highest merit we ascribe to Moses, Plato, and Milton is that they set
at naught books and tradition, and spoke not what men, but what they,
thought." [Footnote: Essay of _Self-reliance._] It is evidently
exceptional for one's thoughts and actions to be quite fully one's
own. In matters of dress hosts of persons would rather be fashionable
than comfortable; and in matters of the intellect subordination to
others is even more common.
One great reason for this is that people do not know how to be true to
themselves; they do not comprehend themselves well enough for that.
"Know thyself" was a dictum of Socrates that should precede the
command "Be true to thyself," because it is a prerequisite to it. But
if it takes a literary genius to reveal our thoughts to us, as it
often does, certainly the average person will not discover his own
characteristics alone. Even with firm intentions he will merely grope
about, and from blindness and want of skill will stifle a good portion
of his own nature.
On the other hand, if he goes to school, whatever peculiarities he may
possess are liable to suppression through the teacher and the
curriculum, the two chief agencies of the school. For the average
elementary teacher is not greatly concerned about preserving and
developing individuality, and the average high-school teacher or
college professor still less. Indeed, many teachers are convinced that
there is too much of it already, as shown in the discipline, and
insist upon as much uniformity as possible, because it is less
troublesome. When it comes to the curriculum, the commonly recognized
purpose of instruction is acquisition of knowledge rather than
development of self. But if a student sets out to amass as much
information as possible, he is almost sure to be covered up by his
collection; and, even if he proceeds slowly enough to admire and try
to imitate the good that he finds in his spiritual inheritance and
present environment, he is in no less danger of being mastered by his
instruments. Thus it happens that while self-expression should be one
of the great purposes of the school, annihilation of self is a common
outcome.
_The positive character of provision for individuality as a factor
in study._
It follows from the preceding that provision for individuality is a
very positive factor in study, one requiring much time and energy and
on which all the others that have been mentioned are dependent. A
person must have the courage to assert his rights in intellectual
matters, must believe in the worth of his own past, and must not allow
his regard for others to weaken his trust in self. All this requires a
high degree of self-respect, which can be attained only by careful
cultivation.
As he comes more and more in contact with the ideas, desires, deeds,
and examples of other persons, and the demand for conformity grows
more pressing, he must reserve special time and energy for studying
his own powers and tastes and for discovering his own thoughts about
the many subjects of study in which he engages. In the study of many a
poem, for example, more time will be required to determine his own
attitude toward it, to find himself in regard to it, than to
understand its meaning.
Remembering that one purpose of education is development of the self,
he must ever be on his guard against being warped out of shape by
others, and must therefore offer a certain normal resistance to
everything that is presented to him. To preserve and develop one's
self thus normally, it is safe to say that any student should have as
much esteem for himself, intellectually, as for others, and should
spend at least as much time and energy upon himself in finding out
what he himself thinks and feels, as upon others.
PRACTICAL SUGGESTIONS FOB PRESERVING AND DEVELOPING INDIVIDUALITY
The value of tolerance on the part of teachers, as discussed in the
preceding chapter, is plainly seen in this connection. Unless a
teacher's manner toward a pupil indicates a high degree of respect,
the pupil's respect for himself is in danger of being weakened. A
sarcastic attitude is even worse than a dogmatic one; beyond doubt,
the proper self-esteem of many a young person has been permanently
undermined by his teacher's sharp tongue; sarcasm is the extreme of
intolerance.
_1. The relation between teachers and students._
There should be a clearer understanding, too, about the function of
teachers in general. Many instructors give the impression that
educational institutions exist for their benefit, rather than for the
good of their students; and from the start the latter are forced into
the position of suppliants. If questions are asked, impatience is
shown; and if objections to statements are raised, impertinence is
charged. Such treatment tends to cow the average student and thus to
limit his power to react upon ideas.
While teachers may be real authorities in subject-matter, they can
never be anything more than assistants in the self-development of
their students. They should more openly assume this subordinate
position, placing the primary responsibility upon the learner; they
would then be less likely to subordinate the inner growth of the
student, which it is their highest function to aid, to the mere
acquisition of knowledge.
If, however, teachers practically compel subservience by an arrogant
manner, or by the assignment of lessons much too long for one's normal
rate of advance, or by the assignment of subject-matter that seems to
have no possible value, what should the student do? Should he smother
his own desires and opinions in the attempt to satisfy his teacher?
Rarely, if ever; he will not grow inwardly by suppressing the self. On
the contrary, when he feels himself in serious restraint, he should
frankly state his grievances, and the teacher, even though a college
professor, should receive and ponder such statements seriously,
remembering that one reason he is paid a salary is that he shall
exercise skill in adapting himself to the psychological condition of
his students.
If these frank statements evoke no friendly response, then protest may
be in place, and sometimes revolt, just as when political liberty is
assailed. Of course, a good degree of patience and tolerance should
always be exercised toward one's teacher; but there is need of more
moral courage among young people to meet the disapproval of teachers
and their punishments in the form of scoldings and low marks. Many a
college student unresistingly submits to a sarcastic, dictatorial
teacher when he ought to show resentment and stand on his rights.
Resistance to teaching authority may be just as vital a part of study
as the rejection of the conclusions of an author. Until such ideas are
more generally practiced, a normal, vigorous self, which is the first
factor in scholarship, is in danger. Intellectual liberty is not less
important than political liberty, and often worth a fight. It is odd
that much blood has been shed for the attainment of political and
religious freedom, while the tyranny of mind over mind, which is
exceedingly common in the class room, has scarcely been recognized as
a serious evil. It can be accounted for only by the fact that both
teachers and parents have been more interested in the quantity of
knowledge acquired than in the inner growth of learners.
_2. Recognition of individual characteristics._
Every person has many peculiarities that are important factors in his
study and that should be noted by all concerned with great care. For
example, aside from the desirable rate of advance for each person,
which has already been mentioned, a student maybe eye-minded, or ear-
minded, or motor-minded. That is, he may be peculiarly dependent upon
his eyes, needing to see a statement in print rather than to hear it
read, and inclined to visualize or image even the most abstract
thought. Or he may learn best through the ear, wanting to hear
statements read, rather than see them. Or he may be peculiarly
dependent on motor activity, preferring to write his spelling lesson,
rather than to see the words only or to spell them orally; such a
person will need to gesticulate freely, to imitate movements and act
out scenes, rather than see or hear only verbal descriptions. Some
persons are naturally regular and systematic in their work, following
a definite program each day and arranging facts as well as furniture
in an orderly way. Others are pained by regularity and system, and
find it impossible to reform themselves. They can work well only when
they feel like it, and therefore by spurts. Some do their best
thinking under the stimulus of discussion and opposition, others are
disturbed by such conditions and can think best in private. Some are
especially devoted to facts, being scientifically minded and
interested in the objects about them. Others are idea-lovers, caring
little for the concrete world of nature, but attracted to literature,
history, and music. Others, still, are particularly strong in
execution, rarely considering theory apart from practice.[Footnote:
See President Hadley's article in _Harper's Magazine,_ June, 1905.]
