THE ORGANIZATION OF IDEAS, AS A THIRD FACTOR IN STUDY
_A. The different values of facts, and their grouping into "points"_
_Extent to which teachers treat facts as equal in value_
In several branches of knowledge in the primary school it is customary
for teachers to attach practically the same importance to different
facts. This is the case, for instance, in spelling, where a mistake
counts the same, no matter what word be misspelled. It is largely the
case in writing. In beginning reading one word is treated as equal in
value to any other, since in any review list every one is required. In
beginning arithmetic this equality of values is emphasized by
insistence upon the complete mastery of every one of the combinations
in the four fundamental operations. Throughout arithmetic, moreover,
failure to solve any problem is the same as the failure to solve any
other, judged in the light of the marking systems in use.
The same tendency is less marked, but still evident, in many other
subjects, some of them more advanced. In geography, teachers seldom
recognize any inequality of value in the map questions, even though a
question on the general directions of the principal mountain systems
in North America be followed by a request to locate Iceland. The
facts, too, are very often strung along in the text in such a manner
that it is next to impossible to distinguish values. Here is an
example from a well-known text: "Worcester is a great railroad center,
and is noted for the manufacture of engines and machinery. At
Cambridge is located Harvard University, the oldest and one of the
largest in the country. Pall River, Lowell, and New Bedford are the
great centers of cotton manufacture; Lawrence, of both cotton and
wool; Lynn, Brockton, and Haverhill make millions of boots and shoes;
and at Springfield is a United States arsenal, where firearms are
made. Holyoke has large paper mills. Gloucester is a great fishing
port. Salem has large tanneries." How does this differ from a spelling
list, so far as equality of values is concerned?
In nature study all have witnessed the typical lesson where some
object, such as a flowering twig, for example, is placed in the hands
of every pupil and each one is requested to tell something that he
sees. Anything that is offered is gratefully accepted. While this
particular kind of study is fortunately disappearing, the common
tendency to regard all facts alike is still clearly shown in the case
of the topic, cat, discussed on page 40.
In literature, failures are very often condemned alike, whether they
pertain to the meanings of words, of sentences, of references, or of
whole chapters.
Until very recently at least, even in universities, it has been common
to assign lessons in history textbooks by pages, and to require that
they be recited in the order of the text. The teacher, or professor
even, in such cases has shown admirable ability to place the burden of
the work upon the students by assigning to himself the single onerous
task of announcing who shall "begin" and who shall "go on." What
recognition is there of varying values of facts in such teaching?
_The effect of such teaching on method of study_
Not all of such instruction is avoidable or even undesirable; but it
is so common that it has a very important effect on method of study.
So long as facts are treated as approximately equal in worth, the
learner is bound to picture the field of knowledge as a comparatively
level plain composed of a vast aggregation of independent bits. In
spelling, writing, and beginning reading it is so many hundreds or
thousands of words; in beginning arithmetic it is the various
combinations in the four fundamental operations; in geography it is a
long list of statements; in history it is an endless lot of facts as
they happen to come on the page; in literature it is sentence after
sentence.
One can get possession of this field, not by taking the strategic
positions,--for under the assumption of equality there are none,--but
rather by advancing over it slowly, mastering one bit at a time. Thus
the words in beginning reading, writing, and spelling are learned and
reproduced in all orders, proving them to be independent little
entities. In geography and history, when the facts are not wormed out
of the pupil by questions, he sees the page before him by his mind's
eye,--a fact frequently revealed by the movement of his eyes while
reciting,--and attempts to recall each paragraph or statement in its
order. In literature he masters his difficulties sentence by sentence,
a method most clearly shown in the case of our greatest classic, the
Bible, which is almost universally studied and quoted by verses.
Thus the _unit of progress_ in study is made the single fact; the
whole of any subject becomes the sum of its details; and a subject has
been supposedly mastered when all these bits have been learned. This
might well be called the method of study by driblets. It is probably
safe to say that a majority of the young people in the United States,
including college students, study largely in this way.
While this method of study is bad in numerous ways, there are three of
its faults in particular which need to be considered here.
_Respects in which this method of study is wrong
1. Facts, as a rule, vary greatly in value_
In the first place, facts vary indefinitely in value. In parts of a
few subjects they do have practically the same worth, which is, no
doubt, a source of much misconception about proper methods of study.
In spelling, for instance, _which_ is probably as important a word as
_when_, and _sea_ as important as _flood_. In a list of three hundred
carefully selected words for spelling for third-year pupils, any one
word might properly be regarded as equal to any other in worth. This
may be said also in regard to a list for writing. Much the same is
true in regard to a possible list of four hundred words for reading in
the first year of school. In arithmetic one would scarcely assert that
4X7 was more or less important than 9X8, or 8/2, or 6-3, or 4+2. In
other words, the various combinations in the four fundamental
operations are, again, all of them essential to every person's
knowledge, and therefore stand on the same plane of worth.
To some extent, therefore, the three R's and spelling are exceptions
to an important general rule. Yet even in spelling and beginning
reading not all words by any means have the same value. Children in
the third year of school who are reading Whittier's _Barefoot Boy_
ought to be able to recognize and spell the word _robin;_ perhaps,
also, _woodchuck_ and _tortoise;_ but _eschewing_ is not a part of
their vocabulary and will not soon be, and probably the less said
about that word by the teacher the better.
The moment we turn to other subjects, facts are found to vary almost
infinitely in value, just as metals do. Judged by the space they
occupy, they may appear to be equally important; but they are not to
be judged in this way, any more than men are. According to their
nature, thoughts or statements are large and small, or broad and
narrow, or far-reaching and insignificant. A general of an army may be
of more consequence to the welfare of a nation than a thousand common
soldiers; so one idea like that of evolution may be worth a full ten
thousand like the fact that "our neighbor's cat kittened yesterday."
_2. They are dependent upon one another for their worth_
In the second place, facts can by no means be regarded as independent.
As before, to be sure, the three R's and spelling afford some
exception to this rule. In spelling, writing, and beginning reading it
is important that any one of a large number of words be recognized or
reproduced at any time, without reference to any others. All of these,
together with the combinations in the fundamental operations in
arithmetic, are often called for singly, and they must, therefore, be
isolated from any possible series into which they might fall, and
mastered separately.
Aside from these subjects, facts are generally dependent upon their
relations to one another for their value. Taken alone, they are
ineffective fragments of knowledge, just as a common soldier or an
officer in an army is ineffective in battle without definite relations
to a multitude of other men.
If the first sentences on twenty successive pages in a book were
brought together, they would tell no story. They would be mere
scattered fractions of thoughts, lacking that relation to one another
that would give them significance and make them a unit. Twenty closely
related sentences might, however, express a very valuable thought.
James Anthony Froude, impressed with this truth and at the same time
recalling the prevalent tendency to ignore it, declares: "Detached
facts on miscellaneous subjects, as they are taught at a modern
school, are like separate letters of endless alphabets. You may load
the mechanical memory with them, till it becomes a marvel of
retentiveness. Your young prodigy may amaze examiners and delight
inspectors. His achievements may be emblazoned in blue books, and
furnish matter for flattering reports on the excellence of our
educational system. And all this while you have been feeding him with
chips of granite. But arrange your letters into words, and each word
becomes a thought, a symbol waking in the mind an image of a real
thing. Group your words into sentences, and thought is married to
thought, and the chips of granite become soft bread, wholesome,
nutritious, and invigorating." [Footnote: James Anthony Froude,
_Handwork before Headwork._]
A very simple illustration is found in the study of the dates for the
entrance of our states into the Union. Taken one at a time, the list
is dead. But interest is awakened the moment one discovers that for a
long period each Northern state was matched by one in the South, so
that they entered in pairs.
