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modern pedagogy is, find an outlet for nature. And yet, when the situation arises wherein conflict between the private and universal self is ines capable, the private must be taught to yield. The man must be trained to the habit and strength to compel it to yield; he should be moulded to feel the joy of another and higher fulfillment of self in the very defeat of self. Self-sacrifice, duty, hardship, routine are realities in life; they are with us not only in certain grand crises of existence, but in a thousand and one trifles every day and almost every hour. I do not, under common sense, see of what else the moral conflict and hard moral lift consist. And yet, from the way in which so much of our nineteenth century pedagogy has interpreted the gospel of the "Return to Nature"-of freedom, spontaneity, and interest in education-these would seem to be things to be obviated. While as ready as any man to be dubbed an apostle of culture, I part company from the mere preachers of the pleasant. I believe education in large part to be through and even for self-sacrifice, hardship, obedience, discipline, mechanism, routine.

The just-named conditions of unfreedom, we might observe, come into the schoolroom in two ways. In part they are incidental to the carrying out of the educational program. More or less of mechanical division into grades and classes, courses of study, abstractly separate subjects, arbitrary times and seasons, more or less changing of teachers and fellow-pupils and schools, more or less in the way of interruptions and the thousand and one things we call accidents, there must always remain with us. In fact, the residue of it all will always be sufficient fully to justify the continuance of earnest efforts to overcome it. So far as it cannot be absolutely eliminated, the intelligent teacher will endeavor, to the extent that he can, to reconcile it with his purposes- he will transform his hindrances into opportunities, and make of precision, regularity, clear-cut distinction, change, intermission, etc., downright stimulants of interest and enthusiasm. For the rest, if some of these freedom-marring elements still remain over, the wise teacher will not be too distressed. He will not become a mediaeval worshipper of hardness; he will not countenance it needlessly, much less feel obliged to go far out of his way to find it; but seeing it inevitably in his path, will he not recognize that it is the very stuff of which a great part of real life is made? Real affairs do not wait upon our moods and pleasure: those of us who try to go on the æsthetic expectation that they will, know how little we do do. The dead lift is a living fact.

In part the factors of mechanics, routine, and pain come into the school because they are innately involved in education itself. You can't completely get rid of preliminary and instrumental studies, which are mere cold means to an end other than themselves. The boy who will not learn grammar, cannot know Latin. Of course, here again the educator must labor on to get rid of the old-time love of the dry and disagreeable. He may count upon it, that serious learning, like serious practical living and social adjustment, involves enough of the hard and unpleasant and remote without our making very special search after it. He will therefore strive, as far as in good sense he dare, outright to get rid of it; or where he cannot directly do this, he will try to transform it, by awakening an interest in it for itself through finding for it a meaning in the student's life in general; or, further still, he may frankly concede that a given study is only a means, but will try to help his pupil vividly appreciate that it is and how it is a means, and as such vital; or-last resource of all—he may to some extent legiti

mately attempt even to arouse an adventitious interest for it. But beyond this, he will remember that he has to do here only with an illustration of a phase of the real nature of things themselves, a phase which, if he is to train for the actual conditions and activities of the world and not for a mere kindergarten paradise of pleasant illusion, cannot be blinked and sentimentally dodged, but needs to be reckoned with as a positive and radical factor in effective education itself.

Evidently, we intend that culture shall include rigor and regard for the actual serious requirements of existence. But does not preparation for life involve something more than these generalities, however excellent they may be? What shall we say once more to the never-silenced grumble of the materialistic public that the youth, whether in the secondary or any other school, ought to be learning to make a living and to do actual ordinary things? Have we not here a demand fatally hostile to the liberal sort of training we have just been describing, and may not our liberal culture itself in a way be inimical to the prosaic practicality that fits a man for the world? Though this anxiety about a living should command the respect due it as born of the immemorial grim experience of the people, nevertheless our answer too must continue to be the old immemorial one, Man shall not live by bread alone." Especially in these days of the weakened authority of the Church must our schools be the shrines of idealism: it will be a dreary day for our civilization when we accept the motto that the whole end of life is to get a livelihood for ourselves and ours. China even has not unqualifiedly assented to that maxim. Moreover, it is not simply an ideal, but the unadorned truth that the man is more than the carpenter and the man's relations more than the carpenter's; so that the schoolmasters and mistresses who almost everywhere, at least in this land, have been struggling to keep our popular schools from sinking into mere institutes for the three R's and bookkeeping, have been waging a fight not only for idealism but for fact. And yet is there not some justice in the brusque retort of the people's elders, that for all that the man must live? Bread is the staff of life; and since it is the doom of the mass of men to earn their bread, why not provide for their education in the bread-studies before giving room to the studies that furnish only the desserts to life's banquet? Of course, our answer is, that the most effective way of earning your bread is to equip yourself to earn much more than your mere bread. An awakened mind, a disciplined will, ready sensibilities, and a trained eye and hand are indefinitely more to a boy or girl than any amount of mere knowledge of technical bookkeeping or blacksmithing, or cooking and sewing. Still, is this the sum of the whole matter? Is it the fact that simple intelligence in general necessarily makes the good bookkeeper, or that ability to throw the ball or put the shot trains the blacksmith's arm, or skill in picking out the shades on colored cards develops the milliner's peculiar taste? Quite obviously not. Accordingly, if the end of all education is wholeness of life, and the foundation of life is a living, why should not our schools, on behalf of the vast majority to whom the living can come only through their own making of it, provide the specific training that alone will make the making of the living possible? To be sure, it is a millennial notion to expect the schools to be able to give minute instruction in all the arts and trades; however, callings, as Professor Dewey has lately been so well pointing out, fall into typical groups. Why not, therefore, do at any rate as much as we can, by bunching our pupils together under one or the other

