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[ii]

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The reasons for translating and annotating Herbart’s “Outlines” are, first, to present to the English-speaking public Herbart’s latest, and also his most complete, work on education; and, second, to note to some extent at least the advances made in educational thought since Herbart laid down his pen.

Herbart’s educational writings are distinguished by two marked characteristics: 1, their helpfulness in actual teaching; and 2, their systematic completeness. The thoughtful reader can see the bearing of each part upon all the others; the purposes of education are so completely correlated with the means, that, whether the topic under discussion be apperception or interest or methods of teaching or school government or moral training or the presentation of a particular study, the reader is never at a loss to see the relation of this part to the whole.

The eminent practicability of Herbart’s thought depends upon his psychological point of view, which is always that of concrete experience. The moment one tries to apply rational psychology to actual teaching, one begins to rise into the clouds, to become vague[vi] or, at least, general. The reason for this is that rational psychology deals with unchangeable presuppositions of mind. We may conform our work to these standards, but we cannot modify them, any more than we can a law of nature. But when we have to deal with an apperceiving content, we feel at home, for over this we have some control. We can build up moral maxims, we can establish permanent interests, we can reveal the unfolding of whole developments of thought and effort, we can fix the time order of studies and parts of studies; in short, we can apply our pedagogical insight with some degree of success to actual school problems. Though empirical psychology has in the last fifty years had as rapid a development as any other department of science, it has never departed essentially from the direction fixed by Herbart. New methods have indeed been applied, but the leading motive has remained empirical; it has had small tendency to drift toward rational psychology. This fact makes Herbart’s educational thought, so far as psychological bearing is concerned, seem as fresh and modern as when it was first recorded.

In one important respect, however, Herbart’s system needs modernizing. It is in relating education to conditions of society as it now exists. German society has never been that of English-speaking countries; much less does German society of the early part of the nineteenth century correspond to Anglo-Saxon society at[vii] the beginning of the twentieth. Indeed, even had there been correspondence before, there would be divergence now. It is one of the main purposes of the annotation, therefore, to point out the social implications of various parts of the “Outlines.”

The annotation has made no attempt to improve Herbart’s prophetic vision concerning many important matters, or to elucidate self-evident propositions, or to supplement observations already complete, true, and apt.

Especial attention is called to the exactness and illuminating character of Herbart’s diagnosis of mental weaknesses and disorders in children, together with his suggestions as to proper treatment. Students of child-study, moreover, will find in this work not only encouragement in their work, but also assistance in determining what is worth studying in the child. The reader is constantly reminded of the fact that, when written by a master, no book is newer than an old one.

[ix–xi]

[1]

1. The plasticity, or educability, of the pupil is the fundamental postulate of pedagogics.

The concept plasticity, or capacity for being moulded, extends far beyond the confines of pedagogics. It takes in even the primary components of matter. It has been traced as far as the elementary substances entering into the chemical changes of organic bodies. Signs of plasticity of will are found in the souls of the higher animals. Only man, however, exhibits plasticity of will in the direction of moral conduct.

2. Pedagogics as a science is based on ethics and psychology. The former points out the goal of education; the latter the way, the means, and the obstacles.

This relationship involves the dependence of pedagogics on experience, inasmuch as ethics includes application to experience, while psychology has its starting-point, not in metaphysics alone, but in experience correctly interpreted by metaphysics. But an exclusively empirical knowledge of man will not suffice for pedagogics. It is the less adequate in any age the greater the instability of morals, customs, and opinions; for, as the new gains on the old, generalizations from former observations cease to hold true.

3. Philosophical systems, involving either fatalism or its opposite, pure caprice of will, are logically shut out from pedagogics, because the notion of plasticity, implying as it does a transition from the indeterminate to the determinate, cannot by such systems be brought in without inconsistency.

4. On the other hand, the assumption of unlimited plasticity is equally inadmissible; it is for psychology to guard against this error. The educability of the child is, to begin with, limited by his individuality. Then, too, the possibility of determining and moulding him at will through education is lessened by time and circumstances. Lastly, the established character of the adult develops by an inner process which in time passes beyond the reach of the educator.

5. Education seems thus to find a barrier, first, in the order of nature, and later in the pupil’s own will. The difficulty is indeed a real one, if the limitations of education are overlooked: hence an apparent confirmation of fatalism as well as of the doctrine of absolute free will.

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6. The power of education must be neither over- nor under-estimated. The educator should, indeed, try to see how much may be done; but he must always expect that the outcome will warn him to confine his attempts within reasonable bounds. In order not to neglect anything essential, he needs to keep in view the practical bearings of the whole theory of ideas; in order to understand and interpret correctly the data furnished by observation of the child, the teacher must make constant use of psychology.

7. In scientific study concepts are separated which in practice must always be kept united. The work of education is continuous. With an eye to every consideration at once, the educator must always endeavor to connect what is to come with what has gone before. Hence a mode of treatment which, following the several periods of school life, simply enumerates the things to be done in sequence, is inadequate in a work on pedagogics. In an appendix this method will serve to facilitate a bird’s-eye view; the discussion of general principles, arranged according to fundamental ideas, must needs precede. But our very first task will necessarily consist in dealing, at least briefly, with the ethical and the psychological basis of pedagogics.

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8. The term virtue expresses the whole purpose of education. Virtue is the idea of inner freedom which has developed into an abiding actuality in an individual. Whence, as inner freedom is a relation between insight and volition, a double task is at once set before the teacher. It becomes his business to make actual each of these factors separately, in order that later a permanent relationship may result.

9. But even here at the outset we need to bear in mind the identity of morality with the effort put forth to realize the permanent actuality of the harmony between insight and volition. To induce the pupil to make this effort is a difficult achievement; at all events, it becomes possible only when the twofold training mentioned above is well under way. It is easy enough, by a study of the example of others, to cultivate theoretical[9] acumen; the moral application to the pupil himself, however, can be made, with hope of success, only in so far as his inclinations and habits have taken a direction in keeping with his insight. If such is not the case, there is danger lest the pupil, after all, knowingly subordinate his correct theoretical judgment to mere prudence. It is thus that evil in the strict sense originates.

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10. Of the remaining practical or ethical concepts, the idea of perfection points to health of body and mind; it implies a high regard for both, and their systematic cultivation.

11. The idea of good-will counsels the educator to ward off temptation to ill-will as long as such temptation might prove dangerous. It is essential, on the other hand, to imbue the pupil with a feeling of respect for good-will.

12. The idea of justice demands that the pupil abstain[11] from contention. It demands, furthermore, reflection on strife, so that respect for justice may strike deep root.

13. The idea of equity is especially involved in cases where the pupil has merited punishment as requital for the intentional infliction of pain. Here the degree of punishment must be carefully ascertained and acknowledged as just.

14. Where a number of pupils are assembled there arises, naturally, on a small scale, a system of laws and rewards. This system, and the demands which in the world at large spring from the same ideas, must be brought into accord.

15. The concept of an administrative system has great significance for pedagogics, since every pupil, whatever his rank or social status, must be trained for coöperation in the social whole to fit him for usefulness. This requirement may assume very many different forms.

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16. Of the system of civilization only the aspect of general culture, not that of special training, must be emphasized at this point.

17. For the business of education, the idea of perfection, while it does not rise into excessive prominence, stands out above all others on account of its uninterrupted application. The teacher discovers in the as yet undeveloped human being a force which requires his incessant attention to intensify, to direct, and to concentrate.

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18. The constant presence of the idea of perfection easily introduces a false feature into moral education in the strict sense. The pupil may get an erroneous impression as to the relative importance of the lessons, practice, and performance demanded of him, and so be betrayed into the belief that he is essentially perfect when these demands are satisfied.

19. For this reason alone, if others were wanting, it is necessary to combine moral education proper, which in everyday life lays stress continually on correct self-determination, with religious training. The notion that something really worthy has been achieved needs to be tempered by humility. Conversely, religious education has need of the moral also to forestall cant and hypocrisy, which are only too apt to appear where morality has not already secured a firm foothold through earnest self-questioning and self-criticism with a view to improvement. Finally, inasmuch as moral training must be put off until after insight and right habits have been acquired, religious education, too, should not be begun too early; nor should it be needlessly delayed.

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20. It is an error, indeed, to look upon the human soul as an aggregate of all sorts of faculties; but this error only becomes worse when, as is usually done, the statement is added that faculties are after all at bottom one and the same active principle. The traditional terms should rather be employed to distinguish mental phenomena that present themselves to experience as successively predominant. In this way we get the leading features of soul-life, which reminds us sufficiently of psychology for our immediate purpose.

21. The stage of predominant sense-activity is followed by that of memory in the sense of exact reproduction of series of percepts previously formed. Traces of higher activities are as yet absent. The only thing to be noted is that the series, unless rendered long by frequent repetition, are generally short; necessarily so, since while forming they are exposed to continual disturbances caused by great sensitiveness to new impressions.

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22. Even very young children betray at play and in speech that form of self-activity ascribed to imagination.

The most insignificant toys, provided they are movable, occasion changes and combinations of percepts, attended even with strong emotion, that astonish the mature observer, and perhaps excite anxiety lest some of these motley fancies should become fixed ideas. No evil after effects are to be feared, however, so long as the emotional excitement does not threaten health, and passes over quickly. A strong play impulse is, on the contrary, a promising sign, especially when it manifests itself energetically, though late, in weak children.

23. Soon there follows a time when the observation of external objects prompts the child to ask innumerable questions. Here that activity which is called power of judgment begins to stir in conjunction with reasoning. The child now strives to subsume what is new under conceptions already in his mind, and to affix their symbols, the familiar words. He is still far, withal, from being able to follow an abstract train of thought, to employ periodic sentences, and to conduct himself rationally throughout. The slightest occasions will prove him a child still.

24. In the meantime, the child manifests, besides the physical feelings of pleasure and pain, affection for one person and aversion to another; furthermore,[17] a seemingly strong will, together with a violent spirit of contradiction, unless this is suppressed in time.

25. On the other hand, the ethical judgment as a rule shows itself at first very seldom and transiently—a foreshadowing of the difficulty of securing for it later, in spite of obstinacy and selfishness, the function of control, on which control depend both morality and the higher sense of art.

26. The boy asks fewer questions, but tries all the more to handle and shape things. He is gaining knowledge by himself and acquiring dexterity. Gradually his respect for his elders increases; he fears their censure and stands in awe of their superiority. At the same time he attaches himself more closely to other boys of the same age. From now on it becomes more difficult to observe him. The teacher who has no previous knowledge of boys who have reached this age, may long deceive himself in regard to them and will seldom obtain complete frankness.

This reserve is indicative of more or less self-determination, which is commonly attributed to pure reason.

27. The names for the mental faculties acquire renewed importance with the beginning of systematic instruction. Their import, however, shows a marked difference. Now memory is relied on for the acquisition, without additions or omissions, of prescribed series, the order being fixed or not, as the case may be; usually there is a slight connection with older[18] ideas. Imagination is called for to lay hold of the objects of distant lands and ages. The understanding is expected to derive general notions from a limited number of particulars, to name and to connect them. The development of the ethical judgment teachers rarely wait for; obedience to commands is demanded. Obedience of this kind depends chiefly on the ease with which antecedent ideas are revived and connected in response to, but not beyond, a given stimulus. In extreme cases the fear of punishment effectively takes the place of all other motives. But often not even the usual memory-work can be successfully exacted through fear, much less obedience without oversight.

28. Many pupils reveal a curious contrast. In their own sphere they display a good memory, a lively imagination, keen understanding; by the teacher they are credited with little of all these. They rule perhaps over their playmates because of their superior intelligence, or possess at least the respect of the latter, while in their classes they show only incapacity. Such experiences suggest the difficulty of making instruction take proper hold of the inner growth of the pupil. It is evident, at the same time, that what is customarily ascribed to the action of the various mental faculties takes place in certain groups of ideas.

29. The grown man has one group of ideas for his church, another for his work at home, a third for[19] society, and so on. These groups, though partially interacting and mutually determinant, are far from being connected at every point. This is true as early as boyhood. The boy has one set of ideas for his school, another for the family circle, still another for the playground, etc. This fact explains better than intentional reserve the observation that a boy is one being at home or at school and quite another among strangers.

30. Each body of ideas is made up of complications of ideas, which, if the union is perfect, come and go in consciousness as undivided wholes, and of series, together with their interlacings, whose members unfold successively, one by one, provided they are not checked. The closer the union of parts within these complications and series, the more absolute the laws according to which ideas act in consciousness, the stronger is the resistance against everything opposing their movement; hence the difficulty of acting upon them through instruction. They admit, however, of additions and recombinations, and so may in the course of time undergo essential changes; up to a certain point they even change of themselves if repeatedly called into consciousness by dissimilar occasions, e.g., by the frequent delivery of the same lecture before different audiences.

The general notions of things are complexes or complications of their attributes. Other examples of[20] complexes important to instruction are furnished by logical concepts and words. But since words of several languages may be perfectly complicated or bound together with the same concept, without being just as intimately connected with one another, it should be noted that when the object or concept comes up at different times, it will be joined now with this and next with another language. Yet the repeated perception of the object is not quite the same perception as before, although earlier ideas mostly coalesce so fully with later homogeneous ideas that the difference makes itself felt but little.

31. The inner structure of groups of ideas becomes discernible in a measure when thoughts are bodied forth in speech. Its most general aspect is disclosed in the construction of a period. Conjunctions particularly are important in that they, without denoting a content of their own, serve as hints to the listener. They point out to him the connection, the antitheses, the positiveness, or the uncertainty of the speaker’s utterances; for the meanings of conjunctions can be traced back to the series-form, to negation and certitude. It should be noted that want and refusal are related to negation; expectation, together with hope and fear, to uncertainty, so that the consideration of thought masses must also include emotional states. Children possess the structure of thought just as they experience the emotional states, long before they know[21] how to embody the same in words with the help of conjunctions. Certain conjunctions, such as, to be sure, although, on the contrary, either—or, neither—nor, etc., are not adopted by children until late.

32. Of equal importance with the inner organization of the pupil’s ideas are, for the teacher, the degree of ease or difficulty with which a given mass of ideas is called into consciousness, and its relatively long or brief persistence in consciousness. Here we are face to face with the conditions of efficient instruction and training. The most necessary statements relative to this subject will be made under the head of interest and character-building.

33. The capacity for education, therefore, is determined not by the relationship in which various originally distinct mental faculties stand to one another, but by the relations of ideas already acquired to one another, and to the physical organism. Every pupil must be studied with reference to both.

34. Now, in order to gain an adequate knowledge of each pupil’s capacity for education, observation is necessary—observation both of his thought masses and of his physical nature. The study of the latter includes that of temperament, especially with reference to emotional susceptibility. With some, fear is the first natural impulse, with others, anger; some laugh and cry easily, others do not. In some cases a very slight stimulus suffices to excite the vascular system. We need to note furthermore:—

Such observations will take account also of the rhythm of the pupil’s mental life as well as of the character[23] of his store of thoughts. The insight thus obtained determines the matter and method of instruction.

35. Instruction in the sense of mere information-giving contains no guarantee whatever that it will materially counteract faults and influence existing groups of ideas that are independent of the imparted information. But it is these ideas that education must reach; for the kind and extent of assistance that instruction may render to conduct depend upon the hold it has upon them.

Facts, at least, must serve as material for methodical treatment, otherwise they do not enlarge even the scope of mental activity. They rise in value when they become instinct with life and acquire mobility so as to enrich the imagination. But their ethical effect always remains questionable so long as they do not help to correct or modify the ethical judgment, or desire and action, or both.

This point calls for a few additional distinctions. Generally speaking, rudeness decreases in proportion to the expansion of the mental horizon by instruction. The mere diffusion of desires over the enlarged thought area causes them to lose something of their one-sided energy. Moreover, if instruction presents ethical subjects[24] of some kind in a comprehensible way, the pupil’s disposition undergoes a refining process so that it at least approximates a correct estimate of the will, that is, the creation of ethical ideas.

Such favorable results are, however, apt to be outweighed by the harm done when mere knowledge becomes the chief aim of ambition.

36. In order that instruction may act on the pupil’s ideas and disposition, every avenue of approach should be thrown open. The mere fact that we can never know with certainty, beforehand, what will influence the pupil most, warns us against one-sidedness of instruction.

Ideas spring from two main sources,—experience and social intercourse. Knowledge of nature—incomplete and crude—is derived from the former; the later furnishes the sentiments entertained toward our fellow-men, which, far from being praiseworthy, are on the contrary often very reprehensible. To improve these is the more urgent task; but neither ought we to neglect the knowledge of nature. If we do, we may expect error, fantastical notions, and eccentricities of every description.

37. Hence, we have two main branches of instruction,—the historical and the scientific. The former embraces not only history proper, but language study as well; the latter includes, besides natural science, mathematics.

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38. Other reasons aside, the need alone of counteracting selfishness renders it necessary for every school that undertakes the education of the whole man to place human conditions and relations in the foreground of instruction. This humanistic aim should underlie the studies of the historical subjects, and only with reference to this aim may they be allowed to preponderate.

39. Mathematical studies, from elementary arithmetic to higher mathematics, are to be linked to the pupil’s knowledge of nature, and so to his experience, in order to gain admission into his sphere of thought. Instruction in mathematics, however thorough, fails pedagogically when the ideas generated form an isolated group. They are usually soon forgotten, or, if retained, contribute but little toward personal worth.

40. In general, it will always remain a matter of uncertainty whether and how instruction will be received[27] and mentally elaborated. To diminish this uncertainty, if for no other reasons, there is need of constant endeavor to put the pupil in a frame of mind suitable for instruction. This task falls within the province of training.

41. But even apart from reference to instruction, training must seek to ward off violent desires and to prevent the injurious outbursts of emotion. We may grant that after the days of school life are over, individual traits will always break forth again in this respect; but experiences, too, follow, and in connection with these the after-effect of education comes to light in proportion as education has been more or less successful. It shows itself in the nature and the amount of self-knowledge through which the adult strives to restrain his native faults. Seeming exceptions are in most cases accounted for by impressions produced in very early youth and long concealed.

As soon as a person attains freedom of action, he usually endeavors to achieve the life which in his earlier years seemed most desirable. Hence training and instruction have each to be directed against the springing up of illusive longings and toward a true picture of the blessings and burdens of various social classes and professions.

What modifications of individuality training may accomplish, is brought about less by restrictions, which cannot be permanent, than by inducing an early development[28] of the higher impulses whereby they attain predominance.

42. The larger portion of the restrictions necessary during the period of education falls under another head, that of government. The question of completeness of education aside, children no less than adults need to experience the constraint imposed on every one by human society: they, too, must be kept within bounds. This function the state delegates to the family, to guardians, and to the schools. Now the purpose of government refers to present order; that of training to the future character of the adult. The underlying points of view are accordingly so different that a distinction must necessarily be made in a system of pedagogics between training and government.

43. In matters of government, too, much depends on how keenly its disciplinary measures are felt. Only good training can insure the right kind of sensibility. A gentle rebuke may prove more effective than blows. The first thing to do, of course, when unruly children create disorder, is to govern, to restore order; but government and training should, if possible, go together. The distinction between these two concepts serves to aid the reflection of the teacher, who ought to know what he is about, rather than to suggest a perceptible separation in practice.

44. In the following pages, general pedagogics, which is followed necessarily by observations of a[29] more special nature, will be discussed under the three main heads,—government, instruction, training. What needs to be said concerning government as the primary condition of education will be disposed of first. Next comes the theory of instruction and didactics. The last place is reserved for training; for an enduring effect could not be expected from it, if it were severed from instruction. For this reason the teacher must always keep the latter in view when he fixes his attention on methods of training, which in actual practice always work hand in hand with instruction. The other customary form of treatment, that according to age, while not adapted to the exposition of principles, finds its proper place in the chapter leading over to the discussion of special topics.

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45. We assume at the outset the existence of all the care and nurture requisite for physical growth and well-being; a bringing up that shall be as free from pampering as from dangerous hardening. There must be no actual want to lead a child astray, nor undue indulgence to create unnecessary demands. How much hardening it is safe to risk will depend in each case on the child’s constitution.

46. The foundation of government consists in keeping children employed. No account is taken as yet of the prospective gain to mental culture; the time is to be fully occupied, at all events, even if the immediate purpose be merely the avoidance of disorder. This purpose, however, involves the requirement of ample[31] provision, according to the ages of pupils, for the need of physical activity, that the cause of natural restlessness may be removed. This need is more urgent with some than with others; there are children that seem ungovernable because compelled to sit still.

47. Other things being equal, self-chosen occupations deserve the preference; but it rarely happens that children know how to keep themselves busy sufficiently and continuously. Specific tasks, not to be abandoned until completed, assure order much better than random playing, which is apt to end in ennui. It is desirable that adults possessing the requisite patience assist children, if not always, at least frequently, in their games; that they explain pictures, tell stories, have them retold, etc. With advancing maturity, a steadily increasing proportion of the occupations assumes the character of instruction or of exercises growing out of it; this work should be properly balanced by recreations.

48. Next in order comes supervision, and with it numerous commands and prohibitions. Under this head several things must be considered.

In the first place this: Whether under certain circumstances one might withdraw a command or permit what has once been forbidden. It is ill-advised to give an order more sweeping than the execution is meant to be; and it weakens government to yield to the entreaties, the tears, or, worse still, the impetuous insistence of children.

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Also this question: Whether it is possible to make sure of obedience. Where children are not kept busy and are left without oversight, the issue becomes doubtful.

The difficulty grows at a rapid rate with an increase in numbers. This is true especially of larger educational institutions, but, on account of the coming and going of pupils, applies in a measure also to common day schools.

49. The usual solution is greater strictness of supervision. But this involves the risk of utter failure to receive voluntary obedience, and of inciting a match game in shrewdness.

As to voluntary obedience, much depends on the ratio of restraint to the freedom that still remains. Ordinarily, youth submits readily enough to many restrictions, provided such restrictions bear upon specific fixed points, and leave elbow room for independent action.

In the work of supervision the teacher will find it hard to rely on himself entirely, particularly if he has charge of classes only at stated times. Others must assist him; he himself will have to resort occasionally to surprises. Supervision is always an evil when coupled with unnecessary distrust. It is essential, therefore, to make those who do not merit distrust understand that the measures adopted are not directed against them.

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50. Since supervision is not to be vigorous to the point of ever felt pressure, child government, to be effective, requires both gentle and severe measures. In general, this effectiveness results from the natural superiority of the adult, a fact of which teachers sometimes need to be reminded. Whatever the plan of supervision, there must be coupled with it an adequate mode of disciplinary procedure. A record should be kept in schools, not for the law-abiding pupils, but for those guilty of repeated acts of disobedience. These remarks do not thus far include any reference to marks and records pertaining to education proper; they are confined to what is popularly, but loosely, called discipline, that is, the training of pupils to conform to the system of order that obtains in the school.

Home training seldom requires such bookkeeping; but even here it may at times be useful. Of course, the individual child knows in any case that some one is keeping an eye on his actions, but the fact becomes more deeply impressed upon his memory if the reproofs incurred by him are recorded.

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51. It would be in vain to attempt to banish entirely the corporal punishments usually administered after fruitless reprimands; but use should be made of them so sparingly that they be feared rather than actually inflicted.

Recollection of the rod does not hurt a boy. Nor is there any harm in his present conviction that a flogging is henceforth as much beyond the range of possibility as his meriting such treatment. But it would, no doubt, be injurious to actually violate his self-respect by a blow, however little he might mind the physical pain. And pernicious in the highest degree, although, nevertheless, not quite obsolete yet, is the practice of continuing to beat children already hardened to blows. Brutish insensibility is the consequence, and the hope is almost vain that even a long period of now unavoidable indulgence will restore a normal state of feeling.

There is less objection to making use, for a few hours, of hunger as a corrective. Here only an act of deprivation takes place, not one involving a direct insult.

Curtailment of freedom is the most commonly employed form of punishment; justly so, provided it be properly adjusted to the offence. Moreover, it admits of the most varied gradations from standing in a corner to confinement in a dark room, perhaps even with hands tied together behind the back. Only, for[35] several serious reasons, this punishment must not be of long duration. A whole hour is more than enough unless there is careful supervision. Besides, the place must be chosen judiciously.

52. Corrections of such severity, as removal from home or expulsion from an institution, are to be administered only in extreme cases; for what is to become of the expelled pupil? A burden to another school? And in case the transfer implies the same freedom, the old disorderly conduct will usually be resumed. Such pupils must, therefore, be placed under very strict supervision and given new occupations. We must trust to the new environment to obliterate gradually the old vitiated circle of thought.

53. It is a well-known fact that authority and love are surer means of securing order than harsh measures are. But authority cannot be created by every one at will. It implies obvious superiority in mind, in knowledge, in physique, in external circumstances. Love can, indeed, be gained in the course of time by a complaisant manner—the love of well-disposed pupils; but just where government becomes most necessary, complaisance has to cease. Love must not be purchased at the expense of weak indulgence; it is of value only when united with the necessary severity.

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54. In early childhood and with healthy children, government is, on the whole, easy. It continues to be easy after they have once formed habits of obedience. But it should not be interrupted. Even if children have been left to themselves or in charge of strangers only a few days, the change is noticeable. It requires an effort to tighten the reins again—something not to be done too suddenly.

Where boys have been allowed to run wild, the attempt to bring them back to orderly conduct reveals the differences of individuality. Some are easily made to return to appropriate work by kindness combined with a moderate measure of forbearance, others have sense enough to fear threats and to avoid penalties; but we may unfortunately also expect to find a few whose sole thought is to escape from supervision, however unpleasant for them the consequences may be.

Where home ties are wanting, this spirit may develop even during boyhood with ominous rapidity; during adolescence the difficulty of checking it may grow to be insuperable.

55. As a rule, it is reasonable to assume that youth will try to break through restraints as soon as these are felt. A sufficient amount of satisfying activity, together with uniform firmness of the lines of restraint, will, indeed, soon put an end to persistent attempts of this kind; yet they will be repeated from time to time. As boys grow older there is a change of pursuits; now the[37] restraining boundaries must gradually be enlarged. The question now is whether education has progressed sufficiently far to make government less indispensable. Moreover, the choice of work comes to be determined by the prospects opening before the young man, according to his rank and means, together with his native capabilities and acquired knowledge. To encourage such pursuits as being appropriate for him, and, on the other hand, to reduce mere hobbies and diversions to harmless proportions, still remains the function of government. In any case government should not be wholly surrendered too early, least of all when the environment is such as to justify apprehension of temptation.

56. Instruction furnishes a part of those occupations which lie at the basis of government; how large a part depends on circumstances.

Children must be kept employed at all events, because idleness leads to misbehavior and lawlessness. Now if the employment consists of useful labor, say in the workshop or on the farm, so much the better. Better still, if the work teaches the child something that will contribute to his further education. But not all employment is instruction; and in cases where the mere government of children is a difficult matter, lessons are not always the most adequate employment. Many a growing boy will be taught orderly conduct much sooner when placed with a mechanic or merchant or farmer than in school. The scope of government is wider than that of instruction.

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57. Instruction and training have this in common, that each makes for education and hence for the future, while government provides for the present. A distinction should, however, be made here. Instruction is far from being always educative or pedagogical. Where acquisition of wealth and external success or strong personal preference supply the motives for study, no heed is paid to the question: What will be the gain or loss to character? One actuated by such motives sets out, such as he is, to learn one thing or another, no matter whether for good or bad or for indifferent ends; to him the best teacher is he who imparts tuto, cito, jucunde, the proficiency desired. Instruction of this kind is excluded from our discussion; we are concerned here only with instruction that educates in the moral sense of the term.

58. Man’s worth does not, it is true, lie in his knowing, but in his willing. But there is no such thing as an independent faculty of will. Volition has its roots in thought; not, indeed, in the details one[41] knows, but certainly in the combinations and total effect of the acquired ideas. The same reason, therefore, which in psychology accounts for considering the formation of ideas first, and then desire and volition, necessitates a corresponding order in pedagogics: first the theory of instruction, then that of training.

