{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_20555/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_20555","id":"gutenberg_20555","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/20555","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Category: Teaching & Education","Education"],"text":"Produced by R. Cedron, Andrew Sly and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nWHAT IS AND WHAT\nMIGHT BE\n\nA STUDY OF EDUCATION IN GENERAL AND\nELEMENTARY EDUCATION IN PARTICULAR\n\nBY\n\nEDMOND HOLMES\n\nAUTHOR OF\n\"THE CREED OF CHRIST,\" \"THE CREED OF BUDDHA,\" \"THE SILENCE\nOF LOVE,\" \"THE TRIUMPH OF LOVE,\" ETC.\n\n\nLONDON\nCONSTABLE & COMPANY\n1912\n\n\n  First published, May 1911.\n  Second impression, July 1911.\n  Third impression, September 1911.\n  Fourth impression, November 1911.\n  Fifth impression, January 1912.\n  Sixth impression, October 1912.\n\n\n+----------------------------------------------------------------------+\n|Transcriber's note: Obvious printer errors have been corrected. All   |\n|other inconstancies in spelling or punctuation are as in the original.|\n+----------------------------------------------------------------------+\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nMy aim, in writing this book, is to show that the _externalism_ of\nthe West, the prevalent tendency to pay undue regard to outward and\nvisible \"results\" and to neglect what is inward and vital, is the\nsource of most of the defects that vitiate Education in this country,\nand therefore that the only remedy for those defects is the drastic\none of changing our standard of reality and our conception of the\nmeaning and value of life. My reason for making a special study of\nthat branch of education which is known as \"Elementary,\" is that I\nhappen to have a more intimate knowledge of it than of any other\nbranch, the inside of an elementary school being so familiar to me\nthat I can in some degree bring the eye of experience to bear upon\nthe problems that confront its teachers. I do not for a moment\nimagine that the elementary school teacher is more deeply tainted\nthan his fellows with the virus of \"Occidentalism.\" Nor do I think\nthat the defects of his schools are graver than those of other\neducational institutions. In my judgment they are less grave because,\nthough perhaps more glaring, they have not had time to become so\ndeeply rooted, and are therefore, one may surmise, less difficult to\neradicate. Also there is at least a breath of healthy discontent\nstirring in the field of elementary education, a breath which\nsometimes blows the mist away and gives us sudden gleams of sunshine,\nwhereas over the higher levels of the educational world there hangs\nthe heavy stupor of profound self-satisfaction.[1] I am not\nexaggerating when I say that at this moment there are elementary\nschools in England in which the life of the children is emancipative\nand educative to an extent which is unsurpassed, and perhaps\nunequalled, in any other type or grade of school.\n\nI am careful to say all this because I foresee that, without a\n\"foreword\" of explanation, my adverse criticism of what I have called\n\"a familiar type of school\" may be construed into an attack on the\nelementary teachers as a body. I should be very sorry if such a\nconstruction were put upon it. No one knows better than I do that the\nelementary teachers of this country are the victims of a vicious\nconception of education which has behind it twenty centuries of\ntradition and prescription, and the malign influence of which was\nintensified in their case by thirty years or more[2] of Code\ndespotism and \"payment by results.\" Handicapped as they have been by\nthis and other adverse conditions, they have yet produced a noble\nband of pioneers, to whom I, for one, owe what little I know about\nthe inner meaning of education; and if I take an unduly high\nstandard in judging of their work, the reason is that they\nthemselves, by the brilliance of their isolated achievements, have\ncompelled me to take it. I will therefore ask them to bear with me,\nwhile I expose with almost brutal candour the shortcomings of many of\ntheir schools. They will understand that all the time I am thinking\nof education in general even more than of elementary education,\nand using my knowledge of the latter to illustrate statements and\narguments which are really intended to tell against the former. They\nwill also understand that at the back of my mind I am laying the\nblame of their failures, not on them but on the hostile forces which\nhave been too strong for many of them,--on the false assumptions of\nWestern philosophy, on the false standards and false ideals of\nWestern civilisation, on various \"old, unhappy, far-off things,\" the\neffects of which are still with us, foremost among these being that\ndeadly system of \"payment by results\" which seems to have been\ndevised for the express purpose of arresting growth and strangling\nlife, which bound us all, myself included, with links of iron, and\nwhich had many zealous agents, of whom I, alas! was one.\n\n\n\n\n\nPART I\n\nWHAT IS\n\nOR\n\nTHE PATH OF MECHANICAL OBEDIENCE\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nSALVATION THROUGH MECHANICAL OBEDIENCE\n\n\nThe function of education is to foster growth. By some of my readers\nthis statement will be regarded as a truism; by others as a\nchallenge; by others, again, when they have realised its inner\nmeaning, as a \"wicked heresy.\" I will begin by assuming that it is\na truism, and will then try to prove that it is true.\n\nThe function of education is to foster growth. The end which\nthe teacher should set before himself is the development of\nthe latent powers of his pupils, the unfolding of their latent\nlife. If growth is to be fostered, two things must be liberally\nprovided,--nourishment and exercise. On the need for nourishment I\nneed not insist. The need for exercise is perhaps less obvious, but\nis certainly not less urgent. We make our limbs, our organs, our\nsenses, our faculties grow by exercising them. When they have reached\ntheir maximum of development we maintain them at that level by\nexercising them. When their capacity for growth is unlimited, as in\nthe case of our mental and spiritual faculties, the need for exercise\nis still more urgent. To neglect to exercise a given limb, or organ,\nor sense, or faculty, would result in its becoming weak, flabby, and\nin the last resort useless. In childhood, when the stress of\nNature's expansive forces is strongest, the neglect of exercise will,\nfor obvious reasons, have most serious consequences. If a healthy\nchild were kept in bed during the second and third years of his life,\nthe damage done to his whole body would be incalculable.\n\nThese are glaring truisms. Let me perpetrate one more,--one which is\nperhaps the most glaring of all. The process of growing must be done\nby the growing organism, by the child, let us say, and by no one\nelse. The child himself must take in and assimilate the nourishment\nthat is provided for him. The child himself must exercise his organs\nand faculties. The one thing which no one may ever delegate to\nanother is the business of growing. To watch another person eating\nwill not nourish one's own body. To watch another person using his\nlimbs will not strengthen one's own. The forces that make for the\nchild's growth come from within himself; and it is for him, and him\nalone, to feed them, use them, evolve them.\n\nAll this is--\n\n  \"As true as truth's simplicity,\n  And simpler than the infancy of truth.\"\n\nBut it sometimes happens that what is most palpable is least\nperceptible; and perhaps it is because the truth of what I say is\nself-evident and indisputable, that in many Elementary Schools in\nthis country the education given seems to be based on the assumption\nthat my \"truisms\" are absolutely false. In such schools the one end\nand aim of the teacher is to do everything for the child;--to feed\nhim with semi-digested food; to hold him by the hand, or rather by\nboth shoulders, when he tries to walk or run; to keep him under close\nand constant supervision; to tell him in precise detail what he is to\nthink, to feel, to say, to wish, to do; to show him in precise detail\nhow he is to do whatever may have to be done; to lay thin veneers of\ninformation on the surface of his mind; never to allow him a minute\nfor independent study; never to trust him with a handbook, a\nnote-book, or a sketch-book; in fine, to do all that lies in his\npower to prevent the child from doing anything whatever for himself.\nThe result is that the various vital faculties which education might\nbe supposed to train become irretrievably starved and stunted in the\nover-educated school child; till at last, when the time comes for him\nto leave the school in which he has been so sedulously cared for, he\nis too often thrown out upon the world, helpless, listless,\nresourceless, without a single interest, without a single purpose in\nlife.\n\nThe contrast between elementary education as it too often is, and as\nit ought to be if the truth of my \"truisms\" were widely accepted, is\nso startling that in my desire to account for it I have had recourse\nto a paradox. \"Trop de verite,\" says Pascal, \"nous etonne: les\npremiers principes ont trop d'evidence pour nous.\" I have suggested\nthat the inability of so many teachers to live up to the spirit, or\neven to the letter, of my primary \"truism,\" may be due to its having\ntoo much evidence for them, to their being blinded by the naked light\nof its truth.\n\nBut there may be another explanation of the singular fact that a\ntheory of education to which the teacher would assent without\nhesitation if it were submitted to his consciousness, counts for\nnothing in the daily routine of his work. Failure to carry an\naccepted principle into practice is sometimes due to the fact that\nthe principle has not really been accepted; that its inner meaning\nhas not been apprehended; that assent has been given to a formula\nrather than a truth. The cause of the failure may indeed lie deeper\nthan this. It may be that the nominal adherents of the principle are\nin secret revolt against the vital truth that is at the heart of it;\nthat they repudiate it in practice because they have already\nrepudiated it in the inner recesses of their thought. \"This people\ndraweth nigh unto me with their mouth, and honoureth me with their\nlips; but their heart is far from me.\" Tell the teacher that the\nfunction of education is to foster growth; that therefore it is his\nbusiness to develop the latent faculties of his pupils; and that\ntherefore (since growth presupposes exercise) he must allow his\npupils to do as much as possible by and for themselves,--place these\npropositions before him, and the chances are that he will say \"Amen\"\nto them. But that lip assent will count for nothing. One's life is\ngoverned by instinct rather than logic. To give a lip assent to the\nlogical inferences from an accepted principle is one thing. To give a\n_real_ assent to the essential truth that underlies and animates the\nprinciple is another. The way in which the teacher too often conducts\nhis school leads one to infer that the intuitive, instinctive side of\nhim--the side that is nearest to practice--has somehow or other held\nintercourse with the inner meaning of that \"truism\" which he repeats\nso glibly, and has rejected it as antagonistic to the traditional\nassumptions on which he bases his life. Or perhaps this work of\nsubconscious criticism and rejection has been and is being done for\nhim, either by the spirit of the age to which he belongs or by the\ngenius of the land in which he lives.\n\nWhy is the teacher so ready to do everything (or nearly everything)\nfor the children whom he professes to educate? One obvious answer to\nthis question is that for a third of a century (1862-1895) the\n\"Education Department\" did everything (or nearly everything) for him.\nFor a third of a century \"My Lords\" required their inspectors to\nexamine every child in every elementary school in England on a\nsyllabus which was binding on all schools alike. In doing this, they\nput a bit into the mouth of the teacher and drove him, at their\npleasure, in this direction and that. And what they did to him they\ncompelled him to do to the child.\n\nSo far as the action of the \"Education Department\" was concerned,\nthis policy was abandoned--in large measure, if not wholly--in 1895;\nbut its consequences are with us still. What conception of the\nmeaning and purpose of education could have induced \"My Lords\" to\nadopt such a policy, and, having adopted it, to adhere to it for more\nthan thirty years? Had one asked \"My Lords\" at any time during those\nthirty years what they regarded as the true function of education,\nand had one suggested to them (as they had probably never turned\ntheir minds to the question) that the function of education was to\nfoster the growth of the child, they might possibly have given an\nindolent assent to that proposition. But their educational policy\nmust have been dictated by some widely different conception. They\nmust have believed that the mental progress of the child--the only\naspect of progress which concerned educationalists in those\ndays--would best be tested by a formal examination on a prescribed\nsyllabus, and would best be secured by preparation for such a test;\nand they must have accepted, perhaps without the consent of their\nconsciousness, whatever theory of education may be implicit in that\nbelief.\n\nIn acting as they did, \"My Lords\" fell into line with the\nUniversities, the Public Schools, the Preparatory Schools, the Civil\nService Commissioners, the Professional Societies, and (to make a\ngeneral statement) with all the \"Boards\" and \"Bodies\" that\ncontrolled, directly or indirectly, the education of the youth of\nEngland. We must, therefore, widen the scope of our inquiry, and\ncarry our search for cause a step farther back. How did the belief\nthat a formal examination is a worthy end for teacher and child to\naim at, and an adequate test of success in teaching and in learning,\ncome to establish itself in this country? And not in this country\nonly, but in the whole Western world? In every Western country that\nis progressive and \"up to date,\" and in every Western country in\nexact proportion as it is progressive and \"up to date,\" the\nexamination system controls education, and in doing so arrests the\nself-development of the child, and therefore strangles his inward\ngrowth.\n\nWhat is the explanation of this significant fact? In my attempt to\naccount for the failure of elementary education in England to foster\nthe growth of the educated child, I have travelled far. But I\nmust travel farther yet. The Western belief in the efficacy\nof examinations is a symptom of a widespread and deep-seated\ntendency,--the tendency to judge according to the appearance of\nthings, to attach supreme importance to visible \"results,\" to measure\ninward worth by outward standards, to estimate progress in terms of\nwhat the \"world\" reveres as \"success.\" It is the Western standard of\nvalues, the Western way of looking at things, which is in question,\nand which I must now attempt to determine.\n\nThat I should have to undertake this task is a proof of the\ncomplexity of education, of the bewildering tanglement of its\nroot-system, of the depths to which some of its roots descend into\nthe subsoil of human-life. The defect in our system of education\nwhich I am trying to diagnose is one which the \"business man,\" who\nmay have had reason to complain of the output of our elementary\nschools, will probably account for in one sentence and propound a\nremedy for in another. But I, who know enough about education to\nrealise how little is or can be known about it, find that if I am to\nunderstand why so many schools turn out helpless and resourceless\nchildren, I must go back to the first principles of modern\ncivilisation, or in other words to the cardinal axioms of the\nphilosophy of the West.\n\nThis does not mean that I must make a systematic study of Western\nmetaphysics. Professional thinkers abound in the West; but the rank\nand file of the people pay little heed to them. It is true that they\ntake themselves very seriously; but so does every clique of experts\nand connoisseurs. The indirect influence of their theories has at\ntimes been considerable; but their direct influence on human thought\nis, and has always been, very slight. For the plain average man, who\ncannot rid himself of the suspicion that the professional thinker is\na professional word-juggler, has a philosophy of his own which was\nformulated for him by an unphilosophical people, and which, though it\nis now beginning to fail him, was once sufficient for all his needs.\n\nAt the present moment there are two schools of popular thought in the\nWest. For many centuries there was only one. For many centuries men\nwere content to believe that the outward and visible world--the world\nof their normal experience--was the all of Nature. But they were not\ncontent to believe that it was the \"all of Being.\" The latter\nconception would have said \"No\" to certain desires of the heart which\nrefuse to be negatived,--desires which are as large and lofty as they\nare pure and deep: and in order to provide a refuge for these,\nmen added to their belief in a natural world which was bounded\nby the horizon of experience (as they understood the word), the\ncomplementary belief in a world which transcended the limits of\nexperience, and in which the dreams and hopes for which Nature could\nmake no provision might somehow or other be realised and fulfilled.\nWith the development of physical science, the conception of the\nSupernatural has become discredited, and a materialistic monism has\nbegun to dispute the supremacy of that dualistic philosophy which had\nreigned without a rival for many hundreds of years. But antagonistic\nas these philosophies are to one another, they have one conception in\ncommon. The popular belief that the world of man's normal experience\nis the Alpha and Omega of _Nature_, is the very platform on which\ntheir controversies are carried on. Were any one to suggest to them\nthat this belief was without foundation, that there was room and to\nspare in Nature for the \"supernatural\" as well as for the normal,\nthat the supernatural world (as it had long been miscalled) was\nnothing more nor less than \"la continuation occulte de la Nature\ninfinie,\"--they would at once unite their forces against him, and\nassail him with an even bitterer hatred than that which animates them\nin their own intestine strife.\n\nThe dualistic philosophy which satisfied the needs of the West for\nsome fifteen centuries was systematised and formulated for it, in the\nlanguage of myth and poetry, by an Eastern people. The acceptance of\nofficial Christianity by the Graeco-Roman world was the result of\nmany causes, two of which stand out as central and supreme. The first\nof these was the personal magnetism of Christ, in and through which\nmen came in contact with, and responded to, the attractive forces of\nthose moral and spiritual ideas which Christ set before his\nfollowers. The second was the readiness of the Western mind to accept\nthe philosophy of Israel,--a philosophy with the master principles of\nwhich it had long been subconsciously familiar, and for the clear and\nconvincing presentation of which it had long been waiting. Of the\npersonal magnetism of Christ and the part that it has played in the\nlife of Christendom, I need not now speak. My present concern is to\nshow how the philosophy of Israel--accepted nominally for Christ's\nsake, but really for its own--has influenced the educational policy\nof the West.\n\nIn the Old Testament the Western mind found itself face to face with\nthe philosophical theories--theories about the world and its origin,\nabout Man and his destiny, about conduct and its consequences--to\nwhich its own mythologies had given inadequate expression, but which\nthe poetical genius of a practical people was able to formulate to\nthe satisfaction of a practical world. In the philosophy of Israel\n\"Nature\" was conceived of, not as animated by an indwelling life or\nsoul, but as the handiwork of an omnipotent God. In six days--so runs\nthe story--\"God created the heavens and the earth.\" Whether by the\nword which we translate as \"days\" were meant terrestrial days or\ncosmic ages matters nothing, for in either case the broad fact\nremains that according to the Biblical narrative the work of creation\noccupied a definite period of time, and that on a certain day in the\nremote past the Creator rested from his labours, surveyed his\nhandiwork, and pronounced it to be very good.\n\nHis next step was to stand aside from the world that he had made,\nleave it to its own devices and see how it would behave itself in the\nperson of its lord and his viceroy,--Man. That the Creator should\nplace Creation on its trial and that it should speedily misbehave\nitself, may be said to have been preordained. The idea of a Creator\npostulates the further idea of a Fall. The finished work of an\nomnipotent Creator is presumably good,--good in this sense, if in\nno other, that its actualities must needs determine the creature's\nideals and standards of good. But the world, as Man knows it, seems\nto be deeply tainted with evil. How is this anomaly to be accounted\nfor? The story of the Fall is the answer to this question. Whether\nmodern theology regards the story of the Fall as literally or only as\nsymbolically true, I cannot say for certain. The question is of minor\nimportance. What is of supreme importance is that Christian theology\naccepts and has always accepted the consequences of the _idea_ of the\nFall, and that in formulating those consequences it has provided the\npopular thought of the West with conceptions by which its whole\noutlook on life has been, and is still, determined and controlled.\n\nThe idea of the Fall, as dramatised by Israel and interpreted by the\n\"Doctors\" of the West, gives adequate expression--on the highest\nlevel of his thinking--to the crude dualism which constitutes the\nphilosophy of the average man. Hence the immense attractiveness of\nthe idea to the practical races of the West,--to peoples whose chief\nidea is to get their mental problems solved for them as speedily, as\nauthoritatively, and as intelligibly as possible, that they may thus\nbe free to devote themselves to \"business,\" to the tangible affairs\nof life.\n\nLet us follow the philosophy of the Fall into some of its more\nobvious consequences. The Universe (to use the most comprehensive\nof all terms) is conceived of as divided into two dissevered\nworlds,--the world of Nature, which is fallen, ruined, and accursed,\nand the Supernatural world, which shares in the perfection and\ncentres in the glory of God. Between these two worlds intercourse is,\n_in the nature of things_, impossible. But Man is not content that\nhis state of godless isolation should endure for ever. As a thinker,\nhe has exiled God from Nature and therefore from his own daily life.\nBut, as a \"living soul,\" he craves for reunion with God; and so long\nas the gulf between the two worlds remains impassable, his philosophy\nwill be felt to be incomplete. A supplementary theory of things must\ntherefore be devised. Corrupt and fallen as he is, Man cannot hope\nto climb to Heaven; but God, with whom nothing is impossible, can at\nhis own good pleasure come down to earth. And come he will, whenever\nthat sense of all-pervading imperfection which exiled him, in its\npremature attempt to explain itself, to his supernatural Heaven, is\nrealised in man's heart as a desire for better things. But what will\nbe the signs of his advent? The philosophy of the Fall is at no loss\nfor an answer to this question. There was a time when Nature was\nthe mirror of God's face. But it is so no longer. The mirror was\nshattered when Adam fell. Henceforth it is only by troubling the\nwaters of Nature, by suspending the operation of its laws, by turning\nits order into confusion, by producing _supernatural_ phenomena, or\n\"miracles\" as they are vulgarly called, that God can announce his\npresence to Man.\n\nThe question of the miraculous is one into which we need not enter.\nLet us assume that God can somehow or other come to Man, and that\nMan can somehow or other recognise God's presence and interpret his\nspeech. We have now to ask ourselves one vital question. With what\npurpose does God visit the world which has forfeited his favour, and\nwhat does he propose to do for ruined Nature and fallen Man? For\nNature, nothing. For Man, to provide a way of escape from Nature.\nThe dualism of popular thought must needs control the very efforts\nthat men make to deliver themselves from its consequences. The\nirremediable corruption of Man's _nature_ is the assumption on which\nthe whole scheme of salvation is to be hinged. His deliverance from\nsin and death will be effected, not by the development of any natural\ncapacity for good, but by his being induced to quit the path (or\npaths) of Nature, and to walk, under Divine direction, in some new\nand narrow path.\n\nBut how will this end be achieved? That Man cannot discover the path\nof salvation for himself will, of course, be taken for granted. The\ncatastrophe of the Fall has corrupted his whole nature, and has\ntherefore blinded him to the light of truth. \"The way of man is not\nin himself: it is not in man that walketh to direct his steps.\" The\npromptings of his own nature, which he would follow if left to\nhimself, can do nothing but lead him astray. It will also be taken\nfor granted that the path of salvation is a path of action. When the\nwhole inward disposition is hopelessly corrupt, the idea of achieving\nsalvation by growing, by bringing one's hidden life to the perfection\nof maturity, must perforce be abandoned. It is only by _doing_ God's\nwill that Man can hope to regain his favour. One thing, then, is\nclear. Man must be told in exact detail what he is to do and also\n(should this be necessary) how he is to do it. In other words, an\nelaborate Code of Law, covering the whole range of human life and\nregulating all the details of conduct, must be delivered by God to\nMan. If Man will obey this Law he will be saved. If he will not obey\nit, he will be lost.\n\nThere is another aspect of the idea of a supernatural revelation on\nwhich it is necessary to touch. As intercourse between Nature and the\nSupernatural world takes place, not in the natural order of things\nbut at the good pleasure of the Supernatural God, revelation must\nneeds be conceived of as a highly-specialised process. A revelation\nwhich was addressed to the whole human race, and to which the whole\nhuman race was able to respond, could scarcely be regarded as of\nsupernatural origin. The distinction between the supernaturalness of\nthe appeal and the naturalness of the response would gradually tend\nto efface itself: for \"what is universal is natural,\" and the voice\nwhich every man was able to recognise would come at last to be\nregarded as a voice from within oneself. If the supernatural\ncharacter of an alleged revelation is to be established, its\nuniqueness must be duly emphasised. A particular people must be\nchosen for the purpose of the divine experiment. A particular\nlaw-giver must be commissioned to declare to the chosen people the\nwill of the Supernatural God. And from time to time a particular\nprophet must be sent to rebuke the chosen people for its\nbackslidings, to show it where it has gone astray, and to exhort\nit to turn again to its God.\n\n For if it is far from Man to discern good, it is still farther from\nhim to desire it. How, then, shall he be induced to walk in the path\nwhich the Law has prescribed for him? To this question there can be\nbut one answer: By the promise of external reward, and the threat of\nexternal punishment. To set before Man an ideal of life--an ideal\nwhich would be to him an unfailing fountain of magnetic force and\nguiding light--is not in the power of legalism. For if an ideal is\nto appeal to one, it must be the consummation of one's own natural\ntendencies; but the current of Man's natural tendencies is ever\nsetting towards perdition, and the vanishing point of his heart's\ndesires is death. Were an ideal revealed to the Law-giver and by him\npresented to his fellow-men, and were the heart of Man to respond\nto the appeal that it made to him, the basic assumption of\nlegalism--that of the corruption of Man's nature--would be\nundermined; for Man would have proved that it belonged to his nature\nto turn towards the light,--in other words, that he had a natural\ncapacity for good. The plain truth is that legalism is precluded, by\nits own first principles from appealing to any motive higher than\nthat instinctive desire for pleasure which has as its counterpart a\nquasi-physical fear of pain. It is impossible for the lawgiver to\nappeal to Man's better nature, to say to him: \"Cannot you see for\nyourself that this course of action is better than that,--that love\nis better than hatred, mercy than cruelty, loyalty than treachery,\ncontinence than self-indulgence?\" What he can and must say to him is\nthis, and this only; \"If you obey the Law you will be rewarded. If\nyou disobey it you will be punished.\" And this he must say to him\nagain and again.\n\nIt is true that among the many commandments which the Law sets before\nits votaries, there are some--the moral commandments, properly so\ncalled--which do in point of fact, and in defiance of the\nphilosophical assumption of legalism, appeal to the better nature\nof Man. But these are at best an insignificant minority; and their\nrelative importance will necessarily diminish with the development\ninto its natural consequences of the root idea of legalism. For\nlegalism, just so far as it is strong, sincere, and self-confident,\nwill try to cover the whole of human life. The religion that is\ncontent to do less than this, the religion that acquiesces in the\ndistinction between what is religious and what is secular, is, as we\nshall presently see, a religion in decay. Religion may perhaps be\ndefined as Man's instinctive effort to bring a central aim into his\nlife and so provide himself with an authoritative standard of values.\nIn its highest and purest form, Religion controls Man's life, both as\na whole and in all its essential details, through the central aim or\nspiritual ideal which it sets before him and the consequent standard\nof values with which it equips him. But legalism is debarred by its\ndistrust of human nature from trying to control the details of life\nthrough any central aim or ideal; and its assumption that all the\ncommandments of the Law are of divine origin, and therefore equally\nbinding upon Man, is obviously incompatible with the conception of\na standard of moral worth. Its attempt to cover the whole of life\nmust therefore resolve itself into an attempt to control the details\nof conduct _in all their detail_; to deal with them, one by one,\nbringing each in turn under the operation of an appropriate\ncommandment, and if necessary deducing from the commandment a special\nrule to meet the special case. In other words, besides being told\nwhat he is not to do (in the more strictly moral sphere of conduct),\nand what he is to do (in the more strictly ceremonial sphere), Man\nmust be told, in the fullest detail, how he is to do whatever may\nhave to be done in the daily round of his life. Such at least is the\naim of legalism. The nets of the Law are woven fine, and flung far\nand wide. If there are any acts in a man's life which escape through\ntheir clinging meshes, the force of Nature is to be blamed for this\npartial failure, not the zeal of the Doctors of the Law.\n\nIt is towards this inverted ideal that the doctrine of salvation\nthrough obedience will lead its votaries, when its master\nprinciple--that of distrust of human nature--has been followed out\ninto all its natural consequences,--followed out, as it was by\nPharisaism, with a fearless logic and a fixed tenacity of purpose.\nAn immense and ever-growing host of formulated rules, not one in a\nhundred of which makes any appeal to the heart of Man or has any\nmeaning for his higher reason, will crush his life down, slowly and\ninexorably, beneath their deadly burden. \"At every step, at the work\nof his calling, at prayer, at meals, at home and abroad, from early\nmorning till late in the evening, from youth to old age, the dead,\nthe deadening formula\"[3] will await him. The path of obedience\nfor the sake of obedience speedily degenerates into the path of\nmechanical obedience; and the end of that path is the triumph of\nmachinery over life.\n\nFor it is to the letter of the Law, rather than to the spirit, that\nthe strict legalist is bound to conform. The letter of the Law is\ndivine; and obedience to it is within the power of every man who will\ntake the trouble to learn its commandments. What the spirit of the\nLaw may be, is beyond the power of fallen Man to determine; and were\nan attempt made to interpret it, the result would be a state of\nwidespread moral chaos, for there would be as many interpretations of\nit as there were minds that had the courage and the initiative to\nundertake so audacious a task. As it is with the Law as such, so it\nis with each of its numerous commandments. The man who professes to\nobey the spirit of a commandment is in secret revolt against its\ndivine authority. For he is presuming to criticise it in the light\nof his own conscience and insight, and to limit his obedience to it\nto that particular aspect of it which he judges to be worthy of his\ndevotion. From such a criticism of the Fourth Commandment as \"the\nSabbath is made for man, not man for the Sabbath\" to open violation\nof the letter of the commandment (on this occasion or on that) there\nis but a single step. The whole structure of legalism would collapse\nif men were allowed to absolve themselves from obedience to the\nletter of the Law, out of regard for what they conceived to be its\nspirit. To interpret a commandment, in the sense of providing for its\napplication to the fresh cases that may arise for treatment, is the\nwork, not of poets and prophets but of Doctors and Scribes. The path\nof literal, and therefore of mechanical, obedience is the only path\nof safety; and the more punctiliously the letter is obeyed, the more\nperfect will be the machinery of salvation, and the nearer will\nlegalism get to the appointed goal of its labours,--the extinction\nof spiritual life.\n\nAs is the life that legalism expects us to lead, so is the scheme of\nrewards and punishments by which (as we have already seen) it\nconstrains us to lead it. The materialisation of life that takes\nplace under the sway of the Law is accurately matched and measured by\nthe materialisation of the doctrine of moral retribution. The general\nidea that virtue is rewarded and vice punished is profoundly true.\nBut the idea is easily misinterpreted; and it necessarily shares in\nthe degradation of one's general conception of life. Virtue rewards\nthe virtuous by making them more virtuous. Vice punishes the vicious\nby making them more vicious. So long as the rewards for which we hope\nand the punishments which we dread are conceived of as inward and\nspiritual, we are on safe ground. But such a scheme of rewards and\npunishments is wholly foreign to the genius of supernaturalism. It\nis not by becoming more virtuous that we are saved. It is not by\nbecoming more vicious that we are lost. We are saved by obedience,\nwe are lost by disobedience, to the formulated rules of a\ndivinely-delivered law. To appeal to Man's higher self, when there is\nno higher self to appeal to,--to set before him as the supreme reward\nof virtue the development of his better nature, when his nature is\nintrinsically evil,--would be an obvious waste of labour. And as,\napart from the presumed repugnance of the \"natural man\" to the\npresumed delights of the Law, the intrinsic attractiveness of the\nlife that legalism prescribes must needs diminish in exact proportion\nas the authority of the Law becomes oppressive and vexatious, and the\nletter of it tends to establish itself at the expense of the\nspirit,--it is clear that a scheme of rewards and punishments will\nbecome, in effect as well as in theory, the only weapon in the\narmoury of the legalist. It is also clear that there will be much\nwork for that one weapon to do. The central tendencies of Man's\nnature, besides being _ex hypothesi_ evil, are antagonistic _de\nfacto_ to the galling despotism and the irrational requirements of\nthe Law; and the lawgiver, far from being able to enlist those\ntendencies under his banner by appealing to the highest of them--the\nnatural leaders of the rest,--must be prepared to overcome their\ncollective resistance by winning to his side the lowest of them, by\nterrifying Man's weaker self with threats, by corrupting his baser\nself with bribes. The ruin of Man's nature, whether hypothetical or\nactual,[4] has left intact (or relatively intact) only the animal\nbase of it. It is to his animal instincts, then, that legalism must\nappeal in its endeavour to influence his conduct. In other words, the\npunishments and the rewards to which Man is to look forward must be\nof the same _genus_, if not of the same _species_, as the lash of\nthe whip that punishes the lagging race-horse, or the lump of sugar\nthat rewards his exertions. And with the inevitable growth of egoism\nand individualism in the demoralising atmosphere with which legalism\n(and its lineal successors) must needs invest human life, Man's\nconception of the rewards and punishments that await him will\ndeteriorate rather than improve. The Jewish desire for national\nprosperity was an immeasurably nobler motive to action than is the\nChristian's fear of the quasi-material fires of Hell. Indeed it is\nnothing but our familiarity with the latter motive that has blinded\nus to its inherent baseness. It is no exaggeration to say that there\nhave been epochs in the history of Christendom (as there are still\nquarters of Christian thought and phases of Christian faith) in which\nthe trumpet-call that was meant to rouse the soldiers of God to\nrenewed exertion has rung in their ears as an ignominious \"_sauve qui\npeut_.\"\n\nThe tendency of legalism to externalise life has another aspect. In\nthe eyes of the strict legalist there is no such thing as an inward\nstate of human worth. The doctrine of the corruption of Man's nature\nis incompatible with the idea of \"goodness\" being measurable\n(potentially if not actually) in terms of the health and happiness\nof the \"inward man.\" Goodness, as the legalist conceives it, is\nmeasurable in terms of correctness of outward conduct, and of that\nonly. And when life is regulated by an elaborate Law, the rules of\nwhich are familiar to all men, there is no reason why a man's outward\nconduct should not be appraised, with some approach to accuracy, by\nhis neighbours and friends. Hence it is that in the atmosphere of\nlegalism an excessive deference is wont to be paid to public, and\neven to parochial, opinion. The life of the votary of the Law is\nlived under strict and constant _surveillance_; and a man learns\nat last to value himself as his conduct is valued by a critical\nonlooker, and to make it the business of his life to produce\n\"results\" which can be weighed and measured by conventional\nstandards, rather than to grow in grace,--with silent, subtle,\nunobtrusive growth.\n\nWere I to try to prove that the _regime_ of the Law was necessarily\nfatal to the development of Man's higher faculties--conscience,\nfreedom, reason, imagination, intuition, aspiration, and the rest--I\nshould waste my time. Legalism, as a scheme of life, is based on the\nassumption that development along the lines of Man's nature is a\nmovement towards perdition; and to reproach the legalist for having\narrested the growth of the human spirit by the pressure of the Law\nwere to provoke the rejoinder that he had done what he intended\nto do. The two schemes of Salvation--the mechanical and the\nevolutional--have so little in common that neither can pass judgment\non the other without begging the question that is in dispute. When I\ncome to consider the effect of legalism--or rather of the philosophy\nthat underlies legalism--on education, I may perhaps be able to find\nsome court of law in which the case between the two schemes can be\ntried with the tacit consent of both. Meanwhile I can but note\nthat in the atmosphere of the Law growth is as a matter of fact\narrested,--arrested so effectually that the counter process of\ndegeneration begins to take its place. The proof of this statement,\nif proof be needed, is that legalism, when its master principle has\nbeen fully grasped and fearlessly applied, takes the form of\nPharisaism, and that it is possible for the Pharisee to \"count\nhimself to have apprehended,\" to congratulate himself on his\nspiritual achievement, to believe, in all seriousness, that he has\nclosed his account with God.\n\nPharisaism is at once the logical consummation and the _reductio ad\nabsurdum_ of legalism. It is to the genius of Israel that we owe that\npractical interpretation of the fundamental principle of\nsupernaturalism, which was embodied in the doctrine of salvation\nthrough obedience to the letter of a Law. And it is to the genius\nof Israel that we owe that rigorously logical interpretation of\nthe _axiomata media_ of legalism, which issued in due season in\nPharisaism. The world owes much to the courage and sincerity\nof Israel,--to his unique force of character, to his fanatical\nearnestness, to his relentless tenacity of purpose. In particular,\nit owes a debt which it can never liquidate to what was at once the\ncause and the result of his over-seriousness,--to his lack of any\nsense of humour,--a negative quality which allowed his practical\nlogic to run its course without let or hindrance, and prevented\nthe \"brakes\" of common-sense from acting when he found himself, in\nhis very zeal for the Law, descending an inclined plane into an\nunfathomable abyss of turpitude and folly. The man (or people) who is\nable, of his own experience, to tell the rest of mankind what a given\nscheme of life really means and is really worth, owing to his having\noffered himself as the _corpus vile_ for the required experiment, is\none of the greatest benefactors of the human race. Had Israel been\nless sincere or less courageous, we might never have known what\ndeadly fallacies lurk in the seemingly harmless dualism of popular\nthought.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBut the West, it will be said, is Christian, not Jewish. Is it\nChristian? If the word \"Christian\" connotes acceptance of the\nteaching as well as devotion to the person of Christ, it is scarcely\napplicable either to the official or to the popular religion of\nthe West. For Christ, the stern denouncer of the Pharisees, was\nthe whole-hearted enemy of legalism; and the legal conception of\nsalvation through mechanical obedience still dominates the religion\nand life of Christendom.\n\nThe Jewish Law tried to cover, and tended more and more to cover, the\nwhole of human life. It is true that it controlled the details rather\nthan the totality of life; but the reason why it dealt with life,\ndetail by detail, was that its exponents, owing to their spiritual\npurblindness, were unable to see the wood for the trees. In\nChristendom, while the doctrine of salvation through mechanical\nobedience was retained, the authority of a Church was substituted\nfor that of a Code of Law. The growth of the idea of Humanity, as\nopposed to that of mere nationality, made this necessary. As the\nformer idea began to compete with the latter, the need for a\ndivinely-commissioned society which should declare the will and\ncommunicate the grace of God, not to one nation only but to all men\nwho were willing to hearken and obey,--and whose action, as a channel\nof intercourse between God and Man, should be continuous rather\nthan spasmodic,--began to make itself felt. A Code of Law might\nconceivably suffice to regulate the life of one small nation;\nbut when we consider under what varying conditions of climate,\noccupation, custom, tradition, and so forth, the general life of\nHumanity is carried on, we see clearly that no one Code can even\nbegin to suffice for the needs of the whole human race. Hence, and\nfor other reasons which we need not now consider, the West, in\naccepting the philosophy of Israel, translated its master idea of\nsalvation through mechanical obedience into the notation of\necclesiastical, as distinguished from legal, control.\n\nThat obedience to a supernaturally-commissioned Church, or rather to\nthe One supernaturally-commissioned Church, is the first and last\nduty of Man, is the fundamental assumption on which the stately\nfabric of Catholic Christianity has been reared. In various ways the\nChurch has striven to exact implicit obedience from her children.\nThrough the medium of the Confessional she has secured some measure\nof control over their morals. By regulating the worship of God--both\npublic and private--she has been able to rule off a sphere of human\nconduct in which her own authority is necessarily paramount. By\nsupplying the faithful with rations of \"theological information\" (to\nquote the apt phrase of a pillar of orthodoxy), and requiring them to\naccept these on her authority as indisputably true, she has succeeded\nin imposing her yoke on thought as well as on conduct. By claiming\nto control the outflow of Divine grace, through the channels of\nthe Sacraments, she has been able to threaten the rebellious with\nthe dread penalty of being cut off from intercourse with God.\nAnd by telling men, with stern insistence, that the choice between\nobedience and disobedience to herself is the choice between eternal\nhappiness and eternal misery, she has sought to extend her dominion\nbeyond the limits of time and to raise to an infinite power her\nsupremacy over the souls of men.\n\nBut just because the life of collective Humanity is large, complex,\nand full of change and variety, the Church which aspires to be\nuniversal, however strong may be her desire to superintend all the\ndetails of human thought and conduct, and however ready she may be\nto adapt herself to local and temporal variations, must needs allow\nwhole aspects and whole spheres of human life to escape from her\ncontrol. The history of Christendom is the history of the gradual\nemancipation of the Western world from the despotism of the Church.\nThe various activities of the human spirit--art, science, literature,\nlaw, statecraft, and the rest--have, one and all, freed themselves by\nslow degrees from ecclesiastical control, till little or nothing has\nbeen left for the Church to regulate but her own rites and\nceremonies, the morals (in a narrow and ever-narrowing sense of the\nword), and the faith (in the theological sense of the word), of the\nfaithful.\n\nWith the emancipation of Man's higher activities from ecclesiastical\ncontrol, the distinction between the _religious_ and the _secular_\nlife has gradually established itself. That this should happen was\ninevitable. Mechanical obedience being of the essence of supernatural\nreligion, the secularising of human life became absolutely necessary\nif any vital progress was to be made. The Church patronised art,\nmusic, and the drama so far as they served her purposes. When they\noutgrew those purposes, in response to the expansive forces of human\nnature, she treated them as secular and let them go their several\nways. In the interests of theology she tried to keep physical science\nin leading-strings; but when, after a bitter struggle, science broke\nloose from her control, she treated it too as secular and let it go\nits way.\n\nLet us see what this distinction involves. As salvation is to be\nachieved by obedience to the Church and in no other way, it follows\nthat in all those spheres of life which are outside the jurisdiction\nof the Church (except, of course, so far as questions of \"morals\" may\narise in connection with them), Man's conduct and general demeanour\nare supposed to have no bearing on his eternal destiny. This is the\nview of the secular life which is taken by the Church. And not by the\nChurch alone. As, little by little, the Institution--be it Church, or\nSect, or Code, or Scripture--which claims to be the sole accredited\nagent of the Eternal God, relaxes its hold upon the ever-expanding\nlife of Humanity, all those developments of human nature which cease\nto be amenable to its control come to be regarded as mundane, as\nunspiritual, as carnal, as matters with which God has no concern.\n\nWere this view of the secular life confined to those who call\nthemselves religious, no great harm would be done. Unfortunately, the\nsecular life, which is under the influence of the current conception\nof God as one who holds no intercourse with Man except through\ncertain accredited agents, is ready to acquiesce in the current\nestimate of itself as godless, and to accept as valid the distinction\nbetween the religious life and its own. Hence comes a general\nlowering of Man's aims. As the secular life is content to regard\nitself as godless, and so deprives itself of any central and unifying\naim, it is but natural that success in each of its many branches\nshould come to be regarded as an end in itself. It is but natural, to\ntake examples at random, that the artist should follow art for art's\nsake, that the man of science should deify positive knowledge, that\nthe statesman should regard political power as intrinsically\ndesirable, that the merchant and the manufacturer should live to make\nmoney, and that the highest motive which appeals to all men alike\nshould be the desire to bulk large in the eyes of their fellow-men.\nEven the ardent reformer, whose enthusiasm makes him unselfish,\npursues the ideal to which he devotes himself, as an end in itself,\nand makes no attempt to define or interpret it in terms of its\nrelation to that supreme and central ideal which he ought to regard\nas the final end of human endeavour. When we remind ourselves,\nfurther, that secularism, equally with supernaturalism, tends to\nidentify \"Nature\" with lower nature--in other words, with the\nmaterial side of the Universe and the carnal side of Man's being,--we\nshall realise how easy it is for the secular life, once it has lost,\nthrough its divorce from religion, the tonic stimulus of a central\naim, to sink, without directly intending to do so, into the mire of\nmaterialism,--a materialism of conduct as well as of thought.\n\nBut if the loss to the secular life, from its compulsory\ndespiritualisation, is great, the loss to religion, from the\nsecularisation of so much of Man's rational activity, is greater\nstill. The very distinction between the secular and the religious\nlife is profoundly irreligious, in that it rests on the tacit\nassumption that there is no unity, no central aim, in human life;\nand the fact that official religion is ready to acquiesce in the\ndistinction, is ready, in other words, to make a compromise with its\nenemy \"the world,\" is a proof that it is secretly conscious of its\nown failing power, and is even beginning to despair of itself. As it\nresigns itself to this feeling (as yet perhaps but dimly realised),\nits reasons for entertaining it must needs grow stronger. The\nprogressive enlargement of the sphere of Man's secular activities is\naccompanied, step for step, by the devitalisation of the idea of the\nDivine. What kind of intercourse can God be supposed to hold with Man\nif the latter is to be left to his own devices in what he must needs\nregard as among the more important aspects of his life,--in his\ncommercial and industrial enterprises, in his art, in his literature,\nin his study of Nature's laws, in his mastery of Nature's forces,\nin his pursuit of positive truth and practical good? As in these\nmatters Man frees himself, little by little, from the yoke of\nsupernaturalism, which he has been accustomed to identify with\nreligion, his formal conception of his relation to God and of the\npart that God plays in his life--the conception that is defined and\nelucidated for him by religious \"orthodoxy\"--becomes of necessity\nmore irrational, more mechanical, more unreal, more repugnant to his\nbetter nature and to the higher developments of his \"common-sense.\"\nThe tendency to exalt the letter of what is spoken or written, at the\nexpense of the spirit, is as much of the essence of ecclesiasticism\nas of legalism. \"_Si dans les regles du salut le fond l'emporterait\nsur la forme, ce serait la ruine du sacerdoce._\" And, as a matter of\nexperience, the hair-splitting puerilities of Pharisaism under the\nOld Dispensation have been matched, and more than matched, in the\nspheres of ritual, of dogmatic theology, and of casuistical morality,\nunder the New. As Man gradually shifts the centre of gravity of his\nbeing from the religious to the secular side of his life, this\npuerile element in religion--the element of ultra-formalism, of\nirrationality, of unreality--tends, like a morbid growth, to draw to\nitself the vital energies of what was once a healthy organism but\nis now degenerating into a \"body of death.\" If, in these days of\nabsorbing secular activity, Man continues to tolerate the theories\nand practices of the religious experts, the reason is--apart from the\ninfluence of custom and tradition and of his respect for venerable\nand \"established\" institutions--that they are things which he has\nneither time nor inclination to investigate, and which he can\ntherefore afford to tolerate as being far removed from what is vital\nand central in his life. I am told that the Catholic Church holds, in\nthe case of a dying man, \"that the eternal fate of the soul, for good\nor for evil, may depend upon the reception or the non-reception of\nabsolution, and even of extreme unction.\" That the truly appalling\nconception of God which is implicit in this sentence should still\nsurvive, that it should not yet have been swept out of existence by\nthe outraged common-sense and good feeling of Humanity, is a proof of\nthe immense indifference with which the Western world, absorbed as it\nis in secular pursuits, regards religion.\n\nIt may indeed be doubted if men have ever been so non-religious as\nare at the present day the inhabitants of our highly-civilised and\nthoroughly-Christianised West. At any rate the absence of a central\naim in human life has never been so complete as it is now. Most men\nare content to drift through life, toiling for the daily bread which\nwill enable them to go on living, yet neither knowing nor caring to\nknow why they are alive. There is a minority of stronger and more\nresolute men who devote life with unwavering energy to the pursuit of\nwhat I may call private and personal ends. Thus the man of business\nlives for the acquisition of riches; the scholar and the scientist,\nof knowledge; the statesman, of power; the speculator, of excitement;\nthe libertine, of pleasure; and so forth. Few are they who ever\ndream of devoting life as a whole to the pursuit of an end which is\npotentially attainable by all men, and which is therefore worthy of\nMan as Man. The idea of there being such an end has indeed been\nalmost wholly lost sight of. Those among us who are of larger\ndiscourse than the rest and less absorbed by personal aims, ask\nthemselves mournfully: What is the meaning of life? Why are we here?\nIs life worth living? and other such questions; and being unable to\nanswer them to their satisfaction, or get them answered, resign\nthemselves to a state of quasi-stoical endurance. That religion\ncannot be expected to answer these questions--the very questions\nwhich it is its right and its duty to answer--seems to be taken for\ngranted by all who ask them. Religion, as it is now conceived of,\nis a thing for priests and ministers, for churches and chapels, for\nSundays and Saints'-days, for the private devotions of women and\nchildren, for educational debates in Parliament, for the first lesson\non the time-table (9.5 to 9.45 a.m.) of a Public Elementary School.\nThe \"unbeliever\" is eager to run a tilt against religion. The\n\"non-believer\" is content to ignore it. The \"believer\" is careful to\nexclude it from nine-tenths of his life. It is to this pass that the\ngospel of salvation by machinery has brought the most \"progressive\"\npart of the human race.\n\nThe phase of non-religiousness through which the West is passing has,\nwe may rest assured, a meaning and a purpose. At the meetings of the\nCatholic Truth Society it is customary for the speakers to deplore\nthe steady relapse of Christendom into paganism, which is going on\nbefore their eyes. As the Church had things her own way for ten\ncenturies or more, these complaints on the part of her champions are\nequivalent to a confession on her part of disastrous failure. Why is\nthe Church, after having evangelised the West and ruled it for a\nthousand years, allowing it to slide back into paganism? The answer\nto this question is that she herself is unwittingly paganising it.\nI mean by this that, without intending to do so, she is compelling\nit to choose between secularised life and arrested growth. Were a\ngrowing tree encircled with an iron band, the day would surely come\nwhen the tree, by the force of its own natural expansion, would\neither shatter the band or allow it to cut deep into its own stem.\nThe growing consciousness of Humanity has long been encircled by a\nrigid and inadequate conception of God. The gradual secularisation of\nthe West means that the soul of man is straining that particular\nconception of God to breaking-point: and it is infinitely better that\nit should be broken to pieces than that its iron should be allowed to\nsink deep into the soul.\n\nThe secularisation of contemporary life means this, and more than\nthis. It means the gradual handing back of Man's life to the control\nof Nature,--of Nature which is as yet unequal to the task that is\nbeing set it, owing to its having been through all these centuries\nidentified with its lower self, taught to distrust itself, and\notherwise misinterpreted and mismanaged, but which, in obedience to\nthe primary instinct of self-preservation, will gradually rise to\nthe level of the responsibility that is being laid upon it. With the\nfurther secularisation of Man's life, the need for religion to make\neffective the control of Nature, by pointing out to it its own ideal\nand so co-ordinating and organising all its forces, will gradually\nmake itself felt, and the regeneration of religion will at last have\nbegun.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nFor many centuries the current of religious belief in the West was\nalmost entirely confined to the one channel of Catholic Christianity.\nThere the mighty river pursued his course, \"brimming and bright and\nlarge,\" till the time came when, with the gradual loss of his\npristine energy--\n\n              \"Sands began\n  To hem his wintry march, and dam his streams\n  And split his currents\";\n\nSide channels were formed, and grew in number; and though Catholicism\nis still the central channel for the moving waters, the river has now\nfallen on evil days, and \"strains along,\" \"shorn and parcelled,\" like\nthe river of the Asian desert--\n\n    \"forgetting the bright speed he bore\n  In his high mountain cradle.\"\n\nOf the many side streams into which Western Christianity has split,\nthe majority may be spoken of collectively as Protestant.\nProtestantism claims to have liberated a large part of Christendom\nfrom the yoke of Rome; and it is therefore right that we should ask\nourselves in what sense and to what extent it has brought freedom\nto the human spirit. The answer to this question is, I think, that\nthough Protestantism has fought a good fight for the _principle_ of\nfreedom, it has failed--for many reasons, the chief of which is that\nit began its work before men were ripe for freedom--to lead its\nvotaries into the path of spiritual life and growth. Confronted by\nthe uncompromising dogmatism of Rome, it had to devise a counter\ndogmatism of its own in order to rally round it the faint-hearted\nwho, though eager to absolve themselves from obedience to the\ndespotism of the Church, yet feared to walk by their own \"inward\nlight.\" In making this move, which was not the less false because\nit was in a sense inevitable, Protestantism may be said to have\nrenounced its mission. That it has done much, in various ways, for\nhuman progress is undeniable; but the fact remains that it has\nfailed to revitalise Christianity. Its master-stroke in its struggle\nwith priestcraft--the substitution of \"faith\" for \"works\" as the\nbasis of salvation--has done little or nothing to relieve the West\nfrom the deadly pressure of Israel's philosophy. For faith, as\nProtestantism understands the word, is the movement of the soul,\nnot towards the ideal end of its being but towards an alleged\nsupernatural transaction,--the redemption of the world by the\ndeath of Christ on the Cross. Gratitude to Christ for his love and\nself-sacrifice may indeed be an effective motive to action, but faith\nin the efficacy of Christ's atoning sacrifice is no guide to conduct.\nThe inability of Protestantism to deduce a scheme of life from its\nown master-principle of salvation by \"faith\" has compelled it, in\nits desire to avoid the pitfalls of antinomianism, to revive in a\nmodified form the practical legalism of the Old Testament. The\nProtestant desires to show his gratitude to Christ by leading a\ncorrect life; but his distrust of his own higher nature compels him\nto go to some external authority for ethical guidance; and as he has\nrepudiated the authority of the supernaturally-inspired Church, he\nis compelled to have recourse to the supernaturally-inspired Bible.\nHence the traditional alliance between Protestantism and the Old\nTestament, in which the path of duty is far more clearly and\nconsistently defined than in the New. And hence the singular fact\nthat Calvinism, which is the backbone of Protestantism, and which in\ntheory, and even (at times) in practice, regards \"works\" as \"filthy\nrags,\" finds its other self in Puritanism, which is in the main a\nrecrudescence of Jewish legalism in the more strictly _moral_ sphere\nof conduct.\n\nIt is owing to its alliance with the legalism of Israel, that\nProtestantism has been in some respects an even greater enemy of\nhuman freedom than Catholicism, and has on the whole done more than\nthe latter to narrow and maim human life. The strict legalist tries,\nas we have seen, to bring the whole of human life under the direct\ncontrol of the Law; and when he finds, as the Puritan did in the\nsixteenth and seventeenth centuries, that whole aspects of life have\nin point of fact escaped from the control of religion and won from\nthe latter a tacit acceptance of themselves as secular, he not\nunnaturally tends to regard these non-religious aspects of life as\n\"carnal,\" and therefore as unacceptable to God. Hence the antipathy\nof the Protestant, in his seasons of Puritanical fanaticism, to\nart, music, the drama, and other noble fruits of the human spirit.