The Teacher. Abbott Jacob
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time for attending to the general business of the school. Through this wrapper, all questions are asked, all complaints entered, all proposals made. Is there discontent in the school? It shows itself by "propositions" in the wrapper. Is any body aggrieved or injured? I learn it through the wrapper. In fact it is a little safety valve, which lets off, what, if confined, might threaten explosion,—an index,—a thermometer, which reveals to me, from day to day, more of the state of public opinion in the little community, than any thing beside.
These propositions are generally read aloud; some cases are referred to the scholars for decision; some I decide myself; others are laid aside without notice of any kind; others still, merely suggest remarks on the subjects to which they allude.
The principles, then, which this chapter has been intended to establish, are simply these: in making your general arrangements, look carefully over your ground, consider all the objects which you have to accomplish, and the proper degree of time and attention, which each deserves. Then act upon system. Let the mass of particulars which would otherwise crowd upon you in promiscuous confusion, be arranged and classified. Let each be assigned to its proper time and place; that your time may be your own,—under your own command,—and not, as is too often the case, at the mercy of the thousand accidental circumstances, which may occur.
In government, be yourself supreme, and let your supremacy be that of authority. But delegate power, as freely as possible, to those under your care. Show them that you are desirous of reposing trust in them, just so far as they show themselves capable of exercising it. Thus interest them in your plans, and make them feel, that they participate in the honor or the disgrace of success or failure.
I have gone much into detail in this chapter, proposing definite measures by which the principles I have recommended, may be carried into effect. I wish, however, that it may be distinctly understood, that all I contend for, is the principles themselves; no matter what the particular measures are, by which they are secured. Every good school must be systematic; but they need not all be on precisely the same system. As this work is intended almost exclusively for beginners, much detail has been admitted, and many of the specific measures here proposed, may perhaps be safely adopted, where no others are established. There may also perhaps be cases, where teachers, whose schools are already in successful operation, may engraft, upon their own plans, some things which are here proposed. If they should attempt it, it must be done cautiously and gradually. There is no other way by which they can be safely introduced or even introduced at all. This is a point of so much importance, that I must devote a paragraph to it, before closing the chapter.
Let a teacher propose to his pupils, formally, from his desk, the plan of writing propositions, for example, and procure his wrapper, and put it in its place;—and what would be the result? Why, not a single paper, probably, could he get, from one end of the week to the other. But let him, on the other hand, when a boy comes to him to ask some question, the answer to which many in the school would equally wish to hear, say to the inquirer:
"Will you be so good as to write that question, and put it on my desk, and then, at the regular time, I will answer it to all the school."
When he reads it, let him state, that it was written at his request, and give the other boys permission to leave their proposals or questions on his desk, in the same way. In a few days, he will have another, and thus the plan may be gently and gradually introduced.
So with officers. They should be appointed among the scholars, only as fast as they are actually needed, and the plan should thus be cautiously carried only so far as it proves good on trial. Be always cautious about innovations and changes. Make no rash experiments on a large scale, but always test your principle in the small way, and then, if it proves good, gradually extend its operation, as circumstances seem to require.
By thus cautiously and slowly introducing plans, founded on the systematic principles here brought to view, a very considerable degree of quiet, and order, and regularity may be introduced into the largest and most miscellaneous schools. And this order and quiet are absolutely necessary, to enable the teacher to find that interest and enjoyment in his work, which were exhibited in the last chapter; the pleasure of directing and controlling mind, and doing it, not by useless and anxious complaints, or stern threats and painful punishments; but by regarding the scene of labor in its true light, as a community of intellectual and moral beings, and governing it by moral and intellectual power. It is, in fact, the pleasure of exercising power. I do not mean arbitrary, personal authority, but the power to produce, by successful but quiet contrivance, extensive and happy results;—the pleasure of calmly considering every difficulty, and without irritation or anger, devising the proper moral means to remedy the moral evil: and then the interest and pleasure of witnessing its effects.
CHAPTER III.
INSTRUCTION
There are three kinds of human knowledge which stand strikingly distinct from all the rest. They lie at the foundation. They constitute the roots of the tree. In other words, they are the means, by which all other knowledge is acquired. I need not say, that I mean, Reading, Writing, and Calculation.
Teachers do not perhaps always consider, how entirely and essentially distinct these three are from all the rest. They are arts; the acquisition of them is not to be considered as knowledge, so much as the means, by which knowledge may be obtained. A child, who is studying Geography, or History, or Natural Science, is learning facts,—gaining information; on the other hand, the one who is learning to write, or to read, or to calculate, may be adding little or nothing to his stock of knowledge. He is acquiring skill, which, at some future time, he may make the means of increasing his knowledge, to any extent.
This distinction ought to be kept constantly in view, and the teacher should feel that these three fundamental branches stand by themselves, and stand first in importance. I do not mean to undervalue the others, but only to insist upon the superior value and importance of these. Teaching a pupil to read, before he enters upon the active business of life, is like giving a new settler an axe, as he goes to seek his new home in the forest. Teaching him a lesson in history, is, on the other hand, only cutting down a tree or two for him. A knowledge of natural history, is like a few bushels of grain, gratuitously placed in his barn; but the art of ready reckoning, is the plough, which will remain by him for years, and help him to draw out from the soil an annual treasure.
The great object, then, of the common schools in our country, is to teach the whole population to read, to write, and to calculate. In fact, so essential is it, that the accomplishment of these objects should be secured, that it is even a question whether common schools should not be confined to them. I say it is a question, for it is sometimes made so, though public opinion has decided, that some portion of attention, at least, should be paid to the acquisition of additional knowledge. But after all, the amount of knowledge, which is actually acquired at schools, is very small. It must be very small. The true policy is, to aim at making all, good readers, writers, and calculators, and to consider the other studies of the school important, chiefly as practice, in turning these arts to useful account. In other words, the scholars should be taught these arts, thoroughly, first of all, and in the other studies, the main design should be to show them how to use, and interest them in using, the arts they have thus acquired.
A great many teachers feel a much stronger interest in the one or two scholars they may have, in Surveying, or in Latin, than they do in the large classes, in the elementary branches, which fill the school. But a moment's reflection will show, that such a preference is founded on a very mistaken view. Leading forward one or two minds, from step to step, in an advanced study, is certainly far inferior, in real dignity and importance, to opening all the stores of written knowledge, to fifty or a hundred. The man who neglects the interests of his school, in these great branches, to devote his time to two or three, or half a dozen older scholars, is unjust both to his employers and to himself.
It is the duty, therefore, of every teacher, who commences a common district school, for a single season, to make, when he commences, an estimate, of the state of his pupils, in reference to these three branches. How do they all write? How do they all read? How do they calculate? It would be well if he would make a careful examination of the school, in this respect. Let them all write a specimen. Let all read; and let him make a memorandum