Some of the peculiarities that we discover in ourselves are weaknesses
that should be discouraged and combated to the utmost; others require
more or less modification. But there is no choice concerning most of
them; their sum constitutes our nature, and we must accept them. They
are our original capital, our source of strength on which all increase
of strength must be grafted. And we should become well acquainted with
them, just as the engineer should know the properties of steam.
Full acquaintance is impossible, and even approximate knowledge of the
extent of one's powers cannot be reached, until one has become deeply
interested in some project and loaded with responsibility in regard to
it. But by humbly and diligently observing one's better tendencies,
and by giving full expression to them, one may attain a fair degree of
self-knowledge. One of the special duties of teachers and parents is
to come to the assistance of young people in such study, helping them
to recognize their strong and weak points and to understand themselves
without getting discouraged or excited. If we fail to enjoy a book or
musical concert that arouses the enthusiasm of others, we may well
admit the fact to ourselves, and perhaps to others, with neither pride
nor shame, but as a fact. Such facts reveal us to ourselves, and
should be noted with the consciousness that, if strength is not found
in one direction, it is likely to be discovered in some other.
_3. Responsibility for initiative._
It is obvious from preceding statements that both children and older
students must become far more accustomed to taking the initiative
during instruction, if they are to take it in private study. The way
to prepare for leadership, whether of self or of others, is to
undertake such leadership under wise guidance.
There are two degrees of responsibility in recitation that are
somewhat common. Suppose, for example, that a class in manual training
is to make a tile out of clay, to be placed under a coffee pot. After
proposing this task the teacher (1) might further state that the tile
must be six inches square and one-half inch thick; that it must have a
level surface; that a ball of clay of a certain size will be needed in
order to make a tile of the desired size; that it must be pressed into
shape mainly by the use of the thumbs; that careful measuring will be
necessary to secure the proper dimensions; that square corners can be
obtained by placing some square-cornered object directly over the
corners of the tile, for comparison; and that a level surface can best
be obtained by sighting carefully across the surface, so as to detect
any irregularities. After these and perhaps other instructions have
been given by the teacher, the children may be directed to begin work.
Or, after the task has been proposed, the teacher (2) might simply ask
the main questions that need to be considered, letting the pupils find
the solutions for the same as far as possible. For example: How large
should the tile be made? What should be its shape? What kind of
surface must it have? How must the clay be worked into the desired
shape? How make sure of the dimensions? Of square corners? Of a level
surface?
The first plan shows practically the lecture method in operation. The
teacher presents all of the ideas, and the children have the position
of listeners or followers. That method places the minimum degree of
responsibility upon pupils, the responsibility for attention, and is
quite common in the poorer schools and in colleges.
The second plan allows the children to join actively with the teacher
in producing the ideas involved in the solution of the problem. It
shows the development method in operation, which places much more
responsibility upon the class. But the teacher even here takes
practically all of the initial steps. She is the one who breaks the
large problem up into its parts; who determines the wording of the
questions and the order in which they shall be considered. The
children follow her cue; they are subject to her constant direction,
and merely make response to her specific biddings. The reaching of new
thought by them under such immediate stimulus and suggestion involves
responsibility for thinking, to be sure, but very little
responsibility for the initial thinking or for initiative. Neither of
these methods, therefore, plainly develops the power of self-
direction.
Training in the exercise of initiative is provided, not when young
people are following some other person's plan and answering some other
person's questions, but when they are obliged to conceive their own
plans and their own questions. Here is the crux of the whole matter.
Some other method, therefore, is desirable, and it is not difficult to
find. After the making of the tile has been proposed, the teacher
might simply ask, "How will you plan this piece of work?" leaving the
conception of the main questions, together with the answers, as far as
possible to the children.
They would know that a certain size would need to be determined upon,
fixed by the size of a coffee pot; that the shape would have to be
considered, the round or square form being chosen according to
personal preference and ease of making; that the thickness would be a
factor, it being important that the tile be thin enough to be
reasonably light, but thick enough not to break easily or to let heat
through; that a level surface is desirable, both for the sake of
beauty and utility; and that some way must be found for pressing the
clay into shape. All of these ideas lie within their personal
experience and therefore call only for common knowledge and common
sense.
All or most of this part of the plan, including the correction of any
misstatements, could be made by the children with little or no help
from the teacher. Where their knowledge is more limited, however, she
should come to their aid, either telling or developing, as the case
required. For instance, she might possibly tell outright how much clay
each would probably need, also how the clay should be pressed into
shape; and develop the method of making sure of proper dimensions, of
square corners (or of roundness) and of a level surface.
This task in manual training is typical of lessons in general. In
their mastery there is always a procedure of some sort to be followed,
and now and then, at least, this procedure lies in whole or in part so
fully within the class experience that they should have the
responsibility of mapping it out. Sometimes in the lower grades such
work might occupy a whole recitation period; again, only a few
minutes. As the experience increases, this responsibility should
increase, so that the higher grades should often show children stating
the main questions to be considered in their lessons, without help,
just as they have long been in the habit of stating the main steps to
be taken in individual problems in arithmetic without aid. In very
many recitations children should have responsibility for rejecting
some of the answers and for accepting others. The writer is acquainted
with one eighth-year class in which not only all this is done, but the
children frequently determine their own lesson assignments, reporting
in class what home work was attempted the previous evening and how it
was done. These reports are then subjected to general criticism and
suggestion. If such practices become successfully established in the
elementary school, they will have to be adopted higher up, for very
shame if for no other reason.
_4. Past experience as the principal source of new ideas.
(1) Illustrations._
Socrates was one of the most fertile thinkers that ever lived; yet he
scarcely traveled beyond the walls of Athens, and was accused of
always talking about the most commonplace objects, such as "brass
founders and leather cutters and skin dressers." He clearly
illustrates the fact that fertility of thought bears little relation
to one's quantity of learning, but depends rather upon the use made of
such very simple raw material as any ordinary person possesses.
_The Children's Hour_ as discussed on pages 69-70 show how one's
past may be used in the production of thought. The poem tells of an
hour set aside by the family for play. The fact that we know this to
be a very rare thing prompts the questions, "Was it customary in this
family, or did it happen only once?" The fact that many fathers would
be bored by such an hour suggests the query, "Did this father really
enjoy it?" The fact that the custom is so uncommon raises the further
inquiry, "Was there any special merit among these children that led to
it?" Also, "Why is the custom not more common?" And, since some one
must take the lead in establishing such an hour, the query follows,
"Can children themselves accomplish anything in this direction?"
Thus facts that are well known lead to new ideas. No matter what we
hear or read, or what topic is given to us to ponder, thoughts
additional to those directly presented are likely to be reached by
reference to past related experience. That one should look to past
experience as an almost unlimited source of new thought is one of the
most important truths for any person to bear in mind who is
endeavoring to learn to think.