59. In educative teaching, the mental activity incited by it is all important. This activity instruction is to increase, not to lessen; to ennoble, not to debase.

60. If all mental activity were of only one kind, the subject-matter of instruction would be of no consequence. But we need not go beyond experience to see that the opposite is true, that there is a great diversity of intellectual endowment. Yet while instruction must thus be differentiated, it should not be made so special as to cultivate only the more prominent gifts; otherwise the pupil’s less vigorous mental functions would be wholly neglected and perhaps suppressed. Instruction must rather be manifold, and its manifoldness being the same for many pupils in so far as it may help to correct inequalities in mental tendencies.

61. What is to be taught and learned is, accordingly, not left for caprice and conventionality to decide. In this respect instruction differs in a striking[43] manner from government, for which, if only idleness is prevented, it hardly matters what work children are given to do.

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62. The ultimate purpose of instruction is contained in the notion, virtue. But in order to realize the final aim, another and nearer one must be set up. We may term it, many-sidedness of interest. The word interest stands in general for that kind of mental activity which it is the business of instruction to incite. Mere information does not suffice; for this we think of as a supply or store of facts, which a person might possess or lack, and still remain the same being. But he who lays hold of his information and reaches out for more, takes an interest in it. Since, however, this mental activity, is varied (60), we need to add the further determination supplied by the term many-sidedness.

63. We may speak also of indirect as distinguished from direct interest. But a predominance of indirect interest tends to one-sidedness, if not to selfishness. The interest of the selfish man in anything extends only so far as he can see advantages or disadvantages to himself. In this respect the one-sided man approximates[46] the selfish man, although the fact may escape his own observation; since he relates everything to the narrow sphere for which he lives and thinks. Here lies his intellectual power, and whatever does not interest him as means to his limited ends, becomes an impediment.

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64. As regards the bearings of interest on virtue, we need to remember that many-sidedness of interest alone, even of direct interest such as instruction is to engender, is yet far from being identical with virtue itself; also that, conversely, the weaker the original mental activity, the less likelihood that virtue will be realized at all, not to speak of the variety of manifestation possible in action. Imbeciles cannot be virtuous. Virtue involves an awakening of mind.

65. Scattering no less than one-sidedness forms an antithesis to many-sidedness. Many-sidedness is to be the basis of virtue; but the latter is an attribute of personality, hence it is evident that the unity of self-consciousness must not be impaired. The business of instruction is to form the person on many sides, and accordingly to avoid a distracting or dissipating effect. And instruction has successfully avoided this in the case of one who with ease surveys his well-arranged knowledge in all of its unifying relations and holds it together as his very own.

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66. It becomes obvious at once that a many-sided culture cannot be brought about quickly. The requisite store of ideas is acquired only by successive efforts; but unification, a view of the whole, and assimilation are to be attained besides (65), whence an alternation, in time, of absorption and reflection. The apprehension of the manifold is of necessity a gradual process, and the same is true of the unification of knowledge.

67. Some teachers lay great stress on the explication, step by step, of the smaller and smallest components[53] of the subject, and insist on a similar reproduction on the part of the pupils. Others prefer to teach by conversation, and allow themselves and their pupils great freedom of expression. Others, again, call especially for the leading thoughts, but demand that these be given with accuracy and precision, and in the prescribed order. Others, finally, are not satisfied until their pupils are self-actively exercising their minds in systematic thinking.

Various methods of teaching may thus arise; it is not necessary, however, that one should be habitually employed to the exclusion of the rest. We may ask rather whether each does not contribute its share to a many-sided culture. In order that a multitude of facts may be apprehended, explications or analyses are needed to prevent confusion; but since a synthesis is equally essential, the latter process may be started by conversation, continued by lifting into prominence the cardinal thoughts, and completed by the methodical independent thinking of the pupil: clearness, association, system, method.

68. On closer inspection we find that instead of being mutually exclusive, these various modes of instruction are requisite, one by one, in the order given above, for every group, small or large, of subjects to be taught.

For, first, the beginner is able to advance but slowly. For him the shortest steps are the safest steps. He must stop at each point as long as is necessary to make him apprehend distinctly each individual fact. To this he must give his whole thought. During the initial stage, the teacher’s art consists, therefore, preëminently in knowing how to resolve his subject into[55] very small parts. In this way he will avoid taking sudden leaps without being aware that he is doing so.

Secondly, association cannot be effected solely by a systematic mode of treatment, least of all at first. In the system each part has its own fixed place. At this place it is connected directly with the nearest other parts, but also separated from other more remote parts by a definite distance, and connected with these only by way of determinate intervening members, or links. Besides, the nature of this connection is not the same everywhere. Furthermore, a system is not to be learned merely. It is to be used, applied, and often needs to be supplemented by additions inserted in appropriate places. To be able to do this requires skill in diverting one’s thoughts from any given starting-point to every other point, forward, backward, sideways. Hence two things are requisite; preparation for the system, and application of the system. Preparation is involved in association; exercise in systematic thinking must follow.

69. During the first stage, when the clear apprehension of the individual object or fact is the main thing, the shortest and most familiar words and sentences are the most appropriate. The teacher will often find it advisable also to have some, if not all, of the pupils repeat them accurately after him. As is well known, even speaking in concert has been tried in many schools not entirely without success, and for young[56] beginners this method may indeed at times answer very well.

For association, the best mode of procedure is informal conversation, because it gives the pupil an opportunity to test and to change the accidental union of his thoughts, to multiply the links of connection, and to assimilate, after his own fashion, what he has learned. It enables him, besides, to do at least a part of all this in any way that happens to be the easiest and most convenient. He will thus escape the inflexibility of thought that results from a purely systematic learning.

System, on the other hand, calls for a more connected discourse, and the period of presentation must be separated more sharply from the period of repetition. By exhibiting and emphasizing the leading principles, system impresses upon the minds of pupils the value of organized knowledge; through its greater completeness it enriches their store of information. But pupils are incapable of appreciating either advantage when the systematic presentation is introduced too early.

Skill in systematic thinking the pupil will obtain through the solution of assigned tasks, his own independent attempts, and their correction. For such work will show whether he has fully grasped the general principles, and whether he is able to recognize them in and apply them to particulars.

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70. These remarks on the initial analysis and the subsequent gradual uniting of the matter taught, hold true, in general and in detail, of the most diverse objects and branches of instruction. Much remains to be added, however, to define with precision the application of these principles to a given subject and to the age of the pupil. It will suffice, for the present, if we remind ourselves that instruction provides a portion of the occupations necessary to government (56). Now, instruction produces fatigue in proportion to its duration; more or less, of course, according to individual differences. But the more fatiguing it is, the less it accomplishes as employment. This fact alone shows clearly the necessity of intermissions and change of work. If the pupil has become actually tired, that is, has not lost merely inclination to work, this feeling must be allowed, as far as is practicable, to pass away, at any rate to diminish, before the same subject is resumed in a somewhat modified form. In order to have time enough for this, the systematic presentation must in many cases be postponed until long after the first lessons in the elements have begun, and conversely, the rudiments of a subject frequently have to be at least touched upon long before connected instruction can be thought of. Many a principle needs to be approached from a great distance.

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71. Interest means self-activity. The demand for a many-sided interest is, therefore, a demand for many-sided self-activity. But not all self-activity, only the right degree of the right kind, is desirable; else lively children might very well be left to themselves. There would be no need of educating or even of governing them. It is the purpose of instruction to give the right direction to their thoughts and impulses, to incline these toward the morally good and true. Children are thus in a measure passive. But this passivity should by no means involve suppression of self-activity. It should, on the contrary, imply a stimulation of all that is best in the child.

At this point a psychological distinction becomes necessary, namely, that between designedly reproduced, or “given,” and spontaneous representations. In recitations of what has been learned we have an example of the former; the latter appear in the games and fancies of children. A method of study that issues in mere reproduction leaves children largely in a passive state, for it crowds out for the time being[61] the thoughts they would otherwise have had. In games, however, and in the free play of fancy, and accordingly also in that kind of instruction which finds an echo here, free activity predominates.

This distinction is not intended to affirm the existence of two compartments in which the ideas, separated once for all, would, of necessity, have to remain. Ideas that must by effort be raised into consciousness because they do not rise spontaneously, may become spontaneous by gradual strengthening. But this development we cannot count on unless instruction, advancing step by step, bring it about.

72. It is the teacher’s business, while giving instruction, to observe whether the ideas of his pupils rise spontaneously or not. If they do, the pupils are said to be attentive; the lesson has won their interest. If not, attention is, indeed, not always wholly gone. It may, moreover, be enforced for a time before actual fatigue sets in. But doubt arises whether instruction can effect a future interest in the same subjects.

Attention is a factor of such importance to education as to call for a more detailed treatment.

73. Attention may be broadly defined as an attitude of mind in which there is readiness to form new ideas. Such readiness is either voluntary or involuntary. If voluntary, it depends on a resolution; the teacher frequently secures this through admonitions or threats. Far more desirable and fruitful is involuntary attention. It is this attention that the art of teaching must seek to induce. Herein lies the kind of interest to be sought by the teacher.

74. Involuntary [spontaneous] attention is subdivided into primitive and apperceiving. The latter especially is of the greatest importance in teaching, but it rests on the former, the conditions of which must constantly be taken into account.

Apperception, or assimilation, takes place through the reproduction of previously acquired ideas and their[64] union with the new element, the most energetic apperception, although not necessarily the best, being effected by the ideas rising spontaneously. This topic will be treated more fully below (77). Here it suffices to say that the apperceiving attention obviously presupposes the primitive attention; otherwise apperceiving ideas would never have been formed.

75. The primitive or original attention depends primarily on the strength of the sense-impression. Bright colors and loud speaking are more easily noticed than dark colors and low tones. It would be an error, however, to infer that the strongest sense-perceptions are at the same time the most adequate. These quickly blunt the receptivity, while weak sense-impressions may, in the course of time, engender ideation as energetic as[65] that produced by originally obtrusive perceptions. For this reason, a middle course must be chosen from the first. For children, however, the direct sense-perception, even of a picture, if the object itself is not to be had, is altogether preferable to mere description.

The presence in the minds of children of ideas—those supplied by instruction itself not excepted—contrary to the new representations to be mastered, acts as a hindrance or check. This very fact explains why clearness of apprehension is not gained where instruction piles up one thing upon another in too rapid succession. It is essential, therefore, in the case of beginners, so to single out each fact, to separate part from part, and to proceed step by step, that apprehension may be rendered easy for them.

A second hindrance to attention is of a more temporary character, but may nevertheless work much mischief. It makes a vast difference whether the ideas aroused are in a state of equilibrium or not. Long sentences in speech and in books are less easily apprehended than short ones. They excite a movement of many albeit connected thoughts, which do not at once subside into their proper places. Now, just as in reading and writing pauses must be observed, which is done more easily in short than in long sentences, instruction in general must have its chosen stopping-places and resting-points at which the child may tarry as long as may be necessary. Otherwise the accumulation[66] of thoughts will become excessive, crowding in upon what follows, and this upon the next new element, until finally the pupils arrive at a state where they no longer hear anything.

76. The four essentials then for primitive attention are: strength of sense-impression, economy of receptivity, avoidance of harmful antitheses to existing ideas, and delay until the aroused ideas have recovered their equilibrium. But in actual teaching it will be found difficult to do justice to all of these requirements simultaneously. Sameness of presentation should not be carried too far lest the child’s receptivity be taxed too heavily. Monotony produces weariness. But a sudden change of subject frequently discloses the fact that the new is too remote from what has preceded, and that the old thoughts refuse to give way. If the change is delayed too long the lesson drags. Too little variety causes ennui. The pupils begin to think of something else, and with that their attention is gone completely.

The teacher should by all means study literary masterpieces for the purpose of learning from great authors how they escaped these difficulties. That he may strike the right chord in the earlier stages of instruction, he should turn particularly to simple popular writers, Homer, for example, whose story-telling is, on the other hand, too general and naïve for older pupils who have lost the power to put themselves[67] back into a past period of culture. Yet it is safe to say in general, that classic writers seldom take sudden leaps and never stand still entirely. Their method of unfolding consists in a scarcely perceptible, at any rate an always easy, advance. They dwell, indeed, long on the same thought, but nevertheless achieve, little by little, most powerful contrasts. Poor writers, on the contrary, pile up the most glaring antitheses without other than the natural result—the antagonistic ideas expel each other and the mind is left empty. The same result threatens the teacher who aims at brilliancy of presentation.

77. The apperceiving, or assimilating, attention (74), though not the first in time, is yet observed very early. It shows itself when little children catch and repeat aloud single, familiar words of an otherwise unintelligible conversation between adults; when a little later they name, in their own way, the well-known objects that they come upon in their picture-books; when later still, while learning to read, they pick out from the book single names coinciding with their recollection; and so on in innumerable other instances. From within ideas are suddenly bursting forth to unite with whatever similar elements present themselves. Now this apperceiving activity must be exercised constantly in all instruction. For instruction is given in words only; the ideas constituting their meaning must be supplied by the hearer. But words are not meant to[68] be understood merely; they are intended to elicit interest. And this requires a higher grade and greater facility of apperception.

Universally popular poems do not produce their pleasing effect by teaching something new. They portray what is already known and utter what every one feels. Ideas already possessed are aroused, expanded, condensed, and consequently put in order and strengthened. On the other hand, when defects are apperceived, e.g., misprints, grammatical blunders, faulty drawings, false notes, etc., the successive unfolding of the series of ideas is interrupted so that their interlacing cannot take place properly. Here we see how instruction must proceed and what it must avoid in order to secure interest.

78. Instruction is to supplement that which has been gained already by experience and by intercourse with others (36); these foundations must exist when instruction begins. If they are wanting, they must be firmly established first. Any deficiency here means a loss to instruction, because the pupils lack the thoughts which they need in order to interpret the words of the teacher.

In the same way, knowledge derived from earlier lessons must be extended and deepened by subsequent instruction. This presupposes such an organization of[70] the whole work of instruction that that which comes later shall always find present the earlier knowledge with which it is to be united.

79. Ordinarily, because their eyes are fixed solely on the facts to be learned, teachers concern themselves little with the ideas already possessed by the pupils. Consequently they make an effort in behalf of the necessary attention only when it is failing and progress is checked. Now they have recourse to voluntary attention (73), and to obtain this rely on inducements, or, more often, on reprimands and penalties. Indirect interest is thus substituted for direct interest, with the result that the resolution of the pupil to be attentive fails to effect energetic apprehension and realizes but little coherence. It wavers constantly, and often enough gives way to disgust.

In the most favorable case, if instruction is thorough, i.e., scientific, a foundation of elementary knowledge is gradually laid sufficiently solid for later years to build on; in other words, out of the elementary knowledge an apperceiving mass is created in the mind of the pupil which will aid him in his future studies. There may be several of such masses; but each constitutes by itself its own kind of one-sided learning, and it is after all doubtful whether even here direct interest is implied. For there is small hope that this interest will be aroused in the youth[71] when the years of boyhood have been devoted merely to the mastering of preliminary knowledge. The prospects of future station and calling are opening before him and the examinations are at hand.

80. The fact should not be overlooked, however, that even the best method cannot secure an adequate degree of apperceiving attention (75–78) from every pupil; recourse must accordingly be had to the voluntary attention, i.e., the pupil’s resolution. But for the necessary measures the teacher must depend, not merely on rewards and punishments, but chiefly on habit and custom. Instruction unites at this point with government and training. In all cases where the pupil begins his work not entirely without compulsion, it is particularly important that he should soon become aware of his own progress. The several steps must be distinctly and suitably pointed out to him; they must at the same time be easy of execution and succeed each other slowly. The instruction should be given with accuracy, even strictness, seriousness, and patience.

81. The voluntary attention is most frequently demanded for memorizing, for which, apart from all else, the presence of interest is not always a perfectly favorable condition. This is true even of spontaneous interest, for the ideas that rise spontaneously have a movement of their own, which by deviating from the given sequence may lead to surreptitious substitutions.[72] Like observation, intentional memorizing presupposes a certain amount of self-control. At this point a question arises as to the proper place of learning by heart.

Committing to memory is very necessary; use is made of it in every department of knowledge. But memorizing should never be the first thing except when it is done without effort. For if the memorizing of new matter, which the pupil cannot as yet have associated incorrectly, costs him an effort, it is plain that the single presentations encounter some opposition or other by which they are repelled too quickly for their mutual association to take place. The teacher must in this case talk the subject over first, set the pupil to work upon it, make him more familiar with it, and must sometimes even wait for a more opportune moment. Where clearness in single perceptions and their association (67 et seq.) are still deficient, these must be attended to first of all. After the ideas have been strengthened in this way, memorizing will be accomplished more easily.

The assigned series should not be too long. Three foreign words are often more than enough. Many pupils have to be shown how to memorize. Left to themselves they will begin over and over again, then halt, and try in vain to go on. A fundamental rule is that the starting-point be shifted. If, for example, the name Methuselah is to be learned, the teacher[73] would, perhaps, say successively: lah,—selah,—thuselah,—Methuselah.

Some have to be warned against trying to get through quickly. We have to do here with a physical mechanism which requires time and whose operation the pupil himself as little as the teacher should endeavor to over-accelerate. Slow at first, then faster.

It is not always advisable to put a stop to all bodily movements. Many memorize by way of speaking aloud, others through copying, some through drawing. Reciting in concert also may prove feasible at times.

Incorrect associations are very much to be feared; they are tenacious. A great deal, to be sure, may be accomplished through severity; but when interest in the subject-matter is wholly lacking, the pupil begins by memorizing incorrectly, then ceases to memorize at all, and simply wastes time.

The absolute failure of some pupils in memory work may perhaps be partly owing to unknown physical peculiarities. Very often, however, the cause of the evil lies in the state of false tension into which such pupils put themselves while attempting with reluctance what they regard as an almost impossible task. A teacher’s injudicious attitude during the first period, his remarks, for instance, about learning by heart as a thing of toil and trouble, may lead to this state of mind, for which perhaps awkward first steps in learning to[74] read have prepared the way. It is foolish to look for means of lightening still more the exercises of children that retain and recite with facility; but, on the other hand, great caution is necessary because there are also others who may be rendered unfit for memorizing by the first attempt of the teacher to make them recite, or even only to repeat after him, a certain series of words. In attempting, by such early tests, to find out whether children retain and reproduce easily, it is essential that the teacher put them in good humor, that he select his matter with this end in view, and that he go on only so long as they feel they can do what is asked of them. The results of his observations must determine the further mode of procedure.

82. However carefully the process of memorizing may have been performed, the question remains: How long will the memorized matter be retained? On this point teachers deceive themselves time and again, in spite of universally common experiences.

Now, in the first place, not everything that is learned by heart needs to be retained. Many an exercise serves its purpose when it prepares the way for the next, and renders further development possible. In this way a short poem is sometimes learned as a temporary means for an exercise in declamation; or chapters from Latin authors are committed to memory in order to speed the writing and speaking of Latin. In many cases it is sufficient for later years if the[75] pupil knows how to look for literary helps, and how to make use of them.

But if, secondly, that which has been memorized is to remain impressed on the memory for a long time, forever if possible, it is only a questionable expedient to reassign the same thing as often as it is forgotten. The feeling of weary disgust may more than offset the possible gain. There is only one efficient method—practice; practice consisting in the constant application of that which is to be retained to that which actually interests the pupils, in other words, that which continually engages the ideas rising spontaneously.

Here we find the principle that governs the choice of material for successful memorizing. And as to the amount—so much as is needed for the immediate future; for excessive quantity promotes an early forgetting. Besides, in instruction, as in experience, there is a great deal that may not be accurately remembered, but nevertheless renders abundant service by stimulating the mind and qualifying it for further work.

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83. Instruction is to be linked to the knowledge that experience provides, and to the ethical sentiments that arise from social intercourse (36). Empirical interest relates directly to experience; sympathetic interest to human association. Discursive reflection on the objects of experience involves the development of speculative interest, reflection on the wider relations of society that of social interest. With these we group, on the one hand æsthetic, on the other religious interest, both of which have their origin not so much in discursive thought as in a non-progressing contemplation of things and of human destiny.

84. We cannot expect to see all of these interests unfold equally in every individual; but among a number[80] of pupils we may confidently look for them all. The demand for many-sidedness will accordingly be satisfied the better, the nearer the single individual likewise approaches a state of mental culture in which all these kinds of interest are active with equal energy.

85. As has already been suggested (37), these six kinds of interest arise from two sources to which historical and nature studies respectively correspond. With this the facts observed in classical high schools (Gymnasia) coincide: pupils usually lean toward one side or the other. It would be a serious blunder, however, to affirm, on this account, an antithesis between the historical and the natural science interest; or, worse still, to speak of a philological and a mathematical interest instead—as is, indeed, not infrequently done. Such confusion in ideas should not continue; it would lead to utterly erroneous views of the whole management of instruction. The easiest means to counteract the evil is a consideration of the multitude of one-sided tendencies that occur even within the six kinds of interest; we shall be able, at all events, to bring out still more clearly the manifold phases of interest that must be taken into account. For the possible cases of one-sidedness are differentiated far more minutely than could be shown by the discrimination of only six kinds of interest.

86. Empirical interest becomes one-sided in its way when it seizes upon one kind of objects of experience to the neglect of the rest. When, for instance, a person wants to be a botanist exclusively, a mineralogist, a zoölogist; or when he likes languages only, perhaps only the ancient or only the modern, or of all these only one; or when as a traveller he wishes to see, like many so-called tourists, only the countries that everybody talks about, in order to have seen them too; or when, as a collector of curiosities, he confines himself to one or the other fancy; or when, in the capacity of historian, he cares only about the information bearing on one country, or one period, etc.

Speculative interest becomes one-sided by confining[82] itself to logic or to mathematics, mathematics perhaps only as treated by the old geometricians; or to metaphysics restricted possibly to one system; or to physics narrowed down perhaps to one hypothesis; or to pragmatic history.

Æsthetic interest in one case is concentrated exclusively on painting and sculpture; in another on poetry, perhaps only on lyric or dramatic poetry; in still another on music, or perhaps only on a certain species of music, etc.

Sympathetic interest is one-sided when a man is willing to live only with his social peers, or only with fellow-countrymen, or only with members of his own family; while a fellow-feeling for all others is wanting.

Social interest grows one-sided if one gives himself up wholly to one political party, and measures weal or woe only by party success or failure.

Religious interest becomes one-sided according to differences of creed and sect, to one of which allegiance is given, while those who hold a different view are regarded as unworthy of esteem.

Much of this one-sidedness is brought about in later life by one’s vocation. But a man’s vocation must not isolate him. Yet this would happen if such narrowness should make headway in youth.

87. A still more detailed analysis of the varieties of one-sidedness would be possible; it is not needed, however, for ascertaining the position of the above-mentioned[83] high school studies among the subjects of instruction calculated to stimulate interest. Languages, to begin with, form a part of the curriculum; but why among so many languages is the preference given to Latin and Greek? Obviously because of the literature and history opened through them. Literature with its poets and orators falls under æsthetic interest; history awakens sympathy with distinguished men and the weal and woe of society, indirectly contributing in either case even to religious interest. No better focus for so many different stimuli can be found. Even speculative interest is not slighted if inquiries into the grammatical structure of these languages are added. Moreover, the study of history does not stop with the ancients; the knowledge of literature also is widened that the various interests may be developed still more completely. History, if taught pragmatically, assists speculative interest from another direction. In this respect, however, mathematics has precedence; only, in order to effect a sure entrance and abiding results, it must unite with the natural sciences, which appeal at once to the empirical and the speculative interest.

If now these studies coöperate properly, a great deal will be done, in conjunction with religious instruction, toward turning the youthful mind in the directions that answer to a many-sided interest. But if, on the contrary, the languages and mathematics were allowed to fall apart, if the connecting links were removed,[84] and every pupil were permitted to choose one or the other branch of study, according to his preferences, mere bald one-sidedness of the kind sufficiently characterized above would be the outcome.

88. It is admitted now that not only classical but also public high schools in general should provide for this same many-sided culture, that is, should take account of the same main classes of interests. The only difference lies in the fact that for the pupils of the classical high schools the practice of a vocation is not so near at hand; whereas, in the public high schools, there is a certain preponderance of modern literature and history, together with inability to equip completely with the helps to a manifold mental activity those who purpose to go on. Much the same is true of all the lower schools whose aim is to educate. It is different with trade schools and polytechnic institutes; in short, with those schools which presuppose a completed education—completed to the extent permitted by circumstances.

If, then, the programme of a public high school is of the right sort, it will show as well as the curriculum of a classical preparatory school does, that an attempt is being made to guard against such one-sidedness as would be the outcome if one of the six main classes of interest were slighted.

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89. But no instruction is able to prevent the special varieties of one-sidedness that may develop within the limits of each main group. When observation, reflection, the sense of beauty, sympathy, public spirit, and religious aspiration have once been awakened, although perhaps only within a small range of objects, the farther extension over a greater number and variety of objects must be left largely to the individual and to opportunity. To pupils of talent, above all of genius, instruction may give the necessary outlook by enabling them to see what talent and genius achieve elsewhere; but their own distinguishing traits they must themselves answer for and retain.

Moreover, the above-mentioned forms of one-sidedness are not all equally detrimental, because they do not assert themselves with the same degree of exclusiveness. Each may, indeed, lead to self-conceit; but this tendency does not attach to all in the same measure.

90. Under favorable circumstances of time and opportunity, such as obtain in classical and other high schools, effort, as we know, is not restricted to the initial stimulation. Hence the question arises: In what sequence shall the aroused interests be further developed? Of instruction-material there is no lack; we must select and arrange, guided in the main by what was said on the conditions of many-sidedness and of interest. Thus to recapitulate: there must be progress from the simple to the more complex, and solicitous endeavor to make spontaneous interest possible. But in applying these principles we must not[87] shut our eyes to the particular requirements and the difficulties in our way.

91. The empirical material of languages, history, geography, etc., calls for specific complications and series of ideas, together with the network of their interrelations. As to language, even words are complex wholes, made up of stems plus whatever elements enter into inflection and derivation, and further resolvable into single speech sounds. History has its time-series, geography its network of spatial relations. The psychological laws of reproduction determine the processes of memorizing and of retaining.

The mother-tongue serves as a medium through which foreign languages become intelligible, but at the same time offers resistance to the foreign sounds and constructions. Furthermore, it takes a young boy a long time to get familiar with the thought that far away in time and in space there have been and are human beings who spoke and speak languages other than his own, and about whom he need concern himself at all. Teachers, moreover, very commonly proceed on the fallacious and very mischievous assumption that, because their mode of expression is clear, it will, of course, be understood by the pupil. The resources of child-language increase but slowly. Such impediments as these must be removed. Geography extends the knowledge of spatial distances, but the inhabitant of a flat country lacks the sense-images of[88] mountain ranges; one who grows up in a valley is without the sense-perception of a plain; the majority of pupils lack the concrete idea of an ocean. That the earth is a sphere revolving about its own axis and about the sun, for a long time sounds to children more like a fairy-tale than like a statement of fact; and even educated young men sometimes hesitate to accept the theory of the planetary system because they are unable to comprehend how it is possible to know such things. Difficulties of this kind must be met and not massed together unnecessarily.—For history, old ruins might serve as starting-points if only the material they furnish do not prove altogether too scanty and is not too recent, when the object is to take pupils at an early age into the times and places of Jewish, Greek, and Roman antiquity. Here the only satisfactory helps are stories that excite a very lively interest; these establish points of support for the realization in thought of a time long vanished. There is still lacking, however, a correct estimate of chronological distances down to our own time. This is attained only very gradually through the insertion of intermediate data.

