: , EDUCATION
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 BY 
 
 COLIN A. SCOTT, PH.D. 
 
 HEAD OF THE DEPARTMENT OF PSYCHOLOGY, BOSTON 
 NORMAL SCHOOL 
 
 GINN & COMPANY 
 
 BOSTON . NEW YORK CHICAGO . LONDON
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1908 
 BY COLIN A. SCOTT 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 78.5 
 
 fffte athenaeum
 
 PREFACE 
 
 The aim of this book is to put at the disposal of its 
 readers a point of view or method of thinking rather than 
 a completed system of thought. Since this point of view 
 is social, it should be participated in by the pupils as well 
 as understood by the teacher. The question of " methods " 
 as something peculiar to the outfit of the teacher is thus 
 absorbed into the larger and more practical problem of 
 community life. 
 
 The stimulus to such thinking comes from the obser- 
 vation of the facts of social life as they occur in the 
 schoolroom or wherever people are being educated. It is 
 interesting to observe that most of the systems of educa- 
 tion and their consequent "methods" have had another 
 origin. Herbart's experience as a private tutor, in which 
 capacity he was engaged principally with single pupils, 
 doubtless gave him the important observations of fact which 
 led to his theories. When Rousseau explains what educa- 
 tion should be, he takes one pupil and artificially isolates 
 him from the rest of the world. It was difficult for Pesta- 
 lozzi to see what was actually occurring among the children 
 in his charge, because his own peculiar experience as a 
 child was constantly in the background of his mind and 
 constantly affecting his emotions. Other writers, as Mon- 
 taigne, Mill, and Herbert Spencer, have in mind to a large 
 extent their own experience as individuals. Their views 
 are thus largely subjective. 
 
 [Hi] 
 
 2051086
 
 PREFACE 
 
 The actual facts, however, press upon us the necessity 
 for social observation and explanation. Even approximately 
 scientific results cannot otherwise be obtained. Children in 
 the schools are always in numbers, and classes are never suc- 
 cessfully taught as mere collections of separate individuals. 
 
 The experiences described in this book are therefore noth- 
 ing more than cases. They are not ideals and do not call 
 for imitation. Every group for education and cooperation 
 will differ from every other, just as individuals differ and 
 the circumstances in which they find themselves. The point 
 of view or method of thinking is the essential factor which 
 makes for liberty, social cohesion, and thoroughness. These 
 same educational requirements can be realized in entirely 
 different forms. 
 
 As suggested above, the experiences described are quite 
 incomplete and fragmentary. Even so, they may be of 
 considerable service to the reader who cares to habituate 
 himself to the social point of view in education. A critical 
 sketch of three famous schools is begun in Chapter III. 
 This is followed by descriptions of school work, which are 
 not meant to represent perfection of either method or 
 attainment, but which, it is believed, succeed in showing 
 some features of the social spirit more completely than do 
 the three examples studied in Chapters III, IV, and V. The 
 two chapters on self-organized group work aim to show the 
 more general features of social organization in the school. 
 The concluding chapters of the book take up some special 
 themes of education and attempt to show to what extent their 
 best teaching depends upon a recognition of social facts. 
 
 The social education club, the Social Education Quarterly, 
 and the social education congresses held in Boston, have 
 [iv]
 
 PREFACE 
 
 already awakened considerable interest in the movement 
 they represent, a movement which it is safe to say is 
 destined to stimulate the deepest, the most progressive, and 
 the most characteristic elements in American education. 
 The state and the school can avoid the evils that threaten 
 them only by a more comprehensive and deeper social syn- 
 thesis organically united with a freer and more thorough- 
 going individual development. The aim of this book will 
 not be realized if it does not add something, however small, 
 to the solution- of this problem. 
 
 The pleasant duty remains to acknowledge the assist- 
 ance of many teachers and pupils who have, by their coop- 
 erative work and criticisms, made this book possible. It is 
 only because they are now so numerous that special recog- 
 nition becomes difficult and practically impossible. Of 
 President G. Stanley Hall, without whose epoch-making 
 work in child study the observations in this book would 
 have been difficult, if not impossible, I desire to express my 
 sincerest admiration. To Professor W. H. Burnham, Pro- 
 fessor George H. Locke, Principal Myron T. Pritchard, and 
 to my colleagues, Miss Dora Williams and Miss Katherine 
 Shute, who have read the manuscript, I am deeply indebted 
 for many valuable suggestions. To President Arthur T. 
 Hadley, whose criticism was most profound and far-reaching, 
 I am under a very special obligation. Through the courtesy 
 of the publishers of the Educational Review I have been 
 able to use for a part of Chapter VIII a portion of an article 
 
 which appeared in that magazine. 
 