_(2) The common neglect of experience._
It is very common, however, for persons who are rich in experience
touching some subject that they are studying to fail almost entirely
to use it. This was once well illustrated by about twenty young women
who were specializing in domestic science. At their own suggestion,
they prepared written plans for teaching how to bake sweet potatoes;
the writer was to correct these and discuss them with the class. But
after carefully examining all the papers and finding remarkably few
facts included, he asked the class what was really necessary, after
all, in the baking of sweet potatoes, beyond putting them, clean, into
a hot oven and taking them out when done. He requested them to
enumerate the facts that really needed to be taught. After perhaps two
minutes of meditation they sheepishly admitted that there was really
very little to present on the topic, and that they had carefully
written out plans only because "plans" were expected, and they wanted
some practice.
Since it was subject-matter, rather than method, that was needed, the
discussion was then directed to the facts involved in baking the
potatoes. A dispute soon arose when one remarked, "You should never
cut a sweet potato," others inquiring what should then be done with
those that were partly unsound, and how potatoes of very different
sizes could be baked together. Numerous other questions were
considered, as follows:--
What is the best way to clean them? Is it best to allow them to lie
long in water? Should the oven be very hot, or is a slow heat
preferable? Should anything be done with them while baking? How can
they be protected against burning? How much time is necessary for the
baking? Or will it vary? If so, why? How tell when they are done? Is
it necessary to take them out and strike them with the palm of the
hand, breaking them slightly? How get them out without burning one's
self?
Since one cookbook says that we want "dry and mealy" potatoes and
another states that they should be "moist and sweet," which is right?
Also, what different steps should be taken to secure each kind? Some
persons parboil the potatoes before baking them. Is that desirable?
What about the advisability of baking them with butter, sugar, and
salt? Are there other ways of baking them? What changes does the heat
effect in the potato? Should they be served immediately? Or, if guests
are not prompt, is there any way of keeping them in good condition?
Most of these questions arose for the first time in the discussion,
not having been referred to in any of the plans. Yet, no doubt, all
the members of the class had baked sweet potatoes many times, had read
cookbooks as often as novels, and--since they were not altogether
young--had scores of times been called upon to eat potatoes that were
not clean, or were unsound, or not done, or were tasteless, or burnt,
or soggy, or cold. Therefore, probably not one of the questions was
entirely new to any one of the students, so that the raw material for
thought was present in abundance and even very close at hand.
_(3) Reasons for such neglect._
Why, then, did they so neglect their past? Above all, why should two
minutes of reflection on the subject mark their limit? For, having
given to themselves the signal tor all stray ideas on the baking of
sweet potatoes to assemble, their manner indicated no hope of further
returns after the expiration of that brief period. A partial answer is
that they did not know where to look for ideas. But an additional
answer is that they did not know _how_ to look to their past, and
they accordingly lacked confidence. Indeed, they knew that they could
not think, so what was the use of wasting more than two minutes for
the sake of appearances?
It does require some knowledge and confidence to think out a subject
in view of one's experience. When we are somewhat familiar with a
subject, some ideas in regard to it may come very readily, so that the
first few minutes of reflection may be easily spent and fairly
rewarded. But the ability really to think is tested after this period.
Then we must know how to overhaul our past and must have faith that we
will get something from it. We must search our experience through and
through, viewing it from one point and then another in the keen
lookout for suggestions. And we must know that many of the best
thoughts, probably most of them, do not come, like a flash, fully into
being, but find their beginnings in dim feelings, in faint intuitions,
that need to be encouraged and coaxed before they can be surely felt
and defined.
The writer's experience in the observation of recitations with
graduate students has often illustrated this fact. Not seldom a
recitation has been observed that has apparently pleased most of the
observers, but that has produced only an uncomfortable feeling on his
part. At the close of the recitation he had no more definite ideas
about its merits than his students; but he was conscious of this
feeling of discomfort produced, and knew that if he followed it up he
would probably arrive at some important thoughts. Occasionally his
main points in an extended discussion of a recitation have been
reached in this way. Usually he has found afterward that his students
have had the same feeling as he; but they were scarcely conscious of
the fact, and, even if conscious, they failed to realize its worth as
a source of suggestion.
Thus vague premonitions furnish the clew to much of the best thought.
Very often one of the chief differences between a thinker and one who
cannot think lies in the attention given to premonitory feelings of
pleasure, discomfort, doubt, suspicion, etc.; the latter ignores such,
while the former, when he lacks clear ideas, or all ideas, even shakes
himself to discover how he feels, and patiently labors to define his
feelings and trace them to their source.
_(4) How confidence in the value of one's past may be developed._
But how dependent such study is upon self-confidence! Unless we have
faith in the richness of our own experience, and belief that a careful
inspection of it will be rewarded, we lack the courage and patience
necessary for success.
How can such confidence be cultivated? Mainly by cultivating the habit
of turning first to self when reflective thought is required. It is
presupposed that we must consult the library and the world about us
for raw facts of various kinds, for historical events, scientific
data, views of men, descriptions, etc.; but when our own thought is
wanted on a topic with which we are somewhat familiar, and on which we
are supposed to have some ideas, let us form the habit of turning to
ourselves _first;_ to others as helps later. If other authorities
are consulted first, there is danger that the first impressions, the
first thoughts, of the student will never come to light; the ideas of
others will hide these and become their substitutes, thereby
engendering distrust in self. But by giving attention first to self,
by giving it the first chance, its contributions can be recognized;
that encourages it to grow and attain vigor, so that, when outside
helps are later consulted, it can react upon them and maintain itself.
Every young person should do enough thinking on a subject, before
attempting to find what others think about it, to have something to
oppose to these others, as a basis of judgment. That will keep the
self upper-most and cultivate the confidence desired.
If, on the contrary, we wait until we have found what others think,
before attempting to find what we think, others will do our thinking
for us, and we will ever be suffering from the timidity that Emerson
laments in the words:--
A man should learn to detect and watch that gleam of light which
flashes across his mind from within, more than the luster of the
firmament of bards and sages. Yet he dismisses without notice his
thought, because it is his. In every work of genius we recognize our
own rejected thoughts; they come back to us with a certain alienated
majesty. Great works of art have no more affecting lesson for us than
this. They teach us to abide by our spontaneous impression with good-
humored inflexibility then most when the whole cry of voices is on the
other side. Else to-morrow a stranger will say with masterly good
sense precisely what we have thought and felt all the tune, and we
shall be forced to take with shame our own opinion from another.
[Footnote: Emerson, essay on _Self-reliance_.]
PART III
CONCLUSIONS
CHAPTER XI
FULL MEANING OF STUDY: RELATION OF STUDY TO CHILDREN AND TO THE SCHOOL
_The meaning of study._
True or logical study is not aimless mental activity or a passive
reception of ideas only for the sake of having them. It is the
vigorous application of the mind to a subject for the satisfaction of
a felt need. Instead of being aimless, every portion of effort put
forth is an organic step toward the accomplishment of a specific
purpose; instead of being passive, it requires the reaction of the
self upon the ideas presented, until they are supplemented, organized,
and tentatively judged, so that they are held well in memory. The
study of a subject has not reached its end until the guiding purpose
has been accomplished and the knowledge has been so assimilated that
it has been used in a normal way and has become experience. And, finally,
since the danger of submergence of self among so much foreign thought
is so great, it is not complete--at least for young students--until
precautions for the preservation of individuality have been included.