\nCatholicism has found itself compelled to tolerate the secular\nactivities of the layman; Protestantism, while tolerating those\nactivities by which man earns his daily bread and which may be spoken\nof collectively as \"business,\" has from time to time waged war\nagainst all the developments of human nature which are neither\nspiritual (in the narrow and rigid sense of the word) nor obviously\nuseful, and has sought to extirpate the corresponding desires from\nthe heart of Man. On the more artistic side of human life, it has\ndone as much to impede the growth of the soul as Catholicism has\ndone on the more intellectual side; and through its influence on\ncharacter it has done as much to harden the fibre of the soul as\nCatholicism has done to relax it, the tendency of both religions\nbeing to destroy that elasticity of fibre which mediates between\nhardness and flabbiness, and which has its counterpart in vigorous\nhealth and strength.\n\nThe truth is--but it is a truth which Protestantism is apt\nto misinterpret, and which Catholicism finds it expedient to\nignore--that religion is not a branch or department of human life,\nbut a way of looking at life as a whole. Indeed, it is of the essence\nof religion (as has been already suggested) that it should look\nat life as a whole, and so be able to look at each of its details\nin the light of that supreme synthesis which we call Divine. And\nthe religion which sanctions, and by its own action necessitates,\nthe division of life into two branches--the secular and the\nreligious--has obviously missed its destiny and betrayed its trust.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nA brief summary of the contents of this chapter will prepare the way\nfor the next. The movements of higher thought in the West have been\ndominated, nominally by the professional thinker, really by the\naverage man. As a thinker, the average man is incurably dualistic.\nEnslaved as he is to the requirements of his instrument, language, he\ninstinctively opposes mind to body, spirit to matter, good to evil,\nthe Creator to the Creation, God to Man; and in each case he fixes a\ngreat gulf between the \"mighty opposites\" that constitute the given\nantithesis. Confronted by the mystery of existence, he has explained\nit by the story of Creation. Confronted by the twin mysteries of sin\nand sorrow, he has explained them by the story of the Fall. From the\nstory of the Fall he has passed on to the doctrine of original sin,\nto the belief that Nature in general, and human nature in particular,\nis corrupt and ruined, and therefore intrinsically evil. Shrinking\nfrom the hopeless prospect which this belief opens up to him, he\nhas found refuge in the conception of another world,--of a world\nabove and beyond Nature, a world of Divine perfection from which\ninformation and guidance can at God's good pleasure be doled out\nto Man. For a \"supernatural revelation\" (as theologians call this\nsending of help from God to Man) special instruments are obviously\nneeded,--a special People, a special Scripture, a special Lawgiver,\na special Prophet, a special Church. Hence has arisen the idea that\ncertain persons, certain castes, certain institutions have a monopoly\nof Divine truth and grace, and are therefore in a position to dictate\nto their fellow-men how they are to bear themselves if they wish to\nbe \"saved,\" what they are to believe, what they are to do. From this\nthe transition has been easy to the further idea that salvation is\nto be achieved by blind and mechanical obedience,--by renouncing\nthe right to follow one's own higher nature, to obey one's own\nconscience, to use one's own reason, to map out one's own life. In\norder to induce men to yield the obedience which is required of them,\ntheir lower instincts have had to be appealed to (for the higher,\nruined by the Fall, have presumably ceased to operate),--their desire\nfor pleasure by the promise of Heaven, their fear of pain by the\nthreat of Hell. And in order that their lives may be kept under\nclose supervision and their merits accurately appraised, an\never-increasing stress has had to be laid on what is outward,\nvisible, and measurable in human life, as distinguished from what\nis inward and occult,--on correctness in the details of prescribed\nconduct, or again in the details of formulated belief. As the idea of\nsalvation through mechanical obedience develops into a systematised\nscheme of life, the higher and more spiritual faculties of Man's\nnature become gradually atrophied by disuse. In other words, the\nchannel of soul growth--the only channel that leads to spiritual\nhealth, and therefore to \"salvation\"--becomes gradually obstructed,\nwith the result that the vital energies of the soul tend either to\ndissipate themselves and run to waste, or to make new channels for\nthemselves,--channels of degenerative tendency, the end of which is\nspiritual death.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] By \"self-satisfaction\" I mean satisfaction with the\nexisting system _as a system_. That strenuous efforts are being made\nto improve the system, within its own limits, I can well believe. But\nthe system itself, with the defects and limitations which are of its\nessence, seems to be regarded as adequate, and even as final, by\nnearly all who work under it.\n\n[2] 1862 to 1895 A.D.\n\n[3] The _Jewish People in the time of Jesus Christ_, by Dr.\nEmil Schuerer.\n\n[4] In its extreme form legalism tends to bring about that\nruin of human nature which it starts by postulating; for, by\nforbidding Man's higher faculties to energise, it necessarily arrests\ntheir development, and so makes it possible for the lower faculties\nto draw to themselves an undue share of the rising sap of Man's\nlife.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nEDUCATION THROUGH MECHANICAL OBEDIENCE\n\n\nThe God of popular theology has been engaged for more than thirty\ncenturies in educating his child, Man. His system of education has\nbeen based on complete distrust of Man's nature. In the schools which\nMan has been required to attend--the Legal School under the Old\nDispensation, the Ecclesiastical School under the New--it has\nbeen taken for granted that he can neither discern what is true,\nnor desire what is good. The truth of things has therefore been\nformulated for him, and he has been required to learn it by rote and\nprofess his belief in it, clause by clause. His duty has also been\nformulated for him, and he has been required to perform it, detail by\ndetail, in obedience to the commandments of an all-embracing Code, or\nto the direction of an all-controlling Church.\n\nIt has further been taken for granted that Man's instincts and\nimpulses are wholly evil, and that \"Right Faith\" and \"Right Conduct\"\nare entirely repugnant to his nature. In order to overcome the\nresistance which his corrupt heart and perverse will might therefore\nbe expected to offer to the authority and influence of his teachers,\na scheme of rewards and punishments has had to be devised for his\nbenefit. As there is no better nature for the scheme to appeal to,\nan appeal has had to be made to fears and hopes which are avowedly\nbase. The refractory child has had to be threatened with corporal\npunishment in the form of an eternity of torment in Hell. And he has\nhad to be bribed by the offer of prizes, the chief of which is an\neternity of selfish enjoyment in Heaven,--enjoyment so selfish that\nit will consist with, and even (it is said) be heightened by, the\nknowledge that in the Final Examination the failures have been many\nand the prize-winners few.\n\nAnd as, under this system of education, obedience is the first and\nlast of virtues, so self-will--in the sense of daring to think and\nact for oneself--is the first and last of offences. It is for the\nsin of spiritual initiative--the sin of trying to work out one's\nown salvation by the exercise of reason, conscience, imagination,\naspiration, and other spiritual faculties--that the direst penalties\nare reserved. The path of salvation is the path of blind, passive,\nmechanical obedience. To deviate even a little from that path is to\nincur the penalty of eternal death.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAs Man is educated by his father, God, so must the child be educated\nby his father, the adult man. If the nature of Man is intrinsically\nevil, the child must needs have been conceived in sin and shapen in\niniquity. If Man, even in his maturity, cannot be trusted to think\nor desire or do what is right, still less can he be so trusted when\nhe is that relatively immature and helpless being, the child. If\nthe adult man has to be told in the fullest detail (whether by a\nformulated Law or by a living Church) how he is to conduct himself,\nstill greater is the need for such or similar direction to be given\nto the child. If the adult is to be \"saved\" by strict and mechanical\nobedience, and by no other method, still greater is the need for\nsuch obedience on the part of the child. If a system of external\nand quasi-material rewards and punishments is indispensable in the\neducation of the adult, still less can it be dispensed with in the\neducation of the child. These _a fortiori_ arguments are strong; but\nthere is a stronger. The child will develop into the adult, and he\ncannot too soon be initiated into the life which, as the adult, he\nwill have to lead. The process of educating the child is not merely\nanalogous to the process of \"saving\" the man. It is a vital part\nof it. For childhood is the time when human nature is most easily\nmoulded; and the bent that is given to it then is, in nine cases out\nof ten, decisive of its ultimate destiny.\n\nIt is clear, then, that if Man is to be \"saved\" by a _regime_ of\nmechanical obedience, his education in his childhood must be based on\nthe same general conception of life and duty. This means, in the\nfirst place, that the child must be brought up in an atmosphere of\nseverity. The God of the Old Testament--the Deity whose _nimbus_\novershadows the life of the West--combines in his own person the\nfunctions of law-giver, governor, prosecutor, judge, and executioner.\nHis subjects are a race of vile offenders, whose every impulse is\nbad, and whose nature turns towards evil as inevitably as a plant\nturns towards the light. As he cannot trust them to know good from\nevil, he has had to provide them with an elaborate code of law; and\nhe has had to take for granted that, left to themselves, they will\nbreak his commandments, and find pleasure in doing so. From the very\noutset, then, his attitude towards them has been one of suspicion and\nrising anger. He is always on the look-out for disobedience, and he\nis ready to chastise the offender almost before he has had time to\ncommit the offence. His pupils, brought up in an atmosphere of\nsuspicion, and taught from their earliest days to disbelieve in and\ncondemn themselves, can scarcely be blamed for living _down_ to the\nevil reputation which they have unfortunately gained. To persuade a\nman that he is a miserable sinner is to go some way towards leading\nhim into the path of sin. Systematic distrust paralyses and\ndemoralises those who live under it, and so tends to justify the\ncruelty into which it too readily develops. The penalties which God\nhas attached to the sins which he may almost be said to have provoked\nMan to commit, are so terrible and unjust that if the fear of them\nhas not robbed life of all its sunshine, the reason is that their\nvery horror has numbed Man's imagination, and made it impossible for\nhim even to begin to picture to himself their lurid gloom.\n\nIn the West men have loyally striven to reproduce towards their\nchildren the supposed attitude of their God of Wrath towards\nthemselves. From very tender years the child has been brought up in\nan atmosphere of displeasure and mistrust. His spontaneous activities\nhave been repressed as evil. His every act has been looked upon with\nsuspicion. He has been ever on the defensive, like a prisoner in the\ndock. He has been ever on the alert for a sentence of doom. He has\nbeen cuffed, kicked, caned, flogged, shut up in the dark, fed on\nbread and water, sent hungry to bed, subjected to a variety of\ncruel and humiliating punishments, terrified with idle--but to him\nappalling--threats. In his misery he has shed a whole ocean of\ntears,--the salt and bitter tears of hopeless grief and helpless\nanger, not the soul-refreshing tears which are sometimes distilled\nfrom sorrow by the sunshine of love. But of all the cruelties to\nwhich he has been subjected, the most devilish has been that of\nmaking him believe in his own criminality, in the corruption of his\ninnocent heart. In the deadly shade of that chilling cloud, the\nflower of his opening life has too often withered before it has had\ntime to expand. For what is most cruel in cruelty is its tendency to\ndemoralise its victims, especially those who are of tender years--to\nharden them, to brutalise them, to make them stubborn and secretive,\nto make them shifty and deceitful, to throw them back upon\nthemselves, to shut them up within themselves, to quench the joy of\ntheir hearts, to numb their sympathies, to cramp their expansive\nenergies, to narrow and darken their whole outlook on life. All this\nthe cruelty of his seniors would do to the child, even if he had not\nbeen taught to believe in his own inborn wickedness. But that belief,\nwith which he has been indoctrinated from his earliest days,\nnecessarily weakens his power of resisting evil, and so predisposes\nhim to fall a victim to the malignant germs that cruelty sows in his\nheart. We tell the child that he is a criminal, and treat him as\nsuch, and then expect him to be perfect; and when our misguided\neducation has begun to deprave him, we shake our heads over his\ncongenital depravity, and thank God that we believe in \"original\nsin.\"[5]\n\nIn the next place, if Man is to be faithful to his model, he must\nbring up the child in an atmosphere of vexatious interference and\nunnatural restraint. That Man himself has been brought up in such an\natmosphere in both his schools--the Legal and the Ecclesiastical--I\nneed not take pains to prove. What he has suffered at the hands of\nhis Schoolmaster--the God of Israel (and of Christendom)--he has\ntaken good care to inflict on his pupil, the child. Such phrases as:\n\"Don't talk,\" \"Don't fidget,\" \"Don't worry,\" \"Don't ask questions,\"\n\"Don't make a noise,\" \"Don't make a mess,\" \"Don't do this thing,\"\n\"Don't do that thing,\" are ever falling from his lips. And they are\nsupplemented with such positive instructions as: \"Sit still,\" \"Stand\non the form,\" \"Hold yourself up,\" \"Fold arms,\" \"Hands behind backs,\"\n\"Hands on heads,\" \"Eyes on the blackboard.\" At every turn--from\ninfancy till adolescence, \"from early morning till late in the\nevening\"--these \"dead and deadening formulas\" await the unhappy\nchild. The aim of his teachers is to leave nothing to his nature,\nnothing to his spontaneous life, nothing to his free activity; to\nrepress all his natural impulses; to drill his energies into complete\nquiescence; to keep his whole being in a state of sustained and\npainful tension. And in order that we may see a meaning and a\nrational purpose in this _regime_ of oppressive interference, we must\nassume that its ultimate aim is to turn the child into an animated\npuppet, who, having lost his capacity for vital activity, will be\nready to dance, or rather go through a series of jerky movements, in\nresponse to the strings which his teacher pulls. It is the inevitable\nreaction from this state of tension which is responsible for much of\nthe \"naughtiness\" of children. The spontaneous energies of the child,\nwhen education has blocked all their lawful outlets, must needs force\nnew outlets for themselves,--lawless outlets, if no others are\navailable. The child's instinct to live will see to that. It\nsometimes happens that, when the channel of a river has been blocked\nby winter's ice, the river, on its awakening in Spring, will suddenly\nchange its course and carve out a new channel for itself, reckless of\nthe destruction that it may cause, so long as an outlet can by any\nmeans be found for its baffled current. It is the same with the river\nof the child's expanding life. The naughtiest and most mischievous\nboy not infrequently develops into a hero, or a leader of men. The\nexplanation of this is that through his very naughtiness the current\nof soul-growth, which ran stronger in him than in his school-mates,\nkept open the channel which his teachers were doing their best to\nclose. Even Hooliganism--to take the most serious of the periodic\noutbursts of juvenile criminality--resolves itself, when thoughtfully\nconsidered, into a sudden and violent change in the channel of a\nboy's life, a change which is due to the normal channel (or channels)\nof his expansive energies having been blocked by years of educational\nrepression. His wild, ruffianly outrages are perhaps the last\ndespairing effort that his vital principle makes to assert itself,\nbefore it finally gives up the struggle for active existence.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhen severity and constraint have done their work, when the spirit of\nthe child has been broken, when his vitality has been lowered to its\nbarest minimum, when he has been reduced to a state of mental and\nmoral serfdom, the time has come for the system of education through\nmechanical obedience to be applied to him in all its rigour. In other\nwords, the time has come for Man to do to the child, what the God\nwhom he worships is supposed to have done to him,--to tell him in the\nfullest and minutest detail what he is to do to be \"saved,\" and to\nstand over him with a scourge in his hand and see that he does it. In\nthe two great schools which God is supposed to have opened for Man's\nbenefit, freedom and initiative have ever been regarded (and with\ngood reason) as the gravest of offences. Literal obedience has\nbeen exacted by the Law; blind obedience by the Church; passive\nobedience--the obedience of a puppet, or at best of an automaton--by\nboth. The need for this insistence on the part of Law and Church is\nobvious. If any lingering desire to think things out for himself, if\nany intelligent interest in what he was taught, survived in the\ndisciple, the whole system of salvation by machinery would be in\ndanger of being thrown out of gear.\n\nAs it has been, and still is, in the schools which God has opened\nfor Man, so it has been, and still is, in the schools which Man\nhas opened for the child. Blind, passive, literal, unintelligent\nobedience is the basis on which the whole system of Western education\nhas been reared. The child must distrust himself absolutely, must\nrealise that he is as helpless as he is ignorant, before he can begin\nto profit by the instruction that will be given to him. His mind must\nbecome a _tabula rasa_ before his teacher can begin to write on it.\nThe vital part of him--call it what you will--must become as clay\nbefore his teacher can begin to mould him to his will.\n\nThe strength of the child, then, is to sit still, to listen, to say\n\"Amen\" to, or repeat, what he has heard. The strength of the teacher\nis to bustle about, to give commands, to convey information, to\nexhort, to expound. The strength of the child is to efface himself in\nevery possible way. The strength of the teacher is to assert himself\nin every possible way. The golden rule of education is that the child\nis to do nothing for himself which his teacher can possibly do, or\neven pretend to do, for him. Were he to try to do things by or for\nhimself, he would probably start by doing them badly. This is not to\nbe tolerated. Imperfection and incorrectness are moral defects; and\nthe child must as far as possible be guarded from them as from the\ncontamination of moral guilt. He must therefore trust himself to his\nteacher, and do what he is told to do in the precise way in which\nhe is told. His teacher must stand in front of him and give such\ndirections as these: \"Look at me,\" \"See what I am doing,\" \"Watch my\nhand,\" \"Do the thing this way,\" \"Do the thing that way,\" \"Listen to\nwhat I say,\" \"Repeat it after me,\" \"Repeat it all together,\" \"Say it\nthree times.\" And the child, growing more and more comatose, must\nobey these directions and ask no questions; and when he has done what\nhe has been told to do, he must sit still and wait for the next\ninstalment of instruction.\n\nWhat is all this doing for the child? The teacher seldom asks himself\nthis question. If he did, he would answer it by saying that the end\nof education is to enable the child to produce certain outward and\nvisible results,--to do by himself what he has often done, either in\nimitation of his teacher, or in obedience to his repeated directions;\nto say by himself what he has said many times in chorus with his\nclass-mates; to disgorge some fragments of the information with which\nhe has been crammed; and so forth. What may be the value of these\noutward results, what they indicate, what amount or kind of mental\n(or other) growth may be behind them,--are questions which the\nteacher cannot afford to consider, even if he felt inclined to\nask them. His business is to drill the child into the mechanical\nproduction of quasi-material results; and his success in doing this\nwill be gauged in due course by an \"examination,\"--a periodic test\nwhich is designed to measure, not the degree of growth which the\nchild has made, but the industry of the teacher as indicated by the\nreceptivity of his class.\n\nThe truth is that inward and spiritual growth, even if it were\nthought desirable to produce it and measure it, could not possibly be\nmeasured. The real \"results\" of education are in the child's heart\nand mind and soul, beyond the reach of any measuring tape or weighing\nmachine. It follows that if the work of the teacher is to be tested,\nan external test must be applied. This means that external results,\nresults which can be weighed and measured, must be aimed at by both\nteacher and child, and that the value of these as symbols of what is\ninward and intrinsic must be wholly ignored. Not that the inward\nresults of education would in any case be seriously considered. When\neducation is based on the passivity of the child, nothing matters to\nhim or to his teacher except the accuracy with which he can reproduce\nwhat he has been taught,--can repeat what he has been told, or do by\nhimself what he has been told how to do. What connection there may be\nbetween these achievements and his mental state matters so little\nthat the bare idea of there being such a connection is, as a rule,\nentirely lost sight of. The externalisation of religion in the West,\nas evidenced by its ceremonialism and its casuistry, has faithfully\nmirrored itself in the externality of Western education. The\nexamination system (which I will presently consider) keeps education\nin the grooves of externality, and drives those grooves so deep as\nto make escape from them impossible. Yet it does but give formal\nrecognition to, and in so doing crown and complete--as the keystone\ncrowns and completes the arch--the whole system of education in the\nWest. It is because what is outward and visible counts for everything\nin the West, first in the life of the adult and then in the life of\nthe child, that the idea of weighing and measuring the results of\neducation--with its implicit assumption that the real results of\neducation are ponderable and measurable (a deadly fallacy which now\nhas the force and authority of an axiom)--has come to establish\nitself in every Western land.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe tendency of the Western teacher to mistake the externals for the\nessentials of education, and to measure educational progress in terms\nof the \"appearance of things,\" gives rise to many misconceptions,\none of the principal of which is the current confusion between\ninformation and knowledge. To generate knowledge in his pupils is\na legitimate end of the teacher's ambition. In schools and other\n\"academies\" it tends to become the chief, if not the sole, end; and,\nthings being what they are, the teacher may be pardoned for regarding\nit as such. But what is knowledge? The vulgar confusion between\nknowledge and information is the accepted answer to this question.\nBut the answer is usually given before the question has been\nseriously considered. One who allowed himself to reflect on it,\nhowever briefly or cursorily, would quickly realise that it is\npossible to have intimate and effective knowledge of a subject\nwithout being able to impart any information about it. Successful\naction, as in arts, crafts, games, sports, and the like, must needs\nhave subtle and accurate knowledge behind it; but the possessor of\nsuch knowledge is seldom able to impart it with any approach to\nlucidity. On the other hand, it frequently happens that one who has a\nretentive memory is able to impart information glibly and correctly,\nwithout possessing any real knowledge of the subject in question.\n\nThe truth is that knowledge, which may perhaps be provisionally\ndefined as a correct attitude towards one's environment, has almost\nas wide a range as that of human nature itself. At one end of the\nscale we have the quasi-animal instinct which governs successful\nphysical action. At the other end we have the knowledge, of which,\nand of the possession of which, its possessor is clearly, conscious.\nBetween these extremes there is an almost infinite series of strata,\nranging through every conceivable degree of subconsciousness. The\nknowledge that is real and effective is absorbed into one or more of\nthe subconscious strata, from which it gradually ascends, under the\ninfluence of attention and reflection, towards the more conscious\nlevels, gaining, as it ascends, in scope and outlook what it may\npossibly lose in subtlety and nearness to action. When knowledge,\nafter passing upwards through many subconscious strata, rises to\nwhat I may call the surface-level of consciousness, it is ready, on\noccasion, to give itself off as information. This exhalation from the\nsurface of consciousness is genuine information, not to be confounded\nwith knowledge, to which it is related as the outward to the inward\nstate, still less to be confounded with that spurious information\nwhich floats, as we shall presently see, like a film on the surface\nof the mind, meaning nothing and indicating nothing except that it\nhas been artificially deposited, and that in due season it will be\nskimmed off, if the teacher's hopes are fulfilled, for the\ndelectation of an examiner.\n\nThere are, of course, many cases in which the conscious acquisition\nof information is a necessary stage in the acquisition of knowledge.\nBut in all such cases, if the information acquired is to have\nany educative value, it must be allowed to sink down into the\nsubconscious strata, whence, after having been absorbed and\nassimilated and so converted into knowledge, it will perhaps reascend\ntowards the surface of the mind, just as the leaves which fall in\nautumn are dragged down into the soil below, converted into fertile\nmould, and then gradually lifted towards the surface; or as the fresh\nwater that the rivers pour into the sea has to be slowly absorbed\ninto the whole mass of salt water before it (or its equivalent) can\nreturn to the land as rain. When information which has been received\nand assimilated rises to the surface of the mind, it will be ready,\nwhen required to do so, to reappear as information, and perhaps\nto return in that form to the source from which it came. But the\ninformation which is given off will differ profoundly from that which\nhas been received, for between the two will have intervened many\nstages of silent absorption and silent growth.\n\nIt may be necessary, then, in the course of education, both to supply\nand to demand information. But the information which is supplied must\nbe regarded as the raw material of knowledge, into which it is to be\nconverted by a subtle and secret process. And the information which\nis demanded must be regarded as an exhalation (so to speak) from the\nsurface of a mind which has been saturated with study and experience,\nand therefore as a proof of the possession of knowledge. To assume\nthat knowledge and information are interchangeable terms, that to\nimpart information is therefore to generate knowledge, that to give\nback information is therefore to give proof of the possession of\nknowledge,--is one of the greatest mistakes that a teacher can make.\n\nBut the mistake is almost universally made. Information being related\nto knowledge, as what is outward to what is inward, it is but natural\nthat education in the West, which on principle concerns itself with\nwhat is outward, and ignores what is inward, should have always\nregarded, and should still regard, the supplying of information as\nthe main function of the teacher, and the ability of the child to\nretail the information which has been supplied to him as a convincing\nproof that the work of the teacher has been successfully done. In\nnine schools out of ten, on nine days out of ten, in nine lessons out\nof ten, the teacher is engaged in laying thin films of information on\nthe surface of the child's mind, and then, after a brief interval,\nin skimming these off in order to satisfy himself that they had been\nduly laid. He cannot afford to do otherwise. If the child, like the\nman, is to be \"saved\" by passive obedience, his teacher must keep\nhis every action and operation under close and constant supervision.\nWere the information which is supplied to him allowed to descend into\nthe subconscious strata of his being, there to be dealt with by the\nsecret, subtle, assimilative processes of his nature, it would\nescape from the teacher's supervision and therefore from his control.\nIn other words, the teacher would have abdicated his function. He\nmust therefore take great pains to keep the processes by which the\nchild acquires knowledge (or what passes for such) as near to the\nsurface of his mind as possible; in rivalry of the nurse who should\ntake so much interest in the well-being of her charges that she would\nnot allow them to digest the food which she had given them, but would\ninsist on their disgorging it at intervals, in order that she might\nsatisfy herself that it had been duly given and received. It is no\ndoubt right that the teacher should take steps to test the industry\nof his pupils; but the information which the child has always to keep\nat the call of his memory, in order that he may give it back on\ndemand in the form in which he has received it, is the equivalent\nof food which its recipient has not been allowed to digest.\n\nThe confusion between information and knowledge lies at the heart of\nthe religion, as well as of the education, of the West. In this, as\nin other matters, the training of the child by his teacher has been\nmodelled on the supposed training of Man by God. It is scarcely an\nexaggeration to say that the whole scheme of salvation by mechanical\nobedience is pivoted on the assumed identity of information and\nknowledge. In both the schools which Man has attended three things\nhave always been taken for granted. The first is that salvation\ndepends upon right knowledge of God. The second, that right knowledge\nof God and correct information about God are interchangeable phrases.\nThe third, that correct information about God is procurable by, and\ncommunicable to, Man. From these premises it has been inferred that\nif Man can be duly supplied with correct information about God, and\ncan be induced to receive and retain it, he will be able to \"save\nhis soul alive.\" The difference between the two schools is, that in\nthe Legal School the information supplied to Man has been largely\nconcerned with the _Will_ of God, so far as it bears on the life\nof Man, and has therefore taken the form of a Code of formulated\ncommandments; whereas in the Ecclesiastical School it has mainly been\nconcerned with the _Being_ of God, as interpreted from his doings and\nespecially from his dealings with Man, and has therefore taken the\nform of catechisms and creeds. And there is, of course, the further\ndifference that in the Legal School Man's acceptance of what he is\ntaught has taken the _practical_ form of doing what he is told to do,\ndetail by detail; whereas in the Ecclesiastical School it has been\nmainly _oral_ (though also partly ceremonial), the business of the\ndisciple being to commit to memory the creed or catechism which has\nbeen placed in his hands, and recite it, formula by formula, with\nflawless accuracy. But the difference between the two schools is\nwholly superficial, being, in fact, analogous to that between the\nconventional teaching of Drawing, in which the pupil finds salvation\nin doing what he is told to do, line by line, and stroke by stroke,\nand the conventional teaching of History and Geography, in which the\npupil finds salvation in saying what he is told to say, name by name,\nand date by date. The relation between the two great branches of\neducation, the education of Man by God, and the education of the\nchild by the man, is one, not of analogy merely, but also of cause\nand effect. It is because the Jew thought to \"save his soul alive\" by\nobeying, blindly and unintelligently, a multitude of vexatious rules,\nthat the teacher of to-day thinks to educate his pupils in Drawing by\ntelling them in the fullest detail (either in his own person or by\nmeans of a diagram) what lines and strokes they are to make. And it\nis because the Christian has thought to \"save his soul alive\" by\nreciting with parrot-like accuracy the formulae of his creeds and\ncatechisms, that the teacher of to-day thinks to educate his pupils\nin History and Geography by making them repeat from memory a series\nof definitions, dates, events, names of persons, names of places,\narticles of commerce, and the like. I do not say that the modern\nteacher consciously imitates his models; but I say that he and they\nhave been inspired by the same conception of life, and that the\ninfluence of that conception has been, in part at least, transmitted\nby them to him.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThat education in the West should ultimately be controlled by a\nsystem of formal examination, may be said to have been predestined by\nthe general trend of religious thought and belief. Wherever literal\nobedience is regarded as the first, if not the last, condition of\nsalvation, the tendency to measure worth and progress by the outward\nresults that are produced will inevitably spring up and assert\nitself. In this tendency we have the whole examination system in\nembryo. When Israel, with characteristic thoroughness, had embodied\nin Pharisaism the logical inferences from his religious conceptions,\na merciless examination system came into being, in which every\none was at once examiner and examinee, and in which the whole of\nhuman life was dragged out (as far as that was possible) into the\nfierce light of public criticism, and placed under vigilant and\nunintermittent supervision. When Pharisaism was revived, with many\nmodifications but with no essential change of character, under the\nname of Puritanism, the tendency to arraign human life at the bar of\npublic opinion reasserted itself, and gave rise, as in New England\nand covenanting Scotland, to an intolerable spiritual tyranny. In\nCatholic countries the believer is subjected in the Confessional to a\nperiodical oral examination, in which he passes in review the outward\naspect of his inward and spiritual life, detailing for the benefit of\nhis confessor his sins of ceremonial omission or laxity, and such\nlapses from moral rectitude as admit of being formulated in words and\naccurately valued in terms of expiatory penance. Even in the Anglican\nChurch, which has too great a regard for the Englishman's traditional\nlove of personal freedom to be unduly inquisitorial, the clergyman is\napt to measure the spiritual health and progress of his parishioners\nby the frequency with which they attend church and \"Celebration,\"\nwhile the Bishop measures the spiritual health and progress of each\nparish by the number of its communicants and the frequency with which\nthey communicate, statistics under both heads being (I am told)\nregularly forwarded to him from all parts of his diocese.\n\nIt was inevitable, then, the relation between that sooner or later\nthe education of the young should come under the control of a\nsystem of formal religion and education being what it was and is,\nexamination, and that it should be as much easier to apply the system\nto education than to religion as it is easier to test knowledge (in\nthe conventional sense of the word) than conduct. It is to the vulgar\nconfusion between knowledge and information that we owe the formal\nexamination, as it is now conducted in most Western countries. In a\nsociety which mistakes the externals for the essentials of life, it\nis but natural that the teacher, with the full consent of the parents\nof his pupils, should regard the imparting of knowledge as the end\nand aim of his professional life, and that the parents should demand\nsome guarantee that knowledge has been successfully imparted to their\nchildren. If by knowledge were meant a correct attitude of mind, the\nteacher would realise that the idea of testing it in any way which\nwould satisfy the average parent was chimerical; and his clients, if\nthey continued to ask for a guarantee of successful teaching, would\nrequire something widely different from that which has hitherto\ncontented them. But when information is regarded as the equivalent of\nknowledge, the testing of the teacher's work becomes a simple matter,\nfor it is quite easy to frame an examination which will ascertain,\nwith some approach to accuracy, the amount of information that is\nfloating on the surface of the child's mind; and it is also easy to\ntabulate the results of such an examination,--to find a numerical\nequivalent for the work done by each examinee, and then arrange the\nwhole class in what is known as the \"order of merit,\" and accepted\nas such, without a moment's misgiving, by all concerned.\n\nUnfortunately, however, it is equally easy to prepare children for an\nexamination of this, the normal type. As children have receptive\nmemories, it is easy for the teacher to lay films of information\non the surface of their minds. As they have capacious and fairly\nretentive memories, it is easy for the teacher, especially if he is a\nstrict disciplinarian, to make his pupils retain the greater part of\nwhat they have been taught. To skim off and give back to the teacher\n(or examiner) portions of the floating films of information, is a\nknack which comes with practice, and which the average child easily\nacquires. The teacher will, of course, demand that his school shall\nbe examined on a clearly-defined syllabus; and the examiner, in his\nown interest, will gladly comply with this demand. The examiner will\ngo further than this. If he happens to be employed by the State or by\na Local Authority, and has, therefore, many schools of the same type\nto examine, he will, in order to save himself unnecessary trouble,\nprescribe the syllabus on which all the schools in his area are to\nbe examined. This means that he will dictate to the teacher what\nsubjects he is to teach, how much ground he is to cover in each year\n(or term), in what general order he is to treat each subject, and on\nwhat general principles he is to teach it. Intentionally he will do\nall this. Unintentionally he will do far more than this. As he wishes\nhis examination to be a test and not a mere formality, as he wishes\nto sift the examinees and not to set the seal of approval on all of\nthem indiscriminately, he will take care that some at least of his\nquestions are different from what the teacher might expect them to\nbe. Also, as he is himself a rational being, he will probably\nendeavour to test intelligence as well as memory; and, with this end\nin view, he will set questions, the precise nature of which it will\nbe difficult for the teacher to forecast. But the teacher will make a\npractice of studying the questions set in the periodical examinations\nand of preparing his pupils accordingly, equipping them (if he is an\nexpert at his work) with a stock of superficial intelligence as well\nas of information, and putting them up to whatever knacks, tricks,\nand dodges will enable them to show to advantage on the examination\nday. In his desire to outwit the teacher, the examiner will turn and\ndouble like a hare who is pursued by a greyhound. But the teacher\nwill turn and double with equal agility, and will never allow himself\nto be outdistanced by his quarry.\n\nThe more successful the teacher is in keeping up with the examiner,\nthe more fatal will his success be to his pupils and to himself.\nIn the ardour of the chase he is being lured on into a region of\ntreacherous quicksands; and the longer he is able to maintain the\npursuit, the more certain is it that he will lose himself at last\nin depths and mazes of misconception and delusion. It is only by\nstripping himself of his own freedom and responsibility that the\nteacher is able to keep pace with the examiner, and each turn\nor double that he makes involves a fresh surrender of those\nprerogatives. In consenting to work on a prescribed syllabus he has\ngiven up the idea of planning out his work for himself. In attempting\nto adapt his teaching to the questions set by the examiner, he is\nallowing the latter to dictate to him, in the minutest detail, how\neach subject is to be taught. In other words, in order to achieve the\nsemblance of success, he is delivering himself, mind and soul, into\nthe hands of the examiner, and compelling the latter, perhaps against\nhis will, to become a Providence to him and to order all his goings.\nThis means that his distrust of himself is as complete as his\ndistrust of the child, and that his faith in the efficacy of\nmechanical obedience has led him to seek salvation for himself,\nas well as for his pupils, by following that fatal path.\n\nIt is in this way that a formal examination reacts upon and\nintensifies the sinister tendencies of which it is at once a product\nand a symptom. The examination system is, as I have said, the\nkeystone of the arch of Western education, crowning and completing\nthe whole structure, and at the same time holding it together, and\npreventing it from falling, as it deserves to fall, into a ruinous\nheap. Education, as it is now interpreted and practised in the West,\ncould not continue to exist without the support of the examination\nsystem; but the price that it pays, and will continue to pay, for\nthis deadly preservative, is the progressive aggravation of all its\nown inherent defects. The plight of an organism is indeed desperate\nwhen the very poison which it ought, if healthy, to eliminate from\nits system, has become indispensable to the prolongation of its life.\n\nIt is notorious that the application of the examination principle to\nreligion--the attempt to estimate spiritual health and growth in\nterms of outward action--generates hypocrisy, or the pretence of\nbeing more virtuous (and more religious) than one really is. When\napplied to the education of the young, the same principle generates\nhypocrisy of another kind,--the pretence of being cleverer than one\nreally is, of knowing more than one really knows. So long as the\nhypocrite realises that he is a hypocrite, there is hope for him. But\nwhen hypocrisy develops into self-deception, the severance between\noutward and inward, between appearance and reality, is complete.\nIn a school which is ridden by the examination incubus, the whole\natmosphere is charged with deceit. The teacher's attempt to outwit\nthe examiner is deceitful; and the immorality of his action is\naggravated by the fact that he makes his pupils partners with him in\nhis fraud. The child who is being crammed for an examination, and who\nis being practised at the various tricks and dodges that will, it\nis hoped, enable him to throw dust in the examiner's eyes, may not\nconsciously realise that he and his teacher are trying to perpetrate\na fraud, but will probably have an instinctive feeling that he is\nbeing led into crooked ways. If he has not that feeling, if the\ncrooked ways seem straight in his eyes, we may know that his sense\nof reality is being poisoned by the vitiated atmosphere which he\nhas been compelled to breathe. Nor, if that is his case, will\nhe lack companionship in his delusion. In the atmosphere of the\nexamination system, deceit and hypocrisy are ever changing into\nself-deception; and all who become acclimatised to the influence of\nthe system--pupils, teachers, examiners, parents, employers of\nlabour, ministers of religion, members of Parliament, and the\nrest--fall victims, sooner or later, to the poison that infects\nit, and are well content to cheat themselves with outward and\nvisible results, accepting \"class-lists\" and \"orders of merit\" as of\nquasi-divine authority, mistaking official regulations for laws of\nNature, and the clumsy movements of over-elaborated yet ill-contrived\nmachinery for the subtle processes of life.\n\nOf the many evils inherent in Western education, which the\nexamination system tends to intensify, one of the greatest is that of\nstarving the child's activities, of making him helpless, apathetic,\nand inert. Original sin finds its equivalent, in the sphere of mental\naction, in original impotence and stupidity. It is not in the child\nto direct his steps, and the teacher must therefore direct them for\nhim, and, if necessary, support him with both hands while he makes\nthem. Even if the outward results which are the goal of the teacher's\nambition were to be produced for his own satisfaction only, he would\ntake care to leave as little as possible to the child's independent\neffort. But when the results in question have to satisfy an examiner,\nand when, as may well happen, the teacher's own professional welfare\ndepends on the examiner's verdict, it is but natural that he should\nhold himself responsible for every stroke and dot that his pupil\nmakes. When the education given in a school is dominated by a\nperiodical examination on a prescribed syllabus, suppression of\nthe child's natural activities becomes the central feature of the\nteacher's programme. In such a school the child is not allowed to do\nanything which the teacher can possibly do for him. He has to think\nwhat his teacher tells him to think, to feel what his teacher tells\nhim to feel, to see what his teacher tells him to see, to say what\nhis teacher tells him to say, to do what his teacher tells him to do.\nAnd the directions given to him are always minute. Not the smallest\nroom for free action is allowed him if his teacher can possibly help\nit. Indeed, it is the function of the skilful teacher to search for\nsuch possible nooks and crannies, and fill them up. It is true that\nif an examination is to be passed with credit some thinking has to be\ndone. But the greater part of this thinking must be done by the\nteacher, the _role_ of the pupil, even when he is an adult student,\nbeing essentially passive and receptive. The pupil must indeed be\nactively passive and industriously receptive; but for the rest, he\nmust as far as possible leave himself in the teacher's hands. How\nto outwit the examiner is the one aim of both the teacher and the\nexaminee; and as the teacher is presumably older, wiser, and far\nmore skilful at the examination game than his pupil, the duty of\nthinking--of planning, of contriving, and even (in the deeper sense\nof the word) of studying--necessarily devolves on the former; and the\nlatter, instead of relying upon himself and learning to use his own\nwits and resources, becomes more and more helpless and resourceless,\nand gradually ceases to take any interest in the work that he is\ndoing, for its own sake, his chief, if not his sole, concern being\nto outwit the examiner and pass a successful examination. (One\nfrequently meets with clever University students who, having read a\ncertain book for a certain examination and had no question set from\nit, regard the time given to the study of it as wasted, and have\nno compunction about expressing this opinion!) If these are evils\nincidental--I might almost say essential--to the examination of adult\nscholars, it stands to reason that they will be greatly aggravated\nwhen the examinees are young children. For the younger the child, the\nmore ignorant and helpless he is (however full he may be of latent\ncapacity and spontaneous activity), and therefore the more ready he\nis to lean upon his teacher and to look to him for instruction and\ndirection.\n\nThe desire to outwit, and so win approval from, an examiner, is not\nthe only reason why the teacher so often reduces to an absurdity the\ntraditional distrust of the child. His own inability to educate the\nchild on other lines is another and not less potent reason. The\nexamination _regime_ to which he has been subjected himself, partly,\nperhaps, under compulsion, but also and in larger measure of his\nown choice, deprives him, as we have already seen, of much of his\nfreedom, initiative, and responsibility; and that being so, it is\ninevitable that within the limited range of free action which is left\nto him, he in his turn should devote his energies to depriving his\npupils of the same vital qualities, and to making them the helpless\ncreatures of habit and routine which he himself is tending to become.\nTo give free play to a child's natural faculties and so lead him\ninto the path of self-development and self-education, demands a high\ndegree of intelligence on the part of the teacher, combined with the\nconstant exercise of thought and initiative within a wide range of\nfree action. If you tell a teacher in precise detail, whether\ndirectly or indirectly, that he is to do this thing, and that\nthing, and the next thing, he will not be able to carry out your\ninstructions, except by telling his pupils, again in precise detail,\nthat they are to do this thing, and that thing, and the next thing.\nHe cannot help himself. He has no choice in the matter. He is the\nvictim of a quasi-physical compulsion. The pressure which is put upon\nhim will inevitably be transmitted by him and through him to his\npupils, and will inevitably be multiplied (the relations between\nteacher and pupil being what they are) in the course of transmission.\n\nThere is nothing that a healthy child hates so much as to have the\nuse of his natural faculties and the play of his natural energies\nunduly restricted by parental or pedagogic control. We may therefore\ntake for granted that the child will find himself ill at ease in a\nschool in which every vital activity is rigidly repressed, and in\nwhich he spends most of his time in sitting still and waiting for\norders. Nor will it add to his happiness to live habitually in an\natmosphere of constraint, of austerity, of suspicion, of gloom. But I\nneed not take pains to prove that education, as it is conducted in\nWestern countries, is profoundly repugnant to the natural instincts\nof the healthy child. For that is precisely what it is intended to\nbe. The idea of a child enjoying his \"lessons\" is foreign to the\ngenius of the West. Dominated as he is by the inherited conviction\nthat Man's nature is corrupt and that his instincts are evil, the\nWestern teacher has set himself the task of doing violence to the\nchild's instinctive tendencies, of thwarting his inborn desires, of\nworking against the grain of his nature. He has expected the child to\nrebel against this _regime_, and he has welcomed his rebellion as a\nproof of the corruption of Man's nature, and therefore of the\nsoundness of the traditional philosophy of education.\n\nBut if education is hateful to the child, how is he to be induced to\nsubmit to being educated? Some co-operation on his part will be\nnecessary. How is it to be secured? By precisely the same methods as\nthose by which Man, in the course of his education, has been induced\nto co-operate with God. The child, like Man, is to be \"saved\"--to be\nrescued from Nature and from himself--by being led into the path of\nmechanical obedience. The child, like Man, is to be kept in that path\nby a system of external rewards and punishments. If he will not do\nwhat he is told to do, he will be punished by his teacher. If he\nwill do what he is told to do, he will escape punishment, and he may\npossibly, when his merits have accumulated sufficiently, receive a\nreward. In the education of Man by the God of Israel the balance\nbetween rewards and punishments has been kept fairly even. Hell has\nbeen balanced by Heaven, calamity by prosperity, death by life. It\nhas been far otherwise with the child. His punishments have been\nmany, and his rewards few. At the present day men are more humane\nthan they used to be; and corporal punishment, though still resorted\nto, counts for less than it used to do in the training of the child.\nBut punishments of various kinds are still regarded as indispensable\nadjuncts to school discipline; and it is still taken for granted in\nfar too many schools that the fear of punishment and the hope of\nreward are the only effective motives to educational effort.\n\nIt is difficult to say which of the two motives is the more likely to\ndemoralise the child. A _regime_ of punishment is not necessarily a\n_regime_ of cruelty; but punishment can scarcely fail to savour of\nseverity, and when the doctrine of original sin is in the ascendant,\nand the inborn wilfulness and stubbornness of the child are\npostulated by his teachers, the indefinable boundary line between\nseverity and cruelty is easily crossed. Of the tendency of cruelty\nto demoralise its victims I have already spoken. But the effect of\npunishment on the child must be considered in its relation to his\nmental, as well as to his moral, development. Scholarships, prizes,\nhigh places in class, and other such rewards are for the few, not for\nthe many. If the many are to be roused to exertion, the fear of\npunishment (in the hypothetical absence of any other motive) must\nbe ever before them. What will happen to them when that motive is\nwithdrawn, as it will be when the child becomes the adolescent? His\neducation has been distasteful to the child, partly because his\nteachers have assumed from the outset that it would be and must be\nso, but chiefly because in their ignorance they have taken pains to\nmake it so, his school life having been so ordered as to combine the\nmaximum of strain with the maximum of _ennui_. His teachers have done\neverything for him, except those mechanical and monotonous exercises\nwhich they felt they might trust him to do by himself. Some of\nhis mental faculties have become stunted and atrophied through lack\nof exercise. Others have been allowed to wither in the bud. If he\nhappens to belong to the \"masses,\" he will have completed his school\neducation at the age of thirteen or fourteen. What will he do with\nhimself when there is no longer a teacher at his elbow to tell him\nwhat to do and how to do it, and to stand over him (should this be\nnecessary) while he does it? Why should he go on with studies which\nhe has neither the inclination nor the ability to pursue, and\nwhich, in point of fact, he has never really begun? And why should he\ncontinue to exert himself when, owing to his being at last beyond the\nreach of punishment, the need for him to do so--the only need which\nhe has been accustomed to regard as imperative--has ceased to exist?\n\nThe objections to the hope of reward as a motive to educational\neffort are of another kind. Prizes, as I have said, are for the few;\nand it is the consciousness of being one of the elect which invests\nthe winning of a prize with its chief attraction. The prize system\nmakes a direct appeal to the vanity and egoism of the child. It\nencourages him to think himself better than others, to pride himself\non having surpassed his class-mates and shone at their expense. The\nclever child is to work hard, not because knowledge is worth winning\nfor its own sake and for his own sake, but because it will be\npleasant for him to feel that he has succeeded where others have\nfailed. It is a just reproach against the examination system that\nwhile, by its demand for outward results it does its best to destroy\nindividuality, the essence of which is sincerity of expression, it\nalso does its best to foster individualism, by appealing, with its\noffer of prizes and other \"distinctions,\" to those instincts which\npredispose each one of us to affirm and exalt that narrow,\ncommonplace, superficial aspect of his being which he miscalls his\n_self_.\n\nThus the hope of reward tends to demoralise the clever child by\nmaking an appeal to basely selfish motives. At the same time it is\nprobably deluding him with the belief that he has more capacity than\nhe really has. If the examination system is, as I have suggested, the\nkeystone of the arch of Western education, it is by means of the\nprize system that the keystone has been firmly cemented into its\nplace. An examination which had no rewards or distinctions to offer\nto the competitors would not be an effective stimulus to exertion.\nThat being so, our educationalists have taken care that to every\nexamination some external reward or rewards shall be attached. Even\nif there are no material prizes to appeal to the child's cupidity,\nthere is always the class-list, with its so-called \"order of merit,\"\nto appeal to his vanity. Our educationalists have also taken care\nthat during the periods of childhood, adolescence, and even early\nmaturity, every prize that is offered for competition shall be\nawarded after a formal examination and on the consideration of its\ntabulated results. The appointments in the Home, Colonial, and Indian\nCivil Services, the promotions in the Army and Navy, the fellowships\nand scholarships at the Universities, the scholarships at the Public\nSchools, the medals, books, and other prizes that are offered to\nschool-children, are all awarded to those who have distinguished\nthemselves in the corresponding examinations, no other qualification\nthan that of ability to shine in an examination being looked for in\nthe competitors. There are, no doubt, exceptions to these general\nstatements, but they are so few that they scarcely count. We have\nseen that the ascendency of the examination system in our schools and\ncolleges is largely due to the vulgar confusion between information\nand knowledge; and we have also seen that the examination system\nreacts upon that fatal confusion and tends to strengthen and\nperpetuate it. If, then, the effect of the prize system is to\nconsolidate the authority of the formal examination and intensify\nits influence, we shall not go far wrong in assuming that in the\nvarious competitions for prizes the confusion between information\nand knowledge will play a vital part. And, in point of fact, the\ncleverness which enables the child--I ignore for the moment the\nadolescent and the adult student--to win prizes of various kinds is\nfound, when carefully analysed, to resolve itself, in nine cases out\nof ten, into the ability to receive, retain, and retail information.\nAs this particular, ability is but a small part of that mental\ncapacity which education is supposed to train, it is clear that the\nclever child who gets to the top of his class, and wins prizes in so\ndoing, may easily be led to over-estimate his powers, and to take\nhimself far more seriously than it is either right or wise of him to\ndo. His over-confidence may for a time prove an effective stimulus to\nexertion; but the exertion will probably be misdirected; and later\non, when he finds himself confronted by the complex realities of\nlife, and when problems have to be solved which demand the exercise\nof other faculties than that of memory, his belief in himself, which\nis the outcome of a false criterion of merit, may induce him to\nundertake what he cannot accomplish, and may lead at last--owing to\nhis having lost touch with the actualities of things--to his complete\nundoing.\n\nAnd as under the prize system the child who is high in his class is\napt to over-estimate his ability, so the child who is low in his\nclass is apt to accept the verdict of the class-list as final, and to\nregard himself as a failure because he lacks the superficial ability\nwhich enables a child to shine on the examination day. Again and\nagain it happens that the dunce of his class goes to the front in the\nbattle of life. But numerous and significant as these cases are, they\nare unfortunately exceptions to a general rule. For one dunce who\nemerges from the depths of \"apparent failure,\" there are ten who go\nunder after a more or less protracted struggle, and sink contentedly\nto the bottom. The explanation of this is that though every child\nhas capacity (apart, of course, from the congenital idiot and the\nmentally \"defective\"), there are many kinds of capacity which a\nformal examination fails to discover, and which the education that\nis dominated by the prize system fails to develop. The child whose\nparticular kind of capacity does not count, either in the ordinary\nschool lesson or on the examination day, is not aware that he is\ncapable; and as he is always low on the class-list, and is therefore\nregarded by his teachers as dull and stupid, he not unnaturally\nacquiesces in the current and apparently authoritative estimate, of\nhis powers, and, losing heart about himself, ends by becoming the\nfailure which he has been taught to believe himself to be. In brief,\nwhile the prize system breeds ungrounded and therefore dangerous\nself-esteem in the child whom it labels as bright, it breeds\nungrounded but not the less fatal self-distrust in the child whom\nit labels as dull.\n\nWe have seen that there comes a time in the life of every man when\nthe fear of punishment ceases to act as a stimulus to educational\nexertion. It is the same with the hope of reward. Examinations, and\nthe prizes which reward success in examinations, are for the young.\nWhat will happen to the prize-winner when there are no more prizes\nfor him to compete for? Will he continue to pursue knowledge for its\nown sake? Alas! he has never pursued it for its own sake. He has\npursued it for the sake of the prizes and other honours which it\nbrought him. When he has won his last prize the chances are that\nhe will lose all interest in that branch of learning in which he\nachieved distinction, unless, indeed, he has to earn his livelihood\nby teaching it. Of the scores of young men who distinguish themselves\nin \"Classics\" at Oxford and Cambridge, how many will continue to\nstudy the classical writers when they have gained the \"Firsts\" for\nwhich they worked so diligently? Apart from those who are going\nto teach Classics in the Public Schools or Universities, a mere\nhandful,--one in ten perhaps, though that is probably an extravagant\nestimate. And yet the poets, philosophers, and historians whom they\nhave studied are amongst the greatest that the world has produced.\nWhat is it, then, that kills, in nine cases out of ten, the\nclassical student's interest in the masterpieces of antiquity? The\nobvious fact that he was never interested in them for their own\nsakes--that he studied them, not in order to enjoy them or profit by\nthem, but in order to pass an examination in them, of which he might\nbe able to say in after years:\n\n  \"I am named and known by that hour's feat,\n  There took my station and degree.