 COLIN A. SCOTT 
 
 [v]
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGES 
 
 CHAPTER I. THE SOCIAL RELATIONSHIPS OF THE 
 SCHOOL 1-22 
 
 Man as a member of society. Society not formed by any one's 
 intention. Society establishes the school. The return effect of the 
 school upon society. Discipline in social education. The school 
 as a system of causes. Crowd psychology and evolution. Marginal 
 consciousness and the opinions of others. The uniformity of the 
 school. Why the school is imperfectly social. False independence. 
 The formation of groups. The conditions of the freedom of a 
 group. The role of force. Justice and liberty. The demand for 
 responsibility. The school should protect the best activities of 
 groups. 
 
 CHAPTER II. TESTS FOR THE SCHOOL 23-42 
 
 The need for social service of a voluntary character. Dictated 
 courses of study justified when they give rise to voluntary work. 
 Such justification is a test that should be applied to all courses of 
 study. Rough means of testing the schools from the standpoint of 
 social service. How private and professional schools are tested. 
 The lack of suitable tests for the public schools. Improper tests. 
 Testing by means of industrial work with which other subjects are 
 correlated. Criticism of correlation. The logical expansion of 
 interests. What is it to indulge one's interests ? The kindergarten 
 and primary grades. The significance of the circle and the group. 
 Leadership of groups. To what extent do high-school pupils carry 
 out the results of their work in school ? Value of testing for the 
 teaching profession. Teaching a social work. 
 
 CHAPTER III. THE SCHOOL AS AN ORGANISM 
 MONARCHY 43 _ 57 
 
 The social satisfaction of pupils themselves. The social motive of 
 honor. Honor yielded to those above us. Honor to those on the 
 [vii]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 same level and below us. The school at Abbotsholme. The con- PAGES 
 trast between this school and the ordinary boarding school. The 
 natural affections of boys in school. Dormitories. Cooperation in 
 the making of rules. The monarchical type of honor. Responsi- 
 bility to the ruler. The outdoor life of the school. The indoor 
 or class-room life. How does an ideal monarchy differ from a 
 democracy ? The power to create plans and direct others. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. THE SCHOOL AS AN ORGANISM 
 
 THE REPUBLIC . . . 58-77 
 
 The George Junior Republic. Success of the Republic. Its princi- 
 ples of organization. The role played by Mr. George. Comparison 
 between the Junior Republic and the state. The spontaneousness 
 of real government. Voting not a mere registration of opinion. 
 Voting is not for individuals but for society. The function of 
 coercion. Protection and sustenance of the socially desirable. 
 Excess of coercion is wasteful. Coercion ought not to be exer- 
 cised by children. The industrial and economic features of the 
 Junior Republic. Do the children realize the actual economic 
 basis of the Junior Republic? The little society does very little 
 experimenting. What are the motives which lead to the honoring 
 of the policeman ? The right of children to be protected from 
 economic strain. A school cannot be simply a reproduction of an 
 adult society. The real cooperative elements of the Junior Re- 
 public shown in the business ventures. The school city. The 
 self-direction of groups as distinguished from government. 
 
 CHAPTER V. THE SCHOOL AND SOCIETY 78-101 
 
 The Dewey school. Pragmatism. The school as a laboratory. 
 Four problems worked on in the Dewey school. Whole activities 
 rather than sections of work. The gap between theory and prac- 
 tice. The social defects of the ordinary school. Inadequate means 
 of correcting them in the Dewey school. The disadvantage of 
 harking back to social successes of the past. The mistake in losing 
 sight of the child's real motive and substituting for it an idea of the 
 teacher's. The will or the intention of the child is the vital fact. 
 Small children who set themselves to difficult and even formal tasks. 
 A course of study is a teacher's tool. Leadership is necessary as 
 well as cooperative obedience. Analysis of individuals versus
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 analysis of groups. A contrast between the biological organism PAGES 
 and society. The significance of group organization in school dis- 
 cipline. Punishment is disapproval of the group. Punishment 
 to prevent hindrances. The role of the teacher. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. SELF-ORGANIZED GROUP WORK . . 102-130 
 
 Relationship of self-organized work to the dictated work of the 
 school. How this work was introduced. A printing group. Three 
 cooking groups. Importance of planning beforehand what is to 
 be done. How some arithmetic was needed to overcome some 
 difficulties. Internal resistance within the group and how it was 
 overcome. A cooking group of boys alone. A photograph group. 
 The play of The Sleeping Beauty. Interest of the home. Attitude 
 of the teacher. The gradual extension of the time devoted to 
 self-organized work. Further cases. The relationship of the group 
 to the rest of the class. The use of reading and writing. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. SELF-ORGANIZED GROUP WORK 
 (continued) 131-169 
 