The common notion that study should consist of thinking is, therefore,
quite right. In _Hints for Home Reading_ (p. 51) Henry Ward Beecher
says of himself: "Reading with me incites to reflection instantly. I
cannot separate the origination of ideas from the reception of ideas;
the consequence is, as I read I always begin to think in various
directions, and that makes my reading slow; and that being the origin
of it psychologically, it has grown into such a habit that, if I read
a novel even, I read slowly." Later he advises (p. 95), "Never give
more time to reading a book than to reflecting upon its contents." In
criticism of the customary haste in reading, on the other hand, Mr.
Gorschen declares: "Honestly, I must say, I believe that a vast number
of readers do not allow what I may call the frenzied current of their
eyes, as they read, to be stopped by even a moment of calm reflection
or thought." [Footnote: _Aspects of Modern Study,_ by Right Honorable
G.J. Gorschen, D.C.L., M.P., p. 39.] Real assimilation of ideas has to
be slow; and while some reading, owing to the simplicity of subject-
matter, should be as rapid as the eye can travel, the rate at which
ground is usually covered is too great to make assimilation possible.
The eight factors of study that have been treated are not to be
regarded as separate stages of advance that must follow one another
tandem fashion. The principal stages through which the learner passes
are only four in number as outlined in Chapter VIII. Yet some of the
eight factors necessarily follow others. For example, the conception
of the specific aim should, if possible, come first, while memorizing
should usually come late, partly if not wholly as the by-product of
thinking; and the actual using of knowledge should come last. On the
other hand, provision for a tentative attitude and for individuality
should be made frequently throughout one's study. Several of these
factors, therefore, may be in evidence in any one of the four chief
stages of advance described.
_The ability of children to learn to study._
We have seen that children possess the ability to undertake the kind
of work required by each of the several factors of study. In fact,
outside of school, they are continually applying their minds in the
meeting of specific needs, as adults are, thereby employing most, if
not all, these factors. There is, accordingly, no fundamental
difference between their study and that of adults, although the
relative prominence of the various phases may vary somewhat; in other
words, these factors of study are general principles like the
principles of teaching, and likewise applicable to all ages. No
assertion is here made that children know intuitively how to do this
systematic kind of studying; they merely have the qualities of mind
and the experience prerequisite to rational study, and are therefore
in a position to receive instruction on the subject with profit.
_Why young people have not been learning to study properly alone._
Every one recognizes the fact that young people, as a rule, have not
been learning to study properly alone. There are two reasons for this,
which deserve very careful consideration. One is that the difference
between studying with a teacher and studying alone has been
overlooked. It has been assumed that the two were practically
identical, so that the one was full preparation for the other, while
in fact there is a very striking difference between them.
Consider what happens in class instruction, and then how independent
study differs from it. When a young person sets to work to master a
lesson with the aid of a teacher there is a question of how much two
persons can accomplish together. One of the two is mature, more or
less informed in general, more or less versed in the principles of
study, and more or less skilled in their application. The other is
immature, and only under favorable circumstances fully willing to
apply himself.
_1. The difference between studying alone and with a teach has been
overlooked._
As they ordinarily work, their relation to each other is well defined.
In case text has been assigned, the teacher asks various questions,
pushes the pupil against difficulties, points out crucial thoughts,
calls a halt here and there for review and drill, supplies motive for
attention by reprimanding or praising or pummeling, as the case may
be, and not seldom becomes flushed in the face from exertion. In the
case of development instruction in which, without the help of a text,
the thought is slowly unfolded by means of question and answer, the
teacher is the recognized master of the discussion. She usually
selects the general topic, breaks it into its parts, and then
concentrates her abilities on her questions, endeavoring to make them
short enough not to require too sustained attention, simple enough to
be reasonably easy, and attractive enough to be sure bait. In short,
she exerts herself to the utmost to conceive questions of just the
right size and quality; and, if she is very skillful, her morsels of
knowledge will prove so enticing that they will be swallowed and
digested without pain, and perhaps without conscious effort. In case
lecturing is the method followed, the teacher is still more plainly
the sole producer of thought, it being the mission of the student to
listen, comprehend, and retain.
In each of these cases the teacher is the acknowledged leader. Her
personality, as represented by voice, gesture, and manner, is drawn
upon for stimulus; she gives directions, puts the questions, and makes
the corrections, or sees that they are made. If she is accounted a
good teacher, she is probably more active than her pupils and grows
tired first.
Now, suppose that the teacher drops out and leaves the young person to
attack a similar lesson alone. How is the situation changed? The
purpose in the former case was the assimilation of the facts in the
lesson by the pupil. That is still the purpose. There is, therefore,
no change in that respect.
The method employed in the former case may be assumed to be as fully
in accord with the laws of the pupil's mind as the teacher could make
it. In short, the topic under consideration had to be carefully broken
into its parts, and various keen questions touching the meaning and
value of each had to be conceived in order that they might be
considered and answered. The same mind is still present to be
ministered to, so that, so far as possible, substantially the same
method must be followed. There is, therefore, no important change in
this respect. The purpose and the method in general being the same, it
is clear that the two situations duplicate each other to a large
extent. The same quantity of work must be done, and in practically the
same way.
But there is a very striking difference. When the two studied
together, the teacher not only did a part of the work, but she was the
leader; the pupil was a follower, doing only the subordinate part.
Now, being alone, he must do the principal part, in addition to the
other. He must divide his topic into parts, and conceive all the
questions that are worthy of attention; in brief, he must determine
the course of procedure himself, or take the initiative. Herein is
found the great difference between studying with a teacher and
studying alone, and it is a fundamental one. Capacity for self-
direction or initiation is not necessary in the usual class
instruction; but it becomes indispensable the moment one undertakes
independent study.
_(1) The nature and importance of initiative by the pupil._
This capacity is not simply a matter of knowledge. One person may know
much more than another about the factors involved in a proposed
project, and still be inferior to the other in ability to plan its
execution. It is not simply a matter of boldness, either, nor of
energy, although both of these, as well as knowledge, are necessary
elements. It signifies, in the main, rather a certain power of
invention, or a resourcefulness in planning work, a resourcefulness
that is sure to be exercised, however, only in case the other factors
just mentioned are also present.
Power of initiative is the key to proper study. If different lessons
were mastered in exactly the same manner, it might not be important.
But that is not the case, for every new lesson brings a new situation.
Experienced teachers know that one year of instruction in a certain
study does not free them from the necessity of extensive preparation,
if required to teach the same subject a second year. The discovery of
this fact is one of the serious disappointments of young teachers. The
same holds in study. Every new lesson, every new book, must be
mastered in a way peculiar to itself; each affords a new test of
resourcefulness. Thus the exercise of initiative is a constant and
very important factor in all independent study.
_(2) Why power of initiative cannot be acquired through imitation._
Power of initiative might still prove no source of difficulty, if it
were something that could be acquired mainly by imitation. But there
is the rub the case of the geography class mentioned on page 258 shows
conclusively that the natural tendency of young people to imitate the
example of initiative set by their teachers gives very little
guarantee of the exercise of similar initiative on their part when
studying alone.