_3. The sum of the details does not equal the whole._
Finally, the whole of a subject is not merely the sum of its little
facts. You may study each day's history lesson faithfully, and may
retain everything in memory till the book is "finished," and still not
know the main things in the book. You may understand and memorize each
verse of a chapter in the Bible until you can almost reproduce the
chapter in your sleep, and still fail to know what the chapter is
about. Probably some readers of this text who have repeated the Lord's
Prayer from infancy, would still need to do some studying before they
could tell the two or three leading thoughts in that prayer.
An especially good illustration of this fact in my own experience as a
teacher has been furnished in connection with the following paragraph,
taken from Dr. John Dewey's _Ethical Principles underlying Education._
"Information is genuine or educative only in so far as it effects
definite images and conceptions of material placed in social life.
Discipline is genuine and educative only as it represents a reaction
of the information into the individual's own powers, so that he can
bring them under control for social ends. Culture, if it is to be
genuine and educative, and not an external polish or factitious
varnish, represents the vital union of information and discipline. It
designates the socialization of the individual in his whole outlook
upon life and mode of dealing with it." I have had a large number of
graduate students who found it very difficult to state the point of
this paragraph, although every sentence is reasonably clear and they
are in close sequence.
Thus the larger thoughts, instead of being the sum of the details, are
an outgrowth from them, an interpretation of them; they are separate
and new ideas conceived through insight into the relations that the
individual statements bear to one another.
_The proper unit of progress in study_
From the foregoing we see that some facts are very large, while others
are of little importance, and that any one statement, taken
separately, lacks significance.
The field of thought, therefore, instead of being pictured as a plain,
is to be conceived as a very irregular surface, with elevations of
various heights scattered over it. And just as hills and mountains
rest upon and are approached by the lower land about them, so the
larger thoughts are supported and approached by the details that
relate to them.
A general of an army, desiring to get possession of a disputed region,
does not plan to take and hold the lower land without the higher
points, nor the higher points without the lower land. On the contrary,
each vantage point with its approaches constitutes, in his mind, one
division of the field, one strategic section, which is to be seized
and held. And these divisions or units all taken together constitute
the region.
So any portion of knowledge that is to be acquired should be divided
into suitable units of attack; one large thought together with its
supporting details should constitute one section, another large
thought together with its associated details a second, etc.; all of
these together composing the whole field. In other words, the student,
instead of making progress in knowledge fact by fact, should advance
by _groups of facts_. His smallest unit of progress should be a
considerable number of ideas so related to one another that they make
a whole; those that are alike in their support of some valuable
thought making up a bundle, and the farther-reaching, controlling idea
itself constituting the band that ties these bits together and
preserves their unity. Such a unit or, "point," as it is most often
called, is the basal element in thinking, just as the family is the
basal element in society.
_The size of such units of advance._
Such units of advance may vary indefinitely in size; but the danger is
that they will be too small. A minister who reaches his thirteenthly
is not likely to be a means of converting many sinners. A debater who
makes fifteen points will hardly find his judges enthusiastic in his
favor, no matter how weak his opponents may be. A chapter that
contains twenty or thirty paragraphs should not be remembered as
having an equal number of points. What is wanted is that the student
shall _feel the force_ of the ideas presented, and a great lot of
little points strung together cannot produce a forceful impression.
Any thought that is worth much must be supported by numerous facts and
will require considerable time or space for presentation. A minister
can hardly establish a half dozen valuable ideas in one sermon; he
does well if he presents two or three with force; and he is most
likely to make a lasting impression if he confines himself to one.
Drummond's _The Greatest Thing in the World_ is an example of the
possibilities in this direction.
Accordingly the student, in reading a chapter or listening to a
lecture, should find the relationships among the smaller portions of
the thought that will unify the subject-matter under a very few heads.
If several pages or a whole lecture can be reduced to a single point,
it should be done. He should always remember that to the extent that
the supporting details are numerous they will have a cumulative
effect, thereby rendering the central thought strong enough to have a
permanent influence.
_The meaning of organization of knowledge, and its value._
Such grouping of ideas as has thus far been considered, although of
the greatest importance, is only the beginning of the organization of
knowledge. For thus far only the minimum unit of advance has been
under discussion. Asone proceeds in the study of a subject these
smaller units collect in large numbers, and they must themselves be
subordinated to still broader central thoughts, according to their
nature. This grouping of details, according to their relationships,
into points, and of such points under still higher heads, and so on
until a whole subject and even the whole field of knowledge is
carefully ordered according to the relationships of its parts, is what
is meant by organization of knowledge.
Sometimes an entire book is thus organized under a single idea,
Fiske's _Critical Period of American History_ being an excellent
example. In this volume the conditions at the close of the
Revolutionary War are vividly described. It is shown that great debts
remained unpaid, that different systems of money caused confusion, and
that civil war was seriously threatened in various quarters. These and
other dangers convinced sober men that a firm central government was
indispensable. But then, it was no easy matter to bring such a
government into existence; and it is shown how numerous heroic
attempts in this direction barely escaped failure before the
constitution was finally adopted. On the whole, it is safe to say that
each paragraph or small number of paragraphs, while constituting a
unit, is at the same time a necessary part of the chapter to which it
belongs; likewise, each chapter, while constituting a unit, is an
integral part of the book as a whole; and all these parts are so
interrelated and complete that the whole book constitutes a unit.
Observe the advantage of such organization. The period of our history
immediately following the Revolution used to be one of the least
interesting of topics. Under the title "The Period following the
Treaty of Paris," or "The Period from the Close of the Revolutionary
War to the Adoption of the Constitution," the textbooks attempted
nothing more than an enumeration or history of the chief difficulties
and struggles of our youthful nation. In some cases, if I remember
correctly, this was designated "The Period of Confusion," and its
description left the reader in a thoroughly confused state of mind.
Fiske's book was a revelation. What had seemed very complex and
confused became here extremely simple; what had been especially dull
became here perhaps the most exciting topic in all our history. And
the secret of the advance is found to a large extent in the
organization. Thus organization is a means of effectiveness in the
presentation of knowledge, as in the use of a library or the conduct
of a business.
_The basis for the organization of knowledge in general._
All the facts in Mr. Fiske's book are organized about the stirring
question expressed in his title, _i. e._, how our ship of state barely
escaped being wrecked. Because this idea is of intense interest to us,
and the entire book bears upon it continually, the story is read with
bated breath. Drummond's _Greatest Thing in the World_ is another
excellent example on a smaller scale of ideas centered about a vital
human question. Thus specific problems of various degrees of breadth,
_that are intimately related to man_, can well be taken as the basis
for the organization of knowledge in general. Classical literature is
organized on this basis, which is called the pedagogical or
_psychological_ basis, and it seems desirable that other fields should
also be.
Yet there are other kinds of organization in which the relation to man
is not so plainly, or not at all, taken as the controlling idea. For
example, biology is often organized on the basis of the growing
complexity of the organism, the student beginning with the simple,
microscopic cell, and advancing to the more and more complex forms.
Formerly, after the Linnaean system, plants were classified according
to their similarity of structure. Now both plants and animals are
often classified on the basis of their manner of adaptation to their
environment. Thus within the field of science there is what is called
the _scientific_ basis of organization.
There is also the _logical_ basis of organization of thought,
according to which some most fundamental idea is taken as the
beginning of a system, or the premise, and other ideas are evolved
from this first principle. Rousseau attempted to develop his
educational doctrine in this way, starting with the assertion that
everything was good as it came from the Creator, but that everything
degenerated in the hands of man. John Calvin did the same in his
system of theology; and he reasoned so succinctly from his few
premises that any one granting these was almost compelled to accept
his entire doctrine.
