
acquisition. They seem to want to get things, and so come where things
are to be had.
=Desires for things intangible.=--There are miles of vehicles of many
kinds wending their tortuous, sinuous ways in and out along streets that
radiate hither and thither. They stay their progress for a moment and
people emerge at Robinson's, at Selfridge's, at Liberty's. Each of these
is the Mecca of a thousand desires, and faces beam with pleasure when
they reappear. Some desire has evidently been gratified. Others alight
at the National Gallery and enter its doors. When they come forth it is
obvious that something happened to them inside that building. The lines
of care on their faces are not so evident, and their step is more
elastic and buoyant. Their desires did not have tangible things as their
objectives as in the case of the people who entered the shops for
merchandise, but their faces shine with a new light and, therefore,
their quest must have been successful. As we look, we realize that
desires for intangible things may be as acute as for tangible ones, and
that the gratification of these desires produces equal satisfaction.
=Westminster Abbey.=--Not far away other throngs are invading
Westminster Abbey. In those historic and hallowed precincts they are
communing with the Past, the Present, and the Future. All about them is
the sacred dust of those who once wrought effectively in affairs of
state and in the realm of letters. History and literature have their
shrine there, and these people are worshipers at that shrine. All about
them are reminders of the Past, while the worshipers before the Cross
direct their thoughts to the Future. Earth and Heaven both send forth an
invitation for supreme interest in their thoughts and feelings. History
and literature call to them to emulate the achievements whose monuments
they see about them, while the Cross admonishes them that these
achievements are but temporal. Here they experience a fulfillment of
their desires. Their knowledge is broadened, and their faith is lifted
up. The Past thrills them; the Future inspires them; and thus the
Present is far more worth while.
=House of Parliament.=--Across the way is Parliament, and this conjures
up a long train of events of vast import. The currents that flow out
from this power-house have encircled the globe. Here conquests have been
planned that electrified nations. Here have been generated vast armies
and navies as messengers of Desire. Here have been voted vast treasures
in execution of the desires of men for territorial extension and
national aggrandizement. These halls have resounded with the eloquence
of men who were striving to inoculate other men with the virus of their
desires; and the whole world has stood on tiptoe awaiting the issue of
this eloquence. Momentous scenes have been enacted here, all emanating
from the desires of men, and these scenes have touched the lives of
untold millions of people.
=Commerce.=--We see the Thames near by, teeming with ships from the
uttermost corners of the earth, and we think of commerce. We use the
word glibly, but no mind is able to comprehend its full import. We know
that these ships ply the seas, bearing food and clothing to the peoples
who live far away, but when we attempt to estimate the magnitude of
commerce, the mind confesses to itself that the problem is too great. We
may multiply the number of ships by their tonnage, but we get, in
consequence, an array of figures so great that they cease to have any
meaning for the finite mind. The best and most that they can do for us
is to make us newly aware that the people who dwell in the jungles of
Africa, who roam the pampas of South America, who climb the Alps, the
Rockies, the Andes, and the Himalayas, all have desires that these ships
are striving to gratify.
=Social intercourse.=--Going up the river to Hampton Court we see people
out for a holiday. There are house-boats with elaborate and artistic
fittings and furnishings, and other craft of every sort that luxury can
suggest. One could imagine that none but fairies could stage such a
scene. The blending of colors, the easy dalliance, the rippling
laughter, the graceful feasting, and the eddying wavelets all conspire
to produce a scene that serves to emphasize the beauty of the shores.
Underneath this enchanting scene of variegated beauty we discover the
fundamental fact that man is a gregarious animal, that he not only
craves association with his kind but that playing with them brings him
into more harmonious communion with them. In their play they meet upon
the plane of a common purpose and are thus unified in spirit. Hence, all
this beauty and gayety is serving a beneficent purpose in the way of
gratifying the inherent desire of mankind for social intercourse.
=The travel instinct.=--At Charing Cross the commerce drama is
reënacted, only here with trains instead of boats, and, mainly, people
instead of merchandise. Here we see hurry and bustle, and hear the
shriek of the engine and the warning blast of the guard. Trains are
going out, trains are coming in. When the people step out upon the
platforms, they seem to know exactly whither they are bound. There are
porters all about to help them achieve their desires, and cabs stand
ready at the curb to do their bidding. Here is human commerce, and the
trains are the answer to the call of the human family to see their own
and other lands. These trains are swifter and more agreeable for nomads
than the camel of the desert or the Conestoga wagon of the prairie. The
nomadic instinct pulls and pushes people away from their own door-yards;
hence railways, trains, engines, air brakes, telegraph lines, wireless
apparatuses, and all the many other devices that the mind of man has
designed at the behest of this desire to roam about.
=Monuments.=--Further down the Thames we see Greenwich, which regulates
the clocks for the whole world, and furnishes the sea captain the
talisman by which he may know where he is. Over against St. Paul's is
the Bank of England, which for long years ruled the finances of the
world. Yonder is the Museum, the conservator of the ages. There is the
Rosetta Stone, which is the gateway of history; there the Elgin Marbles,
which proclaim the glory of the Greece that was; there the palimpsests
which recall an age when men had time to think; and there the books of
all time by means of which we can rethink the big thoughts of men long
since gone from sight. There are things that men now call curiosities
that mark the course of minds in their struggles toward the light; and
there are the sentiments of lofty souls that will live in the hearts of
men long after these giant stones have crumbled.
=Desire for pastoral beauty.=--Beyond the city, in the alluring country
places, we see a landscape that delights the senses, ornate with hedges,
flowers, vine-clad cottages, highways of surpassing smoothness, fertile
fields, and thrifty flocks and herds. There are carts and wagons on the
roads bearing the products of field and garden to the marts of trade.
