I shall not try in this discussion of the problem of study to summarize
completely the principles and precepts that have been presented so well
in the four books on the subject that have appeared in the last two
years. I do not know, in fact, of any book that is more useful to the
teacher just at present than Professor Frank McMurry's _How to Study and
Teaching how to Study_. It is a book that is both a help and a delight,
for it is clear and well-organized, and written in a vivacious style and
with a wealth of concrete illustration that holds the attention from
beginning to end. The chief fault that I have to find with it is the
fault that I have to find with almost every educational book that comes
from the press to-day,--the tendency, namely, to imply that the teacher
of to-day is doing very little to solve these troublesome problems. As a
matter of fact, many teachers are securing excellent results from their
attempts to teach pupils how to study. Otherwise we should not find so
many energetic young men to-day who are making an effective individual
mastery of the principles of their respective trades and professions
independently of schools and teachers. Our attitude toward these
questions, far from being that of the pessimist, should be that of the
optimist. Our task should be to seek out these successful teachers, and
find out how they do their work.
Among the most important points emphasized by the recent writers upon
the art of study is the necessity for some form of motivation in the
work of mastering the text. We all know that if a pupil feels a distinct
need for getting information out of a book, the chances are that he will
get it if the book is available and if he can read. To create a problem
that will involve in its solution the gaining of such information is,
therefore, one of the best approaches to a mastery of the art of study.
It is, however, only the beginning. It furnishes the necessary energy,
but does not map out the path along which this energy is to be expended.
And this is where the greater emphasis, perhaps, is needed.
One of the best teachers that I ever knew taught the subject that we now
call agronomy,--a branch of agricultural science that has to do with
field crops. I was a mere boy when I sat under his instruction, but
certain points in his method of teaching made a most distinct impression
upon me. Lectures we had, of course, for lecturing was the orthodox
method of class instruction. But this man did something more than merely
lecture. He assigned each one of his students a plat of ground on the
college farm. Upon this plat of ground, a definite experiment was to be
conducted. One of my experiments had to do with the smut of oats. I was
to try the effect of treating the seed with hot water in order to see
whether it would prevent the fungus from later destroying the ripening
grain. The very nature of the problem interested me intensely. I began
to wonder about the life-history of this fungus,--how it looked and how
it germinated and how it grew and wrought its destructive influence. It
was not long before I found myself spending some of my leisure moments
in the library trying to find out what was known concerning this
subject. I was not so successful as I might have been, but I am
confident that I learned more about parasitic fungi under the spur of
that curiosity than I should have done in five times the number of hours
spent in formal, meaningless study.
But the point of my experience is not that a problem interest had been
awakened, but rather that the white heat of that interest was not
utilized so completely as it might have been utilized in fixing upon my
mind some important details in the general method of running down
references and acquiring information. That was the moment to strike, and
one serious defect of our school organization to-day is that most
teachers, like my teacher at that time, have so much to do that anything
like individual attention at such moments is out of the question.
Next to individual attention, probably, the best way to overcome the
difficulty is to give class instruction in these matters,--to set aside
a definite period for teaching pupils the technique of using books. If
one could arouse a sufficiently general problem interest, this sort of
instruction could be made most effective. But even if the problem
interest is not general, I think that it is well to assume that it
exists in some pupils, at least, and to give them the benefit of class
instruction in the art of study,--even if some of the seed should fall
upon barren soil.
This aspect of teaching pupils how to study is particularly important in
the upper grades and the high school, where pupils have sufficiently
mastered the technique of reading to be intrusted with individual
problems, and where some reference books are commonly available. Chief
among these always is the dictionary, and to get pupils to use this
ponderous volume effectively is one of the important steps in teaching
them how to study. Here, too, it is easy to be pedantic. As I shall
insist strenuously a little later, the chief factor in insuring a
transfer of training from one subject to another is to leave in the
pupil's mind a distinct consciousness that the method that he has been
trained to follow is worth while,--that it gets results. The dictionary
habit is likely to begin and end within the schoolroom unless steps are
taken to insure the operation of this factor. It is easy to overwork the
dictionary and to use it fruitlessly, in so great a measure, in fact,
that the pupil will never want to see a dictionary again.
Aside from the use of the dictionary, is the use of the helps that
modern books provide for finding the information that may be
desired,--indices, tables of contents, marginal and cross-references,
and the like. These, again, are most significant in the work of the
upper grades and the high school, and here again if we wish the skill
that is developed in their use to be transferred, we must take pains to
see that the pupil really appreciates their value,--that he realizes
their time-saving and energy-saving functions. I do not know that there
is any better way to do this than to let him flounder around without
them for a little so that his sense of their value may be enhanced by
contrast.