Attention is called to these facts here in order to suggest that,
while the scientific and the logical bases of organization are in
common use, neither of them is adequate as the main basis of
organization for a young student who is studying a subject for the
first time. The reason is that each of them secures a careful ordering
of facts only with reference to the relations that those facts bear to
one another, and not with reference to the relation that they bear to
man; and in thus ignoring man they show grave faults. They are
indifferent to interest on the part of the learner; they offer no
standard for judging the relative worths of facts to man; and instead
of exerting an influence in the direction of applying knowledge, they
exert some influence in the opposite direction by their indifference
to man's view-point. It must be admitted that they are of great
assistance in securing thoroughness of comprehension by their
revelation of the relations existing among facts, and also that they
classify facts in a convenient way for finding them later; but they
are of greatest use to the advanced student, who is already supplied
with motive and with standards for judging worth, and who has proper
habits of study already formed; they can well follow but they should
not supplant the psychological basis.
_The student's double task in the organization of ideas._
An author's organization of subject-matter is frequently poor. But
whether it be poor or good, some hard work on the part of the student
is necessary before the proper grouping of ideas can take place in his
own mind. The danger is that there will be practically no arrangement
of his thoughts, as is well illustrated in the following letter from
an eight-year-old boy.
DEAR UNCLE CHARLIE:
Will you please buy some of my 24 package of my Bluine, if you will
please buy one package it will help me a lot. One Saturday we played
ball against the east side and beat twelve to 1. I will get a baseball
suit if I can sell 24 packages of Bluine. We had quite a blizzard here
to-day. For one package it costs ten cents. When we played ball
against the east side we only had 6 boys and they had twelve. We have
a base ball team, and I am Captain, so you see I need a suit. Gretchen
and Mother are playing backgammon with one dice. I catch sometimes
when our real catcher is not there. When he is there I play first
Base.
Your loving nephew, JAMES.
There is one prominent idea in this letter, touching the sale of
Bluine, with reasons; and parts of two others, concerning the weather
and the occupation of mother and sister. The first is the most fully
treated; but, as might be expected from an eight-year-old child, no
one idea is supported by sufficient detail to round it out and make it
strong.
In avoiding such defects two things are necessary: First, the student
must decide what points he desires to make. They should be so
definitely conceived that they can be easily distinguished from one
another and can even be _counted_. Then, in the second place, all
the details that bear upon a central idea should be collected and
presented together in sequence under the point concerned. By this
massing of all supporting statements under their proper heads,
overlapping or duplicating is avoided, and clearness is gained. Also,
force is secured by the cumulative effect of intimately related facts,
just as it is secured by the concerted attack by the divisions of an
army.
Even the better students often stop with finding the main thoughts
alone. And the temptation to do no more is strong, since teachers
seldom require a forceful presentation of ideas in recitation; they
are thankful to get a halting statement of the principal facts. But
the student should remember that he is studying for his own good, not
merely to keep teachers contented; and he should not deceive himself
by his own fluency of speech. He should form the habit of often asking
himself, "What is my point?" also, "What facts have I offered for its
support, and have I massed them all as I should?" He must thus form
the habit of arranging his ideas into points if he wishes to be
pointed.
_Precautions against inaccuracy in the grouping of facts into points._
The dangers of inaccuracy in this kind of study are numerous. First
the individual statements must be carefully interpreted. A certain
very intelligent ten-year-old girl studying arithmetic read the
problem, "What is the interest on $500 at six per cent for one year?"
Then, probably under the influence of some preceding problem, she
found four per cent of the principal, and added the amount to the
principal for her answer, thus showing two mistakes in reading.
Perhaps half of the mistakes that children make in the solution of
problems is due to such careless reading. A certain fifth-year class
in history read a very short paragraph about the three ships that were
secured for Columbus's first voyage, the paragraph ending with the
statement, "On board the three [ships] were exactly ninety men." When
they were asked later how many men accompanied Columbus the common
answer was, "Two hundred and seventy, since there were ninety men on
each ship."
These mistakes are typical of those that are common, even among
adults, as in the reading of examination questions, for instance. I
have more than once asked graduate students in a university to state
the _one principal_ thought obtained from the extended study of an
article on education, and have received a paper with a threefold
answer, (_a_), (_b_), (_c_). Such responses are due to extreme
carelessness in reading the questions asked, as well as to a desire to
be obliging and allow an instructor some freedom of choice. Thus the
meaning of the individual statements that constitute the material out
of which larger truths are derived, must be carefully watched if the
final interpretation of an author's thought is to be accurate.
The tendency toward error is greater still when it comes to finding
the central thought for a portion of text. This was once amusingly
illustrated by a class composed only of the principals and high-school
teachers in a county institute, some seventy-five persons in all. The
text under discussion was the first chapter of Professor James's well-
known book, _Talks to Teachers_. The title of the chapter is
"Psychology and the Teaching Art"; and Professor James, fearing that
teachers might be expecting too much from his field, sets to work to
discourage the idea that psychology can be a panacea for all of a
teacher's ills. The larger portion of the twelve pages is devoted to
this object, although the explicit statement is made, on the third
page, that "psychology ought certainly to give the teacher radical
help." But so little space is given to this declaration that, in spite
of its definiteness and positive character, the class as a whole
reached the conclusion that he was advising teachers not to study
psychology at all. In other words, they had failed to balance up one
part of the chapter against the other; and their failure left them in
the ridiculous position of assuming that an author of a book for
teachers was dissuading teachers from reading his book.
A third and perhaps the most common source of error is found in the
particular wording given to the central thought. In order to be
perfectly definite and accurate any thought should be expressed in the
form of a full statement. It ordinarily takes at least a whole
sentence to express a whole thought. But it is very common for
students even, who have formed the habit of thinking by points, to
allow brief headings, consisting of single words or short phrases, to
represent entire thoughts. Although such headings, on account of their
brevity, may be useful, they are merely names for the thought, not
statements of the thought itself; and it means the loosest kind of
thinking to stop with them. A mere title, as a lecture "About Russia,"
for instance, designates only the outside limits to which a person
confines himself--provided he sticks to his theme. It often tells no
more about the substance of the thought within those limits than a
man's name tells about his character. It is usually easy to tell "what
a page is about"; but it usually requires keen thinking to word its
principal idea sharply in a full sentence. Many students are
inaccurate in the interpretation of authors and in their own thinking,
not so much because they lack mental ability as because they lack the
energy to continue their thinking to this point of wording the central
idea accurately in a full sentence.
THE ABILITY OF CHILDREN TO GROUP FACTS INTO POINTS.
The grouping of facts into points requires ability to perceive that
some statements are more valuable than others, without reference to
the space that they happen to occupy on the printed page; it
presupposes, also, the power to rearrange a stranger's ideas. It is,
therefore, an aggressive kind of work, in which even adults often fail
to distinguish themselves. Can children be expected to assume such
responsibility?
_Proofs of such ability.
1. As shown by children ten years old and younger._
Proof that any ten-year-old child has already assumed it in a simple
way for some years is contained in the following facts:--
1. Long before the school age is reached a child has had much practice
in picking out the logical subjects of sentences, inasmuch as he has
learned to comprehend statements made to him. Distinguishing the
subject of a sentence is the same kind of work as distinguishing the
subject of a paragraph or chapter, only it is simpler.
2. Any six-year-old child has, likewise, had much practice in
detecting the subject of short conversations, especially of those of
interest to him. If he happens to overhear a conversation between his
parent and teacher touching a possible punishment for himself, he can
be trusted to sum it up and get the gist of it all, even though some
of the words do not reach him. That is exactly the kind of thinking
required in getting the point of a lecture.