\"\n\nHow many Wranglers, other than those who have or will become\nschoolmasters or college tutors, continue to study mathematics? How\nmany of the First Classmen in Science, History, Law, and other Honour\n\"Schools\" continue to study their respective subjects? In every case\nan utterly insignificant minority.\n\nBut if the prize system does this to the young man of twenty-two or\ntwenty-three, if it kills his interest in learning, if it makes him\nregister an inward vow never again to open the books which he has\ncrammed so successfully for his examinations, what may it be expected\nto do to the child whose school education comes to an end when he\nis only thirteen or fourteen years old? When, with the fear of\npunishment, the complementary hope of reward is withdrawn from him,\nis it reasonable to expect him to continue his education, to continue\nto apply himself to subjects with which his acquaintance has been\nentirely formal and superficial, and which he has never been allowed\nto digest and assimilate? The utter indifference of the average\nex-elementary scholar to literature, to history, to geography, to\nscience, to music, to art, is the world-wide answer to this question.\n\nFor what is, above all, hateful in any scheme of rewards and\npunishments, when applied to the school life of the young, is that it\nwholly externalises what is really an inward and spiritual process,\nthe evolution of the youthful mind. Just as in the sphere of religion\nit is postulated as a self-evident truth that righteousness is not\nits own reward, nor iniquity its own punishment,--so in the sphere of\neducation it is postulated as a self-evident truth, that knowledge is\nnot its own reward, nor ignorance its own punishment. And just as in\nthe sphere of religion the appeal to Man's selfish hopes and ignoble\nfears has generated a radical misconception of the meaning and\npurpose of righteousness, which has caused his moral and spiritual\nenergies to be diverted into irreligious or anti-religious channels,\nto the detriment of his inward and spiritual growth,--so in the\nsphere of education the appeal to the child's selfish desires and\nignoble fears has generated a radical misconception of the meaning\nand purpose of knowledge, which has caused his mental energies to be\ndiverted into uneducational channels, to the detriment of his mental\ngrowth. In each case the scheme of rewards and punishments, acting\nlike an immense blister, when applied to a healthy body, draws to the\nsurface the life-blood which ought to nourish and purify the vital\norgans of the soul (or mind), thereby impoverishing the vital\norgans, and inflaming and disfiguring the surface. For if the surface\nlife, with its outward and visible \"results,\" is to be happy and\nproductive, the health of the vital organs must be carefully\nmaintained. This is the fundamental truth which those who control\neducation in the West have persistently ignored.\n\nThe system of education which I have tried to describe is a practical\nembodiment of the ideas that govern the popular philosophy of the\nWest. One who had studied that philosophy, and who wished to\nascertain what provision it made for the education of the young,\nwould in the course of his inquiry construct _a priori_ the precise\nsystem of education which is in vogue in all Western countries.\nThe supposed relation between God and his fallen and rebellious\noffspring, Man, is obviously paralleled by the relation between the\nteacher and the child; and it is therefore clear that the supposed\ndealings of God with Man ought to be paralleled by the dealings of\nthe teacher with the child. That they are so paralleled--that\nsalvation by machinery has found its most exact counterpart in\neducation by machinery--the history of education has made abundantly\nclear.\n\nWhatever else the current system of education may do to the child,\nthere is one thing which it cannot fail to do to him,--to blight his\nmental growth. What particular form or forms this blighting influence\nmay take will depend in each particular case on a variety of\ncircumstances. Experience tells us that what happens in most cases is\nthat Western education strangles some faculties, arrests the growth\nof others, stunts the growth of a third group, and distorts the\ngrowth of a fourth.\n\nIs it intended that education should do all this? This question is\nnot so paradoxical as it sounds. My primary assumption that the\nfunction of education is to foster growth may be a truism in the\neyes of those who agree with it; but Western orthodoxy, just so\nfar as it is self-conscious and sincere, must needs repudiate it\nas a pestilent heresy. For if what grows is intrinsically evil,\nwhat can growth do for it but carry it towards perdition?\n\nWhat is it that grows? It is time that I should ask myself this\nquestion. My answer to it is, in brief, that it is the whole human\nbeing that grows, the whole nature of the child,--body, mind, heart\nand soul. When I use these familiar words, I am far from wishing\nto suggest that human nature is divisible into four provinces or\ncompartments. In every stage of its development human nature is a\nliving and indivisible whole. Each of the four words stands for a\ntypical aspect of Man's being, but one of the four may also be said\nto stand for the totality of Man's being,--the word _soul_. For it\nis the soul which manifests as _body_, which thinks as _mind_, which\nfeels and loves as _heart_, and which is what it is--though not\nperhaps what it really or finally is--as _soul_.\n\nThe function of education, then, is to foster the growth of the\nchild's whole nature, or, in a word, of his soul. I ought, perhaps,\nto apologise for my temerity in using this now discredited word. In\nthe West Man does not believe in the soul. How can he? He does not\nbelieve in God either as the eternal source or as the eternal end of\nhis own nature. It follows that he does not and cannot believe in\nthe unity of his own being. He has been taught that his nature is\ncorrupt, evil, godless; and that the \"soul,\" which is somehow or\nother attached to his fallen nature during his \"earthly pilgrimage,\"\nwas supernaturally created at the moment of his birth. He is now\nbeginning to reject this conception of the soul; but he cannot yet\nrise to the higher conception of it as the vital essence of his\nbeing, as the divine germ in virtue of which his nature is no mere\naggregate of parts or faculties, but a living whole. So deeply rooted\nin the Western mind is disbelief in the reality of the soul that it\nis difficult to use the word, when speaking to a Western audience,\nwithout exposing oneself to the charge of insincerity,--not to speak\nof the graver charge of \"bad form.\" A savour either of _cant_ or\n_gush_ hangs about the word, and is not easily detached from it. That\nbeing so, it must be clearly understood that I mean by the soul the\nnature of Man considered in its unity and totality,--no more than\nthis, and no less.\n\nIn the opening paragraph of this book I said that some of my readers\nwould regard my fundamental assumption as a truism, others as a\nchallenge, and others again as a wicked heresy. Whether it shall be\nregarded as a truism, a challenge, or a heresy, will depend on the\nway in which it is worded. To say that the function of education is\nto foster the growth of human nature, is to invite condemnation from\nthose who regard human nature as ruined and corrupt. To say that the\nfunction of education is to foster the growth of the soul, is to\nissue a challenge to Western civilisation, which is based on the\nbelief that the end of Man's being is not the growth of his soul, but\nthe growth of his balance at the bank of material prosperity. To say\nthat the function of education is to foster the growth of certain\nfaculties, is to insist on what no one who had given his mind to\nthe matter would care to deny. For even the orthodox, who regard\nMan's nature in its totality as intrinsically evil, admit without\nhesitation that there are faculties in Man which can be and ought\nto be trained; while the \"man of the world,\" whom we may regard as\nthe most typical product of Western civilisation, is clamorous in\nhis demand that education shall foster the growth of certain mental\nfaculties which will enable the child to become an efficient clerk or\nworkman, and so contribute to the enrichment of his employer and the\ncommunity to which he belongs.\n\nThe Western educationalist will admit, then, that the function of\neducation is to foster growth; and if you ask him what it is that\ngrows or ought to grow under education's fostering care, he will give\nyou a long list of faculties--mental, for the most part, but also\nmoral and physical--and then break off under the impression that he\nhas set education an adequate and a practicable task. But he has\nset it an inadequate and an impracticable task. For behind all the\nfaculties that he enumerates dwells the living reality which he\ncannot bring himself to believe in,--the soul. And because he cannot\nbring himself to believe in the soul, he deprives the faculties\nwhich he proposes to cultivate of the very qualities which make\nthem most worthy of cultivation,--of their interrelation, their\ninterdependence, their organic unity. In other words he devitalises\neach of them by cutting it off from the life which is common to all\nof them, and so paralyses its capacity for growing in the very act\nof taking thought for its growth. He forgets that every faculty which\nis worth cultivating both draws life from, and contributes life to,\nthe general life of the growing child. He forgets that the child\nhimself--\"the living soul\"--is growing in and through the growth of\neach of his opening faculties; and that unless, when a faculty seems\nto be growing, the life of the child is at once expressing itself in\nand renewing itself through the process of its growth, its semblance\nof growth is a pure illusion, the results that are produced being in\nreality as fraudulent as artificial flowers on a living rose-bush.\n\nBut the whole question may be looked at from another point of view.\nLet us assume, for argument's sake, that the function of education\nis to train, or foster the growth of, certain faculties, which are\nmainly though not exclusively mental, and that when those faculties\nhave been duly trained the teacher has done his work. What, then,\nare the faculties which education is supposed to train? In my attempt\nto answer this question I will confine myself to the elementary\nschool,--the only school which I can pretend to know well. A glance\nat the time-table of an ordinary elementary school might suggest to\nus that there were two chief groups of faculties to be trained--those\nwhich perceive and those which express, those which take in and those\nwhich give out. When such subjects as History, Geography, or Science\nare being taught, the child's perceptive faculties are being trained.\nWhen such subjects as Composition, Drawing or Singing are being\ntaught, the child's expressive faculties are being trained. So at\nleast one might be disposed to assume.\n\nIn what relation do the perceptive faculties stand to the expressive?\nIs it possible to cultivate either group without regard to the other?\nIt must be admitted that the methods employed in the ordinary\nelementary school seem to be governed by the assumption that the\nperceptive and the expressive faculties are two distinct groups which\nadmit of being separately trained. In the ordinary Drawing lesson,\nfor example, the child is trying to express what he does not even\npretend to have perceived; whereas in the ordinary History or Science\nlesson the process is reversed, and the child pretends to perceive\nwhat he makes no attempt to express.\n\nBut is the assumption correct? Do the two groups of faculties admit\nof being separately trained? Is it possible to devote this hour or\nhalf-hour to the training of perception, and that to the training\nof expression? Surely not. Perception and expression are not two\nfaculties, but one. Each is the very counterpart and correlate, each\nis the very life and soul, of the other. Each, when divorced from\nthe other, ceases to be its own true self. When perception is real,\nliving, informed with personal feeling, it must needs find for\nitself the outlet of expression. When expression is real, living,\ninformed with personal feeling, perception--the child's own\nperception of things--must needs be behind it. More than that. _The\nperceptive faculties_ (at any rate in childhood) _grow through the\ninterpretation which expression gives them, and in no other way. And\nthe expressive faculties grow by interpreting perception, and in no\nother way_. The child who tries to draw what he sees is training his\npower of observation, not less than his power of expression. As he\npasses and repasses between the object of his perception and his\nrepresentation of it, there is a continuous gain both to his vision\nand to his technique. The more faithfully he tries to render his\nimpression of the object, the more does that impression gain in truth\nand strength; and in proportion as the impression becomes truer and\nstronger, so does the rendering of it become more masterly and more\ncorrect. So, again, if a man tries to set forth in writing his views\nabout some difficult problem--social, political, metaphysical, or\nwhatever it may be--the very effort that he makes to express himself\nclearly and coherently will tend to bring order into the chaos and\nlight into the darkness of his mind, to widen his outlook on his\nsubject, to deepen his insight into it, to bring new aspects of it\nwithin the reach of his conscious thought. And here, as in the case\nof the child who tries to draw what he sees, there is a continuous\nreciprocal action between perception and expression, in virtue of\nwhich each in turn helps forward the evolution of the other. Even in\nso abstract and impersonal a subject as mathematics, the reaction of\nexpression on perception is strong and salutary. The student who\nwishes to master a difficult piece of bookwork should try to write\nit out in his own words; in the effort to set it out concisely and\nlucidly he will gradually perfect his apprehension of it. Were he to\nsolve a difficult problem, he would probably regard his grasp of the\nsolution as insecure and incomplete until he had succeeded in making\nit intelligible to the mind of another. When perception is deeply\ntinged with emotion, as when one sees what is beautiful, or admires\nwhat is noble, the attempt to express it in language, action, or art,\nseems to be dictated by some inner necessity of one's nature. The\nmeaning of this is that the perception itself imperatively demands\nexpression in order that, in and through the struggle of the artistic\nconsciousness to do full justice to it, it may gradually realise its\nhidden potentialities, discover its inner meaning, and find its true\nself.\n\nOnce we realise that expression is the other self of perception, it\nbecomes permissible for us to say that to train the perceptive\nfaculties--the faculties by means of which Man lays hold upon the\nworld that surrounds him, and draws it into himself and makes it his\nown--is the highest achievement of the teacher's art. Even from the\npoint of view of my primary truism, this conception of the meaning\nand purpose of education holds good. For according to that truism the\nbusiness of the teacher is to foster the growth of the child's soul;\nand the soul grows by the use of its perceptive faculties, which, by\nenabling it to take in and assimilate an ever-widening environment,\ncause a gradual enlargement of its consciousness and a proportionate\nexpansion of its life. But the perceptive faculties in their turn\ngrow by expressing themselves; and unless they are allowed to express\nthemselves--unless the child is allowed to express himself (for\nexpression, if it is genuine, is always self-expression)--their\ngrowth will be arrested, and the mission which _all_ educationalists\nassign to education will not have been fulfilled.\n\nThe question is, then, Does the system of education which prevails in\nall Western countries provide for self-expression on the part of the\nchild?\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[5] I mean by the words \"original sin\" what the plain,\nunsophisticated, believing Christian means by them. A modern poet,\nin a moment of impulsive orthodoxy, praises Christianity because it\n\n      \"taught original sin,\n  The corruption of man's heart ...\"\n\nThis definition is sufficiently accurate. \"Original sin,\" says the\nNinth Article of the Anglican Church, \"... is the fault and\ncorruption of the Nature of every man ... whereby man is of his own\nnature inclined to evil ... and therefore, in every person born into\nthe world, it deserveth God's wrath and damnation.\" How far the\npopular interpretation of the doctrine of original sin coincides with\nthe latest theological refinement of the doctrine, I cannot pretend\nto say. When it finds it convenient to explain things away, theology,\nlike Voltaire's Minor Prophet, \"est capable de tout\"; and the need\nfor reconciling the doctrine of original sin with the teaching of\nmodern science has in recent years laid a heavy tax on its\ningenuity.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nA FAMILIAR TYPE OF SCHOOL[6]\n\n\nIn this chapter I shall have in my mind a type of school which is\nfamiliar to all who are interested in elementary education. What\npercentage of the schools of England are of that particular type\nI cannot pretend to say. In the days of payment by results the\npercentage was unquestionably very high. The system under which we\nall worked made that inevitable. The days of payment by results are\nover, but their consequences are with us still. The pioneer is abroad\nin the land, but he has had, and still has, formidable difficulties\nto overcome. The percentage of routine-ridden schools is considerably\nlower than it used to be, and it is falling from year to year. Of\nthis there can be no doubt. Each teacher in turn who reads this\nchapter will, I hope, be able to say that the school which is in my\nmind is not his. But I can assure him that there are thousands of\nschools in which all or most of the evils on which I am about to\ncomment are still rampant; and I will add, for his consolation, that\nit would be a miracle if this were not so.\n\nThe first forty minutes of the morning session are given, in almost\nevery elementary school, to what is called _Religious Instruction_.\nThis goes on, morning after morning, and week after week. The child\nwho attends school regularly and punctually, as many children do,\nwill have been the victim of upwards of two thousand \"Scripture\nlessons\" by the time he leaves school.\n\nThe question of religious education in elementary schools has long\nbeen the centre of a perfect whirlpool of controversial talk. The\ngreater part of this talk is, to speak plainly, blatant cant. Every\ncandidate for a seat in the House of Commons thinks it incumbent upon\nhim to say something about religious education, but not one in a\nhundred of them has ever been present in an elementary school while\nreligious instruction was being given. The Bishops of the Established\nChurch wax eloquent in the House of Lords over the wickedness of a\n\"godless education\" and the virtue of \"definite dogmatic teaching,\"\nbut it may be doubted if there is a Bishop in the House who has in\nrecent years sat out a Scripture lesson in a Church of England\nschool. It would be well if all who talked publicly about religious\neducation could be sentenced to devote a month to the personal study\nof religious instruction as it is ordinarily given in elementary\nschools. At the end of the month they would be wiser and sadder men,\nand in future they would probably talk less about religious education\nand think more.\n\nThe Scripture lesson, as it is familiarly called, is supposed to make\nthe children of England religious, in the special sense which each\nchurch or sect attaches to that word,--to make them good Catholics,\ngood Churchmen, good Wesleyans, good Bible Christians, good Jews. But\nas those who are most in earnest about religion, and most sincere in\ntheir religious convictions, unite in assuring us that England is\nrelapsing into paganism, it may be doubted if the religious education\nof the elementary school child--a process which has been going on for\nhalf a century or more--has been entirely successful. While the fact\nthat the English parent, who must himself have attended from 1,500\nto 2,000 Scripture lessons in His schooldays, is not under any\ncircumstances to be trusted to give religious instruction to his own\nchildren, shows that those who control the religious education of the\nyouthful \"masses\" have but little confidence in the effect of their\nsystem on the religious life and faith of the English people.\n\nThey have good ground for their subconscious distrust of it. We have\nseen that the vulgar confusion between information and knowledge is\nat the root of much that is unsound in education. There is no branch\nof education in which this confusion is so fallacious or so fatal as\nin that which is called religious. The process of converting\ninformation into knowledge is a comparatively easy one when we are\ndealing with matters of detailed fact. Information as to the dates of\nthe kings of England, as to the bays and capes of the British Isles,\nas to the exports and imports of Liverpool, as to the weights and\nmeasures of this or that country, is in each case readily convertible\ninto knowledge of the given facts. But directly we get away from mere\nfacts, and begin to concern ourselves with what is large, vague,\nsubtle, and obscure,--with forces, for example, with causes, with\nlaws, with principles,--the difficulty of collecting adequate and\nappropriate information about our subject becomes great, and the\ndifficulty of converting such information into knowledge becomes\ngreater still. Information as to the dates and names of the English\nkings, and other historical facts, is easily converted into knowledge\nof those facts, but it is not easily converted into knowledge of\nEnglish history. Information as to the names and positions of capes\nand bays, as to areas and populations, and other geographical facts,\nis easily converted into knowledge of those facts, but it is not\neasily converted into knowledge of geography. Information as to\narithmetical rules and tables, as to weights and measures, and other\narithmetical facts, is easily converted into knowledge of those\nfacts, but it is not easily converted into knowledge of arithmetic.\nIn each case a _sense_ must be evolved if the information is to be\nassimilated, and so converted into real knowledge; and though it is\ntrue that the sense in question grows, in part at least, by feeding\non appropriate information, it is equally true that if, owing to\ndefective training, the sense remains undeveloped, the information\nsupplied will remain unassimilated, and the tacit assumption that the\npossession of information is equivalent to the possession of real\nknowledge will delude both the teacher and the taught. It is\npossible, as one knows from experience, for a boy to have mastered\nall the arithmetical rules and tables with which his master has\nsupplied him, and to have all his measures and weights at his\nfingers' ends, and yet to be so destitute of the arithmetical sense\nas to give without a moment's misgiving an entirely nonsensical\nanswer to a simple arithmetical problem,--to say, for example, as I\nhave known half a class of boys say, that a _room_ is _five shillings\nand sixpence wide_. Such a boy, though his head may be stuffed with\narithmetical information, has no knowledge of arithmetic.\n\nThe gulf between memorised information and real knowledge becomes\ndeep and wide in proportion as the subject matter is one which\ndemands for its effective apprehension either intellectual effort or\nemotional insight. When both these variables are demanded, the gulf\nwidens and deepens at a ratio which is \"geometrical\" rather than\n\"arithmetical\"; and when a high degree of each is demanded, the\nseparation between knowledge and information is complete.\n\nThe Art Master who should try to train the aesthetic sense of his\npupils by making them learn by heart a string of propositions in\nwhich he had set out the artistic merits of sundry masterpieces of\npainting and sculpture, would expose himself to well-merited\nridicule. So would the teacher who should try to train the scientific\nsense of his pupils by no other method than that of making them\nlearn scientific formulae by heart. What shall we say, then, of the\nteacher who tries to train the religious sense of his pupils by\nsupplying them with rations of theological and theologico-historical\ninformation? Whatever else we may mean by the word God, we mean what\nis infinitely great, and therefore beyond the reach of human thought,\nand we mean what is \"most high,\" and therefore beyond the reach of\nthe heart's desire. It follows that for knowledge of God the maximum\nof intellectual effort is needed, in conjunction with the maximum of\nemotional insight; and it follows further that the gulf between\nknowledge of God and information about God is unimaginably wide and\ndeep,--so wide and so deep that out of our very attempts to span or\nfathom it the doubt at last arises whether the idea of acquiring\ninformation about God may not, after all, be the idlest of dreams.\n\nNevertheless the pastors and masters of our elementary schools are,\nwith few exceptions, engaged, _sancta simplicitate_, in trying to\nmake the children of England religious by cramming them with\ntheological and theologico-historical information,--information as to\nthe nature and attributes of God, as to the inner constitution of\nhis being, as to his relations to Man and the Universe, as to his\nreported doings in the past. And in order that the giving, receiving,\nand retaining of this unverifiable information may be regarded by\nall concerned as the central feature of the Scripture lesson, to\nthe neglect of all the other aspects of religious education, the\nspiritual \"powers that be\" (and also, I am told, some of the Local\nEducation Authorities) have decreed that the schools under their\njurisdiction shall be subjected to a yearly examination in\n\"religious knowledge\" at the hands of a \"Diocesan Inspector,\" or some\nother official.\n\nTo one who has convinced himself, as I have, that a right attitude\ntowards the thing known is of the essence of knowledge, and that\nreverence and devotion--to go no further--are of the essence of a\nright attitude towards God, the idea of holding a formal examination\nin religious knowledge seems scarcely less ridiculous than the idea\nof holding a formal examination in unselfishness or brotherly love.\nThe phrase \"to examine in religious knowledge\" has no meaning for me.\nThe verb is out of all relation to its indirect object. What the\nDiocesan Inspector attempts to do cannot possibly be done. The test\nof religious knowledge is necessarily practical and vital, not formal\nand mechanical. Even if I were to admit, for argument's sake, that\nthe information with which we cram the elementary school child\nbetween 9.5 and 9.45 a.m. had been supernaturally communicated by God\nto Man, my general position would remain unaffected. For experience\nhas amply proved that a child--or, for the matter of that, a man--may\nknow much theology and even be \"mighty in the Scriptures,\" and yet\nshow by his conduct that his religious sense has not been awakened,\nand that therefore he has no knowledge of God; just as we have seen\nthat a child may know by heart all arithmetical rules and tables, and\nyet show, by his helplessness in the face of a simple problem, that\nhis arithmetical sense has not been awakened, and that therefore he\nhas no knowledge of arithmetic.\n\nThe time given to religious instruction is, to make a general\nstatement, the only part of the session in which the children are\nbeing prepared for a formal _external_ examination. That being so, it\nis no matter for wonder that many of the glaring faults of method and\norganisation which the examination system fostered in our elementary\nschools between the years 1862 and 1895, and which are now being\nabandoned, however slowly, reluctantly, and sporadically, during the\nhours of \"secular\" instruction, still find a refuge in the Scripture\nlesson. Overgrouping of classes, overcrowding of school-rooms,\ncollective answering, collective repetition, scribbling on slates,\nand other faults with which inspectors were only too familiar in\nbygone days, are still rampant while religious instruction is being\ngiven.[7] The Diocesan Inspector is an examiner, pure and simple, and\nis never present when the Scripture lesson is in progress. Whether he\nwould find anything to criticise if he were present, may be doubted.\nI have frequently been told by teachers that it is his demand for a\ngood volume of sound, when he is catechising the children, which\nkeeps alive during the Scripture lesson the pestilent habit of\ncollective answering, in defiance of the obvious fact that what is\neverybody's business is nobody's business, and that an experienced\nbell-wether can easily give a lead to a whole class. An inconvenient\ntrain service may compel H.M. Inspector to be present when religious\ninstruction is being given; but though he may find much to deplore\nin what he sees and hears, he must abstain from criticism, and be\ncontent to play the _role_ of the man who looks over a hedge while a\nhorse is being stolen.\n\nIn most elementary schools religion is taught on an elaborate\nsyllabus which is imposed on the teacher by an external authority,\nand which therefore tends to destroy his freedom and his interest in\nthe work. It is not his business to take thought for the religious\ntraining of his pupils, to consider how the religious instinct may\nbest be awakened in them, how their latent knowledge of God may\nbest be evolved. His business is to prepare them for their yearly\nexamination, to cram them with catechisms, hymns, texts, and\ncollects, and with stories of various kinds,--stories from the\nfolk-lore of Israel, from the history of the Jews, from the Gospel\nnarratives. To appeal to the reasoning powers of his pupils would be\nforeign to his aim, and foreign, let me say in passing, to the whole\ntradition of religious teaching in the West. The burden of preparing\nfor an examination, whatever the examination may be, falls mainly on\nthe faculty of memory. This is a rule to which there are very few\nexceptions. When the examination is one in \"religious knowledge,\" the\nburden of preparing for it falls wholly on the faculty of memory.\nTo appeal to the reasoning powers of the scholars might conceivably\nprovoke them to ask inconvenient questions, and might even give\nrise to a spirit of rationalism in the school,--the spirit which\n\"orthodoxy\" has always regarded as the very antipole to religious\nfaith.\n\nBut what of the child's emotional faculties? Will not the beauty of\nthe Gospel stories, will not the sublimity of the Old Testament\npoetry, make their own appeal to these? They might do so if they were\nallowed to exert their spiritual magnetism. But what chance have\nthey? The chilling shadow of the impending examination falls upon\nthem and cancels their educative influence. It is not because the\nGospel stories are full of beauty and spiritual meaning that the\nchild has to learn them, but because he will be questioned on them by\nthe Diocesan Inspector. It is not because certain passages from the\nOld Testament are poetry of a high order that the child commits them\nto memory, but because he may have to repeat them to the Diocesan\nInspector. We cannot serve God and Mammon,--the God of poetry and the\ninward life, the Mammon of outward results. The thing is not to be\ndone, and the pretence of doing it is a mockery and a fraud. The\ncompulsory preparation of the plays of Shakespeare and other literary\nmasterpieces for a formal examination, too often gives the schoolboy,\nor the college student, a permanent distaste for English literature.\nThe study of the Ancient Classics for the Oxford \"Schools\" or the\nCambridge \"Tripos\" too often gives the studious undergraduate a\npermanent distaste for the literatures of Greece and Rome. Does it\nnot follow _a fortiori_ that to cram a young child, for the purposes\nof a formal examination, to cram him, year after year, with the\nidyllic stories of the New Testament and the poetic beauties of the\nOld, will in all probability go a long way towards blighting in the\nbud the child's latent capacity for responding to the appeal, not of\nthe Bible alone, but of spiritual poetry as such?\n\nI do not wish to suggest that the religious instruction given in\nour elementary schools is always formal and mechanical. There are\nteachers who can break through the toils of any system, however\ndeadly, and give life to their teaching in defiance of conditions\nwhich would paralyse the energies of lesser men. As I write, I recall\ntwo teachers of elementary schools, who, in spite of having to\nprepare their pupils for diocesan inspection, succeeded in quickening\ntheir religious instincts into vital activity. The first was a\nschoolmaster,--a \"strong Churchman,\" and a sincerely religious man.\nThe second was a woman of genius, whose extraordinary sympathy with\nand insight into the soul of the child, enabled her to give free play\nto all his expansive instincts, and in and through the evolution of\nthese to foster the growth of his religious sense. I can never feel\nquite sure that this teacher fully realised how deeply, and yet\nhealthily, religious her children were. If she did not, I can but\napply to her what Diderot said to David the painter, when the latter\nconfessed that he had not intended to produce some artistic effect\nwhich the former had discovered in one of his pictures: \"Quoi! c'est\na votre insu? C'est encore mieux.\" To make children religious without\nintending to do so is a profoundly significant achievement, for\nit means that the fatal distinction between religious and secular\neducation has been \"utterly abolished and destroyed.\"\n\nBoth these teachers fell, as it happened, under the ban of the\nDiocesan Inspector's displeasure. The schoolmaster took over a\nschool which was not only inefficient in the eyes of the Education\nDepartment, in respect of instruction and discipline, but was also\ntainted in its upper classes with moral depravity. He speedily\nrestored it to efficiency, and reformed its moral tone. In\naccomplishing these salutary changes, he relied mainly on an appeal\nwhich he made, in all manly sincerity, to the religious sense of the\nolder boys. The faith in human nature which prompted him to make this\nappeal was justified by the response which it evoked. In less than a\nyear the school was transformed beyond recognition. In less than two\nyears it was one of the best in its county; indeed in respect of\nmoral tone and religious atmosphere it was perhaps _the_ best.\nMeanwhile the work of cramming the children for the yearly diocesan\nexamination must have fallen into arrears; for the school, which\nunder my friend's incompetent predecessor had always been classed as\n\"Excellent,\" sank to the level of \"Good\" in the year after he left,\nand in the following year to the level of \"Fair.\" Any one who has any\nacquaintance with the reports of the Diocesan Inspector knows that\nthe summary mark \"Fair,\" when employed by him, is equivalent to\nutter damnation.\n\nThe schoolmistress always had a horror of formal teaching, and a\nspecial horror of cramming young children for formal examinations;\nand I can only wonder that her downfall was so long delayed. Sooner\nor later, if she was to remain true to her own first principles, her\nwork was bound to incur the condemnation of the Diocesan Inspector.\n\nNevertheless, having read hundreds of diocesan reports, and realised\nhow lavish of praise and chary of blame the Diocesan Inspector\nusually is, I am inclined to suspect that the comparative failure\nof the children on the examination day was not the sole or even the\nchief cause of the severe censure which these two schools received.\nI am inclined to think that in each case the inspector recognised in\nthe exceptional religious vitality of a school which was deficient,\nfrom his point of view, in religious knowledge, an implicit challenge\nto his own preconceived notions, and that, without for a moment\nintending to be unfair, he responded to this challenge by giving the\nschool a strongly adverse report. Immorality and irreligiousness\nas such are comparatively venial offences in the eyes of religious\northodoxy. What it cannot tolerate is that men should be moral and\nreligious in any but the \"orthodox\" ways.\n\nApart from these two exceptional cases, there are of course hundreds\nand even thousands of teachers whose personal influence is a partial\nantidote to the numbing poison which is being distilled but surely,\nfrom the daily Scripture lesson. But the net result of giving formal\nand mechanical instruction on the greatest of all \"great matters\" is\nto depress the spiritual vitality of the children of England to a\npoint which threatens the extinction of the spiritual life of the\nnation. My schoolmaster friend, who, besides being deeply religious\n(in the best sense of the word), is a man of sound judgment and wide\nand varied experience, has more than once assured me that religious\ninstruction, as given in the normal Church of England school (his\nexperience has been limited to schools of that type), is paganising\nthe people of England,--paganising them because it presents religion\nto them in a form which they instinctively reject, accepting it at\nfirst under compulsion, but turning away from it at last with\ndeep-seated weariness and permanent distaste.\n\nThe boy who, having attended two thousand Scripture lessons, says to\nhimself when he leaves school: \"If this is religion, I will have no\nmore of it,\" is acting in obedience to a healthy instinct. He is to\nbe honoured rather than blamed for having realised at last that the\nchaff on which he has so long been fed is not the life-giving grain\nwhich, unknown to himself, his inmost soul demands.\n\nThat England is relapsing into paganism is, as we have seen, the\nsincere conviction of many earnest Christians. Why this should be so,\nthey cannot understand. In their desire to account for so distressing\na phenomenon, they will have recourse to any explanation, however\nfar-fetched and fantastic, rather than acknowledge that it is the\nScripture lesson in the elementary school which is paganising the\nmasses. If the Churches could have their way, they would doubtless\ntry to mend matters by doubling the hours that are given to\nreligious instruction, by making the Diocesan Inspector's visit\na half-yearly instead of a yearly function, and by cramming the\nchildren for it with redoubled energy. In their refusal to reckon\nwith human nature, they are true to the first principles of their\nreligion and their philosophy. But it is possible to buy consistency\nat too high a price. The laws and tendencies of Nature are what they\nare; and it is madness, not heroism, to ignore them. To those who\nrefuse to reckon with human nature, the day will surely come when\nhuman nature, evolving itself under the stress of its own forces and\nin obedience to its own laws, will cease to take account of them.[8]\n\nWhen the hands of the clock point to a quarter to ten, the religious\neducation of the child is over for the day, and his secular\ninstruction has begun. That the religious education of the child\nshould be supposed to end when the Scripture lesson is over, is the\nlast and strongest proof of the fundamental falsity of that\nconception of religion on which, as on a quicksand, his education,\nreligious and secular, has been based.\n\n After Scripture comes as a rule Arithmetic. During the former lesson\nthe teacher, acting under compulsion, does his best, as we have seen,\nto deaden the child's spiritual faculties. During the latter, he not\ninfrequently does his best to deaden the child's mental faculties. In\neach case he is to be pitied rather than blamed. The conditions under\nwhich he works, and has long worked, are too strong for him. If we\nare to understand why secular instruction, as given in our elementary\nschools, is what it is, we must go back for half a century or so and\ntrace the steps by which the \"Education Department\" forced elementary\neducation in England into the grooves in which, in many schools,\nit is still moving, and from which even the most enlightened and\nenterprising teachers find it difficult to escape.\n\nIn 1861 the Royal Commission (under the Duke of Newcastle as\nChairman), which had been appointed in 1858 in order to inquire into\n\"the state of popular education in England, and as to the measures\nrequired for the extension of sound and cheap elementary instruction\nto all classes of the people,\" issued its report, in which it\nrecommended _inter alia_ that the Grants paid to elementary schools\nshould be expressly apportioned on the examination of individual\nchildren. This recommendation was carried into effect in the Lowe\nRevised Code of 1862; and from that date till 1895 a considerable\npart of the Grant received by each school was paid on the results of\na yearly examination held by H.M. Inspector on an elaborate syllabus,\nformulated by the Department and binding on all schools alike. On the\nofficial report which followed this examination depended the\nreputation and financial prosperity of the school, and the reputation\nand financial prosperity of the teacher.[9] The consequent pressure\non the teacher to exert himself was well-nigh irresistible; and he\nhad no choice but to transmit that pressure to his subordinates and\nhis pupils. The result was that in those days the average school was\na hive of industry.\n\nBut it was also a hive of misdirected energy. The State, in\nprescribing a syllabus which was to be followed, in all the subjects\nof instruction, by all the schools in the country, without regard to\nlocal or personal considerations, was guilty of one capital offence.\nIt did all his thinking for the teacher. It told him in precise\ndetail what he was to do each year in each \"Standard,\" how he was to\nhandle each subject, and how far he was to go in it; what width of\nground he was to cover; what amount of knowledge, what degree of\naccuracy was required for a \"pass,\" In other words it provided him\nwith his ideals, his general conceptions, his more immediate aims,\nhis schemes of work; and if it did not control his methods in all\ntheir details, it gave him (by implication) hints and suggestions\nwith regard to these on which he was not slow to act; for it told him\nthat the work done in each class and each subject would be tested\nat the end of each year by a careful examination of each individual\nchild; and it was inevitable that in his endeavour to adapt his\nteaching to the type of question which his experience of the\nyearly examination led him to expect, he should gradually deliver\nhimself, mind and soul, into the hands of the officials of the\nDepartment,--the officials at Whitehall who framed the yearly\nsyllabus, and the officials in the various districts who examined\non it.\n\nWhat the Department did to the teacher, it compelled him to do to the\nchild. The teacher who is the slave of another's will cannot carry\nout his instructions except by making his pupils the slaves of\nhis own will. The teacher who has been deprived by his superiors\nof freedom, initiative, and responsibility, cannot carry out his\ninstructions except by depriving his pupils of the same vital\nqualities. The teacher who, in response to the deadly pressure of a\ncast-iron system, has become a creature of habit and routine, cannot\ncarry out his instructions except by making his pupils as helpless\nand as puppet-like as himself.\n\nBut it is not only because mechanical obedience is fatal, in the\nlong run, to mental and spiritual growth, that the regulation of\nelementary or any other grade of education by a uniform syllabus is\nto be deprecated. It is also because a uniform syllabus is, in the\nnature of things, a bad syllabus, and because the degree of its\nbadness varies directly with the area of the sphere of educational\nactivity that comes under its control. It is easy for us of the\nTwentieth Century to laugh at the syllabuses which the Department\nissued, without misgiving, year after year, in the latter half of the\nNineteenth. We were all groping in the dark in those days; and our\nwhole attitude towards education was so fundamentally wrong that the\nabsurdities of the yearly syllabus were merely so much by-play in\nthe evolution of a drama which was a grotesque blend of tragedy and\nfarce. But let us of the enlightened Twentieth Century try our hands\nat constructing a syllabus on which all the elementary schools of\nEngland are to be prepared for a yearly examination, and see if\nwe can improve appreciably on the work of our predecessors. Some\nimprovement there would certainly be, but it would not amount to very\nmuch. Were the \"Board\" to re-institute payment by results, and were\nthey, with this end in view, to entrust the drafting of schemes of\nwork in the various subjects to a committee of the wisest and most\nexperienced educationalists in England, the resultant syllabus would\nbe a dismal failure. For in framing their schemes these wise and\nexperienced educationalists would find themselves compelled to take\naccount of the lowest rather than of the highest level of actual\neducational achievement. What is exceptional and experimental cannot\npossibly find a place in a syllabus which is to bind all schools and\nall teachers alike, and which must therefore be so framed that the\nleast capable teacher, working under the least favourable conditions,\nmay hope, when his pupils are examined on it, to achieve with decent\nindustry a decent modicum of success. Under the control of a uniform\nsyllabus, the schools which are now specialising and experimenting,\nand so giving a lead to the rest, would have to abandon whatever was\ninteresting in their respective curricula, and fall into line with\nthe average school; while, with the consequent lowering of the\ncurrent _ideal_ of efficiency, the level of the average school would\nsteadily fall. A uniform syllabus is a bad syllabus, for this if for\nno other reason, that it is compelled to idealise the average; and\nthat, inasmuch as education, so far as it is a living system, grows\nby means of its \"leaders,\" the idealisation of the average is\nnecessarily fatal to educational growth and therefore to educational\nlife.\n\nIt was preordained, then, that the syllabuses which the Department\nissued, year by year, in the days of payment by results should have\nfew merits and many defects. Yet even if, by an unimaginable miracle,\nthey had all been educationally sound, the mere fact that all the\nteachers in England had to work by them would have made them potent\nagencies for evil. To be in bondage to a syllabus is a misfortune for\na teacher, and a misfortune for the school that he teaches. To be in\nbondage to a syllabus which is binding on all schools alike, is a\ngraver misfortune. To be in bondage to a bad syllabus which is\nbinding on all schools alike, is of all misfortunes the gravest. Or\nif there is a graver, it is the fate that befell the teachers of\nEngland under the old _regime_,--the fate of being in bondage to a\nsyllabus which was bad both because it had to come down to the level\nof the least fortunate school and the least capable teacher, and also\nbecause it was the outcome of ignorance, inexperience, and\nbureaucratic self-satisfaction.\n\nOf the evils that are inherent in the examination system as such--of\nits tendency to arrest growth, to deaden life, to paralyse the higher\nfaculties, to externalise what is inward, to materialise what is\nspiritual, to involve education in an atmosphere of unreality and\nself-deception--I have already spoken at some length. In the days of\npayment by results various circumstances conspired to raise those\nevil tendencies to the highest imaginable \"power.\" When inspectors\nceased to examine (in the stricter sense of the word) they realised\nwhat infinite mischief the yearly examination had done. The children,\nthe majority of whom were examined in reading and dictation out of\ntheir own reading-books (two or three in number, as the case might\nbe), were drilled in the contents of those books until they knew\nthem almost by heart. In arithmetic they worked abstract sums, in\nobedience to formal rules, day after day, and month after month;\nand they were put up to various tricks and dodges which would, it\nwas hoped, enable them to know by what precise rules the various\nquestions on the arithmetic cards were to be answered. They learned\na few lines of poetry by heart, and committed all the \"meanings and\nallusions\" to memory, with the probable result--so sickening must\nthe process have been--that they hated poetry for the rest of their\nlives. In geography, history, and grammar they were the victims of\nunintelligent oral cram, which they were compelled, under pains and\npenalties, to take in and retain till the examination day was over,\ntheir ability to disgorge it on occasion being periodically tested by\nthe teacher. And so with the other subjects. Not a thought was given,\nexcept in a small minority of the schools, to the real training of\nthe child, to the fostering of his mental (and other) growth. To get\nhim through the yearly examination by hook or by crook was the one\nconcern of the teacher. As profound distrust of the teacher was the\nbasis of the policy of the Department, so profound distrust of the\nchild was the basis of the policy of the teacher. To leave the child\nto find out anything for himself, to work out anything for himself,\nto think out anything for himself, would have been regarded as a\nproof of incapacity, not to say insanity, on the part of the teacher,\nand would have led to results which, from the \"percentage\" point of\nview, would probably have been disastrous.\n\nThere were few inspectors who were not duly impressed from 1895\nonwards by the gravity of the evils that inspection, as distinguished\nfrom mere examination, revealed to them; but it may be doubted\nif there were many inspectors who realised then, what some among\nthem see clearly now, that the evils which distressed them were\nsignificant as symptoms even more than as sources of mischief,--as\nsymptoms of a deep-seated and insidious malady, of the gradual\nossification of the spiritual and mental muscles of both the teacher\nand the child, of the gradual substitution in the elementary school\nof machinery for life.\n\nFor us of the Twentieth Century who know enough about education to\nbe aware of the shallowness of our knowledge of it, and of the\nimperfection of the existing educational systems of our country, it\nmay be difficult to realise that in the years when things were at\ntheir worst, at any rate in the field of elementary education, the\nNation in general and the \"Department\" in particular were well\ncontent that things should remain as they were,--well content that\nthe elementary school should be, not a nursery of growing seedlings\nand saplings, but a decently efficient mill, and that year after year\nthis mill should keep on grinding out its dreary and meaningless\n\"results.\" But in truth that ignorant optimism, that cheap content\nwith the actual, was a sure proof that things _were_ at their\nworst;--for\n\n  \"When we in our viciousness grow hard,\n  (O misery on't) the wise gods seal our eyes\n  In our own filth; drop our clear judgments: make us\n  Adore our errors\";\n\nand the multiform discontent with education in its present stage of\ndevelopment, which is characteristic of our own generation, and which\nis in some ways so confusing and disconcerting, and so unfavourable\nto the smooth working of our educational machinery, has the merit of\nbeing a healthy and hopeful symptom.\n\nBut bad as things were in those days, there was at least one\nredeeming feature. The children were compelled to _work_, to exert\nthemselves, to \"put their backs into it.\" The need for this was\nobvious. The industry of the child meant so much professional\nreputation and, in the last resort, so much bread and butter to his\nteacher. It is true that the child was not allowed to do anything by\nor for himself; but it is equally true that he had to do pretty\nstrenuously whatever task was set him. He had to get up his two (or\nthree) \"Readers\" so thoroughly that he could be depended upon to pass\nboth the reading and the dictation test with success. He had to work\nhis abstract sums in arithmetic correctly. He had to take in and\nremember the historical and geographical information with which he\nhad been crammed. And so forth. There must be no shirking, no\nslacking on his part. His teachers worked hard, though \"not according\nto knowledge\"; and he must do the same. Active, in the higher sense\nof the word, he was never allowed to be; but he had to be actively\nreceptive, strenuously automatic, or his teacher would know the\nreason why.\n\nSuch was the old _regime_. Its defects were so grave and so vital\nthat, now that it has become discredited (in theory, if not in\npractice), we can but wonder how it endured for so long. As an\ningenious instrument for arresting the mental growth of the child,\nand deadening all his higher faculties, it has never had, and I\nhope will never have, a rival. Far from fostering the growth of\nthose great expansive instincts--sympathetic, aesthetic, and\nscientific--which Nature has implanted in every child, it set itself\nto extirpate them, one and all, with ruthless pertinacity. As a\npartial compensation for this work of wanton destruction, it made the\nchild blindly obedient, mechanically industrious, and (within very\nnarrow limits) accurate and thorough. I have described it at some\nlength because I see clearly that no one who does not realise what\nthe elementary school used to be, in the days of its sojourn in the\nLand of Bondage, can even begin to understand why it is what it is\nto-day.\n\nHaving for thirty-three years deprived the teachers of almost every\nvestige of freedom, the Department suddenly reversed its policy and\ngave them in generous measure the boon which it had so long withheld.\nWhether it was wise to give so much at so short a notice may be\ndoubted. What is beyond dispute is that it was unwise to expect so\ngreat and so unexpected a gift to be used at once to full advantage.\nA man who had grown accustomed to semi-darkness would be dazzled to\nthe verge of blindness if he were suddenly taken out into broad\ndaylight. This is what was done in 1895 to the teachers of England,\nand it is not to be wondered at that many of them have been purblind\never since. For thirty-three years they had been treated as machines,\nand they were suddenly asked to act as intelligent beings. For\nthirty-three years they had been practically compelled to do\neverything for the child, and they were suddenly expected to give him\nfreedom and responsibility,--words which for many of them had\nwell-nigh lost their meaning. To comply with these unreasonable\ndemands was beyond their power. The grooves into which they had been\nforced were far too deep for them. The routine to which they had\nbecome accustomed had far too strong a hold on them. The one change\nwhich they could make was to relax their own severe pressure on the\nchild. This they did, perhaps without intending to do it. Indeed,\nnow that there was no external examination to look forward to, the\npressure on the child may be said to have automatically relaxed\nitself. What happened--I will not say in all schools, but in far too\nmany--was that the teaching remained as mechanical and unintelligent\nas ever, that the teacher continued to distrust the child and to do\neverything for him, but that the child gradually became slacker and\nless industrious. Not that his teacher wished him to \"slack,\" but\nthat the stimulus of the yearly examination had been withdrawn at a\ntime when there was nothing to take its place. Exercise is in itself\na delightful thing when it is wholesome, natural, and rational;\nbut when it is unwholesome, unnatural, and irrational, it will not\nbe taken in sufficient measure except in response to some strong\nexternal stimulus. Under the old examination system an adequate\nstimulus had been supplied by the combined influence of competition\nand fear (chiefly the latter). When the examination system was\nabolished, that stimulus necessarily lost its point. Had it then been\npossible for the teacher to make the exercise which his pupils were\nasked to take wholesome, natural, and rational, a new stimulus--that\nof interest in their work--would have been applied to the pupils, and\nthey would have exerted themselves as they had never done before.\nBut it was not possible for the average teacher to execute at a\nmoment's notice a complete change of front, and it was unwise of the\nDepartment to expect him to do so. Apart from an honourable minority,\nwho had always been in secret revolt against the despotism of the\nCode, the old teachers were helpless and hopeless. The younger ones\nhad been through the mill themselves, first in the Elementary School,\nthen in the Pupil-Teacher Centre, and then in the Training College\n(both the latter having been in too many cases cramming\nestablishments like the Elementary School); and when they went back\nto work under a head teacher who was wedded to the old order of\nthings, they found no difficulty in falling in with his ways and\ncarrying out his wishes. If a young teacher, fresh from an\nexceptionally enlightened Training College, became an assistant under\nan old-fashioned head teacher, he soon had the \"nonsense knocked out\nof him,\" and was compelled to toe the line with the rest of the\nstaff.\n\nBut it was not only because the teachers of England had got\naccustomed to the Land of Bondage, that they shrank from entering the\nPromised Land. There was, and still is, another and a stronger\nreason. Wherever the teacher looks, he sees that the examination\nsystem, with its demand for machine-made results, controls education;\nand he feels that it is only by an accident that his school has\nbeen exempted (in part at least) from its pressure. The Board of\nEducation still examine for labour certificates, for admission as\nuncertificated assistants, for the teacher's certificate. They expect\nhead teachers to hold terminal examinations of all the classes in\ntheir schools. They allow Local Authorities to examine children in\ntheir schools as formally and as stringently as they please, and to\nhold examinations for County Scholarships, for which children from\nelementary schools are eligible. Admission to secondary schools of\nall grades depends on success in passing entrance examinations. So\ndoes admission to the various Colleges and Universities. In the\nschools which prepare little boys for the \"Great Public Schools,\"\nthe whole scheme of education Is dominated by the headmaster's desire\nto win as many entrance scholarships as possible. In the \"Great\nPublic Schools\" the scheme of education is similarly dominated by\nthe headmaster's desire to win as many scholarships as possible\nat the Oxford and Cambridge Colleges. In the Universities all the\nundergraduates without exception are reading for examinations of\nvarious kinds,--pass \"schools,\" honour \"schools,\" Civil Service\nexaminations, and the like. Officers in the Army and Navy have never\ndone with examinations; and there is not a single profession which\ncan be entered through any door but that of a public examination.\nWherever the teacher looks he sees that examinations are held in high\nhonour, and that the main business of teachers of all grades is to\nproduce results which an outside examiner would accept as\nsatisfactory; and he naturally takes for granted that the production\nof such results is the true function of the teacher, whether his\nsuccess in producing them is to be tested by a formal examination or\nnot. The air that he breathes is charged with ideas--ideas about life\nin general and education in particular--which belong to the order of\nthings that he is supposed to have left behind him, and are fiercely\nantagonistic to those as yet unrecognised ideas which give the new\norder of things its meaning, its purpose, and its value.\n\nHow can we expect the teacher to look inward when all the conditions\nof his existence, not as a teacher only but also as a citizen and a\nman, conspire to make him look outward? But if the Fates are against\nhis looking inward, to what purpose has he been emancipated from the\ndirect control of a system which had at least the merit of being in\nline with all the central tendencies of Western civilisation? How\ndoes it profit him to be free if, under the pressure of those\ntendencies, the chief use that he makes of his freedom is to grind\nout from his pupils results akin to those which were asked for in the\ndays of schedules and percentages? Freedom was given him in order\nthat he might be free to take thought for the vital welfare of his\npupils. Or, if freedom was not given to him for that purpose, it were\nbetter that it had been withheld from him until those who were able\nto give or withhold it had formed a juster conception of its meaning.\n\nThe truth is that the exemption of the elementary school, and of it\nalone among schools, from the direct pressure of the examination\nsystem, is an isolated and audacious experiment, which is carried on\nunder conditions so unfavourable to its success that nothing but a\nhigh degree of intelligence and moral courage (not to speak of\noriginality) on the part of the teacher can make it succeed. Can we\nwonder that in many cases the experiment has proved a failure?\n\nAt the end of the previous chapter I asked myself whether the\neducation that was given in the ordinary elementary school tended to\nfoster self-expression on the part of the child. We can now see what\nthe answer to this question is likely to be. For a third of a\ncentury--from 1862 to 1895--self-expression on the part of the child\nmay be said to have been formally prohibited by all who were\nresponsible for the elementary education of the children of England,\nand also to have been prohibited _de facto_ by all the unformulated\nconditions under which the elementary school was conducted. In 1895\nthe formal prohibition of self-expression ceased, but the _de facto_\nprohibition of it in the ordinary school is scarcely less effective\nto-day than it was in the darkest days of the old _regime_. For\n\n  \"The evil that men do lives after them,\"\n\nand the old _regime_, though nominally abrogated, overshadows us\nstill. When I say this I do not merely mean that many teachers who\nwere brought up under the old _regime_ have been unable to emancipate\nthemselves from its influence. I mean that the old _regime_ was\nitself the outcome and expression of traditional tendencies which\nare of the essence of Western civilisation, of ways of thinking\nand acting to which we are all habituated from our earliest days,\nand that these tendencies and these ways of thinking and acting\novershadow us still. The formal abrogation of the old _regime_ counts\nfor little so long as the examination system, with its demand for\nvisible and measurable results and its implicit invitation to cram\nand cheat, is allowed to cast its deadly shadow on education as\nsuch,--and so long as the whole system on which the young of all\nclasses and grades are educated is favourable to self-deception on\nthe part of the teacher and fatal to sincerity on the part of the\nchild. Constrained by every influence that is brought to bear upon\nhim to judge according to the appearance of things, the teacher can\nill afford to judge righteous judgment,--can ill afford to regard\nwhat is outward and visible as the symbol of what is inward and\nspiritual, can ill afford to think of the work done by the child\nexcept as a thing to be weighed in an examiner's balance or measured\nby an examiner's rule.