of these vocation-groups, according to their aptitudes and carefully observed tendencies, and instructing each as far on as possible along his proper line? The objection that of course recurs is the same one, that in spite of all, the man is more than his trade, that there is a wider knowledge and a wider human nature, and there are wider human relationships than those of mere craft and business, and that these must not be subordinated to any mere scheme of giving the man a trade: in the competition of studies in the common school, the so-called practical must yield to the more broadly human. I agree completely with this contention, and so far enroll myself with the idealists and professors against what is usually supposed to be the position of the hard-headed practical men and business-men. Indeed, it asks no profounder reason to bring one to agree here, than to point out that any defect of mere detail of technical knowledge is more easily made up out in the ordinary world, than is a deficiency of that inward education that makes for largeness of outlook and being. Does this alternative, though, of choosing between the mercenary and the culture-studies press so hard as we are commonly disposed to think it does? I cannot help feeling but that, with the best intentions, our teachers-more especially in the high schools—have been quite wrong-headed in this connection. On the one hand, perceiving instinctively the soul-killing drift of the gospel of naked utility, they have been impelled into a blind, wholesale reaction; while on the other hand, like all the rest of us, they have been traditionally given to separating the world of studies, as Professor Dewey puts it, into two regions, the high-toned and the vulgar; and the distinction has largely been based on whether or not the particular study had anything to do with ordinary life and affairs. Remoteness and aloofness have been supposed somehow to confer aristocracy upon studies as upon Now I am not ready to assert that all subjects are indifferently of equal culture-value; but I do hold that the differences have been greatly exaggerated. What is there about bookkeeping and banking or the use of machinist's tools that should make it impossible to make them play into general intellectual interest, general purpose, and even general human sentiment? Let us, besides, remember that man-and especially the child-man-is an imitative creature, and one living much in expectation, and that what he sees to imitate and what he expects to be and do, deeply stirs his interest - that motive power without whose eager response every endeavor to bring a man to selfhood is vain. But now what he sees about him to imitate, and what by the overpowering preponderance of obvious example he expects himself to be at, is precisely the common useful crafts and occupations. Our small boy, unless he is a hopeless little prig, does not play or look forward to being missionary or silver-tongued orator, but fireman and farmer. Everybody knows too the general success manual training has had in the schools with the children. The commonplace, practical subjects, it would appear, have even a certain advantage in the purely cultural aspect. I am not sure also but that the thought that the subjects are to help him earn a living will not have a certain leverage of arousing an interest in the student—an interest capable of being measurably exploited in a general cultural sense. Clearly, then, I can see no reason for not yielding to the practical fathers and mothers a large degree of what they want, the introduction of materially useful branches to a prominent place in the curriculum of all our preparatory schools higher or lower.