92. Material for the exercise of reflection, and so for the excitation of speculative interest, is supplied by whatever in nature, in human affairs, in the structure of languages, and in religion, permits us to discover, or even merely to surmise, a connection[89] according to general laws. But everywhere—the most common school studies, such as elementary arithmetic and grammar not excepted—the pupil encounters concepts, judgments, and inferences. But he clings to the particular, to the familiar, to the sensuous. The abstract is foreign to his mind; even the geometrical figures traced for the eye are to him particular things whose general significance he finds it hard to grasp. The general is to displace individual peculiarities in his thoughts; but in his habitual thought-series the well-known concrete crowds to the front. Of the general there remains in his mind almost nothing beyond the words used to designate it. Called upon to draw an inference, he loses one premise while pondering the next; the teacher is obliged to go back to the beginning again and again, to give examples, and from them lead up to generalizations; to separate and to connect concepts, and by degrees to bring the propositions closer to one another. When the middle terms and extremes have been successfully fused in the premises, they are still only loosely connected at first. The same propositions are repeatedly forgotten, and yet must not be reviewed too many times for fear of killing instead of quickening interest.

Since forgetting cannot be prevented, it is wise to abandon for a time a large portion of that into which pupils have gained an insight, but later on to go back to the essentials by other paths. The first preliminary[90] exercises serve their purpose if the particulars are made to reveal the general before generalizations become the material for technical propositions, and before propositions are combined into inference-series. The processes of association (69) must not be omitted between the first pointing out of common features and the systematic teaching of their rational connections.

93. Æsthetic contemplation may, indeed, receive its impulse from many interests other than the æsthetic, as also from aroused emotions. Art itself, however, is possible only in a state of mind sufficiently tranquil to permit an accurate and coherent apprehension of the simultaneously beautiful, and to experience the mental activity corresponding to the successively beautiful. Æsthetic objects adapted to the pupil’s power of appreciation must be provided; but the teacher should refrain from forcing contemplation. He may, of course, repress unseemly manifestations, above all the damaging of objects possessing æsthetic value and entitled to respectful treatment. Frequently imitative attempts—although very crude at first—in drawing, singing, reading aloud, and, at a later period, in translating, are indications of æsthetic attention. Such efforts may be encouraged, but should not be praised. The genuine warmth of emotion, which in æsthetic culture kindles of itself, is easily vitiated by intensifying artifices. Excess of quantity is injurious. Works of art appealing to a higher state of culture must not be[91] brought down to a lower plane. Art judgments and criticisms should not be obtruded.

94. The sympathetic interests depend still more on social intercourse and family life than the foregoing classes of interests do on experience in the world of sense. If the social environment changes frequently, children cannot become deeply attached anywhere. The mere change of teachers and of schools is fraught with harm. Pupils make comparisons in their own way; authority that is not permanent has little weight with them, whereas the impulse to throw off restraint gains in strength. Instruction is powerless to obviate such evils, especially since instruction itself must often change its form, thereby giving the impression of a real difference in teachers. This fact makes it all the more necessary that the instruction in history impart to pupils the glow of sympathy due to historical characters and events. For this reason—a reason of momentous significance to the whole process of education—history should not be made to present to pupils the appearance of a chronological skeleton. This rule should be observed with special care during the earlier lessons in history, since on these depends largely what sort of impression the whole subject will produce at a future time.

Of religious instruction, needless to say, we demand that it shall bring home to pupils the dependent condition of man, and we confidently expect that it will[92] not leave their hearts cold. But historical instruction must coöperate with religious instruction, otherwise the truths of religion stand isolated, and there is ground for fearing that they will fail to enter as potent factors into the teaching and learning of the remaining subjects.

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95. Differences in point of view give rise to conflicting opinions concerning not only the treatment, but also the choice of subject-matter for instruction. If, now, first one opinion then another wins predominance over the rest, the harmony of the purposes underlying both learning and teaching is wanting. Not only that, but the pupils suffer also directly through the lack of consistency where work is begun on one plan and continued on another.

96. The teacher in charge of a given branch of study only too often lays out his work without taking account of pedagogical considerations. His specialty, he thinks, suffices to suggest a plan; the successive steps in its organized content will, of course, be the proper sequence for instruction to follow. In teaching a language, he insists that pupils must master declensions and conjunctions in order that he may read an author with them later. He expects them to understand ordinary prose before he passes on to elucidate the finished style of a poet, etc. In mathematics,[94] he demands that pupils bring to the subject perfect facility in common arithmetic; at a more advanced stage they must be able to handle logarithms with ease before formulæ requiring their use are reached, etc. In history, the first thing for him to do is to erect a solid chronological framework to hold the historical facts to be inserted afterward. For ancient history, he presupposes a knowledge of ancient geography, etc. This same view which derives the principle determining the sequence of studies from the instruction-material itself, as though it had been unconditionally and finally settled that such and such things must be taught, asserts itself on a larger scale in requirements for admission to higher grades or schools. Children are to be able to read, write, and cipher well before being allowed to enter the grammar school; promotions to higher grades are to take place only when the goal set for the grade immediately preceding has been reached. The good pupil, accordingly, is one who fits into and willingly submits to these arrangements. The natural consequence of all this is, that little heed is paid to the condition of attention, namely, the gradual progress of interest.

97. But still another consequence ensues, occasioning a different point of view. Pupils are commiserated on the ground that they are overburdened. All sorts of doubts spring up as to the wisdom of teaching the branches causing the trouble. Their future utility is[95] called in question. A host of instances is adduced of adults neglecting and forgetting—forgetting without appreciable loss—that which it cost them so much toil to learn. Of course, examples showing the opposite to be true may also be cited, but that does not settle the question. It cannot be denied that there are many, even among the educated, who aspire to nothing higher than freedom from care by means of a lucrative calling, or a life of social enjoyment, and who, accordingly, estimate the value of their knowledge by this standard. Such a state of things is not mended by a kind of instruction that awakens little interest, and that in after years constitutes the dark side of reminiscences connected with early youth.

98. What is urged in reply is, generally speaking, true: youth must be kept busy; we cannot let children grow up wild. And their occupation has to be serious and severe, for government (45–55) must not be weak. But now, more than ever, doubt fastens on the choice of studies. Might not more useful things be offered for employment?

If, by way of rejoinder, the ancient languages are commended as being preëminently suited to give pupils diversity of work, this fact is accounted for by the faulty methods pursued in teaching the other subjects. With the proper method the same many-sided activity would be called forth. For the modern languages especially, the claim is made that they, too, are language[96] studies involving reading, writing, translating, and training in the forms of thought. To this argument the unfortunate answer should not be returned, that the classical high schools must retain their Latin and Greek because they are educating future officials to whom the ancient languages are just as useful, nay, indispensable, as the modern languages to other classes. For, if the classical studies have once been degraded to the level of the useful and necessary, the door is thrown open to those who go a step farther still and demand to know of what use Hebrew is to the country parson, and Greek to the practising jurist or physician.

99. Controversies like these have often been conducted as if the humaniora or humanistic studies were radically opposed to the realia and could not admit them to partnership. In reality, the latter are at least as much a legitimate part of a complete education as the former. The whole matter has been made worse by the practice of some of the older generation of teachers who, in order to make the prescribed studies more palatable, descended to all kinds of amusement and play, instead of laying stress on abiding and growing interest. A view that regards the end as a necessary evil to be rendered endurable by means of sweetmeats, implies an utter confusion of ideas; and if pupils are not given serious tasks to perform, they will not find out what they are able to do.

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We must, however, note in this connection that there are legitimate occasions even for the sweetening of study, just as in medicine there is a place for palliatives, notwithstanding the firm conviction of the physician that remedies promising a radical cure deserve the preference. Harmful and reprehensible as habitual playing with a subject is when it usurps the place of serious and thorough instruction, in cases where a task is not difficult, but seems so to the pupil, it often becomes necessary to start him by a dexterous, cheerful, almost playlike presentation of that which he is to imitate. Superfluous prolixity and clumsiness, through the ennui alone that they produce, cause failure in the easiest things. All this applies especially to the teaching of younger children and to the first lessons in a new subject, e.g., learning to read Greek, the beginning of algebra, etc.

100. If, among the conflicting opinions referred to, there is any vital point of controversy, it lies in the a priori assumption that certain subjects must be taught (96). Such an assumption educative instruction cannot allow to be severed from the end aimed at: the intellectual self-activity of the pupil. This, and not mere knowledge, any more than utility, determines the point of view with regard to the instruction-material. Experience and social intercourse are the primary sources of the pupil’s ideas. It is with reference to these two factors that we estimate strength[98] or weakness in the ideas, and decide what instruction may accomplish with comparative ease or difficulty, at an earlier or at a later period. Good child literature turns to these sources even while children are only just learning to read, and gradually enlarges their range of thoughts. Not until this has been done can the question of instruction in one or the other department of knowledge claim consideration.

101. The realia—natural history, geography, history—possess this one unquestionable advantage, viz., easy association with experience and intercourse. Partially, at least, the pupil’s spontaneous ideas (71) may go out toward them. Properly used, collections of plants, picture-books, maps, will contribute their share. In history, the fondness of youth for stories is utilized. The fact that these stories are partly taken from old books written in foreign languages, and that these languages were once actually spoken, has often to[99] be mentioned in passing, before the study of these languages themselves is taken up, nay, even after they have been begun.

It is useless to undertake a demonstration of the utility of the realia. The young do not act for the sake of the more remote ends. Pupils work when they feel they can do something; and this consciousness of power to do must be created.

102. Geometry has other advantages of association, advantages we have begun only recently to turn to account in earnest. Figures made of wood or pasteboard, drawings, pegs, bars, flexible wires, strings, the use of the ruler, of compasses, of the square, counted coins arranged in long or short, in parallel or diverging series,—all these may be offered to the eye ad libitum and connected with other concrete objects. They may be made the basis of systematic employment and exercises, and this will be done more and more when the fact is once grasped that concrete ideas possessing the proper degree of strength constitute the surest foundation of a branch of instruction whose success depends[102] on the manner in which the pupil forms in his mind the ideas of spatial relations. This is not grasped, of course, by those who regard space once for all as a form of sense-perception common to all minds alike. A careful study of the data of experience will convince the practical educator that the opposite is true; for in this respect individual differences are very marked. Pupils rarely hit upon geometrical constructions unaided; the aptitude for drawing, that is, for imitating the objects seen, is met with more often.

It is easy by abstraction to form arithmetical concepts out of the apprehension of geometrical relations. To do so should not be regarded as superfluous, not even when the pupil has already fully entered upon his work in arithmetic.

103. To Germans the two ancient classical languages do not offer the advantages of easy transition. On the other hand, the study of Latin, even if only moderately advanced, prepares the soil for the most indispensable modern foreign languages. Herein lies an argument against beginning with French, as was often done formerly. The linking of Latin to French will, moreover, hardly win the approval of students of languages, since, not to mention other reasons, Gallicisms are a source of no little danger to Latinity.

The ancient languages require long-continued labor. This fact alone renders it advisable to begin them early. The strangeness of Latin for Germans should not lead[103] to the conclusion that the study of Latin should be commenced late, but rather that during the earlier years of boyhood it should be carried on slowly. The sounds of foreign languages must be heard early, in order that the strangeness may wear off. Single Latin words will be easily mastered even by a child. These may soon be followed by short sentences consisting of two or three words. No matter if they are forgotten again for a time. That which is said to be forgotten is not on that account lost. The real difficulty lies in the multitude of strange elements that accumulate in relatively long sentences; it lies also in the many ways of connecting subordinate clauses, in the qualifying insertions, in the order of words, and in the structure of the period. Furthermore, we must not overlook the fact that children are very slow to acquire the use of dependent clauses, even in German; their speech for a long time consists merely of a stringing together of the simplest sentences. The attempt to advance them more rapidly in the syntactical forms of Latin than is possible in their mother-tongue is a waste of time; and, besides, their inclination to study is put to a very severe test.

104. The foregoing remarks show plainly enough that in educative instruction some subjects will be found a comparatively easy and sure means of awakening intellectual activity, while others involve a more strenuous effort, which, under certain circumstances, may end in failure. The concrete studies are nearest to the pupil; mathematics requires some apparatus to render it tangible and vivid; to get pupils started properly in modern languages can be but a slow process. But this difference is, after all, not fundamental enough, nor does it affect the whole course of instruction sufficiently, to constitute a serious pedagogical objection to the study of foreign languages, so long as there is time to teach them. Their fruits mature later.

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105. Whether or not instruction will begin well and go on properly depends on a combination of three factors,—the teacher, the pupil, and the subject taught. Failure of the subject-matter to excite the pupil’s interest is followed by evil consequences moving in a circle. The pupil seeks to avoid the task set for him; he remains silent or returns wrong answers; the teacher insists on getting a correct answer; the lesson is at a standstill; the pupil’s dislike grows more intense. To conquer dislike and indolence, the teacher now refuses altogether the assistance he could give; as best he may, he compels the pupil to collect his thoughts, to work by himself, to prepare his lesson, to memorize, even to apply in written exercises what he knows but imperfectly, etc. The presentation proper has come to an end; at all events it has ceased to be consecutive. Now the right kind of an example is wanting, which the teacher should set—one of reading, thinking, writing, that implies complete absorption in the subject. And yet it is this example concretely illustrating how to take hold of the subject, how to present it, and how to associate it with related subjects, which effects the best[106] results in good instruction. The teacher must set such an example, the pupil must imitate it as well as he can; the teacher must render him active assistance.

106. Instruction is either synthetic or analytic. In general, the term synthetic may be applied wherever the teacher himself determines directly the sequence and grouping of the parts of the lesson; the term analytic, wherever the pupil’s own thoughts are expressed first, and these thoughts, such as they chance to be, are then, with the teacher’s help, analyzed, corrected, and supplemented. But there are many things under this head that need to be defined and discriminated more sharply. There are analyses of experience, of facts learned in school, and of opinions. There is one kind of synthesis which imitates experience; there is another kind which consists in constructing designedly a whole whose component parts have been presented one by one previously.

Here, again, many differences arise, owing to diversities inherent in the subject-matter.

107. Since instruction builds on the pupil’s experience, we shall deal first with that form of synthesis which imitates, or copies experience. We may name it purely presentative instruction. The term synthetic, on the other hand, will henceforth be reserved for that form of instruction which reveals clearly the process of building up a whole out of parts presented singly beforehand.

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The purely presentative method of instruction, although practicable only to a limited extent, is nevertheless so effectual as to entitle it to separate treatment, so effectual that the teacher—and this is the main thing—will do well to train himself carefully in its use. Skill in this direction is the surest means of securing interest.

It is customary to demand that the pupil acquire facility in narration and description, but we ought not to forget that here above all the teacher must lead the way by setting a good example. To be sure, there is an abundance of printed narrative and description, but reading does not produce the effect that hearing does. Viva vox docet. As a rule, we cannot take for granted that a boy has even the skill and patience required for reading; and if perfect facility has been attained, the reading is done too rapidly. There is too much hurry to get to the end, or too much delay over the wrong passages, so that the connection is lost. At the most, we may let the pupils that read exceptionally well read aloud to the class. By far the surer means to the end in view is the oral presentation by the teacher. But in order that such presentation may produce its effect undisturbed, it needs to be perfectly free and untrammelled.

108. The first requisite for free oral presentation is a cultivated style of speaking. Many teachers need to be warned against the use of set phrases, against[108] mere expletives, faulty enunciation, pauses filled in with inarticulate sounds, against fragments of sentences, clumsy parentheses, etc.

In the second place, adaptation of the vocabulary employed, both to the subject-matter and to the intelligence of the pupils, and adjustment of phraseology to the pupil’s stage of culture are essential.

Lastly, careful memorizing. At first this should be done almost verbatim. At all events, the teacher must prepare his lesson as though he had his pupils before him and were talking to them. Later on he must memorize at least the facts and turning-points of the subject to be presented, in order that he may not be compelled to consult books or look at notes. A few remarks on some particular points will be made farther on.

109. The effect of the teacher’s narrative and description should be to make the pupil realize events and objects as vividly as if they were actually present to his eye and ear. The pupil must, therefore, have actually heard and seen much previously. This recalls to our minds the necessity, pointed out before, of first enlarging the young pupil’s range of experience, when found too limited, through excursions and the exhibition of objects. Again, this form of instruction is adapted only to things that might be heard or seen. We must therefore avail ourselves of all the help pictures can give.

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If the presentation has been a success, the reproduction by the pupils will show that they recall, not merely the main facts, but largely even the teacher’s language. They have retained more exactly than they have been asked to do. Besides, the teacher who narrates and describes well gains a strong hold on the affections of his pupils; he will find them more obedient in matters pertaining to discipline.

110. While skilful presentation produces results akin to an extension of the pupil’s range of actual experience, analysis helps to make experience more instructive. For, left to itself, experience is not a teacher whose instruction is systematic. It does not obey the law of actual progress from the simple to the complex. Things and events crowd in upon the mind in masses; the result is often chaotic apprehension. Inasmuch, then, as experience presents[111] aggregates before it gives the component particulars, it becomes the task of instruction to reverse this order and to adjust the facts of experience to the sequence demanded in teaching. Experience, it is true, associates its content; but if this earlier association is to have the share in the work of the school that it should have, that which has been experienced and that which has been learned must be made to harmonize. With this end in view we need to supplement experience. The facts it has furnished have to be made clearer and more definite than they are, and must be given an appropriate embodiment in language.

111. Let us consider first the earliest stage of analytic instruction. In order to understand the significance of this method of teaching, we must examine the nature of a child’s experience. Children are indeed in the habit of familiarizing themselves with their surroundings; but the strongest impressions predominate. Objects in motion have greater attraction for them than objects at rest. They tear up and destroy without troubling themselves much about the real connection between the parts of a whole. In spite of their many why’s and what for’s, they make use of every tool or utensil without regard for its purpose; they are satisfied if it serves the impulse of the moment. Their eyes are keen, but they rarely observe; the real character of things does not deter them from making a plaything of everything, as their fancy may direct, and[112] from making one thing stand for every other thing. They receive total impressions of similar objects, but do not derive concepts; the abstract does not enter their minds of itself.

These and similar observations, however, apply by no means equally to every child. On the contrary, children differ greatly from one another; and, with the child’s individuality, his one-sidedness already begins.

112. It follows at once that the first thing to be done, in a school where many children are to be taught together, is to make the children more alike in their knowledge. To this end the store of experiences which they bring with them must be worked over. But the homogeneity of pupils, desirable as it is, is not the sole aim. We must take care also that the whole of instruction acts upon the particular stock of ideas of each pupil taken individually. We must seek those points of contact and departure to which attention has repeatedly been called above, and hence cannot leave the pupil’s mass of ideas in its original crude state. Thoughtful teachers have long since testified to the necessity of this requirement, which mere scholars in their zeal for learning fail again and again to appreciate.

Niemeyer, in his widely read work, opens his treatment of the particular laws of instruction with a chapter entitled: “The First Steps in awakening Attention and Reflection through Instruction, or Exercises in Thinking.”[113] These exercises are no other than the elementary processes of analytic instruction. He says: “When the age, the health, and the strength of children have made instruction proper seem expedient, the first lesson should be one of the kind described in the chapter heading. Such exercises might be profitably continued in some form or other until the ninth or tenth year, and probably even later. The fact that it is not easy to describe them in a word very likely explains why we fail to find them in most programmes of private and public schools. That at last some attention is being given even in the common schools to this matter is one of the venerable Canon Rochow’s imperishable services to education.”

Pestalozzi, in his book for mothers, strikes out in the same direction. It will not serve the purpose, to be sure, to confine oneself, as he does, to a single object; still, the kind of exercises is indicated very definitely by him; indeed, more definitely, in some ways, than by Niemeyer.

113. The notions of pupils about surrounding objects, that is, notions in which the strongest impressions predominate (111), must be made to approach uniformity first. This is accomplished by uniform reproduction.

On this point Niemeyer says, “The teacher should begin by talking with his pupils about those objects which are, at the time, affecting their senses directly. Pointing to these objects, he asks the pupils to name[114] them. He then passes on to things that are not present, but that the children have seen or felt before. At the same time he exercises their powers of imagination and expression by making them enumerate what they are able to recall. Suitable material: everything in the schoolroom; the human body; everything pertaining to food, dress, comfort; things found in the fields, in the garden, in the yard; animals and plants so far as they are known by the children.”

114. The next step consists in pointing out the main facts of a given whole, the relative position of these parts, their connection, and their movability, if they can be moved without damage. To this are properly linked the simplest facts concerning the uses of things. At the same time children are taught how they must not use things, and how, instead of ruining them, they ought to look after them and use them with care. The abundance and number of things, their size, form, and weight, should likewise be referred to as early as this stage, and should furnish occasion for comparisons.

But something more is needed to give distinctness to the ideas of pupils, and to prepare the way for future abstract thinking. Beginning first with the objects, we derive from them the predicates by searching out the attributes; this done, we must in turn make the predicates our starting-point, and classify the objects under the heads thus obtained. This distinction[115] has been made before by Pestalozzi; it is one of fundamental importance in the preparation for generalization. While engaged in such work pupils will of themselves learn to compare, to discriminate, and, in some instances, to observe more accurately: erroneous notions due to an active imagination will be corrected by the appeal to experience as the source of knowledge.

115. Of what remains to be done, the most important task consists in securing a comprehensive view of a somewhat extended time-series, of which objects, together with their natural or artificial origins, are members. An elementary knowledge will thus be gained, especially of the simplest facts about manufacturing processes, and about intercourse among human beings, which facts will serve subsequently as the groundwork for instruction in natural history and geography. But for history also the way must be prepared by referring, although only in the most general way, to times when the utensils and tools of the present had not yet been invented, when the arts of to-day were as yet unknown, and when people were still without those materials that are now imported from foreign countries.

116. It does not follow, because no definite periods are set apart for the instruction described, that it is not being given at all. We may find it incorporated, to a large extent, with something else, particularly[116] with the interpretation of elementary reading matter, which forms part of the first work in the mother-tongue. Nevertheless, a subject that is taught only incidentally is always liable to suffer, if not from indifference, at least from inadequate treatment.

On the other hand, we cannot fail to recognize that the appointment of separate periods for analytic instruction may prove difficult, owing to the fact that the rate of progress depends so largely on the stock of ideas pupils bring with them, and on their readiness to utter what they think and feel. Besides, while Niemeyer expressly says, “Children taught in this manner know nothing of tedium,” he also hastens to add, “but it is easy to spoil them by too rapid changes of subject.” The same, or similar bad consequences, may result from other school exercises where the teacher himself supplies a profusion of instruction-material, and so relieves his pupils of the trouble of gathering such material from their own recollections. On the whole, therefore, it will be well enough to set apart but few hours, or weeks, for the first attempts; and these can be made a part of the lessons in the mother-tongue.

In private instruction the difficulty spoken of is not encountered. Besides, the ample opportunities afforded for observing the pupil’s store of ideas make it easy to devise a suitable plan for the earliest analytic teaching.

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117. At a later time analytic instruction reappears in other forms, those of review and the correction of[118] written exercises. The teacher has presented a body of facts; he has furnished the helps necessary for the solution of certain problems. What he has given, the pupils are expected to produce again in their review exercises and essays. Where necessary, their work is analyzed and corrected.

In conducting reviews a pedagogical blunder is apt to be made—a blunder that brings on the evils specified in a former paragraph (105); review is confounded with examination. The two are radically different. If the teacher could be sure of both perfect attention and full comprehension, he himself would go over the ground covered by his first talk once more for the purpose of assisting the memory; the pupils would not be called upon to take part. In this case, we should have neither analytic instruction nor anything resembling an examination. As a matter of fact, however, pupils are usually asked to reproduce what and as much as they remember. This is easily taken to mean that they should have retained everything, which, strictly speaking, is not expected even in an examination. The purpose of an examination is to ascertain the actual state of knowledge, whatever it may prove to be; reviews are conducted for the purpose of increasing and deepening knowledge. If an examination is followed by praise or censure, well and good; a review has nothing to do with either.

Since reviewing and drilling, which resembles the[119] former, claim the larger portion of the time devoted to school work, it will be worth while to examine the subject somewhat more closely.

118. Repetition of several ideas intensifies those ideas. It does more than that. If they are of opposed nature, the reciprocal arrest that ensues resists their fusion less during the reproduction than it did in the original act of apprehension. The fusion increases in completeness, and, besides, becomes more uniform, i.e., the weaker ideas hold their own better alongside of the stronger. Again, if a series of successive ideas is repeated, the first members of the series of themselves tend to reproduce those that follow before the latter are repeated—a tendency gathering energy in proportion to the frequency of repetition. This fact underlies the increase in rapidity which comes with growing skill. Extraneous thoughts, however, very easily interrupt the psychical process of reproduction.

Let us assume that the teacher’s presentation has been an adequate one and has lasted no longer than the capacity of the pupils permitted, only a few minutes, perhaps. He himself might now repeat; but asks his pupils to do so, lest their thoughts begin to wander from the subject in hand. He comes to their aid and repeats only when their own attempts have failed. But very often they have retained some things and forgotten others. In this case it becomes his business to reinforce the ideas striving to rise into consciousness,[120] but without disturbing their movement. In other words, he should prompt neither more nor less, should lend aid neither sooner nor later, than will serve to make the pupil’s train of thought coincide as nearly as possible with that of the presentation properly given. Unless this is done, the reproduction fails to effect the required association and facility. The same ground is gone over again and again in vain; fatigue sets in, and the wrong association takes place—a matter for grave apprehension. If the pupils are in an unresponsive mood, the teacher must go slow, for the time being; if interest is lacking, he cannot incite the proper movement of ideas. If the teacher is not conducting the repetition with skill, the fragmentary answers of the pupils indicate well enough after a time that the desired current of thought has not been generated.

119. We have taken it for granted that the presentation was an adequate one—one that might serve as a model (105). Where this adjustment of means and ends extends, as it may, even to the language, the latter should be closely followed in the repetition, but without pedantic insistence on unimportant details. But very frequently the essential feature of the presentation is found in the sequence of thought. In that case expression will vary, and the teacher is satisfied at first if, in repeating, the pupils furnish evidence that they understand; he allows them to use their own words, though less appropriate. He[121] must, still, however, look carefully after the given sequence, which the repetition is to reproduce with the greatest possible coherence.

120. The case is different when later on larger sections of a course of successful instruction are to be repeated. During all the earlier stage particular facts were moved far apart (68) for the sake of clearness; by means of conversation, or of incidental mention in other recitations, or through experience itself (110), provision was made also for association of various kinds. Now it becomes the business of repetition in the first place to gather together into a smaller compass what has been expanded; next it subserves the purpose of systematic arrangement, and lastly, is often of use for making the instruction more complete and for adding the difficult to the comparatively easy. Here the mode of presentation itself changes to meet the requirements of a more advanced grade of work. But repetition immediately after the presentation, or, perhaps, during the next hour, will, as a rule, remain necessary even at this higher stage.

121. Here, where compression and insertions are to modify the material of instruction, we need to inquire into the forms of connection peculiar to the objects, together with those essential for use, and to determine accordingly the series and web of ideas to be formed in the mind of the pupil. For such organization of ideas, repetition is, at all events, far better[122] adapted than presentation, which can traverse only one of several series at a time, and which passes into repetition the moment an effort is made to bring the other series forward also. In natural history, for example, various classifications occur, in history the ethnographic divisions are crossed by the synchronistic, while the history of culture demands yet another basis of association; in geography each noted city is to be a landmark, enabling the pupil to take his bearings in every direction, but cities on rivers suggest river basins and mountain ranges; in mathematics each theorem is to be kept ready for separate application, but it has also its special place in the chain of demonstrations; grammatical rules, too, should be available when called for, but it is very necessary at the same time that the pupil become perfectly at home in his grammar and know where to look for information.

The teacher who, by skilful repetition, does justice to these multiform associations, is not always the one who shows most skill in systematic presentation, and who knows best how to make prominent the main thoughts, and to link to them those that are subordinate.