And there are plain reasons for this. In the first place, there is the
widest difference between seeing and doing, between theory and
practice in general, so that one may observe an action and still fail
utterly to duplicate it. That is very common. But, in addition, the
power of initiative, being really the "ability to originate or start,"
calls for a good degree of originality and, therefore, lies largely
outside the field of imitation. In the second place, the long-
continued following of a leader, instead of fitting one to lead, may
directly unfit one for that responsibility. In the case of the
geography class it had been the leader who had determined how each
lesson should be attacked; who had exercised resourcefulness in
meeting unexpected obstacles; who had assumed responsibility for
deciding what the crucial questions were, and when the answers were
correct and complete; and who had supplied the energy that made things
"go." Under these circumstances, could it be expected that these
children, in their teacher's absence, would exhibit these same
qualities? Hardly. One does not learn to make an independent plan, to
show resourcefulness, to carry responsibility, and to supply motive
for effort--in brief, to take the initiative--by having some one else
perform these tasks for one. In other words, dependence is not the
preparation for independence. Indeed, great skill on the part of a
teacher in these respects almost precludes such skill on the part of
pupils. If allowed prominence year after year, it so undermines self-
reliance that one's helplessness when alone is greatly increased. The
children of the geography class had had nearly five years of training
in leaning on some one else, so that it was extremely difficult to
make them stand alone. They were like common soldiers especially
trained to obey their officers, yet expected to maintain their former
efficiency when suddenly left without officers. They were even more
helpless in the school-room, in the presence of a leader, than
outside.
By overlooking the difference between studying with a leader and
alone, therefore, the teacher overlooks initiative, and in consequence
she not only fails to develop that power, but she may easily undermine
it by accustoming pupils to dependence upon her. Here is one of the
reasons why young people have not been learning to study properly by
themselves.
_2. Some of the factors of study have also been overlooked by
teachers.
(1) Examples._
A second reason is that some of the factors of study themselves have
long been neglected or overlooked by teachers, as was stated in a
general way in Chapter I. It is not customary, for example, for
teachers to set up specific objects in their instruction, which shall
furnish motive and be guides in study. Indeed, it is rare except among
some primary teachers. While the supplementing of text is somewhat
common in some subjects, such as literature, any clear notion as to
what should be understood by thoroughness is rare indeed; and
consequently the whole matter of relative values and of organization
is poorly comprehended. Children, and even older students, are not
infrequently reprimanded for presuming to judge the merits of subject-
matter, a fact that plainly indicates how little the importance of
passing on the general worth of ideas is appreciated. Manual training
and a few kindred branches recognize the actual using of ideas as
their endpoint; but no one will assert that they are regarded as types
of other subjects in that respect. Any one will admit that special
provision for the development of a tentative attitude toward facts is
very exceptional; and students are so commonly submerged by their
studies, that there is hardly need to affirm that conscious provision
for the preservation and development of individuality is rare.
Memorizing is the only universally recognized factor in study; and the
supplementing of the author ranks next to it. Whether, aside from
these two, any or all of the other factors receive attention, depends
upon the individual teacher; as a rule they are sadly neglected, or
omitted outright from consideration.
This being true, it is uncommon for students to carry their study
through the three or four stages necessary in the proper assimilation
of knowledge (see p. 203), because these stages are accomplished only
by doing the work involved in these several factors. Very little
knowledge, for instance, is carried over into habit, the fourth stage.
The four fundamental operations in arithmetic and a few facts in
composition and grammar are shining exceptions. Very few teachers have
ever even asked themselves what portions of their different subjects
of instruction should result in habits; whatever habits become
actually established, therefore, are a matter of accident rather than
of intelligent planning by teachers. Every student reaches the third
stage of assimilation with some of his knowledge; that is, he
overhauls it until it is translated into his own experience. But what
a small proportion of all that he learns becomes welded to him, by the
warmth of his feeling for it, so that he forgets where it was obtained
and feels it to be his own! Almost any college student can name whole
courses that he pursued, to which he never warmed up appreciably.
How small this amount is, is suggested by the small quantity that is
carried even through the second stage, where the pupil or student
boldly subordinates both author and teacher to himself and asks what
profit he is getting; where he casts aside as non-essential much of
what is presented, and centers his attention on what seems of real
value to him, to weigh and perhaps reorganize it. Many a student never
consciously reaches this stage, and might be afraid to let his teacher
know the fact if he did. Certainly many a teacher would regard any
exercise of choice by the student, in the subject-matter assigned, as
an act of impertinence. Evidently most study does not carry
assimilation beyond the first stage, in which the crude materials of
knowledge are merely collected. And this not because young people are
lazy and disobedient, but because they are practically taught to stop
there by their teachers. They tell the truth when, recalling practice,
they almost universally declare that studying is mainly memorizing;
and Helen Keller's complaint that she had to study so much that she
did not have time to think, expresses a very common experience.
Even if there were no difficulty in regard to initiative, therefore,
proper methods of study could not be acquired through imitation,
because instruction does not set up a model of study that is worthy of
imitation. Beyond doubt, the method of instruction would duplicate the
method of study if each were right, and thus an example might be put
before the student for him to follow. But there is no such example at
present, and while students are upbraided for not studying properly,
they are furnished no means of learning the right way.
_(2) Why the factors in study have been so neglected by teachers._
The reason for this strange neglect of the factors in study is
probably due principally to the exaggerated importance of the teacher.
Believing in the maxim "As is the teacher, so is the school," we have
placed the center of gravity of the school in the teacher. "The
tendency of the (normal) training school," says President Millis, "is
to make the teacher self-conscious, concerned about her own
performance, about whether she did this or that in the approved way,
whether her voice was properly modulated, whether she utilized
illustrative and supplementary material in due proportion, whether she
followed copy faithfully, whether she got standardized results. The
tendency of supervision is to produce the same attitude of the
teacher. The success of the teacher is graded on her scholarship, her
culture, her standardized attainments, her questioning, her care of
the property, her attitude toward the community and the system, her
sympathy with the supervisor's notions--in short, her pedagogical
ability, which is now made a large factor in determining her ration of
bread and butter, is measured by her performance and her personal
charms." [Footnote: President W.A. Millis, _Training Pupils in the
Art of Study,_ The Educator-Journal, Oct., 1908.] Books dealing
with education show the same trend. There are hundreds of volumes on
method; but they almost invariably tell about what the teacher should
do, that is, they center in the teacher, not in the pupil. No wonder
that teachers come to regard themselves as "the whole thing," and
sometimes act as though educational institutions existed principally
for their benefit.