Only here come in the colleges with their demand. It need not trouble us just now that our colleges have ceased to be simple in their aims and requirements, having become a sort of hodge-podge of a maturer continuation of the same culture course pursued in the high schools, and a lot of preliminary or inchoate professional studies of the true university, that is, graduate and professional school type: for our purposes, their various distinctive demands on the more elementary schools are reducible to one, the demand for special scholastic knowledge. Now surely the preparation of men for college which itself is but the preparation of men for forms of leadership and activity in the community without which the community is largely blind and its very everyday work largely meaningless-is a legitimate and indispensable part of the business of the secondary school. But how are we going to get this function done, if we insist on introducing into the high school all manner of studies preparatory for the world? Shall we not end in utter bewilderment with every vestige of unity and simplicity of purpose vanished from our program? No doubt, the problem is a very real one, and not to be settled by any man off-hand. And no doubt that in its settlement numerous balancings and compromises must be made. In arriving at any solutions, however, two considerations ought to be weighed. First, have we not been traveling with rather exaggerated ideas of the amount of technical, special accumulation our boys and girls must be asked to bring with them to college? I may be disclosing myself as hopelessly unscholarly, but I frankly avow that my experience as a teacher has been that, even for advanced special work, the young man or woman who, though his technical preparation be quite deficient, yet is one who has come to himself, whose mind has been found out and his free interest stirred to movement, is indefinitely preferable to the person who has been thoroughly through the formal grind, but never has come into the intellectual possession of himself. I believe, too, that this is the regular experience of teachers. But we have seen that self-development is attainable through many other than the narrowly scholastic means. Why not, then, bravely act up to our convictions and the facts in this matter of college-entrance requirements? Still, the case is not all one way here either. The boy who has not ground his Latin grammar and prose cannot expect profitably to read Horace or Lucretius, just as he cannot work his analytical geometry if he knows nothing about common algebra. The course that looks to life and that which prepares for college are not identical. Each unavoidably has its special bias; and so we are obliged to face a second consideration, namely, whether, like the Europeans, we shall not be obliged to have two distinct courses in our secondary-school system. Our American democracy, with the constant shifting of social classes and the suddenness with which, almost in an hour, the fortunes and prospects of a child in this country may alter, of course precludes of our ever drawing any such invidious line of demarcation as exists in Germany between the folkschool and the gymnasium. There must be fairly free intercommunication, a reasonably easy transition from the popular to the college-preparing course, and vice versa. As we have been saying, a great share of the so-called practical studies should be accepted in a liberal spirit as meeting college requirements; while everybody but a rampant champion of the three-months-in-a-business-collegeand-then-into-business idea will concede that a very large portion of the more learned material has training-power of just the kind that even the plain people want. After this, what cleft remains between the college

preparing courses and the courses preparatory more directly for life, need, perhaps, not to be so hopelessly wider than that between the boy's studies and girl's studies which nevertheless manage to subsist side by side in the same school.

However, suppose that after all is said and done, there persists a remainder of conflict between the popular and the scholastic studies, between the interests of the many who are looking towards the world and the relatively few whose eye is turned in the direction of college? I am more loath to commit myself to an answer than from my way of putting the alternative might seem. I hardly know which to prefer, or more accurately, which to esteem less, a democracy which slights its provisions for the secure prosperity of the higher science, art, and philosophy, or an aristocracy of superior culture which pursues its own concerns in abstract detachment from the well-being of the mass. Nevertheless, if we are to hold to our faith in our democratic gospel that the provision for the great majority at even a lower level is in the long-run better for society than the provision at a high level for the minority, we must, I suppose, decide that the sacrifice must be in the direction of the interest of the smaller number. In the ordinary American high school, Greek and even Latin must be prepared to take a back seat as against United States history and hygiene; and it behooves the professors of these and kindred subjects obviously for the benefit of the select college-going remnant, to ask themselves whether even now the time has not arrived for, say, such a concession to democratic prejudice as providing for beginning-classes within the college course itself, ideally or even pedagogically unsatisfactory as this, from every other point of view, may be.


A great deal of the tendency still survives among us to identify outright the scholastic, technically learned studies with the culture studies. This tendency partly springs from the natural error of confusing that which is an occupation of the few select, with what is itself select; but more particularly does it arise from tradition. First of all, it is a remnant of medievalism among us. In the Middle Ages, culture - if we may use the word in the connection-implied, not the modern pursuit of self-realization, but the literal gospel of self-renunciation. Even the moderate maxims of the time call, in all things, for humility and obedience to authority. striving everywhere is to exhibit the spirit submissively receptive, disciplined, mortified; and these things are what constitutes mundane culture —if such a thing may be said to exist at all for an era to which the soul's proper being lies only in a blessed vision of the Beyond. For such an age, clearly, there can, in the training of the mind, be no harm but only virtue in reducing study to mere vigils of memory and painful persistence backed by literal physical fast and flagellation; just as for it the baldest, most formal grammar, rhetoric, logic, or arithmetic are genuine culture-studies; because for it the relation of studies to interest and the free natural life of the spirit is a matter only of negative concern. For such an age, clearly, culture can be only an external thing. When the Renaissance appeared, it is true it changed men's mood and reinstated the ideal of self-development; so that no longer could culture be submerged in the sapless learning that to this day is called scholastic. Nevertheless the new ideal of culture was obliged to be largely reminiscent-its best stimulus and suggestions were to be found back in ancient Greece and Rome. Therefore bare learning, though it ceased to have a cultural virtue in itself, became emphatically the

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