3. In relating fairy tales and other stories, during the first years
at school, children easily fall into the habit of relating a part, or
a point, at a time. And, if the memory or the courage fails, the
teacher gives help by asking, "What will you tell about first? And
then? And then?" thus setting them right, and keeping them so, by
having them divide the story into its principal sections.
4. In composition, in the lower and middle grades, the paragraphing of
thought, first as presented on the printed page, then as called for in
oral recitation and in conversation, and finally in the child's
written form, is a prominent subject of instruction. No one maintains
that such work is unnatural, or too difficult, for such young
children.
5. Development instruction, which has already been mentioned as
peculiarly successful with young children, would be impossible if
children were unable to appreciate the character of a principal
thought, as the topic or point for discussion, and of other thoughts
as subordinate to it.
_2. As shown in the use of different texts and of reference books._
The use of several texts in one subject, as history, by one child, and
the use of reference books,--both of which are common above the fifth
year of school,--presuppose the ability to study by topics, and to
bring together from various sources the facts that support a principal
truth.
_3. As shown by the rapid improvement they can make in such study._
Finally, the progress that children can make, when direct instruction
in this matter is given to them, is good proof of their ability in
this direction. For example, in a geography class composed of ten-
year-old children, I once assigned for a lesson the following section
from the text-book:--
POLITICAL DIVISIONS.--You will remember that Spain was the nation that
helped Columbus make his discovery of America. The Spaniards afterward
settled in the southern part of the continent, and introduced the
Spanish language there. That is still the chief language spoken in
Mexico, in the southern part of North America. Mexico became
independent of Spain many years ago.
Other nations also sent explorers and made settlements. Among these
were the English, who settled chiefly along the Atlantic coast, and
finally came to own the greater part of the continent north of Mexico.
In time the English, who lived in the central portion of eastern North
America, waged war against England, and chose George Washington as
their leader. On the 4th of July, 1776, they declared their
independence of England, and finally won it completely. This part
became known as the United States; but the region to the north, which
England was able to keep, and which she still possesses, is called
Canada. Find each of these countries on the map (Fig. 123). Point
toward Canada and Mexico.
Besides these three large nations, several smaller ones occupy Central
America, which lies south of Mexico.
After the children had had time to study it somewhat carefully, I
requested them to tell briefly what the section was about. The first
three replies were as follows, in the following order, and these were
not improved on later, without suggestion: "It tells about discovery."
"It tells about the language in Mexico." "It tells about what are
nations." This was their first attempt at such work, and it met with
meager success. The heading in the text seemed to give them no aid
whatever, which was sufficient proof of its unfitness for children.
Yet within one month, with some attention given to this matter every
day, I found half of the class of twenty to be reasonably safe in
picking out the central thought in a page of their text.
From all these facts it seems that children are reasonably capable of
receiving instruction in regard to the grouping of facts into points.
It is evident, also, that they need such instruction badly, if they
are to study properly the lessons that are assigned to them.
PRACTICAL SUGGESTIONS FOR TEACHING CHILDREN TO GROUP RELATED FACTS
INTO POINTS
_1. The teacher's example._
In the first place, the example of the teacher can be of great
influence. Any good teacher should do more than ask questions and
explain difficult topics. She should now and then talk to her
children. Particularly general exercises she should give expression to
other ideas than those immediately involved in instruction. If at such
times her ideas are carefully grouped about one or more central
thoughts, her pupils are likely to feel the roundness and the
consequent clearness and force of her points, and to be ambitious to
imitate her style. Many an adult, no doubt, can recall both the
pleasure he experienced in early youth when listening to some speaker
who possessed this merit, and early attempts that he made to imitate
such a style.
_2. Use of written outlines in development instruction._
In development instruction, in the lower and middle grades in
particular, brief headings representing the main facts reached might
be placed on the blackboard, or written down by each pupil as the
facts are established. Such writing is of great assistance in keeping
the outline in mind. Frequently, even in the lower grades, review
outlines might be required without such visual help.
_3. In connection with the use of text.
(a) Finding of the principal thought in paragraphs._
A terse statement of the principal thought in each paragraph of some
story or other well-organized text is a valuable exercise in
determining the relation that the different sentences in a paragraph
bear to one another, and the gist of the whole.
_(b) Finding where a point begins and ends._
Pupils might point to the place on the page where the treatment of a
certain point begins; also where it ends. Thus they would receive
exercise in distinguishing not only the principal thought, but also
the _turns_ in the thought, and therefore the most suitable stopping
places for reflection.
_(c) The making of marks, to indicate relative values._
The most valuable statements might well be _marked_ in the text,
some system of marks--as, for instance, one, two, or three short
vertical lines in the margin--being agreed upon to indicate different
degrees of worth. It is very common for adults, particularly very
careful students, thus to mark books that they read. Unless one does
so, it is difficult to find again, or review quickly, the main ideas.
Yet one of the especially important things to teach young people in
the handling of a book is some way of reviewing quickly the most
valuable parts. Many persons who would gladly review the few most
interesting portions of a book have no way of doing so except by
reading the volume through again. That takes so much time that they
omit the review altogether.
In case the books belong to the school or library, all such marks may
be objectionable. Certainly the aimless marking of any book is to be
condemned. But thoughtful marking, with the view of showing relative
values, is likely to increase the amount of reflection on the part of
the one who makes the marks. It is likely, also, to increase the
amount of reflection on the part of the later reader, for he, seeing
the marks, is inclined to weigh the thought long enough to decide
whether he agrees or disagrees with the previous reader.
If, however, the objections to such markings are insuperable, children
can at least be encouraged to own some of the books that they use.
They ought to be developing a pride in a library of their own, anyway.
"If a book is worth reading, it is worth buying," says Ruskin. "No
book is worth anything which is not worth much; nor is it serviceable
until it has been read and reread, and loved and loved again, and
_marked_, so that you can refer to the passages you want in it, as a
soldier can seize the weapon he needs in an armory, or a housewife
bring the spice she needs from her store." [Footnote: Ruskin's _Sesame
and Lilies._]
It might be added, also, that all the writing thus suggested could be
kept on note paper or in note books, if forbidden to appear in printed
books.
It should be borne in mind, however, that one important object in
using books in school is to teach their proper use outside of school.
To this end, books should be used in school in substantially the same
way in which they are expected to be used outside. There is often a
lack of correspondence between these two methods in various ways.
Wherever the markings indicating relative values happen to be placed,
they can well be compared in class and the disagreements discussed.
This would throw a class into the heart of the subject-matter of a
text on their own initiative. If it resulted in spending a whole
recitation in a discussion of relative values, as it frequently would,
it should be remembered that that is the most valuable kind of study.
_(d) The selection of marginal headings._
If the books used contain no marginal headings, the pupils might
propose some. And if marginal headings are found in some, proposals
for their improvement would be in place, since such headings are
rarely good. For example, the heading "Political Divisions," quoted
above, would be much more definite and significant if changed to "The
Countries in North America," and children could soon learn to make
such improvements. Headings of chapters, likewise, often need
rewording in a simpler, more definite and restrictive way.
_(e) The collecting of supports for leading thoughts._
Choosing some one of the principal thoughts, the children should have
practice in finding the data that support it, and in presenting such
data in good sequence and in an otherwise forceful manner.
_(f) Stating the leading thoughts in close sequence._
As one way of summarizing review lessons the children might enumerate
the leading thoughts in close sequence, giving a careful wording for
each in a full statement.