\n\nThings being as they are in the various grades of education and in\nthe various strata of social life, it is inevitable that the\neducation given in many of our elementary schools should be based,\nin the main, on complete distrust of the child. In such schools,\nwhatever else the child may be allowed to do, he must not be allowed\nto do anything by or for himself. He must not express what he really\nfeels and sees; for if he does, the results will probably fall short\nof the standard of neatness, cleanness, and correctness which\nan examiner might expect the school to reach. At any rate, the\nexperiment is much too risky to be tried. In the lower classes\nthe results produced would certainly be rough, imperfect, untidy.\nTherefore self-expression must not be permitted in that part of the\nschool. And if not there, it must not be permitted anywhere, for the\nlonger it is delayed the greater will be the difficulty of starting\nit and the greater the attendant risk. The child must not express\nwhat he really perceives; and as genuine perception forces for itself\nthe outlet of genuine expression, he must not be allowed to exercise\nhis perceptive faculties. Instead of seeing things for himself, he\nmust see what his teacher directs him to see, he must feel what his\nteacher directs him to feel, he must think what his teacher directs\nhim to think, and so on. But to forbid a child to use his own\nperceptive faculties is to arrest the whole process of his growth.\n\nI will now go back to the _Arithmetic_ lesson. During the years in\nwhich the children in elementary schools were examined individually\nin reading, writing, and arithmetic, the one virtue which was\ninculcated while the arithmetic lesson was in progress was that of\nobedience to the formulated rule. On the yearly examination day it\nwas customary to give each child four questions in arithmetic, of\nwhich only one was a \"problem.\" Two sums correctly worked secured\na \"pass\"; and it was therefore possible for the child to achieve\nsalvation in arithmetic by blindly obeying the various rules with\nwhich his teacher had equipped him. He had, indeed, to decide for\nhimself in each case which rule was to be followed; but he did this\n(in most schools), not by thinking the matter out, but by following\ncertain by-rules given him by his teacher, which were based on a\ncareful study of the wording of the questions set by the inspector,\nand which held good as long as that wording remained unchanged. For\nexample, if a subtraction sum was to be dictated to \"Standard II,\"\nthe child was taught that the number which was given out first was to\nbe placed in the upper line, and that the number which came next was\nto be subtracted from this. He was not taught that the lesser of the\ntwo numbers was always to be subtracted from the larger; for in order\nto apply that principle he would have had to decide for himself which\nwas the larger of the two numbers, and the consequent mental effort\nwas one which his teacher could not trust him to make. It is true\nthat in his desire to save the child from the dire necessity of\nthinking, the teacher ran the risk of being discomfited by a sudden\nchange of procedure on the part of an inspector. The inspector, for\nexample, who, having been accustomed to say \"From 95 take 57,\" chose\nto say, for a change, \"Take 57 from 95,\" would cause widespread havoc\nin the first two or three schools that were the victims of his\nunlooked-for experiment. But the risks which the teacher ran who\ntaught his pupils to rely on trickery rather than thought were worth\nrunning; for the inspectors, like the teachers and the children, were\never tending to become creatures of routine, and the vagaries of\nthose who had the reputation of being tiresomely versatile could be\nprovided against--largely, if not wholly--by increased ingenuity on\nthe part of the teacher, and increased attention to tricky by-rules\non the part of the child.\n\nThe number of schools in which arithmetic is intelligently and even\npractically taught is undoubtedly much larger than it was in the days\nof payment by results; but there are still thousands of schools in\nwhich obedience to the rule for its own sake is the basis of all\ninstruction in arithmetic. Now to live habitually by rule instead of\nby thought is necessarily fatal, in every field of action, to the\ndevelopment of that _sense_ or perceptive faculty, on which right\naction ultimately depends. Following his reputed guide blindly,\nmechanically, and with whole-hearted devotion, the votary of the rule\nnever allows his intuition, his faculty of direct perception and\nsubconscious judgment, to play even for a moment round the matters\non which he is engaged; and the result is that the faculty in\nquestion is not merely prevented from growing, but is at last\nactually blighted in the bud. This is but another way of saying what\nI have already insisted upon,--that to forbid self-expression on the\npart of the child is to starve his perceptive faculties into\nnon-existence.\n\nThere is no folly perpetrated in the elementary school of to-day for\nwhich there are not authoritative precedents to be found in the\nconduct of one or other of the two great schools which the God of\nWestern theology is supposed to have opened for the education of Man.\nAnd it is in that special development of the Legal School which\nis known as Pharisaism that we shall look for a precedent for the\nconventional teaching of arithmetic in our elementary schools. The\nultra-legalism of the Pharisee in the days of Christ finds its exact\ncounterpart in the ultra-legalism of the child who has been taught\narithmetic by the methods which the yearly examination fostered, and\nwhich are still widely prevalent. In the one case there was, in the\nother case there is, an entire inability on the part of the zealous\nvotary of the rule to estimate the intrinsic value of the results of\nhis blind and unintelligent action. The sense of humour, which is a\nnecessary element in every other healthy sense, and which so often\nkeeps us from going astray, by suddenly revealing to us the inherent\nabsurdity of our proposed action, is one of the first faculties to\nsuccumb to the blighting influence of an ultra-legal conception of\nlife. As an example of the unwavering seriousness of the Pharisee in\nthe presence of what was intrinsically ridiculous, let us take his\nattitude towards the problem of keeping food warm for the Sabbath\nday. \"According to Exodus xvi. 23, it was forbidden to bake and to\nboil on the Sabbath. Hence the food, which it was desired to eat hot\non the Sabbath, was to be prepared before its commencement, and kept\nwarm by artificial means. In doing this, however, care must be taken\nthat the existing heat was not increased, which would have been\n'boiling.' Hence the food must be put only into such substances as\nwould maintain its heat, not into such as might possibly increase it.\n'Food to be kept warm for the Sabbath must not be put into oil-dregs,\nmanure, salt, chalk, or sand, whether moist or dry, nor into straw,\ngrape-skins, flock, or vegetables, if these are damp, though it may\nif they are dry. It may, however, be put into clothes, amidst fruits,\npigeons' feathers, and flax tow. R. Jehudah declares flax tow\nunallowable and permits only coarse tow.'\"[10] Following his rule\nout, step by step, with unflinching loyalty, into these ridiculous\nconsequences, the Pharisee had entirely lost the power of seeing that\nthey were ridiculous, and was well content to believe, with Jehudah,\nthat the difference between keeping food warm in coarse tow and in\nflax tow was the difference between life and death. This _reductio\nad absurdum_ of legalism is exactly paralleled, in many of our\nelementary schools, in the answers to arithmetical questions given by\nthe children. The \"Fifth Standard\" boys who told their inspector, as\nan answer to an easy problem, that a given room was five shillings\nand sixpence wide, had followed out their rule--they had\nunfortunately got hold of a wrong rule--step by step, till it led\nthem to a conclusion, the intrinsic absurdity of which they were one\nand all unable to see.[11] There are many elementary schools in\nEngland in which a majority of the answers given to quite easy\nproblems would certainly be wrong, and a respectable minority of them\nludicrously wrong. Nor is this to be wondered at; for though the\ntypes of problems that can be set in elementary schools are not\nnumerous, to provide his pupils with the by-rules which shall enable\nthem in all, or even in most cases, to determine which of the\nrecognised rules are appropriate to the given situation, passes the\nwit of the teacher. But if the helplessness of so many elementary\nscholars in the face of an arithmetical problem is lamentable, still\nmore lamentable is the fact that the scholar is seldom met with who,\nhaving given an entirely wrong answer to an easy problem, is able to\nsee for himself that, whatever the right answer may be, the answer\ngiven is and must be wrong. So fatal to the development of the\narithmetical sense is the current worship of the rule for its own\nsake, and so deadly a narcotic is the conventional arithmetic lesson\nto all who take part in it!\n\n It is not in the arithmetic lesson, then, that provision is\nordinarily made for the development of a sense, or perceptive\nfaculty, through the medium of self-expression on the part of the\nchild. On the contrary, the very _raison d'etre_ of the arithmetic\nlesson, as it is still given in many schools, is to destroy the\narithmetical sense, and make the child an inefficient calculating\nmachine, which, even when working, is too often inaccurate and\nclumsy, and which the slightest change of environment throws at\nonce and completely out of gear.\n\nAfter the arithmetical lesson come, as a rule, lessons in \"_Reading_\"\nand \"_Writing_\"--in reading in some classes, in writing in others.\nThe first thing that strikes the visitor who enters an ordinary\nelementary school while a reading lesson is in progress, is that the\nchildren are not reading at all, in the accepted sense of the word.\nThey are not reading to themselves, not studying, not mastering the\ncontents of the book, not assimilating the mental and spiritual\nnutriment that it may be supposed to contain. They are standing up,\none by one, even in the highest class of all, and reading aloud to\ntheir teacher.\n\nWhy are they doing this? Is it in order that their teacher may show\nthem how to master the more difficult words in their reading lesson?\nThis may be the reason, in some schools; but there are others,\nperhaps a majority, in which the teacher tells his pupils the words\nthat puzzle them instead of helping them to make them out for\nthemselves. Besides, if reading were properly taught in the lower\nclasses, the children in the upper classes would surely be able to\nmaster unaided the difficulties that might confront them.\n\nOr is it in order that elocution may be cultivated? But elocution is\nseldom, if ever, cultivated in the ordinary elementary school, the\nveriest mumbling on the part of the child being accepted by his\nteacher (who follows him with an open book in his hand), provided\nthat he can read correctly and with some attempt at \"phrasing.\"\nIndeed, the indistinct utterance of so many school children may be\nattributed to the fact that they have read aloud to their teachers\nfor many years, and that during the whole of that time a very low\nstandard of distinctness has been accepted as satisfactory.\n\nOr is it in order that the teacher may help his pupils to understand\nwhat they are reading? This may be one of his reasons for hearing\nthem read aloud; but so far as the higher classes are concerned it is\na bad reason, for the older the child the more imperative is it that\nhe should try to make out for himself the meaning of what he reads;\nand the teacher who spoon-feeds his pupils during the reading lesson\nis doing his best to make them incapable of digesting the contents of\nbooks for themselves.\n\nNo, there are two chief reasons why the teacher makes children of\neleven, twelve, thirteen and fourteen years of age read aloud to him\nas if they were children of six or seven. The first reason is that\nthe unemancipated teacher instinctively does to-day what he did\ntwenty years ago, and that twenty years ago, when children were\nexamined in reading from their own books, the teacher heard them read\naloud, day after day in order that he might make sure that they knew\ntheir books well enough to pass the inspector's test. The second\nreason, which is wider than the first, and may be said to include and\naccount for it, is that the reading-aloud lesson fits in with the\nwhole system of Western education, being the outcome and expression\nof that complete distrust of the child which is, and always has been,\ncharacteristic of the popular religion and philosophy of the West. If\nyou ask the teacher why the children, even in the highest classes,\nare never allowed to work at such subjects as history and geography\nby themselves, he will tell you frankly that he cannot trust them to\ndo so, that they do not know how to use a book. And he cannot see\nthat in giving this excuse he is condemning himself, and making open\nconfession of the worthlessness of the training that he has given to\nhis pupils.\n\nWhatever else the reading-aloud lesson may be, it is a dismal waste\nof time. Child after child stands up, reads for a minute or so, and\nthen sits down, remaining idle and inert (except when an occasional\nquestion is addressed to him) for the rest of the time occupied\nby the so-called lesson. In this, as in most oral lessons, the\nelementary school child passes much of his time in a state which is\nneither activity nor rest,--a state of enforced inertness combined\nwith unnatural and unceasing strain. Activity is good for the child,\nand rest, which, is the complement of activity, is good for the\nchild; but the combination of inertness with strain is good for\nneither his body nor his mind. Indeed, it may be doubted if there is\nany state of mind and body which is so uneducational as this, or so\nunfavourable to healthy growth.\n\n But the main objection to the reading-aloud lesson is, I repeat, that\nwhile it is going on the children are not reading at all, in the\nproper sense of the word, not attacking the book, not enjoying it,\nnot extracting the honey from it. And the consequences of the\ninability to read which is thus engendered are far-reaching and\ndisastrous. The power to read is a key which unlocks many doors. One\nof the most important of these doors--perhaps, from the strictly\nscholastic point of view, _the_ most important--is the door of study.\nThe child who cannot read to himself cannot study a book, cannot\nmaster its contents. It is because the elementary school child cannot\nbe trusted to do any independent study, that the oral lesson, or\nlecture, with its futile expenditure of \"chalk and talk,\" is so\nprominent a feature in the work of the elementary school. And it is\nbecause the oral lesson necessarily counts for so much, that the\nover-grouping of classes, with all its attendant evils, is so widely\npractised. The grouping together of \"Standards\" V, VI, and VII, with\nthe result that the children who go through all those Standards are\ncompelled to waste the last two years of their school life, is a\npractice which is almost universal in elementary schools of a certain\nsize. And there are few schools of that size in which those Standards\ncould not be broken up into two, if not three, independent classes,\nif the children, whose ages range as a rule between eleven and\nfourteen, could be trusted to work by themselves. In many cases this\nover-grouping is wholly inexcusable, the headmaster having no class\nof his own to teach, and being therefore free to do what obviously\nought to be done,--to separate the older and more advanced children\nfrom the rest of the top class, and form them into a separate class\n(a real top class) for independent study and self-education under his\ndirection and supervision. But so strong is the force of habit, and\nso deeply rooted in the mind of the teacher is distrust of the child,\nthat it is rare to find the head teacher to whom the idea of breaking\nup an over-grouped top class has suggested itself as practicable, or\neven as intrinsically desirable.\n\nWe owe it, then, to the reading-aloud fetich that in many of our\nschools the children are compelled to spend the last two (or even\nthree) years of their school life--the most important years of all\nfrom the point of view of their preparation for the battle of\nlife--in marking time, in staying where they were. It is to those\nyears of enforced stagnation that the reluctance of the ex-elementary\nscholar to go on with his education is largely due; for no one can\nkeep on moving who is not already on the move, and the desire to\ncontinue education is scarcely to be looked for in one who has been\ngiven to understand that his education has come to an end. But there\nis another and a shorter cut from the conventional reading lesson to\nthe early extinction of the child's educational career. The child who\nleaves school without having learned how to use a book, will find\nthat the one door through which access is gained to most of the halls\nof learning--the door of independent study--is for ever slammed in\nhis face. Not that he will seriously try to open it; for with the\nability to read the desire to read will have aborted. The distrust of\nthe child, on which Western education is based, is a bottomless gulf\nin which educational effort, whatever form it may take or in whatever\nquarter it may originate, is for the most part swallowed up and made\nas though it had not been. The child who leaves school at the age of\nfourteen will have attended some 2,000 or 3,000 reading lessons in\nthe course of his school life. From these, in far too many cases, he\nwill have carried nothing away but the ability to stumble with\ntolerable correctness through printed matter of moderate difficulty.\nHe will not have carried away from them either the power or the\ndesire to read.\n\nIn the days of percentages, instruction in \"_Writing_\" below Standard\nV was entirely confined to handwriting and spelling; and even in the\nhigher Standards the teacher thought more about handwriting and\nspelling than any other aspect of this composite subject. Now\nhandwriting and spelling are merely means to an end,--the end of\nmaking clear to the reader the words that have been committed to\npaper by the writer. But it is the choice rather than the setting\nout of words that really matters, and the name that we give to the\nchoosing of words is Composition. The excessive regard that has\nalways been paid in our elementary schools to neat handwriting and\ncorrect spelling is characteristic of the whole Western attitude\ntowards education. No \"results\" are more easily or more accurately\nappraised than these, and it follows that no \"results\" are more\nhighly esteemed by the unenlightened teacher. For wherever the\noutward standard of reality has established itself at the expense of\nthe inward, the ease with which worth (or what passes for such) can\nbe measured is ever tending to become in itself the chief, if not the\nsole, measure of worth. And in proportion as we tend to value the\nresults of education for their measureableness, so we tend to\nundervalue and at last to ignore those results which are too\nintrinsically valuable to be measured.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHence the neglect of _Composition_ in so many elementary schools. I\nmean by composition the sincere expression in language of the child's\ngenuine thoughts and feelings. The effort to \"compose,\" whether\norally or on paper, is one of the most educational of all efforts;\nfor language is at once the most readily available and the most\nsubtle and sympathetic of all media of expression; and the effort\nto express himself in it tends, in proportion as it is sincere\nand strong, to give breadth, depth, and complexity to the child's\nthoughts and feelings, and through the development of these to weave\nhis experiences into the tissue of his life. But sincerity of\nexpression is not easily measured, and the true value of the thoughts\nand feelings that are struggling to express themselves in a child's\ncomposition is beyond the reach of any rule or scale; whereas\nneatness of handwriting and correctness of spelling are, as we have\nseen, features which appeal even to the carelessly observant eye.\n\nKnowing this, the teacher takes care that the exercise-books of his\npupils shall be filled with neat and accurate composition exercises,\nand that some of the neatest and most accurate of these shall be\nexhibited on the walls of his school. The visitor whose eye ranges\nover these exercises and goes no further may be excused if he forms\na highly favourable opinion of the school which can produce such\nseemingly excellent work. But let him spend a morning in the school,\nand see how these \"results\" have been produced. He will probably\nchange his mind as to their value. The teaching of composition in\nthe ordinary elementary school is too often fraudulent and futile.\nIndeed, there is no lesson in which the teacher's traditional\ndistrust of the child goes further than in this. In the lower classes\nthe child is taught how to construct simple sentences (as if he\nhad never made one in the previous course of his life), and he is\nnot trusted to do more than this. He listens to a so-called object\nlesson, and when it is over he is told to write a few simple\nsentences about the Cow or the Horse, or whatever the subject of the\nlesson may have been; and lest his memory (the only faculty which he\nis allowed to exercise) should fail him, the chief landmarks of the\nlesson are placed before him on the blackboard. This string of simple\nsentences reproduced from memory passes muster as composition. And\nyet that child began to practise oral composition at the age of\neighteen months, and at the age of three was able to use complex\nsentences with freedom and skill. In the upper classes the\ncomposition is too often as mechanical, as unreal, and as insincere\nas in the lower. Sometimes a given subject is worked out by the\nteacher with the class, the children, one by one, suggesting\nsentences, which are shaped and corrected by the teacher and then\nwritten up on the blackboard, until there are enough of them to fill\none page of an ordinary exercise book. Then the whole essay (if one\nmust dignify it with that name) is copied out, very neatly and\ncarefully, by every child in the class; and the result is shown to\nthe inspector as original composition. At other times or in other\nschools the class teacher does not go quite so far as this. He\ncontents himself with talking the subject over with the class, and\nthen writing a series of headings[12] on the blackboard. Or, again,\ntrusting to the child's red-hot memory, he will allow him to write\nout what he remembers of an object-lesson, or a history lesson, or\nwhatever it may be. Composition exercises which are the genuine\nexpression of genuine perception, which have behind them what the\nchild has experienced, what he has felt or thought, what he has read,\nwhat he has studied, are the exception rather than the rule; for\nin such exercises there would probably be faults of spelling,\nfaults of grammar, colloquialisms, careless writing (due to the\nchild's eagerness), and so forth; and the work would therefore be\nunsatisfactory from the showman's point of view. The child's natural\ncapacity for expressing himself in language is systematically starved\nin order that outward and visible results, results which will win\napproval from those who judge according to the appearance of things,\nmay be duly produced.\n\nThe case of oral composition in the unemancipated elementary school\nis even more hopeless than that of written composition. The latter\nhas a time set apart for it on the time-table, and is at any rate\nsupposed to be taught. The former is wholly ignored. Many teachers\nseem to have entirely forgotten that the desire and the ability to\ntalk are part of the normal equipment of every healthy child. There\nwas, indeed, a time when children were taught to answer questions\nin complete sentences even when one-word answers would have amply\nsufficed. For example, when a child was asked how many pence there\nwere in a shilling, he was expected to answer, \"There are twelve\npence in a shilling\"; when he was asked what was the colour of snow,\nhe was expected to answer, \"The colour of snow is white \"; and so on.\nAnd both he and his teacher flattered themselves that this waste of\nwords was oral composition! In point of fact the sentence in each of\nthese cases was worth no more, as an effort of self-expression, than\nits one important word--_twelve_, _white_, or whatever it might be;\nand the child, who was allowed to think that he had produced a real\nsentence, had in effect done no more than envelop one real word in a\nhollow formula. There are still many schools in which this ridiculous\npractice lingers, and in which it constitutes the only attempt at\noral composition that the child is allowed to make. Where it has died\nout the idea of teaching oral composition has too often died with it.\nYoung children are, as a rule, voluble talkers, with a considerable\ncommand of language. But it not infrequently happens that at the\nclose of his school life the once talkative child has lapsed into a\nstate of sullen taciturnity. In common with other vital faculties,\nhis power of expressing himself in speech has withered in the\nrepressive atmosphere to which he has so long been exposed.\n\nIt is in the oral lesson that one would expect oral composition to\nbe taught or at any rate practised. In such subjects as _History_,\n_Geography_, _English_, _Elementary Science_, the teaching in most\nelementary schools is mainly, if not wholly, oral. In the days of\npayment by results separate and variable grants were given for these\nsubjects; and which, if either, of two grants should be recommended\ndepended in each case on the result of an oral examination conducted\nby H.M. Inspector, the employment of a written test in any class\nbeing strictly forbidden by \"My Lords.\" In this examination proof\nof the possession of information was all that the inspector could\ndemand; and the quickest and easiest way of obtaining such proof\nwas to ask the class questions which could be briefly answered by\nthe children individually. Questions which were designed to test\nintelligence might, of course, have been asked, and in some districts\nwere freely asked; but to have reduced the grant because the children\nfailed to answer these would have provoked an outcry; while, had the\ninspector asked questions which demanded long answers, he would, in\nthe limited time at his command, have given but few children the\nchance of showing that they had been duly prepared for the\nexamination. The consequence was that the oral lesson on a \"class\nsubject\" usually took the form of stuffing the children with pellets\nof appropriate information, some of which they would, in all\nprobability, have the opportunity of disgorging when they were\nquestioned by the inspector on the yearly \"parade day.\"\n\nNot only, then, did the official examination in history, geography\nand elementary science direct the teaching of these subjects into\nchannels in which the golden opportunities that they offer for the\npractice of written composition were perforce thrown away, but also\nthe examination was so framed that even the practice of oral\ncomposition, in preparation for it, was actively discouraged. And the\nneglect of composition acted disastrously on the teaching of the\nsubjects in question; for wherever self-expression on the part of the\nchild is forbidden, the appropriate \"sense,\" or perceptive faculty,\ncannot possibly evolve itself,--perception and expression being, as\nwe have elsewhere seen, the very life and soul of each other; and in\nthe absence (to take pertinent examples) of the historical or the\ngeographical sense, the possession of historical or geographical\ninformation cannot possibly be converted into knowledge of history\nor geography. The prompt, accurate, and general answering which was\nrewarded by the award of the higher grants for \"class subjects\" was,\nin nine cases out of ten, the outcome of assiduous and unintelligent\ncram,--a mode of preparation for which the policy of the Education\nDepartment was mainly responsible.\n\n But when separate grants ceased to be paid for class subjects, were\nnot the teachers free to teach them by rational methods? No doubt\nthey were--in theory. In point of fact they were in bondage to the\nstrongest of all constraining influences,--the force of inveterate\nhabit. For twenty years they had taught the class subjects by the one\nsafe method of vigorous oral cram. This method had answered their\npurpose, and it was but natural that they should continue to teach by\nit. What happened, when separate grants ceased to be paid, was that\nthe need for responsiveness on the part of the scholar gradually\nlessened. The pellets of information were still imparted, but it\nbecame less and less incumbent upon the teacher to see that his\npupils were ready to disgorge them at a moment's notice. And so the\ncramming lesson gradually transformed itself into a _lecture_, in\nwhich the teacher did all or nearly all the talking, while the\nchildren sat still and listened or pretended to listen, an occasional\nyawn giving open proof of the boredom from which most of them were\nsuffering.\n\nThat is the type of oral lesson which is most common at the present\nday. \"Results\" in history, geography, nature study and English are\nseldom asked for by the inspector; and the teacher takes but little\ntrouble to produce them. But his distrust of the child is as firmly\nrooted as ever, and his unwillingness to allow the child to work by\nor for himself is as strong as it ever was. The consequence is that\nthere are many schools in which the teacher now does everything\nduring the oral lesson, while the child does as nearly as possible\nnothing. Formerly the child was at any rate allowed (or rather\nrequired) to be actively receptive. Now he is seldom allowed to do\nanything more active than to yawn. And all the time he is secretly\nlonging to energise--to do something with himself--to use his mental,\nif not his physical faculties--to work, if not to play. One might\nhave thought that in the history and geography lessons, if in no\nother, \"Standards VI\" and \"VII\" (where the numbers were too small\nto admit of these standards having a teacher to themselves) would\nbe separated from \"Standard V,\" and allowed to work out their own\nsalvation by studying suitable text-books under proper supervision\nand guidance. But no; the force of habit is too strong for the\nmachine-made teacher. Twenty years ago history and geography were\n\"class subjects,\" and as such were taught orally to whole classes of\nchildren. And they must still be taught as \"class subjects,\" even\nif this should involve the \"Sixth\" and \"Seventh Standards\" being\nbrigaded with, and kept down for one or even two years to, the level\nof the \"Fifth,\"--kept down, it would seem, for no other purpose than\nthat of being the passive recipients of the teacher's windy \"talk,\"\nand the helpless witnesses of his futile \"chalk,\" and of having their\nown activities paralysed and their own powers of expression starved\ninto inanition.\n\nI will deal with one more \"secular\" subject before I bring this\nsketch to a close. There are still many schools in which the hours\nthat are set apart for _Drawing_ are devoted in large measure to the\nslavish reproduction of flat copies. A picture of some familiar\nobject--outlined, shaded, or tinted as the case may be, and not\ninfrequently highly conventionalised--hangs in front of the class;\nand the children copy it, stroke by stroke, and curve by curve, and\nput in the shading and lay on washes of colour. As long practice at\nwork of this kind develops a certain degree of manual dexterity, and\nas the free use of india-rubber is permitted and even encouraged, the\nchild's finished work may be so neat and accurate as to become worthy\nof a place on the school wall. But what is the value, what is the\nmeaning of work of this kind? When such a drawing lesson as I have\ndescribed is in progress, the divorce between perception and\nexpression is complete. And as each of these master faculties is the\nvery life and soul of the other, their complete divorce from one\nanother involves the complete eclipse of each. The child who copies\na flat copy does not perceive anything except some other person's\nreproduction of a scene or object; and even this he does not\nnecessarily grasp as a whole, his business being to reproduce it with\nflawless accuracy, line by line. Indeed, it may well happen that he\ndoes not even know what the picture or diagram before him is intended\nto represent. Nor is he expressing anything, for he has not made his\nmodel in any sense or degree his own. Thus, during the whole of a\nlesson in which the perceptive and expressive faculties are supposed\nto be receiving a special training, they are lying dormant and inert.\nEach of them is, for the time being, as good as dead. And each of\nthem will assuredly die if this kind of teaching goes on for very\nlong, die for lack of exercise, die wasted and atrophied by disuse.\nThe extent to which the copying of copies can injure a child's power\nof observation exceeds belief. I have seen a bowl placed high above\nthe line of sight of a class of fifty senior boys, each one of whom\n(his memory being haunted, I suppose, by some diagram which he had\nonce copied) drew it as if he were looking into it from above. Not\none of those boys could see the bowl as it really was, or rather\nas it really was to be seen. A child who had never drawn a stroke\nin his life, but whose perceptive faculties had not been deadened\nby education, would have sketched the bowl more correctly than\nany of those quasi-experts. And with the wasting of the power of\nobservation, the executive power is gradually lost; for perception\nis ever interpenetrating, reinforcing, and stimulating expression;\nand when the eye is blind, the hand, however skilful its mere\nmanipulation may be, necessarily falters and loses its cunning.\n\nFour or five years ago, had one entered an elementary school while\ndrawing was being taught, such a lesson as I have just described\nwould have been in progress in ninety-nine cases out of every\nhundred. Since then a systematic warfare has been waged by the Board\nagainst the \"flat copy\"; and though it is still very far from\nextinct, there is now perhaps an actual majority of schools in which\nits use has been discontinued. But the number of schools in which\ndrawing from the object is effectively taught, though increasing\nsteadily, is still small. In those schools, indeed, the results are\nsurprisingly good,--so good as to justify, not only the new gospel of\ndrawing from the object, but also the whole gospel of education\nthrough self-reliance and self-expression. But elsewhere there has\nbeen but little improvement, except so far as it may be better to\ndraw from an object without guidance, or with quite ineffective\nguidance, than to draw from a flat copy. In some schools the formula\nor \"tip\" is beginning to take the place of the flat copy. There is a\nformula for the tulip, a formula for the snowdrop, a formula for the\ndaffodil, and so on; and the children draw from these formulae while\nthe actual flowers are before them and they are making believe to\nreproduce them. In other schools an object is placed before the\nclass, and the teacher draws this for them on the blackboard,\nexplaining to them in detail how it ought to be drawn; and when he\nhas finished, the children pretend to draw the object, but really\ncopy his blackboard copy of it. In this, as in other matters, the\nteacher who has become a victim of routine will give a facile but\nmainly \"notional\" assent to the suggestions that are placed before\nhim, will promise to try them, and will make an unintelligent and\nhalf-hearted attempt to do so, but will as often as not slide back\ninto practices which do not materially differ from those which he\nprofesses to have abandoned. The pressure of the whole system of\nWestern education--not to speak of Western civilisation--will be too\nstrong for him. The flat copy, with its demand for mechanical work\nand servile obedience, fits into that system. Drawing from the\nobject, with its demand for initiative and self-reliance, does not.\nHence the attractive force of the former,--a secret attractive force\nwhich will neutralise the efforts that the teacher consciously makes\nto free himself from its influence, and will arm him, as with\na hidden shirt of mail, against the missionary zeal of his\ninspector.[13] Even the zeal of the inspector will be affected by his\npossible inability to harmonise his gospel of self-expression in\ndrawing with any general system of self-education. It is because the\neducational reformer is fighting, in his sporadic attempts at reform,\nagainst his own deepest conviction, that he achieves so little even\nin the particular directions in which he sees clearly that reform is\nneeded.\n\nBut how, it will be asked, is such a school as I have described to be\nkept going? The whole _regime_ must be eminently distasteful to the\nhealthy child, and it can scarcely be attractive to his teacher. By\nwhat motive force, then, is the school to be kept in motion,--in\nmotion, if not along the path of progress, at any rate along the\nwell-worn track of routine? By the only motive force which\nthe religion and the civilisation of the West recognise as\neffective,--the hope of external reward, with its complement, the\nfear of external punishment. From highest to lowest, from the head\nteacher of the school to the youngest child in the bottom class, all\nthe teachers and all the children are subjected to the pressure of\nthis quasi-physical force. The teachers hope for advancement and\nincrease of salary, and fear degradation and loss of salary, or at\nany rate loss of the hoped-for increment.[14] The children hope for\nmedals, books, high places in their respective classes, and other\nrewards and distinctions, and fear corporal and other kinds of\npunishment. The thoroughly efficient school is one in which this\nmotive force is duly transmitted to every part of the school\nby means of a well-planned and carefully-elaborated machinery,\nanalogous to that by which water and gas are laid on at every\ntap in every house in a well-governed town. Only those who are\nintimately acquainted with the inside of the elementary school can\nrealise to what an extent the machinery of education has in recent\nyears encroached upon the vital interests of the school and the time\nand thought of the teacher. In schools which are administered by\nbusiness-like and up-to-date Local Authorities, this encroachment is\nbecoming as serious as that of drifting sands on a fertile soil.\nTime-tables, schemes of work, syllabuses, record books, progress\nbooks, examination result books, and the rest,--hours and hours are\nspent by the teachers on the clerical work which these mechanical\ncontrivances demand. And the hours so spent are too often wholly\nwasted. The worst of this machinery is that, so long as it works\nsmoothly, all who are interested in the school are satisfied. But\nit may all work with perfect smoothness, and yet achieve nothing\nthat really counts. I know of hundreds of schools which are to all\nappearance thoroughly efficient,--schools in which the machinery of\neducation is as well contrived as it is well oiled and cleaned,--and\nyet in which there is no vital movement, no growth, no life. From\nhighest to lowest, all the inmates of those schools are cheating\nthemselves with forms, figures, marks, and other such empty symbols.\n\nThe application of the conventional motive force to the school\nchildren goes by the name of _Discipline_. If the pressure at each\ntap is steady, constant, and otherwise effective, the discipline is\ngood. If it is variable, intermittent, and otherwise ineffective,\nthe discipline is bad. The life of the routine-ridden school is so\nirksome to the child, that if he is healthy and vigorous he will long\nto find a congenial outlet for his vital energies, which are as a\nrule either pent back (as when he sits still listening to a lecture),\nor forced into uninteresting and unprofitable channels. When this\ndesire masters him during school hours, it goes by the name of\n\"naughtiness,\" and is regarded as a proof of the inborn sinfulness\nof his \"fallen\" nature. To repress the desire, to keep the child in\na state either of absolute inaction or of mechanically regulated\nactivity, is the function of school discipline. Whatever in the\nchild's life is free, natural, spontaneous, wells up from an evil\nsource. If educational progress is to be made, that source must be\ncarefully sealed. As an educator, the teacher must do his best\nto reduce the child to the level of a wire-pulled puppet. As a\ndisciplinarian, he must overcome the child's instinctive repugnance\nto being subjected to such unworthy treatment. The better the\n\"discipline\" of the school, the easier it will be for the mechanical\neducation given in it to achieve its deadly work.\n\nIn making this sketch of what is still a common type of elementary\nschool, my object has been to provide myself with materials for\nanswering the question: Does elementary education, as at present\nconducted in this country, tend to foster the growth of the child's\nfaculties? If my sketch is even approximately faithful to its\noriginal, the answer to the question, so far at least as thousands of\nschools are concerned, must be an emphatic No. For in the school, as\nI have sketched it, the one end and aim of the teacher is to prevent\nthe child from doing anything whatever for himself; and where\nindependent effort is prohibited, the growth of faculty must needs be\narrested, the growth of every faculty, as of every limb and organ,\nbeing dependent in large measure on its being duly and suitably\nexercised by its owner. If this statement is true of faculty as such,\nand of effort as such, still more is it true of the particular\nfaculties which school life is supposed to train, the faculties which\nwe speak of loosely as perceptive,--and of the particular effort by\nwhich alone the growth of the perceptive faculties is effected, the\nmany-sided effort which we speak of loosely as self-expression. Far\nperception and expression are, as I have endeavoured to prove, the\nface and obverse of the same vital process; and the educational\npolicy which makes self-expression, or, in other words, sincere\nexpression, impossible, is therefore fatal to the outgrowth of the\nwhole range of the perceptive faculties.\n\nThe education given in thousands of our elementary schools is, then,\nin the highest degree anti-educational. The end which education\nought to aim at achieving is the very end which the teacher labours\nunceasingly to defeat. The teacher may, indeed, contend that his\nbusiness is not to evoke faculty but to impart knowledge. The answer\nto this argument is that the type of education which impedes the\noutgrowth of faculty is necessarily fatal to the acquisition of\nknowledge. For the teacher can no more impart knowledge to his pupils\nthan a nurse can impart flesh and blood to her charges. What the\nteacher imparts is information, just as what the nurse imparts is\nfood; and until information has been converted into knowledge the\nchild is as far from being educated as the infant, whose food\nremains unassimilated, is from being nourished. The teacher may pump\ninformation into the child in a never-ending stream; but so long as\nhe compels the child to adopt an attitude of passive receptivity, and\nforbids him to react, through the medium of self-expression, on the\nfood that he is receiving, so long will the food remain unassimilated\nand even undigested, and the soul and mind of the child remain\nuneducated and unfed.\n\nWhether, then, we concern ourselves, as educationalists, with the\ngrowth of the child's whole nature, or with the growth of his master\nfaculties, or again with the growth of those special \"senses\"\nwhich evolve themselves in response to the stimulus of special\nenvironments, we see that in each case the effect of the teacher's\npolicy of distrust and repression is to arrest growth. When the\nstern supernaturalist reminds us that the child's nature is\nintrinsically evil, and that therefore in arresting its growth\neducation renders him a priceless service, we answer that, in\narresting the growth of the child's nature as a whole, education\narrests the growth of all the master faculties of his being, and\nthat there are some at least among these which, even in the judgment\nof the supernaturalist, imperatively need to be trained. When the\nstrait-laced, result-hunting teacher reminds us that his sole\nbusiness is to teach certain subjects, and that therefore he cannot\nconcern himself with growth, we answer that, in neglecting to foster\ngrowth, he makes it impossible for the child to put forth a special\n\"sense,\" a special faculty of direct perception, in response to each\nnew environment, and so (for reasons which have already been given)\nincapacitates him for mastering any subject. There is always one\npoint of view, if no more, from which my primary assumption--that\nthe function of education is to foster growth--is seen to be a\ntruism. And from that point of view, if from no other, the failure\nof the routine-ridden school to fulfil its destiny is seen to be\nfinal and complete.\n\nYet to say that elementary education, as it is given in such a\nschool, tends to arrest growth, is to under-estimate its capacity for\nmischief. In the act of arresting growth it must needs distort\ngrowth, and in doing this it must needs deaden and even destroy the\nlife which is ever struggling to evolve itself. It is well that from\ntime to time we should ask ourselves what compulsory education has\ndone for the people of England. How much it has done to civilise\nand humanise the masses is beginning to be known to all who are\ninterested in social progress, and I for one am ready to second any\nvote of thanks that may be proposed to it for this invaluable\nservice.[15] But when we ask ourselves what it has done to _vitalise_\nthe nation, we may well hesitate for an answer. Twenty years ago, in\nthe days of \"schedules\" and \"percentages,\" elementary education was,\non balance, an actively devitalising agency. The policy of the\nEducation Department made that inevitable. But things have changed\nsince then; and it is probable that the balance is now in favour of\nthe elementary school. But the balance, though growing from year to\nyear, is as yet very small compared with what it will be when the\nteacher, relieved from the pressure of the still prevailing demand\nfor \"results,\" is free to take thought for the vital interests of the\nchild.\n\nWhom shall we blame for the shortcomings of our elementary schools?\nThe Board of Education? Their Inspectors? The Teachers? The Training\nColleges? The Local Authorities? We will blame none of these. We will\nblame the spirit of Western civilisation, with its false philosophy\nof life and its false standard of reality.\n\nShall we blame the Board because, in the days when they called\nthemselves the Department, they made the teachers of England the\nserfs of their soul-destroying Code? For my own part I prefer to\nhonour the Board, not only because on a certain day they liberated\ntheir serfs by a departmental edict, but also and more especially\nbecause, in defiance of the protests and criticisms of Members of\nParliament, employers of labour, Chairmen of Education Committees,\nand others, in defiance of the ubiquitous pressure of Western\nexternalism and materialism, in defiance of the trend of contemporary\nopinion, in defiance of their own practice,--for they themselves are\nan examining body whose nets are widely spread,--they refuse to\nrevoke the gift of freedom, which they gave, perhaps over-hastily, to\nthe teachers of England, and continue to exempt them, so far as their\nown action is concerned, from the pressure of a formal examination on\na uniform scheme of work.\n\nShall we blame the teachers as a body because too many of them are\nmachine-made creatures of routine? For my own part I honour the\nteachers as a body, if only because here and there one of them has\ndared, with splendid courage, to defy the despotism of custom, of\ntradition, of officialdom, of the thousand deadening influences that\nare brought to bear upon him, and to follow for himself the path of\ninwardness and life. To blame the average teacher for being unable to\nresist the pressure to which he is unceasingly exposed would be\nalmost as unfair as to blame a pebble on the seashore for being\nunable to resist the grinding action of the waves, and would ill\nbecome one who has special reason to remember how the Department, in\nits misguided zeal for efficiency, strove for thirty years or more\nto grind the teachers of England to one pattern in the mill of\n\"payment by results.\" It is to a certificated teacher that, as an\neducationalist (if I may give myself so formidable a title), \"I owe\nmy soul.\" And there are many other teachers to whom my debts, though\nless weighty than this, are by no means light. Most of the failings\nof the elementary teachers are wounds and strains which adverse Fate\nhas inflicted on them. Most of their virtues are their own.\n\nShall we blame the Training Colleges because, with an unhappy past\nbehind them, they have yet many things to unlearn?\n\nShall we blame the local Education Authorities because, with an\nunknown future before them, they have yet many things to learn?\n\nNo, I repeat, we will blame none of these. We will lay the blame on\nbroader shoulders. We will blame our materialistic philosophy of\nlife, which we complacently regard--orthodox and heretics alike--as\n\"_The_ truth\"; and we will blame our materialised civilisation, which\nwe complacently regard--cultured and uncultured alike--as\ncivilisation, pure and simple, whatever lies beyond its confines\nbeing lightly dismissed as \"barbarism.\" These are the forces against\nwhich every teacher, every manager, every inspector, who strives for\nemancipation and enlightenment, has to fight unceasingly. If the\nfight is an unequal one; if there are many would-be reformers who\nhave shrunk from it; if there are others who retired from it early in\nthe day; if there are others, again, who have been crushed in\nit;--we will blame the forces of darkness for these disasters; we\nwill not blame their victims. On the contrary, we will honour all who\nhave fought and fallen; for when the cause is large and worthy of\ndevotion, failure in the service of it is only less triumphant than\nsuccess. But if there is honour for failure what shall be the guerdon\nof success? What tribute shall we pay to those who have fought and\nwon?\n\nFor there are some who have fought and won.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[6] It must be clearly understood that throughout this\nchapter the school that I have in mind is one for \"older children\"\nonly. Whatever may be the defects of the elementary infant schools,\nan excessive regard for outward and visible results is not one of\nthem. Exemption from the pressure of a formal external examination\nhas meant much more to them than to the schools for older children;\nand the atmosphere of the good infant schools is, in consequence,\nfreer, happier, more recreative, and more truly educative than that\nof the upper schools of equivalent merit. And when we compare grade\nwith grade, we find that the superiority of the elementary infant\nschools is still more pronounced. The \"Great Public Schools,\" and the\ncostly preparatory schools that lead up to them, may or may not be\nworthy of their high reputation; but as regards facilities for the\neducation (in school) of their \"infants,\" the \"classes\" are\nunquestionably much less fortunate than the \"masses.\"\n\n[7] Not long ago I happened to enter the Boys' Department of\nan urban Church School at about 9.15 a.m. The Headmaster was sitting\nat his desk, drawing up schemes of \"secular\" work. All the boys above\n\"Standard III\"--94 in number--were grouped together, listening, or\npretending to listen, to a \"chalk-and-talk\" lecture on \"Prayer\" [of\nwhich there are apparently five varieties, viz., (1) Invocation, (2)\nDeprecation, (3) Obsecration, (4) Intercession, (5) Supplication].\nThe Headmaster explained to me that \"of course it was only during the\nScripture lesson\" that this overgrouping went on. The lecture on\nPrayer was given by a young Assistant-master, whose naive delight in\nthe long words that he rolled out _ore rotundo_ and then chalked up\non the blackboard, had blinded him to the obvious fact that he was\nmaking no impression whatever on his audience. The boys, one and all,\nreminded me forcibly of the \"white-headed boy\" in Dickens' village\nschool, who displayed \"in the expression of his face a remarkable\ncapacity of totally abstracting his mind from the spelling on which\nhis eyes were fixed.\"\n\n[8] There are many elementary schools which the Diocesan\nInspector does not enter. In the \"Provided\" or \"Council\" Schools\n\"undenominational Bible teaching\" takes the place of the \"definite\ndogmatic instruction in religious knowledge\" which is tested by\nDiocesan Inspection. But even when undogmatic Bible teaching is\ngiven, the shadow of an impending examination, external or internal\nas the case may be, too often sterilises the efforts of the teacher.\nNot that the efforts of the teacher would in any case be productive\nso long as the attitude of popular thought towards the Bible remained\nunchanged. To go into this burning question would involve me in an\nunjustifiable digression; but I must be allowed to express my\nconviction that the teaching of the Bible in our elementary schools\nwill never be anything but misguided and mischievous until those who\nare responsible for it have realised that the Old Testament is the\ninspired literature of a particular people, and have ceased to regard\nit as the authentic biography of the Eternal God. It is to the\ncurrent misconception of the meaning and value of the Bible, and the\nconsequent misconception of the relation of God to Nature and to Man,\nthat the externalism of the West, which is the source of all the\ngraver defects of modern education, is (as I contend) largely due;\nand it is useless to try to remedy those defects so long as we allow\nour philosophy of life to be perennially poisoned at its highest\nsprings.\n\n[9] In far too many cases the teacher received a certain\nproportion of the Grant; and in any case his value in the market\ntended to vary directly with his ability to secure a large Grant for\nhis school by his success in the yearly examination.\n\n[10] _The Jewish People in the time of Jesus Christ_, by Dr.\nEmil Schuerer.\n\n[11] Here is another example of the mental blindness which\nrule-worship in Arithmetic is apt to induce. The boys in a large\n\"Standard II,\" who had been spending the whole year in adding,\nsubtracting, multiplying, and dividing tens of thousands, were given\nthe following sum: A farmer had 126 sheep. He bought nine. How many\nhad he then? Out of 50 boys, one only worked the sum correctly. Of\nthe remaining 49, about a third _multiplied_ 126 by 9, another third\n_divided_ 126 by 9, while the remaining third _subtracted_ 9 from\n126.\n\n[12] Reinforced in many cases by suggestive words. I\nrecently found myself in an urban school while the \"Fourth Standard\"\nboys were doing \"Composition.\" The subject--Trees--had already been\ndealt with in a preparatory \"talk.\" In front of the class was a\nblackboard, on which were written the following words:\n\n                              \"fruit, flowers,\n   I. _Roots_ tough, strong, stretch, extend.\n  II. _Trunk_ thick, branches, bark.\n III. _Branches_ strong, tough, leaves.\n  IV. _Leaves_ green, shapes, sizes, beautiful, clothe, autumn, brown.\"\n\nI am told that sometimes as many as twelve headings are given, each\nwith its own list of suggestive words.\n\n[13] I was recently present at a large gathering of teachers\nwho had assembled to discuss the teaching of Drawing and other\nkindred topics. The district is one in which the gospel of self-help\nin Drawing has been preached with diligence and with much apparent\nsuccess. One of the teachers, who was expected to support the Board\nin their crusade against the \"flat copy,\" played the part of Balaam\nby reading out letters from certain distinguished R.A.'s, in which\nthe use of the flat copy in elementary schools was openly advocated.\nIt was evident that those distinguished R.A.'s knew as much about\nelementary education as the man in the street knows about naval\ntactics, for the arguments by which they supported their paradoxical\nopinions were worth exactly nothing. But the salvos of applause,\nrenewed again and again, which greeted the extracts from their\nletters showed clearly in which direction the current of subconscious\nconviction was running in that evangelised and apparently converted\ndistrict.\n\n[14] There are few teachers who do not also work from higher\nmotives than these; but there are very few who are exempt from the\npressure of these.\n\n[15] It is pleasant to read that at Southend on Easter\nMonday (1910) there were 65,000 excursionists and only two cases of\ndrunkenness. It is also pleasant to hear from an officer who has\nserved for many years in India that the modern English private\nsoldier in India is an infinitely superior being to his predecessors,\nand that India could not now be held by the old type of British\nsoldier. We must not, however, forget that the \"old type\" conquered\nIndia.\n\n\n\n\nPART II\n\nWHAT MIGHT BE\n\nOR\n\nTHE PATH OF SELF-REALISATION\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nA SCHOOL IN UTOPIA\n\n\nHaving painted in gloomy colours some of the actualities of\nelementary education, I will now try to set forth its possibilities.\nIn opposing the actual to the possible, I am perhaps running the risk\nof being misunderstood. The possible, as I conceive it, is no mere\n\"fabric of a dream.\" What are possibilities for the elementary\nschool, as such, are already actualities in certain schools. Were it\nnot so, I should not speak of them as possibilities. I do not pretend\nto be a prophet, in the vulgar sense of the word. The ends which I am\nabout to set before managers and teachers are ends which have been\nachieved, and are being achieved, _under entirely normal conditions_,\nin various parts of the country, and which are therefore not\nimpracticable. There are many elementary schools in England in which\nbold and successful departures have been made from the beaten track;\nand in each of these cases what is at present a mere possibility for\nmost schools has been actually realised. And there is one elementary\nschool at least in which the beaten track has been entirely\nabandoned, with the result that possibilities (as I may now call\nthem) which I might perhaps have dismissed on _a priori_ grounds as\ntoo fantastic for serious consideration, have become part of the\neveryday life of the scholars.\n\n That school shall now become the theme of my book; for I feel that I\ncannot serve the cause of education better than by trying to describe\nand interpret the work that is being done in it. The school belongs\nto a village which I will call Utopia. It is not an imaginary\nvillage--a village of Nowhere--but a very real village, which can be\nreached, as all other villages can, by rail and road. It nestles at\nthe foot of a long range of hills; and if you will climb the slope\nthat rises at the back of the village, and look over the level\ncountry that you have left behind, you will see in the distance the\ngleaming waters of one of the many seas that wash our shores. The\nvillage is fairly large, as villages go in these days of rural\ndepopulation; and the school is attended by about 120 children. The\nhead teacher, whose genius has revolutionised the life, not of the\nschool only, but of the whole village, is a woman. I will call her\nEgeria. She has certainly been my Egeria, in the sense that whatever\nmodicum of wisdom in matters educational I may happen to possess, I\nowe in large measure to her. I have paid her school many visits, and\nit has taken me many months of thought to get to what I believe to be\nthe bed-rock of her philosophy of education,--a philosophy which I\nwill now attempt to expound.\n\nTwo things will strike the stranger who pays his first visit to this\nschool. One is the ceaseless activity of the children. The other is\nthe bright and happy look on every face. In too many elementary\nschools the children are engaged either in laboriously doing\nnothing,--in listening, for example, with ill-concealed yawns, to\n_lectures_ on history, geography, nature-study, and the rest; or\nin doing what is only one degree removed from nothing,--working\nmechanical sums, transcribing lists of spellings or pieces of\ncomposition, drawing diagrams which have no meaning for them, and\nso forth. But in this school every child is, as a rule, actively\nemployed. And bearing in mind that \"unimpeded energy\" is a recognised\nsource of happiness, the visitor will probably conjecture that there\nis a close connection between the activity of the children and the\nbrightness of their faces.\n\nThat the latter feature of the school will arrest his attention is\nalmost certain. Utopia belongs to a county which is proverbial for\nthe dullness of its rustics, but there is no sign of dullness on the\nface of any Utopian child. On the contrary, so radiantly bright are\nthe faces of the children that something akin to sunshine seems\nalways to fill the school. When he gets to know the school, the\nvisitor will realise that the brightness of the children is of two\nkinds,--the brightness of energy and intelligence, and the brightness\nof goodness and joy. And when he gets to know the school as well as I\ndo, he will realise that these two kinds of brightness are in their\nessence one.