Men, women, and children zealously ply the hoe, the plow, or the shovel,
abetting Nature in her efforts to feed the hungry. In this pastoral
scene there is dignity, serenity, and latent power. Its beauty answers
back to the æsthetic nature of mankind, and nothing that is artificial
can ever supplant it in the way of gratifying man's desire for the
beautiful.
=Economic articulation.=--Through all the diversified phases of this
panorama there runs a fundamental principle of unity. There are no
collisions. In the economy of civilization the farmer is coördinate with
the artist, the artisan, and the tradesman. But, if all men were
farmers, the economic balance would be disturbed. The railroad engineer
is major because he is indispensable. So, also, is the farmer, the
legislator, the artist, and the student. There is a degree of
interdependence that makes for economic harmony. The articulation of all
the parts gives us an economic whole.
=Aspirations.=--This panorama is a picture of life; and the school is
life. Hence the panorama and the school are identical; only the school
is larger than the panorama, even though the picture is reduced in size
to fit the frame of the school. The pupils in the school have dreams and
aspirations that reach far beyond the limits of the picture of our
fancy. And all these aspirations are a part of life and so are
indigenous in the vitalized school. And woe betide the teacher who would
abridge or repress these dreams and aspirations. They are the very warp
and woof of life, and the teacher who would eliminate them would
suppress life itself. That teacher is in sorry business who would fit
her pupils out with mental or spiritual strait-jackets, or mold them to
some conventional pattern, even though it be her own. These pupils are
the prototypes of the people in our panorama, and are, therefore,
animated by like inclinations and desires.
=Desire is fundamental.=--Here is a boy who is hungry; he desires food.
But so does the man who is passing along the street. The man is focusing
all his mental powers upon the problem of how he shall procure food. The
man's problem is the boy's problem and each has a right to a solution of
his problem. The school's business is to help the boy solve his problem
and not to try to quench his desire for food or try to persuade him that
no such desire exists. This desire is one of the native dispositions to
which the work of the school is to attach itself. Desires are
fundamental in the scheme of education, the very tentacles that will lay
hold upon the school activities and render them effective. The teacher's
large task is to strengthen and nourish incipient desires and to cause
the pupil to hunger and thirst after the means of gratifying them.
=Innate tendencies.=--Each pupil has a right to his inherent
individuality. The school should not only begin where the boy is, but
should begin its work upon what he is. Only so can it direct him toward
what he ought to be. If the boy would alight at the National Gallery in
order to regale himself with the masterpieces of art, why, pray, should
the teacher try to curtail this desire and force him into Westminster
Abbey? If she will accompany him into the Gallery and prove herself his
friend and guide among the treasures of art, she will, doubtless,
experience the joy of hearing him ask her to be his companion through
the Abbey later on. The Abbey is quite right in its way and the boy must
visit it soon or late, but to this particular boy the Gallery comes
first and he should be led to the Abbey by way of the Gallery. In school
work the parties are all personally conducted, but the rule is that a
party is composed of but one person.
=Illustration.=--The girl is not to be condemned because she desires to
visit the Selfridge shop rather than the Museum. The teacher may
rhapsodize upon the Museum to the limit of her strength, but the girl is
thinking of the beautiful fabrics to be seen at the shop, and,
especially, of the delicious American ice cream that can be had nowhere
else in London. It is rather a poor teacher who cannot lead the girl to
the British Museum by way of Selfridge's. If the teacher finds the task
difficult, she would do well to traverse the route a few times in
advance. The ice cream will help rather than hinder when they stand, at
length, before the Rosetta Stone or read the original letter to Mrs.
Bixby. The store and the Museum are both in the picture, and the teacher
must determine which should come first in the itinerary of this girl.
The native dispositions and desires will point out the way to the
teacher.
The old-time schoolmaster was fond of setting as a copy in the
old-fashioned copy book "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy";
but, later, when he caught Jack playing he gave him a flogging, thus
proving himself both inconsistent and deficient in a knowledge of
psychology and fair play. If we are going to Greenwich we shall save
time by taking the longer journey by way of Hampton Court. As we disport
ourselves amid the beauties and gayeties of the Court we can prolong our
pleasures by anticipating Greenwich, and so make our play the anteroom
of our work.
=Variety in excellence.=--In the vitalized school we shall find each
pupil eager in his quest of food for the hunger he feels, and the
teacher rejoicing in the development of his individuality. She would not
have all her pupils attain the same level even of excellence. They are
different, and she would have them so. Nor would she have her school
exemplify the kind of order that is to be found in a gallery of statues.
Her school is a place of life, eager, yearning, pulsating life, and not
a place of dead and deadening silence. Her pupils have diversified
tastes and desires and, in consequence, diversified activities, but work
is the golden cord that binds them in a healthy and healthful unity.
This is sublime chaos, a busy, happy throng, all working at full
strength at tasks that are worth while, and all animated by hopes and
aspirations that reach out to the very limits of space.
QUESTIONS AND EXERCISES
1. What may the school do to give helpful direction and needed
modifications to the instinct of acquisition?
2. The ultimate ends of education are more efficient production and more
intelligent consumption. How and by what means may the school bring
about a more intelligent choice of tangible and intangible things?
3. What hint may the teacher of geography receive from the brief
description of London's points of interest?
4. Compare a vitalized school with the panorama of London.
5. To what extent must individual differences be recognized by the
teacher in the recitation? in discipline?
6. Suggest means whereby pupils may be induced to spend their evenings
with Dickens, Eliot, Macaulay, or Irving in preference to the "movies."