122. The impulse to repeat must, as a rule, come from points with which pupils are familiar. It is further requisite that the teacher, in conducting the repetition, adapt himself to their train of thought; he must not adhere strictly to an inflexible plan. The[123] necessary corrections require delay here and there; the corrected statements often constitute new points from which to take bearings. At times the pupils themselves should feel free to indicate which topics it seems most necessary to repeat. By so doing they assume a certain responsibility as to the rest, and are made to realize all the more their obligation to make up deficiencies.

123. The correction of written work likewise falls under the head of analytic instruction, but the toil exceeds the profit if written work is demanded too early. While writing the pupil consolidates his ideas. Now if he does so incorrectly, the effect is mischievous, his mistakes cling to him. Moreover, the teacher has to be on his guard lest, while orally correcting and reading over the composition, he overestimate the pupil’s attention. When many slips occur, when a whole forest of mistakes is found to have sprung up, the pupil becomes indifferent to them all; they make humble, but they also dishearten. Such tasks should, therefore, be very brief, if the pupil is weak; nay, it is preferable to have none at all, as long as progress is being made more surely by a different kind of exercises.

The teacher who assigns home work with a view to saving labor in school miscalculates utterly; his work will soon have become all the harder.

To many it seems that the exercises they assign[124] should be very easy, rather than short; and to make them easy, outlines, turns of expression, everything, is indicated as definitely as possible. This is a delusion. If composition has any purpose, it consists in making the pupil try to see what he can do without the teacher. Now if the pupil actually gets started on the exercise, the teacher ought not to step in his way with all sorts of prescriptions. If the pupil fails to make headway, the attempt was premature. We must either wait or else shorten the task, no matter if it should shrink to no more than three lines. Three lines of the pupil’s own work are better than three pages written by direction. It may take years before the self-deception due to leading-string methods is superseded by a true estimate of the pupil’s actual power.

124. The case is quite different if, before writing, the pupil has been assisted orally in developing his thoughts. This kind of analysis is of special importance in later boyhood; but the teacher should see to it that the pupil gives free expression to his own opinion. If he does, a theme has been furnished for discussion during which the teacher will avoid harsh dissent in proportion to his eagerness to accomplish something with his pupil. To rebuke presuming boldness or impudence is a different matter, of course.

Self-chosen themes are preferable by far to those that are assigned, only they cannot be expected of the[125] majority of pupils. But when they do turn up, the character of the choice alone, but still more the execution, will throw light on the opinions current among the pupils, and on the impressions which not only the school, but experience and society as well, have been constantly at work to produce. The writer’s individuality reveals itself even more distinctly. Every teacher must be prepared to come upon these individual traits, however much he might prefer to have his pupils reflect himself. It would be futile if he attempted to correct their essays by interpolating his own view; he would not by that means make the latter their own. The mode of treatment can be corrected; but other opportunities will have to serve for the rectification of opinions—provided this can ever be undertaken successfully.

125. With regard to synthetic instruction, we assume at the outset that it will be supported during the whole course of training by the merely presentative and the analytic methods of teaching, wherever these are in place. Otherwise the ultimate result will always remain problematical, particularly the union of learning and life.

Synthetic instruction brings in much that is new and strange; and we must take advantage of the universal charm of novelty. It must coöperate with acquired habits of application, and with the interest peculiar to each subject taught. The affairs, not of[126] Italy alone, but also those of Greece and the Orient, have become a matter of everyday discussion. There has been a general diffusion of knowledge about the facts and laws of nature. Hence even younger children cannot help but pick up many things now that will tend to forestall the indifference or aversion with which school studies were regarded not longer than fifty years ago. They seemed to be something foreign to life. At present, it cannot prove difficult to turn curiosity in the direction of distant lands, and of past ages even, especially where collections of rare articles and antiquities are accessible. This stimulation would not persist long, however, in the face of the labor of learning, if there did not exist at the same time a widespread conviction of the necessity of study, a conviction reinforced by the legal requirements of schools, particularly of the gymnasia. Accordingly, families exert a good influence with respect to the industry of children; and with the right sort of government and training in school, willingness to learn is easily secured. Less easy is it to incite a genuinely scientific desire to know, one that will endure beyond examinations. This brings us back to many-sidedness of interest (83–94). If interest were not already the end of instruction, we should have to look upon it as the only means whereby the results of teaching can be given permanence.

Interest depends partly, it is true, on native capacity,[127] which the school cannot create; but it depends also on the subject-matter of instruction.

126. Synthetic instruction must offer subjects capable of arousing lasting and spontaneously radiating interest. That which affords only temporary pleasure or light entertainment is of too little consequence to determine the plan of operation. Nor can the choice of such studies be recommended as stand isolated, as do not lead to continued effort; for, other reasons aside, we are unable to decide beforehand to which of the main classes of interest (83–94) the individual pupil will especially incline. The first place belongs rather to those studies which appeal to the mind in a variety of ways and are capable of stimulating each pupil according to his individuality. For such subjects ample time must be allowed; they must be made the object of prolonged, diligent effort. We may then hope that they will take hold in some way, and we shall be in a position to know what kind of interest they have inspired in one pupil or another. Where, on the contrary, the end of the thread of work is soon reached, it remains questionable whether any effort at all will be produced, let alone a lasting impression.

127. The subject-matter having been chosen, the treatment must be adjusted to it in such a way as to bring it within reach of the pupils. For the exercises growing out of such treatment, the well-known rule holds in general: the easy before the difficult, or, more[128] specifically, that which prepares the way before that which cannot be firmly grasped without preliminary knowledge. To insist, however, on perfect mastery in this respect, is often equivalent to scaring away interest. Absolute proficiency in preliminary knowledge is a late achievement, nor is it attained without fatigue. The teacher has to be satisfied if the mastery acquired is such that what is lacking can, without serious delay, be added by him in practice. To make the road so level as to do away entirely with the necessity for occasional leaps (96), means to provide for the convenience of the teacher rather than for that of the pupils. The young love to climb and jump; they do not take kindly to an absolutely level path. But they are afraid in the dark. There must be light enough for them to see by; in other words, the subject must lie spread out before their eyes with such distinctness that each step is seen to be a step forward, which brings them perceptibly nearer to a distant goal.

128. With regard to the sequence of studies we need to distinguish first of all between preparatory knowledge and ability to do. As is well known, the latter, even when it has been fully attained, can be secured against loss only by long-continued practice. Hence the practice of the pupil’s skill must go on constantly from the time when he first learns to apply what he knows. But merely preliminary knowledge,[129] which produced fatigue before it was mastered, may be allowed to drop out of the memory. Enough remains to make it easier to resume the subject at a later time (92, 103). Accordingly, not the preliminary knowledge just referred to, but the pupil’s facility in doing, supplies the principle determining sequence. In the case of all essential elementary information—knowledge of rudiments of grammar, arithmetic, and geometry—it will be found expedient to begin with the simplest elements long before any practical application is made. In such first lessons individual facts only are presented. These are made clear to the pupils (68, 69); here and there they are associated. Fatigue is avoided if possible. Even if the earliest attempts at memorizing should prove successful, it will be safer, instead of relying on this fact, to postpone the whole matter for a time. At a later period the same subject is resumed from the beginning without any demand on the teacher’s part that some things should have been retained. This time, however, it will be possible to introduce a somewhat larger quantity of the instruction-material, and it will not be too early to make pupils perceive the connection between individual facts. If pupils experience difficulty in comprehending, we should be careful not to advance too rapidly; the greater the difficulty, the greater the need for caution. When the time comes for practical application, an earnest, diligent effort[130] must be insisted on, but only for tasks of moderate length, and without exacting too much by harsh means. Not every pupil can do everything. Sometimes a pupil will at a later period acquire the power he does not possess now, if only his chances for success have not been spoiled by earlier blindness on the part of his teacher.

129. Again, corresponding to each stage of instruction, there is a certain capacity for apperceiving attention (77) which deserves careful consideration. For we ought to avail ourselves of the comparatively easy in order to facilitate indirectly what would otherwise prove difficult and time-consuming.

We need to distinguish between insertion and continuation, and to connect this distinction with the division of ideas into spontaneous and induced (71). It is easier to fill in between familiar points than it is to continue, because the continued series is in close contact with the well known only at the starting-point. Easiest of all is insertion between free-rising ideas, between those ideas that occur to the pupil spontaneously, when he has been led into a certain field of consciousness. Hardest of all, and least certain of success, is the continuation of lessons that can be revived in consciousness only by a laborious effort of memory. Intermediate in difficulty are the insertion of new elements between induced or reproduced ideas, and continuation on the basis of free-rising, or[131] spontaneous, ideas. That there may be many gradations besides is of course self-evident.

The teacher who knows his pupils well will be able to make frequent use of these distinctions. Only a very general outline of their application can be given here.

The realia and mathematics can be connected more easily than other studies with the pupil’s experience (101, 102). If the teacher has properly availed himself of this advantage, he may count on ideas that rise spontaneously, and his task will then consist in first establishing a few suitable cardinal points so that insertions may be made farther on.

Languages present more serious difficulties. It is true that progress in the vernacular is made through apperception by the pupil’s earlier attainments in his mother-tongue, and through the insertion of the new into the old. But in foreign languages, which associate themselves with the mother-tongue only gradually, apperception and insertion cannot take place until after some knowledge of the language has been acquired. And this knowledge must grow considerably before we can reasonably look for spontaneous ideas. If now the reproduced ideas become encumbered with additional new ones, worst of all through mere continuation, we need not wonder if the result is useless chaos.

This explains, no doubt, why the attempts to teach[132] the ancient languages ex usu, after the manner in which the language of a foreign country is easily learned by residence in that country, had to end in failure. One who learns French in France has persons and actions before his eyes; he easily infers that which concerns him. Such apperception takes place undoubtedly by means of spontaneous ideas with which the foreign language becomes associated. Before long the language itself becomes an apperceiving factor and participates in the process of learning. For the ancient languages, on the contrary, a grammatical working basis is needed first, especially a knowledge of inflectional endings, pronouns, and particles. The blunder should not be made, to be sure, of beginning with a marshalling of the hosts of grammar, as though grammar itself needed no base of operations. Long practice of what is most necessary must precede. But the worst plan would be to start in with cursory reading; in other words, to continue without making sure of anything.

Even cursory reading, however, produces good results under one condition; namely, the existence of a lively interest in the contents.

130. When the thoughts of the reader hasten on in advance of the words and get hold of the general sense correctly, the required apperception is performed by means of spontaneous ideas together with the insertion of whatever was not inferred. But this presupposes[133] a very favorable relation of the book to the reader. Hence texts used in the teaching of a language must be chosen with very great care, and their contents explained.

Such work should not be slighted in favor of grammar; on the other hand, as much grammar must be given as is necessary. Some of the essentials will have to precede the reading; complementary facts will be presented in connection with the reading; other portions of the grammatical apparatus will be introduced at suitable halting-places. Written exercises belong elsewhere and stand in a different relation to grammar.

The interest in an author depends very largely on historical preparation; here we cannot fail to discover connection between philology and the so-called real studies.

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131. Where many diverse means are to coöperate for the attainment of one end, where many obstacles have to be overcome, where persons of higher, equal, and lower rank enter as factors requiring consideration, it is always a difficult matter to keep the end itself, the one fixed goal, steadily in view. In instruction the difficulty is increased by the fact that no one single teacher can impart the whole, and that consequently a number of teachers are obliged to depend on one another. But for this very reason, however much circumstances may vary the courses of study, the common end, namely, many-sided, well-balanced, well-connected interest, in the achievement of which the true development of mental powers consists, needs to be lifted into prominence as the one thing toward which all details of procedure should point.

132. No more time, we need to realize at the outset, should be demanded for instruction than is consistent with the proviso that the pupils retain their natural buoyancy of spirits. This must be insisted on, and not merely for the sake of health and physical vigor;[135] a more direct argument for our present purpose lies in the fact that all art and labor employed to keep the attention awake will be thwarted by the disinclination to study caused by sitting too long, and even by excessive mental application alone. Forced attention does not suffice for instruction, even though it may be had through disciplinary measures.

It is urgently necessary that every school have not only spacious schoolrooms, but also a playground; it is further necessary that each recitation be followed by an intermission, that after the first two periods permission be granted for exercise in the open air, and that the same permission be given after the third period if there is a fourth to follow.

Still more urgent is the demand that pupils shall not be deprived of their hours of needed recreation by an excessive amount of school work to be done at home. The teacher who loads pupils down with home tasks in order to dispense as much as possible with perhaps uncertain home supervision, substitutes a certain and general evil for a possible and partial one.

The neglect of such precautions has given rise in recent times to very bitter complaints, which will continue to be heard in future for similar reasons. Violent gymnastic exercise is not the means to put a stop to them. They threaten to lead to another extreme—such restrictions upon instruction as will make an inner unity of work impossible.

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133. The time properly belonging to instruction must not be scattered. The deep-rooted practice of assigning two hours per week to one study and two hours to another, each lesson separated from the next by an interval of two or three days, is absurd, because incompatible with continuity of presentation. Of course, if the teacher can stand this arrangement, the pupils will have to endure it.

The subjects of instruction must be taken up in order that each may have its share of continuous time. To give a whole term to each is not always practicable; frequently shorter periods will have to suffice.

Again, one subject must not be split into several, according to the names of its branches. If, for example, we should set apart separate hours for Greek and Roman antiquities and again for mythology in addition to the time designated for the reading of[137] ancient authors, separate hours for the systematic survey of the branches of knowledge besides those reserved for German in the highest class of the gymnasium, separate hours for analytic geometry alongside of algebra, we should tear asunder where we ought to join together, and should dissipate the time at our disposal.

Saving time depends on methods better than these,—on proficiency in presenting a subject and skill in conducting recitations.

134. As boys grow older, they may derive a great deal of profit from reading and doing many things by themselves. Following their own choice, they develop in accordance with their individual traits. We question, however, the wisdom of calling for reports on such outside pursuits. Pupils of ordinary capacity should not be made ambitious to imitate what they are not fitted for; extensive reading must not impair feeling and thinking. Breadth of learning is not identical with depth, and cannot make up for lack of depth. Instead of reading, some engage in the study of a fine art. Others are compelled at an early age to give lessons in order to support themselves. These learn while teaching.

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The essentials of a coherent scheme of studies must not be dependent on outside reading; they must be embraced in the plan of instruction itself.

135. From beginning to end the course of study must be arranged so as to provide for each of the main classes of interest. The empirical interest, to be sure, is called forth everywhere more easily than any of the other kinds. But religious instruction always fosters sympathetic interest; in this it must have the assistance of history and language study. Æsthetic culture at first depends on the work in the mother-tongue; it is desirable to have, in addition, instruction in singing, which at the same time promotes the health of the pupil. Later on, the ancient classics contribute their share of influence. Training in thinking is afforded by analytic, grammatical, and mathematical instruction; toward the end, also, by the study of history, which then becomes a search for causes and effects. Coöperation of this sort is to be sought everywhere; the authors to be studied must be selected with this end in view, and interpreted accordingly.

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136. Training looks toward the pupil’s future. It is founded on hope, and shows itself, to begin with, in patience. It tempers government, the object of which might perhaps be realized more speedily by greater rigor. It moderates even instruction in case the latter puts too great a strain upon the pupil. But it also combines with government as well as instruction, and lightens their work.

Training consists primarily in a certain personal attitude, identical if possible with a kind way of treating pupils. This implies readiness on the part of the teacher to listen to the wishes and utterances of the pupil, who, in the midst of strangers, looks to his teacher (and to the family in charge of his education) for sympathy and support. But training becomes active where the pupil needs help, especially[141] help against his own weaknesses and faults, which might frustrate the hopes centred in him.

137. Training insists on becoming conduct; it encourages cheerfulness of disposition. In either case it remains within limits compatible with the occupations connected with government and instruction. The pupil is never to lose sight of the subject on which he is engaged; it would be bad if a desire to show off, or to amuse himself, should take possession of him and cause him to forget his work.

The wise teacher will be glad to make himself personally agreeable to his pupil as long as the conduct of the latter does not call for the opposite treatment. Supervision grows less irksome in consequence. Gentle words forestall, if anything can, all severer measures.

138. The teacher does not look upon the progress resulting from his teaching with feelings of indifference. His sympathy, even solicitude it may be, coöperates powerfully with the greater or lesser degree of interest awakened in the learner. Training, however, can never be made a substitute where there is no interest or, worse still, where indifference has become positive dislike.

139. In instruction the presence of interest cannot be simply assumed; just as little can good intentions on the pupil’s part always be presupposed in training. One thing, however, must be taken for granted: the[142] pupil must not have come to feel that the discipline is weak and the instruction poor. Any defect in either direction must therefore be traced to its source and remedied. When pupils feel free to do as they please, when they think they have good cause to blame the teacher for their failure to make progress, his manner will be of no avail; and futile attempts only make matters worse.

140. In some cases training becomes blended with government to such an extent that it can scarcely be distinguished from the latter. As an example, we may mention the large educational institutions conducted on a military basis, where the individual pupil is carried along by the general system, rather than made the object of special care. In other cases, training and government remain farther apart than is necessary; an instance of this is when a strict father keeps himself at a distance, and leaves the business of training, within the prescribed rigid limits, to the tutor of his children. At all events, a distinction must be made between the two concepts, training and government, in order that the teacher may know what he is doing, and may notice what is perhaps lacking; we are justified in adding, in order that he may save himself useless effort. For training is not uniformly effectual, regardless of circumstances; the teacher needs to be watchful in this matter in order that the opportune moment for doing what can be done may not escape him.

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141. While the aim of instruction was rendered sufficiently determinate, as we saw above (17, 64, 65), by the injunction, be perfect, the aim of training, which supplements educative instruction, comprehends virtue as a whole. Now virtue is an ideal, the approximation toward which is denoted by the term morality. Again, since, generally speaking, a child passes on from mere capacity for culture to culture itself, from the indeterminate to fixedness of knowledge, the approximation to virtue consists likewise in development toward stability. Where conduct in moral affairs vacillates, there is a deficiency; where something morally hateful becomes confirmed, there is a defect. Excluding both, we define the aim of training properly as moral strength of character.

142. In succeeding chapters character and moral conduct will each have to be differentiated more minutely. For our present purpose we need only to remind ourselves that the determinateness of the will, which is called character, depends not only on willing,[145] but also on not willing. The latter is either a deficient or a denying willing, which repels or rejects. Stern methods of governing, which bar access to everything that might lead astray, are likely to produce a deficient will rather than the permanence of formed strength; with the end of school days, the dreaded opportunities arrive after all, and the pupil may quickly undergo a change beyond recognition. The task of training must therefore be thought of as embracing both affirmative willing and rejecting.

[146]

143. Our will activities result from ideas. Different masses of ideas give rise to different will action; hence the difficulty experienced in harmonizing and unifying the manifold acts of will.

The various groups of ideas do not simply succeed one another in consciousness; the relation of one to the other may also be that of apperception. Apperceiving attention is not confined to sense-perception (77); it embraces inner perception as well. The process of apperception, however, consists rarely or never in mere perceiving. It involves more: one mass of ideas exerts a determining influence on the other. Now, since each may be the source of will action, it happens that often one act of will accepts or rejects another. Again, conscious of himself preëminently as a being that wills, man gives commands to himself and decides concerning himself; he seeks to acquire self-control. In such efforts he makes himself more and more the object of his own observation. That part of his will activity which his self-observation reveals to be already in existence, we call the[147] objective part of character. To the new will action, on the other hand, which first springs into existence in and with self-examination, we give the name subjective part of character.

The subjective side of character can attain its full development only during the years of maturity. Its beginnings, however, reach back into boyhood, and its normal growth during adolescence is noticeably rapid, due allowance being made for variations of kind and degree in different individuals.

144. In view of the very manifold volitional elements which the objective foundations of character may obviously contain, it will facilitate a survey if we distinguish (1) that which the pupil does or does not endure willingly, (2) that which he does or does not long to have, (3) that which he does or does not like to do. Now one, now the other class predominates, the strongest controlling and restricting the rest. But this restriction is not always an easy matter. Accordingly the objective phase of character attains at first to inner harmony only with difficulty.

[149]

145. In consequence of frequent repetitions of similar acts of will, general concepts are gradually formed in the subjective side of character, concepts comprehending both the similar will actions already present under similar circumstances, and the requirements man sets up for himself with a view to determining his willing one way or another.

These requirements fall largely within the province of prudence; they pertain to forethought and cautious reserve, or, may be, to action, in order that an end may be gained by the choice of suitable means. The boy wants to be wiser than the child; the youth wiser than either. In this way man seeks to rise above himself.

146. Moral conduct is not always furthered by man’s effort to surpass himself, so that the teacher’s task becomes a twofold one,—a watching and directing not only of the objective but also of the subjective side of character. Temperament, native bent, habit, desire, and passion fall under the former; to the latter belong the frankness or cunning displayed by the pupil, and his habitual method of practical reasoning.

147. As a rule, we may consider it auspicious for character building if the pupil, instead of being swayed by moods and whims, is constant in his willing. Such uniformity as requires no effort we may designate by the expression memory of will.

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When a pupil possesses this natural advantage, the objective part of his character easily arrives at harmony with itself. He sees that among his many preferences relative to enduring, having, doing, one imposes restrictions upon the other; that it is often necessary to submit and endure in order to have and do that which is desired; that pursuits of which he is fond do not always yield what he longs to have, and so on. When these truths have become sufficiently clear to him, he soon comes to a point where he decides which things he cares about a great deal, and which less. He chooses, and choice largely determines character, primarily character in its objective aspects.

In the course of the development of the subjective part of character, there are formed in succession resolves, maxims, and principles, a process involving subsumptions, conclusions, and motives. It will cost many a struggle before these motives can assert themselves.

The strength of a character depends on the agreement between its two parts, the objective and the subjective. Where there is want of accord, the character is weak. But both must be morally good; where that is not the case, strength ceases to be desirable.

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148. Pupils at once active and kindly are not rare, and so far as the ideas of perfection and good-will are concerned, give rise to no anxiety, at least not at first. With a firm government, moreover, they are easily induced to make the golden rule their own, and they soon become disposed to yield in contention, or rather, become more careful about picking a quarrel. Accordingly, with reference also to equity and justice, they cause little anxiety. In time they gain mental balance, the basis of genuine self-control, and are now on the road to inner freedom. In short, they are in possession of that which, in the light of fundamental ethical ideas, constitutes morality.

But these constituents of moral conduct are not found together in every one, nor do they always remain together. Side by side with the praiseworthy traits mentioned, others of an opposite nature frequently manifest themselves; it becomes evident that the latter are not excluded, and thus the former do not determine the character.

149. In order to exclude the morally evil, the praiseworthy[152] traits of the objective side of character need to be reinforced by the good resolutions of the subjective part.

These resolutions, to be worth anything morally, must rest on that theoretical judgment whereby the pupil through examples comes to distinguish between better and worse in willing. As long as his judging lacks clearness, energy, and completeness, his resolutions are without a foundation in his mind and heart. They are hardly more than memorized words.

When, on the other hand, the theoretical judgment has become interwoven with the totality of interest growing out of experience, social intercourse, and instruction, it creates a warm affection for the good wherever found, an affection which influences not only all of the pupil’s efforts of will, but also the manner in which he assimilates what instruction and life henceforth offer.

150. Finally, in order to fortify moral decisions, we must avail ourselves of the assistance derived from the logical cultivation of maxims, from the systematic unification of the same, and from their constant application in life.

Here the organic connection between character growth and the formation of habits of reflection becomes apparent; training is, therefore, obviously unable to accomplish its work except in conjunction with instruction.

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[154]

151. The function of training does not consist, it is true, in always restraining and meddling; still less in ingrafting the practices of others to take the place of the pupil’s self-activity. Nevertheless, refusal and permission are so much a part of training that the pupil becomes far more dependent through training than mere government could make him. In government a few rules may be enforced very strictly, while in other respects the boy is left to himself; in training a similar relaxation of vigilance is scarcely ever permissible. Only the strongest grounds for confidence in a pupil would justify such a course.

The watchful teacher, even without aiming to do so, always shows some degree of approbation or dissatisfaction. In many cases this is all that is necessary; at times, with sensitive pupils, even this is too much. Unaccustomed censure hurts them more than was intended, while no evidence, however slight, of approval, escapes their notice. The teacher should be considerate in his treatment of such sensibility.

152. With regard to restraint of freedom, keenness[155] of sensibility is more common. In this connection another point also calls for consideration. Freedom is of the utmost direct importance to formation of character, provided it issues in well-weighed and successful action. For from success springs the confidence of will whereby desire ripens into decision. Where rational action may be looked for, freedom of action must be granted; where the opposite is true, the early appearance of a vivid consciousness of self-activity is fraught with danger.

Frequent censure and curtailment of freedom generally blunt sensibility, rather more, however, sensibility to words than to restrictions. Accordingly, where repetition of censure is necessary, the language may and should vary. On the other hand, the teacher’s practice with respect to permission and prohibition must, where possible, be felt to be permanent, even if it were only to confine the granting of the same permission to stated times, in accordance with an adopted habit. Lack of uniformity, except for obvious reasons, impresses pupils as arbitrariness and caprice; fixed limits are endured more easily.

153. The sensibilities are irritated least by mere directions, by daily reminding, by calls at the appointed hour, without words of reproach. There are numerous details of daily life which must be placed under the rule of order, but it would be unwise to make more of them than they deserve. Sharp reprimands ought[156] not to be wasted on petty acts of negligence; they are needed for important things. Rules must be obeyed; but a light punishment, one that does not wound the feelings, is more suitable here than harsh words could be.

154. Closely related to the foregoing is the cultivation of habits that imply endurance, or the bearing of deprivation without murmur, or even an inuring to positive hardships. In efforts tending in this direction it is not sufficient merely to refrain from hurting the pupil’s feelings; youthful good humor and love of fun must be allowed free expression besides.

155. Mischievous consequences follow if children become accustomed to frequent, unnecessary gratification of desires, or to a round of artificial pleasures which include neither work nor exercise. To mention only one such consequence, the attendant blunting of the sensibilities renders ineffectual numerous minor aids of training which may be employed to good advantage with unspoiled children. It takes little to give children a great variety of pleasures when great moderation is a matter of daily practice, and for this very reason we need to husband, as it were, our resources for giving enjoyment, in order that much may be accomplished with little. Harmless games, particularly, should not be spoiled for children by making them feel that they must cultivate the staid behavior of adults. Their own ambition fills them only too[157] early with the desire to appear no longer as children.

156. The good teacher’s watchfulness will extend even to petty details, which may indeed prove momentous enough in his little world. These are not so important, however, as the mutual relations of the coöperating factors:—

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157. The outcome is uncertain in the case of those aids to training whose effect on the sensibilities of the pupils cannot be foreseen. Some of them are, nevertheless, well worth trying, final judgment being suspended until after the result has been observed. Under this head belong especially the strictly pedagogical punishments and rewards which are patterned after the natural consequences of doing or not doing. The boy who comes late loses the anticipated enjoyment; if he destroys his things, he must do without them; over-indulgence is followed by bitter medicine; tattling by removal from the circle in which matters requiring discretion are discussed, etc. Such punishments do not subserve moral improvement, but they warn and teach a lesson. To what extent they will do so we are often unable to tell beforehand; a profitable reminiscence may be retained at all events.

158. Sometimes the question is how to set pupils on the right track again. They have grown listless, for instance, or pursue their tasks with reluctance. Here we may profitably resort to a sudden interruption[159] by a change of employment. It happens occasionally that pupils, physically strong, are guilty of very bad behavior that persists in spite of admonitions and punishments, or reappears in another form, but which is, after all, at bottom, only the result of a state of ill humor that can easily be corrected. An unexpected, trifling present, an unusual act of attention, will very likely break down the pupil’s reserve, and when the cause of the trouble has once been ascertained, it will be possible to discover a remedy.

