Thinking and learning to think - Nathan C. Schaeffer (romantic story to read .txt) 📗

No attempt is made to ridicule the arm-chair psychologists, or the advocates of child study, or those patient and painstaking workers who are honestly seeking to establish the facts of mind through experiments in the laboratory. He who has carefully reflected upon the art of making pupils think will not hesitate to admit that thus far he has received more light from the standard psychology than from the labors of those who claim to be the exponents of the new psychology. The latter can hardly write or talk without using the terms coined by the older students of mind; this shows their indebtedness to those who taught and speculated before laboratories of psychology were established. Sometimes the experiments have only served to test and give a reason for what was already accepted. Often they have brought to our knowledge facts of mind which could never have been discovered by the method of introspection. In either case the experiments have resulted in clear gain. Let the facts of brain and mind, of nervous and mental action, of human growth, maturity, and decay be gathered, questioned, tested, and classified; let their bearing upon educational practice be set forth in the clearest possible light: every resulting step of progress and reform will be hailed with delight by all who have no pet theories to defend.

The lecturer is limited by time, by the kind of audience which he addresses, and by circumstances largely beyond his control. These limitations drop out when he reduces his thoughts to writing, and a rearrangement at many points becomes possible as well as desirable. The expedients for relieving the strain of attention and winning back the listless can be omitted; and omissions that become necessary through the exigencies of the programme must be supplied for the sake of logical sequence. Moreover, the aims which those who engage the lecturer set before him frequently require a modification of the line of discussion, so that a course of lectures on a specific theme cannot always follow the same order of treatment, although substantially the same in content and scope. Hence the division into chapters has been adopted as preferable to the original sequence of lectures. Nevertheless, the style of the rostrum has not been altogether eliminated, because when oral discourse is thrown into new forms, and the phraseology is changed for the sake of publication, the loss in vividness, directness, and simplicity is greater than the gain in diction and fulness of statement.

Lecturing, as well as book-making, has its peculiar temptations. The lecturer must interest his hearers in order to hold them; he is tempted to play to the galleries, and to omit what is beyond the comprehension of the average audience. The book-maker, on the other hand, is tempted to display his learning, to make a show of depth and erudition. The student of pedagogy is supposed to be in search of profound wisdom. Those who write for him often dive so deep that their style becomes muddy. Unfortunately, some of the best treatises on education have been written in the style of the philosopher and wrought out on the plane of the university professor, although intended for undergraduates at normal schools, and for teachers whose meagre salaries do not enable them to pursue courses of study at institutions of higher learning. The lucid style of Spencer’s treatise on “Education” has done much to counteract this tendency. Yet many of the authors of our treatises on pedagogy seem to be haunted by a feeling similar to that of the German professor, who, on reading the opening chapters of a new book, and finding them to be intelligible to his colleagues, exclaimed, “Then I must rewrite these chapters; otherwise nobody will read my book through.”

Huxley has well described the penalty which must be paid by those who speak or write for the purpose of being understood. These are his words:

“At the same time it must be admitted that the popularization of science, whether by lecture or essay, has its drawbacks. Success in this department has its perils for those who succeed. The ‘people who fail’ take their revenge, as we have recently had occasion to observe, by ignoring all the rest of a man’s work and glibly labelling him a mere popularizer. If the falsehood were not too glaring, they would say the same of Faraday and Helmholtz and Kelvin.”

One who can never hope to rival the style of Spencer and Huxley and those to whom the latter refers, will nevertheless do well to emulate their skill in making difficult things plain to people who are not specialists or experts. He who writes for the teachers in our public schools should put aside his ambition to be considered erudite or profound, and endeavor above all things to be understood. Vague theories are apt to beget a bad conscience in those who teach and to destroy the joy which every one has a right to feel while doing honest and faithful work. Hence the writer offers no apology for heaping illustration upon illustration in the effort to make his meaning plain to those whom he aims to help.

There is at present great need for clear thinking and luminous presentation of facts on the part of all who write on education for the people or for teachers in our public schools. By a process similar to that by which the mediæval imagination swelled the murder of the innocents at Bethlehem into a slaughter of thousands of children (there cannot have been many male children two years old and under in a small Judean village), the harm which some pupils suffer is magnified into a national crime at the feet of American parents; the evils which result from “Bob White” societies, from children’s parties, from church sociables for young boys and girls, are all ascribed to the school curriculum; and reforms in home study are proposed which never fail to provoke a smile on the face of a healthy boy.