This exaggeration of the teacher's function has led the teacher
habitually to picture the learner in the presence of a helper; and
with that thought, it has hardly seemed necessary to ask whether or
not the learner should set up specific aims as guiding motives in
study; the teacher would furnish those herself in class, and perhaps
project her influence outside overnight by threats if required. It has
hardly seemed necessary to inquire how the learner would know when his
work was finished, or to what extent he should pass judgment on
thoughts presented, for her questions and other tests would insure
proper thoroughness, and her presence would check unfitting boldness
in judging. It has hardly seemed necessary to consider how far he
should proceed in the mastery of a topic, or how he should avoid being
dogmatic, for she would let him know when the endpoint was reached--if
he did not stop too soon of his own accord--and she would reprove too
positive an attitude. Finally, it has hardly seemed necessary to
enumerate the various ways in which he might protect his
individuality, because such protection has always been regarded as one
of the teacher's prominent duties, and she would offer it as occasion
demanded. Thus, with aid for the pupil always near at hand, the need
of careful investigation into the problems of private study and how
they should be met has not been felt by teachers to be pressing.
But the teacher herself has been at least something of a student while
teaching; and she may have made an extensive study of the learning
process as treated under apperception, attention, induction, and
deduction, interest, etc. How, then, has she escaped a close
acquaintance with the principal factors in study? The answer is that
as a teacher she has always thought of herself as giving aid, and has
never felt the need of examining into her own method of study. Why
should she, if she has never been conscious of any particular weakness
in that respect? In short, she has been too much absorbed in herself
to analyze the problems of independent study to be undertaken by her
pupils, and yet not enough absorbed in herself to investigate her own
study. Her psychology and pedagogy have not been valueless by any
means; but, lacking the imagination to picture her pupils at work
alone, and the sympathy to feel their confusion at such times, she has
not been prompted to make an examination of the requirements they
should meet when separated from her. Like many persons in other
fields, she has been too much interested in the results to consider
the process itself. "She" in this case represents high-school and
college teachers even more than those in the grades. This, at least in
part, explains why the method of individual study has been so
neglected.
_Changes necessary before young people will learn how to study.
1. Placing the center of gravity of the school in the learner._
The first change to be made, in order that young people may learn how
to study, is to place the center of gravity of the school where it
belongs--in the learner. The great question of method, then, becomes,
How shall one learn? Not, first of all, with the aid of the teacher,
but alone. What are the main tasks that should be performed in private
study, and how should they be accomplished? These questions give the
right point of view by centering attention in the pupil, and for that
reason they are the first questions that teachers and books on method
should consider. Every one will commend the insight of the mother who
said to an instructor, "If you will teach my boy how to prepare his
lessons, I will attend to his reciting." If lessons are properly
prepared, the testing of knowledge will be simple.
The problem of independent study having reached some solution, how to
come to the aid of the independent student, or how to impart
knowledge, follows as a narrower and subordinate question. If the
former has been adequately treated, the latter will introduce few new
psychological points, because a full treatment of method of study will
require a careful consideration of apperception, induction and
deduction, interest, association of ideas, attention, etc. Above all,
it will give a new conception of the meaning and scope of self-
activity. Teaching will then call mainly for a review of such topics,
although from a different and very important view-point.
_2. Modifying the subject-matter of the recitation._
Method of study will then become a large subject for regular
instruction. Even in the kindergarten and the first years of school it
will receive some attention, for that is the time when children begin
to acquire good mental habits or to fall into pernicious ones. Without
making so young pupils fully conscious that they are learning to
study, the teacher will lead them to move their eyes rapidly over the
printed page, so as to read simple stories quickly in silence, and
with good expression orally. This is already done by good teachers.
She will accustom them to responsibility for discovering the bearings
of observations in nature-study, of stories, work in color, etc., on
their home lives, and thus pave the way for collecting knowledge under
guidance of definite aims. She will cultivate in them the power to
fill out the author's picture, until situations are more vividly seen
and felt than now. She will require them to think and talk more
sharply by points, and to use judgment in neglecting really
unimportant details, training their consciences to allow such neglect,
if such training is needed. She will encourage them to pass judgment
on the merits of facts that they learn, while influencing them not to
feel too sure. She will see that they do whatever thinking is to be
done on poems and other matter that is to be memorized before the
memorizing itself is undertaken, so that the important habit of
memorizing through thought, rather than without it, shall begin to be
firmly fixed. She will lead them to understand that they are not
through with the study of topics until the ideas have been used in
some way, perhaps many times. And, particularly, she will put forth
effort to keep them natural in whatever they do and say, reasonably
contented with their abilities, and self-reliant. While most of such
instruction will be incidental, a portion of many a recitation will be
directly occupied in this way.
By the time the fifth year of school has been reached the principal
facts concerning each of the prominent factors of study can be talked
about freely, as so much definitely understood knowledge, and the
children can be expected to apply them in their various studies. Many
a whole recitation can be spent in supplementing authors' statements,
in determining principal thoughts, and in doing many other things
suggested in the preceding pages, the teacher directly emphasizing
such things as essential parts of proper study, and requiring them in
the preparation of lessons. Many a whole recitation, also, may be
occupied in discussing how lessons have been prepared, the teacher not
seldom presenting her own way in detail and allowing her pupils to
compare theirs with it. Abstract theory about method of study will
thus be avoided.
Perhaps, most of all, the teacher will fix upon the second stage of
study (p. 204) as the crucial point in method, in which the children
select what seems of real value to them and let the rest go. Of course
they will often err, and then it will devolve upon the teacher to show
the value of what they have rejected. If she cannot do that, either
her mind or the curriculum will need to be improved. While this seems
a grave responsibility to place upon pupils of the elementary school,
It must be remembered that they should know how to study by the time
they complete that course; and they cannot possibly learn how, without
dealing boldly with values,--the values of facts in comparison with
one another, or relative values, and their values to the self, or
general values. We have long wanted young people to know how to study,
without allowing them choice among ideas, that is, without placing
them in the conditions that would permit it. The fact that during the
later years of the elementary school children must choose almost daily
outside of school between good and bad literature as presented in
books, periodicals, and newspapers, and that they actually select and
reject freely in their own reading, shows how normal it is to do such
work in school, and how important it is to make it prominent.
Method of study will then have precedence over other aims of the
school, even ranking above the acquisition of other knowledge.
Possibly as much as one-fourth of all the school time might be devoted
primarily to this problem, although within that period much subject-
matter in the studies would also be mastered.
While children completing the curriculum of the elementary school
might then be well enough acquainted with the general principles of
study, in their practical applications, to stop the customary
complaints of teachers and parents in that regard, method of study
would still be far from mastered. For, besides the general principles,
there are special principles peculiar to each branch of knowledge,
just as there are both general and special methods of teaching. Proper
study of arithmetic, for example, does not fully include the method of
studying algebra, to say nothing of grammar; neither does the method
in algebra duplicate that in geometry; nor the method in English, that
in Latin; nor the method in Latin that in French. As each new branch
is begun, therefore, two or three weeks might need to be spent
primarily in considering how it should be studied, and now and then,
later, an hour should be occupied in the same way.
Topics in learning to study that are too broad for the limits of any
particular branch would need to be taught from time to time. For
instance, the use of the table of contents, or of the index of a book,
of the library catalogue, of encyclopedias and other reference works,
should become familiar in the elementary school, as well as some facts
about taking and preserving notes. In high school and college further
systematic instruction would be needed on the finding of articles and
books treating of certain topics, on the keeping of notes, possibly to
the extent of establishing a card catalogue for them, and on the
general use of a library. Some attention to methods of study would be
in place, therefore, even in college.