159. In the case of those that are weak physically, furtherance of health combined with persevering patience is the first and chief duty. But kindness should not degenerate into weak indulgence; on the other hand, close supervision must take the place of every form of harsh treatment.

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160. The distinctions relative to character and morality (143–150) furnish the thread of reflection on this subject. Concisely stated, the function of training is to support, to determine, and to regulate; to keep the pupil, on the whole, in a tranquil and serene frame of mind; to arouse him occasionally by approval and reproof; to remind at the proper moment, and to correct faults. A more definite significance will be imparted to this brief summary by a comparative study and application of the ideas analyzed in the preceding chapters.

161. First, what is meant by the supporting activity of training becomes clearer if we recall the remarks made concerning memory of the will (147) as opposed to the thoughtlessness usually ascribed to youth. The thoughtless boy does not remember past acts of will. He stands in need of being supported by training. This, further analysis shows, is done in two ways: by holding him back from the wrong course, and by holding him up to the right course.

Training presupposes an efficient government and the obedience consequent to it. By implication, the pupil would not dare to disobey a command if given. But commands ought to be employed sparingly, and only when inevitable. Imposed too frequently, they would preclude self-development; if given to adolescents for any but obvious and urgent reasons, obedience would not long continue. In short, government acts at intervals. But the pupil cannot be permitted to live in a state of lawless liberty in the meantime. He must remain sensible, be it ever so little, of certain limits which he is not allowed to overstep. This result is the aim of the supporting function of training.

But the pupil, even though he be generally obedient, does not obey every one, nor under all circumstances, nor always fully, promptly, and without[162] opposition; and when he once fails to comply with gentle words, he will be still less ready to yield to a severe manner toward himself. Of course, the teacher must know on what support he may depend; the father needs to have made up his mind how far he would be willing to go with coercive measures if necessary; the private tutor, to what extent he may count on the backing of parents; the teacher in a public institution, how far his course of action would be upheld by his superiors. But all this involves an appeal from training to government, a step to be avoided as much as possible. Most of the unpleasant cases of intractability, where recourse to government becomes unavoidable, are the gradual result of continued weak indulgence. Of such cases no account is taken here, and justly so, since, apart from all else, even defiant obstinacy, provided restraint has not been cast off utterly, soon breaks down and gives way to remorse when it is met by serious and deliberate firmness.

162. Before training can have within itself the power to make up deficiencies in obedience, there must be awakened in the pupil a vivid feeling that the approval of his teacher is a valuable possession, which he would be loath to lose. This the teacher[164] will bring about in proportion to the effective and welcome share he has in the life of his pupil. He must give before he can receive. Furthermore, if in his opinion the pupil needs to be turned in a different direction, he should not underestimate the difficulty of the task before him; he must proceed slowly.

The initial steps in character training are admirably described by Niemeyer in the following words: “The teacher’s first duty is to study the positively good elements in the native character of the being to be educated. To preserve these, to strengthen them, to transform them into virtue, and to fortify them against every danger, should be his incessant endeavor. They should constitute the keynote, as it were, of his whole method of education. He should look for the good even in the spoilt and vicious pupil, and should try to bring it to light, no matter how many weeds may have sprung up alongside of it. For all subsequent moral education must start from this point.”

Although this passage belongs in strictness to the discussion on moral education, it is plainly entitled to a place here also. An appeal to the pupil’s better nature promotes ready compliance on his part, especially when it is accompanied by those little courtesies that go with cultivated social intercourse. It is most effective with those who possess at the same time[165] the strongest memory of will, which it will not be difficult for the supporting activity of training to strengthen still further.

163. On the other hand, the task of training grows arduous in proportion as the pupil fails to bear in mind his acts of will. But even here there is a difference between capricious unruliness and downright flightiness and levity.

Cases may arise where the impetuosity of the pupil challenges the teacher to a kind of combat. Rather than accept such a challenge, he will usually find it sufficient at first to reprove calmly, to look on quietly, to wait until fatigue sets in. The embarrassing situations into which such a pupil gets himself will furnish occasions for making him feel ashamed, and now it remains to be seen whether or not he can be made to adopt a more equable behavior. Here and there training may in this way even make good the lack of government; scarcely, however, for large numbers, after unruliness has once begotten vicious habits.

164. Thoughtlessness in the narrower sense, which manifests itself in forgetfulness, in negligence, in want of steadiness, and in so-called youthful escapades, is a defect in native capacity, and does not admit of a radical cure, imperceptible as it may become with age, by reason of repeated warnings and diminishing susceptibility to external impressions. All the more imperative is it in such cases to support by training, in order that the evil consequences of this character weakness may be prevented, or at least reduced to a minimum. For as soon as a thoughtlessly impulsive boy comes to take pleasure in his conduct, he will set himself against order and industry, and will strive to discover the means which promise to secure for him a life without restrictions. This danger must be forestalled by training. At the beginning, and before an evil will has had time to develop, training must take the place of will. It must bring home to the pupil that of which he had lost sight. To his fluctuating[167] and roving impulses it must lend its own external firmness and uniformity, which cannot be created at once, if at all, within the pupil.

Here is the proper place for the injunction, not to argue with children. “I cannot be too emphatic and outspoken in my warning against too much arguing,” says Caroline Rudolphi; and Schwarz, who quotes this passage, adds, “Once is too often.” Niemeyer, after speaking of the excesses of abnormal liveliness and characterizing thoughtlessness, which, he says, “causes inattention, a disregard for consequences, and hasty actions,” continues thus: “All these are not faults of the heart; still they are faults that need to be amended, and about the only sure educational method for amending them is to cultivate right habits. Positive punishments wisely chosen may indeed be employed as auxiliary means, but only when there are evidences of a lack of good intention, or when these faults have become ominously prominent.” He further advises teachers to insist on this, that pupils rectify on the spot what can be rectified, since vague recollections prove barren of good results.

This does not, of course, dispose of the whole matter, but we are still discussing training as a supporting agency, and from this point of view it is true that argument should not be substituted for the cultivation of habits.

165. To restrain the lively but thoughtless boy is[168] more difficult than to keep him properly active, for the latter is comparatively easy, in some cases at least, if instruction excites his interest. The reverse holds true for the sluggish boy because an attack has to be made on his indolence. Here the stimulation to physical exertion through association with wide-awake playmates is the first thing to be secured; and where hard lessons cannot as yet be managed successfully, lighter occupations will have to suffice. Where sluggishness is traceable to bodily feebleness, improvement may be hoped for from sanitary measures and increasing years.

The following rule is to be observed everywhere: No exercise must exceed the pupil’s strength, but that which has once been begun must be completed. At the least, pupils must not be allowed to drop their work as they choose; they must look upon it as a whole, however small.

166. That the supporting procedure of training rests on the teacher’s own bearing—on the uniformity of his demeanor—need hardly be said; but this evenness must also stand out clearly before the eyes of the pupils. The teacher ought to guard particularly against causing the complaint that no one knows how to please him, that nothing one may do is done to his satisfaction. When matters have come to this pass, the first thing pupils do is to watch his moods as they might the weather, and to interchange observations.[169] His ugly mood is dreaded; his pleasant mood is taken advantage of for importunate requests. The pupils try to move the firm centre which is to support them, and the faintest signs of success awaken and foster extravagant hopes. Gradually the after-effects of earlier government die out, and a renewal of severe measures draws with it a train of new evils.

167. Second. Training is to exert a determining influence; it is to induce the pupil to choose (147). Under this head falls the discrimination spoken of above between varieties of volitional impulse—the will to bear, to have, and to do; hence also experiential knowledge of the natural consequences of doing or of failure to do (157), for unless these are taken into consideration, the manifold of will cannot be reduced to harmony. Now the first point to be noticed in connection with this aspect of training is that the teacher does not choose for the pupil. The pupil himself must choose, for it is his own character[170] that is to be determined. He must himself experience a part, although only the smallest part, of that which is desirable or harmful. That the flame burns that a pin pricks, that a fall or knock hurts, this lesson even the little child must learn; and similar experiences must be gained later, provided they do not carry the pupil to the verge of serious danger. Everything essential has been accomplished if, in consequence of actual experiences confirming the teacher’s words of warning, the pupil believes other warnings without waiting for confirmation.

168. Pleasure and pain arise so largely out of social relations that the pupil must grow up amidst a social environment in order to become somewhat acquainted with his natural place among men. This requirement gives rise accordingly to solicitous precautions against a bad example and rudeness. On the other hand, a boy’s companions should not be chosen with such anxious care as if the intention were to spare him the feeling of pressure which in all human society is generated by the efforts and counter-efforts of men. Too great complaisance on the part of playmates causes delusions as to the actual conditions of life.

Again, society and seclusion must alternate. The social current is not to carry everything else along with it, and to become more powerful than education. Even the boy, and much more the youth, must learn to be alone, and to fill up his time profitably.

169. By living alternately with his equals in age and with adults, the pupil grows familiar with diverse standards of honor. To unite these, and to subordinate one to the other in a proper manner, will prove an easy or a difficult part of training, according to the smaller or greater gap between the value set on brute force on the one hand, and the demand for good-breeding, as well as regard for talent and knowledge,[173] on the other. The main thing is not to foster ambition artificially, though care must be taken at the same time to refrain from crushing out a natural and true self-esteem. Usually, however, those interested in the progress of a pupil stand in need themselves of guarding against the self-deception due to extravagant hopes. By giving themselves up to these, they involuntarily turn flatterers, and push the boy, and the young man still more, beyond the position he is able to maintain. Bitter experiences follow.

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170. The regard for the value of things in their relation to the ordinary necessities of life develops somewhat more slowly than the natural sense of honor. This is true especially of money, which at first boys rarely know how to use. Instead of saying, either this or that, which a fixed sum will buy, the boy falls a victim to the deception that lurks in saying, this and that. In this respect also the pupil needs to gain experience on a small scale; he must, moreover, come to know the value of objects last, not merely in terms of money, but also in terms of the inconvenience of doing without them. Warnings against petty closeness are seldom necessary; not infrequently, however, a boy follows common talk, and it may happen that he practises parsimony by imitation, and squanders in obedience to his own impulses. Where faults of this sort are not conquered by the pupil’s own sense of honor, they fall within the province of moral education.

171. When experience has taught the pupil to what extent he must endure or need not endure the pressure of human society, and what honors, objects, enjoyments, he can have or must do without, the question arises: How does he connect all this with the pursuits which attract or repel him? The thoughtful pupil soon realizes, without being told, that one thing often makes another possible, that one thing involves or conditions another. But upon the thoughtless boy this truth does not impress itself with sufficient force; consequently, the teacher has to help him to deepen that impression, because a man without a settled mind regarding these matters remains devoid of character.

Yet a lack of fixedness is often desirable rather than otherwise—a statement applying to those pupils whose intellectual interests it is the business of instruction to awaken, or whose moral and religious culture are as yet in a backward state. The objective part of character (142) should not become fixed too soon; and very often a large part of the value of training consists in retarding this process. Such an end is subserved by the restraint under which the pupil is[176] kept by the subordinate position assigned to him in conformity with his age, and particularly by the refusal of freedom to act without permission, and according to his own inclination (152). The theoretical judgment of will relations (149) is frequently late in maturing, or remains weak in comparison with the impression produced by the experiences mentioned. In that case moral ardor is also wanting, and if the pupil were given liberty to do as he chose, his character would be formed, to be sure, but in the wrong way. Rather would it be better to encourage juvenile amusements, and even boyish games, beyond the usual age limit.

172. Third. Regulative training begins its work with the first appearance of the subjective part of character (143). For an earlier period the rule not to argue with children holds good (164); that is, it holds good as long as we can get along with it. That stage, however, is passed when the pupil begins to reason for himself; in other words, when his thinking has acquired such consecutiveness that his thoughts no longer come and go as momentary fancies, but attain to permanency and coherence. Reasoning processes of this sort ought not to be left to themselves, nor can they be repressed by dictatorial decrees. The educator must now enter into his pupil’s trains of reflection, must argue with him and prevent further development in the wrong direction.

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The tendency to set up rules reveals itself early; for example, in the games of children. Commands as to what to do are given every moment, only these imperatives are imperfectly obeyed and often changed. Neither is there lack of original, childish resolutions; but they can mean little so long as they do not remain the same. It is very different when they acquire stability, when means and ends combine into plans, when execution is attempted under difficulties, and finally when these resolves are thought in the forms of general concepts, thereby laying claim to validity in possible future instances, and becoming thus transformed into maxims.

173. The wise forethought essential to regulative training requires in the first place that the teacher shall rather tolerate an inconvenient discussion than check a frank expression of opinion, provided the objections of the pupil are indubitably sincere, and his vanity, we will say, is not flattered too much by the unexpected consideration accorded to his remarks. The same foresight is to be exercised in cases where it proves impossible to convince the pupil at once. Here the final judgment, instead of being insisted upon, should rather be postponed; it will always be easy to point out to the pupil his lack of adequate knowledge and to refer him to future studies. The positiveness that usually characterizes the assertions of boys and young men, generally has its roots in their great ignorance.[178] They have not the least inkling of how many opinions have been held and disputed. Instruction will gradually cure them of their excessive self-confidence.

174. But the matter of greatest importance from the point of view of training is consistency or inconsistency[180] of action. One who lightly sets up maxims must be made to feel the difficulty of living up to them. In this way a mirror is held up to the pupils, partly in order to put to rout untenable maxims, and partly to reinforce valid principles.

Among the untenable maxims we include also those which, although in accord with prudence, would offend against morality. If the pupil does not see already that they cannot be maintained, the application, by exhibiting their objectionable consequences, must bring to light their true character.

175. Regulative training often calls for rousing words from the teacher. He has to remind the pupil of happenings in the past and predict future consequences in case his faults should continue; he has to induce him to look within himself for the purpose of tracing the causal connection of his actions to its source. If, however, this was done earlier, with a view to moral education, no long speeches are now needed. Moreover, the teacher’s remarks become calmer and briefer the more effective they have been, the more he is justified in expecting independent judgment on the part of the pupil, and finally the more fully the latter has entered upon that period during which he looks about him to observe the words and actions of strangers. For, at the time when he has begun to compare the new with the old, his receptivity for the old is very weak, and soon vanishes completely;[181] unless, indeed, the old had been deeply impressed beforehand.

176. Fourth. The pupil is to be kept in a quiet frame of mind; his intellect in a state suitable for clear apprehension. To outbursts of passion this applies absolutely; not so generally to emotions. Above all, tranquillity is the condition for the formation of theoretical judgments and hence also, although not exclusively so, for laying the foundation of morality.

Every desire may develop into passion, if the soul is so often and so long in a desiring state that thoughts become focussed in the object longed for, whereby plans shape themselves, hopes arise, and ill-will[182] toward others strikes root. Accordingly, watchful attention must be given to all persistent and recurrent desires.

177. The most usual desires are those which arise from the physical need of food and of bodily activity. Now the first step to take is, while guarding against excess, to satisfy these natural impulses in order to subdue the unruliness springing from unsatisfied cravings. We ought not to permit hunger to tempt a boy to steal, nor encourage truancy by making him sit still too long. This warning is not superfluous. Such things happen even in families where less irrational practices might be expected. Over-indulgence, to be sure, is of far more frequent occurrence.

When the natural wants have lost their sting, a positive and irrevocable refusal must be opposed to further desires. With it should be combined some occupation capable of diverting the attention.

If the object which continues to excite desire can be removed, all the better. In one’s own home this is more often practicable, and more necessary as well, than in that of strangers. If the object cannot be removed, gratification may be put off until some future time. The foregoing statement may be illustrated by reference to the eating of fruit from the tree. An unconditional prohibition carries with it a dangerous temptation to disobedience, while unconditional permission would be equally inadmissible on account of[183] the plucking of green fruit, let alone the possible injury to the orchards of others.

Analogy will suggest many similar applications of the rule given.

178. Again, children must be watched at their games. The more free play of the imagination we discover, and the more change there is, the less cause for concern. But when the same game is frequently repeated according to the same fixed rules, when a species of study is devoted to it in order to attain special proficiency, passions may be generated, such, for instance, as an excessive fondness for playing at cards, even where no stakes are involved. Gambling must be forbidden entirely, and in case compliance with this prohibition is doubtful, obedience must be secured by watchful supervision.

179. An excellent means to avert the dangers connected with passionate tendencies is to engage in the acquisition of one of the fine arts, say music or drawing, even though there should be no more than a modicum of talent. The student must be given to understand, however, that he is not to take up the study of several musical instruments at once, nor give himself up to distracting attempts in sundry branches of pictorial representation. On the contrary, he is to strive consistently for proficiency in one definite direction.

In the total absence of aptitude we may avail ourselves of preferences of one kind or other, such as fondness for collecting plants or shells, for work in papier-maché, for joinery, for gardening even, etc.

Poetical talent, highly desirable in itself, nevertheless demands a solid counterweight in the shape of serious scholarly effort; for the young poet sets up claims that are likely to prove dangerous if he becomes absorbed in them.

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180. Projects springing from passionate impulses, and betraying their existence by their interference with order, diligence, and the distribution of time, must be resolutely thwarted. This step is rendered all the more urgent when several share in the same plan, above all when ostentation, party spirit, and rivalry enter as impelling factors. Such things must not be allowed to gain ground; they very quickly vitiate the soil which education has been at such pains to prepare for tillage.

181. The passions being kept at a distance, the successful grounding of the pupil in morality depends in general on the manner in which instruction coöperates with his occupations. The branch of instruction primarily most important in this respect is religious instruction. The most immediate source, however, of the development of disposition is found in the pupil’s social environment, and it becomes the business of training to cultivate a right spirit or disposition.[186] Let us, therefore, take up the practical ideas one by one.

182. To speak of strife first, which cannot easily be wholly prevented among children, and which is present to their minds, at least as a possibility, self-help against unexpected bodily assaults cannot be forbidden. A determined self-defence is rather to be recommended, but self-defence paired with a merciful[187] treatment of one’s assailant. On the other hand, it is necessary to prohibit absolutely any arbitrary appropriation of objects, even though these objects should consist of ownerless or discarded trifles. No one must imagine that his mere pleasure is a law unto others. On the contrary, children ought to get used to limitations on ownership. That which has been given them for a certain purpose is to be used for that purpose alone, and must be taken care of with that purpose in view. Promises among children should not lightly be declared void, however foolish and impossible of fulfilment. The boy who, by a hasty promise, puts himself in an embarrassing position must be made conscious of the fact. Let his perplexity serve as a warning for the future. But over-hasty promises are to be accepted as little as they are to be made; and here is where we have to begin in untying the knots in which children occasionally entangle themselves.

It is not undesirable that pupils by their own acts furnish themselves with a few keenly-felt instances of complicated questions of rights. But pleasure in wrangling must be discountenanced; the pupils should learn to prevent and to avoid contention. They may gain enough familiarity with it to realize that it gives displeasure.

183. At this point two paths open to our reflection. In the first place, contention pleases children because[188] it implies strength; in seeking it they are, as a rule, merely giving vent to excess of animal spirits. The outlet in this direction we must block, but we must furnish another elsewhere. Gymnastic exercises, too, are exhibitions of strength; emulation, which is not contention, is a welcome feature of sport and play. Mental activity likewise affords suitable opportunities for excelling; it also provides proper occasions for making comparisons; but relative excellence, children must understand distinctly, is not to be advanced by them as a basis for claims. Where the question is one of degree of attainment,—therefore one of perfice te,—the pupil is supplied with a practically useful standard by his own progress and retrogression. To hold up one pupil as a model for another to follow awakens envy; it will be much better, instead, to make allowances where a weak pupil cannot do more than he is actually doing.

184. The second of the two ways alluded to takes us from the idea of rights to that of equity. Strife is displeasing, but revenge still more, notwithstanding the truth of the saying: what is fair for one is fair for another. Children may indeed exercise their ethical acumen by trying to determine how much one deserves to suffer or to receive at the hands of others for the liberties he has taken or the self-restraint he has practised,[190] but they are not to arrogate to themselves the function of inflicting punishments or of bestowing rewards. Without surrendering their own insight, they must in this respect submit willingly to the authority of their superiors.

A similar course is to be pursued with reference to the distribution of presents, enjoyments, and marks of approval. To avoid giving the appearance of favoritism, the teacher should not, except for very good reasons, depart from the principle of equal division; but, on the other hand, he should refuse to accord to the pupils a right to these free gifts. While permitting them to have an opinion on the appropriateness of a greater or smaller share, he will properly deny them any right to demand by virtue of this opinion.

185. In cases deeply engaging the children’s own sense of justice and equity, complaisance and readiness to yield should not be exacted on the spot. Children must have time to get to the end of their thoughts, and to weary of what is often very fruitless brooding, before they realize that to yield is after all a necessity, and hence in no sense a matter of magnanimous choice. At some future time they may be reminded that their path would have been smoother if the sentiment of good-will had been in control from the beginning and had arbitrated the dispute, or rather had prevented it entirely.

Good-will is to be revered everywhere as higher than[191] right; still the latter must be represented as something that cannot be set aside with impunity, unless it be by common agreement; that is, in consequence of the consent of the holders of rights.

186. Finally, the degrees of difference among older boys, and especially among young men, with respect to the nearness with which they approach the still distant realization of the idea of inner freedom, are, as a rule, sufficiently marked to be patent to all.[192] The superior excellence of those distinguished for steady and rational conduct is usually dwelt on by the teacher rather too much than too little; children are themselves too keen in observing each other’s shortcomings not to see how far behind the best some are. We ought, therefore, rather to avoid stimulating in children the tendency to belittle others, than to turn their attention to that which does not escape them anyway.

187. The bad conduct of adults near to the pupils will not, of course, be exposed by the teacher; and if publicly known, the example set will repel more than allure, so long as self-interest does not prompt imitation or a search for excuses. But we need not entertain much hope either that a worthy example will be followed; youth is too prone to regard rectitude as a matter of course. Hence it will not be superfluous to call special attention to right conduct, and to give expression to the esteem which is its due. This applies particularly to the time when a growing boy’s outlook over society widens, and he begins to compare many things whose false glitter might deceive him.

188. Fifth. The pupil’s mind, we will suppose, has been properly directed, partly through the social relations obtaining among children, partly through examples and instruction, to the requirements of the various moral ideas, and he has learned accordingly to discriminate with some keenness between will relations. Now the time has arrived for moral education in the strict sense. For we cannot leave it to chance whether our young charges will, of their own initiative, synthesize for themselves noble actions on the one hand and base actions on the other, whether they will take time to reflect, and will, each for himself, apply the lessons taught. On the contrary, they[194] all have to be told, each one individually has to be told, truths that no one is wont to hear with pleasure. The more thoroughly the teacher knows his pupils, the better. By showing them that he divines their thoughts, he supplies them with the most effectual incentive to self-observation. Now the basis of what is commonly known as moralizing is furnished by a retrospective view of the pupil’s conduct for some time past, by references to influences formerly at work within him, and by an analysis of his good and bad qualities. Such teaching is by no means to be condemned, nor even to be regarded as superfluous. In its proper place it is absolutely essential. Many, it is true, grow up without ever having heard a serious word of deserved censure, but no one ought to grow up in that way.

189. Only praise and censure are thought of here, not harsh words, much less harsh treatment. Reprimands and punishments following upon single acts are something different; they, too, may lead to moral reflections, but must first have become things of the past. Moral improvement is not brought about by the constraint of government, nor is it the result of those pedagogical punishments which warn the pupil and sharpen his wits by means of the natural consequences of actions (157). But it is brought about through the imitation of the language of conscience and of genuine honor, as seen in impartial spectators.[195] Moreover, this does not exclude consideration of the excuses which every one readily finds in his heart. But while due allowance is made for mitigating circumstances, the pupil is cautioned against relying on them in future.

190. Ordinarily youth deserves neither strong commendation nor severe criticism, and it is well to guard carefully against exaggeration in either direction, if for no other reason than merely this, that exaggeration either detracts from effectiveness, or else causes, if not timidity, at least an unfortunate embarrassment. There is one species of magnifying, however, which subserves a good purpose, because it enables pupils to see more clearly the importance of trifles and the great significance of their own actions, and in this way helps to counteract thoughtlessness. We refer to viewing the present in the light of the future. The pettiest faults are liable to grow through habit; the faintest desire, unless kept under control, may turn into passion. Then, too, the future circumstances of one’s life are uncertain; allurements and temptations may come into it, or unlooked-for misfortunes. This prevision of the possibilities of the future is, of course, not prophecy, and no such claim should be made for it; nevertheless, it does good service as a warning.

191. When the pupil has been brought to the point where he regards his moral education as a matter of serious import, instruction in conjunction with a growing[196] knowledge of the world may bring it about that a glow of moral sentiment permeates his whole thought, and that the idea of a moral order unites on the one hand with his religious concepts, and with his self-observation on the other. Henceforth the direct, emphatic expression of praise or censure will have to be less frequent. It will no longer be as easy as formerly to give a clearer account to the pupil of what goes on within him than he has already rendered to himself. We may still, however, come to his assistance from another direction, namely, that of general concepts,—a field in which advancing youthful reflection is little by little finding its bearings.

192. Sixth. It is the business of training to remind at the right moment and to correct faults. We may safely assume that, even after a young man has reached the plane of moral decisions, he will still stand in need of frequent reminders, although in this respect individuals exhibit great differences, which observation alone is able to reveal. But that which he is reminded of consists of resolves which lay claim to something like universal validity, but which are not likely to make good that claim when incorrectly formulated or conceived in the wrong connection. General considerations become predominant with only a very few at best; but youth especially sees and experiences so much that is new that the old is easily slighted for the new, and, accordingly, the general for the particular[197] still more. Nevertheless, it is far easier for training to remind and to correct with success where a good, firm foundation has been laid, than it is to support (161–166) when in adolescence nothing is found by which the pupil might try to steady himself.

193. It is evident from the wide divergence among the principles which schools old and new have accepted as the basis of ethics and of systems of justice, that many conflicting, or at any rate, one-sided views may arise when the attempt is made to introduce order, definiteness, and consistency into existing ethical concepts. This whole conflict and one-sidedness of opinion, together with the innumerable fluctuations that may find a place here besides,—all this is likely to be reproduced in youthful minds, particularly where they make it a point of going their own way. Very frequently acquired principles adjust themselves to inclinations; the subjective side of character adapts itself to the objective. Now, while it is the business of instruction to correct error, training must avail itself of those opportunities that reveal a directing of thoughts by inclination.

194. When, however, the pupil has once established confidence in his disposition as well as in his principles, training must withdraw. Unnecessary judging and over-anxious observation would only impair naturalness, and give rise to extraneous motives. When once self-culture has been assumed, it should be left alone.

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195. Owing to the delicate character of the thread of life during the earliest years, care for the body, a subject falling outside the limits of the present discussion, has precedence of everything else. The state of health, accordingly, implies great variations in the time available for profitable culture of the mind. But short as this time may be, it is extremely important, because of the great receptivity and susceptibility of the first period of life.

196. Those moments when the child is fully awake and free from suffering should always be utilized by presenting, but not obtruding, something for sense-perception. Powerful impressions are to be avoided. The same caution applies to violent changes; very slight variations often suffice to revive waning attention. It is desirable to secure a certain completeness of eye- and ear-impressions, so that the senses may be equally at home everywhere within the fields of sight and sound.

197. As far as safety permits, the spontaneous activity of the child should have free play, primarily that he may get practice in the use of every limb, but also in order that by his own attempts his observations of objects and their changeableness may be enlarged.

198. Unpleasant, repellent impressions of persons, whoever they are, must be most carefully guarded against. No one can be allowed to treat a child as a plaything.

199. On the other hand, no one must allow himself to be ruled by a child, least of all when the child becomes importunate. Otherwise, wilfulness will be the inevitable consequence, a result almost unavoidable with sickly children, by reason of the attention demanded by their sufferings.