\n\nLet me say something about each of them.\n\nThe Utopian child is alive, alert, active, full of latent energy,\nready to act, to do things, to turn his mind to things, to turn his\nhand to things, to turn his desire to things, to turn his whole being\nto things. There is no trace in this school of the mental lethargy\nwhich, in spite of the ceaseless activity of the teachers, pervades\nthe atmosphere of so many elementary schools; no trace of the fatal\ninertness on the part of the child, which is the outcome of five or\nsix years of systematic repression and compulsory inaction. The air\nof the school is electrical with energy. We are obviously in the\npresence of an active and vigorous life.\n\nAnd the activity of the Utopian child is his own activity. It is\na fountain which springs up in himself. Unlike the ordinary\nschool-child, he can do things on his own account. He does not wait,\nin the helplessness of passive obedience, for his teacher to tell him\nwhat he is to do and how he is to do it. He does not even wait, in\nthe bewilderment of self-distrust, for his teacher to give him a\nlead. If a new situation arises, he deals with it with promptitude\nand decision. His solution of the problem which it involves may be\nincorrect, but at any rate it will be a solution. He will have faced\na difficulty and grappled with it, instead of having waited inertly\nfor something to turn up. His initiative has evidently been developed\n_pari passu_ with his intelligence; and the result of this is that he\ncan think things out for himself, that he can devise ways and means,\nthat he can purpose, that he can plan.\n\nIn all these matters the Utopian child differs widely and deeply from\nthe less fortunate child who has to attend a more ordinary type of\nelementary school. But when we turn to the other aspect of the\nUtopian brightness, when we consider it as the reflected light of\ngoodness and joy, we find that the difference between the two\nchildren is wider and deeper still. There are many schools outside\nUtopia that pride themselves on the excellence of their discipline;\nbut I am inclined to think that in some at least of these the\nself-satisfaction of the teacher is equivalent to a confession of\nfailure. There was a time when every elementary school received a\nlarge grant for instruction and a small grant for discipline; and\ninspectors were supposed to report separately on each of these\naspects of the school's life. A strange misconception of the meaning\nand purpose of education underlay this artificial distinction; but on\nthat we need not dwell. Were an inspector called upon to report on\nthe discipline of the Utopian school, his report would be brief.\nThere is no discipline in the school. There is no need for any. The\nfunction of the strict disciplinarian is to shut down, and, if\nnecessary, sit upon, the safety-valve of misconduct. But in Utopia,\nwhere all the energies of the children are fully and happily\nemployed, that safety-valve has never to be used. Each child in turn\nis so happy in his school life that the idea of being naughty never\nenters his head. One cannot remain long in the school without\nrealising that in its atmosphere\n\n  Love is an unerring light,\n  And joy its own security.\n\nIt recently happened that on a certain day one of the\nassistant-teachers had to go to a hospital, that another had to take\nher there, that the third was ill in bed, and that Egeria--the only\navailable member of the staff--was detained by one of the managers\nfor half-an-hour on her way to school. The school was thus left\nwithout a teacher. On entering it, Egeria found all the children in\ntheir places and at work. They had looked at the time-table, had\nchosen some of the older scholars to take the lower classes, and had\nsettled down happily and in perfect order. This incident proves to\ndemonstration that the _morale_ of the school has somehow or other\nbeen carried far beyond the limits of what is usually understood by\ndiscipline. I have seen historical scenes acted with much vigour by\nsome of the children in the first class, and applauded with equal\nvigour by their class-mates, while all the time the children in the\nsecond class, who were drawing flowers in the same room, never lifted\ntheir eyes from their desks. Yet no children can laugh more merrily\nor more unrestrainedly than these, or make a greater uproar when it\nis fitting that they should do so.\n\nAnd if there is no need for punishment, or any other form of\nrepression, in this school, it is equally true that there is no need\nfor rewards. To one who has been taught to regard competition in\nschool as a sacred duty, and the winning of prizes as a laudable\nobject of the scholar's ambition, this may seem strange. But so it\nis. No child has the slightest desire to outstrip his fellows or rise\nto the top of his class. Joy in their work, pride in their school,\ndevotion to their teacher, are sufficient incentives to industry.\nWere the stimulus of competition added to these, neither the zeal nor\nthe interest of the children would be quickened one whit, but a\ndiscordant element would be introduced into their school life. Happy\nas he obviously is in his own school life, it would add nothing to\nthe happiness of the Utopian to feel that he had outstripped his\nclass-mates and won a prize for his achievement. So far, indeed, are\nthese children from wishing to shine at the expense of others, that\nif they think Egeria has done less than justice to the work of some\none child, the rest of the class will go out of their way to call her\nattention to it. If some children are brighter, cleverer, and more\nadvanced than others, the reward of their progress is that they are\nallowed to help on those who lag behind. This is especially\nnoticeable in Drawing, in which the pre-eminence of one or two\nchildren has again and again had the effect of lifting the work of\nthe whole class to a higher level. But the laggards are as far from\nbeing discouraged by their failure as are the more advanced scholars\nfrom being puffed up by their success. From the highest to the\nlowest, all are doing their best and all are happy together.\n\nFrom morals to manners the transition is obvious and direct. Be the\nexplanation what it may, the whole atmosphere of this school is\nevidently fatal to selfishness and self-assertion; and in such an\natmosphere good manners will spring up spontaneously among the\nchildren, and will scarcely need to be inculcated, for the essence of\ncourtesy is forgetfulness of self and consideration of others in the\nsmaller affairs of social life. The general bearing of the Utopian\nchildren hits the happy mean between aggressive familiarity and\nuncouth shyness,--each a form of self-conscious egoism,--just as\ntheir bearing in school hits the happy mean between laxity and undue\nconstraint. They welcome the stranger as a friend, take his goodwill\nfor granted, take him into their confidence, and show him, tactfully\nand unostentatiously, many pretty courtesies. And they do all this,\nnot because they have been drilled into doing it, but because it is\ntheir nature to do it, because their overflowing sympathy and\ngoodwill must needs express themselves in and through the channels of\ncourtesy and kindness. There is no trace of sullen self-repression in\nthis school. Accustomed (as we shall presently see) to express\nthemselves in various ways, the children cannot entertain kindly\nfeelings without seeking some vent for them. But whether their kindly\nfeelings lead them to dance in a ring round their own inspector,\nsinging \"For he's a jolly good fellow,\" or to escort another\nvisitor, on his departure, through the playground with their\narms in his, their tact,--which is the outcome, partly of their\nself-forgetfulness, partly of the training which their perceptive\nfaculties are always receiving,--is unfailing, and they never allow\nfriendliness to degenerate into undue familiarity.\n\nThere is one other feature of the school life which I cannot pass\nover. I have never been in a school in which the love of what is\nbeautiful in Nature is so strong or so sincere as in this. The\naesthetic sense of the Utopian child has not been deliberately\ntrained, but it has been allowed, and even encouraged, to unfold\nitself; and the appeal that beauty makes to the heart meets in\nconsequence with a ready response. Of the truth of this statement\nI could, if necessary, give many proofs. One must suffice. The\nchildren, who are adepts at drawing with brush and pencil, wander in\nfield and lane with sketch-books in their hands; and one of them at\nleast was so moved by the beauty of a winter sunrise, as seen from\nhis cottage window, that, in his own words, he felt he _must_ try to\npaint it, the result being a water-colour sketch which I have shown\nto a competent artist, who tells me that the _feeling_ in the sky is\nquite wonderful.\n\nIn this brief preliminary sketch of the more salient features of the\nUtopian school, I have, I hope, said enough to show that its scholars\ndiffer _toto coelo_ from those who attend that familiar type of\nschool which I have recently described. Yet the Utopian children are\nmade of the same clay as the children of other villages. If anything,\nindeed, the clay is heavier and more stubborn in Utopia than\nelsewhere. Some ten or twelve years ago, when Egeria took charge of\nthe school, the children were dull, lifeless, listless, resourceless.\nNow they are bright, intelligent, happy, responsive, overflowing with\nlife, interested in many things, full of ability and resource. How\nhas this change been wrought? Not by veneering or even inoculating\nthe children with good qualities, but simply by allowing their better\nand higher nature to evolve itself freely, naturally, and under\nfavourable conditions.\n\nThat the child's better and higher nature is his real nature, is the\nassumption--let me rather say, the profound conviction--on which\nEgeria's whole system of education has been based. In basing it on\nthis assumption, she has made a bold departure from the highway which\nhas been blindly followed for many centuries. We have seen that the\nbasis of education in this country, as in Christendom generally, is\nthe doctrine of original sin. It is taken for granted by those who\ntrain the child that his nature, if allowed to develop itself freely,\nwill grow in the wrong direction, and will therefore lead him astray;\nand that it is the function of education to counteract this\ntendency, to do violence to the child's nature, to compel it by main\nforce to grow (or make a pretence of growing) in the right direction,\nto subject it to perpetual repression and constraint. The wild whoops\nto which children so often give vent, when released from school, show\nthat a period of unnatural tension has come to an end; and in these,\nand in the further conduct of the released child--in the roughness,\nrudeness, and bad language, of which the passer-by (especially in\ntowns) not infrequently has to complain--we see a rebound from this\nstate of tension, an instinctive protest against the constraint to\nwhich he has been subjected for so many hours. The result of all this\nis that the child leads two lives, a life of unnatural repression and\nconstraint in school, and a life--also unnatural, though it is\nsupposed to be the expression of his nature--of reaction and protest\nout of school. Such a dislocation of the child's daily life is not\nlikely to conduce to his well-being; while the teacher's assumption\nthat his _role_ in school is essentially active, and that of the\nchild essentially passive, will lead at last to his turning his back\non the root-idea of growth, to his forgetting that the child is a\nliving and therefore a growing organism, to his regarding the child\nas clay in his hands, to be \"remoulded\" by him \"to his heart's\ndesire,\" or even as a _tabula rasa_, on which he is to inscribe words\nand other symbols at his will.\n\nIn Utopia the training which the child receives may be said to be\nbased on the doctrine of original goodness. It is taken for granted\nby Egeria that the child is neither a lump of clay nor a _tabula\nrasa_, but a \"living soul\"; that growth is of the very essence of\nhis being; and that the normal child, if allowed to make natural\ngrowth under reasonably favourable conditions, will grow happily and\nwell. It is taken for granted that the potencies of his nature are\nwell worth realising; that the end of his being--the ideal type\ntowards which the natural course of his development tends to take\nhim--is intrinsically good; in fine, that he is _by nature_ a \"child\nof God\" rather than a \"child of wrath.\" It is therefore taken for\ngranted that growth is in itself a good thing, a move in the right\ndirection; and that to foster growth, to make its conditions as\nfavourable as possible, to give it the food, the guidance, and the\nstimulus that it needs, is the best thing that education can do for\nthe child.\n\nIt is further taken for granted that the many-sided effort to grow\nwhich is of the essence of the child's nature is the mainspring of,\nand expresses itself in, certain typical instincts which no one who\nstudies the child with any degree of care can fail to observe; and\nthat by duly cultivating these instincts,--_expansive_ instincts, as\none may perhaps call them, since each of them tends to take the child\naway from his petty self,--the teacher will make the best possible\nprovision for the growth of the child's nature as a whole.\n\nAbove all, it is taken for granted that the growth which the child\nmakes must come from within himself; that no living thing can grow\nvicariously; that the rings of soul-growth, like the rings of\ntree-growth, must be evolved from an inner life; that the teacher\nmust therefore content himself with giving the child's expansive\ninstincts fair play and free play; and that, for the rest, he must as\nfar as possible efface himself, bearing in mind that not he, but the\nchild, is the real actor in the drama of school life.\n\nBut though so much is left to the child in Utopia, and so much\ndemanded of him, it is not feared that the effort to grow will be\nrepugnant to him. On the contrary, it is taken for granted that in\ngrowing, in developing his expansive instincts, the child will be\nfollowing the lines and obeying the laws of his own nature; that he\nwill be fulfilling the latent desires of his heart; that he will be\nseeking his own pleasure; in fine, that he will be leading a happy\nlife.\n\nAll this is taken for granted in Utopia, and the child's life is\ntherefore one of unimpeded, though duly guided and stimulated,\nactivity. Every instinct that makes for the expansion and elevation\n(for growth is always upward as well as outward) of the child's\nnature is given the freest possible play, and the whole organisation\nof the school is subordinated to this central end.\n\nIn order to find out what are the instincts which make for the\nexpansion and elevation of the child's nature, and which education\nought therefore to foster, we must do what Egeria has always done, we\nmust observe young children, and study their ways and works. Now\nevery healthy child wants to eat and drink, and to run about. Here\nare two instincts--the instinctive desire for physical nourishment,\nand the instinctive desire for physical exercise--through which\nNature provides for the growth of the body. How does she provide for\nthe growth of what we have agreed to call the soul? We need not\nbe very careful observers of young children in order to satisfy\nourselves that, apart from physical nourishment and exercise, there\nare six things which the child instinctively desires, namely:\n\n  (1) to talk and listen:\n  (2) to act (in the dramatic sense of the word):\n  (3) to draw, paint, and model:\n  (4) to dance and sing:\n  (5) to know the why of things:\n  (6) to construct things.\n\nLet us consider each of these instincts, and try to determine its\nmeaning and purpose.\n\n(1) The child instinctively desires to enter into communion with\nother persons,--his parents, his brothers and sisters, his nurse, his\ngoverness, his little friends. He wants to talk to them, to tell them\nwhat he has done, seen, felt, thought; and he wants to hear what they\nhave to tell him,--not only of what they themselves have done, but\nalso of what other persons and other living things have done, in\nother times, in other countries, in other worlds. Later on, the\ndesire to talk and listen will develop into the desire to write and\nread; but the desire will still be one for communion, for intercourse\nwith other lives.\n\nWe will call this the _communicative instinct_.\n\n(2) The child desires, not only to enter into communion with other\npersons and other living things, but also, in some sort, to identify\nhis life with theirs. Watch him when he is playing with other\nchildren, or even when he is alone, except for the companionship of\nhis dolls and toys. He is pretty sure to be _acting_, playing at\nmake-believe, pretending to be something that he is not, some\ngrown-up person of his acquaintance, some hero of history or\nromance, some traveller or other adventurer, some giant, dwarf, or\nfairy, some animal, wild or tame. He plays the part of one or other\nof these, and his playmates play other parts, and so a little drama\nis enacted. If he has no playmates, his dolls have to play their\nparts, or his toy animals have to be endowed with life, so that they\nmay become fellow-actors with him on the stage that he has selected.\nNo instinct is more inevitable, more sure to energise, than this.\n\nWe will call it the _dramatic instinct_.\n\nIn both these instincts the child is struggling to grow, to expand\nhis being, by going out of himself, through the medium of sympathy\nand imagination--twin aspects of the same vital tendency--into the\nlives of other living beings. We will therefore call these the\n_Sympathetic Instincts_, and place them in a class by themselves.\n\n(3) From his very babyhood the child delights in colour, and at a\nvery early age he learns to love and understand pictures. Then comes\nthe desire to make these for himself. Give him pencil and paper, give\nhim chalk, charcoal, a paint-box, and other suitable materials, and\nhe will set to work of his own accord to depict what he sees or has\nseen, either with his outward or his inward eye. Give him a lump of\nclay, and he will try to mould it into the likeness of something\nthat has either attracted his attention, or presented itself to his\nimagination. In all these attempts he is trying, unknown to himself,\nto express his perception of, and delight in, the visible beauty of\nNature. This instinct will expand, in the fullness of time, into a\nstrong and subtle feeling for visible beauty, and into a restless\ndesire to give expression to that feeling.\n\nWe will call this the _artistic instinct_, the word _artistic_ being\nused, for lack of a more suitable term, in its narrow and\nconventional sense.\n\n(4) While the child is still a baby in arms, his mother will sing to\nhim, and dance him on her knee. This is her first attempt to initiate\nhim into the mystery of music; and the response that he makes to her\nproves that she is a wise teacher, and is appealing to a genuinely\nnatural faculty. It will not be long before he begins to dance and\nsing for himself. Watch the children in a London court or alley when\na barrel-organ appears on the scene. Without having any one to direct\nor teach them, they will come together and dance in couples, often\nwith abundant grace and charm. Nature is their tutor. Her own rhythm,\nof which the musician must have caught an echo, is passing through\ntheir ears into their hearts and into their limbs. No instinct is\nso spontaneous as this. A child will whistle or sing while his mind\nis engaged on other things. If he is happy he will dance about as\nnaturally, and almost as inevitably, as the leaves dance when the\nbreeze passes through them.\n\nWe will call this the _musical instinct_. So elemental is it that man\nshares it, in some degree, with other living things. The birds are\naccomplished musicians, and their movements, and those of many other\ncreatures, are full of rhythm and grace.\n\nIn both these instincts the child is struggling to grow, to expand\nhis being, by going out of himself, in response to the attractive\nforce of beauty, into that larger life which is at the heart of\nNature, but which is not ours until we have made it our own. We will\ntherefore call these the _AEsthetic Instincts_, and place them in a\nclass by themselves.\n\n(5) From a very early age the child desires to know the why and\nwherefore of things, to understand how effects are produced, to\ndiscover new facts, and pass on, if possible, to their causes. In\nresponse to the pressure of this instinct, the child breaks his toys\nin order that he may find out how they work, and asks innumerable\nquestions which make him the terror and despair of his parents and\nthe other \"Olympians.\" No instinct is more insistent in the early\ndays of the child's life. No instinct is more ruthlessly repressed by\nthose to whom the education of the child is entrusted. No instinct\ndies out so completely (except so far as it is kept alive by purely\nutilitarian considerations) when education of the conventional type\nhas done its deadly work. It has been said that children go to school\nignorant but curious, and leave school ignorant and incurious. This\ngibe is the plain statement of a patent truth.\n\nWe will call this the _inquisitive instinct_.\n\n(6) After analysis comes synthesis. The child pulls his toys to\npieces in order that he may, if possible, reconstruct them, and so be\nthe better able to control the working of them. The ends that he sets\nbefore himself are those which Comte set before the human\nrace,--\"savoir pour prevoir, afin de pouvoir: induire pour deduire,\nafin de construire.\" The desire to make things, to build things up,\nto control ways and means, to master the resources of Nature, to put\nhis knowledge of her laws and facts to a practical use, is strong in\nhis soul. Give him a box of bricks, and he will spend hours in\nbuilding and rebuilding houses, churches, towers, and the like. Set\nhim on a sandy shore, with a spade and a pail, and he will spend\nhours in constructing fortified castles with deep, encircling moats\ninto which the sea may be duly admitted. Or he will make harness and\nwhips of plaited rushes, armour of tea-paper, swords of tin-plate,\nboxes and other articles of cardboard, waggons, engines, and other\nimplements of wood.\n\nWe will call this the _constructive instinct_.\n\nIn both these instincts the child is struggling to grow, to expand\nhis being, by going out of himself, through the correlated channels\nof theory and practice, into what I may call the machinery of\nNature's life,--an aspect of that life which reveals its mysteries to\nreason rather than to emotion, or (to use the language of Eastern\nphilosophy) to the faculties that try to find order in the Many,\nrather than to those which try to hold intercourse with the One.[16]\nWhichever channel he may use,--and indeed they are not so much two\nchannels as one, for each in turn is for ever leading into and then\npassing out of the other,--his concern is always for \"facts,\" for the\nactualities of things, for \"objective truth.\" We will therefore call\nthese the _Scientific Instincts_, and place them in a class by\nthemselves.\n\nThere are six instincts, then,--six formative and expansive\ninstincts--which Nature has implanted in every normal child, and\nwhich education, so far as it aims at being loyal to Nature, should\ntake account of and try to foster. Two of these are _sympathetic_;\ntwo are _aesthetic_; two are _scientific_. In and through the\nsympathetic instincts the soul grows in the direction of _love_. In\nand through the aesthetic instincts the soul grows in the direction of\n_beauty_. In and through the scientific instincts the soul grows in\nthe direction of _truth_. It is towards this triune goal that Nature\nherself is ever directing the growth of the growing child. The\nsignificance of this conclusion will unfold itself as we proceed.\n\nThese instincts manifest themselves in various ways, but chiefly in\nthe direction that they give to that very serious occupation of young\nchildren which we call play. It is clear, then, that if these\ninstincts are to be duly cultivated, the work of the school must be\nmodelled, as far as possible, on the lines which children, when at\nplay, spontaneously follow. This Egeria, with her inspired sagacity,\nhas clearly seen; and she has taken her measures accordingly. In\nUtopia the school life of the child is all play,--play taken very\nseriously, play systematised, organised, provided with ample\nmaterials and ample opportunities, encouraged and stimulated in\nevery possible way. Each of the fundamental instincts that manifest\nthemselves in the child's play, and in doing so give a clear\nindication of Nature's aims in the child's life, and of the\ndirections in which she wishes him to grow, is duly ministered to in\nthis school, the current that wells up in and through it being\nskilfully guided into a suitable channel, and every obstacle to its\nfree development being carefully removed. But the guidance which\nEgeria gives tends, as we shall see, to foster rather than fetter the\nfreedom of the child. When the current has been led into a suitable\nchannel, it is expected to shape its own further course, and even to\nimpose on itself the limits--the containing walls--which are needed\nif its depth and strength are to be maintained.\n\nLet us now consider each of the six instincts in turn, and see what\nspecial steps Egeria takes to foster its growth.\n\n\n(1) _The Communicative Instinct_.\n\nThrough this instinct the child goes out of himself into the lives of\nother persons and other living things. The desire is in its essence\none for intercourse, for communion, for the interchange of thoughts,\nof feelings, of experiences. The normal child is, as we all know, an\ninveterate chatterbox; but he is also a rapt listener. If he desires,\nas he certainly does, to tell others about himself, he desires, in no\nless a degree, to hear about others, either from themselves, or from\nthose who are best able to tell him about them. The balance between\nthe two desires is well maintained by Nature; and it should be\ncarefully maintained by those who train the young, if the\ncommunicative instinct as a whole is to make healthy growth.\n\nIn too many elementary schools the instinct is systematically\nstarved, the scholars being strictly forbidden to talk among\nthemselves, while their conversational intercourse with their teacher\nis limited to receiving a certain amount of dry information, and\ngiving this back, collectively or individually, when they are\nexpressly directed to do so. The child's instinctive desire to\nconverse, being deprived by education of its natural outlets, must\nneeds force for itself the subterranean and illicit outlet of\nwhispering in class, either under the teacher's nose, if he happens\nto be unobservant or indolent, or behind his back, if he happens to\nbe vigilant and strict. And as the child is forbidden to talk about\nthings which are wholesome and interesting, it is but natural that in\nhis surreptitious conversations he should talk about things which\nare less edifying, things which are trivial and vulgar, or even\nunwholesome and unclean. Children are naturally obedient and\ntruthful; but in their attempts to find outlets for healthy\nactivities which are wantonly repressed, they will go far down the\ninclined plane of disobedience and deceit.\n\nIn Utopia free conversation is systematically encouraged. No\nelementary school is supposed to open before 9 a.m.; but Egeria is in\nthe habit of coming to school at 8.45 or earlier, so that the\nchildren who wish to do so may come and talk to her freely about the\nthings that interest them,--what they have observed on their walks to\nor from school, what they have heard or read at home, what they think\nabout things in general, and so on. The school has a good library of\nbooks which are worth reading, both in prose and verse. These the\nchildren read in school and out of school, and are thus brought into\ncommunication with other minds, with other times, with other lands.\nThey are also accustomed to talk freely to one another about the\nbooks that they are reading. Whatever lesson may be going on, they\nare encouraged to ask questions about the matter in hand, and even to\nexpress their own views about it. They go out into the playground in\ngroups and make up games and plays, discussing things freely among\nthemselves. When they are preparing to act an historical scene or a\npassage from some dramatic author, they hold a sort of informal\nparliament, in which the actors are selected and various important\nquestions are provisionally settled. They write letters in school to\nreal people. The older girls take the little ones in hand, and talk\nto them and draw them out. When an interesting phenomenon is noticed,\n_e.g._ in a Nature ramble, the children are accustomed to discuss it\nin groups, and to try to think out among themselves its cause and\nits meaning. Gossip is of course discouraged; but it is scarcely\nnecessary for Egeria to proscribe it; for idle talk has no attraction\nfor children who are allowed to talk freely and frankly, at all times\nand in all places, about things that are really worth discussing.\nLife is full of interest for children who are allowed, as these are,\nto take an active interest in it; and subjects of conversation are\ntherefore ever presenting themselves, in school and out of school,\nto the happy children of Utopia. This means that the life of each\nindividual child is overflowing through many channels, an overflow\nwhich will carry the out-welling life into the lives of other living\nbeings--human and infra-human, actual and imaginary--and even beyond\nthese, when it has been met and reinforced by other surging currents,\ninto the impersonal life of Humanity and of Nature.\n\n\n(2) _The Dramatic Instinct_.\n\nWhatever else young children may be, they are all born actors; and in\na school which bases its scheme of education on the actualities of\nchild life, it is but natural that the dramatic instinct should be\nfostered in every possible way. \"Work while you work, and play\nwhile you play,\" is one of those trite maxims which have been\nunintelligently repeated till they have lost whatever value they may\nonce have possessed. \"Work while you play, and play while you work,\"\nseems to be Egeria's substitute for it; and she would, I think, do\nwell to write those words over the porch of her school.\n\nIn the ordinary elementary school a fair amount of acting goes on\nin the infant department, and an occasional attempt is made, in\none of the higher classes of the upper department, to act a scene\nfrom Shakespeare or an episode in English history. But during\nthe five years or so of school life which intervene between the\ninfant department and \"Standard VI,\" the dramatic instinct is\nas a rule entirely neglected; and the consequent outgrowth of\nself-consciousness in the children is too often a fatal obstacle to\nthe success of the spasmodic attempts at dramatisation which are\nmade in the higher classes.\n\nIn Utopia \"acting\" is a vital part of the school life of every class,\nand every subject that admits of dramatic treatment is systematically\ndramatised. In History, for example, when the course of their study\nbrings them to a suitable episode, the children set to work to\ndramatise it. With this end in view, they consult some advanced\ntext-book or historical novel or other book of reference, and\nhaving studied with care the particular chapter in which they are\ninterested, and having decided among themselves who are to play what\nparts, they proceed to make up their own dialogues, and their own\ncostumes and other accessories. They then act the scene, putting\ntheir own interpretation on the various parts, and receiving\nthe stimulus and guidance of Egeria's sympathetic and moeutic\ncriticism. Their class-mates and the rest of the children in the main\nroom look on, with their history books open in front of them, and\napplaud; and, by gradually familiarising themselves with the various\nparts, qualify themselves half-unconsciously to act as under-studies\nin the particular scene, and in due course to play their own parts as\ninterpreters of some other historical episode. I know of no treatment\nof history which is so effective as this for young children. The\nactual knowledge of the facts of history which a child carries away\nwith him from an elementary school cannot well be large, and is, in\nmany cases, a negligible quantity. But the child who has once acted\nhistory will always be interested in it, and being interested in it\nwill be able, without making a formal study of it, to absorb its\nspirit, its atmosphere, and the more significant of its facts. Nor\ndo the advantages of the dramatic treatment of history end with the\nsubject itself. The actors in these historical scenes are, as I have\nsaid, expressing their own interpretation of the various parts, and\ntheir own perception of the meaning of each episode as a whole. This\nmeans that they are training their imaginative sympathy,--a\nsovereign faculty which of all faculties is perhaps the most\nemancipative and expansive,--and training it, as I can testify, with\nstriking success; for the dramatic power which they display is\nremarkable, and can have been generated by nothing less than\nsympathetic insight into the feelings of the various historical\npersonages and the possibilities of the various situations.\n\nIt is probable that History lends itself more readily to dramatic\ntreatment than any other subject, but it is by no means the only\nsubject that is dramatised in Utopia. An interest in Geography is\nawakened by scenes in foreign lands and episodes from books of travel\nbeing acted by the children. An interest in Arithmetic, by a shop\nbeing opened, which is well equipped with weights, measures, and\ncardboard money, and in which a salesman stands behind the counter\nand sells goods to a succession of customers. An interest in\nLiterature by the acting, with improvised costumes, of passages from\nShakespeare's plays, or scenes from Scott's and Dickens' novels.\nSimple plays to illustrate Nature-study are acted by the younger\nchildren; while the Folk Songs, which, as we shall see, play a\nprominent part in the musical life of the children, are acted as\nwell as sung.\n\nHowever rude and simple the histrionic efforts of the children may\nbe, they are doing two things for the actors. They are giving them a\nliving interest in the various subjects that are dramatised; and, by\nteaching them to identify themselves, if only for a moment, with\nother human beings, they are leading them into the path of tolerance,\nof compassion, of charity, of sympathy,--the ever-widening path\nwhich makes at last for Nirvanic oneness with the One Life.[17]\n\n\n(3) _The Artistic Instinct_.\n\nThe desire to reproduce with pencil, paint, or clay the form and\ncolour of the outward world will, if duly cultivated, gradually\ntransform itself into the desire to feel, to understand, to\ninterpret, to express, not the form and colour only of the outward\nworld, but also that less palpable but more spiritual quality which\nwe call beauty. But in order that this transformation may take place,\nthe child must always endeavour to reproduce with due fidelity the\nmore palpable qualities of colour and form. In this endeavour he\nmust bring many faculties into play. He must observe closely and\nattentively. He must reflect on what he observes. He must reflect on\nwhat he himself is doing. He must compare his work with the original,\nand try to discover how far he has succeeded, and where he has gone\nastray. The more faithfully he tries to reproduce what he has seen,\nthe clearer and surer will be his insight into the less palpable\nproperties of things,--into those details, those aspects, those\nqualities, which do not reveal themselves to the first careless\nglance, but which will gradually reveal themselves to those who will\ntake the trouble to discover them. When he is asked to reproduce\nthings which are intrinsically beautiful--flowers, branches, buds,\nshells, butterflies, and the like--he begins to realise that if his\nwork is to be successful, he must do justice to many impalpable,\nthough not imperceptible, details which go to the making up of\nbeauty. So the sense of beauty, the feeling for it, the desire to\nbring it into his work, grows up in his heart; and a new kind of\nfidelity--fidelity to _feeling_ rather than to _fact_ (if I may speak\nfor the moment in the delusive language of dualism)--begins to weave\nitself into his artistic consciousness.\n\nIf there is any school in England in which fidelity to feeling has\nevolved itself out of fidelity to fact, that school is in the village\nof Utopia. Some ten or twelve years ago a decree went out from\nWhitehall that Drawing was to be taught in all the elementary schools\nin England. Egeria at once took the children into her confidence, and\nsaid to them: \"You have now got to learn to draw: you don't know how\nto draw, and I don't know how to draw, but we must all set to work\nand see what we can do.\" A few years later the school was visited by\nthe inspector to whose zeal as a prophet, and skill as an expositor\nand teacher, the transformation in the teaching of drawing which is\ngradually taking effect in all parts of the country, has been largely\ndue. Here is the report[18] that he wrote after his visit--\n\n\"In this school the teaching of Drawing reaches the highest\neducational level I have hitherto met with in our elementary schools,\nand the results are the genuine expression of the children's own\nthoughts. Flat copies are not used, and the scholars evolve their\nown technique, for the Head Teacher is not strong herself in this\nrespect. The development of thought carries with it the development\nof skill, and this is clearly seen in the children's drawings, which\nshow good form and proportion, some knowledge of light and shade, a\ndelicate and refined perception of colour, and a wonderful power of\ndealing with the difficulties of foreshortening. The central law is\nself-effort,--confidence and self-reliance follow. The spontaneous\nactivities of the children are duly recognised, and the latter decide\nwhat to draw, how to draw it, and the materials to be used. One\ncannot remain long in the school without observing the absence of\nthat timidity, that haunting fear of making a mistake, which\nparalyses the minds and bodies of so many of our children. Under the\ninfluence of the Head Teacher the children become acute critics.\nHer methods coincide so exactly with those which I have long been\nadvocating, that I give them in her own words--\n\n\"'I gave each child an ivy-leaf and said, \"Now look well at it.\" We\ntalked about its peculiarities, looking at it all the time, and then\nI told them to draw one, still looking back to the leaf from time to\ntime. Then I examined their drawings. A good many were, of course,\nfaulty. In those cases I did not say, \"No, you are wrong; this is the\nway,\" and go to the blackboard. I said, \"In such and such a part is\nyours the same as the leaf? What is different? How can you alter\nit?\" etc., etc. I make _them tell me_ their faults. There was no\nblackboard demonstration.'\n\n\"From a careful examination of their work it is clear that the\nchildren have not only been taught to draw, but that they love and\nenjoy their drawing. Form and colour are not only seen, but\nunderstood and felt. The children are impelled by an irresistible\ndesire to reach and express the truth, and are thus carried along\nan ever-moving path of educative action.\"\n\nI have already spoken of the love of visible beauty which is a\ncharacteristic feature of the life of this school. It is in the\ndrawing lesson that this love of beauty has in the main evolved\nitself. Other influences have no doubt been at work. Nature-study and\nliterature, for example, have, as taught in this school, done much to\nfoster the children's latent love of beauty; but had drawing never\nbeen taught, the influence of those subjects would have been much\nless effective than it has been. It is in the struggle to express\nwhat he perceives that the Utopian child has gradually strengthened\nand deepened his perceptive powers, till his sight has transformed\nitself into insight, and form and colour have come to be interpreted\nby him through the medium of the beauty which is behind them,--his\nfeeling of beauty having, little by little, been awakened and evolved\nby his unceasing efforts to interpret the _vraie verite_ of form and\ncolour, which, as he now begins to learn, are beauty's outward self.\n\n\n(4) _The Musical Instinct_.\n\nIn the development of the artistic sense the path of imitation is\nfollowed until it leads at last to heights which it cannot scale. The\ndevelopment of the musical sense takes from the first a widely\ndifferent path. Nature has a beautiful music of her own, but the\nchild seldom attempts to imitate this. Music belongs to the soul even\nmore than to the outward world. So at least one feels disposed to\nthink. But perhaps it is more correct to say that in the presence\nof music the provisional distinction between inward and outward,\nbetween the soul and the surrounding world, becomes wholly effaced.\nExpression is always the counterpart of perception; and we may rest\nassured that the deep, subtle, and elusive feelings to which music\ngives utterance have reality for their counterpart. The musician does\nnot often reproduce in his compositions the audible sounds of the\noutward world,--the voices of animals, the songs of birds, the rustle\nof leaves, the murmur of the sea, the sighing of the breeze, the\nthunder of the storm. What he does reproduce is the music that awakes\nin his soul when the emotions which these sounds kindle begin to\nstruggle for expression,--the music that is behind all the audible\nsounds, and perhaps also behind all the inaudible vibrations of\nNature,--the music that is in his heart because it is also at the\nheart of Nature,--_the rhythm of the Universe_, as one may perhaps\ncall it for lack of a fitter phrase. It is the sense of this rhythm\nwhich inspires the great Composer when he builds up his masterpieces.\nIt is the sense of this rhythm which inspires the child when, in the\njoy of his heart, he breaks spontaneously into dance and song. To\nbring the rhythm of the Universe into the daily life of the child,\nto give free play to his instinctive sense of its all-pervading\npresence, is one of the highest functions of the teacher. And the\nmore carefully the sense of rhythm is cultivated, the more does it\ntend to spiritualise itself, and the more profound and more vital is\nthe life which it struggles to interpret and evolve. There is no\ninstinct which is so deeply seated as the musical. It is possible for\na child, it is possible for a whole class of children, to sing out of\nthe depths of the soul; and when this happens we may be sure that a\nfountain of spiritual joy has been unsealed, and that a great and\nsacred mystery has been unveiled. There is a school in one of the\npoorest slums of a large town, in which, some two or three years ago,\nthe children were taught to sing, and the teachers to teach singing,\nby an inspired \"master\" who believes that to lift the sluices of\nspiritual feeling is to quicken into ever-increasing activity its\nhidden springs; and neither the teachers nor the children have yet\nforgotten their lesson. The children are poor, pale, thin, unkempt,\nill-clad, unlovely; but I am told that when they sing their faces are\ntransfigured, and they all become beautiful.\n\nEgeria is an accomplished musician, and though Utopia belongs to one\nof the unmusical counties of England, she has found it easy to awaken\nthe musical instinct in the hearts of its children. A few years ago\nshe introduced the old English Folk Songs and Morris Dances into the\nschool. The children took to them at once as ducklings take to the\nwater; and within a year they were able to give an admirably\nsuccessful performance of some two dozen songs and dances in the\nvillage hall. Some of these had been rehearsed only once; but the\nchildren, thanks to their having been systematically trained to\neducate themselves, are so versatile and resourceful that every item\non their programme was a complete success. The Folk Songs and Morris\nDances are still the delight of the children. They are ever adding to\ntheir repertory of songs; and when they go into the playground for\nrecreation, they at once form into small groups for Morris Dancing,\nthe older children taking the little ones in hand, and initiating\nthem into the pleasures of rhythmical movement.\n\nThere is another way in which Egeria brings music into the lives of\nthe children. In her own words, she \"sets many of their lessons to\nmusic.\" For example, when they are doing needlework or drawing or any\nother quiet lesson, she plays high-class music to them, which forms a\nbackground to their efforts and their thoughts, and which gradually\nweaves itself, on the one hand into the outward and visible work that\nthey are doing, and on the other hand into the mysterious tissue of\ntheir inward life.\n\n\n(5) _The Inquisitive Instinct_.\n\nAs the inquisitive instinct makes the child an intolerable nuisance\nto his ignorant and indolent elders, it is but natural that in the\nunenlightened school, as in the unenlightened home, it should be\nforcibly exterminated. It is through the agency of the formula \"Don't\nspeak till you are spoken to,\" that its destruction is usually\neffected. But under Egeria's aegis conversation in school hours is,\nas we have seen, freely encouraged, and the child's right to ask\nquestions fully recognised; and one may therefore conjecture that\nthis proscribed and outlawed instinct will find a safe asylum in her\nschool. Whatever lesson may be in progress, the Utopian children are\nallowed, and even expected, to seek for illumination whenever they\nfind themselves in the dark, to pause inquiringly at every obstacle\nto their understanding what they have seen or heard or read.\n\nThe encouragement which is given in Utopia to the child who seeks to\ngratify his desire for knowledge, is positive as well as negative.\nWhen the obstacles which education usually places in his path have\nbeen removed, it is found that the whole atmosphere of the school is\nfavourable to the growth of his inquisitive instinct. At every turn\nhe is called upon to plan and contrive, and is thus made to realise\nhis own limitations, and to try to escape from them. Whatever he may\nhave in hand,--be it the preparation for acting a new scene, or the\ninterpretation of a new Folk Song or Morris Dance, or the invention\nof a new school game, or the thinking out some new way of treating a\n\"subject,\"--he is sure to find that knowledge is needed if he is\nto achieve success; and his desire for knowledge is therefore\ncontinually stimulated by the demands that his own initiative and\nactivity are ever making upon him.\n\nBut it is in the \"Nature lesson\" that the inquisitive instinct finds\nin Utopia its freest scope and its fullest opportunity. To one who\nhad persuaded himself of the innate stupidity of the average English\nchild, a Nature lesson in Utopia would come as a revelation. He would\nlearn for the first time that, far from being innately stupid, the\naverage English child has it in him to reach a very high level of\nkeenness, acuteness, and intellectual activity. Whenever a lesson is\ngiven on a natural object, _e.g._ a flower or a leaf, every child has\na specimen and a lens. The object is then closely and carefully\nobserved, in the hope of discovering features in it which might\nescape the unobservant. Whenever such features are discovered the\nchildren try to account for them. In these attempts they display much\ningenuity and intelligence, and are led on by Egeria in the direction\nof the true explanation of each phenomenon, and the relation of this\nto what they know of the object as a whole, and of its meaning and\nfunction. The eagerness of the children to volunteer explanations of\nthe facts that they observe is only equalled by the intelligence with\nwhich they grasp the general bearing of the problems that confront\nthem, and the resourcefulness and quickness of wit with which they\nmake repeated attempts to solve them.\n\nAnd these are not the only qualities to which the Nature lesson gives\nfree play. It is interesting to note that as on the one hand the\ninquisitive instinct is obviously near of kin to the communicative,\nso on the other hand it is ever tending to link itself to the\nartistic. The closeness of observation which is the basis of success\nin Nature-study, and by means of which the inquisitive instinct is\nfed and strengthened, is also the basis of success in drawing; and\nin each case it leads beyond itself into a region in which it has to\nbe supplemented by, and even transfigured into, imagination, the\nfaculty by means of which we observe what is at once impalpable and\nreal.[19] And in that region the distinction between truth and beauty\nis ever tending to efface itself. The master sculptor is always an\naccomplished anatomist; and the genuine naturalist is a lover and\nadmirer, as well as a student, of Nature. It has been well said that\n\"to see things in their beauty is to see them in their truth\"; and it\nis perhaps equally, though more remotely, true that to see things in\ntheir truth is to see them in their beauty. That being so, we need\nnot wonder that among the Utopian children the love of what is\nbeautiful in Nature has grown continuously with the growth of their\ninterest in Nature-study, and that the inquisitive instinct is ever\nReinforcing and being reinforced by the artistic.\n\n\n(6) _The Constructive Instinct_.\n\nActive, intelligent, resourceful, self-helpful, the Utopian child\ntakes to handwork of various kinds as readily and almost as\nspontaneously as the birds in spring-time take to the work of\nnest-building. It must indeed be admitted that the systematic\ninstruction in Gardening, Cookery, and Woodwork which warrants the\npayment of special grants for these \"subjects\" is not given. But\ninformal gardening, informal cookery, and informal woodwork are\nvital features of the school life. Nor are the children's essays in\nhandwork limited to these subjects. Whatever implement, instrument,\nor other contrivance may be needed in order to illustrate or\notherwise help forward the general work of the school will be made by\nthe children, so far as their technical ability and the resources of\nthe school permit. For example, they will make fences, seats, frames,\nand sheds for their gardens, and \"properties\" and dresses for their\ndramatic performances. They will illustrate their games and lessons\nby means of simple modelling and paper-cutting. The older girls will\ndress dolls for the little ones to their own fancy, using their own\ndiscretion as regards material, style of dress, and method of\ndress-making. And so on.\n\nBut ready as the Utopian children are to use their hands, and clever\nas they are at using them, it is not through manual activity only\nthat the development of their constructive instinct is carried on.\nOne of the characteristic features of the school is the largeness\nof the scale on which the constructive powers of the children are\nencouraged to energise, and the frequency and variety of the demands\nthat are made upon them. The Utopian child is expected to educate\nhimself, not merely in the sense of doing by and for himself whatever\ntask may be set him, but also in the sense of devising new tasks for\nhimself, in thinking out new ways of treating the different subjects\nthat appear on the school time-table, in taking thought for the whole\nscheme of his education. As the years go by, Egeria makes more and\ngreater demands on the initiative and the intelligence of the\nchildren, her aim being apparently to transform the school by slow\ndegrees into a self-governing community which, under her presidency,\nshall order its own life and work out its own salvation. This means,\nas I have lately pointed out, that at every turn the Utopian child is\nbeing called upon to plan and contrive; and this, again, means that\nhis constructive instinct, with his inquisitive instinct as its other\nself, is being continually exercised on the widest possible field\nand under the most stimulating of all influences. The result of\nthis is that reciprocal action is ever going on in his mind between\nthe faculties that acquire knowledge and the faculties that apply\nit,--action which makes for the rapid and healthy growth of both sets\nof faculties, and which is therefore ever tending to strengthen the\nchild's capacity for thinking and to raise the plane of its activity.\n\nWhat is the culture of the child's expansive instincts likely to do\nfor him?\n\nI will weave into my answer to this question my knowledge of what has\nbeen done and is being done in Utopia.\n\nIt is through the medium of his own exertions that the evolution of\nthe child's instincts is carried on by Egeria. It may be possible to\nlay veneers of information on the surface of a child's mind, but\nit is not possible to lay on veneers of growth; and growth, not\ninformation, is the end at which Egeria has always aimed. If a child\nis to grow, he must exercise his own limbs, his own organs, his own\nfaculties. No one else can do this for him; and unless he does it\nhimself, it will never be done. The school life in Utopia is\ntherefore one of constant activity. The habit of doing things, of\ndoing things for himself, of doing things by himself, is gradually\nbuilt up in each child. There is no forced inertness in Utopia,\nno slackness, no boredom, no yawning. And the activity which is\ncharacteristic of the school is always the child's own activity. The\nchild himself is behind everything that he does. The child himself\nis expressing himself in his every action. Mechanical activity, the\ndoing of things, not merely at the bidding of another, but also under\nhis minutely detailed direction, is as foreign to the genius of\nthe school as is the passivity of the helpless victims of the\nunenlightened teacher's \"chalk and talk.\"\n\nThe first consequence, then, of the training of the expansive\ninstincts which is given in Utopia is the building up in each scholar\nof what I may call the habit of rational activity. In many schools\nthe energies of the child are systematically dammed back, till at\nlast the springs of his activity, finding that no demand is made upon\nthem, cease to flow. In Utopia the sluices, though always regulated,\nare permanently lifted, and the energies of the child are ever\nmoving, with a strong and steady current, in whatever channel they\nmay have chanced to enter. So strong, indeed, and so steady is the\ncurrent that it maintains its movement long after the child has left\nschool. The employers of labour in the neighbourhood of Utopia will\ntell you that there are no slackers or loafers in the yearly output\nof the school. Egeria recently received a visit from one of her\nex-pupils, a girl of fourteen who is at home keeping house for her\nfather, and who said to her in the course of their conversation: \"I\ndo just love washing days; I get up before six and start. Then, when\nall the washing is done, I scrub everything bright in the copper\nwhile I have the hot soapsuds.\" Accustomed as he (or she) is from his\n(or her) earliest days to sincere and fearless self-expression, the\nUtopian child is entirely incapable of indulging in cant; and the\ngenuineness of the sentiment which dictated those words is therefore\nabove suspicion. To work vigorously, to do well whatever he (or she)\nhas to do, is a real pleasure to the Utopian child. Indeed his whole\nbeing is a living response to the familiar precept: \"Whatsoever thy\nhand findeth to do, do it with thy might.\"\n\nAnd what he does with his might is always well worth doing. His\nconstant effort to express himself has, as its necessary counterpart,\na constant effort to find out what is worth expressing, to get to the\ntruth of things, to see things as they are. The consequent growth\nof his perceptive powers may be looked at from two points of view.\nOn the one hand his growing capacity for getting on terms with\nthings--for feeling his way among them, for \"getting, the hang\" of\nthem, for making himself at home with them, for learning their ins\nand outs, for understanding their ways and works--will give him the\npower of putting forth an appropriate _sense_ in response to the\ndemands of each new environment, and, through the medium of this\nsense, of converting information into knowledge. For this reason new\n\"subjects\" have no terror for Egeria and her pupils. Though she has\nnever thought in subjects, she is ready to extend her curriculum in\nany direction in which she thinks that her children are likely to\nfind interest or profit. The versatility, the mental agility, of the\nchildren is as remarkable as their activity. The current of their\nenergy is ready to adapt itself to every modifying influence, to\nevery change of geological formation, that it may encounter in its\ncourse, and to shape its channel or channels accordingly.\n\nOn the other hand, as healthy vigorous growth is always upward (and\ndownward) as well as outward, the lateral extension of the child's\nperceptive powers must needs be balanced in Utopia by the gradual\nelevation of his standpoint, with a corresponding widening of his\noutlook, and the proportionate deepening of his insight. When the\nschool life of the child is one of continuous self-expression,\nopportunities for \"putting his soul\" into what he says and does will\noften present themselves to him; and if only a few of these are made\nuse of, his outlook on life will widen, and his imaginative sympathy\nwith life will deepen, to an extent which to one who had never\nvisited Utopia might well seem incredible. I have spoken of the\nUtopian child's love of the beautiful. This is one aspect of the\nspiritual growth that he is always making. Other aspects of it are\nhis strong sympathy with life in all its forms, and a certain large\nand free way of looking at things, which, as far as my experience of\nschool children goes, is all his own.\n\nThere is yet another aspect of his spiritual growth which is perhaps\nthe most vital and the most typical of all. When we say that the\nchild is growing both laterally and vertically (like a shapely tree),\nwe mean that he is growing as a whole, as a living soul. Now the\ngrowth of the soul as such must needs take the form of outgrowth, of\nescape from \"self.\" Growth is, in its essence, an emancipative\nprocess; and though it sometimes intensifies selfishness and widens\nthe sphere of its activity, that is invariably due to its being\none-sided and therefore inharmonious and unhealthy. When the child\nor the man is growing as a living whole, with a happy, harmonious,\nmany-sided growth, his growth is of necessity outgrowth, and he must\nneeds be escaping from the thraldom of his lower and lesser self.\nThis conclusion is no mere inference from accepted or postulated\npremises. What I have seen in Utopia has forced it upon me. The\nunselfishness, the natural, easy, spontaneous self-forgetfulness, of\nthe Utopian child, is the central feature of his moral life,--so\nmarked and withal so unique a feature that its presence proves to\ndemonstration, first, that growth of the right sort is necessarily\nemancipative, and, next, that the growth made in Utopia is growth\nof the right sort. I have already commented on the singular charm\nof manner which distinguishes the children of Utopia. Their\nself-forgetfulness, their entire lack of self-consciousness, is\none source of this charm. The tactfulness which their life of\nself-expression, and therefore of trained perception, tends to\nengender, is another. But the moral aspect of Utopianism is one of\nsuch surpassing interest, and also of such profound significance\nfrom the point of view of my fundamental \"truism,\" that I must limit\nmyself for the moment to this passing reference to it, and reserve\nit for fuller treatment in the remaining chapters.\n\nI could easily make a long list of Utopian virtues and graces, but I\nmust content myself with touching on one more typical product of\nEgeria's philosophy of education,--the joy which the children wear in\ntheir faces and bear in their hearts. The sense of well-being which\nmust needs accompany healthy and harmonious growth is realised by him\nwho experiences it as joy. The Utopian children are by many degrees\nthe happiest that I have met with in an elementary school, and I\nmust therefore conclude that all is well with them, that their\nwell-being--the true end of all education--has been, and is being,\nachieved. If you look at any of them with more than a mere passing\nglance, you will be sure to win from him the quick response of a\nsunny smile,--a smile which is half gladness, half goodwill. And the\njoy of their hearts goes with them when their schooldays are over and\nthey begin to work for their bread. Last year one of the boys, on\nleaving school, found employment in a large field on the lower slopes\nof the hills, where he had to collect flints and pile them in heaps,\nhis wage for this dull and tiresome work being no more than fivepence\na day. But he found the work neither dull nor tiresome; for as he\nmarched up and down the field, collecting and piling the flints with\ncheery goodwill, he sang his Folk Songs with all the spontaneous\nhappiness of a soaring lark.\n\nActivity, versatility, imaginative sympathy, a wide and free outlook,\nself-forgetfulness, charm of manner, joy of heart,--these are\nqualities which might be expected to unfold themselves under the\ninfluence of the Utopian training, and which do, in point of fact,\nflourish vigorously in the soil and atmosphere of Utopia. They are\nthe outcome of a type of education which differs radically from that\nwhich has hitherto been accepted as orthodox,--differing from it with\nthe unfathomable difference between vital and mechanical obedience,\nbetween life and machinery.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[16] The child is struggling to do this, and more than this.\nThe search for order resolves itself into the search for cause; and\nthe search for cause will resolve itself, in the last resort, into\nthe greatest of all adventures,--the search for that pure essence of\nthings on which all the deeper desires of the soul converge, which\nimagination dreams of as absolute beauty, and reason as a beacon-lamp\nof all-illuminating light, flashing forth alternately as absolute\nreality and absolute truth.\n\n[17] I shall perhaps be told that my extravagant idealism is\nout of place in a book on elementary education. To this possible\nreproach I can but answer, in Mrs. Browning's words, that--\n\n  It takes the ideal to blow a hair's breadth off\n  The dust of the actual.\n\nMy experience of Utopia has convinced me that in taking thought for\nthe education of the young it is impossible to be too idealistic, and\nthat the more \"commonsensical\" and \"utilitarian\" one's philosophy of\neducation, the shallower and falser it will prove to be.