On the whole, the content of the regular school period would be
considerably modified. Study periods, both supervised and independent,
devoted either to method of study or to subject-matter, would be far
more common; and, while the reproduction of facts would still be
necessary, it need not be the dominant feature of the school; for
improved methods of study, or better thinking, would render much of
the mere testing of the presence of facts, such as we now have,
superfluous. Study periods, or, preferably, thinking periods, as the
name in the regular school program, would then be recognized as more
fitting than recitation; the latter is a belittling name.
_3. Modifying the method of the recitation._
Finally, in order that initiative, good judgment, and even skill, may
be acquired in applying the principles of study, young people must do
a much larger part of the work in class than has been customary.
President Millis's statements are again eminently sound, when he
declares: "It is what the pupil can do, not what the teacher can do,
that counts. He may be fascinated by the brilliant performances of his
teacher, he may be pulled and pushed about under a skillful cross-
examination, he may manipulate apparatus, he may see the wheels go
round and round, and come out of it all with little actual gain of
power to do things for himself or for others. There is more than a
little danger that we have carried the refinements of teaching to the
extreme of defeating its proper ends....A college professor of my
acquaintance was criticised by a student for carrying the ball too
much in class! No coach ever built up a winning team by carrying the
ball himself. The pupil must be active. He must carry the ball. He
must ask and answer questions. He must make as well as solve problems.
He must be in the game himself, if he is to learn to play the game. He
must be independently productive. He must learn to do things for
himself, in a way which he has adopted for himself." [Footnote: Ibid]
Children and older students, therefore, must become accustomed to
taking the initiative and doing the other work of study in class, if
they are to do these things outside.
One day when reading Hawthorne's story of The Gorgon's Head with a
fourth-year class, the writer stopped at an interesting point and
asked, "Do you ever stop to talk over what you read? Or do you always
'go on' and 'keep going on'?" "We always go right on," replied
several. "We sometimes stop," said a few, among whom was Eddie. "Very
well," said I, "let us stop here a moment to talk. What have you to
say, Eddie?" "O, _we_ don't talk; the _teacher_ does the talking,"
said he, with a most nonchalant air. What likelihood was there that
that class, after their four years of school training, would show a
fair degree of independence in their study of literature, if their
teacher were suddenly struck dumb?
It is a matter of rather frequent remark that children accustomed to
lively participation in class discussion under a skillful teacher too
often experience a disappointing relapse the moment the teacher
absents herself. The peculiar stimulus being gone, they not only fail
to rise to the occasion by conceiving such questions as she might ask;
but even after the questions are put, they are overcome by a strange
mental lassitude and make little response. The stimulus to work must
come from within rather than from without, if one's state is to be
healthy.
Furthermore, just as the children must do a larger part of the work in
class, the teacher must do less. One follows as a consequence of the
other. The old-fashioned country school neglected its pupils so much
that knowledge was poorly digested. The modern school very naturally
proposes to correct that evil. Accordingly, the "good teacher" of to-
day lives very close to her children. In many a school she does not
leave them to themselves five minutes in a whole day. With her keen
eye she detects their very state of mind, and by the sharpest of
questions reveals their slightest error. As a result, their knowledge
is much more thorough than it used to be, more of it is acquired, and
it is acquired with less effort.
But, meanwhile, new evils have crept in. The teacher, in spite of her
better preparation, is working harder than ever, much too hard. She
does more thinking in class than any one of her pupils, and more
talking than all of them put together. At the same time, she is
undermining their independence. The old-fashioned school, by leaving
the pupil alone a good share of the time, threw him upon his own
resources enough to develop a fair degree of self-reliance. It
possessed the merit at least of not preventing the exercise of
independence. The modern school, by providing a helper close at hand
every moment, tends in the opposite direction. The gain on the whole
is questionable.
The good of the old must be preserved while the added good of the new
is realized. The wise teacher of the future, therefore, will do more
for her children than lead them to learn rapidly and thoroughly; she
will endeavor to develop their self-reliance and judgment in study and
in other matters just as far as possible. For this end she will, more
often than at present, plan to act merely as chairman of discussion,
rather than as leader of it and an active participant in it. She will
induce her pupils to study aloud before her, particularly to take such
initial steps as lie plainly within their power. She will offer
suggestions from time to time, but not to the extent of depriving them
of responsibility for determining the main questions and answering
them. The longer she instructs a class, the less talking she will do,
because they, having grown more resourceful and independent, will be
able to do it themselves, it being one of her objects to show them how
they can get along without her. She will prove most useful when she is
least needed. But her presence will still be necessary, for, while she
will no longer have to prod them every moment by questions, her
testing will always be important, and her greater maturity of
knowledge will render her suggestions and criticisms always valuable.
The art of teaching will then consist not only in ability to present
ideas but also in ability to keep still. That is by no means a small
task. Under many circumstances it is not difficult to hold one's
tongue. But when a teacher is confronted by a class in which every one
has the duty of saying something, it is either painful or ridiculous
if no one says anything. It is then that the poor teacher is obliged
to talk much in order to "keep things going." The really good teacher
is the one who understands the secret of delegating responsibility to
her pupils, and not the least of her rewards is the fact that she is
allowed to rest her voice.
_Home study_
The first condition to be met in regard to home study is to assign
only such work as the pupils are known by the teacher to be able to do
rightly, and without too great physical strain. With the attention to
method of study that has been urged, this condition can be easily met.
That means, however, that many a topic cannot be assigned for the home
as it is approached, for it will first require some consideration at
school. Thus the home study of a lesson will very often follow rather
than precede its study at school.
The assignment of lessons merely by pages is now often decried, and
justly, because it leaves the child so utterly without a guide as to
method. But, when method of study has been properly taught, such an
assignment would often be fitting. The responsibility would then fall
upon the pupil of determining what it was good for, of selecting and
reorganizing the principal parts, etc.; but he could meet that
responsibility because he would understand what things he was to do
and would know how to do them.
Parents should not be expected to take a hand in teaching their
children how to study, for that is altogether too large a task, and
involves too much special preparation. If they observe that a child
does not know how, they would better leave him alone, directing him to
apply to his teacher for instruction. Parents are more bent upon
obtaining results and getting rid of their children--so far as school
work is concerned--than are teachers, so that the duties assigned to
them should be few and of a simple character.
There are some important things for parents to do, however. They
should take pains to provide proper physical surroundings for home
study, including quiet, proper light and temperature. They should
exert an influence in the direction of regular hours, of a short
period of relaxation immediately before and after meals and before
bedtime, and of some variety of occupation during the longer periods
of study, so that fatigue may be avoided. In addition, they should
stimulate their children by bringing pressure to bear on the lazy
ones, by "hearing lessons" now and then, and, above all, by asking
questions that call for a review of facts as well as for their use in
conversation. They may give some help; but, if they do, they should by
all means avoid falling into disputes about method. The child is right
in preferring to do a thing in the teacher's way, for it is to the
teacher that he is finally responsible; and parents ought to be broad
enough to try to follow the teacher's plan. They can help their
children most by showing concern for them, really inspecting their
written work instead of merely pretending to, and otherwise
manifesting genuine interest in their tasks.