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200. A child must always feel the superiority of adults, and often his own helplessness. The necessary obedience is founded on this feeling. With consistent treatment, persons constantly about the child will secure obedience more readily than others who are rarely present. Outbursts of passion must be given time to subside unless circumstances urgently require a different course.

201. On rare occasions there may be an exhibition of force inspiring enough fear to make a threat effective and to check an excess of animal spirits. For if government is to escape the extremely harmful necessity of severe disciplinary measures later on, it must become firmly established during the earliest years of childhood.

202. The language of children demands scrupulous attention from the beginning, in order to prevent the formation of incorrect and careless habits of speech, which at a later period it usually requires much trouble and loss of time to eradicate. But literary forms of expression that are beyond the comprehension of children are to be strictly avoided.

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203. The real boundary line is fixed not by age, but by that stage of development when the helplessness of the first stage is superseded by control of the limbs and a connected use of language. And the mere fact that children are now able to free themselves from much momentary discomfort carries with it greater calmness and cheerfulness.

204. In proportion as the child learns to help himself, assistance from without must be withdrawn. At the same time government must increase in firmness, and with many children in severity, until the last traces of that wilfulness vanish, which the former period does not as a rule wholly escape. But this presupposes that no one provoke the child unnecessarily to any kind of resistance. The firmer the established order of things about the child, the readier his compliance.

205. The child must be given as much freedom as circumstances will permit, one purpose being to induce frank self-expression, and to obtain data for a study of his individuality. Still, the main thing at this age[202] is to guard against bad habits, especially such as are connected with objectionable tendencies of disposition.

206. Two of the ethical ideas concern us here directly, each, however, in its own way. They are the ideas of good-will and perfection. Some particular aspects of the latter a child will almost always hit upon himself. The former less often springs up spontaneously; it has to be implanted, and this cannot always be done directly.

207. The ill-will, which many children exhibit frequently, is always a bad sign,—one that needs to be treated very seriously. A character once perverted in this respect can no longer be radically changed for the better. And this perversion sometimes begins very early. The steps to be taken in this connection are determined by the following considerations:—

208. In the first place, younger children are not to be left alone very much. Their life should be a social life, and their social circle one subject to strict order. This requirement fulfilled, all manifestations of ill-will are at variance with the rule; and as soon as they appear, the child finds himself opposed by the existing state of things. Now, the more he has grown accustomed to participation in the common will, to occupying his time, and being happy within its pale, the less will he be able to bear the feeling of isolation. To punish a child for an exhibition of ill-will, leave him alone.

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209. But such punishment presupposes the undiminished sensitiveness of the younger child, who, on being left alone, begins to cry, and feels utterly helpless and weak, but who, on the other hand, becomes cheerful again the moment he is readmitted into the social circle. If this period has been neglected, if the ill-disposed child has already caused aversion in the circle in which he could have been happy, one feeling of ill-will begets another in return, and nothing remains but to insist on strict justice.

210. The mere social spirit which keeps ill-will at a distance, is, of course, very far from being good-will; children are even prone to look upon descriptive illustrations of the latter, in the ordinary run of books for children, as fables easily invented. Hence the first thing to make sure of is faith in good-will. We have in mind here especially the child who through force of habit has lost his appreciation of the kindnesses constantly showered upon him in the course of his education. Deprive him of some of the care to which he is accustomed; its renewal will then make him recognize and prize it as a voluntary act. When, on the contrary, children regard what is being done for them as their right, or as the effect of some sort of mechanism, this blunder of theirs becomes a fruitful source of the most manifold moral evils.

211. To the union of kindness with the necessary degree of severity, we must add friendliness, lest the[204] heart of the child become chilled, and the germs of good-will perish. During the period under consideration, the child’s frame of mind is still determined directly by the treatment he receives. Continued unfriendliness of manner produces dull indifference. The twofold problem of lifting the idea of good-will into adequate prominence and of actually awakening sentiments of good-will can, it is true, not be solved as early as childhood. But much has been gained if sympathy, supported by sociable cheerfulness, unites with a belief in the good-will of those on whom the child feels dependent, as if they were higher beings. The soil is ready now for religious culture and its furthering influences.

212. The idea of perfection in its universal aspect is indeed as foreign to the child’s mind as that of good-will; nevertheless, the rudiments of what this idea implies can be imparted with far greater assurance of success. As the child grows and thrives, his strength and accomplishments increase likewise, and he takes pleasure in his own progress. But here innumerable differences in kind and in degree demand our observation, particularly in view of the purpose of linking instruction to the stage of growth. For it is during this period that synthetic as well as analytic instruction begins, although it does not as yet normally constitute the chief occupation of the child.

213. As the child’s sphere of free activity widens[205] and his own attempts create a growing store of experiences, which the teacher will often find it very necessary to augment by purposely showing him about, the earlier fancies are gradually being overbalanced by experiential knowledge, although different individuals may exhibit great variations of ratio. From this impulse to appropriate the new, spring the numerous questions children put to the teacher, on the tacit assumption that he is omniscient. They are the outcome of the mood of the moment, they are purposeless, and most of them do not recur if not answered then and there. Many of them concern words alone, and cease on mention of some suitable designation of the object in question. Others relate to the connection of events, especially to motives underlying the actions of human beings, fictitious and real alike. Now, although many questions cannot, while others must not, be answered, the tendency to ask questions should, generally speaking, receive constant encouragement as a sign of native interest, of the absence of which the teacher often becomes painfully aware later on without being able by any skill on his part to revive it. Here an opportunity is presented for preparing the ground in many directions for future instruction. Only, the teacher has to refrain, in answering questions, from the prolixity of untimely thoroughness; what he ought to do is to sail on the waves of childish fancy. And this does not usually lend itself to experiments;[206] its movements are, on the contrary, often inconveniently capricious.

214. So long as there can be no fixed time for the analytic lessons woven into answers to the questions of children, analytic instruction is coincident with the guidance of the child’s attention, with his social intercourse, with his occupations and the consequent cultivation of habits, with hardening exercises, ethical judgments, and the earliest religious impressions; in some measure also with reading exercises.

215. To the latter portion of this period belong the first steps in synthetic instruction, reading, writing, ciphering, the simplest modes of arrangement, and the first observation exercises. If the child is as yet incapable of uniform attention during a whole hour, the teacher will be satisfied with smaller divisions of time; the degree of attention is more important than its duration.

Note that the subjects enumerated fall into different groups. Counting, arranging, observing, are different phases of the natural development of the mind. Instruction does not create these activities; its business is merely to accelerate them. At the beginning, therefore, our mode of procedure must be as much as possible analytic. On the other hand, reading and writing can be taught only synthetically, although on the basis of an antecedent analysis of speech sounds.

(1) Arranging—commonly neglected, though[207] wrongly so—is an exceedingly easy exercise in itself, and facilitates the performance of many other tasks. It is therefore appropriate for children. That three objects may change places from right to left (from front to rear, from above to below) and vice versa—this is the beginning. The next step is to show that three objects admit of six permutations in a straight line. To find how many pairs can be formed out of a given number of objects, is one of the easiest problems. How far to go, is a matter to be determined by circumstances. Not letters, however, but objects,—the children themselves,—should be changed about, permuted, and varied in position. The teaching of a subject like this must in a measure have the semblance of play.

(2) The first observation exercises begin with straight lines drawn vertically or cross-wise. Use may be made also of knitting needles variously placed, side by side or across each other, of domino checks, and of similar objects. Next comes the circle, subdivided and presented in manifold ways.

(3) For arithmetic, likewise, concrete objects are needed,—coins, for example, which are counted and arranged in different groups to illustrate sums, differences, and products. At first the highest number employed should not exceed, say, twelve or twenty.

(4) For work in reading we may avail ourselves of letters and numbers printed on cards, which lend[208] themselves to a variety of arrangements. If children are slow about learning to read, the blunder must not be made of neglecting their mental culture in other directions, as though reading were its necessary prerequisite. Reading often demands a large amount of patience, and should never be allowed to produce a feeling of aversion to teachers and books.

(5) Writing is ushered in by the elementary drawing that must accompany observation exercises. Writing itself, when once well started, furthers reading.

216. But already at this point many fall behind. Puzzled at first by the demand upon them for the dull labor of learning, they surrender themselves later on to the feeling of incapacity. In large schools, where there are always some outstripping the rest, and where the majority are trying to keep up with the pace set, performance can be had more readily, although it is performance by imitation rather than by an inner sequence of thought. And even here we find thoroughly disheartened laggards.

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217. The boundary line between boyhood and early childhood is fixed, so far as this is possible at all, by the fact that the boy, if allowed to do so, will leave the company of adults. Formerly he felt insecure when left alone: now he considers himself fairly well acquainted with his immediate environment, beyond which vistas of all sorts are opening. Accordingly, at this stage it becomes incumbent on the adult to attach himself to the boy, to restrain him, to divide the time for him, and to circumscribe the fancies born of his self-confidence,—a course of action rendered all the more necessary by the circumstance that the boy is a stranger as yet to the timidity with which the youth joins the ranks of men. For boyhood is marked off from adolescence by this, that the boy’s aims are still unsettled; he plays and takes no thought of to-morrow. Moreover, his dream of manhood is one of arbitrary power. The play-impulse remains active for a long time, unless checked by conventionality.

During this period, the work of linking instruction to sense-impression is by no means to be omitted[210] entirely, not even where fair progress has already been made in scholarship. We must make sure of a solid foundation.

218. Our chief concern during the age of boyhood must be to prevent the premature fixation of the circle of ideas. It is for instruction to undertake the task of doing so. True, by far the greatest part of the process of learning, however manifold, is performed through the interpretation of words, the pupil supplying the meaning out of the mental store collected previously. But this very fact obviously implies that quantitively the pupil’s stock of ideas is for the most part complete; instruction merely works it up into new forms. Accordingly, such shaping must take place while the material is still in a plastic state; for with increasing years it gradually assumes a more solid character.

219. Boys differ from girls, individuals differ from one another; and the subjects taught, together with the methods of teaching them, should be differentiated accordingly. But here the family interposes the interests of rank or station, and claims the right to determine by these how much or how little instruction a boy needs.

Looked at pedagogically, each study calls for a corresponding mental activity to be suited to the general condition of the individual. Its success must not involve exhaustion of the pupil’s powers, nor make demands upon them at the wrong time.

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But it would be an error to argue that one who is being initiated into one subject ought to combine with that subject a second, third, or fourth, on the ground that subjects one, two, three, and four are essentially interrelated. This conclusion holds for scholars, who, so far as they are personally concerned, have long passed beyond preliminary pedagogical considerations, and even in their case it applies only to those branches which are intimately connected with their specialties; it has nothing to do with the psychological conditions by which the course of education must be governed. Only too frequently do masses of ideas remain isolated despite the fact that the objects corresponding to them are most intimately and necessarily interconnected; and such isolation could not have been prevented by merely starting work in a large web of erudition in a number of places.

The case is different where certain studies constitute the necessary preparation for thorough knowledge of one kind or another. Here we are right in concluding that one who cannot master the former is equally unable to get hold of the latter.[24]

220. It is difficult to deal with the rare instances of tardy development unless we find that they are due to[212] neglected health, or to lack of assistance in enlarging the range of experience, and to failure to change the mode of instruction. Here an attempt may be made to supply what is wanting. But even where the rate of progress becomes more rapid at once, the teacher’s efforts will have turned out favorably only when the boy gives also clear proof of a vigorous striving for advancement.

221. To revert to fundamental ethical principles, particular mention of the ideas of justice and equity needs to be made in this connection. These ideas issue from reflection on human relations; they are consequently less accessible to early childhood, which finds itself subordinated everywhere to the family. The boy, on the other hand, lives more among his peers, and the necessary corrections are not always administered so promptly as to leave no time for independent judgment. Not infrequently voluntary association takes place among boys, personal authority plays a part, and even usurpation of power is not rare. Now, education has to provide for clear ethical concepts and for government and training besides. But not only that; it must also furnish the kind of instruction that will exhibit similar but remote relations, for purposes of unbiassed contemplation. Such instruction must borrow its material from poetry and history.

222. To history we are referred by still another consideration. As has already been shown (206–211), [213]the idea of good-will points to the necessity of religious culture; and this relies for support on stories, old stories at that. The expansion of the pupil’s power of thought which is here demanded must be generally attained, even though very incompletely, in every course of instruction, that of the village school included.

223. Another fixed goal, the importance of which exceeds even that of reading and writing, is furnished by arithmetic, which gives clearness to the common concepts of experience, and is indispensable in the practical affairs of life.

224. Decimal arithmetic no pupil would be likely to think out by himself; he would very certainly not invent Bible history. Both must accordingly be regarded as belonging preëminently to the province of synthetic instruction, which always involves the difficult problem of how to assure its entrance, as a potent factor, into existing masses of ideas. As to this, it would be a blunder to conclude that, since Bible history and history as a whole, arithmetic and mathematics as a whole, hang together, there is also a corresponding pedagogical connection (219). But so much is certain, that the efficiency of a group of ideas increases with expansion and with multiplied association. It will be an advantage, therefore, to Bible history and to arithmetic, if as wide a range is given to historical and mathematical teaching as circumstances[214] and ability permit, even if the conditions should be such that a many-sided culture is not to be expected.

225. The subjects next to be considered in the choice of material for instruction are poetry and natural history, great care being taken not to disregard the necessary sequence. The time for fables and stories should not be curtailed; it is important to make sure that boys do not lose the taste for them too early. The easiest and safest facts of zoölogy will have been presented already in connection with the picture-books of childhood. The right moment for introducing the elements of botany has arrived when the boy is collecting plants. Foreign languages would be assigned the lowest place, if particular circumstances did not in many cases lend them a special importance. The ancient classical languages, at any rate, form to such an extent the basis of the study of theology, of jurisprudence, and of medicine, they are so necessary to all higher scholarship, that they will always constitute the fundamental branches of instruction in academic preparatory schools.

It is obvious, however, that the extent of instruction depends too much on external conditions of rank and means to permit a definite prescription of instruction-material for all cases. Far less dependent is the development of many-sided interest in its relation to branches of study. If the limits set to the latter are narrow, it is still the business of instruction to secure[215] an approximation to many-sided culture; while under highly favorable circumstances the very abundance of educational help must put the teacher on his guard against losing sight of the real aim of instruction.

226. Frequently the burden of necessary and useful studies is made excessively heavy, a fact which the members of the teaching profession try to conceal from themselves, but which attracts the attention of outsiders. A few hours of gymnastics do not sufficiently counteract such evil effects. As an offset we have at best the prevention of the vices of idleness. From every point of view, for the mere reason that this matter calls for special attention and that the method of procedure has to be determined in accordance with the results of observation, the home must do its part toward relieving that natural strain which even good instruction exerts—and the school must not encroach on the time necessary for that purpose. In extreme cases, to be sure, it may be expressly demanded that the school engage the whole of a boy’s time. But, as a rule, outside school-work should take up, not the largest, but, on the contrary, the smallest amount of time possible. How the remaining hours are to be employed is for parents and guardians to decide according to individual needs, ascertained by observation; and it is on them that the responsibility for the consequences rests.

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227. Whether instruction comes to an end or is continued during this period, all it can accomplish depends now on the fulfilment of the condition that the young man himself regard the retention and increase of his attainments as something valuable. Accordingly, the interrelations of knowledge, as well as its connection with action, must be brought before his mind with the greatest possible distinctness. He must be furnished, also, with the strongest incentives to reach the goal determined upon, provided the question is merely how to overcome indolence and thoughtlessness. For it is just at this stage that the teacher needs to fear and to prevent those wrong motives which would issue merely in an artificial semblance of talent.

228. Moreover, the allowance made for the child and the boy can no longer be made for the youth. His whole ability is to be put to the test, and his position in human society determined according to the outcome. He must experience something of the difficulty of obtaining a foothold among men. Positions for which he does not seem quite prepared are contested;[217] he is surrounded by rivals, and is spurred on by expectations, which it is often difficult to moderate when most necessary.

229. If now the young man puts his trust in favorable circumstances, and, in spite of all appeals, gives himself up to the pursuit of ease and pleasure, education is at an end. It only remains to conclude with precepts and representations which future experiences may possibly recall.

230. If, on the other hand, the youth has his eyes fixed on a definite goal, the form of life which he is striving to attain, and the motives that impel him, will determine what else may be done for him. According as the ideals of honor that he makes his own are directed more outwardly or inwardly, they stand more or less midway between plans for actions and maxims.

231. The youth is no longer pliant, except when his failures have made him feel ashamed of himself. Such cases must be made use of for the purpose of making good deficiencies. But on the whole, duty requires that the stern demands of morality be held up to him without disguise. Perfect frankness can hardly be looked for any longer, and to insist on it is out of the question entirely. The reserve of the age of adolescence marks the natural beginning of self-control.

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232. The content of religious instruction is for theologians to determine, while philosophy bears witness that no knowledge is able to surpass the trust of religious faith. But both the beginning and the end of religious instruction call for remarks from the point of view of pedagogy.

Religious instruction culminates, if it does not end, in the rite of confirmation, and the subsequent admission to the Holy Communion. The former is characteristic of a particular Christian denomination; the latter, on the contrary, of the whole brotherhood of[220] Christians. Now the profound emotion which marks the first Communion service should imply a conquest over the feeling of separation from other denominations, especially since the mere admission to Communion is conditioned on the general requirement of earnest ethical aspiration. It is thus assumed that members of other confessions, provided they are communicants at all, have fulfilled the same condition. Preparatory instruction must work toward this end all the more, since with many persons Christian love for those who differ from them in important articles of faith belongs to the more difficult duties. Moreover, the fact that this same instruction necessarily had to set forth clearly fundamental denominational differences, lends additional weight to the necessity of inculcating the virtue of Christian charity.

233. In academic schools, if Greek is begun early enough, it is possible to deepen the impressions of Christian teaching by the dialogues of Plato that bear on the death of Socrates, particularly the “Crito” and the “Apology.” Being the weaker, however, impressions of this sort should precede the time when the solemn initiation into Christian fellowship produces its whole powerful effect.

234. Going back in thought, we find that the portion of religious instruction which deals with characteristic denominational distinctions, presupposes that which deals with tenets common to all Christians, and[221] we find that this in turn has been preceded by Bible stories, including those of the Old Testament. But the question arises, “Must we not go back to something more fundamental still?”

235. Religion cannot possibly be adequately presented by treating of it merely as a perpetuation of something historical and past. The teacher must needs make use also of the present testimony furnished by the adjustment of means to end, in nature. But even this, for which some knowledge of nature is prerequisite, and which leads up to the ideas of wisdom and power, is not the first step.

236. True family feeling is elevated easily and directly to the idea of the Father, of the father and mother. Only where such feeling is wanting does it become necessary to make churches and Sunday observance the starting-point as indications of humility and gratitude. An all-pervading love, providence, and watchful care constitute the first concept of the Highest Being,—a concept limited by the mental horizon of the child, and expanding and becoming more elevated only by degrees.

237. The process of elevating religious concepts and purifying them of unworthy admixtures must, however, have taken place, and the true concepts must have been deeply impressed, before the mythological conceptions of antiquity become known; in which case the latter will produce the right effect by the contrast[222] between the manifestly fabulous and crude, and the worthy and sublime. If managed properly, this subject presents no difficulties.

238. But there are other difficulties,—difficulties growing out of individual peculiarities. While some would be harmed by much talk about sin, because they would thus either become acquainted with it, or else be filled with fantastic terror, there are others whom only the strongest language can move, and still others who themselves preach against the sins of the world, and, at the same time, front the world in proud security. Then there are those who brood over ethical problems, and who, without having heard of Spinoza, argue that what the Highest Judge has permitted to happen he has approved of, whence might is the practical proof of right. There are contemners of mere morality, who think that prayers will consecrate their evil actions. Isolated traces of such perversions may indeed be met with even in children, especially if their glib reproduction of the sermon, or worse yet, their praying aloud, has happened to receive praise.

Hence it is necessary to observe the effect of religious instruction on each individual. Another task for home training.

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239. The most common blunder that younger teachers of history are apt to make is that, without intending it, they become increasingly prolix in presentation. It is not that interest deepens, but that the network of events lures them, now one way, now another. This of itself evinces preparation; but mental preparation alone does not suffice; preliminary practice, too, is necessary.

240. If, to begin with, a purely chronological, but accurate, outline-view of history is to be imparted, the teacher must be able to traverse mentally the whole historical field, going with equal readiness back, forward, or across (synchronistically). The notable names must form definite groups and series; and the teacher must possess facility in making the most notable names stand out clearly from the groups, and in condensing the most salient points of a long series into a short series.

241. Again, the teacher must make himself perfectly familiar with general notions that relate to classes of society—constitutions, institutions, religious customs, stages of culture—and that serve to explain events. But not only this; he must study likewise the conditions under which he can develop them and keep them present in the minds of his pupils. This consideration alone shuts out most generalizations from the first lessons in history. And, accordingly, ancient history, whose moving causes are simpler than the more modern political factors, maintains its place in presentations of historical material to younger pupils.

242. Furthermore, due attention must be given to the difficulty of narrating well a complex event. The very first condition is continuity of the thought-current, in order that the thread of the story may remain unbroken, except where there are intentional rests. This, in turn, presupposes fluency of speech, careful cultivation of which is indispensable to a good presentation of historical events. But mere fluency does not suffice. There must also be resting-places, because otherwise alternate absorption and reflection cannot be secured; and because, without such pauses, even the formation of the series fails, since what has preceded arrests what follows. It is therefore not immaterial where a historical lesson begins and ends, and where the reviews are inserted.

While the narrator can utter words in succession only, the event has, in his mind, a very different form, which it is his business to convey to his hearers. Nor does the form of the event resemble a level plane; on the contrary, a manifold interest lifts some things into prominence and lets others sink. It is essential, accordingly, to distinguish how far, in a given instance, the narration should follow in a straight line the succession of events, and where, on the other hand,[227] it should deviate to include accessory circumstances. The very language used must possess the power to induce side-glances and retrospective views, even without leaving the main road. The narrator must have skill to introduce descriptions here and to linger over pictures there, but must be able also, while moving his hearers, to retain his own self-control and to keep his bearings.

243. There remains one other requisite of prime importance, namely, the utmost simplicity of expression. The condensed and abstract language of more recent historians is hardly suited even to the highest class of a secondary school; a sentimental or witty treatment, such as that found in modern novelists, must be avoided entirely. The only safe models are the ancient classics.

The stories of Herodotus should serve the teacher as the basis for practice. In fact, they should actually be memorized in an accurate but fluent translation. The effect on children is surprising. At a later stage use may be made of Arrian and Livy. The method of the ancients of letting the principal characters utter their views and set forth their motives with their own lips, the narrator abstaining from reflections of his own, should be scrupulously imitated, and should be departed from only in the case of manifestly artificial rhetorical devices.

244. The course of preparation outlined above (240–243) having gone hand-in-hand with a thorough, pragmatic[229] study of history, it is further necessary, in the exercise of the art acquired, to learn to expand or contract, according to circumstances and the specific aims of each occasion. Concerning this point no generally applicable rules can be given, on account of the great variety of possible cases; but the following suggestions should be noted:—

In general, all helps whereby historical objects may be represented to sense—portraits, pictures of buildings, of ruins, etc.—are desirable; maps for the more ancient times must be regarded as particularly indispensable. They should always be at hand, and their study should not be neglected. Among these helps must be included charts, substantially like that by Strass entitled “The Stream of Time,” which places before the eye not only synchronistic events, but at the same time shows also the alternate union and division of countries. The lack of such aids causes the loss of much time and temper over mere memory work.

Again, attention is due to the following four aspects of the teaching of history:—

245. (1) In the first place, even the earliest lessons in geography give rise to the question, whenever the description of a country is finished, “How did things look in this country formerly?” For it is a part of correct apprehension that cities and other works of man should not be regarded as of equal age with mountains, rivers, and oceans. Now, although the teacher[230] cannot stop, during the time set apart for geography dealing with the present, to show and explain maps illustrative of the past, it will be useful, nevertheless, to add a few remarks about the early history of the country under discussion. The art of narration, however, is out of place here, inasmuch as the question, although reaching back in time, is suggested by the country. Mention of former activity, such as migrations and wars, is made simply for the purpose of adding life to the conception of a stationary surface. At the beginning, the notes on by-gone periods in connection with the geography of Germany will accordingly be as brief as possible; gradually, however, as France, England, Spain, Italy, are being studied in succession, these historical notes become knit together, and history is thus, so to speak, made to loom up in the distance. How far to go in this direction can be determined more definitely by distinguishing between the requirements of the first, and of the second course in geography. In the first course the most general statements may suffice, e.g., that not so very long ago Germany was split up more than now; that there were older times, when cities and neighboring princes often made war upon each other; that the barons used to live on more or less inaccessible heights; but that, in the interest of better order and stricter surveillance, Germany was divided into ten districts, etc.

The second course will admit of more historical facts[231] than the first, although still only very few pertaining to an older epoch. Only the more recent events can be conveniently connected with geography, except in the case of still extant historical monuments,—such, for instance, as the ruins in Italy, the composite language of England, the peculiar political organization of Switzerland with its many subdivisions, visible on the map, and its diversities of language.

If, as is sometimes recommended, the plan is adopted of preparing the way for the study of mediæval and modern history by a separate introductory course in short biographies, such a plan, though at best only fragmentary in its results, becomes at least more feasible where historical notes of the kind just mentioned are incorporated with the lessons in geography. But in this case it is all the more essential to have a chronological chart upon the wall, to some dates of which the teacher must take every opportunity to refer, in order that the pupils may obtain at least some fixed points. Otherwise scattered biographies are liable to occasion great confusion.

246. (2) The chief basis for the earlier stages of historical teaching will always be Greek and Roman history. It will not be inappropriate to commence with a few charming stories from Homeric mythology, since there is a close connection between the history of a people and their religion. Two wrong ways, however, are to be avoided: one, that of giving a[232] detailed theogony or of including objectionable myths, for the sake of completeness, which would here be devoid of a rational purpose; the other, that of having the mythological elements memorized. Only true history should be memorized by children. Mythology is a study for youths or men.

Persian history must be told approximately in the sequence and setting given by Herodotus; to it the history of Assyria and of Egypt may be joined in the form of episodes, Greece being kept well in the foreground. The stories from the Old Testament, on the other hand, form a chain of lessons by themselves. The history of Rome must at first retain its mythical beginnings.

247. Suppose, now, that detailed stories after the models furnished by the ancients have won the attention of the pupils; the mere pleasure of listening to stories can nevertheless not be allowed to determine continuously the impression to be produced. Condensed surveys must follow, and a few of the main facts be memorized in chronological order.

The following suggestions will be in place here. The chief events are to attach themselves in the memory to the memorized dates in such a way that no confusion can arise. Now, a single date may suffice for the group of connected incidents constituting one main event; if it seems necessary to add another, or a third, well and good, but to keep on multiplying dates defeats the very end aimed at. The more dates the weaker their effect, on account of the growing difficulty of remembering them all. In the history of one country dates should rather remain apart as far as possible, in order that the intervening numbers may be all the more available for purposes of synchronistic tabulation, by which the histories of[234] different countries are to be brought together and connected. The same sparing use should be made of the facts of ancient geography, but those that are introduced must be learned accurately.

248. The general surveys that follow the detailed narratives have this advantage for the pupil: he infers of his own accord, that in periods of which not much is told, a great deal took place, nevertheless, which the history or the teacher passes over in silence. In this way the false impressions are prevented that would be produced by purely compendious instruction, which indeed, at a later stage, becomes in a measure unavoidable.