_4. As a preparation for the taking of notes._
Pupils in the higher grades having to consult reference books
frequently, and to take notes also from discussions and lectures,
should receive careful instruction in note-taking. As preparation for
such work, the teacher might read to the class, while the latter
listen with the object of telling how many and what are the main
points. Sometimes they might call "halt" as they realize that a turn
is being made and another point is beginning. They should be reminded
that the relationships of ideas, which are indicated by punctuation
and paragraphing on the printed page, are revealed by a reader's or
speaker's manner, as when he makes short pauses between sentences, or
emphasizes an idea by voice or gesture, or allows his voice to fall at
the end of some minor thought, or turns around, stops to get a drink,
walks across the floor, or waits for applause at the close of one of
his principal flights. Teacher and pupils might all take notes
together, sometimes on principal points, sometimes only on the
supporting data for one such point. Then the results might be
compared, and the small amount of writing necessary might be
discussed.
_B. The neglect of relatively unimportant facts or statements_
We have seen that the organization of ideas requires the recognition
of some thoughts as central, and the grouping of various details about
them. While it places peculiar emphasis on these controlling facts, it
also recognizes details as an essential part of knowledge.
_Neglect as well as emphasis involved in relative values._
A question now arises about the relative values among these details.
While they are an essential part of knowledge, do they themselves vary
indefinitely in worth? And while many deserve much attention, are
there many others that may be slighted and even ignored?
The first part of this chapter has really dealt with the emphasis that
is necessary for some ideas. But emphasis at one point suggests
neglect at another point, for the two terms are correlative. Some
persons would even assert that neglect is as important an element in
proper study as emphasis, and that the two terms should be in equally
good repute. This part of the chapter deals with the neglect that is
due in proper study. It is, perhaps, a more difficult topic to treat
than the preceding. Certainly many teachers are afraid to advise young
people to neglect parts of their lessons, lest such suggestion might
seem a direct recommendation to be careless.
_Why neglect is scarcely allowable in some subjects._
We have seen that, to a certain extent, the facts in the three R's and
spelling have practically the same worth. All of the combinations of
simple numbers must be mastered; likewise all the words in a well-
selected list in spelling, etc. Since differences in value are wanting
here, there is no occasion for slighting any part. Any neglect in such
cases signifies an oversight or a mistake.
_Why neglect is necessary in most subjects._
But, as before, these subjects to some extent form an exception to the
general rule. In most studies neglect of some parts is positively
necessary.
It has been already shown that no exact number of facts needs to be
brought together in order to make up any particular topic or study.
Besides those directly expressed in print, there are others
immediately suggested; and the number of possible ideas bearing on a
given matter is legion. Neglect, therefore, becomes not only
necessary, but even prominent, as a factor in study. One might ask,
"Are not all the statements in a valuable book that one happens to be
reading worthy of careful consideration?" Not necessarily, by any
means. The production of thought parallels the production of grain. An
acre of ground, that yields thirty bushels or eighteen hundred pounds
of wheat, may easily grow two whole tons of straw and chaff. These
latter are absolutely necessary to the formation of the wheat kernel;
yet the consumer usually has little use for them; he gets past them to
the grain with the least possible delay, often throwing these other
materials away.
Likewise, many things that are necessary in the production of thought
are of little use to the consumer. For example, there are often
introductory remarks that have lost their original significance; there
are asides and pleasantries; there are careful transitions from one
thought to another, to avoid abruptness; there are usually more or
less irrelevant remarks due to the fact that even authors' minds
wander now and then; and there are often some things that seemed
important to the author which in no possible way can be of value to
the reader.
For these reasons, some things are to be omitted, if possible, without
being read, because they are worthless. Many details are unworthy of a
second thought. Many other statements should be cast aside after
having been carefully enough examined to make sure that they will not
be further needed. Not only should some statements and paragraphs be
slighted, but whole chapters as well. Similar practice is familiar to
all in connection with conversations and discussions; and books are of
the same nature as these, having the same faults, though perhaps to a
less degree. What the student wants to carry away is valuable thought,
with the details that vitally concern it; and the space occupied by
such thought and its supporting details, as in the case of the wheat,
is small as compared with the space occupied by the chaff that
accompanies them. "Some books are to be tasted," says Bacon, "others
to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested; that is, some
books are to be read only in part; others to be read, but not
curiously [attentively]; and some few to be read wholly and with
diligence and attention." [Footnote: Bacon's Essays, _Of Studies._] If
he had added that very many books should not be read at all, he would
have covered the field.
As a rule, therefore, it is a serious error for a student to
distribute his time and energy somewhat equally over a lesson or a
chapter or a book. There are times when he should advance rapidly and
even skip, as well as other times when he should ponder carefully and
review much.
_How safety and skill in neglect may be developed.
1. By proceeding from principal thoughts to details._
How can one become safe and skillful in this phase of study? The
student must, of course, read or listen to statements largely in the
order of the author's presentation; but two opposite courses of
procedure are possible, and much depends upon the choice that is made
between them.
On the one hand, one can proceed sentence by sentence, examining each
statement carefully, looking up new words and references,
supplementing, tracing the bearings on one's own life, and doing
whatever else is necessary to assimilate each thought. The single
sentences can be put together so as to reveal the thoughts of
paragraphs; and the central ideas of paragraphs and chapters can
likewise be brought together, so as to reveal the main thoughts of the
work as a whole. Thus the general movement may be from the details to
the larger features, and the controlling ideas may be the last to be
reached.
The Bible is very commonly studied in this manner, the verses of a
chapter and the chapters of a book being taken one by one in the order
given and thoroughly mastered, and the outline of the whole being the
last thing considered. Geography and history are also frequently
studied in the same way.
On the other hand, while the reader is still obliged to follow the
author's order, he may at the start be mainly on the outlook for the
general trend of the thought, for the principal issues that are
raised, with the principal answers that are offered; and, if the work
is at all difficult, he may for the time pass over many obscure little
matters, such as new words, strange references, and meaningless
statements, in the sole quest for these larger elements. Then, having
determined these tentatively, he can set to work to examine the
details on which they depend, making the investigation as thorough as
he wishes. Thus the general movement may be from the principal to the
minor thoughts, and the details may be carefully considered last of
all. In accordance with this plan we hear it recommended that the book
of Job be read "at a sitting," or, in case one's spirit of devotion
lacks that degree of endurance, at two or three sittings. Likewise,
Gray's _Elegy_ might be read through without pause, even several
times, before any part is studied in detail; so, also, the drama of
_William Tell_; one act, and perhaps the whole of the drama, of
_Julius Caesar;_ any one of Browning's shorter poems; and ordinary
lessons or chapters in history and geography.
While these two courses may finally bring about the same result, the
latter is much the more economical plan, for the following reason: The
individual statements vary greatly in value, as we have seen, some
requiring only slight attention, while others must be closely
scrutinized. What determines their value is their relation to the
leading ideas. The latter are the sole standards of worth, the sole
guides, in discriminating among them. If, then, the student has not
found out what the leading ideas are, what basis of selection has he?
How, then, is he to know what are the important details and what are
the unimportant? What can he do, then, more than merely to distribute
his energies somewhat equally and blindly over the various statements
offered, until the principal thoughts come to light? Only after that
will he be in a position to measure relative values and thus to deal
with the details intelligently. The first plan, therefore, involves a
great waste of time. For the same reason that it is economical to go
sight-seeing with a guide, or at least to examine a guidebook before
setting out, it is economical to determine the gist of the thought,
the spirit and substance of the whole, before giving careful attention
to the minor parts.
_2. By keeping the standard of values ever in mind._
The student must not only find the central idea as early as possible,
but he must hold it with a firm grip. Both of these things require
much tenacity of purpose. In following the order of an author's
presentation, considerable detail may have to be traversed before the
main thought begins to dawn in the student's mind, and temptations to
forget about the main issue and to become absorbed in these details
are ever present. It is on this account that teachers attending
teachers' gatherings frequently fail to reach those topics for
discussion that have been advertised; they even fail when printed
reports are the avowed subject for conference. After having arrived at
their destination with much sacrifice, they seem often to forget
exactly what they came for, or to be diverted from it with surprising
ease. However, they are not inferior to other adults in this respect.