\n\n[18] An informal report to me, not a formal report to the\nBoard of Education.\n\n[19] Real, in the sense that the beauty of form and colour\nis more real than either form or colour, and that a law of Nature is\nmore real than an isolated fact.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nEDUCATION THROUGH SELF-REALISATION\n\n\nActivity, versatility, imaginative sympathy, a large and free\noutlook, self-forgetfulness, charm of manner, joy of heart,--are\nthere many schools in England in which the soil and atmosphere are\nfavourable to the vigorous growth of all these qualities? I doubt it.\nIn the secondary schools, of all grades and types, the education\ngiven is so one-sided, thanks to the inexorable pressure of the\nscholarship system, that the harmonious development of the child's\nnature is not to be looked for. In the elementary schools, from which\nthe chilling shadow cast by thirty years of \"payment by results\" is\npassing slowly--very slowly--away, the instinct of the teacher is to\ndistrust the child and do everything, or nearly everything, for him,\nthe result being that the whole _regime_ is still unfavourable to the\nspontaneous outgrowth of the child's higher qualities. There are of\ncourse schools, both secondary and elementary, in which one or more\nof the Utopian qualities flourish with considerable vigour. There are\nelementary schools, for example, in which the children, being allowed\nby enterprising teachers to walk in new paths without leading\nstrings, have become unexpectedly active and versatile. And there are\nothers--mostly in the slum regions of great towns--in which the\ndevotion, the sympathetic kindness, and the gracious bearing of the\nteachers have won from the children the response of unselfish\naffection, attractive manners, and happy faces.[20] Yet even in these\nexceptional cases it may be doubted if the development of the\nparticular quality or qualities for which the school is distinguished\nreaches the high-water mark which is reached in each and all of the\nseven qualities in Utopia. As for the elementary schools which remain\nfaithful, as so many still do, to the traditions of the old\nregime,--if in these any of the seven qualities manage to resist the\nadverse influences to which they are all exposed, they have at best\nbut a starved and stunted life.\n\nI have spoken much and with unsparing frankness of the shortcomings\nof our elementary schools. The time has come for me to say with\nemphasis that however grave and however numerous may be the defects\nof elementary education in England, they are defects which it shares\nwith all other branches of education, and which England shares with\nall other Western lands. The plain truth is that education as such is\na failure in the West, a failure in the sense that the very qualities\nwhich it ought to foster--the cardinal virtues, mental, moral, and\nspiritual, which are present in embryo in every child, waiting to be\nrealised--are not merely neglected by it, in its insane ardour for\n\"results,\" but are also exposed, in most of its schools, to strongly\nadverse influences. And the reason why education as such is a failure\nin the West is that from its earliest days it has been a house\ndivided against itself, those who were and are responsible for\nit having been under the influence of two mutually destructive\nassumptions, which they have vainly tried to reconcile with one\nanother.\n\nThe first of these assumptions is my initial \"truism,\"--that the\nfunction of education is to foster growth. This is admitted,\nimplicitly if not directly, by all who think and speak about\neducation, and even, in their unguarded moments, by most of those\nwho teach. It is generally admitted, for example, that such mental\nqualities as attention, memory, judgment, intelligence, reason,\nsuch moral qualities as loyalty, courage, truthfulness, kindness,\nunselfishness, such semi-moral qualities as cleanliness, orderliness,\ncarefulness, alertness, industry, punctuality, are capable of being\ndeveloped by education. It is further admitted that such special\nqualities as literary or artistic taste, the mathematical or the\nhistorical sense, an aptitude for business or finance, are ready\nto evolve themselves, in response to the fostering influence of\npractical experience directed by skilful teaching. It is admitted,\nin other words, that there is much in human nature, apart from what\nis purely or mainly physical, which is both capable and worthy of\ncultivation, and which education ought therefore to try to cultivate.\n\nSo far, so good. These admissions, with the fundamental admission\nwhich underlies them all, might form the basis of a sound philosophy\nof education, if they were not liable to be stultified and even\nnullified by the counter assumption that human nature is innately\nevil and corrupt. For from the latter assumption has followed, both\nlogically and naturally, a theory of education which is not merely\nunfavourable but fatal to growth. If human nature is innately evil,\nif it has no inborn capacity for goodness or truth, what is there in\nit that is worth training? So far as the \"great matters\" of life are\nconcerned, the child must be educated by being told in minute detail\nwhat to do, and by being alternately bribed and bullied into doing\nit. As he can neither think, nor believe, nor desire, nor do what\nis right, he must be told what to think, what to believe, what to\ndesire, what to do; and as it is assumed that the tasks set him by\nhis teacher will not be intrinsically attractive, he must be induced\nto perform them by the threat of external punishments and the promise\nof external rewards. In other words, in the spheres of religion and\nmorals, so far as these can be walled off from the rest of human\nlife, he must be educated, not by being helped to grow, but by being\ncompelled to obey; and as the spheres of religion and morals cannot\npossibly be walled off from the rest of human life, the idea of\neducating the child through the medium of passive and mechanical\nobedience will gradually extend its influence over all the other\ndepartments and aspects of his home and school life, his innate\nsinfulness finding its equivalent, in secular matters, in his innate\nhelplessness and stupidity, while in the place of the creeds, codes,\nand catechisms by which his spiritual welfare is provided for, he\nwill be fed during the hours of secular instruction on rations of\ninformation, formulated rules, and minute directions of various\nkinds. Under this _regime_ of wire-pulling on the part of the teacher\nand puppet-like dancing on the part of the child, the growth of\nthe child's faculties,--of the whole range of his faculties, for\nthey will all come under the blighting influence of the current\nmisconception of the bent of his nature and the consequent\nunder-estimate of his powers,--far from being fostered, will be\nsystematically thwarted and starved. This is the fate which might be\nexpected to befall the child if the doctrine of his innate sinfulness\nwere allowed to dominate his education; and this is the fate which\nhas befallen and is befalling him in all grades of society and in all\nthe countries of the West.\n\nIt is the doctrine of original sin, of the congenital depravity of\nman's nature, which blocks the way to the reform of education,--blocks\nthe way to it by compelling education to become the destroying angel\ninstead of the foster-nurse of the child's expanding life. In\ncriticising the defects of our educational system, we have too long\nmistaken symptoms for causes, and believed that we were removing the\nlatter when we were only palliating or at best excising the former.\nTo pinch off a withered bud, to lop off a withered limb, of the\ndiseased tree of education, to train in this or that direction a\nbranch which is as yet unaffected, is but lost labour so long as\nthe tree is being slowly poisoned at its roots by a fundamental\nmisconception of the character and capacity of the child. It is time\nthat we should reconsider our whole attitude towards human nature.\nThe widespread belief that sundry faculties, physical, mental, and\nmoral, admit of being cultivated and ought to be cultivated in the\nschoolroom--a belief which is ever affirming itself against the\neducational systems and practices that are ever giving it the\nlie--may surely be construed into an admission that my primary truism\nis at least a truth. If this is so, if the business of the teacher\nis, as I contend, to help the child to grow, healthily, vigorously,\nand symmetrically, on all the planes of his being, the inference is\nirresistible that education will achieve nothing but failure until\nits foundations have been entirely relaid. For faith in the inherent\nsoundness, in the natural goodness, of the seed or sapling, or\nwhatever else he may undertake to rear, is the first condition of\nsuccess on the part of the grower. And to ask education to bring to\nsane and healthy maturity the plant which we call human nature, and\nin the same breath to tell it that human nature is intrinsically\ncorrupt and evil, is to set it an obviously impracticable task. One\nmight as well supply a farmer with the seeds of wild grasses and\npoisonous weeds, and ask him to grow a crop of wheat. Growth can and\ndoes transform potential into actual good, but no process of growth\ncan transform what is innately evil into what is finally good. A\npoisonous seed will ripen of inner necessity into a poisonous plant;\nand the more carefully it is fed and tended, the larger and stronger\nwill the poisonous plant become.\n\nThe time has come, then, for us to throw to the winds the\ntime-honoured, but otherwise dishonoured and discredited, belief that\nthe child is conceived in sin and shapen in iniquity, and that\ntherefore his nature, if allowed to obey its own laws and follow its\nown tendencies, will ripen into death, instead of into a larger\nand richer life. I shall perhaps be told that if this belief is\nabandoned, other religious beliefs will go with it. Let them go. They\nhave kept bad company, and if they cannot dissociate themselves from\nit, they had better share its fate. What is real and vital in our\nreligious beliefs will gain incalculably by being disengaged from\nwhat may once have had a life and a meaning of its own but is now\nnothing better than a morbid growth. To tell a man that, apart from a\nmiracle, he is predestined to perdition, is the surest way to send\nhim there; and it is probable that the doctrine of his own innate\ndepravity is the deadliest instrument for achieving his ruin, that\nMan, in his groping endeavours to explain to himself the dominant\nfacts of his existence, has ever devised.\n\nNor is the practical failure of the doctrine--its failure to achieve\nany lasting result but the strangulation of Man's expanding life--the\nonly proof that it is inherently unsound. There is positive proof\nthat the counter doctrine, the doctrine of Man's potential goodness,\nis inherently true. We have seen that the great arterial instincts\nwhich manifest themselves in the undirected play of young children,\nare making for three supreme ends,--the sympathetic instincts for the\ngoal of _Love_, the artistic instincts for the goal of _Beauty_, the\nscientific instincts for the goal of _Truth_. We have seen, in other\nwords, that the push of Nature's forces in the inner life of the\nyoung child is ever tending to take him out of himself in the\ndirection of a triune goal which I may surely be allowed to call\n_Divine_. If we follow towards \"infinity\" the lines of love, of\nbeauty, and of truth, we shall begin at last to dream of an ideal\npoint--the meeting-point of all and the vanishing-point of each--for\nwhich no name will suffice less pregnant with meaning or less\nsuggestive of reality than that of God. It is towards God, then, not\ntowards the Devil, that the ripening, expansive forces of Nature\nwhich are at work in the child, are directing the process of his\ngrowth. We are taught that Man is by nature a \"child of wrath.\" The\nmore closely we study his ways and works when, as a young child, he\nis left (more or less) to his own devices, the stronger does our\nconviction become that he is by nature a \"child of God.\" Those who\nare in a position to speak tell us that the normal child is born\nphysically healthy. If the men of science would study the other sides\nof his being as carefully as they have studied his physique, they\nwould, I feel sure, be able to tell us that he is also born mentally,\nmorally, and spiritually healthy, and that on these sides, as well as\non the physical side, his growth might be and ought to be a natural\nmovement towards perfection. For some of my readers such arguments as\nthese are perhaps too much in the air to be convincing. Well, then,\nlet us appeal to experience. Let us see what the systematic\ncultivation of his natural faculties has done for the child in\nUtopia. I have already pointed out that the unselfishness of the\nchildren--the complete absence of self-seeking and self-assertion--is\none of the most noticeable features of the life of their school. Now\nthere is no place for moral teaching on the time-table of the\nschool: and I can say without hesitation that the direct inculcation\nof morality is wholly foreign to Egeria's conception of education.\nHow, then, has the emancipation of the child from the first enemy of\nMan's well-being--from all those narrowing, hardening, and\ndemoralising influences which we speak of collectively as egoistic or\nselfish--been effected in Utopia? By no other means than that of\nallowing the child's nature to unfold itself, on many sides of its\nbeing and under thoroughly favourable conditions. The twofold desire\nwhich we all experience,--to accept and rest in the ordinary\nundeveloped self, and at the same time to exalt and magnify it,--is\nthe surest and most fruitful source of moral evil. Indeed, it may be\ndoubted if there is any source of moral evil, apart from those which\nare purely sensual, which has not at least an underground connection\nwith this. If we are to \"cap\" this deadly fountain, and so prevent it\nfrom desolating human life, we must realise, once and for all, that\nthe two desires which master us cannot be simultaneously gratified;\nthat we cannot both rest in the ordinary self and magnify it; that we\ncan magnify it only by _making it great_, by helping it to grow. When\nwe have realised this, we shall be ready to receive the further\nlesson that in proportion as the self magnifies itself by the natural\nprocess of growth, so does its desire to magnify itself gradually die\naway,--die away with the dawning consciousness that in and through\nthe process of its growth it is outgrowing itself, forgetting itself,\nescaping from itself, that the thing which so ardently desired to be\nmagnified is in fact ceasing to be. This vital truth,--which my\nvisits to Utopia have borne in upon me,--that healthy and harmonious\ngrowth is in its very essence _out_growth or escape from self, has\ndepths of meaning which are waiting to be fathomed. For one thing, it\nmeans, if it has any meaning, that what is central in human nature\nis, not its inborn wickedness but its infinite capacity for good, not\nits rebellious instincts and backsliding tendencies but its\nmany-sided effort to achieve perfection.\n\nWe must now make our choice between two alternatives. We must decide,\nonce and for all, whether the function of education is to foster\ngrowth or to exact mechanical obedience. If we choose the latter\nalternative, we shall enter a path which leads in the direction of\nspiritual death. If we choose the former, we must cease to halt\nbetween two opinions, and must henceforth base our system of\neducation, boldly and confidently, on the conviction that growth is\nin its essence a movement towards perfection, and therefore that\nself-realisation is the first and last duty of Man.\n\nIt is by answering possible objections to Utopianism that I shall\nbest be able to unfold Egeria's philosophy of education. I shall\nperhaps be told that in my advocacy of that philosophy _I am\npreaching dangerous doctrines; that the only alternative for\nobedience is the lawlessness of unbridled licence; and that anarchy,\nsocial, moral, and spiritual, is the ultimate goal of the path which\nI am urging the teacher to enter._ Let me point out, in answer to\nthis protest, that it is mechanical obedience which I condemn, not\nobedience as such. If I condemn mechanical obedience, I do so\nbecause it is unworthy of the name of obedience, because the higher\nfaculties of Man's being, the faculties which are distinctively\nhuman--reason, imagination, aspiration, spiritual intuition, and the\nlike--take no part in it, because it is the obedience of an\nautomaton, not of a living soul. What I wish to oppose to it is\n_vital obedience_, obedience to the master laws of Man's being,\nobedience to the laws which assert themselves as central and supreme,\nobedience more particularly to those larger and obscurer laws which\nobedience itself helps us to discover, obedience in fine to that\nhierarchy of laws--(the superior law always claiming the fuller\nmeasure and the higher kind of obedience)--which, if we are to use\nthe Divine Name, we must needs identify with the will of God.\nObedience, in this sense of the word, is a sustained and soul-deep\neffort in which all the higher faculties of Man's being take part,\nan effort which is in some sort a voyage of discovery, the doing of\nthe more obvious duty being always rewarded by the deepening of the\ndoer's insight and the widening of his outlook, and by the consequent\nunveiling to him of the way in which he is to walk and the goal at\nwhich he is to aim. That the path of soul-growth is the path of vital\nobedience can scarcely be doubted. The effort to grow is always\nsuccessful just so far as it implies knowledge of the laws of the\nnature that is unfolding itself, and readiness to obey those laws;\nand so far as it is successful, it carries with it the outgrowth of\nthe very faculties by which knowledge--the higher knowledge which\nmakes further growth possible--is to be gained. Here, as\nelsewhere, there is an unceasing interaction between perception and\nexpression, between knowledge of law and obedience to law, what is\ngiven as obedience being received back as enlightenment, and what is\nreceived as enlightenment being given back as larger, fuller, and\nmore significant obedience.\n\nAnd, be it carefully observed, it is obedience to the laws of human\nnature, not obedience to the idiosyncrasies of the individual nature,\nwhich the process of soul-growth at once implies and makes possible.\nGrowth is, in its essence, a movement towards that perfect type which\nis the real self of each individual in turn, and the approach to\nwhich involves the gradual surrender of individuality, and the\ngradual escape from the ordinary self. A man is to cling to and\naffirm his individuality, not in order that he may rest in it and\nmake much of it, but in order that he may outgrow it and pass far\nbeyond it in that one way--the best way for him--which it, and it\nalone, is able to mark out for him. In other words, he is to assert\nhis individual self in order that he may universalise himself in his\nown way, and not in obedience to the ruling of custom and authority,\nin order that he may escape from himself through the real outlet of\nsincere self-expression, and not through the sham outlet of hypocrisy\nand cant.\n\nWhat I may call the Utopian scheme of education, far from making for\nantinomianism and anarchy, is the sworn enemy of individualism and\ntherefore, _a fortiori_, of everything that savours of licence. It is\nthe conventional type of education, with its demands for mechanical\nobedience to external authority, which leads through despotism to\nsocial and political chaos. The whole _regime_ of mechanical\nobedience is favourable, in the long run, to the development of\nanarchy. Let us take the case of a church or an autocracy which\ndemands implicit obedience from its subjects, and is prepared to\nexact such obedience by the application of physical force or its\nmoral equivalent. What will happen to it when its subjects begin to\nask it for its credentials? The fact that it has always demanded from\nthem literal rather than spiritual obedience, and that, in its\napplication of motive force, it has appealed to their baser desires\nand baser fears, makes it impossible for it to justify itself to\ntheir higher faculties, rational or emotional, and makes it necessary\nfor it to meet their incipient criticism with renewed threats of\npunishment and renewed promises of reward. But the very fact that it\nis being asked for its credentials means that the force on which it\nhas hitherto relied is weakening, that its power to punish and\nreward, which has always been resolvable into the power to make\npeople believe that it can punish and reward, is being called in\nquestion and is therefore crumbling away. And behind that power there\nis nothing but chaos. For the _regime_ of mechanical obedience, by\narresting the spontaneous growth of Man's higher nature, and by\nmaking its chief appeal to his baser desires and baser fears, becomes\nof necessity the foster-mother of egoism; and when egoism, which\nmakes each man a law to himself and the potential enemy of his kind,\nis unrestrained by authority, the door is thrown wide open to\nanarchy, and through anarchy to chaos. This is what is happening in\nthe West, in our self-conscious and critical age. In every field of\nhuman action, in religion, in politics, in social life, in art, in\nletters, authority is being asked for its credentials; and as this\ndemand, besides being a disintegrating influence, is a sign that the\nforce on which authority relies is weakening, it is not to be\nwondered at that there is a steady drift in many Western countries in\nthe direction of anarchy,--religious, political, social, artistic,\nliterary,--or that this _regime_ of incipient anarchy is taking the\nform of an ignoble scramble for wealth, for power, for position, for\nfame, for notoriety, for anything in fine which may serve to exalt a\nman above his fellows, and so minister to the aggrandizement of his\nlower self.\n\nIn this drift towards anarchy the school is playing its part. I do\nnot wish to suggest that the boys and girls of this or any other\nWestern country are beginning to ask their teachers for their\ncredentials, or are likely to rise in rebellion against them. The\npreparation for anarchy that is going on in the school is not only\nquite compatible with what is known as \"strict discipline,\" but is\nalso, in part at least, the effect of it. What is happening is that\nin an acutely critical age the _regime_ of mechanical obedience to\nexternal authority which has been in force in the West for nearly\n2000 years, and which is now taking its victims straight towards\nanarchy, is being carefully rehearsed in our schools of all types and\ngrades. During the years when human nature is most pliable (owing to\nits richness in sap), most easily trained, and most amenable to\ninfluence, good or evil, the child's spontaneous effort to outgrow\nhimself and so escape from his lower self,--an end which is not to be\nreached except by the path of free self-expression,--is persistently\nthwarted till at last it dies away; blind and literal obedience to\nexternal authority, for which the consent of his higher faculties\nis not asked, and in the giving of which they are not allowed to\ntake part, is persistently exacted from him till at last his\nhigher faculties cease to energise, and his lower nature begins to\nmonopolise the rising sap of his life; in order to enforce the blind\nobedience that is asked for, an appeal is made, by an elaborate\nsystem of external rewards and external punishments, to his selfish\ndesires and ignoble fears; while the examination system, with\nits inevitable accompaniments of prizes and class-lists, makes a\nspecial appeal to his competitive instincts,--instincts which are\nanti-social, and may even, in extreme cases, become anti-human in\ntheir tendency. And when authority has thus been presented to him, in\na form which he has never been expected to welcome, and when, by the\nsame process, the growth of his higher self has been arrested, and\nhis anarchical instincts--his selfishness and self-assertion--have\nbeen systematically cultivated, the critical spirit and temper will\nbe deliberately aroused in him, especially if he happens to attend\none of those secondary schools which are regarded as highly efficient\nbecause their lists of University distinctions and other \"successes\"\nare inordinately long; for the education given to him in such a\nschool by his scholarship-hunting teachers is of necessity so bookish\nand so one-sided that his intellectual, dialectically critical\nfaculties are apt to become hypertrophied, while other faculties\nwhich might have kept these in check are neglected and starved. The\nproduct of such a system of education,--benumbed or paralysed on many\nsides of his being by the repressive _regime_ to which he has so long\nbeen subjected, but vigorously alive on the sides of egoism and\nintellectual criticism,--will be an anarchist _in posse_ (unless,\nindeed, his vitality has been depressed by his school-life below the\npoint at which reaction becomes possible);--an anarchist _in posse_,\neven though, in his terror of anarchism in others, he should become a\npillar of the Established Church of his country, a J.P. of his town\nor county, and an active member of the nearest Conservative\nAssociation.\n\nIn Utopia, on the other hand, where selfishness is outgrown and\nforgotten, and where the spirit of comradeship and brotherhood\npervades the school, there can be no preparation for anarchy, if only\nfor the reason that there is no authority--no despotic authority,\nforcibly imposing its will on the school _ab extra_--to be\npotentially dethroned. For all her scholars, Egeria is the very\nsymbol and embodiment of love, the centre whence all happy,\nharmonious, life-giving, peace-diffusing influences radiate, and to\nwhich, when they have vitalised the souls of the children and\ntransformed themselves into sentiments of loyalty and devotion, they\nall return. I am not exaggerating a whit when I say that the Utopian\nschool is an ideal community, a community whose social system,\ninstead of being inspired by that spirit of \"competitive selfishness\"\nwhich makes \"each for himself, and the devil take the hindmost\" its\nmotto, seems to have realised the Socialistic dream of \"Each for all,\nand all for each.\"\n\nI shall perhaps be asked _what provision is made in Utopia for\nenabling the children to go through the drudgery of school-life, to\nmaster the \"3 R's,\" to \"get up\" the various subjects which the Code\nprescribes, and so forth_. To this question there is but one answer:\nthe best possible provision. \"Qui veut la fin veut les moyens.\" In\nthe life of organised play which the children lead, attractive ends\nare ever being set before them. If they are to achieve these ends,\nthey must take the appropriate means. What children in other schools\nmight regard as drudgery, the Utopian takes in his stride. Reading,\nwriting, and arithmetic are means to ends beyond themselves, ends\nwhich are constantly presenting themselves to the Utopian. If he is\nto gratify his communicative instinct, he must learn to read and\nwrite. If he is to gratify his dramatic instinct, he must, _inter\nalia_, read with intelligence books of reference which would be\nconsidered too advanced for the ordinary school-child. If he is to\ngratify his inquisitive and constructive instincts, he must learn\nto count, measure, and calculate. For whatever means may have to\nbe taken, must be taken by him. Egeria, as he knows well, will\ndo nothing for him which he can reasonably be expected to do for\nhimself. There are subjects, such as drawing, dancing, and singing,\nwhich are, or at any rate ought to be, intrinsically delightful,\nas being natural channels of self-expression. There are other\nsubjects, such as history, geography, and English, which can be made\ndelightful by being treated dramatically. The word \"drudgery\" has no\nmeaning for the Utopian child. A group of children in the highest\nclass recently committed to memory the whole \"Trial Scene\" of the\n_Merchant of Venice_--some 300 lines or so of blank verse--in order\nthat they might give themselves the pleasure of acting it. They\naccomplished this feat in a little more than a month. In the ordinary\nelementary school the child who has committed 150 lines to memory\nin the course of a year has done all that is required of him. The\ngetting up of a subject is drudgery only when the child can see no\nmeaning in what he is doing, only when the getting up of the subject\nis regarded as an end in itself. In Utopia no subject, apart from\nthose which I have spoken of as intrinsically delightful, is taught\nfor its own sake. Subjects are taught there either as the means to\ndesired ends, or because they afford opportunities for the training\nof the expansive instincts, the gratification of which is a pure\npleasure to every healthy child.\n\nBut not only does the Utopian child, with his eyes always fixed on\ndesirable ends, find a pleasure in doing things which other children\nare wont to regard as drudgery, but he has the further advantage of\nbeing able to master with comparative facility what other children\nfind difficult as well as distasteful. From first to last, the\ntraining given in Utopia makes, as we have seen, for the development\nof faculty. In my last chapter I set forth in detail some of the ways\nand means by which Egeria tries to cultivate the expansive instincts\nof her pupils. Behind all these ways and means stands the master\nmethod--or shall I say the master principle?--of self-expression.\nRecognising, as she does, that each of the expansive instincts is a\ndefinite expression of the soul's spontaneous effort to grow, and a\nclear indication of a particular direction in which Nature wishes the\nsoul to grow,--and recognising, as she also does, that the business\nof growing must be done by the growing organism and cannot be\ndelegated to any one else,--Egeria entrusts the work of\nself-realisation to the child himself, and makes no attempt to\nrelieve him of an obligation which no one but himself can discharge.\n\nNow self-realisation is a twofold process. In the absence of a fitter\nand more adequate word, I have applied the term _perceptive_ to those\nfaculties by means of which we lay hold upon the world that surrounds\nus, and draw it into ourselves and make it our own. And I have\ncontended that this group of faculties has, as its counterpart\nand correlate, another group of faculties which I have called\n_expressive_,--the faculties by means of which we go out of ourselves\ninto the world that surrounds us, and give ourselves to it and try to\nidentify ourselves with it,--and that the relation between these two\ngroups is so vital and so intimate that each in turn may be regarded\nas the very life and soul of the other. In words which I have already\nused, the perceptive faculties, at any rate in childhood, grow\nthrough the interpretation which expression gives them, and in no\nother way, and the expressive faculties grow by interpreting\nperception, and in no other way. That these two groups of faculties\nare, as it were, the reciprocating engines by means of which the\nvital movement which we call self-realisation is effected, is the\nconviction on which Egeria's whole scheme of education may be said to\nbe pivoted. In Utopia self-expression is the medium through which the\nexpansive instincts are encouraged to unfold themselves. And this\nlife of self-expression has as its necessary counterpart the\ncontinuous development of the perceptive faculties along the whole\nrange of the child's nature.\n\nHence the all-round capacity of the Utopian child. The development of\nhis perceptive faculties which his life of self-expression tends to\nproduce, takes many forms. One of these, and one which in some sort\nunderlies and interpenetrates all the rest, is the outgrowth of what\nI may call the _intuitional_ faculty,--a general capacity for getting\ninto touch with any new environment in which the child may find\nhimself, of subconsciously apprehending its laws and properties, of\nfeeling his way through its unexplored land. It is by means of this\ncapacity for putting forth a new _sense_ in response to the stimulus\nof each new environment, that the Utopian child is able to master\nwith comparative ease the various subjects which he is expected to\nlearn. And not with ease only, but with effect. It is, as we have\nseen, through the action of an appropriate sense, and in no other\nway, that the information which is supplied to the scholar, when he\nis learning this or that subject, is converted into _knowledge_, and\nis so made available both for the further understanding of the given\nsubject and for the nutrition of the scholar's own inner life.\n\nFrom every point of view, then, the Utopian scholar has a marked\nadvantage, in respect of the things with which education is supposed\nto be mainly concerned--the mastery of subjects and the acquisition\nof knowledge--over the product of the conventional type of school.\nWhatever the Utopian may have to learn, is a pleasure to him either\nfor its own sake or as a means to some desirable end. Whatever he may\nhave to learn, he learns with comparative ease, because his\nperceptive faculties have been systematically trained, and he is\ntherefore at home, in greater or lesser degree, in any new\nenvironment. And whatever he may have to learn, he learns with\neffect, because he is able to digest the information that he\nreceives, and convert it into knowledge, and so retain it in the form\nin which it will best conduce both to his further progress in that\nparticular branch of study and to the general building up of his\nmind.\n\nIn the ordinary result-hunting school the scholar fares very\ndifferently from this. As a rule, he takes but little pleasure in his\nwork, for subjects which have their chief value as means to desirable\nends are presented to him as ends in themselves, and as such are\nrightly regarded by him as meaningless and therefore as intolerably\ndull; while subjects which are either intrinsically attractive, as\nbeing natural channels of self-expression, or potentially attractive\nas providing opportunities for self-expression, have no attraction\nfor him, as in neither case is self-expression on his part permitted.\nAgain, he finds great difficulty in mastering the subjects on his\ntime-table, or even in making the first step towards mastering them,\nfor, owing to his perceptive faculties as a whole having been\nstarved by the repressive _regime_ which denied them the outlet\nof expression, he has not evolved the power of putting forth an\nappropriate sense in response to the stimulus of a new environment,\nand is therefore helpless in the presence of what is unfamiliar or\nunexpected. One of his faculties, his memory, has indeed been\nhypertrophied by being unduly exercised, and his capacity for\nreceiving information is in consequence unhealthily great; but\nbecause he lacks, in this case or in that, the _sense_ which might\nenable him to digest the information received and convert it into\nknowledge, the food with which he has been crammed speedily passes\nthrough him, undigested and unassimilated, and the hours which he has\nspent in acquiring information will have done as little for his\nprogress in the given subject as for the general growth of his mind.\n\nThe difference between the two schemes of education--that which\nexacts mechanical obedience, and that which seeks to foster\ngrowth--may be looked at from another point of view. Under the\nformer, interference with what I may call the subconscious processes\nof Nature is at its maximum. Under the latter, at its minimum. In\norder to realise what this means let us suppose that such\ninterference were possible where fortunately it is and must ever be\nimpossible,--in the first and second years of the child's life.\nFortunately for the child, it is impossible for us to educate him,\nin any formal sense of the word, until he has mastered his mother\ntongue. Were it otherwise, his mother tongue would never be mastered.\nBefore he reaches the age of two the child accomplishes the\nmarvellous feat of acquiring an entirely new language. While he is\nlearning it Nature is his only teacher, and under her tuition he\nmasters the new language without the least strain and with complete\nsuccess. But let us suppose that it was possible for a teacher of the\nconventional type to give minute directions to a child by some other\nmedium of expression than that of language. And let us suppose that\nsuch a teacher made up her mind that she, and not Nature, was to\nteach the child his mother tongue. One can readily imagine what would\nhappen. The teacher would probably have a theory that no child should\nbegin to talk till he was two or even two and a half years old; and\nif so, the child would be kept in a state of enforced dumbness till\nhe reached that age. In any case, he would be strictly forbidden\nto speak till his teacher gave him formal permission to do so.\nHalf-an-hour in the morning, and half-an-hour in the afternoon would\nprobably be set aside for the language lesson. For so many weeks or\nmonths the child would be strictly limited to words of two or three\nletters. For so many more weeks or months, to words of four or five\nletters. Things which had names of more than the prescribed number\nof letters would be kept away from the child; or, if that was\nimpossible, he would not be allowed to talk about them. For half a\nyear perhaps he would be limited to the use of nouns and verbs.\nPrepositions might then be introduced into his vocabulary; and,\nlater, adjectives and adverbs. And so on; and so on. And the outcome\nof all this elaborate training would be that the child would never\nlearn to talk his mother tongue.\n\nIt is by methods analogous in all respects to this that many of the\nsubjects on the time-table are taught in thousands of our schools.\nThe teacher seems to imagine that he knows, fully and precisely, how\neach subject ought to be taught; and instead of standing aside, and\ntrying to learn how Nature wishes this or that subject to be taught\n(if Nature can be said to take any interest in \"subjects\"), and then\ntrying to co-operate with her subconscious tendencies, he makes out\nhis elaborate scheme of instruction, sets before the child as the\ngoal of his efforts the production of certain formal results, and\ndrives him towards these with whip and bridle, satisfied that if he\nsucceeds in producing them, the subject will have been duly mastered.\nAnd all the time he will not have given a thought to what is\nhappening to the child's inner life. Yet it is more than probable\nthat the teacher's disregard of, and therefore incessant interference\nwith, the subconscious processes of Nature has quite as disastrous\nresults in the teaching of composition, let us say, or drawing, as it\nwould certainly have in the hypothetical case of the teaching of the\nchild's mother tongue.\n\nBut in truth the Utopian conception of what constitutes efficiency\ndiffers so radically from the current conception, that little is to\nbe gained by comparing them. If I am asked by those who value outward\nand visible results for their own sake, whether the training given in\nUtopia is \"efficient,\" I can but answer: \"Yes, but efficient in a\nsense which you cannot even begin to understand,--efficient in the\nsense of developing faculty and fostering life, whereas the price\npaid for your boasted efficiency is the starvation of faculty and the\ndestruction of life.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"_But how_,\" it will be asked, \"_are the Utopian children, one and\nall, induced to exert themselves? The standard of activity in the\nschool is, on your own showing, exceptionally high. Much is expected\nof the children. Yet there are no rewards for them to hope for, and\nno punishments for them to fear. How, then, are those who are by\nnature less energetic or less persevering than the rest to be induced\nto rise to the level of the teacher's expectation?_\" By implication\nthis question has been answered again and again. But it deserves a\ndirect answer, and I will try to give it one.\n\nTo begin with, it is incorrect to say that there are no rewards or\npunishments in Utopia. Outward rewards and outward punishments are\nentirely unknown there; but there are inward rewards to be had for\nthe seeking, and there are inward punishments to be feared, though it\nmust be admitted that the fear of them seldom overshadows, even for\na passing moment, the sunlit life of the Utopian child. What induces\nthe Utopian child to work is, in brief, delight in his work. He is\nallowed and even encouraged to energise along the lines which his\nnature seems to have marked out for him, and in response to the\nstress of forces which seem to be welling up from the depths of his\ninner life. Exertion of this kind is in itself a delight. Nature has\ntaken care to make all the exercises by which growth is fostered, at\nany rate in the days of childhood when growth is most rapid and\nvigorous, intrinsically attractive. Had she done otherwise she would\nhave failed to make due provision for the growth of Man's being\nduring the years which precede the outgrowth of self-consciousness,\nand the possibility of self-discipline, of the narrower and sterner\nkind.\n\nAnd not only are the exercises by which healthy and harmonious growth\nis secured intrinsically attractive, but also the sense of well-being\nwhich accompanies such growth is an unfailing source of happiness. In\nUtopia the end for which the children are working is not an external\nreward or prize to be conferred on them if they achieve certain\nprescribed results, but rather the actual goal to which the path that\nthey have entered is taking them,--a goal which is ever lighting the\npath with its foreglow, and which is therefore at once an infinitely\ndistant lodestar and an ever present delight. For the consummation of\nany process of growth is always the perfection, the final well-being,\nof the thing that grows; and therefore in each successive stage of\nthe process there is a truer prefigurement of the perfection which\nis being gradually achieved, and a fuller sense of that well-being\nwhich, at its highest level, is perfection's other self.\n\nFor the Utopian, then, to walk in the path of self-realisation is its\nown reward; and to wander from that path is its own punishment. But\nas the forces of Nature are all co-operating to keep the child in\nthe path of self-realisation, and as Egeria has allied herself with\nthose forces and is working with them in every possible way, the\nrewards which the Utopian wins for himself are very many, while the\npunishments which he inflicts on himself are very few. In other\nwords, the pressure on him to exert himself is so strong, his\nopportunities for exerting himself (under Egeria's sympathetic rule)\nare so many, and the pleasure of exerting himself is found to be so\ngreat, that the temptation to be idle or rebellious can scarcely be\nsaid to exist.\n\nIt is indeed in respect of the motives to exertion which they\nrespectively supply, that the superiority of the Utopian to the\nconventional type of education is perhaps most pronounced. I have\nsaid that Egeria allies herself with the expansive forces of Nature.\nThe teacher of the conventional type has to fight against those\nforces. Let us assume that the two teachers are on a level in respect\nof their capacity for influencing and stimulating their pupils,\nand let us indicate that level by the algebraical symbol _x_. Then\nthe difference between the motive force which Egeria exerts, and\nthe motive force which her rival exerts, is the difference between\n_x_ + _y_, and _x_ - _y_, _y_ being used to symbolise the aggregate\nmotive force of the expansive tendencies of the child's inner nature.\nSuch a difference is incalculable. The scheme of education which is\nbased on distrust of the child's nature and belief in its intrinsic\nsinfulness and stupidity, necessarily arrays against itself the\nhidden forces of that maligned and despised nature, and must needs\novercome their resistance before it can hope to achieve its proposed\nend. While Egeria is helping Nature to provide suitable channels for\nthe various expansive tendencies that are at work in the child, and\nto guide them all into the central channel of self-realisation, her\nrival is engaged in digging a canal (to be filled, when finished,\nwith dead, stagnant water) which is so designed that not only will no\nuse be made by it of the life stream of the child's latent energies,\nbut also costly culverts and other works will have to be constructed\nfor it in order to divert and send to waste that troublesome\ncurrent.\n\nThe waste of motive force which goes on under any scheme of education\nthrough mechanical obedience, is indeed enormous. And what is most\nlamentable is that the energies of the teacher are being largely\nwasted in the effort to neutralise the latent energies of the child.\nNo wonder that, in order to produce his meagre and illusory,\n\"results,\" the teacher should have to resort to motive forces which,\nby appealing to the lower side of the child's nature, will enable\nhim to bear down the resistance, and, in doing so, to impede the\noutgrowth of the higher,--to the hope of external rewards and the\nthreat of external punishments. And no wonder that, owing to the\nteacher having to work unceasingly against the grain of the\nchild's nature, of these two demoralising forces, the fear of\npunishment--which, if not the more demoralising, is certainly the\nmore wasteful of energy--should bulk the more largely in the eyes\nof the child.\n\nIn fine, then, whereas the conventional type of education is so\nwasteful of motive force that it dissipates the greater part of the\nteachers' and the scholars' energies in needless friction,--in\nUtopia, on the other hand, there is such an economy of motive force\nthat the very joy which, under its scheme of education, always\naccompanies the child's expenditure of energy, and which might be\nregarded as merely a waste by-product, becomes in its turn a powerful\nincentive to further exertion.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"_But is there not too much joy in Utopia? Is not the sky too\ncloudless? Is not the atmosphere too clear? Does the Utopian never\nact from a sense of duty? Has he never to do anything that is\ndistasteful to him?_\" This objection raises an interesting question.\nIs the function of the sense of duty to enable us to do distasteful\nthings? And if so, are we to regard it as the highest of motives to\nmoral action? In the days when Kant's idea of the \"moral imperative\"\nwas in the ascendant, the belief got abroad that the essence of\nvirtue was to do what you hated doing. Looking back to my Oxford\ndays, I recall some doggerel lines, of German origin, in which this\nbelief finds apt expression. A disciple who is in trouble about his\nsoul says to his master:\n\n  \"Willing serve I my friends, but do it, alas! with affection,\n  And so gnaws me my heart, that I'm not virtuous yet.\"\n\nTo this the master replies:\n\n  \"Help except this there is none: you must strive with\n    might to contemn them,\n  And with horror perform then what the law may enjoin.\"\n\nIf this conception of morality is correct, if it is true that the\natmosphere of the virtuous life should be one of horror and even of\nhatred, then it must be admitted that the Utopian children are\nreceiving a seriously defective education. But the \"if\" is a large\none; and for my part I incline to the belief that love, as a motive\nto action, is better than hatred, joy than horror, sunshine than\ngloom.\n\nThe day will indeed come when the Utopian--a child no longer--will\nhave to do things, either for his own sake or in order to discharge\nobligations to others, which will be, or will seem to be, against the\ngrain even of his happy nature; and the sense of duty will then have\nto come to his aid. But there is no reason why he, or his teachers,\nshould anticipate that day. To compel him, while still a child, to\nwork against the grain of his nature, when there was no real need for\nthis, would not be the best preparation for the trials that await\nhim. To compel him to spend the greater part of his school-life in\ndoing what was distasteful to him, would be the worst possible\npreparation for them.\n\nFor, to begin with, the sense of duty is not the highest motive to\naction. A far higher motive is love. If the sense of duty to God, for\nexample, had not devotion to God and love of God behind it, the\nobject of one's worship would be a malignant rather than a beneficent\ndeity, a devil rather than a God. Or let us take the case of a child\nwho is dangerously ill, and who needs to be carefully and even\ndevotedly nursed. By whom will he be the more effectively nursed,--by\nhis mother who loves him passionately, or by a hired nurse who cannot\nbe expected to love him but who has a strong sense of duty to her\nemployers? (I am assuming that as regards professional skill, and\nthe sense of duty to God, the two women are on a level.) Surely the\nmother, sustained by love in the endurance of sleeplessness and\nfatigue, and in the exercise of that unceasing vigilance which lets\nno symptom escape it, will be the better nurse. Love, as a motive to\nmoral action, has the immense advantage over the sense of duty of\nbeing able to rob the hour of trial of its gloom, by strengthening\nthe lover to make light of labour and difficulty till at last the\nsense of effort is lost in the sense of joy. But if love is the\nhighest of all motives, is it not well that the child's life should\nas far as possible, and for as long as possible, be kept under its\ninfluence, to the exclusion of other motives. We have seen that the\nUtopian child takes many things in his stride which other children\nwould regard as distasteful. If they are not distasteful to him, the\nreason is that he does them, not from a sense of duty, but under the\ninspiration of love,--love of life, love of Egeria, love of his\nschoolmates, love of his school. And the longer he can remain on the\nhigh plane of love, the better it will be for his after life.\n\nAnd when the time comes for him to yield himself to the \"saving arms\"\nof duty, he will have had the best of all preparations for that hour\nof trial, for he will have been braced and strengthened for it by the\nmost moralising of all disciplines, that of growth. What is the sense\nof duty? We too seldom ask ourselves this question. Is it not a\nfeeling of obligation, of being in debt, to some person, or persons,\nor institution, or society, or even to some invisible Power;--to\na friend, for example, a relative, a dependent, an employer, a\n\"contracting party,\" a commanding officer,--or, again, to one's trade\nor profession, to one's political party, to one's church, to one's\ncountry,--or, in the last resort, to God? And is not this feeling\naccompanied by the secret conviction that until the debt has been\nliquidated, to the best of the debtor's ability, justice will not\nhave been done? The sense of duty is, I think, a derivative sense,\nan offshoot from the more primitive sense of justice,--a sense so\nprimitive that it may almost be said to have made possible our social\nlife. If this is so, if the sense of duty is resolvable into the\nsense of justice, then the training which is given in Utopia--a\ntraining which makes for healthy and harmonious growth, and therefore\n(as we have seen) for outgrowth or escape from self--is the best\npreparation for a life of duty, that can possibly be given. For under\nits influence the sense of justice, which is essentially a social\ninstinct, knowing no distinction between oneself and one's neighbour,\nwill be relieved of the hostile pressure of its arch-enemy, the\nanti-social instinct of selfishness,[21] and will therefore make\nrapid and vigorous growth. The sense of justice is, as might be\nexpected, strongly developed in the selfless atmosphere of Utopia,\nwhere indeed it has helped, in no small degree, to evolve the\nwonderful social life of the school; and, that being so, there is no\nfear but what the Utopian will be sustained by the sense of duty when\nthe time comes for him to work against the grain of his nature. But\nhowever strong may be his sense of duty, he will always have the\ngreat advantage of being seldom called upon to do what he dislikes,\nand therefore of being able to keep the fibre of his sense of duty\nfrom being either unduly relaxed or unduly hardened by overwork; for\nhe has been accustomed from his earliest days to make light of, and\neven find a pleasure in, what is usually accounted drudgery, and he\nhas been accustomed to work, in school and out of school, under the\ninspiration of joy and love.\n\n_But is the education given in Utopia useful?_ I wish I knew who was\nasking this question, for I cannot hope to answer it to his\nsatisfaction until I know what is his standard of values. What end\ndoes he set before the teachers of our elementary schools? If he\nwould tell me this, I might be able to say Yes or No to his question.\n\nAt present there seems to be no agreement among educationalists,\nprofessional or amateur, as to what constitutes usefulness in\neducation. Those who belong to the \"upper classes\" are apt to assume\nthat the \"lower orders\" will have been adequately educated when they\nhave been taught reading, writing, arithmetic, needlework, and\n\"religion,\" subjected to a certain amount of repressive discipline,\nand compelled to go to church or chapel. If, after having passed\nthrough this mill, the children of the \"lower orders\" do not develop\ninto good men and women and useful citizens, it is not their\neducation which is to blame, but the inborn sinfulness of their\ncorrupt and fallen natures. Such an education is regarded by those\nwho advocate it as pre-eminently _useful_. There is no nonsense about\nit, no cant of idealism, no taint of socialism. It keeps the \"lower\norders\" in their places, and forbids them to dream of rising above\n\"that state of life unto which it\" has pleased \"God to call them.\" As\nit is a _reductio ad absurdum_ of the conventional type of education,\nmy objection to it is that it makes the best possible provision for\nsecuring the end which the conventional type seems to have set\nbefore itself,--in other words, for depressing the vitality of the\nchild, for starving his faculties, for arresting his growth. As\nsuch, it has not even the merit of being sordidly useful; for\nunless stupidity is a better thing than intelligence, slowness than\nalertness, helplessness than initiative, lifelessness than vital\nactivity, the child who has passed through that dreary mill will be\nfar less effective, even as a day-labourer, than the child whose\nschool-life has been one of continuous and many-sided growth. It is\nstrange that the reactionary members of the \"upper classes\" should be\ntoo short-sighted to discern this obvious truth. But perhaps they\nhave a secret conviction that by so educating the \"lower orders\" as\nto make them slow and stupid, helpless and lifeless, they will be the\nbetter able to keep them in a state of subservience to and dependence\non themselves.[22] If this is so, there is method in the madness of\nthe \"upper classes\"; and their conception of the course that\neducation ought to take has the merit of being entirely true to their\nbasely selfish conception of the end that education ought to serve.\n\nI have alluded to this pseudo-utilitarian theory, not because it is\nintrinsically worthy of serious attention, but because there is\nundoubtedly a strong and influential current of opinion which sets in\nits direction. There are other advocates of a \"useful\" education who\nseem to regard the elementary school, not as a training ground for\ngood men and women, but as a kind of technical institute in which the\nchildren are to be trained for the various callings by which, when\nthey grow up, they will have to earn their daily bread. This theory\nneed not be seriously considered, for its inherent absurdity has\ncaused it to be tacitly abandoned by all whose opinion carries\nweight; and the more reasonable theory that the education given in\nthe elementary school should be as far as possible adapted to the\nenvironment of the school--that it should be given a rural bias, for\nexample, or a marine bias, or even an urban bias--has begun to take\nits place. That it should ever have found advocates is interesting as\nshowing how easy it is for unenlightened public opinion to\nmisinterpret the word \"useful.\"[23]\n\nThere is a third class of critics, composed for the most part of\nmembers of Local Education Committees, who seem to think that ability\nto pass a \"leaving\" examination is the only valid proof of the\nusefulness of elementary education. If these influential critics, who\nare showing in various ways that they care more for machinery than\nfor life, could have their will, they would probably revert to the\n\"good old days\" of cut-and-dried syllabuses, formal examinations of\nindividual scholars, percentages of passes, and the like. As I have\nalready taken pains to explain what the _regime_ of the \"good old\ndays\" really meant, I need not waste my time in exposing the\nfallacies which underlie this conception of \"usefulness.\"\n\nHere, then, are three distinct standards of usefulness in elementary\neducation. According to the first, education is useful in proportion\nas it tends, by repressing the activities and atrophying the\nfaculties of the scholars, to keep the \"lower orders\" in their\nplaces, and in so doing to provide the \"upper classes\" with a\nsufficiency of labourers and servants. According to the second, it is\nuseful in proportion as it is able to prepare the scholars for their\nvarious callings in after life.[24] According to the third, in\nproportion as it enables the scholars to pass with credit certain\n\"leaving\" and other examinations of a formal type.\n\nI will now assume that the end of education is to produce, or at any\nrate contribute to the production of, good men and women; and that\nthe education given in elementary schools is useful in exact\nproportion as it serves this end. I am not using the word \"good\" in\nits Sunday School sense. Nor does the word suggest to my mind that\nblend of stupidity, patience, and submissiveness which sometimes\npasses for \"goodness\" when the \"upper classes\" are taking thought for\nthe welfare of the \"lower orders.\" The good man, as I understand the\nphrase, is a good son, a good brother, a good husband, a good father,\na good citizen, a good townsman, a good workman, a good servant, a\ngood master. In fine, he is a good specimen of his kind, well\ngrown and well developed, efficient on all the planes of his\nbeing,--physical, mental, moral, spiritual. This conception of what\nconstitutes useful education differs radically from those which I\nhave just been considering; but I believe that when it has been\nadequately expounded, and submitted to the judgment of those whose\nopinion is worth having, it will not be seriously gainsaid.\n\nIf education is useful in proportion as it tends to produce good men\nand women, the education given in Utopia is useful to the highest\ndegree. For a child cannot become a good man (or woman) except by\n_growing_ good; and if he is to grow good, his nature must be allowed\nto develop itself freely and harmoniously (for just so far as it is\nnormal and healthy it is necessarily making for its own perfection),\nand the one end and aim of the teacher must be to stimulate and\ndirect this process of spontaneous growth. This, as we have seen, is\nthe one end and aim of Egeria; and it is therefore clear that she\nis taking effective steps--the most effective that can possibly\nbe taken--to produce good men and women. We have but to name the\nqualities which are characteristic, as we have already seen, of her\npupils and ex-pupils,--activity, versatility, imaginative sympathy,\na large and free outlook, self-forgetfulness, charm of manner, joy\nof heart,--in order to convince ourselves that those who have passed\nthrough the Utopian school are on the high road which leads to\n\"goodness.\" So obvious is all this, that in defining the word\n\"useful\" I may be said to have decided the question in favour of\nUtopia; and what is now in dispute is not whether Utopianism is\n\"useful,\" in any sense of the word, but whether my sense of the word\nis the right one.\n\nI cannot go much further into this question without exceeding the\nlimits of the theme which I am handling in this chapter. For in\nconsidering the after life of the Utopian child, I am entering a\nregion in which the idea of _education_ begins to merge itself in the\nlarger idea of _salvation_; and though education, as begun in Utopia,\nis in its essence a life-long process, I must pay some heed to the\nlimits which tradition and custom have imposed on the meaning of the\nword.\n\nBut before I close this chapter I must be allowed to give one\nillustration in support of my contention that the education given in\nUtopia is useful. Of the many complaints that are brought against the\noutput of our elementary schools, one of the most serious is that the\nboys and girls who have recently left school are voracious readers of\na vicious and demoralising literature which seems to be provided for\ntheir special benefit. The reason why they take so readily to this\ngarbage is that they have lost their appetite for wholesome food.\nThey are not interested in healthy literature, in Nature-study, in\nmusic, in art, in handicraft,--in any pursuit which might take them\nout of themselves into a larger and freer life; and so they fall\nvictims to the allurements of a literature which appeals to their\nbaser, more sensual, and more selfish instincts,--the very instincts\nwhich growth (in the true sense of the word) spontaneously relegates\nto a subordinate position and places under effective control. It is\nthe inertness, the apathy, the low vitality of the average child of\nfourteen, which is the cause of his undoing. His taste for false and\nmeretricious excitement--a taste which may lead him far along the\ndownward path--is the outcome of his very instinct to live, an\ninstinct which, though repressed by the influences that have choked\nits natural channels, cannot resign itself to extinction, and at\nlast, in its despairing effort to energise, forces for itself the\nartificial outlet of an imaginative interest in vice and crime.