249. (3) Mediæval history derives no assistance from the study of the ancient languages, nor is it closely related to present conditions; there is difficulty in imparting to the presentation of it more than the clearness obtainable through geography and chronology. But more than this is requisite: the burden of mere memory work without interest would become too great. The fundamental factors, Islamism, Papacy, the Holy Roman Empire, Feudalism, must be explained and given due prominence. Most of the facts down to Charlemagne may be made to contribute additional touches to the panorama of the Great Migration. With[238] Charlemagne the chain of German history begins, and it will usually be considered advisable to extend this chain to the end of the Middle Ages, in order to have something to which synchronous events may be linked later on. Yet some doubt arises as to the value of such a plan. To be sure, the reigns of the Ottos, the Henrys, the Hohenstaufen, together with intervening occurrences, form a tolerably well-connected whole; but as early as the interregnum there is a sad break, and although the historical narrative recovers, as it were, with the stories of Rudolph Albrecht and Ludwig the Bavarian, there is nothing in the names of succeeding leaders, from Carl IV to Frederick III, that would make them proper starting-points and connecting centres for the synchronism of the whole period in question. It might be better, therefore, to stop with the excommunication of Ludwig the Bavarian, with the assembly of the electors at Rhense, and with the account of how the popes came to reside in Avignon. Then—going back to Charlemagne—France, Italy, even England, may be taken up, and greater completeness given to the history of the crusades. Farther on, special attention might be called, in a synchronistic way, to Burgundy and Switzerland, and to the changing fortunes of the wars between England and France. French history may then leave off with the reign of Charles VIII, and English history with that of Henry VII, while German history, from Maximilian on, is[239] placed again in the foreground. The Hussite wars will be treated as forerunners of the Reformation. Other events must be skilfully inserted. Many modifications of grouping will have to be reserved for subsequent repetitions.

250. (4) In presenting modern history, the teacher will do well to avail himself of the fact that modern history does not cover so long reaches of time as mediæval history does, and that it falls into three sharply defined periods, the first of which ends with the treaty of Westphalia, the second extends from this date to the French Revolution, and the third, to the present. These periods should be carefully distinguished, the leading events of each should be narrated synchronistically, and a recital of the most essential historical facts about each country should follow. Only after each has been handled in this way, and the subject-matter presented has been thoroughly impressed upon the memory by reviews, will it be well to pass on to a somewhat fuller ethnographical account reaching back into the mediæval history of each country and extending forward to our own times. No harm is done by going over the same ground again for the purpose of amplifying that which before appeared in outline only.

The chief point is, that no course of instruction which claims at all to give completeness of culture can be regarded as concluded before it has introduced[240] the pupil to the pragmatic study of history, and has taught him to look for causes and effects. This applies preëminently to modern history, on account of its direct connection with the present; but mediæval and ancient history, too, have to be worked over once more from this point of view. History should be the teacher of mankind; if it does not become so, the blame rests largely with those who teach history in schools.

251. A well-compiled and well-proportioned brief history of inventions, arts, and sciences should conclude the teaching of history, not only in gymnasia, but also and especially in higher burgher schools, because their courses of study are not supplemented by the university.

Moreover, the whole course in history is properly accompanied by illustrative poetical selections, which, although perhaps not produced during the different epochs, yet stand in some relation to them; and which in some measure, even if only by illustrating ages very far apart, exhibit the vast differences in the freest activities of the human mind.

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252. Aptitude for mathematics is not rarer than aptitude for other studies. That the contrary seems true, is owing to a belated and slighted beginning. But that mathematicians are seldom inclined to give as much time to children as they ought is only natural. The elementary lessons in combination and geometry are neglected in favor of arithmetic, and demonstration is attempted where no mathematical imagination has been awakened.

The first essential is attention to magnitudes, and their changes, where they occur. Hence, counting, measuring, weighing, where possible; where impossible, at least the estimating of magnitudes to determine, however vaguely at first, the more and the less, the larger and the smaller, the nearer and the farther.

Special consideration should be given, on the one hand, to the number of permutations, variations, and combinations; and, on the other hand, to the quadratic and cubic relations, where similar planes and bodies are determined by analogous lines.

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253. The measuring of lines, angles, and arcs (for which many children’s games, constructive in tendency, may present the first occasion) leads over to observation exercises dealing with both planes and spheres. Skill in this direction having been attained, frequent application must be made of it, or else, like every other acquirement, it will be lost again. Every plan of a building, every map every astronomical chart, may afford opportunities for practice.

These observation exercises are to be organized in such a manner that upon the completion of mensuration the way is fully prepared for trigonometry, provided that besides the work in plain geometry, algebra has been carried as far as equations of the second degree.

254. But now a subject comes up that, on account of the difficulties it causes, calls for special consideration, namely, that of logarithms. It is easy enough to explain their use, and to render the underlying concept intelligible as far as necessary in practice—arithmetical corresponding to geometrical series, the natural numbers being conceived of as a geometrical series. But scientifically considered, logarithms involve fractional[246] and negative exponents, as also the application of the Binomial Theorem. The latter, to be sure, is merely an easy combinatory formula so far as integral positive exponents are concerned, but, limited to these, is here of comparatively little use.

Now, since trigonometry in its main theorems is independent of logarithms, but is little applied without their aid, the question arises whether beginners should necessarily be given a complete and vigorously scientific course in logarithms, the highly beneficial instruction in trigonometry being postponed until after the successful completion of such a course, or whether the practical use of logarithms is to be permitted before accurate insight into underlying principles has been gained.

255. In schools where practical aims predominate, logarithms should be explained by a comparison of the arithmetical with the geometrical series, and the practical application will immediately follow. But even where recourse is had to Taylor’s Theorem and the Binomial Theorem, the gain to the beginner will not usually be very much greater. Not as though these theorems, together with the elements of differential calculus, could not be made clear; the real trouble lies in the fact that much of what is comprehended is not likely to be retained in the memory. The beginner, when he comes to the application, still has the recollection of the proof and of his having understood it. Indeed, with some assistance he would be able, perhaps, to again retrace step by step the course of the[248] demonstration. But he lacks perspective; and in his application of logarithms it is of no consequence to him by what method they have been calculated.

What has been said here of logarithms may be applied more generally. The value of rigid demonstrations is fully seen only when one has made himself at home in the field of concepts to which they belong.

256. Demonstrations taking a roundabout way through remote auxiliary concepts are a grave evil in instruction, be they ever so elegant.

Such modes of presentation are rather to be selected as start from simple elementary notions. For with these conviction does not depend on the unfortunate condition requiring a comprehensive view of a long series of preliminary propositions. Thus Taylor’s Theorem can be deduced from an interpolation formula, and this, in turn, from the consideration of differences, for which nothing is needed beyond addition, subtraction, and knowledge of the permutation of numbers.

257. The pedagogical value of mathematical instruction, as a whole, depends chiefly on the extent to which it enters into and acts on the pupil’s whole field of thought and knowledge. From this truth it follows, to begin with, that mere presentation does not suffice; the aim must be rather to enlist the self-activity of the pupil. Mathematical exercises are essential. Pupils must realize how much they can do by means of mathematics. From time to time written work in mathematics should be assigned; only the tasks set must be sufficiently easy. More should not be demanded and insisted on than pupils can comfortably accomplish. Some are attracted early by pure mathematics, especially where geometry and arithmetic are properly combined. But a surer road to good results is applied mathematics, provided only the application is made to[255] an object in which interest has already been aroused in other ways.

But the pupils ought not to be detained too long over a narrow round of mathematical problems; there must also be progress in the presentation of the theory. Were the only requisite to stimulate self-activity, the elementary principles might very easily suffice for countless examples affording the pupil the pleasure of increasing facility, and even the delight arising from inventions of his own, without giving him any conception of the greatness of the science. Many problems may be compared to witty conceits, which may be welcome enough in the right place, but which should not encroach on the time for work. There ought to be no lingering over things that with advancing study solve themselves, merely for the sake of performing feats of ingenuity. Incomparably more important than mere practice examples is familiarity with the facts of nature, and such familiarity renders all the better service to mathematics if combined with technical knowledge.

258. Even young children may very well busy themselves with picture books illustrating zoölogy, and later with analyses of plants which they have gathered. If early accustomed to this, they will, with some guidance, readily go on by themselves. At a later time they are taught to observe the external characteristics of minerals. The continuation of the study of zoölogy is beset with some difficulties on account of the element of sex.

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259. With the foregoing should be conjoined much attention to external nature, to the changes corresponding to the seasons, and to means of intercommunication.

Under this head belongs, on the one hand, observation of the heavenly bodies,—where sun and moon rise, how the latter waxes and wanes, where the north star is found, and what arcs are described by the brighter stars and the most conspicuous constellations.

Here belongs, on the other hand, technological knowledge, acquired partly through direct observation, partly through lessons in descriptive physical science. Technology ought not to be considered merely from the side of the so-called material interests. It furnishes very important connecting links between the apprehension of the facts of nature and human purposes. Every growing boy and youth should learn to handle the ordinary tools of the carpenter as well as rule and compasses. Mechanical skill would often prove far more useful than gymnastic exercises. The former benefits the mind, the latter benefit the body. With burgher schools should go manual training-schools, which does not mean that the latter must necessarily be trade schools. Finally, every human being ought to learn how to use his hands. The hand has a place of honor beside language in elevating mankind above the brute.

The foregoing store of information also enters into[261] the study of geography; how, will appear in the next chapter.

260. On the observation of the heavenly bodies is based popular astronomy, which provides a test as to whether the mathematical imagination has been properly cultivated.

261. Elementary statics and mechanics will serve as an early introduction to physics, which combines with the easiest portions of chemistry. Long before physics is formally presented, it must be foreshadowed by many things stimulating the attention. Notice is directed to clocks, mills, the most familiar phenomena of atmospheric pressure, to electrical and magnetic toys, etc. In burgher schools, at least, so much must be said about buildings and machines as is necessary to incite to further study in the future. The same holds for the fundamental facts of physiology.

262. As often as a new topic for study is introduced, it is important to give prominence to some of[262] the salient facts, and these must be accurately memorized. Moreover, pupils need to have practice in exact description. Where practicable, these descriptions are corrected by actually looking at the objects themselves.

Hasty and superficial observation of objects presented for inspection always calls for severe criticism; else collections and experiments become valueless. Nor should objects be shown too lavishly; pupils must often be told beforehand what they will have to look for. Frequently it may serve the purpose to employ successively good descriptions, pictures, and direct observation.

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263. As to geography, at least two courses may be distinguished. One of these is analytic and begins with the pupil’s immediate neighborhood, the topography of the place, while the other starts with the globe. Here only the former will be discussed, as the latter can be had directly from good text-books.

264. Geography is an associating science, and use must be made of the opportunities it offers for binding together a variety of facts, none of which should be allowed to remain isolated in the mind of the learner. It is not the mathematical portion, supplemented and made interesting by popular astronomy, that serves as the first connecting link between mathematics and history (second course); even the rudiments of geography may, on the basis of observation exercises, furnish practice in the determination of triangles which occur on the first maps used, although this step is not always necessary when once some skill has been acquired in singling out features worthy of note. (The determination of position by latitude and longitude is, for the first course, as irrational as the action of a traveller in Germany or France would be if he set about to put together the picture of the places where he expects to remain, with the aid of their relation to the equator and the first meridian.)

Physical geography presupposes some knowledge[265] of nature, and furnishes the occasion for enriching that knowledge. Political geography designates the manner in which man inhabits and uses the earth’s surface. It is the pedagogical aim of instruction in geography to associate all this.

265. The teacher must cultivate the art of narration; his accounts must resemble those of a traveller. But the narrative should conflict with the determination of the relative position of places (by grouping them about one principal place, and in the case of more than one by the use of triangles) as little as, in teaching history, the story of events should conflict with the scheme of chronology. The two go together. The narrative is to present a clear picture, and to this end requires the support of a few fixed points in space. On the other hand, these points should not remain isolated; they are to be connected by the lines of the picture.

266. It is not a matter of indifference how many unfamiliar names are mentioned in one minute or hour. Nor is it immaterial whether they are uttered before or after perception of the picture which the map presents. The first requisite is that every map placed before the pupils be conceived of as a country; three, at most four, names of rivers, and the names of a few mountains are sufficient; completeness is out of place here. The few names given provide ample opportunity for fixing the position of notable[266] points, both with reference to one another and to the boundary lines of the country.

Due prominence having been given to these geographical features, they should then be connected, say with the aid of a blackboard, on which they are roughly sketched one by one, and properly joined together afterward. In the case of the sources and outlets of rivers, this may be done by a line to indicate the course. If now the pupils have made good previous use of their eyes, especially if they have noticed the fall of brooks and rivers, and have observed the slope of the ground in a particular region,—if they have not, the deficiency must be made good first of all,—it will not be too early to pass on to a general description of the appearance which the country under consideration would present to a traveller. And now the time has come for a somewhat fuller mention of the names of rivers and mountains, but these names must at once be gone over several times by the pupils. Doing so will reveal whether the list of new names has been made too long; it is often largely due to carelessness in this respect, if the study of geography proves barren or onerous. Next in order follow detailed descriptions of particular wonders of nature, where there are such. Attention is then given to some of the principal cities, mention being made of the number of inhabitants. Here the determination of relative location comes in again, and for this the self-activity of the pupils is[267] indispensable. Finally, human industry and art, so far as they relate to the products of the country, together with the little of political organization that pupils can grasp. The names of the provinces should ordinarily be omitted from the first course.

267. The reviews, which should be frequent, must steadily work toward a growing firmness of association[268] between names and places. Each name is to be referred to the place it designates; hence the sequence of names must often be reversed, and the map looked over in all directions and from all points of view. How far to go is determined in accordance with individual capacity. From some, only what is absolutely essential can be demanded; from others, much more, in order that they may exert themselves properly.

268. In the midst of other studies on which greater stress is laid, geography is as a rule slighted by pupils and sometimes even by teachers. This attitude merits severe criticism. Instruction in geography may be reduced to a minimum, the first course even requires this, but it should not be disparaged. With many pupils, geography is the first study which gives them the consciousness that they can learn as they are expected to learn. With all pupils, geography must connect the remaining studies and must keep them connected. Without it everything remains unstable. Historical events lack places and distances; products of nature are without the regions where they are found; popular astronomy, which is called upon so often to prevent and dispel erroneous notions, is deprived of its very basis, and the geometrical imagination of one of its most important incentives. If the facts of knowledge are allowed to fall asunder in this way, instruction endangers the whole of education.

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269. There would be less controversy about language teaching if existing differences in conditions were given proper attention.

The most general distinction to make is that between understanding and speaking. The distance between the two is a given factor at the time when regular instruction begins. It is very great in some cases, and, again, slight in others, according to individual aptitude and early surroundings.

270. First of all, one’s language was acquired by hearing it spoken, by receiving it from others, by imitation; it was refined or vulgar; it was perceived accurately or indistinctly; it was imitated by organs, good, bad, or indifferent. Little by little the imperfections of the earliest stage are outgrown, where cultured persons set a daily example and insist on correctness of speech. Sometimes, however, it takes years to bring about such a result.

271. Another factor, and one deeply rooted in individual temperament, is the stronger or weaker impulse toward expression through language. This fact elevates[270] the language of each one above mere imitation; its improvement must start from the thoughts which it seeks to express. Striking progress of this kind often occurs during adolescence.

272. Now such facts might seem to point to the conclusion that no special periods of instruction are needed for the mother-tongue, or at least not for language lessons alone. On the one hand, it might be urged that cultured teachers will improve the language of their pupils by their mere example, and by the occasional corrections which will of course be necessary; while, on the other hand, the gradual progress of mental development will shape the means of expression from within, to the natural limits of individual[273] capacity. But before accepting the view here given, we need to remind ourselves, in the first place, that for a long time the educated teacher is only imperfectly understood by the uneducated listener, and that instruction is very much impeded if each unusual turn of expression necessitates an inquiry as to whether its meaning is clear.

273. But this is not all. Language is also to be read and written. Hence, it becomes a standing object for consideration, and, to one whose knowledge of it is deficient, a source of embarrassment. Accordingly, the first thing for the teacher to do is to show analytically, on the basis of what has been read or written, how the meaning would be lost or altered if either single words were interchanged, or the inflectional endings (especially in German) were incorrectly chosen. That the synthesis of sentences should follow next, advancing step by step toward greater complexity, especially by means of various conjunctions, may be assumed to be well understood.

274. Now if all experienced equal difficulty in their reading and writing, the language lessons designed as a remedy would commend themselves in all cases, and might fittingly be carried to the same extent everywhere.

But here the widest divergence appears. Accordingly, where many are being taught together, the teacher will seek to connect language work with other[274] subjects. Thus, in the course of the same recitation, analytic instruction may be directed to the language side for some pupils, while for others it may be given a far wider scope. Moreover, the accompanying written exercises may have a corresponding diversity.

275. The work of a recitation period will be further diversified by the introduction of exercises in reading aloud, and in oral reproduction. But never will it be possible to raise all pupils to the same plane of proficiency. Here, above all, the determining power of individuality must be acknowledged.

276. For older boys and young men, the work in the mother-tongue will consist partly in the study of excellent examples of the various kinds of poetry and oratory, partly in the writing of essays. Such study will prove the more profitable, the more perfect the models, the more suitably they are adapted to the stage of culture already attained by the student, and the more scrupulously the teacher refrains from forcing upon him a literary taste not congenial to his nature. The least promising of all written exercises are those in letter-writing. Confidential letters every one can write, each in his own way. Best of all are written exercises with a definite and rich store of thought to draw from and admitting of various forms of treatment. Several may then emulate each other in handling the same theme, and the process of correcting will awaken greater interest in consequence.

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277. As is well known, the exposition of grammatical distinctions and of the many turns of expression whereby language may become an adequate symbolization of thought, gains very materially in clearness by a comparison of the mother-tongue with Latin and Greek. Even with boys not more than eight years old the attempt may be made to utilize this advantage in the teaching of English, whether it has been finally decided, or not, that they are to take the regular classical course. Some boys learn, without much trouble, enough of Latin inflections to enable them soon to translate short sentences from the mother-tongue into Latin, and vice versa.

278. This experiment will not, however, be long continued; since, with the large majority of pupils, the difficulties accumulate so rapidly as to lead unavoidably to the admission that the burden cannot be assumed merely for the sake of incidental advantages. Moreover, the customary view, handed down from the time of the Reformation, of the relation of the classical languages to the sciences, and to the needs of the age, is undergoing a change more and more apparent from decade to decade. The labor implied in the study of the ancient languages now pays only where talent combines with the earnest purpose to achieve the most complete scholarship.

279. The manner of teaching the ancient languages, where they are regarded as a matter of necessity or conventionality, no account being taken of pedagogical considerations, need not be discussed here. It must rather be admitted at once that no pedagogical means whatever exist, whereby those who live with their interests strictly confined to the present could be brought to acquire, with genuine sympathy, the content of the works of antiquity.

280. Pedagogically considered, every difference in the degree of vivid realization of antiquity, in the[281] degree of its correlation with other main departments of knowledge, and in the extent to which a disagreeable aftertaste of school-day drudgery is prevented, determines the greater or smaller value to be ascribed to the knowledge acquired. If the same realization could be secured without the ancient languages and without the potency of early impressions, then the studies mentioned in preceding chapters, which outline the work of burgher schools, would leave nothing further to be desired; and the study of the ancient languages in gymnasia would be a necessary evil, highly as their incidental advantages are usually extolled.

281. But languages alone give to a boy a picture neither of bygone ages nor of men of the past; to him they are solely troublesome tasks imposed by the teacher. Nor can golden maxims, fables, and short narratives change his attitude. For even if these are well suited to the youthful mind, they do not materially offset the aversion to the work on stems, which have to be memorized; inflections, which must be practised; and conjunctions, which are required for guidance in the study of periods.

Ancient history (243, 246) is the only possible groundwork for the pedagogical treatment of the ancient languages.

282. Now it is true that if Latin is begun first, Eutropius and Cornelius Nepos suggest themselves as suitable authors for study, as soon as the merest rudiments[282] of Latin have been learned in connection with instruction in the mother-tongue (277). And their use is not to be entirely condemned, provided the teacher takes it upon himself to make the past present through narration. But, as is well known, these authors are after all very meagre, and, besides, where to look for a path beyond them still remains an open question.

283. The reasons which accord to Homer’s “Odyssey” the preference for early use are familiar.[41] They are patent to every one who attentively reads the “Odyssey” with constant reference to the various main classes of interest which teaching is to awaken (83–94). But the question involved is not merely one of immediate effect, but also of finding points of departure for the later stages of instruction. There can be no better preparation for ancient history than to establish an interest in ancient Greece by means of the Homeric story. At the same time, the soil is being made ready for the cultivation of taste, and for language study.

To reasons of this kind, derived directly from the chief aim of all teaching and opposed only by tradition (the conventional doing of the classics), the philologists will have to listen some time, if they are not[283] willing that, with the growing importance of history and of the natural sciences, and with the increasing pressure of material interests, the study of Greek in schools should be pushed into a corner and suffer a reduction similar to that which has already taken place in the case of Hebrew. (A few decades ago Greek came very near being remitted for all but those intending to study theology.)

Of course, the “Odyssey” possesses no miraculous power to inspire those who have no talent whatever for language studies or do not take them seriously; nevertheless, as many years of experience have shown, it surpasses every other work of antiquity that might be selected in definite pedagogical effect. Moreover, its study does not preclude an early commencement of Latin (nor even of Greek, where that seems necessary); only Latin cannot be pushed with the customary rapidity at the same time; for the “Odyssey” requires an hour daily, and grammatical and lexicological work besides.

Experience has proved that the grammatical rudiments pertaining to declension and conjugation must be worked over very carefully first, although reduced to what is absolutely essential. Besides, the first lessons in the “Odyssey” ought not to exceed a few lines each time; and, during the first months, no accurate memorizing of words is to be demanded. But farther on the acquisition of a vocabulary must be vigorously[284] insisted on; in fact, it becomes the pupil’s most necessary collateral work. By continued effort in this direction a considerable portion of the whole stock of words is gradually acquired; the language forms are supplied with the content to which they refer, and through which they become significant. The teacher must know exactly, not only when to hasten on, but also when to delay; for every perceptible gain in facility is likely to betray pupils into some carelessness which needs to be corrected at once. With good pupils it is not infeasible to read the whole of the “Odyssey,” since facility increases very rapidly toward the end. Nevertheless, such work should not extend much beyond two years; otherwise weariness sets in, or time is taken from other things. In schools it will be well to assign the first four books to one class, perhaps the class composed of pupils nine or ten years old, the next class to begin with Book V. To determine exactly how many books each class can work up thoroughly is unnecessary, as good translations can be used to fill in the gaps that occur. The reason for the division just made will be manifest at once upon a closer inspection of the “Odyssey.” Some books more advanced pupils may later on read by themselves, but they should be expected to render an account of what they are doing. It is not necessary at this stage to explain in detail the rarer peculiarities of the Homeric dialect. Such things may well be[285] deferred until, later in the course, the study of Homer (of the “Iliad”) is resumed. The teacher who is afraid of the difficulties connected with the plan presented should remind himself of the fact that progress by any other path is equally beset with difficulties. While at work on Homer, care should be taken to keep pupils from being influenced simultaneously by such tales as those from the Arabian Nights, because they blunt the sense of the wonderful.

284. Only two poets, two historians, and two philosophers need to be mentioned to indicate the continuation of the course. Homer and Virgil; Herodotus and Cæsar; Plato and Cicero. What authors should precede these, or should intervene, or follow, may be left for circumstances to determine. Xenophon, Livy, Euripides, Sophocles, and Horace will probably always retain a place by the side of those mentioned; Horace especially offers brief maxims, the after-effect of which the educator should by no means underestimate. It is obvious that Virgil and Herodotus are rendered much easier by taking up Homer first; on the other hand, the return to Homer (to the “Iliad”) during adolescence, is as little to be omitted, if only on account of mythology, as the return to ancient history for purposes of pragmatic study (250). Again, the syntactical scheme of the ancient languages, which involves far greater difficulties than do even inflections and vocabulary, is more easily mastered by placing[286] the poets before the prose-writers, because then the pupils are not compelled to struggle with all the difficulties of sentence structure at once. At any rate, it is desirable that, just as the student’s Greek vocabulary is built up from the “Odyssey,” his hoard of Latin words should be drawn from the “Æneid.” The latter, however, will hardly be read entirely, because it cannot be gone over with nearly the same rapidity as the latter books of the “Odyssey,” when facility in reading has been attained. Cæsar’s “Bellum Gallicum” must be studied with exceptional carefulness, since its style comes nearer to being a desirable first model for the student of Latin than the style of the other authors in use. After this has been accomplished, the strictly systematic teaching and memorizing of Latin syntax, together with selected brief examples, is in order as one of the main lines of work. In Plato several books of the “Republic,” especially the first, second, fourth, and eighth, constitute a desirable goal. That Cicero should be revealed to young minds on his brilliant side first, namely, as orator, need scarcely be mentioned. Later on his philosophical writings become important; but many passages require a fuller development of the subject-matter than is given by him.

Cicero should frequently be read aloud, or rather declaimed, by the teacher. An orator demands the living voice; the usual monotonous reading by the[287] pupils fails to do justice to him. As regards Tacitus for school use, there is a difference of opinion. Generally speaking, authors that say much in few words are particularly welcome, not merely to the explaining teacher, but also to the responsive pupil. The opposite is true of Cicero; he must be read rapidly in order to be appreciated.

285. Experience has long since shown how much or how little can be done with students in Greek and Latin composition; and no method will ever be devised which would induce earlier than at present that degree of mental maturity which reveals itself in a good Latin style. So long as gymnasium pupils are no more select than they now are, the majority, so far as writing Latin is concerned, will begin something that will never lead to successful performance. It would be better, instead, to practise diligently that which can be achieved, namely, composition during the recitation hour, with the assistance of the teacher, and, afterward coöperative consideration of the appointed task, by the pupils. This plan secures the advantage of set essays[288] without the disadvantage of innumerable mistakes, the correction of which the pupil rarely remembers. Joint labor is interesting, and can be adapted to every age. As a substitute for essays, abstracts in Latin of texts previously interpreted are to be recommended, these abstracts to be made at first with the help and afterward without the help of the book in question. To abstract does not mean to imitate, and ought not to mean that. To imitate Cicero requires Cicero’s talent, and unless this exists, the attempt to imitate, it is to be feared, will result in cold artificiality. Even Cæsar is not so simple that his style could be taught and learned. But many passages of Cæsar may be memorized; at first short sentences, then longer periods, finally whole chapters. The usefulness of this practice is attested by experience.

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286. The more precise determination of the theory of instruction depends on the nature of particular subjects of instruction, on the individuality of the pupil, and on the external conditions of ethical life.

287. Where the goal to be reached is technical knowledge and multiformity of scholarship, each branch of study asserts its claims to thoroughness without regard to the rest. Such is the attitude of the state, which requires many men with special training, together constituting an efficient whole. Hence it disseminates knowledge and establishes institutions of learning, without inquiring, save with reference to future official appointments, who the individuals are that avail themselves of the offered opportunities.

288. The family, on the other hand, interested as it is in the individual, must take the pedagogical point of view, according to which every human being is to realize the best he is capable of. It is essential that families should grasp this distinction, and accordingly concern themselves, not with greatness of particular[290] achievements, but with the totality of culture possible for the individual.

289. Closely connected with the foregoing is the difference between interest and skill. Skill of various sorts can be obtained by force; but it is of no value to general culture when the corresponding interest is lacking.

Insistence on this distinction is a sufficient answer to much uncalled-for criticism and much unwarrantable assumption of superior knowledge concerning the results of early stages of instruction. These results, it is charged, are inadequate; if this or that had been converted earlier into ability to do, greater progress would have been made. But when interest has not been aroused, and cannot be aroused, compulsory acquisition of skill is not only worthless, leading as it does to soulless mechanical activity, but positively injurious, because it vitiates the pupil’s mental attitude and disposition.