Again, after having settled upon the main idea tentatively, one must
_hold_ it with determination and _use_ it. Children often fail to hold
a question in mind long enough to give a relevant answer. I once asked
a fifth-year class in history, "Who discovered America?" when almost
immediately came the response, "Vespucci sailed along the coast of
South America and named the whole country!" Or they hold it in mind a
moment, and then confuse it with other things, or let it go entirely.
I asked the class, "What is the color of the Indians?" and received an
answer telling about their color and their clothing. At another time I
inquired, "How long has it been since America was discovered?" One boy
replied, "Two hundred and fifty years," remembering, I suppose, that
that number had recently been used in class. But the example in
subtraction was solved on the blackboard before the class, and the
correct answer, 413, was obtained. Once more I said, "Four hundred
and thirteen years since what?" All were silent for a moment, having
quite forgotten the original question. Then came the reply,
"Since--since--Columbus sailed the deep."
Such carelessness among children sometimes arouses the ire of
teachers; but adults are little better. When a body of them meets for
the discussion of a certain question, the probability is that, if the
first speaker speaks directly to the point, the second will digress
somewhat, the third will touch the subject only slightly, and the
fourth will talk about a different matter. Many a discussion that has
started off well leads to much excitement without any one's knowing
definitely what the subject of dispute is. It is rarely the case that
every page of a paper that is read before teachers bears plainly upon
the subject announced.
Only in parliamentary discussions, where there is always a definite
"question before the house," is it customary for participants to
remember the topic and stick to it. This happens then only because it
is understood that any one may be "called to order" at any time, and
for the sake of self-protection each person makes a special effort not
to forget.
This exceptional caution must become habitual with the student if he
is to study effectively. He must look for the principal thought until
he finds it; and, having found it, he must _nurse_ it by recalling it
every few minutes, while using it as a basis for determination of
values.
_Rapid reading and its method among scholars._
That various rates of reading are desirable, even to the point of
skipping over much matter, is indicated by the way in which some
eminent men have studied. For instance, Joseph Cook in his _Hints
for Home Reading_ remarks, "It is said that Carlyle reads on an
average a dozen books a day. Of course he examines them chiefly with
his fingers, and after long practice is able to find at once the
jugular vein and carotid artery of any author." Likewise, "John Quincy
Adams was said to have 'a carnivorous instinct for the jugular vein'
of an argument." [Footnote: Page 80.] "Rapid reading," says Koopman,
[Footnote: Koopman, _The Mastery of Books_, p. 47.] "is the...
difficult art of skipping needless words and sentences. To recognize
them as needless without reading them, is a feat that would be thought
impossible, if scholars everywhere did not daily perform it. With the
turning of a few leaves to pluck out the heart of a book's mystery--this
is the high art of reading, the crowning proof that the reader has
attained the mastery of books." The fact that the first and last parts
of both paragraphs and chapters very often reveal their leading thought,
is of course a great aid in such rapid reading.
_Is the spirit of induction here opposed?_
It is pertinent to ask whether this method of study does not oppose
the spirit of induction. Men like Carlyle seem to ignore that spirit
when they turn quickly to the central ideas or a book and, after
reading these, cast the work aside. It should be remembered, however,
that the minds of such men are so well stocked with information that
most, and sometimes all, of the author's details may be unnecessary to
them; they are already prepared for the generalization.
The ordinary student, proceeding more slowly, can also be on the watch
at the start for the main issues, without offending against induction.
In so doing he is not necessarily attempting to master the
abstractions first; he may be merely trying to find out what the main
questions are, in order to supply himself with a guide.
Many an author states his principal problem near the beginning of his
treatment, and then it is easy for the reader or listener to view all
the details in its light. But when this is not the case, the student
must go in quest of it in order to _get the setting_ for all the
statements, rather than in order to assimilate it. He must see the
whole in some perspective before he can study the parts intelligently.
The worth of specific purposes as discussed in pp. 31-60 is clearly
seen in this connection.
_Relation of such neglect to thoroughness.
1. A common conception of thoroughness and its influence on practice._
It is of vital importance further to inquire what relation such
neglect bears to thoroughness in study.
The answer depends upon the meaning attached to the word _thorough_.
We often hear it said that "Trifles make perfection, and perfection is
no trifle"; also that "thoroughness has to do with details." Again, as
a warning against carelessness in little matters, we are told that--
For the want of a nail the shoe was lost.
For the want of a shoe the horse was lost.
For the want of the horse the rider was lost.
For the want of the rider the battle was lost.
For the loss of the battle the kingdom was lost.
There is certainly a valuable truth in these maxims, and some people,
therefore, accept them at their face value. Calling to mind that many
of the greatest discoveries have hinged on seemingly insignificant
facts, and that the world-renowned German scientists are distinguished
by infinite pains in regard to details, they conceive that the student
is primarily concerned with trifles. Knowing that the dollars will
take care of themselves if the dimes are carefully saved, they reason
that knowledge is properly mastered if the little things receive close
attention. It becomes their ambition, therefore, to let nothing that
is little escape them. In this spirit the conscientious student,
largely identifying conscientiousness with thoroughness, keeps a
special watch for little things, feeling that the smaller an item is
the more fully it tests his thoroughness, and the more meritorious he
is if he attends to it.
The influence of this notion of thoroughness upon practice has been
marked in some schools. And since spelling furnishes excellent
material for testing care for details, that subject has often been
given high rank partly for that special reason. I have known one large
training school for teachers in which for twenty years and more
probably more time and energy on the part of both faculty and students
were expended on spelling than on any other single subject. It was
unpardonable not to cross the _t_ or dot the _i_, not to insert the
hyphen or the period. Having written a word in spelling, it was a
heinous offense to change it after second thought, and a dozen
misspelled words per term seriously endangered one's diploma at the
end of the three-year course.
No one can deny great merit to such strenuousness. So definite an aim,
applied to all subjects and relentlessly pursued by a whole faculty,--as
was the case in this school,--compelled students to work till they
overworked, and the school was therefore regarded as excellent. Yet
this conception makes thoroughness a purely _quantitative_ matter; it
accepts _thoroughness_ as meaning _throughness_ or completeness,
signifying the inclusion of everything from "beginning to end," or
from "cover to cover."
_2. The correct notion of thoroughness._
This notion of thoroughness, however, is certainly wrong in opposing
all neglect; and the above-quoted maxims show themselves, in their
disregard for relative values, to be only half truths, In the school
just mentioned there was small emphasis of relative worths and of the
use of judgment in the choice of objects to receive one's attention.
As thoroughness consisted in attention to details, little things
became _per se_ worthy of study, and comparative worth was on that
account overlooked.
But, as we have seen, there is no hope of mastering _all_ the ideas
connected with any topic, so that the student must be reconciled
to the exercise of judgment in making selection. This choice must be
exercised, too, among the details themselves; it is not confined to a
selection of the large thoughts in distinction from the details.
Details vary infinitely among themselves in value; some, like the
horseshoe nail, easily bear a vital relation to large results; others,
like the use of a hyphen in a word, in all probability bear no
important relation to anything. Those that have this vital relation
are essential and need careful attention; the others are non-essential
and deserve for that reason to be neglected. In other words,
thoroughness is a _qualitative_ rather than a quantitative matter; it
is qualitative because it involves careful selection in accordance
with the nature and relation of the details. The student, to whom
thoroughness is a question of _allness_ needs mental endurance as a
chief virtue; the real student, on the other hand, requires constant
exercise of judgment. In brief, the proper kind of thoroughness calls
for a good degree of good sense.