The hygienic conditions of the average school are quite equal to those of the average home. The health of many children improves during their attendance at school. The pupils who are born with a sound mind in a sound body, who get healthful diet, enough sleep, and treatment from their elders which is not calculated to make them nervous or unhappy, show none of the illness from overwork, the dulness of brain from fatigue, and the exhaustion of nervous energy which are made to furnish the narrow basis of fact for vague and broad generalizations. The haze in which those who must furnish the printer a given amount of copy in a given time are apt to envelop whatever they write has an effect like that of misty air upon the size of visible objects. Travellers who have come into a cloud while ascending a mountain report that a small wood-pile then looks like a barn, a cow seems larger than an elephant, men appear as giants, and the surrounding heights assume threatening proportions. As soon as sunlight clears the atmosphere, objects are again seen in their true dimensions. The moment the light of common sense penetrates the haze and mist and fog and cloud which are used to heighten the effect of essays upon school work, the need of radical reform seems far less urgent; and teachers, instead of wasting their time in worry and uncertainty, begin with cheerful heart to impart that which modern civilization requires every child to know as a condition of bread-winning and complete living.

There is, of course, a worse fault than obscurity of style,—namely, dearth of ideas. The danger to which the lecturer is always exposed, that of losing his hearers and failing to be recalled (their minds may leave while they are bodily present), spurs to effort in two directions. Either he will try to say something worth listening to, or he will strive to entertain by amusing stories and incidents. If he be conscious of a lack of talent for humor, he will try to stuff his lectures full of sense. If the lectures here published lack in this respect, the writer is willing to acknowledge failure.

In preparing a course of lectures it is proper to bear in mind the difference between the lecturer, the orator, the poet, and the philosopher. The philosopher investigates ideas and truths, explores their essence and relations, and unfolds them in their deepest unity and in their greatest possible compass. When this has been done throughout the whole domain of thought, his mission is accomplished. The poet seeks to clothe his ideas in beautiful forms. When the idea is perfectly suited to the form and the form to the idea, his mission is accomplished. The orator aims to move the will; he quotes authorities, uses ideas, appeals to the feelings, and subordinates everything to the one end of gaining a verdict, winning a vote, or getting a response in the conduct of those whom he addresses. The lecturer seeks to impart information. He aims to get a response in the thinking of those whom he addresses. He tries to reach the intellect rather than the will. Beautiful language and exhaustive treatment are not essential parts of his mission. It is his province to elucidate the theme under consideration, to guide the efforts and inquiries of those who come to him for instruction, to direct them to the sources of information, and to furnish such incentives as he can towards independent study and investigation.

Since the data for pedagogy are derived mainly from kindred fields of investigation, the lecturer on the science and art of education has frequent occasion to cite authorities and to utilize the labors and conclusions of the men eminent in the sciences which throw light upon the growth of the child, more especially upon the development of mind and character. The most original writers quote very little, and those who are anxious to establish a reputation for originality refrain from quoting others. It is the business of the lecturer to lead the hearer to the sources of information. When anything has been so well said that he cannot improve upon the form of statement it is proper that he should quote the language, carefully giving the source whence it is derived. Without doubt, when the genius appears who will do for pedagogy what Aristotle did for logic and Euclid for geometry, he will so polish every gem he gets from others and give it a setting so unique and appropriate that the world will recognize the touch of the master and acknowledge the contribution as peculiarly his own handiwork. In painting and sculpture we look to the past for the greatest works of art. In music the century now closing has rivalled, if not surpassed, its predecessors. In the science and art of education the greatest achievements belong to the future. It is currently reported and sometimes believed that when the president of a celebrated university was asked why he had transferred a certain professor from the department of geology to that of pedagogy, he replied, “I thought the fellow would do less harm in that department.” If the story is not a myth, he probably meant less harm to the reputation of the university. When in our day a course in geology or logic or geometry is announced, one can foretell the ground that will be covered. No such prediction can be made with reference to a course of lectures on teaching. The prophet is yet to come who will fix the scope of the science of education and give it something like definite and abiding shape.

This volume is not designed to supplant systematic treatises on psychology and logic. Its aim is to throw light upon one important phase of the art of teaching. If it contributes but two mites to the treasury of