290. Whether the pupil’s individuality will endure without injury the pressure which drill in skilful performance would necessitate, is a question which at times cannot be decided except by trial. Reading, arithmetic, grammar, are familiar instances.

291. The more perfect the instruction, the greater the opportunity it affords for comparing the excellences and faults of the individuals receiving it simultaneously. This point is of importance both to the[291] continuation of instruction and to training; to the latter, because the teacher’s insight into the causes of the faults which training has to combat is deepened.

292. The ethical life may attach itself to views embracing the universe; it may, on the contrary, move within a very narrow range of thought. Now while it is true that external circumstances will usually set limits to instruction, its scope should nevertheless not be narrower, but in every way wider than the realm of necessary, everyday prudence. Otherwise the individual will always be in danger of exaggerating his own importance and that of persons closely related to him.

293. It is more difficult, as a rule, to extend the mental horizon in the direction of the past, than within the present. In teaching girls, therefore, and children from the lower classes, greater prominence is given to geography and whatever can be grouped about it than to historical studies. Again, in cases where a shortening of the course of study becomes necessary, it becomes well-nigh necessary to take account of the difference in question. But, conversely, where the scope of instruction is to be wide, the historical side, because more difficult, must receive increased attention.

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294. Some faults are inherent; they are a part of the pupil’s individuality. Others have sprung up in the course of time; and of these, again, some have been influenced by the factor of individuality more than others. Faults that the pupil commits are left out of account for the present. With increasing years some of the inherent faults grow, others diminish. For there is a continual change of relation between that which man derives from experience,—between those ideas which rise spontaneously, and those masses of ideas which approach stability. There is, besides, an ever varying succession of diverse reproductions. All this change is pervaded throughout by the consciousness of one’s own body (the original base of support for self-consciousness) with respect not merely to its needs, but also to its powers of motion and fitness for use.[293] Again, the apprehension of the similar is being multiplied; the ideas of things approximate to general concepts. In addition, the process of judging is shaping more and more the material presented; accordingly the manner in which the individual analyzes and puts in order his knowledge becomes gradually determined. On the one hand there is a growing confidence of affirmation; on the other, questions remain, the answer to which is given over to the future. In part they become transformed into longing expectation.

Upon all that has been enumerated, the physical organization of the individual exerts retarding and furthering influences. The effect of the body is seen in a certain physiological resistance to psychical processes, and in strong physical impulses far more complex, no doubt, than ordinary experience shows.

295. Very frequently the fact forces itself upon us, that persons who have passed through many vicissitudes of fortune can nevertheless be recognized by individual traits that were already noticeable in youth. Here a certain uniformity reveals itself in the characteristic way and manner in which such persons involuntarily seize upon and work up various impressions. In order to arrive at a just estimate of his pupils, the teacher should observe this permanent element as early as possible.

Some always know the right moment and whither it calls them; they always perform the nearest duty,[294] and have their stock of knowledge uniformly well in hand. Others bury themselves in thought, and give themselves up to hopes and fears, to plans and projects: they live in the past or in the future, resent being disturbed by the present, and require time and effort to bring themselves back to it. Between the former and the latter are found others, who do indeed note the given and the present, not, however, to take it as it appears, but rather to look beyond, for the purpose of spying what lies concealed behind, or in order to move, displace, interfere, perhaps to distort, ridicule, and caricature. With many the tendency described is merely superficial. They play and tease—a common manifestation of youthful animal spirits. Now the question arises: how much seriousness lies back of the playfulness. How much depth beneath the animated surface? Here temperament enters as a factor. The play of one with a sanguine temperament comes to an end; but where sourness of temper is habitual, there danger threatens, if, as commonly happens, sport turns to earnest. Self-assertion plays a part also, manifesting itself in various ways. It assumes one form in him who has confidence in his strength, physical or mental, and another form in those who know their weakness—with or without the mental reservation as to the future employment of artifice or cunning, and so also with more or less acknowledgment of the superior power[295] or authority. Passionate playing, on the whole, implies little seriousness; but may well indicate sensitiveness and a propensity to freedom from restraint. Prudence in sport is a sign of ability to take the opponent’s point of view, and to foresee his plans. Love of play is far more welcome to the teacher than indolence, or languid curiosity, or gloomy seriousness; it is one of the minor faults, if now and then work is forgotten over a game and time wasted; the situation is more grave, sometimes very grave indeed, where extravagance, or greed of gain, or secretiveness, or bad company is involved. In such cases decided interference on the part of the teacher is necessary.

296. Since courage and rationality grow with increasing years, the faults of mere weakness leave room for hope of improvement, although there is need of an invigorating mode of life, invigorating physically and mentally, and of counsel and reproof in particular instances. Under continued watchful care weak natures improve much more than at first thought would seem to be likely.

297. Unsteadiness, continual restlessness, where they accompany good health without being the result of external stimulation, are doubtful indications. Here it will be well to look to the sequence of thoughts. Where, in spite of variableness in general, thoughts are sound and well connected, this restlessness is not a serious matter. The case is worse when the opposite[296] is true, especially when the vascular system appears very irritable, and dreamlike reveries occur. Here the danger of insanity is seen lurking in the distance.

The appropriate treatment for such pupils consists in holding them strictly to definite tasks, especially to those occupations that compel a close observation of the external world, and in exacting the performance of the work assigned, without failing to encourage whatever is undertaken from choice.

298. Sensual impulses and violence of temper are apt to go from bad to worse as pupils grow older. Against these, careful supervision, earnest censure, and the whole rigor of moral principles must be brought to bear. Momentary ebullitions of passion, however, unless persistently obstinate attempts are made to justify them, need to be handled gently, that is, as evils calling for precaution and vigilance.

299. The faults hitherto noted lie for the most part on the surface. Others have to be studied as occasion offers in instruction.

There are minds so dull that even the attempt merely to secure connection with definite portions of such thoughts as they have does not succeed. Easy questions intended to raise their ideas into consciousness only increase the resistance to be overcome. They are seized with embarrassment from which they seek to escape, sometimes by a simple,[297] “I don’t know,” sometimes by the first wrong answer that comes to hand. Mental activity has to be enforced, yet remains feeble at best, and it is only in after years, under pressure of necessity, that they acquire some facility for a limited sphere. Others, whom one would be inclined to call contracted rather than generally limited, because by them reproduction is performed successfully but within a narrow compass, exhibit a lively endeavor to learn, but they learn mechanically, and what cannot be learned in that way they apprehend incorrectly. These undertake, nevertheless, to form and express judgments, but their judgments turn out to be erroneous; hence they become first discouraged and then obstinate. Again, there are those whose ideas cannot be dislodged, and still others whose ideas cannot be brought to a halt. These two classes call for a more detailed consideration.

300. Among the various masses of ideas (29) some necessarily acquire permanent predominance, others come and go. But if this relation reaches full development and becomes fixed too early, the controlling ideas no longer admit of being arrested to the extent necessary for the reception of the new material offered by instruction. This fact explains the experience that clever boys, notwithstanding the best intentions to receive instruction, yet frequently appear very unreceptive, and that a certain rigidity of mind, which in later manhood would not occasion surprise, seems[298] to have strayed, as it were, into boyhood. No one should allow himself to be betrayed into encouraging such narrowness by commendatory terms such as pertain to strength and energy; just as little, however, should clumsy teaching and its sequel, listless learning, be left out of account, as having no bearing on this state of affairs.

For, rather may it be assumed that the fault mentioned might have been largely forestalled by very early instruction of all kinds, provided such instruction had been combined with a variety of attractive rather than of too difficult tasks. Where, on the other hand, mental nervousness has once taken root, it cannot be eradicated by all the art and painstaking effort of a multitude of teachers. When the questions of a child, six years old let us say, give rise to the apprehension that they proceed from a too contracted mental horizon, there should be no delay about resorting to manifold forms of stimulation, especially in the way of widening the pupil’s experience to the greatest practicable extent.

301. On the other hand, it is not rare to find boys, and even young men, in whose minds no one thought-mass attains to any very prominent activity. Such boys are always open to every impression and ready for any change of thought. They are wont to chat pleasantly, and to form hasty attachments. Here belong those who learn easily and forget as quickly.

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This defect, too, when once confirmed, resists all skill and good intentions; strength of purpose, from the very nature of the case, is out of the question. The situation varies in gravity, however, according to the influences of the earliest environment. If these proved distracting, the fault mentioned assumes alarming proportions even in minds otherwise well endowed. But where some form or other of necessary respect has been steadily at work, the youth will raise himself to a higher plane than the boy gave promise of doing. Least of all, however, can the teacher allow himself to be betrayed into hoping for a future development of talent by superficial alertness, combined, it may be, with droll fancies, bold pranks, and the like. Talent reveals itself through persistent endeavor, sustained even under circumstances little favorable to it, and not until such endeavor clearly manifests itself is the thought of giving it support to be entertained.

The two faults under discussion may indeed come to light only in the course of time; nevertheless, they are inherent faults, and can be mitigated, to be sure, but not completely cured.

302. Far easier to deal with are the erratic movements of energetic characters capable of ardent enthusiasm. The mere thoroughness and many-sidedness of good instruction, which emphasizes and aims to effect rational connection and balance of mind, obviously supply the corrective.

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303. Originally it would have been easier to have prevented those faults which are due to the mismanagement or to the omission of early government, instruction, or training. But with time, the difficulties of a cure grow in a very rapid ratio. In general, it is well to note that the teacher has every reason to congratulate himself, if, after early neglect, there appear under improved treatment some belated traces of those questions which belong to the sixth or seventh year of childhood (213).

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304. Under this head five main points come up for consideration:—

305. (1) Where training has not provided for occupation and for the distribution of time, we must always expect to encounter an activity which has no aim, and which forgets its own purposes. From such a state of affairs arise a craving for liberty averse to all control, and, where several pupils are grouped together, contention, either for the possession of something or for the sake of showing off. Each wants to be first; recognition of the just equality of all is deliberately refused. Mutual ill-will intrenches itself and stealthily waits for an opportunity to break forth. Here is the fountain head of many passions; even those which spring from excessive sensuousness must be classed under this first head, in so far as they are promoted[302] by lack of regulated activity. The havoc caused by passions is a pervading element in the discussion of all of the remaining topics.

306. (2) It is true that education usually counteracts the tendency to indolence and to unruliness, not only by the use of the spur and the bridle, but also through guidance in the direction of the proprieties; giving rise to the thought “what will others say,” it shows existing conditions as mirrored in the minds of others. But when these others are compelled to remain silent, or when the pupil is sure of their partiality, or is exposed to their errors of judgment, the effect is to vitiate rather than to arouse the ethical judgment.

Nevertheless, calling attention to the judgment of others, and not merely of particular individuals, is very much better than waiting for the spontaneous awakening of ethical judgment. In most cases the waiting would be in vain. Matters of ethical import are either too close to the ordinary human being, and so, of course, to the boy left entirely to himself, or they are too remote, i.e., either they have not as yet passed outside the pale of affection or aversion, or else they are already fading from the field of vision. In neither case can an ethical judgment be formed with success. At any rate, it will vanish before it can produce an effect.

In order to reach those ethical judgments on which morality rests, the child must see will images, see them without the stirring of his own will impulse.

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These will images, moreover, must embrace relations, the single members of which are themselves wills, and the beholder is to keep such members equally in sight, until the estimate of value rises spontaneously within him. But such contemplation implies a keenness and calmness of apprehension not to be looked for in unruly children. Hence it may be inferred how necessary training is—serious, not to say severe, training. Unruliness must have been tamed and regular attention secured. The preliminary condition fulfilled, it is further essential that there shall be no lack of sufficiently distinct presentations of the foregoing will images. And even then the ethical judgment often matures so tardily that it has to be pronounced in the name of other persons—persons higher in authority.

307. In this connection the instances of one-sidedness of ethical judgment must not be overlooked, such as occur when one of the practical ideas stands out more prominently than another, or when that which is outwardly proper rises above them all.

308. (3) All desires persistently operative and productive of fluctuating states of emotional excitement, therefore rightly called passions, lead to experiential knowledge of the beneficial and the injurious. The beneficial suggests frequent repetition in the future, the injurious continued avoidance. Accordingly rules of life take shape, and the resolution always to observe them is made. In other words, maxims result.

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From simple resolution to actual observance is still, to be sure, a far cry. But the claim for the universal validity of the rule, so that the individual may regard it as applicable to others as well as to himself, enters the mind far more directly by way of desires which point forward to similar cases in the future, than it does under the guidance of ethical judgments whose universal element is abstracted from given single instances with difficulty. In fact, this difficulty is often so great that the ethical judgment itself may be missed in the search for the universal.

309. Now, the promptness and loyalty of obedience to the sum total of duties, once recognized as such and fixed through the maxims adopted, are passed upon by the moral judgment. Correct moral judgment, therefore, presupposes true insight into the value of will, which insight again can be obtained only through the ethical estimate as a whole. But in view of the circumstances pointed out a moment ago, we must expect to come upon maxims that are false or at least inaccurate. Under the latter head fall points of honor, social obligations, fear of ridicule.

310. (4) Maxims ought to form a unit, but in youth they are not fully determined even singly, much less are they closely united into a definite whole. The proviso of exceptions still clings to them, so also that of future tests through experience.

The maxims arising out of the desires and pleasures[305] can never be brought into perfect union with those springing from ethical judgments. Accordingly the wrong subordination takes place, or, at all events, a contamination of the latter by the former.

311. (5) In the application of maxims more or less unified, the volition of the moment is apt to prove stronger than the previous resolves. Hence, man becomes only too prone to condone and fall in with discriminations between theory and practice. The consequence is a certain moral empiricism, which, if nothing else will do to justify its disregard of moral law, falls back upon pious feelings. Plans of action are formed without regard to maxims, but with the apparent compensation of another kind of morally regular life.

Such contempt of moral judgment gains ground and spreads ruin all the more, the farther the ethical judgments on which morality must rest fall short of the clearness that ought to mark them, and the cruder the pupil’s knowledge is of the antithesis between them and maxims of utility or pleasure.

312. The natural aid to the formation and union of maxims is the system of practical philosophy itself. But the teaching of it involves difficulties. One of them is that such marked differences occur among young men in the relation of systematic exposition to the grade of culture which they have attained. For observations of this nature, religious instruction prior[306] to confirmation provides an early opportunity. How such instruction is to be given, is, of course, by no means immaterial, but, after all, the moral sentiments, which it gathers together and strengthens, must, in substance, already exist.

Again, if the end sought were more strictly scientific form for the moral sentiments, there would have to be ground for presuming that the student is able to appreciate that form and has acquired skill in the use of logical methods. The study of logic, together with appropriate exercises, would obviously be a necessary preliminary step. Prerequisites like these need to be borne in mind, especially in the case of lower schools and all other institutions that do not, as a rule, lead to the university.

313. Erroneous systems of ethics, moreover, might occasion the adoption of very absurd measures, concerning which, on account of the importance of the subject, at least something has to be said. Everything would be turned upside down, if, instead of bringing together and uniting maxims under the concept virtue, the attempt were made to deduce from some one formula of the categorical imperative a multiplicity of maxims and from these, rather than from the original ethical judgments, the estimates of will values, the final undertaking being, perhaps, to divert the will itself by such operations.

On the contrary, the will must early have been[307] given such direction by government and training, that its lines of tendency will of themselves coincide as nearly as possible with the paths disclosed later, when the pupil is being shown the way through ethical judgments. Those beginnings of evil noted above (305) must not be permitted to appear at all, for their consequences usually prove ineradicable. But even so, it is not certain that a way can be hewn through the errors of others to truer judgments. When, however, both ends have been gained, experience and history and literature must next be called in, in order to show clearly the confusion into which the maxims based upon pleasure and passion plunge human beings. Not until now has the time come for more or less systematic lectures, or for the study of suitable classical writers. Lastly, there will still be need of frequent appeals to moral obedience, and it will be found necessary to reinforce these appeals by reflections of a religious character.

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314.

315. Looked at as a whole, these obvious and familiar effects of training show at once that, generally speaking, its power to lessen evil is very great, and that it is capable of effectively acting upon the interrelations of various masses of ideas. But they suggest also the presence of danger. Training, by driving evil from the surface, may give rise to clandestine deeds.

316. When this happens, the relations between teacher and pupils grow increasingly abnormal, since secret practices become general and concerted, and the pupils assume a studied behavior in the presence of the teacher.

The consequences are well known:—Inexorable severity in dealing with concealed offences when discovered; great leniency in the case of open transgressions; recourse to the machinery of supervision, often even to secret watching, in order that the system of concealment may not get the better of education.

317. It lowers the dignity of the teacher to take part habitually in a competition between spy and concealers. He must not demand to know everything, although he[310] ought not to allow his confidence to be victimized by clumsy or long-continued deception.

Such difficulties, however, only make it more intensely necessary that the foundation of education be laid during the earliest years, when supervision is still easy, and the heart is reached by formative influences with greater certainty than ever afterward, and that, if possible, families should not for any length of time lose sight of their own members.

Ethical and moral judgments can be simulated; the finest maxims and principles may be learned by rote; piety may be put on as a cloak. Unmask the hypocrite, however, and turn him out, and, forthwith, he plays his game over again elsewhere. Nothing remains but recourse to severity which deters, and constant occupation under close supervision in another quarter, in order that he may get away from the hiding places of his misdeeds. Sometimes banishment is capable of bringing about improvement.

318. The will is most directly tractable in social relations, where it appears as common will. In infancy, the child, wholly devoted to his mother, is manageable through her; at a later period training is surest of success when it promotes attachments among the young and carefully fosters the seeds of goodness. The social ideas, purified by teaching, must gradually be added.

319. But as far back as boyhood, factions spring up[311] and exclusive sets are formed, facts which the teacher cannot permit to elude his vigilance.

When a kind of authority is granted to some older and tried pupils over those younger and less mature in judgment, the former become responsible; but the latter are not on that account relieved of all reflection on their own part, nor are they obliged to submit to every, though plainly unreasonable, demand of the former.

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320. First of all it is necessary to distinguish between those faults which the pupil commits and those which he has. Not all faults one commits are direct manifestations of those he possesses; but those which are committed repeatedly may grow permanent. This truth must be made clear, and must be impressed upon the mind of the pupil to the full extent of his powers of comprehension.

321. In the case of false steps caused from without by unnoticed pitfalls, or made in spite of a firm resolve to the contrary, the pupil is himself usually frightened by what he has done. If so, all depends on the gravity of his offence as compared with the degree of his horror.

There is a host of minor faults, blunders, and even acts resulting in damage, which tax the patience of the teacher severely; but it would imply a mistaken conception of the difficulty of moral education, if he should repel the frankness of his pupils by harsh treatment of such offence. Frankness is too essential a factor to be sacrificed; once gone it will hardly ever wholly return.

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322. But the first lie uttered with evil intent, the first act of theft, and similar actions positively detrimental to morality or health, have to be dealt with severely, and always in such a way that the pupil who thought he was permitting himself a slight fault, is made to experience most thoroughly both fear and censure.

323. Serious treatment of a first offence is demanded also where pupils try to see how far they may safely disregard authority and command. It is important, however, not to overestimate the intention of these attempts; important also to exhibit strength, but not anger. Yet there are cases where the teacher must seem to act with some warmth, because the necessary treatment, if combined with coldness, would only intensify bitterness and cause pain an inordinate length of time. But very likely as much feeling as is expedient will show itself upon simply laying aside the assumed coldness.

324. On the restoration of perfect order after a period during which government and training were lacking, a large number of faults will disappear of themselves, and accordingly do not require to be combated one by one. Respect for order, and incentives sufficiently strong to regular activity, are the main things.

325. Faults which the pupil seems to possess are often only the borrowed maxims of the society which he hopes to enter. Here it becomes the business of education[314] to set him right, if possible, and to elevate his view of human relations, in order that he may disdain the false appearances he before held in esteem.

326. Faults which an older pupil actually possesses rarely occur singly. Moreover, they are seldom fully disclosed; their appearance is determined by a prudent regard for circumstances. During the period of education such faults can, indeed, be largely prevented from growing worse, but the radical improvement of those who are secretive from prudence is rarely to be thought of before they have become more prudent still, too proud for concealment, and more susceptible to the true estimate of moral values.

Where older boys and young men are found to possess unused talents, and where instruction can be so arranged as to develop them, there is some prospect of supplying a counterbalance to those habits which have been contracted. But, in general, efforts looking toward a lasting reform are successful only when made at an early age. At all events, where there is much to amend, the feeling of dependence on strict training must be kept alive for a long time.

327. More success is likely to attend the endeavor to correct those faults which are not tolerated within the social class of which the pupil regards himself a member. Two factors determine the proper mode of procedure: the importance of making the pupil acquainted with the worthiest side of his social group,[315] and, on the other hand, the unavoidable necessity of causing him to see its less noble features in case he discovers in it free scope for his inherent faults.

328. Here the pupil’s capacity for education, as well as the limits of that capacity, are brought home to the teacher. As boys approach manhood, they let birth and external circumstances designate for them that class of society to which they will belong. The class defined, they seek to acquire its form of life, and to get into its main current. On the way thither they accept and take along so much of higher motives, of knowledge and insight, as, on the one hand, instruction offers and training favors, and as, on the other hand, the individuality of each one, which the earliest impressions have further determined, is ready to assimilate. Those are rare exceptions who, through the development of an absorbing interest of some kind, in religion, or science, or art, have become less susceptible to the attractive force of their social class. Their course has been marked out by the instruction which induced the absorption; henceforth they are self-actively engaged in the pursuit of whatever accords with the end in view, and accept only a small part of what is presented to them.

329. Specific forms of a pupil’s attitude toward society, especially the relative prominence in his mind of state or family relations, will have to receive due[316] consideration in marshalling motives to counteract particular faults. Indeed, the same is true of the appeal to those motives through which it is sought to establish a preponderance of worthier endeavor over moral imperfection in general.

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330. On discovering that his own efforts encounter impediments, the individual teacher might easily come to think that society could do everything, if it only would, and if it possessed the necessary insight. Further reflection, however, reveals the existence of difficulties peculiar both to state and family.

331. The state needs soldiers, farmers, mechanics, officials, etc., and is concerned with their efficiency. Its attitude toward a large number of persons, whose existence as individuals has significance only in a narrow sphere, is, in general, far more that of supervision designed to prevent the harm they might do, than one of direct helpfulness. He who is able to render competent service receives preferment; the weaker has to give way to the stronger; the shortcomings of one are made good by another.

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332. The state applies its tests to what can be tested, to the outward side of conduct and of knowledge. It does not penetrate to the inner life. Teachers in public schools cannot penetrate much farther; they, too, are more concerned with the sum total of knowledge imparted by them, than with the individual and the way in which he relates his knowledge to himself.

333. To the family, however, no stranger can make up for what one of its members lacks; to the family the inner condition becomes so manifest, and is often felt so keenly, that the merely external does not satisfy. It is obvious, therefore, that moral education will always remain essentially a home task, and that the institutions of the state are to be resorted to for educative purposes only with a view to supplementing the home.

But on closer inspection it is found that family life is very often too busy, too full of care, or too noisy, for that rigor which is undeniably required both for instruction and for morality. Luxury and want alike harbor dangers for youth. Consequently families lean on the state for support more than they ought.

334. Private institutions as such do not possess the same motive power as either state or family, and are seldom able to make themselves independent of the comparisons to which they are exposed, because of the fact that they are expected in one case to take the place of the state schools, and in another that of the family.

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Nevertheless, sturdy minds which do not require the emulation obtaining in schools can be advanced more rapidly, and instruction adapted more easily to individual needs, than in public institutions. As for training, moreover, the evils that may spring from environment can be prevented more successfully than is possible in many families.

If the institutions in question could choose from among many teachers and many pupils, they might, under otherwise favorable circumstances, be able to achieve great results. But the fact of a picked set of pupils alone shows how little the whole need of education would be met. Besides, even those that were chosen would bring with them their earliest impressions; they would incline toward the social conditions for which they believe themselves to be destined; the faults of individuality (294 et seq.) would cling to them, unless such faults were recognized before the selection, and were avoided by exclusion.

335. As much as possible, then, education must return to the family. In many cases private tutors will be found to be indispensable. And of instructors excellently equipped as to scholarship, there will be the less lack, the better the work done by the gymnasia.

It must be noted, also, that instead of being the most difficult, the most advanced instruction is the easiest of all, because imparted with the least departure from the way in which it was received. People are therefore[320] mistaken when they assume that private tutors are capable of furnishing an equivalent only for the lowest classes in gymnasia. A far greater difficulty lies in the fact that even the most skilful and active tutor cannot give as many lessons as a school provides, and that accordingly more has to be left to the pupil’s own efforts. To be sure, this is exactly the mode of instruction which suits the bright student better than one that must accommodate itself to the many, and which on that account must progress but slowly.

336. But home education presupposes that sound pedagogical views have been arrived at in the home, and that their place is not occupied by absurd whims or half knowledge. (Niemeyer’s famous work, “The Principles of Education and of Instruction,” is intelligible to every educated person, and has been widely known for many years.)

337. The necessity of sound pedagogical knowledge in the home becomes all the more urgent where teachers, private or public, change frequently—whereby inequalities of instruction and treatment are introduced which need to be corrected.

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338. The school system and its relations to local authorities, on the one hand, and to the general government, on the other, form a vast and difficult subject involving not merely pedagogical principles, but also such aims as the maintenance of higher learning, the dissemination of useful information, and the practice of indispensable arts. In university lectures a few words on such topics suffice, since young men who accept a school position assume, at the same time, obligations which for a long time to come prescribe for them the path they must follow.

339. They must, in the first place, consider the character of the school in which they are to instruct. The school programme provides them with information concerning the scope of the curriculum, the established relations of the branches of instruction to one another, and the various stages in each subject. The teachers’ conference affords them an insight into multiplex relations to authorities, parents, and guardians, and to the pupils, also relations leading to coöperation, more or less perfect, on the part of the teachers. The whole of the[322] educational effort directed upon younger, intermediate, and older pupils is presented in one view; it is known also where the pupils come from, with what kind of preparation, and where as a rule they go upon leaving the school.

340. It must obviously make a vast difference whether pupils look forward to the university, or whether the gymnasium is filled with boys who do not intend to pursue higher studies; whether a burgher school sets a final examination to mark the stage of general culture to which the school is expected to advance the pupils, or whether the pupils enter and leave without well-defined reasons according to what seems best to their respective families; whether an elementary school is conducted merely as an institution preparing for gymnasia or burgher schools, or whether its course provides for the suitable education, during his whole boyhood, of the future artisan, etc.

The American school system possesses this great advantage over that of Germany,—it has an educational ladder planted in every elementary school upon which any child from any social class may mount as high as his ambition incites, or his means and ability permit. It is the only suitable system in a democracy, where opportunity should be open to all. Even to obtain greater perfection than the German school system has ever attained, a democratic nation cannot afford to impair its present organization, in so far[323] as it makes advancement possible to every aspiring soul.

341. In each case the official activity entered upon must adjust itself properly to the whole, the outlines of which are given. These determine the proportion and the subdivision of the store of learning to be kept ready for use, the degree of confidence to be shown to pupils as to knowledge already acquired, and the manner in which they are to be addressed. It is important that the teacher should appear before his class adequately prepared and with confident self-possession, that he should look about attentively at every one and make each pupil feel at once that it would not be easy for him to undertake anything without being noticed.

342. The questions to be put to the pupils need to be formulated clearly and concisely, and they must follow each other in easy sequence. The answers must be corrected and, when necessary, repeated, in order that all may hear them. No pause should be unduly prolonged; no explanation to the weaker pupil should be allowed to become oppressively tedious to the more advanced. Those who are at work at the moment must be assisted, but ought not to be disturbed by much interrupting talk. The current of thought is to be invited and accelerated in all, but not hurried, etc.

Such requirements instruction will meet with greater or less difficulty, according as classes are small or large and the inequality of pupils great or slight.

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