The thoroughness that is here advocated implies no underestimate of
little things; it only condemns want of discrimination among them.
Even the painstaking German scientist is no devotee to all things that
are little. Carrying on his investigation with reference to some
definite problem, he is concerned only with such details as are
closely related to it. If he is uncertain just what so-called little
things do relate to it,--as has been the case, for instance, in the
investigation of the cause of yellow fever,--he carefully investigates
one thing after another. But in so doing he discriminates very sharply
among details, throwing many aside without hesitation, briefly
examining some, and finally settling on certain ones for exhaustive
study.
It is only those little things that are thus related to something of
real value that deserve attention. The mathematician is a stickler for
little things. He insists that figures should be plainly made, and
that 1 + 1 should never be allowed to equal 3. He is wholly in the
right, because the slightest error in reading a number, in placing a
decimal point, or in finding a sum must vitiate the whole result.
Little things of that sort are called little, but they are in reality
big.
It is unfortunate that such matters are often called trifles, for a
trifle is usually supposed to be something that is of very little
account; the name thus misleads. Such details are essential; other
details are non-essential. It would be well if people would more
generally divide details into these two classes, and apply the term
trifles only to the latter sort. By neglecting non-essentials one
could find more time for the details that are essential. Neglect of
some things, therefore, instead of being opposed to thoroughness, is a
direct and necessary means to it.
One cannot deny that this notion of thoroughness has its dangers, for
it places the responsibility upon the student of using his own
judgment. That is always dangerous. If the student lacks earnestness,
or insight, or balance, he is bound to make mistakes. He is likely to
make them anyway; and he may merely pick and choose according to
comfort or whim, and do the most desultory, careless studying. It
would be easier for him to "look out for all the little things" than
to discriminate among them, for intelligent selection requires more
real thinking.
_The dangers in these conceptions, and the conclusion.
1. The danger in this conception of thoroughness._
On the other hand, it should be remembered that neglect of details in
general has not been advocated; it is only a judicious selection among
them. And such selection calls for no more energy or ability than
selection among larger facts. If we can trust students at all to
distinguish values among the larger thoughts--as every one knows that
we must--there is the same reason for trusting them to distinguish the
relative worths of details.
_2. The danger in the alternative plan._
The dangers of the alternative plan should also be borne in mind.
Suppose that a capable student is taught to let no trifles escape him.
The danger then is that, to the extent that he is earnest, he will
fall in love with little things, until his vision for larger things
becomes clouded. He may always be intending to pass beyond these to
the larger issues; but he is in danger of failing so regularly that he
will come in time to value details in themselves, not for what they
lead to; the details become the large things, and the really large
matters are forgotten.
A former professor in a large normal school illustrated this tendency
exactly. At sixty years of age he was an unusually well-informed,
cultured man, but he had developed a mania for little things. He had
charge of the practice department, and each fall term it was customary
to receive applications from about two hundred students for the
practice teaching for that term. Each applicant filled out a blank,
giving his name, age, preferred study to teach, preferred age of
children, and experience in teaching. These papers had to be briefly
examined; then at four o'clock in the afternoon of the same first day
all these applicants were to be called together in one group for
instructions about their teaching. By this arrangement the practice
teaching could be started off very promptly.
On one occasion in the writer's knowledge, however, this gentleman
could not resist the temptation to blue-pencil every mistake in
spelling, punctuation, grammar, etc., that he could find in this
entire set of papers, which must have occupied nearly two hours.
Meanwhile, this task was so hugely absorbing, he entirely forgot to
notify the two hundred applicants that they were wanted at four
o'clock, and thus one day out of a year of less than two hundred was
largely lost for the practice teaching.
The main fault of half of the good teachers in the elementary schools
to-day is over-conscientiousness about little things. Believing that
every mistake in written work should be corrected, that the blackboard
should be kept thoroughly clean, that each day's lessons should be
carefully planned, that, in short, every little duty should be well
performed, they putter away at such tasks until there is no time left
for much larger duties, such as physical exercise, sociability, and
general reading. As a result they become habitually tired,
unsympathetic, and narrow, and therefore _schoolish_. It is a
strange commentary on education when conscientiousness means
particular care for little things, as it very often does among
teachers. It is desirable that a teacher prepare each day's lessons in
full, and that she do a hundred other things each day, as well. But
when she cannot do all these--and she never can--it is highly
important that she apportion her time according to relative values;
for instance, it is far better that she omit some of her preparation
of lessons for the sake of recreation, if recreation would otherwise
be omitted. People are unfitted for the work of life until they view
it in fair perspective. One of the important objects of abundant and
broad educational theory for teachers is to help them preserve the
proper balance between large and small things; and, owing to the
common tendency to neglect the larger things for the smaller, one of
the prominent duties of school principals and supervisors is to remind
both teachers and students of the larger values in life in general and
in study in particular.
_3. The conclusion._
It is evident that grave dangers are at hand, whether one slights some
details or attempts to master them all. But no matter what the dangers
are, there is one right thing for the student to do, that is, to
develop the habit of weighing worths, of sensing the relative values
of the facts that he meets. Good judgment consists largely in the
proper appreciation of relative values; and since that is one of the
very prominent factors in successful living, as well as in study, it
is one of the most important abilities for the student to cultivate.
Not only the equal valuation of all details, but the treatment of
various rules and virtues as absolute, is likewise directly hostile to
this habit of mind. Young people who are taught to be always
economical, or always punctual, or always regular, are thereby tempted
to substitute thoughtless obedience for exercise of judgment. It is
not always wise to be saving. A certain college boy owned three pairs
of gloves; one pair was so old and soiled that it was suitable only
for use in the care of the furnace; the other two pairs were quite
new. However, having been taught to be always saving, he wore the old
pair to college during much of his senior year, and saved the other
two. He was true to his early teaching at the expense of good sense.
There are few circumstances in life that can be properly treated by
rule of thumb. Good judgment is called for at every turn; and the
habit of considering relative values in regard to all affairs is one
that the student should constantly cultivate, no matter what dangers
have to be encountered.
ABILITY OF CHILDREN TO NEGLECT UNIMPORTANT DETAILS
This ability is so intimately related to the ability that is necessary
in grouping related facts that the one can hardly exist without the
other. Yet it is well to observe what a demand there is for neglect in
ordinary school work, and how this demand is met by children. Mistakes
in beginning reading are very common, such as saying _a_ for _an_,
_the_ for _thu_, not pausing for a comma, leaving out a word, putting
in a word, etc. When fairy tales are related, slight omissions,
mistakes in grammar, too frequent use of _and_, etc. are to be
expected. In the pupil's board work, penmanship, and written
composition minor errors are innumerable. What is to be done with all
these? Certainly many of them must be entirely passed over, or more
important things will never be reached.
In their literature and in their reference books many little
difficulties are met with that must likewise be overlooked. Take for
instance the following typical paragraph from Hawthorne's _Gorgon's
Head:_
"Well, then," continued the king, still with a _cunning_ smile on
his lips, "I have a little _adventure_ to propose to you; and, as
you are a brave and _enterprising_ youth, you will doubtless look
upon it as a great piece of good luck to have so rare an opportunity
of _distinguishing_ yourself. You must know, my good Perseus, I think
of getting married to the beautiful Princess Hippodamia; and it is
_customary_, on these occasions, to make the bride a present of some
_far-fetched_ and _elegant curiosity_. I have been a little
_perplexed_, I must honestly confess, where to obtain anything likely
to please a princess of her _exquisite_ taste. But, this morning, I
_flatter_ myself, I have thought of _precisely_ the article."