\n\nThe \"young person\" who, on leaving school, becomes a voracious\ndevourer of unwholesome literature, cannot be said to have received\na \"useful\" education. That vice and crime--whether practised or\nimagined--are in the first instance artificial outlets, outlets which\nthe soul would not use if its expansive instincts were duly fostered,\nis proved by the absence of \"naughtiness\" in the Utopian school,\nand the absence of any taste for morbid excitement amongst Utopian\nex-scholars. The unwholesome literature which gives so much concern\nto those who are interested in the welfare of the young, is unknown\nin Utopia. And in this, as in other matter, the \"goodness\" of the\nchildren and \"young persons\" is due, not to any lack of life and\nspirit, but to the very abundance of their vitality. Apart from the\nfact that vigorous growth, whether in plant or animal or human soul,\nis in itself a sure prophylactic against the various evils to which\ngrowing life is exposed, the Utopians are guarded against the danger\nof demoralising books and demoralising amusements by their many-sided\ninterest in life. Their instinct to live, finding natural and\nadequate outlets in many directions, has no need to force for itself\nthe artificial outlet of morbid excitement,--an outlet for imprisoned\nenergies, which has too often proved an opening to a life of vice and\ncrime. There is a Shakespeare in every cottage in Utopia; but the\nadvocates of a repressive and restrictive education for the \"lower\norders\" need not be alarmed at this, for the Utopians, who have found\nthe secret of true happiness, are freer than most villagers from\nsocial discontent. Nor are Egeria's ex-pupils less efficient as\nlabourers or domestic servants because they are interested in good\nliterature, in Nature-study, in acting, or because they can still\ndance the Morris Dances and sing the Folk Songs which they learned in\nschool.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[20] I am thinking more particularly of some of the Roman\nCatholic schools in the Irish quarter of Liverpool, where the\nsingularly kind and gracious bearing of the teaching \"sisters\"\ntowards their poor, ill-fed, and ill-clad pupils is an educative\ninfluence of incalculable value.\n\n[21] The sense of justice, which would give to each his due,\nand therefore not more than his due to oneself, seems to hold the\nbalance between selfishness and love, being as it were, equidistant\nfrom the greed and self-indulgence of the former and the lavishness\nand self-devotion of the latter. If this is so, and if the sense of\nduty is, as I have suggested, an offshoot from the sense of justice,\none can understand why, on the one hand, the sense of duty should be\nneeded to hold the self-seeking instincts in check, and why, on the\nother hand, it should be an altogether lower and weaker motive than\nlove, by which indeed, _in its own interest_, it should always be\nready to be superseded.\n\n[22] I was once present when the Utopian children were going\nthrough a programme of Folk Songs and Morris Dances in the village\nhall. A lady who was looking on remarked to me: \"This is all very\nfine; but if this sort of thing goes on, where are we going to find\nour servants?\" The selfishness of this remark is obvious. What is\nless obvious, but more significant, is its purblindness. In point of\nfact the Utopian girls make excellent domestic servants, and are well\ncontent to \"go into service.\"\n\n[23] Some two or three years ago it was seriously proposed\nthat _marine navigation_ should be taught in all the elementary\nschools of a certain maritime county!\n\n[24] The parent who wrote to a schoolmaster, \"Please do not\nteach my boy any more poetry, as he is going to be a grocer,\" must\nhave been under the influence of this conception of usefulness.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nSALVATION THROUGH SELF-REALISATION\n\n\nIn Utopia the transition from _education_ to _salvation_, both in\ntheory and practice, is obvious and direct. The difference between\neducation and salvation is, indeed, purely nominal: in their essence\nthe two processes are one. As the education given in Utopia is, in\nthe main, self-education, there is no reason why it should not be\ncontinued indefinitely after the child has left school; and as its\nfunction is to foster the growth of the child's many-sided nature\n(with its vast potentialities), there is every reason why it should\nbe continued as long as he lives. In other words, the path of\nsalvation is the path of self-realisation, the most important part of\nwhich is traversed in childhood; and to attain to salvation (which is\nin a sense unattainable) is to remain faithful to that path till it\npasses beyond our thought.\n\nOutside Utopia there is a widely different conception of the meaning\nand purpose of education, and a correspondingly different conception\nof the nature of salvation and the means by which it is to be\nachieved. The idea of salvation, with the complementary idea of\nperdition, may be regarded as the crown and completion of that scheme\nof external rewards and punishments which plays so prominent a\npart in Western education. Salvation, which is the highest of all\nexternal rewards, just as perdition is the severest of all external\npunishments, is not a path to be followed, but a state of happiness\nto be won and enjoyed. It follows that the relation between education\nand salvation is, in the main, one of analogy, rather than of\nidentity (as in Utopia), or even of vital connection. Or shall we say\nthat education is not so much the first act in the drama of salvation\nas the first rehearsal of the play?\n\nThere are, of course, two conceptions of salvation in the West, just\nas there are two worlds to be lived in,--the Supernatural world and\nthe world of Nature.\n\nIn what are called religious circles, to be saved is to have gained\nadmission to Heaven, and, in doing so, to have escaped the torment\nand misery of Hell. There was a time when Hell was taken very\nseriously; but the idea of never-ending torment and misery is found,\nwhen steadily faced, to be so intolerable that popular thought, even\nin religious circles, is now turning away from it; and so loosely do\nmen sit, in these \"degenerate days,\" to the old doctrine of eternal\npunishment, that \"to die\" and \"to go to heaven\" are becoming\ninterchangeable terms. But if all men are to be admitted to Heaven\n(or to its ante-room, Purgatory) at the end of this, their one\nearth-life, it is clear that there can be no causal connection\nbetween conduct and salvation. For though there may be degrees of\nhappiness in Heaven to reward the varying degrees of virtue on\nearth, all these are dwarfed to nothing by the unimaginable abyss\nof difference which yawns between Heaven and Hell; and the\npractical upshot of the current eschatology is that all men--the\nself-sacrificing equally with the self-indulgent, the kind and\ncompassionate equally with the hard-hearted, the spiritually-minded\nequally with the worldly, the aspiring equally with the\nindifferent--are to reap the same reward. If a man is a notoriously\nevil liver, those who have suffered at his hands or been violently\nscandalised by his conduct may perhaps find a sombre pleasure in\nconsigning him to Hell, which, indeed, might otherwise have to put\nup its shutters. But though the doors of Heaven may be closed against\na few exceptional scoundrels, they are nowadays thrown open to all\nthe rest of Mankind; and the maxim, \"Live anyhow, and you will be\nsaved somehow,\" seems to sum up with tolerable accuracy the popular\nattitude towards the twofold problem of duty and destiny.\n\nI do not for a moment suggest that this happy-go-lucky eschatology is\nformally countenanced by the Churches and Sects. They would doubtless\nrepudiate it with indignation; but the fact remains that their\nown teaching is largely responsible for it. For not only is the\nidea of _natural_ retribution wholly foreign to the genius of\nsupernaturalism, but also, in the two great schools of Western\ntheology, there is, and always has been, a strong tendency to\nundervalue conduct (in the broad, human sense of the word), and to\nmake the means of salvation mechanical rather than vital. At any rate\nthe sacramental teaching of the Catholic Church, and the Calvinistic\ndoctrine of salvation through faith in the finished work of Christ,\nreadily lend themselves to such an interpretation.\n\nSo ineffective is the current eschatology, in its bearing on\nconduct, that the latent energy of Man's nature--his latent desire to\nhave a central purpose in life--is compelling him to work out for\nhimself another and a more mundane conception of salvation, to set\nbefore himself as the end of life the winning of certain temporal\nprizes, and to keep this end steadily in view from day to day and\nfrom year to year. Such a conception of salvation has always had a\nstrong attraction for him, though in his more orthodox days he found\nit desirable to subordinate it to, or if possible harmonise it with,\nthe conception which his religion dictated to him; and of late its\nattractiveness has been increased by the fact that he is beginning to\nthrow his eschatology (even in its present emasculated form) to the\nwinds.\n\nSo far, I have had in my mind those quarters of Western thought in\nwhich the belief in the reality of the soul and the kindred belief\nin immortality still survive. But in point of fact both beliefs\nare dying before our eyes,--dying as a dumb protest against the\ninadequacy of the popular philosophy, against the intrinsic\nincredibility of its premises, against its fundamental misconception\nof the meaning of life and the nature and conditions of salvation,\nabove all against the way in which the beliefs themselves have been\npersistently misinterpreted and travestied. And where the beliefs are\ndying, the latent externalism and materialism of Western thought and\nWestern life are able to assert themselves without let or hindrance.\n\"To be saved,\" as the phrase is now widely understood, means to get\non in life, to succeed in business or in a profession, to make money,\nto rise in the social scale (if necessary, on the shoulders of\nothers), to force one's way to the front (if necessary, by trampling\ndown others), to be talked about in the daily papers, to make a\n\"splash\" in some circle or coterie,--in these and in other ways to\nachieve some measure of what is called \"success.\"\n\nAnd in proportion as this mundane conception of salvation tends to\nestablish itself, so does the drift towards social and political\nanarchy, which is now beginning to alarm all the lovers of order and\n\"progress,\" tend to widen its range and accelerate its movement. For\nthough the current idea of achieving salvation through \"success\" is a\ncomfortable doctrine for the successful few, it is the reverse of\ncomfortable for the unsuccessful many, among whom the idea is gaining\nground that as salvation is the reward, not of virtue, but of a\njudicious blend of cleverness, unscrupulousness, selfishness, and\ngreed, there is no reason, in the moral order of things, why it\nshould not be wrested from those who are enjoying it, either by\norganised social warfare or by open violence and crime. And even if\nan anarchical outbreak should result in perdition all round instead\nof salvation all round, it would at least be some consolation to the\n\"lost\" to feel that they had dragged the \"saved\" down into their own\nbottomless pit. This would not be a lofty sentiment; yet I do not\nsee who is in a position to condemn it,--not the supporter of the\nexisting social order, which legalises a general scramble, first for\nthe \"prizes\" of life and then for the bare means of subsistence, and\nis well content that in that scramble the weak, the ignorant, and\nthe unfortunate should go to the wall,--not the exponent of the\nconventional theology, which has taught men to dream of a Heaven in\nwhich the happiness of the \"elect\" will be unruffled by the knowledge\nthat an eternity of misery is the doom of perhaps a majority of their\nfellow-men.\n\nIn the West, then, there are two conceptions of salvation,--a\nselfish, worldly conception which is daily becoming more effective,\nand a selfish other-worldly conception which is daily becoming more\nineffective, and is therefore less and less able to compete with or\ncontrol its rival. Out of the attempts that are made to realise\nboth these conceptions and to keep them on friendly terms with one\nanother, there is emerging a state of chaos--political, social,\nmoral, spiritual,--a weltering chaos of new and old ideals, new and\nold theories of life, new and old standards of values, new and old\ncentres of authority, new and old ambitions and dreams. And in this\nchaos there are only two principles of order, the first (which is\nalso the ultimate cause of all our disorder) being the pathetic fact\nthat nearly all the actors in the bewildering drama are still seeking\nfor happiness outside themselves, the second being the fundamental\ngoodness of man's heart.\n\nI will now go back to Utopia. There a new conception of salvation is\nimplicit in the new theory of education which has revolutionised the\nlife of the school. Humble as is the sphere and small as is the scale\nof Egeria's labours, her work is, I firmly believe, of world-wide\nimportance and lasting value, for she has provided an experimental\nbasis for the idea that salvation is to be achieved by growth, and\ngrowth alone.\n\nI will now try to interpret that idea.\n\nThe education of the child in school begins when he is four or five\nyears old, and lasts till he is thirteen or fourteen. But he enters\nthe path of salvation the day he is born. He comes into the world a\nweak, helpless baby; but, like every other seedling, he has in him\nall the potencies of perfection,--the perfection of his kind.\nTo realise those potencies, so far as they can be realised within\nthe limits of one earth-life, is to achieve salvation. Are those\npotencies worth realising? To this question I can but answer: \"Such\nas they are, they are our all.\" We might ask the same question with\nregard to an acorn or a grain of wheat; and in each case the answer\nwould be the same. There are, indeed, plants and animals which are\nnoxious _from our point of view_. But that is not the view which they\ntake of themselves. Each of them regards his own potencies in the\nlight of a sacred trust, and strives with untiring energy to realise\nthem. If the potencies of our nature are not worth realising we had\nbetter give up the business of living. If they are, we had better\nfall into line with other living things.\n\nAn unceasing pressure is being put upon us to do so. The perfect\nmanhood which is present in embryo in the new-born infant, just as\nthe oak-tree is present in embryo in the acorn, will struggle\nunceasingly to evolve itself. With the dawn of self-consciousness, we\nshall gradually acquire the power of either co-operating with, or\nthwarting, the spontaneous energies that are welling up in us and\nmaking for our growth. In this respect we stand, in some sort, apart\nfrom the rest of living things. But the power to co-operate with\nour own spontaneous energies is to the full as natural as are the\nenergies themselves. To fathom the mystery of self-consciousness is\nbeyond my power and beside my present purpose; but we may perhaps\nregard our power of interfering, for good or ill, with the\nspontaneous energies of our nature, as the outcome of a successful\neffort which our nature has made both to widen the sphere of its own\nlife and to accelerate the process of its own growth. But just\nbecause we possess that power, it is essential that we, above all\nother living things, should believe in ourselves, should believe in\nthe intrinsic value of our natural potencies, with a whole-hearted\nfaith. For if we do not, we shall hinder instead of helping the\nforces that are at work in us, and we shall retard instead of\naccelerating the process of our growth.\n\nWe have seen that education in the West has hitherto been a failure\nbecause, owing to the ascendency of the doctrine of original sin, it\nhas been based on distrust of human nature; and we have seen that in\nUtopia, where Egeria's faith in human nature is so profound that she\nhas allowed the children to go far towards educating themselves, the\nresults achieved have gone beyond my wildest dream of what was\npracticable, at any rate within the limits of the school life of\nvillage children. What is true of education is true _a fortiori_ of\nsalvation. If it is impossible to construct a satisfactory scheme of\neducation on the basis of distrust of human nature, it is even more\nimpossible (if there are degrees in impossibility) to construct on\nthe same basis a satisfactory scheme of salvation. I have already\ncontended that if education is to be reformed, the doctrine of\noriginal sin must go; and I now contend that if our philosophy of\nlife is to be reformed, we must abandon, not that doctrine only, but\nthe whole dualistic philosophy which centres in the opposition of\nNature to the Supernatural. For trust in human nature--the\nmicrocosm--is impossible, so long as Nature--the macrocosm--is liable\nto be disparaged and discredited (in our minds) by the visionary\nsplendours of the Supernatural world; and to devise a harmonious\nscheme of life is impossible so long as an inharmonious conception\nof the Universe dominates our thought,--a conception so inharmonious\nthat it divides the Universe, the All of Being, into two hostile\ncamps, and in doing so introduces the \"war of the worlds\" into each\nindividual life.\n\nWhen a fruit-grower plants a fruit-tree, he does three things for it.\nBy choosing an appropriate soil and aspect, he brings adequate\nsupplies of _nourishment_ within reach of it. By manuring it at the\nright season, he both adds to its store of nourishment and gives\nit the _stimulus_ which will help it to absorb and assimilate the\nnourishment that is immediately available for its use. And, by\npruning and training it judiciously, he gives it the _guidance_ which\nwill enable it to develop itself to the best advantage from the\nfruit-bearing point of view (fruit-bearing being the end which he\nsets it). He does these three things for it, but he does no more than\nthese. He realises that in all these operations he is only taking\nadvantage of the innate powers and tendencies of the tree, and\nenabling these to deploy themselves under as favourable conditions\nas possible; and he is therefore well content to leave the rest to\nthe tree itself, feeling sure that its own spontaneous effort to\nachieve perfection will do all that is needed. His trust in the\nability and willingness of the tree to work out its salvation is\ncomplete.\n\nThese are the lines on which the farmer and the fruit-grower conduct\ntheir business,--lines, the neglect of which would involve them in\nearly disaster and in ultimate ruin. And these are the lines on which\nhuman nature ought to be trained, in school and out of school, from\nthe day of birth to the day of death. But they are lines on which it\nwill never be trained so long as the doctrine of the depravity of\nNature in general and human nature in particular controls our\nphilosophy of life.\n\nThe doctrine of natural depravity, or original sin, is the outcome of\nMan's attempt to explain to himself the glaring fact of his own\nimperfection. The doctrine grew up in an age when men were ignorant\nof the fundamental laws of Nature, and among a people who, though\notherwise richly gifted, had no turn for sustained thought. So long\nas men were ignorant of Nature's master law of evolution, it was but\nnatural that they should account for their own imperfection by\nlooking back to a Golden Age,--a state of innocence and bliss from\nwhich they had somehow fallen, and to which they could not, by any\neffort or process of their corrupted nature, hope to return. While\nthis idea--half myth and half doctrine--was growing up in the mind\nof Israel, the counter idea of the evolution or growth of the soul,\nof its ascent from \"weak beginnings\" towards a state of spiritual\nperfection, was growing up among the thinkers of India, and the\nderivative doctrine of salvation through the natural process of\nsoul-growth was being gradually elaborated. But though the philosophy\nof India produced some impression on the conscious thought, and a\nfar deeper impression on the subconscious thought, of the West, its\nmaster idea of spiritual evolution--_through a long sequence of\nlives_--was wholly foreign to the genius of Christendom, which had\nborrowed its _ideas_ from the commonplace philosophy of Israel; and\nit was not till the nineteenth century of our era that the idea of\nevolution began to make its way, from the quarter of physical\nscience, into Western thought.\n\nThe doctrine of original sin must once have had a meaning and a\npurpose. For one thing, it must have been generated by a sudden rise\nin Man's moral standard; and as such it must have had a salutary\ninfluence on his conduct and inward life. But it is now outstaying\nits welcome. The Biblical story of the Fall, in virtue of which it\nwas once authoritatively taught, is ceasing to be regarded as serious\nhistory; and the doctrine must therefore either justify itself to\ncritical thought or resign itself to rejection as inadequate and\nunsound. But there is only one line of defence which its supporters\ncan take. As the doctrine was the outcome of Man's premature attempt\nto explain the fact of his own imperfection, if it is to survive in\nthe world of ideas it must be able to show, first and foremost, that\nthe fact in question cannot be accounted for on other grounds. Will\nit be able to do this, at a time when the idea of evolution is\nbeginning to impregnate our mental atmosphere, and in doing so is\nmaking us realise that we are near of kin to all other living things,\nand that our lives, like theirs, are dominated by the master-law of\n_growth_?\n\nThat there is much moral evil in the world is undeniable. Are we\ntherefore to predicate original depravity of man's heart and soul?\nBut there is also much physical evil in the world,--pain, weakness,\ndisease, decay, and death. Are we therefore to predicate original\ndepravity of man's body? And this physical evil, this liability to\ndisease, is not confined to man, but also affects all other living\nthings. Are we therefore to predicate original depravity of a\nnew-born lamb, of a new-laid egg, of an acorn, of a grain of wheat?\n\nLet us consider certain typical forms of moral evil, and see if we\ncan account for them, without having recourse to the hypothesis of\noriginal sin. The vicious propensities which manifest themselves in\nchildren and \"young persons\" may be divided into two main classes,\n_apparent_ and _actual_.[25] Of the former class the chief cause is,\nin a word, _immaturity_. Of the latter, _environment_.\n\nAnalogies drawn from plant life may help us to understand how these\ncauses operate.\n\n_Immaturity._ If an Englishman who had never before tasted an apple\nwere to eat one in July, he would probably come to the conclusion\nthat it was a hard, sour, indigestible fruit, \"conceived in sin and\nshapen in iniquity,\" and fit only to be consigned to perdition (on a\ndustheap, or elsewhere). But if the same man were to wait till\nOctober and then eat an apple from the same tree, he would form a\nwholly different conception of its value. He would find that the\nsourness had ripened into wholesome and refreshing acidity; the\nhardness into that firmness of fibre which, besides being pleasant to\nthe palate, makes the apple \"keep\" better than any other fruit; the\nindigestibility into certain valuable dietetic qualities; and so on.\nIt is the same with the growing child. _Most of his vices are virtues\nin the making_. During the first year or so of his life he is a\nmonster of selfishness; and selfishness is the most comprehensive and\nfar-reaching of all vicious tendencies. Does this mean that he has\nbeen conceived in sin? Not in the least. It means that he is making a\nwhole-hearted effort to guard and unfold the potencies of life--in\nthe first instance, of physical life--which have been entrusted to\nhim. It means that he has entered the path of self-realisation, and\nthat if he will be as faithful to that path during the rest of his\nlife as he has been during those early months of uncompromising\nselfishness, he will be able at last to scale the loftiest heights of\nself-forgetfulness and self-sacrifice.\n\n_Environment._ The influences which environment exerts seem to fall\nunder three heads--\n\n(1) General influences of a more or less permanent character, such as\nhome, neighbourhood, social grade, etc.\n\n(2) General influences of a more or less variable character, such as\neducation, employment, friendship, etc.\n\n (3) Particular influences, such as companionship (good or bad),\nliterature (wholesome or pernicious), places of amusement (elevating\nor debasing), special opportunities for self-sacrifice or\nself-indulgence, etc.\n\nCorresponding to these in plant-life we have--\n\n  (1) Soil, situation, and climate:\n  (2) Cultivation and weather:\n  (3) The various insects and micro-organisms which are ready to\n  assail or protect growing life.\n\n(1) If two acorns from the same tree were sown, the one in a deep\nclay soil and a favourable situation, the other in a light sandy soil\nand an unfavourable situation, the former would in time develop into\na large and shapely, the latter into a puny and misshapen oak-tree.\nIt would be the same, _mutatis mutandis_, with two human beings who\nwere exposed from their earliest days to widely different permanent\ninfluences.\n\n(2) If wheat of a certain strain were sown on the same day in two\nadjoining fields, one of which was well farmed and the other badly\nfarmed, the resulting crops would differ widely in yield and value.\nIt would be the same with two human beings, one of whom (to take a\npertinent example) attended a school of Utopian tendencies, and the\nother a school of a more conventional type. Of all moralising (or\ndemoralising) influences education is by far the most important,\nowing to the fact that it can do more, and is in a position to do\nmore, than any other influence either to foster or to hinder growth.\n\nThe influence of weather on plant-life is, of course, enormous. In\none year the fruit-crop in a given neighbourhood is a failure: in\nanother year it gluts the market. One explanation of this fact,\nwhich has its exact analogies in human life, will be given in the\nnext paragraph.\n\n(3) All forms of life are exposed to the attacks of enemies of\nvarious kinds. Whether they shall beat off those attacks or succumb\nto them depends in large measure on the nature of the growth that\nthey are making; and this again depends, largely if not wholly, on\nthe nature of the general influences to which they have been exposed.\nFor many years I lived in a district in which hops were grown on a\nlarge scale; and I naturally took an interest in the staple industry\nof my adopted county. I noticed that whenever (during the summer\nmonths) there came a spell of cold winds from the north-east--winds\nwhich tend to arrest plant-growth--the hop-bines were at once\nassailed by blight and other pests, and the safety of the growing\ncrop was imperilled. And I noticed further that when the wind got\nround to the south-west, and warm showers began to stimulate the\ngrowth of the flagging plants, the pests that had assailed them\ndisappeared as if by magic, and the anxieties of the growers were\nrelieved. As it is with plants, so it is with human beings. They too\nhave their enemies,--temptations of various kinds and other evil\ninfluences that \"war against the soul.\" And they too will be able to\nbeat off their assailants just so far as their own growth is vigorous\nand healthy; and will succumb to their attacks, to their own serious\ndetriment, just so far as their own growth is feeble and sickly.\n\nThe bearing of this fact on the problem of the origin of moral evil\nis obvious. That the evils which assail the organism, be it a plant\nor a human being, are not inherent in its nature, is proved by the\nfact that when the growth of the organism is normal and unimpeded,\nthe assailants are always beaten off. As it is the growth of the\norganism--the development of its own nature--which enables it to\nresist the evils that threaten it, we must assume that its nature is\ngood. Indeed the evils that threaten it are called evils for no other\nreason than that they imperil its well-being; and it follows that in\ncalling them evils we imply that the organism is intrinsically good.\n\nWhen we have eliminated from human nature the vicious tendencies\nwhich are due either to immaturity or to the numberless influences\nthat come under the general head of environment, we shall find that a\nvery small percentage remain to be accounted for. We need not have\nrecourse to the doctrine of original sin in order to account for\nthese. So far I have said nothing about heredity, partly because its\ninfluence on the moral development of the individual is, I think,\nvery small compared with that of environment, and partly because it\nis impossible to consider the extent and character of its influence,\nwithout going deeply into certain large and complicated problems. For\nexample, it would be impossible for me to say much about the current,\nthough gradually waning, belief in the force of heredity, without\nsaying something about its Far Eastern equivalent, the belief in\nre-incarnation,--in other words, without asking whether a man\ninherits from his parents and other ancestors, or from his former\nselves. That different persona are born with widely different moral\ntendencies and propensities, is as certain as that some strains of\nwheat are hardier and more productive than others. And it is\npossible, and even probable, that there are exceptional cases of\nmoral evil which point to congenital depravity, and cannot otherwise\nbe accounted for. But in these admissions I am making no concession\nto the believer in original sin; for he regards human nature as such\nas congenitally depraved, and therefore can take no cognisance of\nexceptional cases of congenital depravity, cases which by breaking\nthe rule that the new-born child is morally and spiritually healthy,\nmay be said to prove it.\n\nIn fine, then, all moral evil can be accounted for on grounds which\nare quite compatible with the assumption that the normal child is\nhealthy, on all the planes of his being, at the moment of his birth.\nThat he carries with him into the world the capacity for being\naffected by adverse influences of various kinds, is undeniable; but\nso does every other living thing; and if congenital depravity is to\nbe predicated of him for that reason, it must also be predicated of\nevery new-born animal and plant.\n\nBut the final proof that Man is by nature a child of God, is one\nwhich has already been hinted at, and will presently be further\ndeveloped,--namely, that growth--the healthy, vigorous growth of the\nwhole human being, the harmonious development of his whole nature--is\nin its essence a movement towards moral and spiritual perfection. And\nthe final proof that the doctrine of Man's congenital depravity is\nfalse is the practical one that the doctrine is ever tending to\nfulfil its own gloomy predictions, and to justify its own low\nestimate of human nature,--in other words, that by making education\nrepressive and devitalising, by introducing externalism, with its\nendless train of attendant evils, into Man's daily life, and by\nmaking him disbelieve in and even despair of himself, it has done\nmore perhaps than all other influences added together to deprave his\nheart and to wreck his life.\n\nTo one who has convinced himself that human nature is fundamentally\ngood, in the sense that the new-born child is as a rule sound and\nhealthy on all the planes of his being, it must be clear that the\npath of soul-growth or self-realisation is the only way of salvation.\nWhat salvation means, what the path of self-realisation will do for\nhim who enters it, is a theme to which I could not hope to do justice\nwithin the limits of this work. I will therefore content myself\nwith indicating certain typical aspects of the process which I\nhave called self-realisation, and saying something about each of\nthese. Four aspects suggest themselves to me as worthy of special\nconsideration,--the _mental_, the _moral_, the _social_, and the\n_religious_.[26]\n\n\n_The Mental Aspect of Self-realisation._\n\nThere are two features of the process of self-realisation, on the\nimportance of which I cannot insist too often or too strongly. The\nfirst is that the growth which the life of self-realisation fosters\nis, in its essence, harmonious and many-sided. The second is that\nthe life of self-realisation is, from first to last, a life of\nself-expression, and that self-expression and perception are the face\nand obverse of the same mental effort.\n\nIf the life of self-realisation did not provide for the growth of the\nself in its totality, the self as a living whole, it would not be\nworthy of its name. One-sided growth, inharmonious growth, growth in\nwhich some faculties are hypertrophied and others atrophied, is not\nself-realisation. When trees are planted close together, as in the\nbeech-forests of the Continent, they climb to great heights in their\nstruggle for air and light, but they make no lateral growth. When\ntrees are pollarded, they make abundant lateral growth, but they\ncease to climb upward. When trees are exposed to the prevailing winds\nof an open sea-coast, they are blown over away from the sea, and make\nall their growth, such as it is, on the landward side. When trees\nare on the border of a thick plantation, they make all their growth\ntowards the open air, and are bare and leafless on the opposite side.\nIn each of these cases the growth made is inharmonious and one-sided:\nthe balance between the two intersecting planes of growth, or between\nthe two opposite sides, has been lost. But when a tree is planted in\nthe open, and when all the other conditions of growth are favourable,\nit grows harmoniously in all directions,--upward, outward, and all\naround. In other words, it is growing as a whole, growing, as it\nought to grow, through every fibre of its being, and yet maintaining\na perfect symmetry of form and the harmony of true proportion among\nits various parts.\n\nThis is the kind of growth which the soul makes in the life of\nself-realisation; and if it falls appreciably short of this standard,\nif it develops itself on this side or that, to the neglect of all\nother sides, then we must say of it that, though it is realising this\nor that faculty or group of faculties, it is not realising itself. I\nhave spoken of the six great expansive instincts which indicate the\nmain lines of the child's natural growth, and I have shown that in\nUtopia the cultivation of all those instincts is duly provided for.\nIn the life of self-realisation the soul would continue to grow on\nthe lines which those instincts had marked out for it. I do not mean\nthat when the child goes out into the work-a-day world, he must give\nto all six instincts the systematic training which they received, or\nought to have received, in school. The exigencies of the daily round\nof life are such as to make that impossible, in all but the most\nexceptional cases. But that is all the more reason why the expansive\ninstincts should be carefully and skilfully trained in school. For\nwhere they are so trained, an impetus is given to each of them which\nwill keep it alive and active long after the direct influence of\nthe school has ceased, and will enable it to absorb and assimilate\nwhatever nutriment may come in its way. If the Utopian training\ncannot be followed up, in its entirety, in the child's after-life, it\ncan at least initiate a movement which need never be arrested,--a\nmovement in the direction of the triune goal of Man's being, the goal\ntowards which his expansive instincts are ever tending to take him,\nthe goal of Love, Beauty, and Truth.\n\nThe life of many-sided growth is also a life of self-expression. This\nmeans that the self-expression, like the growth which it fosters, is\nmany-sided; and this again means that the perceptive faculties, which\nunfold themselves through the medium of self-expression, are not so\nmuch separate faculties as a general capacity for getting on terms\nwith one's environment and gaining an insight into its laws and\nproperties. In a school which lays itself out to teach one or two\nsubjects thoroughly, to the neglect of others, a sense, or special\nperceptive faculty, will gradually be evolved by the study of each\nsubject, provided, of course, that the path of self-expression is\nfollowed,--a literary sense, a historical sense, a mathematical\nsense, and so on. But while these special senses are being developed,\nthe remaining perceptive faculties are being starved, and no attempt\nis being made to cultivate that general capacity of which I have just\nspoken. The consequent loss to the child, both in his school-life and\nin his after-life, is very great. For not only is his mental growth\none-sided and inharmonious, but even in the subjects in which he\nspecialises he will lose appreciably, owing to his special perceptive\nfaculties not having as their background any general capacity for\nseeing things as they are.\n\nI will try to explain what I mean. In what is known as \"Society\"\nthere is a valuable quality called \"tact,\" in virtue of which the\nman or woman who is endowed with it always says and does \"the right\nthing.\" This quality is compounded partly of sympathetic insight\ninto the feelings, actual and possible, of others, and partly of\na keen and subtle sense for all the _nuances_ of social propriety.\nLike every other perceptive faculty, it is the outcome of\nself-expression,--of years of self-expression on the plane of social\nintercourse. That general perceptive faculty, or perceptive capacity,\nwhich is the outcome of years of self-expression on many sides of\none's being, has so much in common with the _tact_ of the man of\nsociety, that the epithet _tactful_ may perhaps be applied to it. The\nlarger, like the lesser, faculty is compounded, partly of sympathetic\ninsight into latent possibilities, and partly of a delicate sense for\n_nuances_ of all kinds. But even this formula does less than justice\nto its complex nature. Generated as it is by a life of many-sided\nself-expression, it reflects its origin in its internal constitution.\nMany elements of thought and feeling have woven themselves into it;\nand it is ready to take a colour from each new environment or even\nfrom each new situation. It can become emotional, for example, when\nthe matter in hand appeals, in any sort or degree, to the emotions;\nand there are occasions when its latent sense of humour becomes an\ninvaluable antidote to that over-seriousness which so often leads men\nastray. Above all, it is in its essence, imaginative, for it is ever\nlearning to picture things to itself as they are or as they might be;\nand the higher the level and the wider the sphere of its activity,\nthe more boldly imaginative it becomes. A faculty so subtle and so\nsympathetic must needs play a vitally important _role_, not only when\nits possessor is studying \"subjects\" or handling concrete problems,\nbut also, and more especially, when he is dealing with the \"affairs\nof life\"; and we can understand that when it is wholly or largely\nlacking, each of the special faculties which specialising is supposed\nto foster will suffer from not being tempered and yet vitalised by\nits all-penetrating influence.\n\nThat we may the better understand this, and the better understand\nwhat the path of self-realisation does for the mental development\nof him who walks in it, let us ask ourselves what type of mind the\nconventional type of education is likely to produce. And let us study\nthe conventional type of education on what is supposed to be its\nhighest level. Let us consider the education given to the sons of\nthe \"upper classes.\" And let us take this highest level at its own\nhighest level. Let us take the case of those who go through that\ntri-partite course of education which begins in a high-class\n\"Preparatory School,\" is continued in one of the \"Great Public\nSchools,\" and is completed at Oxford or Cambridge. A boy enters\na Preparatory School at the age of eight or nine, and is there\nprepared, in general for entrance into one of the Great Public\nSchools, and in particular for one of the competitive examinations on\nthe results of which the entrance scholarships of the Great Public\nSchools are awarded. He enters one of the Great Public Schools at\nthe age of thirteen or fourteen, and is there prepared, in general\nfor admission to Oxford or Cambridge, and in particular for the\nscholarship examinations of the various Oxford and Cambridge\nColleges. He enters Oxford or Cambridge at the age of eighteen\nor nineteen, and is there prepared, directly for his degree\nexamination--\"Pass\" or \"Honours\" as the case may be--and indirectly\nfor the public examination which admits to the Indian and Colonial,\nand the higher grades of the Home, Civil Service. This course of\neducation lasts about fourteen years, and costs from L1,500 to\nL4,500.\n\nWhat will it do for the boy who goes through it? The education given\nin the Preparatory School is completely dominated by the scholarship\nand entrance examinations at the Great Public Schools. The lines on\nwhich those examinations are conducted are the lines on which the\nPreparatory Schoolmaster must educate his pupils. He has no choice in\nthe matter. The title \"Preparatory\" seals his doom. His business is,\nnot to give his pupils the education that is best suited to their\ncapacities and their years, but to prepare them for admission to a\nmore advanced school. The more scholarships he can win at Eton,\nHarrow, Winchester, Rugby, and the rest, the higher will be the\nrepute of his school; and as the competition between school and\nschool is fierce and unintermittent, he cannot afford to throw away a\nsingle chance. In other words, he cannot afford to make a single\nserious experiment. The education given in the Great Public Schools\nis similarly dominated by the scholarship and entrance examinations\nheld by the Oxford and Cambridge Colleges. The lines on which those\nexaminations are conducted are in the main the lines on which the\nboys must be educated. It is possible that the Great Public Schools\nare freer to go their own ways than are the Preparatory Schools; but\nif they are, they make but little use of their freedom.\n\nSo far as the rank and file of the boys are concerned, it may be\ndoubted if the word \"educative\" is applicable, in any sense or\ndegree, to the daily round of their work. Of the six great expansive\ninstincts which are struggling to evolve themselves in every healthy\nchild, not one can be said to find a congenial soil or a stimulating\natmosphere in the ordinary classroom either of the Preparatory or of\nthe Public School. Four of the six--the _dramatic_, the _artistic_,\nthe _musical_, and the _constructive_--are entirely or almost\nentirely neglected. Music and Handwork[27] are \"extras\" (a fatally\nsignificant word); the teaching of Drawing is, as a rule, quite\nperfunctory; and Acting is not a recognised part of the school\ncurriculum. The truth is that marks are not given for these\n\"subjects\"--for in the eyes of the schoolmaster they are all\n\"subjects\"--in any entrance or scholarship examination, and that\ntherefore it does not _pay_ to teach them. There remain two\ninstincts,--the _communicative_ and the _inquisitive_. The study of\nthe \"Humanities\"--History and Literature, ancient and modern--ought\nto train the former; and the study of Science ought to train the\nlatter. But in the case of the average boy, the study of the\nHumanities resolves itself, in the main, into a prolonged and\nunsuccessful tussle with the difficulties of the Greek and Latin\nlanguages, the mastering of which is regarded as an end in itself\ninstead of as the gateway to the wonder-worlds of ancient life and\nthought; and the study of Science is, as a rule, a pure farce.[28]\nNot one, then, of the expansive instincts of the average boy receives\nany training during the nine or ten years of his school life; and as,\nin his struggle for the \"Pass\" degree of his University, he will\nfollow the lines on which he has been accustomed to work in both his\nschools, he will go out into the world at the age of twenty-two or\ntwenty-three, the victim of a course of education which has lasted\nfor fourteen years and cost thousands of pounds, and which has done\nnothing whatever to foster his mental or spiritual growth. It is true\nthat in all the Public Schools a certain amount of informal education\nis done through the medium of Musical Societies, Natural History\nSocieties, Debating Societies, School Magazines, and the like; that\nthe discipline of a Public School, with its system of School and\nHouse prefects, has considerable educational value; that the playing\nfields do something towards the formation of character; that the\nboys, by exchanging experiences and discussing things freely among\nthemselves, help to educate one another; and that during the four\nmonths of each year which the schoolboy spends away from school, he\nis, or may be, exposed to educative influences of various kinds.[29]\nBut the broad fact remains that the _studies_ of the youthful\ngraduate, whether in school classroom or college lecture-room, have\nbeen wholly unformative and therefore wholly uneducative.\n\nBut let us consider the education given in our Public Schools and\nUniversities, at what is presumably the highest of all its levels.\nLet us see what is done for the boys who have sufficient ability to\nwin Scholarships and read for Honours at Oxford and Cambridge. It is\nto the supposed interests of these brighter boys that the vital\ninterests of their duller schoolfellows are perforce sacrificed. Are\nthe results worth the sacrifice? The brighter boys fall into two main\ngroups,--those who have a turn for the \"Humanities,\" and those who\nhave a turn for Mathematics and Science. Where the \"Humanities\" are\neffectively taught,--where, for example, the scholar is allowed to\npass through the portals of Latin and Greek grammar and composition\ninto the wonder-world that lies beyond them,--the _communicative_\ninstinct receives a valuable training. It is, unfortunately, quite\npossible for a boy, or even for a man, to be what is called a \"good\nscholar,\" and yet to take no interest whatever in the history or\nliterature of Greece and Rome; and the examination system undoubtedly\ntends to foster this bastard type of humanism. But when, as a result\nof his school and University training, a scholar has passed the\nlinguistic portals and found pleasure in the worlds beyond, we may\nsay of him that his education has fostered the growth of one of his\nexpansive instincts,--perhaps the most important of all, but still\nonly one. When Science is effectively taught, the growth of the\n_inquisitive_ instinct is similarly fostered; but the inquisitive\ninstinct, though of great value, when trained in conjunction with\nother instincts, has but little value as a \"formative\" when trained\nby itself. From this point of view it compares unfavourably with the\ncommunicative instinct, being as much less formative than the latter,\nas the mysteries of the material world are less significant and less\nable to inspire and vitalise their interpreter than the mysteries of\nhuman life; and a purely (or mainly) scientific training is therefore\nworth far less as an instrument of education than a purely (or\nmainly) humanistic training.\n\nBut why should the boys at our Great Public Schools and the young\nmen at our Universities have to choose between a scientific and a\nhumanistic training? Why should these ancient and famous institutions\nbe content to train one only of the six expansive instincts instead\nof at least _two_? Here, as elsewhere, the scholarship system blocks\nthe way. Some scholarships are given for Classics, others for\nHistory, others for Mathematics, others for Natural Science. Not\na single scholarship is given, at either University, for general\ncapacity, as measured by the results of a many-sided examination.\nWhy should this be? The answer is that under any system of formal\nexamination many-sidedness in education necessarily means\n_smattering_; and that against smattering the Universities have, very\nproperly, set their faces. But, after all, there is no necessary\nconnection between many-sidedness and smattering. In Utopia, where\nthe concentric rings of growth are formed by the gradual evolution of\nan inner life, whatever feeds that inner life is a contribution,\nhowever humble, to the growth of the whole tree; and many-sidedness,\nfar from being a defect, is one of the first conditions of success\nin education. But in the Great Public Schools, where veneers of\ninformation are being assiduously laid on the surface of the boy's\nmind with a view to his passing some impending examination, the\ngreater the number and variety of such veneers, the more certain they\nall are to split and waste and perish. Indeed the real reason why\nspecialising has to be resorted to in the case of the brighter boys,\nis that in no other way can provision be made for the fatal process\nof veneering being dispensed with, and for faculty being evolved by\ngrowth from within.\n\nBut a heavy price has to be paid for the growth of these specialised\nfaculties. If Science is to be seriously studied the student must\ngive the whole of his time to it. This means that he must give up the\nidea of educating himself. It is only by turning his back on history,\non literature, on philosophy, on music, on art, that he can hope to\nmeet the exacting and ever-growing demands which Science makes on\nthose who desire to be initiated into its mysteries. To say that when\nhe has \"taken his degree\" he is only half-educated, is greatly to\nover-estimate the formative influence of his highly specialised\ntraining. A sense has undoubtedly been developed in him, an instinct\nhas been awakened, one or two of his mental faculties have been\nvigorously cultivated; but his training has been the reverse of\nhumanising; and as his studies and his consequent attitude towards\nNature have been essentially _analytical_, he may, in the absence of\nthose correctives which his compulsory specialising has withheld from\nhim, have learned to regard the dead side of things as the real\nside,--a conception which, if it mastered him, would materialise his\nwhole outlook on life.\n\nThe case of the \"humanist\" is different. The subjects which he\nstudies appeal to many sides of his being; and if he could respond\nto their appeal, they might do much for his mental and spiritual\ndevelopment. That he should be able to respond to their appeal is of\nvital importance. When he has become a decent \"scholar,\" a chance\nis given to him, which if he neglects he will probably lose for\never,--the chance of making good, in part at least, the deficiencies\nof his early education. Had he lived in Utopia, his life of\nmany-sided self-expression would have given a general training to his\nperceptive faculties, in which the twin faculties of imagination and\nsympathy would have had their share. But neither in his Preparatory\nSchool nor in the lower classes of his Public School has any serious\nattempt been made during school hours to ripen either of those mighty\nfaculties, whereas much has been done in both schools to retard their\ngrowth. He is doomed, then, to begin his study of the history and\nliterature of the Ancient World with a considerable knowledge of\nthe Latin and Greek languages, but (in too many cases) with an\nunimaginative mind and an unsympathetic heart. There is, however,\nmuch in that history and that literature,--not to speak of\nthe history and the literature of his own and other modern\ncountries,--which, if it could but have its way, would appeal\nstrongly to his imagination and his sympathy, dormant and undeveloped\nas these faculties are,--appeal to them so strongly as to awaken them\nat last from their slumber and quicken them into active life. But\nalas! the shadow of an impending examination is always falling on his\nhumanistic studies, nullifying the appeal that they make to him, and\ncompelling him to look at them from a sordidly utilitarian point of\nview. For to give marks for the response that he might make to their\nappeal, or even to set questions which would afford free scope for\nthe play of his imagination or the flow of his sympathy, is beyond\nthe power of any examiner. There are two things, and two only, which\n\"pay\" on the examination day,--the possession of information and the\npower to make use of it; and the humanist who would win prizes at his\nschool or gain high honours at his University, must therefore regard\nthe memorable doings and the imperishable sayings of his fellow-men,\nnot as things to be imagined and felt, admired and loved, wondered at\nand pondered over, but as things to be pigeon-holed in his memory, to\nbe taken out and arranged under headings, to be dissected and\ncommented on and criticised.[30]\n\nOf the part that memory plays in the education of our humanist, I\nneed not speak. An undue burden is probably laid upon it; but that is\na matter of minor importance. What is of supreme importance is that\nin cultivating his critical faculty with an almost intensive culture,\nwhile they starve, or at any rate leave untended, his more vital and\nmore emancipative faculties of imagination and sympathy, our Great\nPublic Schools and Universities are doing him a serious and lasting\ninjury. Let us take the case of a young man of energy and ability who\nhas just left Oxford or Cambridge, having won high honours in one of\nthe humanistic \"schools.\" Let us assume that, like so many of his\nkind, he has a keenly critical mind, but is deficient in imagination\nand sympathy; and let us then try to forecast his future. That the\nfaith of his childhood, undermined by his criticism, has already\nfallen to pieces or will shortly do so, is more than probable. That\nhe will be too unimaginative to attempt to construct a new faith out\nof the ruins of the old, is practically certain. His lack of faith,\nin the broader sense of the word, will incapacitate him for high\nseriousness (which he will regard as \"bad form\"), and _a fortiori_\nfor enthusiasm (which he will shun like the plague), and will\ntherefore predispose him to frivolity. Being fully persuaded, owing\nto his lack of imaginative sympathy, that his own outlook on life is\nalone compatible with mental sanity, and yet being too clear-sighted\nto accept that outlook as satisfactory, he will mingle with his\nfrivolity a strain of bitterness and discontent,--the bitterness of\nself-corroding scepticism, and the discontent which grows apace\nthrough its very effort to ignore its own existence. In a word, his\nattitude towards life will be one of _cynicism_,--that blend of\nhardness and bitterness with frivolity which exactly inverts the\nideal of the modern poet, when he dreams of an age in the far-off\nfuture,\n\n  Which without hardness will be sage,\n  And gay without frivolity.[31]\n\nAnd the bitterness of his cynicism will be made bitterer still by\nthe fact that, owing to his being (in all probability) unmusical,\ninartistic, and unable to amuse himself with any form of handwork, he\nwill have no taste or hobby to distract him from himself. For a time,\nindeed, the \"genial sense of youth\" will keep his sinister tendencies\nin check; and in the middle period of life, his struggle to achieve\n\"success\"--for of course he will be an externalist to the core--will\ntend to keep them in the background. But in his later years, when he\nwill have either failed to achieve \"success\" or discovered--too\nlate--that it was not worth achieving, his cynicism will assert\nitself without let or hindrance, and, with his growing incapacity for\nfrivolity, will become harder and bitterer, till at last the dark\nshadow of incurable pessimism will fall on him and involve his\ndeclining years in ever deepening gloom. I do not say that many of\nour University humanists will conform to this type; but I do say that\nthe type is easily recognisable and is becoming increasingly\nfamiliar.\n\nEven the intellectual development of our humanist, who is nothing if\nnot intellectual, will be adversely affected by the one-sidedness of\nhis education. Well-informed and acutely critical he will probably\nbe; but he will lack the saving grace of that \"tactful\" faculty which\nyears of many-sided self-expression can alone evolve,--a faculty\nwhich (as we have seen) is subtly adaptive when it deals with small\nmatters, boldly imaginative when it deals with great matters, and\ndelicately sympathetic along the whole range of its activity.\nThis sinuous and penetrative sense is to the more logically\ncritical faculty what equity is to law; and in its absence the\nintellectuality of our young \"intellectual\" will be as incomplete as\nwould be the legal system of a country which knew nothing of equity\nand tried to bring all legal problems under the direct control of\npositive law. For it will be his business, as he goes through life,\nto deal in and with words and phrases; and as words and phrases are\never tending to change their force, and even their meaning, under our\nhands, and as his use and treatment of them will be logical and\n\"legal\" rather than tactful and \"equitable,\" he will again and again\nmisinterpret and misuse them, and will so do badly the very thing\nwhich he is expected to do well. The man who, though endowed with an\nacute and vigorous intellect, can neither think imaginatively nor\nreason tactfully, has grave intellectual defects; and the blinder he\nis to the existence of these defects the more pronounced will they\nbecome.\n\nThe pity of it is that when these unimaginative \"intellectuals\" go\nout into the world, they will fill posts in which they will have\nunrivalled opportunities for establishing and disseminating their\nunwholesome influence. A section of them will go into the teaching\nprofession, the higher grades of which are almost entirely recruited\nfrom Oxford and Cambridge. Another section will go into the legal\nprofession, and through it will enter Parliament in considerable\nnumbers, where, being trained advocates, they will exercise an\ninfluence out of all proportion to their numerical strength. And a\nthird section will man the higher grades of the Home, Colonial, and\nIndian Civil Services. Teachers, legislators, administrators,--if\nthere are any walks in life in which cynicism and a capacity for\nmerely destructive criticism are out of place, and in which\nimagination and sympathy are imperatively demanded, they are these\nthree; and it is nothing short of a national calamity that these\ngreat and commanding professions should be manned, in part at least,\nby men whose mission in life is to paralyse rather than to vitalise,\nto fetter rather than to set free.\n\nThe further pity of it is that the training of these \"intellectuals\"\nmight easily have taken an entirely different course. Much of the\nspecialising which goes on in our Great Public Schools and\nUniversities, and which is so destructive of mental and spiritual\nvitality, is wholly unnecessary. The course of education which the\nsons of the \"upper classes\" go through has this in common with\nelementary education, that in neither case need \"utilitarian\"\nconsiderations weigh with the teachers. The parents of a large\nproportion of our Public School boys can afford to give their sons a\n_liberal_ education (in the truest and fullest sense of the word) up\nto the age of twenty-two or twenty-three; and in the case of these\nboys, at any rate, the excessive specialisation which makes their\neducation so illiberal is done, not in response to the demands\nof professions (such as the medical or the engineering) which\nnecessitate early specialising, but solely in response to the demands\nof an examination system which we adopted before we had begun to ask\nourselves what education meant, and which, partly from the force of\nhabit and partly because it is in keeping with our general attitude\ntowards life, we still bow down before with a devotion as ardent and\nas irrational as that which inspired the cry of \"Great is Diana of\nthe Ephesians.\"[32]\n\nAt its best, then, the education given by the Great Public Schools\nand Universities fosters the growth of one of the expansive\ninstincts,--the _communicative_, a mighty instinct which opens up to\nimagination and sympathy the whole wide world of human life; but\nbecause it leaves all the other expansive instincts untended, it\ngives that one instinct an inadequate and unsymmetrical training, a\ntraining which checks the growth of the very faculties--imagination\nand sympathy--of which the instinct is largely compounded and for the\nsake of which it may almost be said to exist. At its second best,\nthis costly education fosters the growth of the _inquisitive_\ninstinct,--a grandly expansive instinct when trained in conjunction\nwith the others, but one which is constrictive rather than expansive\nwhen trained by itself and for its own sake. At its ordinary level,\nit trains no instinct whatever, and is therefore unworthy of the name\nof education. Why should this be so? Why should a course of education\nwhich lasts so long and costs so much do so little for its victims,\nand do that little so badly or, at any rate, so inadequately? Because\nfrom first to last it has looked outward instead of inward; because\nit has laboured unceasingly to produce \"results,\" and has never given\na thought to growth.[33]\n\n Let us now go to the other end of the social scale. What the path of\nself-realisation might do for the children of the \"upper classes\" if\nthey were allowed to follow it, we may roughly calculate, partly by\nmeasuring what the alternative scheme of education has failed to do\nfor them, partly by reminding ourselves of what the path has done for\nthe village children of Utopia. The children of the \"upper classes\"\nhave such an advantage over the children of Utopia in the matter of\nenvironment,--to say nothing of inherited capacity,--that one would\nexpect the path to do much more for their mental development than\nit has done for the mental development of the Utopians, especially\nas they could afford to remain much longer in the first and most\nimportant of its stages, the stage of self-education (in the more\nlimited sense of the word). The gain to the whole nation if the\nmental development of the highest social stratum could be raised as\nmuch above its normal level as the mental development of youthful\nUtopia has been raised above the normal level of an English rural\nvillage, would be incalculably great. But greater still--incalculably\ngreater--would be the gain to the nation if the rank and file of its\nchildren could be led into the path of self-realisation, and therein\nrise to the high level of brightness, intelligence, and\nresourcefulness which has been reached in Utopia.\n\nNor is this dream so wildly impracticable as some might imagine. So\nfar as the natural capacity of the average child is concerned, there\nis no bar to its realisation. Egeria has taught me that the mental\ncapacity of the average child, even in a rustic village belonging to\na county which is proverbial for the slow wits of its rustics, is\nvery great. It is sometimes said that of the children who have been\ntrained in our elementary schools, not one in twenty is fit to profit\nby the education given in a secondary school: and if by this is\nmeant that in nineteen cases out of twenty the elementary scholar,\n_educated as he has probably been_, is unlikely to profit by the\neducation given in a secondary school, _conducted as those schools\nusually are_, I am not prepared to say offhand that the statement\nis untrue. But if it means that the average mental capacity of the\nchildren of our \"lower orders\" is hopelessly inferior to that of\nthe children of our middle and upper classes, I can say without\nhesitation that it is a slander and a lie. Whether there is any\ndifference, in respect of innate mental capacity, between level\nand level of our social scale, may be doubted; but the Utopian\nexperiment has proved to demonstration that in the lowest level of\nall the innate mental capacity is so great that we cannot well expect\nto find any considerable advance on it even in the highest level of\nall.