_Are children capable of the initiative necessary for independent
study?_
Two questions remain to be considered, the first of which pertains to
initiative. If independent study requires that one practically
duplicate the work of the teacher by teaching one's self, can children
in the elementary school be expected to study alone, or can they even
be trained to it? Much power of initiative is rare even among adults.
Much of the instruction of teachers themselves is poor owing to a lack
of independent thinking. What success, then, can come to children when
they are sent off to study their lessons in private?
In reply, it is safe to say that they can be so trained, provided they
have some native capacity for self-reliance that can be used as a
basis for such training. And that they have such capacity can scarcely
be questioned. In their choice and leadership of games and other play;
in their plans for constructive work; in their serious tasks set by
themselves at home; in their selection of topics for conversation and
even in the turns that their remarks take, children plainly show power
of initiative.
Intelligent parents recognize this fact, and they not infrequently
take successful measures to cultivate this power. Kindergartners also
recognize it. Indeed, they expect children who are little more than
infants to propose suitable tasks, together with the method of their
execution, in the kindergarten, and to carry the responsibility of
leadership in the conversation of the "circle" and in the games. The
resourcefulness of a ten-year-old boy was recently suggested in a
certain class in composition. The subject that they were writing on
was Mining in the Far West, and spelling was a serious obstacle for
one youth, as it was for most of his mates. Finally, with apparent
innocence, he asked his teacher if he might not describe his
experiences as a miner in the miner's own dialect. On receiving her
consent he gloried in his freedom by misspelling nearly every word
that he used.
Evidently, latent power of self-direction is one of the "native
tendencies" of childhood. The statement may be ventured, also, that
while the field of experience of children is very different from that
of adults, the exercise of initiative within that field is as common
among children as it is among adults within their own field.
There is, therefore, a good basis in children for assuming the
initiative. But it is only a basis. Unless this native tendency toward
self-direction is carefully developed in connection with the studies
in school, from year to year, it will of course prove inadequate to
the demands of proper study. And that very often happens. In spite of
the fact that schools exist for the sake of education, there is many a
school whose pupils show a peculiar "school helplessness"; that is,
they are capable of less initiative in connection with their school
tasks than they commonly exhibit in the accomplishment of other tasks.
In its quest for knowledge the school may thus easily prove inferior
to the street and the average home in the development of this
extremely valuable power.
On the other hand, if children's native capacity for taking initiative
has been carefully developed, well-selected subjects of study need
make no excessive demands upon them. The topics to be considered will
be found so nearly within their experience that their ability to study
alone will be taxed only to a normal degree. Children, therefore, can
be expected to exercise the initiative that is necessary for
independent study from year to year, provided their teachers from year
to year do their duty in developing that power.
_Is there time for teaching how to study?_
Finally, even though children be capable of learning to study alone,
is there time for such instruction, particularly if it is to be the
primary object throughout possibly a quarter of the elementary-school
time, and during a considerable time later? Is not the curriculum
already full enough, indeed full to completion? While it is true that
it has begun to be reduced by the selection of only such matter as
bears a plain relation to our lives, as can be understood by the
learner, and as constitutes some part of a large topic, when such
reduction has been completed there may still remain twice as much as
ought to be taught. Shall we, then, even while making these
eliminations, make additions that may more than equal them?
The addition here proposed is not so alarming. For a long time some of
our university departments of physics have aimed rather to teach the
scientific method in laboratory investigations than to impart a
knowledge of the facts in physics; and some of our departments of
practical politics have been more concerned about the method of
investigating political problems than about the conclusions reached
concerning them. In such cases the acceptance of proper method as the
primary purpose has not precluded the acquisition of much subject-
matter, for the method has been taught through the subject-matter. The
same would hold in teaching proper method of study.
But, aside from that, attention to proper method of study will result
in greatly reducing, rather than in increasing, the work of both
teacher and pupil, and in two ways.
First, it will reduce the quantity of subject-matter. It is strange
that, in spite of the hue and cry of teachers and superintendents
against overcrowding in the elementary school, they are really the
ones who make out the course of study, and there are no persons back
of them requiring them to include a large amount. Beyond a minimum
portion of the three R's, spelling, and geography, which are required
by society, almost anything and everything could be omitted if they
greatly desired it. But they have forced young people to study in much
the same way as they themselves visit European countries, straining to
get a bird's-eye view of everything, and settling on nothing long
enough to know it intimately and to enjoy it deeply. They justify
Herbert Spencer's remark to the effect that he would have known no
more than a great many other persons, if he had read as many books as
they had.
The difficulty has been that teachers, with the center of gravity of
the school within themselves, have lacked a standard for determining
their pupils' normal rate of advance. The curriculum that they have
outlined has been merely the sum of those things that they have deemed
good, that they would like to have the children know; and the children
have been set to work to consume all these good things, just like
gourmands.
With the center of gravity in the child, however, and with the proper
method of study in the lead, the learner's real power of assimilation
becomes the standard for his rate of advance. And, since assimilation
is a very slow process, including much discrimination among ideas as
well as their use, comparatively few topics can be undertaken.
Appreciation of proper study then makes extensive eliminations so
evidently necessary that they become compulsory. So long as we did not
look closely at the minds of children, and they seemed to thrive
physically, we have lacked proof that they were surfeiting; attention
to study reveals the fact too plainly for it to be ignored.
It is not merely the teacher, either, that will be emboldened to cast
aside subject-matter. The pupil himself, under the influence of
specific purposes, a clear notion of thoroughness, and his own
conception of values, will quickly pass over many of the facts that
are assigned in his lessons. If he pays little attention to a full
half of any school text that possesses literary merit, he will
probably not be far in the wrong. For perspective is essential in all
presentation of thought, and there are usually as many things in the
background, necessary and yet to be ignored, as there are in the
foreground.
Besides reducing the amount of matter to be studied, proper method of
studying will further relieve both teacher and pupil from overwork by
eliminating much friction in the process of study. The want of axle
grease on a wagon does not increase the actual weight of a ton of
coal, but it makes the pulling a lot harder; likewise, awkward methods
of study do not increase the curriculum in fact, but they do in
effect, by making progress slower and more taxing. There are hosts of
young people who are willing and are trying to be studious, who do not
know how. They, as well as the lazy ones, have to be dragged along by
their teachers, and it is this dragging more than the thinking that
exhausts them all. It is the discouragement resulting from this
condition that drives many pupils out of school and many teachers into
matrimony. While numerous things compete with it as a source of waste
in education, unnecessary friction in method of study is probably the
greatest source of waste; and it is as foolish to ignore the fact
longer as it would be for a manufacturer to refuse to oil and repair
his machinery.
There is no question, therefore, about the advisability of taking time
to teach proper method of study. In spite of helpful reductions in the
curriculum from other sources, we must look to proper method of study
as the principal means by which work for both the teacher and the
pupil will be made lighter, more effective, and more enjoyable.