Here is an adult's vocabulary, as well as an adult's ideas, with
perhaps a dozen new words, and anything like mathematical thoroughness
in the study of this paragraph would destroy its attractiveness. It is
well for teachers to consider what would be a thorough treatment of
such a section. Encyclopedias and other reference works also present
many strange words and difficult paragraphs that children cannot stop
to examine with care. In their ordinary school work, therefore,
children find many details that must be overlooked; the more important
things cannot be accomplished unless these less important ones are
ignored.
It would be strange if children were quite incapable of doing what is
so plainly required of them. It is true that they can be taught to
reach the extreme of foolishness in the insignificance of the details
that they mention. But it is also true that a fair amount of wise
guidance will lead them to exercise good judgment in their selection.
In other words, thoroughness as a relative and qualitative matter,
rather than only quantitative, can be appreciated by them. Any teacher
who has tested them carefully in this respect is likely to agree to
this assertion. It is as natural for a lot of children to condemn the
mention of useless detail, because of its waste of time, as it is for
them to condemn selfish or immoral conduct.
PRACTICAL SUGGESTIONS FOR TEACHING CHILDREN TO NEGLECT RELATIVELY
UNIMPORTANT DETAILS
_1. Placing responsibility upon children._
The responsibility of deciding what shall be neglected should very
often be left with the children, no matter how many mistakes and how
much loss of time it may temporarily cause. Criticisms and suggestions
from the teacher would be in place later. Many parents as well as
teachers refuse to place this responsibility upon children for fear of
the mistakes that they will make. On account of this fear they make it
as nearly as possible unnecessary for children to judge freely, by
giving them arbitrary rules to follow, or by directing them exactly
what they shall do each moment. This cultivates poor judgment by
depriving children of the very practice that will make their judgments
reliable; it prevents the school requirements from corresponding to
those in life outside.
Confidence in the general and growing good sense of children is a
presupposition in the sensible parent and teacher. Having such
confidence, their mission is to let these young people alone much of
the time; to direct, not to control the selections that they make,
assuming the role of advisers and critics but not dictators.
This training toward independent judgment should begin even in the
first year of school. If Johnny raises his hand in beginning reading
to state that Mary said _a_ for _the_, the teacher need not either
accept or reject the criticism. She may merely turn to the whole class
and ask whether that is a helpful correction to make. A similar course
may be pursued with many corrections and suggestions in later years.
In this way a class sense of what is fitting or valuable in the way of
neglect can be developed.
It should be remembered, however, that children cannot judge the worth
of details without a basis of some sort. Unless, therefore, they
helplessly rely upon the direction of the teacher in each case, they
must be taught what the reading or other subject is for. They must
gradually get a fair idea, for instance, of what good reading is, and
realize that it includes pleasant tones, a careful grouping of words,
much inflection of voice, and clear enunciation of final consonants.
As they become acquainted with this standard in reading, they will
readily learn to overlook such details as have little to do with its
attainment.
It is true that it saves much time for the teacher herself to
determine what shall or shall not receive attention, or at least for
her to accept or reject a child's suggestion dogmatically, rather than
to allow him or the whole class to pass upon its worth. Also, the
constant demand for "more facts" tempts teachers to save time in this
way. But again, it behooves the teacher as well as the pupil to use
judgment, and not sacrifice one of the main objects of an education in
order to save some time.
_2. Class study of printed articles._
Children who use reference works might now and then study an
encyclopedic article together merely to see what parts should be
slighted. When looking for a certain fact they will discover, from the
way the paragraphs begin, that one paragraph after another can be
discarded without being read in full. In the same spirit newspapers
might be studied by the older children, to determine from the headings
what articles need not be read at all, what ones in a cursory manner,
and what ones carefully, if any. Similar study of some magazines might
be in place. It is a duty of the school thus to accustom pupils to
proper methods of reading common kinds of printed matter.
_3. Reduction of reproductions._
Pupils might occasionally be asked to reproduce a story or any other
line of thought as fully as they wish. Suppose that it occupies six
pages. Then they might be requested to reduce it to three pages, and
perhaps, finally, to one page, eliminating each time what is of least
importance. Such an exercise compels a very careful study of relative
values.
_4. Holding and carrying a point._
Having decided upon a definite problem for consideration, all grades
of learners might be held responsible for detecting beginning
wanderings of thought. They might accustom themselves to the
responsibility of rising to a point of order at such times, stating
the main question and asking the suspected person to show the
relevancy of his remarks. There is no reason why the teacher should
carry this responsibility alone; indeed, it is an imposition on the
children, checking their growth in judgment and power of initiative.
Again, at times students in all grades might be allowed full freedom,
in order to show how quickly they will engage in discussion, and even
become excited, with no definite question before them. They may not
realize their error, however, until asked to state what they are
considering. It should be remembered that the question at issue may be
as much neglected in the reading of books as in participation in
discussion; on this account the method of reading might be tested in a
similar manner.
_5. Encouragement of different rates of reading._
Finally, varying rates of reading should be encouraged, according to
the nature of the subject matter. While some books should be perused
very slowly and thoughtfully, others should be covered as rapidly as
possible. In the case of many novels, for instance, the ideas are so
simple that they can be comprehended as rapidly as the words can be
scanned.
Many persons, however, can read only as fast as they can pronounce the
words. They follow an established series of associations: first, the
word is observed; this image calls up its sound; the sound then
recalls the meaning. Thus the order is _sight, sound, meaning._
That is a roundabout way of arriving at the meaning of a page and is
usually learned in childhood. It explains why many an educated adult
can read very little faster silently than aloud.
Some adults read fast simply by skimming over the less important
parts, which is often justified. Some, however, save time by
associating the form of a word directly with its meaning, leaving the
sound out of consideration. Then by running the eye along rapidly they
double and treble the ordinary rate of advance. It is said that Lord
Macaulay read silently about as rapidly as a person ordinarily thumbs
the pages; and he must have seen the individual words, because his
remarkable memory often enabled him to reproduce the text verbatim.
The slow-reading adult can, by practice, learn to take in a whole line
or more almost at a glance, in place of three or four words, and can
thus increase his rate of advance. But habit is so powerful that the
rapid eye-movement necessary in rapid reading, together with the
direct association of the form of a word with its meaning, should be
learned in childhood. To this end, children should often be timed in
their reading, being allowed only a few seconds or minutes to cover a
certain amount. Some exercises might be given them, too, so as to
accustom them to taking in a considerable number of words at a glance.
Meanwhile, however, pains should be taken to avoid the impression that
rapid reading is always in place. Matter that requires much
reflection, like the Bible for example, may well be read slowly. It is
not merely rapid reading, but varying rates according to need, that
the teacher should encourage.
There is no expectation that children will learn to handle books as
Carlyle did. But they should be guided by the same general principles,
and should form practical acquaintance with these principles while in
school. Ordinarily there is a striking contrast between the use of
books in school and outside, and the different rates of reading in the
two places afford a striking illustration. Text in school is taken up
in a gingerly fashion, scarcely enough of it being assigned for one
lesson to get the child interested. Then this is reviewed over and
over until any interest that may originally have been excited is long
since destroyed. Thoroughness is aimed at, at the expense of life. In
independent reading outside of school the opposite course is pursued.
In the reaction from the school influence children revel in their
freedom to do the things that their teachers forbid, and they
accordingly go racing through their volumes.
Both methods are at fault. The school handling of books is intolerably
slow; that outside is likely to be too rapid. In general, the method
of using books in school should more closely resemble that desired
elsewhere. The school method is the first to be reformed. It is seldom
wise to be so thorough in the treatment of a text as to kill it for
the learner. As a rule longer textbook lessons should be assigned in
the elementary school, and less attention should be given to the minor
facts. Then, if necessary, the same general field should be covered
from another point of view, through another text. This change of
method is already largely realized in our beginning reading, and
partly realized in several other subjects.