\n\nBut where, it will be asked, are we to find Egerias to man our\nelementary schools? For the moment this problem does not admit of a\npractical solution. But that need not discourage us. I admit that in\nfar too many of our schools the teachers, through no fault of their\nown, are what I may call machine-made, and that they are engaged in\nturning out machine-made scholars, some of whom in the fullness of\ntime will develop into machine-made teachers. But there is a way of\nescape from this vicious circle,--the path of self-realisation.\nThat path has transformed the children of a rustic village in a\nslow-witted county into Utopians. Why should it not transform some\nat least among the boys and girls who are thinking of entering the\nteaching profession into Egerias, or at any rate into teachers\nof Egeria's type? Even as it is, replicas of Egeria,--not exact\nreplicas, for she is too original to be easily replicated,\nbut teachers who, like her, preach and practise the gospel of\nself-education,--are beginning to spring up in various parts of the\ncountry; and each of their schools, besides being a centre of light,\nmay well become a nursery for teachers who will follow in the\nfootsteps of those who have trained them, and will in their turn do\npioneer work in other schools. The thin end of the wedge is even now\nbeing driven into the close-grained mass of tradition and routine;\nand each successive blow that is struck by a teacher of intelligence\nand initiative will widen the incipient cleft.\n\nThe dream, then, of leading the children of England--the children of\nthe \"masses\" as well as of the \"classes\"--into the path of\nself-realisation, is not so widely impracticable as to convict the\ndreamer of insanity. And if we could realise the dream, if we could\ngo but a little way towards realising it, how immense would be the\ngain to our country! If the average level of mental development in\nEngland were as high as it is in Utopia, to what height would not the\nmen and women of exceptional ability be able to rise? The mountain\npeaks that spring from an upland plateau soar higher towards the sky\nthan the peaks, of the same apparent height, that spring from a\nlow-lying plain. And \"the great mountains lift the lowlands on to\ntheir sides.\"\n\nBut this is not the only reason why the gospel of self-realisation\nshould be preached in all parts of the land. There is another reason\nwhich is becoming more and more urgent. If the Utopian scheme of\neducation were widely adopted, an antidote would be found to a grave\nand growing evil which is beginning to imperil the mental health of\nevery civilised community, and of this more than any other. The more\ncivilised (in the Western sense of the word) a country becomes, the\nless educative does life--the rough-and-tumble life of the work-a-day\nworld--tend to become. In a thoroughly \"civilised\" country, where the\nmaterial conditions of life are highly organised, and where industry\nis highly specialised, so much is done for the individual by those\nwho organise his life and labour, that it ceases to be necessary for\nhim, except within narrow limits, to shift for himself. In a less\ncivilised community men have to use their wits as well as their hands\nat every turn; and resourcefulness and versatility are therefore in\nconstant demand. The industrial life of a Russian peasant, who is of\nnecessity a Jack-of-many-trades, is incomparably more educative than\nthat of the Lancashire cotton operative, most of whose thinking and\nmuch of whose operating may be said to be done for him by the\ncomplicated machinery which he controls; who does, indeed, learn to\ndo one thing surpassingly well, but in doing that one thing becomes,\nas he progresses, more and more automatic, so that the highest praise\nwe can give him is to say that he does his work with the sureness and\naccuracy of a machine. It follows that the more civilised a country\nbecomes, the more important is the part that the elementary school\nplays in the life of the nation,--and that not merely because the\nability to read, write, and cipher is, in the conditions which modern\ncivilisation imposes, almost as much a \"necessary of life\" as the\nability to walk or talk, but also and more especially because it\ndevolves upon the school to do for the citizen in his childhood what\nlife will not do for him in his manhood, or will do for him but in\nscant measure, to stimulate his vital powers into healthful activity,\nto foster the growth of his soul. And the more the people in a\ncivilised country are withdrawn from the soil and herded into mines\nand mills and offices, the more imperative is it that the school\nshould quicken rather than deaden the child's innate faculties,\nshould bring sunshine rather than frost into his adolescent life. In\nsuch a country as ours the responsibilities of the teacher are only\nequalled by his opportunities; for the child is in his hands during\nthe most impressionable years of life; and those years will have been\nwasted, and worse than wasted, unless they have fitted the child to\nface the world with resourcefulness, intelligence, and vital energy,\nready to wrest from his environment, by enlarging and otherwise\ntransforming it, those educative influences which are still to be had\nfor the seeking, but are no longer automatically supplied.\n\n\n_The Moral Aspect of Self-Realisation._\n\nIf Man, if each man in turn, is born _good_, the process of growth,\nor self-realisation, which is presumably taking him towards the\nperfection of which his nature admits, must needs make him\ncontinuously _better_. In other words, growth, provided that it is\nhealthy, harmonious, and many-sided, provided that it is growth of\nthe whole being, is in itself and of inner necessity the most\nmoralising of all processes. Nay, it is the only moralising process,\nfor in no other way can what is naturally good be transformed into\nwhat is ideally best.\n\nThis argument, apart from its being open to the possible objection\nthat it plays on the meaning of the word \"good,\" is perhaps too\nconclusive to be really convincing. I will therefore try to make my\nway to its conclusion by another line of thought.\n\nThe desire to grow, to advance towards maturity, to realise his true\nself--the self that is his in embryo from the very beginning--is\nstrong in every living thing, and is therefore strong in every child\nof man. But the desire, which necessarily takes its share in the\ngeneral process of growth, must needs pass through many stages on its\nway to its own highest form. In infancy, it is a desire for physical\nlife, for the preservation and expansion of the physical self; and in\nthis stage it is, as I have already pointed out, uncompromisingly\nselfish. The new-born baby is the incarnation of selfishness; and it\nis quite right that he should be so. It is his way of trying to\nrealise himself. As the child grows older, the desire to grow becomes\na desire for self-aggrandisement,--a desire to shine in various ways,\nto surpass others, to be admired, to be praised; and though in this\nstage it may give rise to much vanity and selfishness, still, so long\nas it has vigorous growth behind it and is in its essence a desire\nfor further growth, it is in the main a healthy tendency, and to call\nit sinful or vicious would be a misuse of words.\n\nBut when, in the course of time, the average, ordinary, surface\nself--the self with which we are all only too familiar--has been\nfully evolved and firmly established, the day may come when, owing to\nvarious adverse conditions, the growth of the soul will be arrested,\nand the ordinary self will come to be regarded as the true self, as\nthe self which the man may henceforth accept and rest in, as the\nself in virtue of which he is what he is. Should the desire for\nself-aggrandisement survive that day, the door would be thrown open\nto selfishness of a malignant type and to general demoralisation. And\nthis is what would assuredly come to pass. In the first place, the\ndesire for self-aggrandisement, which always has the push of Nature's\nexpansive forces behind it, would certainly survive that ill-omened\nday. Indeed, it were well that it should do so; for \"while there is\nlife, there is hope,\" and when the soul is ceasing to grow, it is\nthrough the desire for self-aggrandisement that Nature makes her last\neffort to keep it alive, by compelling it to energise on one or two\nat least of the many sides of its being. In the second place, the\ndesire would gradually cease to be resolvable into the desire for\ncontinued growth, and would gradually transform itself into the\ndesire to glorify and make much of the ordinary self, to minister to\nits selfish demands, to give it possessions, riches, honour, power,\nsocial rank, and whatever else might serve to feed its self-esteem,\nand make it think well of itself because it was well thought of by\n\"the world.\" And in the third place, in its effort to glorify and\nmake much of the ordinary self, the desire would, without a moment's\ncompunction, see other persons pushed to the wall, trampled under\nfoot, slighted and humiliated, robbed of what they valued most,\noutraged and wounded in their tenderest feelings. It is my firm\nconviction that at the present day three-fourths of the moral evil in\nthe world, or at any rate in the Western world, are the direct or\nindirect outcome of egoism,--egoism which, as a rule, is mean, petty,\nand small-minded, but is often cruel and ruthless, and can on\noccasion become heroic and even titanic in its capacity for evil and\nin the havoc that it works,--egoism which in ninety-nine cases out of\na hundred is generated by the desire for self-aggrandisement having\noutlived its better self, the desire to grow.\n\nIf arrested growth is the chief source of malignant egoism, there is\nan obvious remedy for the deadly malady. The egoist must re-enter the\npath of self-realisation. His great enemy is his lower self;[34] and\nthe surest way to conquer this enemy is to outgrow it, to leave it\nfar behind. When the path of self-realisation has been re-entered,\nwhen the soul has resumed the interrupted process of its growth, the\ndesire for self-aggrandisement will spontaneously transform itself,\nfirst into the desire for further growth, and then into the desire\nfor outgrowth or escape from self, and will cease to minister to the\nselfish demands of the lower self; and as the lower self is all the\nwhile being gradually left behind by the growing soul, and is\ntherefore ceasing to assert itself, and ceasing to clamour, like a\nspoilt child, for this thing and for that,--it will not be long\nbefore the antidote to the poison of egoism will have taken due\neffect, and the health of the soul will have been restored.\n\nBut let me say again--for I can scarcely say it too often--that the\ngrowth which emancipates from self is many-sided growth, the growth,\nnot of any one faculty, or group of faculties, but of the soul as\nsuch. Were it not so, the life of self-realisation might easily\nbecome a life of glorified and therefore intensified selfishness. It\nis quite possible, as we know from experience, for a high degree of\n\"culture\" to co-exist with a high degree of egoism. It is possible,\nfor example, for the aesthetic instincts, when not kept aglow by the\nsympathetic, or hardened with an alloy of the scientific, to evolve\na peculiar form of selfishness which leads at last to looseness\nof life and general demoralisation. And it is possible for the\nscientific instincts, when developed at the expense of the aesthetic\nand the sympathetic, to evolve a hard, unemotional type of character\nwhich is self-centred and selfish owing to its positiveness and lack\nof imagination. But these are instances of inharmonious growth. When\ngrowth is harmonious and many-sided, it leads of necessity to\nout-growth, to escape from self. For the expansive instincts are so\nmany ways of escape from self which Nature opens up to the soul;--the\nsympathetic instincts, a way of escape into the boundless aether of\nlove; the aesthetic instincts, a way of escape into the wonder-world\nof beauty; the scientific instincts, a way of escape into the world\nof mysteries which is lighted by the \"high white star of truth.\" It\nis only when one of the expansive instincts is allowed to aggrandise\nitself at the expense of the others, that the consequent outgrowth of\nselfishness in what I may call the internal economy of one's nature\nbegins to reflect itself in a general selfishness of character. An\ninstinct may readily become egoistic in its effort to affirm or\nover-affirm itself, to grasp at its share or more than its share of\nthe child's rising life: and if it does, it may gradually suck down\ninto the vortex of its egoism the whole character of the child as he\nripens into the man. But growth, as such, is anti-egoistic just\nbecause it is growth, because it is a movement towards a larger,\nfuller, and freer life: and it is restricted, even more than\none-sided growth,--it is the apathy, the helplessness, the deadness\nof soul that overtakes, first the child and then the man, when his\nexpansive instincts are systematically starved and thwarted,--which\nis the chief cause of his incarceration in his petty self.\n\nIf three-fourths of the moral evil in the world are due to\nmalignant egoism, the source of the remaining fourth is, in a word,\n_sensuality_. By sensuality I mean the undue or perverted development\nof the desires and passions of the animal self,--the desire for\nfood and drink, the sexual desires, the desire for physical or\nsemi-physical excitement, the animal passion of anger, and the rest.\nAs an enemy of the soul, sensuality is less dangerous, because more\nopen and less insidious, than egoism. The egoist, who mistakes his\nordinary for his real self, may well lead a life of systematic\nselfishness without in the least realising that he is living amiss.\nBut the animal self is never mistaken for the real self; and the\nsensualist always has an uneasy feeling in the back of his mind that,\nin indulging his animal desires and passions to excess, he is doing\nwrong. This feeling may, indeed, die out when he \"grows hard\" in his\n\"viciousness\"; but in the earlier stages of the sensual life it is\nsure to \"give pause\"; and there are, I think, few persons who do not\nfeel that the sensual desires and passions are so remote from the\nheadquarters of human life, that in yielding to them beyond due\nmeasure they are acting unworthily of their higher selves. At any\nrate we may regard the temptations to sensual indulgence that lie in\nour path as evil influences which are assailing us from without\nrather than from within; and we may therefore liken them to the\nblight, rust, mites, mildew, and other pests that assail hops,\nfruit, wheat, and other growing plants.\n\nAnd, like the pests that assail growing plants, the sensual pests\nthat war against the soul must be beaten off by vigorous and\ncontinuous growth. No other prophylactic is so sure or so effective\nas this. When I was asked whether the Utopian education was useful\nor not, I adduced, as an instance of its usefulness, its power of\nprotecting the young from the allurements of a pernicious literature,\nto which the victims of the conventional type of education, with\ntheir lowered vitality and their lack of interest in life, too\nreadily succumb. This is a typical example of the way in which the\nrising sap of life strengthens the soul to resist the temptations to\nundue sensual indulgence by which it is always liable to be assailed.\nThe victim of a repressive, growth-arresting type of education,\nhaving few if any interests in life, not infrequently takes to the\nmeretricious excitements of sensuality in order to relieve the\nintolerable monotony of his days. But the training which makes for\nmany-sided growth, by filling the life of the \"adolescent\" with many\nand various interests, removes temptations of this particular type\nfrom his path. And it does more for him than this. It generates in\nhim a state of health and well-being, in which the very vigour and\nelasticity of his spiritual fibre automatically shields him from\ntemptation by refusing to allow the germs of moral disease to effect\na lodgment in his soul. It would be well if our moralists could\nrealise that the chief causes of weakness in the presence of sensual\ntemptation are, on the one hand, boredom and _ennui_, and on the other\nhand flabbiness and degeneracy of spiritual fibre, and that the\nremedy for both these defects is to give the young the type of\neducation which will foster rather than hinder growth.\n\nWe are now in a position to estimate the respective values, as\nmoralising influences, of the path of self-realisation and the path\nthat leads to \"results.\" Whatever tends to arrest growth tends also\nand in an equal degree to demoralise Man's life; for, on the one\nhand, by transforming the healthy desire for continued growth into\nthe unhealthy desire for mere self-aggrandisement, it generates\nmalignant egoism, with its endless train of attendant evils; and, on\nthe other hand, by depressing the vitality of the soul and so\nweakening its powers of resistance, it exposes it to the attacks of\nthose powers and desires which we speak of in the aggregate as\nsensuality. If this is so, the inference is irresistible that the\nexternalism of \"civilised\" life, with the repressive and devitalising\nsystem of education which it necessitates, is responsible for the\ngreater part of the immorality--I am using the word in its widest\nsense--of the present age. Contrariwise, whatever tends to foster\ngrowth tends also, and in an equal degree, to moralise Man's\nlife; for, on the one hand, by transforming the desire for\nself-aggrandisement into the desire, first for continued growth\nand then for out-growth, it gives the soul strength to eliminate\nthe poison of egoism from its system; and, on the other hand, by\nvitalising the soul and so strengthening its powers of resistance, it\nenables it to beat off the attacks of those enemies of its well-being\nwhich serve under the banner of sensuality. If this is so, the\ninference is irresistible that self-realisation is the only effective\nremedy for the immorality of the present age.\n\nThe comparison between the two schemes of life may be carried a stage\nfurther. If egoism and sensuality are the two primary vices, the\nsecondary vices will be the various ways and means by which egoism\nand sensuality try to compass their respective ends. Let us select\nfor consideration one group of these vices,--the important group\nwhich fall under the general head of _untruthfulness_. Insincerity,\ndisingenuousness, shiftiness, trickery, duplicity, chicanery,\nevasion, intrigue, _suppressio veri_, _suggestio falsi_, fraud,\nmendacity, treachery, hypocrisy, cant,--their name is Legion. That\nexternalism, whether in school or out of school, is the foster-mother\nof the whole brood, is almost too obvious to need demonstration.\nIn school the child lives in an atmosphere of unreality and\nmake-believe. The demand for mechanical obedience which is always\npressing upon him is a demand that he shall be untrue to himself.\nSincerity of expression, which is the fountain-head of all\ntruthfulness, is not merely slighted by his teacher, but is\nsystematically proscribed. He is always (under compulsion) pretending\nto be what he is not,--to know what he does not know, to see what he\ndoes not see, to think what he does not think, to believe what he\ndoes not believe. And he lives, from hour to hour, under the dark\nshadow of severity and distrust,--severity which is too often\nanswered by servility, and distrust which is too often answered by\ndeceit. When he goes out into the world, he finds that though there\nare many sins for which there is forgiveness, there is one for which\nthere is no forgiveness,--the sin of being found out; and he orders\nhis life accordingly. He finds that he must give account of himself\nto public opinion, which necessarily judges according to the\nappearance of things, and is only too ready to be hoodwinked and\ngulled. He finds that to \"succeed\" is to achieve certain outward and\nvisible results,--results which are out of relation to the _vraie\nverite_ of things, which are in no way symbolical of merit, and for\nthe winning of which any means may be resorted to provided that\nscandals are avoided and the letter of the law is obeyed. He finds\nthat the system of advertising which plays so large a part in modern\nlife, and without which it is so hard to \"succeed,\" is in the main a\nsystem of organised mendacity. Finally, and above all, he finds that\nthe examination system, with its implicit demands for trickery and\nshiftiness, and its almost open invitation to cram and cheat, is not\nconfined to the school but has its equivalent in \"the world,\" and is\nin fact the basis of civilisation as well as of education in the\nWest.\n\nThis is the provision that externalism makes for the practical\ninculcation of truthfulness,--a virtue which its religion and\nits ethics profess to honour above all others. The life of\nself-realisation, on the other hand, is a life of genuine\nself-expression; and a life of genuine self-expression is obviously\na life of fearless sincerity. In such a life there is no place for\nuntruthfulness or any member of its impish brood. The one concern of\nthe child, as of the man, is to be loyal to intrinsic reality, to be\ntrue to his true self. His standard is always inward, not outward.\nHe knows that he is what he is, not what he is reputed to be.\n_Quantum unusquisque est in oculis Tuis, tantum est et non amplius._\n\nHere, then, as elsewhere, we see that the difference between the\nmorality of externalism and the morality of self-realisation is a\ndifference, not of degree but of direct antagonism,--the difference\nbetween a poison and its antidote, between the cause of a malady and\nthe cure.\n\nWhile the path of self-realisation is emancipating us from egoism and\nsensuality, in what general direction is it leading us? Is its\nethical ideal positive or merely negative? And if it is positive,\nwhat is its character, and how is it to be realised? The answer to\nthis question will be given in the remaining sections.\n\n\n_The Social Aspect of Self-realisation._\n\nHe must either be richly endowed with \"the good things of life\" or be\nof an exceptionally optimistic disposition, who can view the existing\nsocial order with complete satisfaction. Even among those who are\nrichly endowed with \"the good things of life\" there must be many who\nrealise that the \"Have-nots\" have some cause for complaint. And even\namong those who are of an exceptionally optimistic disposition there\nmust be some who realise that the grounds of their optimism are\npersonal to themselves, and that they cannot expect many others to\nshare their satisfaction with things as they are.\n\nThe phrase \"the good things of life\" is significant, and explains\nmuch. It means that an outward standard of reality has fully\nestablished itself in the community, that money and the possessions\nof various kinds which money can buy are regarded as the good things\nof life,--things which are intrinsically good, and therefore\nlegitimate ends of Man's ambition and endeavour, things to pursue\nwhich is to fulfil one's destiny and to win which is to achieve\nsalvation. It means, in other words, that the life of the community\nis a scramble for material possessions and outward and visible\n\"results\"--a scramble which on its lowest level becomes a struggle\nfor bare existence, and on the next level a struggle for the\n\"necessaries of life\"--and that this legalised scramble is the basis\nof the whole social order. In such a scramble the great prizes are\nnecessarily few, and the number of complete failures is always\nconsiderable; for the wealthier a country, the higher is its standard\nof comfort, so that the _proportion_ of failures--the percentage of\nmen who are submerged and outcast, who are in want and misery--is at\nleast as great in the wealthiest as in the poorest community, while\nthe extremes of wealth and poverty are as a rule greatest where the\npursuit of riches is carried on with the keenest vigour and the most\ncomplete success.\n\nThere are many persons, rich as well as poor, who, viewing the\nlegalised scramble from an entirely impersonal standpoint, are filled\nwith disgust and dismay, and who dream of making an end of it, by\nsubstituting what they call _collectivism_ for the individualism\nwhich they regard as the source of all our troubles. These persons\nare known as _Socialists_. Their ruling idea is that the \"State\"\nshould become the sole owner of property, and that this radical\nchange should be effected by a series of legislative measures. With\ntheir social ideal, regarded as an ideal, one has of course the\ndeepest sympathy. Their motto is, I believe, \"Each for all, and all\nfor each\"; and if this ideal could be realised, the social millennium\nwould indeed have begun. But in trying to compass their ends by\nlegislation, _before the standard of reality has been changed_, they\nare making a disastrous mistake. For, to go no further, our schools\nare hotbeds of individualism, the spirit of \"competitive selfishness\"\nbeing actively and systematically fostered in all of them, with a few\nexceptions; and so long as this is so, so long as our highly\nindividualised society is recruited, year by year, by a large\ncontingent of individualists of all ranks, drawn from schools of\nall grades, for so long will the Socialistic ideal remain an\nimpracticable dream. An impracticable and a mischievous dream; for\nin the attempt to realise it, the community will almost inevitably\nbe brought to the verge of civil war. When the seeds of socialistic\nlegislation, or even of socialistic agitation, are sown in a soil\nwhich is highly charged with the poison of individualism, the\nresulting crop will be class hatred and social strife.\n\nNo, we must change our standard of reality before we can hope to\nreform society. Where the outward standard prevails, where material\npossessions are regarded as \"the good things of life,\" the basis of\nsociety must needs be competitive rather than communal, for there\nwill never be enough of those \"good things\" to satisfy the desires of\n_all_ the members of any community. And even if the socialistic\ndream of state-ownership could be universally realised, the\nchange--so long as the outward standard of reality prevailed--would\nnot necessarily be for the better, and might well be for the worse.\nCompetition for \"the good things of life\" would probably go on as\nfiercely as ever; but it would be a scramble among nations rather\nthan individuals, and it might conceivably take the form of open\nwarfare waged on a titanic scale.[35] Even now there are indications\nthat such a struggle, or series of struggles, if not actually\napproaching, is at any rate not beyond the bounds of possibility. And\non the way to the realisation of the collectivist ideal, we should\nprobably have in each community a similar struggle for wealth and\npower among political parties,--a struggle which would generate many\nsocial evils, of which civil war might not be the most malignant.\n\nBut if we are to change our standard of reality we must change it,\nfirst and foremost, in the school. The way to do this is quite\nsimple. We need not give lessons on altruism. We need not teach or\npreach a new philosophy of life. All that we need do is to foster the\ngrowth of the child's soul. When the growth of the soul is healthy\nand harmonious, the cultivation of all the expansive instincts having\nbeen fully provided for, the _communal_ instinct will evolve itself\nin its own season; and when the communal instinct has been fully\nevolved, the social order will begin to reform itself. This is what\nhas happened in Utopia. There, where competition is unknown, where\nprizes are undreamed of, where the growth of the child's natural\nfaculties, and the consequent well-being of his soul, is \"its own\nexceeding great reward,\" the communal instinct has grown with the\ngrowth of the child's whole nature, and has generated an ideal social\nlife.\n\nAt the end of the last section I asked myself what was the ethical\nideal of the life of self-realisation,--the positive ideal as\ndistinguished from the more negative ideal of emancipating from\negoism and sensuality. I will now try to answer this question.\nEmancipation from egoism and sensuality is effected by the outgrowth\nof a larger and truer self. This larger and truer self, as it unfolds\nitself, directs our eyes towards the ideal self--the goal of the\nwhole process of growth--which is to the ordinary self what the\nfull-grown tree, embodying in itself the perfection of oakhood, is to\nthe sapling oak, or what the ripe peach, embodying in itself the\nperfection of peachhood, is to the green unripened fruit. The ideal\nself is, in brief, perfect Manhood. What perfect Manhood may be, we\nneed not pause to inquire. Whatever it may be, it is the true self of\neach of us. It follows that the nearer each of us gets to it, the\nnearer he is to the true self of each of his fellow-men; that the\nmore closely he is able to identify himself with it, the more closely\nhe is able to identify himself with each of his fellow-men; that in\nrealising it, he is realising, he is entering into, he is becoming\none with, the real life of each of his fellow-men. And not of each\nof his fellow-men only. He is also entering into the life of the\nwhole community of men--(for it is the presence of the ideal self in\neach of us which makes communal life possible)--and, through this, of\neach of the lesser communities to which he may happen to belong. In\nother words, he is losing himself in the lives of others, and is\nfinding his well-being, and therefore his happiness, in doing so.\nBut self-loss, with joy in the loss of self, is, in a word, love.\n\nThe path of self-realisation is, then, in its higher stages, a life\nof love. He who walks in that path must needs lead a life of love.\nHe will love and serve his fellow-men, both as individuals and as\nmembers of this or that community, not because he is consciously\ntrying to live up to a high ideal, but because he has reached a stage\nin his development beyond which he cannot develop himself except by\nleading a life of love, because the path of self-realisation has led\nhim into the sunshine of love, and if he will not henceforth walk in\nthat sunshine he will cease to follow his path. He has indeed long\nwalked in the foreglow of the sunshine of love. The dawn of the orb\nof love is heralded by a gradual twilight, which lights the path of\nself-realisation, even in its earlier stages. In Utopia the joy on\nthe faces of the children is the joy of goodwill not less than of\nwell-being. Or rather it is the joy of goodwill because it is the joy\nof well-being, because well-being would not be well-being if it did\nnot ceaselessly generate goodwill.\n\nThat love is \"the fulfilling of the law,\" and therefore the keystone\nof every sound system of ethics, is a truth on which I need scarcely\ninsist. The final proof that the ethics of self-realisation are\nsound to the core lies in the fact that the path of self-realisation,\nbesides emancipating from egoism and sensuality, leads all who walk\nin it, first into the foreglow and then into the sunshine of love.\nBut it is with the social rather than the ethical aspect of\nself-realisation that I am now concerned. And the social aspect of\nthe fact which has just been stated is obviously of vital importance.\nLove, which is commensurate with life, has innumerable phases. One of\nthese is what I have called the communal instinct,--the sense of\nbelonging to a community, of being a vital part of it, of sharing\nin its life, of being what one is (in part at least) because one\nshares in its life. If Socialism is to realise its noble dream, this\ninstinct, strongly developed and directed towards the well-being of\nthe whole social order, must become part of the normal equipment of\nevery citizen. And if this is to come to pass, self-realisation must\nbe made the basis of education in all our schools. What it has done\nfor the children of Utopia, in the way of developing their communal\ninstinct and making their school an ideal community, it is capable of\ndoing for every school in England,--I might almost say for every\nschool on the face of the earth.\n\nThere are faddists who advocate the teaching of _patriotism_ in our\nelementary schools. There are Local Education Committees which insist\non _citizenship_ being taught in the schools under their control. By\nteaching patriotism, and citizenship is meant treating them as\n\"subjects,\" finding places for them on the \"time-table,\" and giving\nformal lessons on them. Where this is done, the time of the\nteachers and the children is wasted. The teaching of patriotism\nand citizenship, if it is to produce any effect, must be entirely\ninformal and indirect. Let the child be so educated that he will\ndevelop himself freely on all the sides of his being, and his\ncommunal instinct will, as I have said, evolve itself in its own\nseason. Until it has evolved itself, patriotism and citizenship will\nbe mere names to him, and what he is taught about them will make no\nimpression on him. When it has evolved itself, he will be a patriot\nand a good citizen in _posse_, and will be ready on occasion to prove\nhis patriotism and his good citizenship by his deeds, or, better\nstill, by his life.[36]\n\nWhile the communal instinct is evolving itself, first in the school\nand then in the community at large, the standard of reality will, by\na parallel or perhaps identical process, be transforming itself in\nall the grades of society. The inward will be taking the place of the\noutward standard; and men will be learning to form a different\nconception of \"the good things of life\" from that which now dominates\nour social life. The Socialist will then have his opportunity.\nThat any member of the community should be in physical want or\nirremediable misery, will begin to be felt, partly as a personal\ngrief, partly as a reflection on himself, by each member of the\ncommunity in turn; and steps will begin to be taken--what steps I\ncannot pretend to forecast--to make physical want and irremediable\nmisery impossible. Meanwhile, with the gradual substitution of the\ninward for the outward standard of reality, the mad scramble for\nwealth and possessions and distinctions will gradually cease, the\nconception of what constitutes \"comfort\" and of what are the real\n\"necessaries of life\" will be correspondingly changed, and men will\nbegin to realise that of the genuine \"good things of life\"--the good\nthings which the children of Utopia carry with them into the world,\nand which make them exceedingly rich in spite of their apparent\npoverty--there are enough and more than enough \"to go round.\"\n\n\n_The Religious Aspect of Self-realisation._\n\nThe oak-tree is present in embryo in the acorn. What is it that is\npresent in embryo in the new-born child? To achieve salvation is to\nrealise one's true self. But what is one's true self? The \"perfection\nof manhood\" is an obvious answer to this question; but it explains so\nlittle that we cannot accept it as final. We may, however, accept it\nas a resting-place in our search for the final answer.\n\nIt is on the religious aspect of self-realisation that I now propose\nto dwell. The function of Religion is to bring a central aim into\nman's life, to direct his eyes towards the true end of his being\nand to help him to reach it. The true end of Man's being is the\nperfection of his nature; and the way to this end is the process\nwhich we call growth. When I speak of Man's nature I am thinking of\nhis universal nature, of the nature which is common to all men, the\nnature of Man as Man. Each of us has his own particular nature, his\nindividuality, as it is sometimes called. The nature of Man as Man is\nno mere common measure of these particular natures, but is rather\nwhat I may call their organised totality, the many-sided nature which\nincludes, explains, and even justifies them all.\n\nWhat perfection may mean when we predicate the term of our common\nnature, we cannot even imagine. The potentialities of our nature seem\nto be infinite, and our knowledge of them is limited and shallow.\nWhen we compare an untutored savage or a brutal, ignorant European\nwith a Christ or a Buddha, or again with a Shakespeare or a Goethe,\nwe realise how vast is the range--the lineal even more than the\nlateral range--of Man's nature, and we find it easy to believe that\nin any ordinary man there are whole tracts, whole aspects of human\nnature, in which his consciousness has not yet been awakened, and\nwhich therefore seem to be nonexistent in him, though in reality they\nare only dormant or inert. These, however, are matters with which we\nneed not at present concern ourselves. Let the potentialities of our\ncommon nature be what they may. Our business is to realise them as,\nlittle by little, they present themselves to us for realisation. Let\nthe end of the process of growth be what it may. Our business is to\ngrow.\n\nIn the effort to grow we are not left without guidance. The stimulus\nto grow, the forces and the tendencies that make for growth, all come\nfrom within ourselves. Yet it is only to a limited extent that they\ncome under our direct control. So, too, the goal of growth, the\nideal perfection of our nature, is our own; and yet on the way to it\nwe must needs outgrow ourselves. What part do we play in this mighty\ndrama? The mystery of selfhood is unfathomable. The word _self_\nchanges its meaning the moment we begin to think about it. So does\nthe word _nature_. The range of meaning is in each case unlimited.\nYet there are limits beyond which we cannot use either word without\nsome risk of being misunderstood. When we are meditating on our\norigin and our destiny, some other word seems to be needed to enable\nus to complete the span of our thoughts.\n\nIs not that word _God_? The source of our life, the ideal end of our\nbeing,--how shall we think about these if we may not speak of them as\n_divine_? And in using the word \"divine,\" do we not set ourselves\nfree to stretch the respective meanings of the words \"self\" and\n\"nature\" beyond what would otherwise have been the breaking point of\neach? The true self is worthier of the name of \"self\" than the\napparent self. The true nature is worthier of the name of \"nature\"\nthan the lower nature. But the true self is the Divine Self; and the\nhighest nature is the Nature of God. If this is so, we serve God best\nand obey God best by trying to perfect our nature in response to a\nstimulus, a pressure, and a guidance which is at once natural and\ndivine.\n\nIn other words, we serve God best by following the path of\nself-realisation. And the better we serve God, the more truly and\nfully do we learn to know him. If to know him, and to live up to our\nknowledge of him, is to be truly religious, then the life of\nself-realisation is, in the truest and deepest sense of the word, a\n_religious_ life. Or rather it is the only religious life, for in no\nother way can knowledge of God be won.\n\nLet me try to make good this statement. Knowledge of God is the\noutcome, not of definite dogmatic instruction in theology, but of\nspiritual growth. Knowledge, whatever may be its object, is always\nthe outcome of growth. Even knowledge of _number_ is the outcome, not\nof definite dogmatic instruction in the arithmetical rules and\ntables, but of the growth of the arithmetical sense. It is the same\nwith literature, the same with history, the same with chemistry, the\nsame with \"business,\" the same with navigation, the same with the\ndriving of vehicles in crowded streets, the same with every art,\ncraft, sport, game, and pursuit. In evolving a special sense, the\nsoul is growing in one particular direction, a direction which is\nmarked out for it by the environment in which it finds it needful or\ndesirable to energise. The soul has, as we have seen, a general power\nof adapting itself to its environment, of permeating it, of feeling\nits way through it, of getting to understand it, of dealing with it\nat last with skill and success. As is the particular environment, so\nis the subtle, tactful, adaptive, directly perceptive, subconsciously\ncognitive faculty,--the \"sense,\" as I have called it--by means of\nwhich the soul acquires the particular knowledge that it needs. The\nmore highly specialised (whether by subdivision or by abstraction)\nthe environment, the more highly specialised the sense. The larger\nand more comprehensive the environment, the larger and more \"massive\"\nthe sense. The acquired aptitude which enables an omnibus driver to\nsteer his bulky vehicle through the traffic of London is a highly\nspecialised sense. At the other end of the scale we have the\n\"massive\" spiritual faculties which deal with whole aspects of life\nor Nature, such as the sense of beauty or of moral worth.\n\nBut there is a sense which is larger and more \"massive\" even than\nthese. When the environment is all-embracing, when it covers the\nwhole circle of which the soul is or can be the centre, the growth\nmade in response to it is the growth of the soul as such, and the\nknowledge which rewards that growth is the knowledge of supreme\nreality, or, in the language of religion, the knowledge of God. The\nhighest of all senses is the religious sense, the sense which gives\nus knowledge of God. But the religious sense is not, as we are apt\nto imagine, one of many senses. No one individual sense, however\n\"massive\" or subtle it might be, could enable its possessor to get\non terms, so to speak, with the totality of things, with the\nall-vitalising Life, with the all-embracing Whole. _The religious\nsense is the well-being of the soul._ For the soul as such grows in\nand through the growth of its various senses,--its own growth being\nreinforced by the growth of each of these when Nature's balance is\nkept, and retarded by the growth of one or more of them when Nature's\nbalance is lost,--and in proportion as its own vital, central growth\nis vigorous and healthy, its power of apprehending reality unfolds\nitself little by little. That power is of its inmost essence. When\nreality, in the full sense of the word, is its object, it sees with\nthe whole of its being; it is itself, when it is at the centre of\nits universe, its own supreme perceptive faculty, its own religious\nsense.\n\nIf this is so, if the soul in its totality, the soul acting through\nits whole \"apperceptive mass,\" is its own religious sense, it is\nabundantly clear that the path of self-realisation is the only path\nwhich leads to knowledge of God, and through knowledge of God to\nsalvation. For self-realisation is the only scheme of life which\nprovides for the growth of the soul in its totality, for the\nharmonious, many-sided development of the soul as such. I have often\ndwelt on this point. If we have never before realised its importance\nwe must surely do so now. A one-sided training, even when its\none-sidedness takes the form of specialising in theology, is a\nnon-religious, and may well become an irreligious training, for it\ndoes not lead to, and may well lead away from, knowledge of God.\n\nAnd if we have never before realised how great are the opportunities\nand responsibilities of the teacher, we must surely do so now. For a\ncertain number of years--the number varies with the social standing\nof the child, and the financial resources of his parents--the teacher\ncan afford to disregard utilitarian considerations and think only of\nwhat is best for the child. What use will he make of those years?\nWill he lead the child into the path of self-realisation, and so give\na lifelong impetus to the growth of his soul? Or will he, in his\nthirst for \"results,\" lead him into the path of mechanical obedience,\nor, at best, of one-sided development, and so blight his budding\nfaculties and arrest the growth of his soul? On the practical answer\nthat he gives to this question will depend the fate of the child.\nFor to the child the difference between the two paths will be the\ndifference between fulfilling and missing his destiny, between\nknowledge and ignorance of God.\n\nIf any of my readers have imagined that I am an advocate of what is\ncalled \"secular education,\" they will, I hope, now realise that they\nhave misread this book. Far from wishing to secularise education, I\nhold that it cannot be too religious. And, far from wishing to limit\nits religious activities to the first forty minutes of the morning\nsessions, I hold that it should be actively religious through every\nminute of every school session, that whatever it does it should do to\nthe glory of God.\n\nBut how does knowledge of God show itself? Knowledge, so far as it is\nreal, always shows itself in right bearing, and (if action is called\nfor) in right action. Knowledge of arithmetic and of other more or\nless abstract subjects, shows itself in the successful working of the\ncorresponding problems, theoretical or practical as the case may be.\nKnowledge of the laws of physical nature shows itself in practical\nmastery of the forces and resources of physical nature. Knowledge of\nhistory and geography, in a right attitude towards the problems and\nsub-problems of these complex and comprehensive subjects, an attitude\nwhich may on occasion translate itself into right action. And so on.\nKnowledge of God, being a state or attitude of the soul as such, must\nshow itself in the right bearing and the right action of the soul as\nsuch, in other words, of Man as Man,--not as mathematician, not as\nfinancier, not as sculptor, not as cricketer, but simply as Man. Now\nMan as Man has to bear himself aright towards the world in which he\nfinds himself, and in particular towards the world which touches him\nmost closely and envelops him most completely,--the world of human\nlife. Therefore knowledge of God will show itself, principally and\nchiefly, though by no means wholly, in dealing aright with one's\nfellow-men, in being rightly disposed towards them, and in doing the\nright things to them. I have found it convenient to disconnect the\nmoral from the religious aspect of self-realisation. We can now see\nthat in the last resort the two aspects are one.\n\nFrom every point of view, then, and above all from that of Religion,\nthe path of self-realisation is seen to be the path of salvation.\nFor it is the only scheme of life which enables him who follows it\nto attain to knowledge of God; and knowledge of God has, as its\nnecessary counterpart, a right attitude, in general towards the world\nwhich surrounds him, and in particular towards his fellow-men.\n\nBut is it possible, within the limits of one earth-life, to follow\nthe path of self-realisation to its appointed goal? And if not, will\nthe path be continued beyond that abrupt turn in it which we call\ndeath? The respective attitudes of the two great schools of popular\nthought towards the problem of the grave, are in brief as follows.\nThe Materialists (or Naturalists, as they miscall themselves) believe\nthat death is the end of life. The Supernaturalists believe that one\nearth-life (or even a few years or months) of mechanical obedience to\nsupernatural direction will be rewarded by an eternity of happiness\nin \"Heaven.\" But those who walk in the path of self-realisation, and\nwhose unswerving loyalty to Nature is rewarded by some measure of\ninsight into her deeper laws, know that the goal of the path is\ninfinitely far away, and in their heart of hearts they laugh both the\ncurrent eschatologies to scorn. And the higher they ascend, as they\nfollow the path, the more vividly do they realise how unimaginably\nhigh above them is the summit of the mountain which the path is\nascending in spiral coils.\n\nThe Utopian experiment, humble as it is, can, I think, throw some\nlight on these mighty problems. The relations between the type and\nthe various sub-types, between the type and the individual, between\nthe sub-type and the individual--whether in plant or beast or\nman--are matters which could not be handled within the limits of this\nbook, and which I have therefore as far as possible ignored. Nor have\nI attempted to deal with the difficult problems that are presented by\nthe existence of races, such as the Negro, which seem to be far below\nthe normal level of human development. There is, however, in the vast\nregion of thought which these and kindred problems open out to us,\none by-way which I must be allowed to follow for a while.\n\nThe wild _bullace_ is, I believe, the ancestor of many of our yellow\n_plums_. In other words, bullacehood can develop into plumhood, and\neven into the perfection of plumhood. Similarly human nature can\ndevelop into something so high above the normal level of human nature\nthat it might almost seem to belong to another _genus_. But there is\na difference between the two cases. The bullace ideal is in the\nindividual bullace tree. So, in a sense, is the plum ideal. But the\nlatter cannot be realised, or even approached, by the individual\nbullace tree. It cannot be realised, or even approached, by the\nbullace species except through a long course of culture and breeding.\nIs it the same with Man? Let us take English rusticity as a\nparticular type of human nature,--the equivalent of bullacehood for\nthe purpose of argument. This is a distinct type, and may be said\nto have its own ideal.[37] Emerging from this, and gradually\ntransforming it, is the ideal of human nature, the ideal for Man as\nMan. As the bullace ideal is to the plum ideal, so is the ideal of\nEnglish rusticity to the ideal of human nature. But whereas the plum\nideal cannot be realised in any appreciable degree by the individual\nbullace, the human ideal can be realised in a quite appreciable\ndegree by the individual English rustic. There have always been and\nwill always be isolated cases to prove that this is so,--cases of men\nof quite humble origin who have attained to high degrees of mental\nand spiritual development. These have hitherto been regarded as\nexceptional cases. But Egeria has convinced me that under favourable\nconditions the _average_ child can become the rare exception, and\nattain to what is usually regarded as a remarkably high degree of\nmental and spiritual development. Innocent joy, self-forgetfulness,\ncommunal devotion, heartfelt goodwill, gracious manners--to speak of\nspiritual development only--are characteristics of _every_ Utopian\nchild. What are we to infer from this? The bullace ideal is\nrealisable (under favourable conditions) by each individual bullace\ntree,--but the plum ideal is not. The English rustic ideal is\nrealisable by each individual rustic child. _But so is the human\nideal in Utopia._\n\nBut what of the children who do not belong to Utopia? What would have\nhappened to the Utopian children if there had been no Egeria to lead\nthem into the path of self-realisation? They would have lived and\ndied ordinary English rustics,--healthy bullaces, but in no respect\nor degree plums. Egeria has convinced me that the average child,\nbesides being born mentally and spiritually healthy, has immense\ncapacity on every side of his being. The plum ideal is the true\nnature of the plum, but is not the true nature of the bullace. But\nEgeria has convinced me that the human ideal--the divine self--is the\ntrue nature of each of us, even of the average rustic child; and she\nhas also convinced me that each of us can go a long way towards\nrealising that ideal. Had there been no Egeria in Utopia, the\nUtopians would have lived and died undeveloped, having arrived at a\nmaturity of a kind, the maturity of the bullace as distinguished from\nthat of the plum, but having failed to realise in any appreciable\ndegree what the Utopian experiment has proved to be their true\nnature. What then? Is this the end of the average man? Will Nature\nadmit final defeat? The curve of a man's life, as it sweeps round\nfrom birth to death, passes through the point of apparent maturity;\nbut the real nature of the man has never ripened, and when he\ndescends into the grave he is still the embryo of his true self.\nWill the true self never be realised? Never, if death is indeed the\nend of life. But in that case the man will have failed to fulfil the\ncentral purpose of Nature, and, alone among her children, will have\nescaped from the control of her all-pervading law of growth.\n\nIt is in their desire to keep Man in line with the rest of Nature's\nchildren that so many thinkers and scientists in the West forbid him\nto look beyond the horizon of the grave. But in truth it is only by\nbeing allowed to look beyond that horizon that Man can be kept in\nline with the rest of Nature's children; for if death means\nextinction to him, as it means (or seems to mean) to the beetle or\nthe fly, he will have lived to no purpose, having failed to realise\nin any appreciable degree what every other living thing realises\nwithin its appointed limits,--the central tendencies of his being.\nThat a living thing, an average specimen of its kind, should within\nthe limits of a normal life fail completely to realise those\npotentialities which are distinctive of its real nature,--fail so\ncompletely that the very existence of those potentialities might, but\nfor an occasional and quite exceptional revelation, have remained\nunsuspected,--is entirely at variance with what we know of the ways\nand works of Nature. Yet failure to realise his true manhood is,\noutside the confines of Utopia, the apparent lot of nine men out of\nten. An entire range of qualities, spiritual and mental, which\nblossom freely in the stimulating atmosphere of Utopia, and which\nmust therefore exist in embryo in every normal child, fail to\ngerminate (or at best only just begin to germinate) within the\nlifetime of the average non-Utopian.[38] The inference to be drawn\nfrom these significant facts is that the apparent limits of Man's\nlife are not the real limits; that the one earth-life of which each\nof us is conscious, far from being the whole of one's life, is but a\ntiny fragment of it,--one term of its ascending \"series,\" one day in\nits cycle of years. In other words, the spiritual fertility of the\naverage Utopian child, taken in conjunction with the spiritual\nsterility of the average non-Utopian child (and man), points to the\nconclusion which the thinkers of the Far East reached thousands of\nyears ago,--that for the full development of human nature a plurality\nof lives is needed, which will do for the individual soul what\ngenerations of scientific breeding and culture will do for the\nbullace that is to be transformed into a plum.\n\nThis is one lesson which Utopia has taught me. There is another which\nhad also been anticipated by the thinkers of the Far East. If under\nexceptionally favourable conditions certain spiritual and mental\nqualities are able to blossom freely in the space of a few years,\nwhich under normal conditions would remain undeveloped during a\nlifetime of seventy or eighty years, may we not infer that there is a\ndirecter path to spiritual maturity than that which is ordinarily\nfollowed? May we not infer that there are ways of living, ways into\nwhich parents and teachers can lead the young, which, if faithfully\nfollowed, will allow the potencies of Man's higher nature to evolve\nthemselves with what we, with our limited experience, must regard as\nabnormal celerity, and which will therefore shorten appreciably Man's\njourney to his goal?[39] And if there is a directer path to spiritual\nmaturity than that which is ordinarily followed, is not the name for\nit _Self-realisation_?\n\nI will not pursue these speculations further. But, speaking for\nmyself, I will say that the vista which the idea of self-realisation\nopens up to me goes far beyond the limits of any one earth-life or\nsequence of earth-lives, and far, immeasurably far, beyond the limits\nof the sham eternity of the conventional Heaven and Hell.\n\nBut even if there is the fullest provision in Nature (whether by a\nspiral ascent through a long chain of lives, or by some directer\npath) for the final development in each individual man of the\npotencies of perfect manhood, for the final realisation of the divine\nor true self,--what then? What does it all mean? Why are we to follow\nthe path of self-realisation? What is the purpose of the cycle of\nexistence? There is an answer to this obstinate question,--an answer\nwhich explains nothing, and yet is final, in that it leaves nothing\nto be explained. The expansive energies and desires, to yield to\nwhich is our wisdom and our happiness, are ever transforming\nthemselves, as we yield to them, into the might and the ardour of\nLove. And for love there is no final resting-place but the sea of\nDivine Love from which it came. \"_Amor ex Deo natus est, nec potest\nnisi in Deo requiescere._\"\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[25] There is of course an intermediate class of vicious\ntendencies, which may be described as apparent rather than actual,\nand which are caused partly by immaturity, partly by environment.\nMany of the \"naughtinesses\" of school children belong to this class.\n\n[26] The _physical_ aspect is, of course, of incalculable\nimportance. My only reason for ignoring it is that I am not competent\nto deal with it. The _aesthetic_ aspect is also of incalculable\nimportance; but I know so little about music or art, that I must\nlimit my treatment of this aspect to pointing out that until the\nmusical and artistic instincts of the masses are systematically\ntrained in our elementary schools, through the medium of free\nself-expression on the part of the children, we shall have neither a\nnational music nor a national art.\n\n[27] Workshops, for the use of the engineering classes, are,\nI believe, attached to the \"Modern Side\" of some of our Great Public\nSchools; but I doubt if there is one among the Great Public Schools,\nor even among the Preparatory Schools which lead up to them, in which\n\"hand-work\" is part of the _normal_ curriculum.\n\n[28] I know a youth who recently attended Science lectures\nfor two years at one of the most famous of our Great Public Schools,\nand at the end of that time had not the faintest idea what branch of\nScience he had been studying. Science is, I believe, seriously taught\nin the Great Public Schools to those who wish to take it seriously;\nbut, if taught at all, it is certainly not taught seriously to the\nrank and file of the boys who belong to the \"Classical side\" of their\nrespective schools.\n\n[29] See also footnote 2 to page 270.\n\n[30] When I was an undergraduate at Oxford, there was one at\nleast of my friends who took a genuine delight in the literary\nmasterpieces of Greece and Rome,--the delight, not of a fastidious\nscholar but of a born lover of good literature. He got a \"Third\" in\nClassical \"Mods,\" and was \"gulfed\" in \"Greats.\" \"Serve him right,\"\nhis \"dons\" must have said, for I am afraid he cut their lectures.\n[Greek: hos apoloito kai allos hotis toiauta ge rhezoi.]\n\n[31] _Stanzas on the Grande Chartreuse_, by Matthew Arnold.\n\n[32] When I apply the epithet \"irrational\" to the outcry at\nEphesus, I am thinking of the mob, not of the silversmiths. The\nlatter knew what they were about.\n\n[33] Having said so much in disparagement of the mental\ntraining given in the great Public Schools and the older\nUniversities, let me now try to make my peace with my old school and\nmy University by expressing my conviction that those who are studying\nthe \"Humanities,\" whether at school or college, _and finding pleasure\nin their studies_, are receiving the best education that is at\npresent procurable in England. An old Oxonian may perhaps be allowed\nto make public profession of his faith in the special efficacy of\nthat course of study which is known familiarly as \"Greats,\" the\nexamination in which is, of all examinations, the most difficult to\ncram for and the most profitable to read for.\n\nIt is scarcely necessary for me to add that in the older\nUniversities, as in the great Public Schools, many valuable educative\ninfluences are at work outside the lecture-room. For one thing, the\nundergraduates, who come from all parts of the world, are always\neducating one another. For another thing, the \"atmosphere\" of Oxford\nand Cambridge does much for the mental and spiritual development of\nthose who are able to respond to its stimulus. Even the _genius loci_\nis educative, in its own quiet, subtle way. But it would be an\nimpertinence on my part to labour this point. It is because Oxford\nand Cambridge educate their _alumni_ in a thousand ways, the worth of\nwhich no formal examination can test or measure, that they stand\napart from all other Universities.\n\n[34] I mean by the \"lower self,\" not the animal base of\none's existence, but the ordinary self _claiming to be the true\nself_, and so rising in rebellion against its lawful lord.\n\n[35] In other words, it might conceivably take the form of\n_clan_ warfare, highly organised and waged on a world-wide field; and\nwe learn from the history of the Highlands of Scotland and of Old\nJapan that of all forms of warfare the most cruel and relentless,\nwith the exception of that which is waged in the name of religion, is\nthe warfare between clan and clan.\n\n[36] There is such a thing as communal egoism, when a man\nregards the community or society to which he belongs as a kind of\n\"possession,\" to be paraded and bragged about, just as in personal\nlove there is such a thing as egoism _a deux_. But the communal\ninstinct which is generated by self-realisation readily purges itself\nof every egoistic taint.\n\n[37] I mean by the \"ideal\" the true nature of the given\nspecies and the true self of each individual specimen.\n\n[38] When I compare the average Utopian with the average\nnon-Utopian, I am of course thinking of the \"masses,\" not of the\n\"classes.\" If the comparison is to have any value, the conditions in\nthe two cases must be fairly equal. Mentally, the \"classes\" are, on\nthe whole, more highly developed (thanks to their more favourable\nenvironment) than the \"masses.\" Spiritually and morally, they are\nperhaps on a par with them.\n\n[39] This was the idea which inspired the Founder of\nBuddhism, and led him to formulate a scheme of life, in virtue\nof which he takes rank (as it seems to me) as the greatest\neducationalist, as well as the greatest moralist, that the world\nhas ever known.\n\n\nTHE END","title":"What Is and What Might Be: A Study of Education in General and Elementary Education in Particular","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":86917}