 The building of a house by a group which involved the rest of the 
 class. Care must be taken by the teacher not to displace the 
 leader of the group. " Drill " and real inquiry. The element of 
 risk in starting any plan. The value of criticisms and temptations 
 at the early stages of a piece of work. The case of the penholder. 
 A class in German. A class in American history. Group work in 
 Boston. Old Pipes and the Dryad. The Charlestown High 
 School. Group work in science. Marking and examinations. 
 Marking and social service. Marking and scholarship. Marking 
 as distributive justice. Cooperative marking. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. REASONING AND THE TEACHING 
 OF SCIENCE AND ARITHMETIC FROM A SOCIETARY 
 STANDPOINT 170-198 
 
 Some characteristics of inductive reasoning. The difference be- 
 tween reasoning and perception. The adaptation of means to end. 
 Hypotheses to be tested by the judgment of our peers. The ulti- 
 mate criterion of reasoning. The survival of society. Science 
 teaching. The deficiency of reasoning power in high-school 
 graduates. Should the teacher say what is right and wrong in 
 [ix]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 reasoning ? The value of hypotheses in learning. A lesson on PAGES 
 steam. The character of children's reasoning. The child's real 
 point of view. Planning on the child's part necessary. Apper- 
 ception related to reasoning. Nature study. Lesson on a bird's 
 nest. Lesson on ants. Independent reasoning and social motives 
 in reasoning. Work in arithmetic. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. READING, LANGUAGE, AND LITER- 
 ATURE 199-236 
 
 Ear-mindedness and eye-mindedness. Perverse application of the 
 laws of association. Service given and received the mainspring 
 of progress in reading. The origin of language. The develop- 
 ment of language in a child. The building up from percept to 
 concept. At both these stages a social environment presupposed. 
 The transition from spoken to written language. Immediate 
 satisfaction necessary to a child who reads. Case of reading 
 lesson in first grade. The value of expectation. Mere reading 
 only the passive half of a completely social process. The value 
 of the motor ride. Elocution. The necessity for a real audience. 
 A case of a high-school class in reading. The value of bodily ex- 
 pression in reading. The emotions in literature. Fear and love. 
 The effect of tragedies. Red Riding Hood. The necessity for 
 specializing in emotional expression. Story of Willie and the 
 circus. Teachers must leam to interpret children at first hand. 
 Children must learn to write and to read for each other. 
 
 CHAPTER X. MANUAL ARTS: INDUSTRIAL AND 
 CONSTRUCTIVE WORK 237-259 
 
 Manual arts fundamental to life. To what extent is the manual 
 worker forced to produce in obedience to the orders of others ? 
 Social organization a tool whose use should be taught. Man as 
 a producer and man as a consumer. The school must lead as well 
 as follow. Manual arts an excellent subject for the experimen- 
 tation of pupils. Children naturally organize for the sake of pro- 
 ducing. The physiological side. Without social power manual 
 drill is largely wasted. Children construct material objects for 
 the sake of understanding them. The test of action. Manual train- 
 ing begins as a kind of dramatizing. Constructive work must 
 be recovered for the soul. Material construction a part of the
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 construction of life. The disadvantage of a strictly prescribed PAGES 
 course of study. The invention of " uses " by teachers for what 
 children make. Consumption naturally guides production. Vaca- 
 tional schools. An ethics founded on work. The effect of good 
 school work on adult life. The problem of classes in America and 
 private schools. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. FINE ART 260-280 
 
 The control of work in drawing should be in the hands of 
 teachers not of artists. The correlation of drawing. The effect 
 of child study. The effect of the development of art. The fault 
 of separating expression from its social conditions. Young chil- 
 dren's drawings are dramatizations. The parable of the attic. Art 
 of the present day not accessory, but must deliver its own message. 
 The problem of art expression in the middle and upper grades. 
 The child should be protected from the adult environment. Pro- 
 tection does not mean isolation. The thought or feeling which is 
 expressed. The emotion of fear and the value of the grotesque. 
 Cases of drawings representing objects feared. Art in the higher 
 grades and the high school in its higher and more restricted 
 sense. Inability of young children to appreciate higher develop- 
 ment of art. Economic value of art. The art museum. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. THE EDUCATION OF THE CON- 
 SCIENCE 281-298 
 
 The feeling of being a moral cause. Imperatives and verification. 
 The selection of duties. The young child's development. The 
 social ground and aim of conscience. The imaged assembly of 
 persons. Conscience and honor. Egoism. Envy. Fault-finding. 
 Service. Originality and invention. Case drawn from the school. 
 The need for experimentation. The value of discussion. Busi- 
 ness. The church, the home, and the school. Cooperative pro- 
 duction the flower and the fruit of the moral life. 
 
 INDEX 209-300 
 
 [Xi]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE SOCIAL RELATIONSHIPS OF THE SCHOOL 
 
 Education is a work which is not confined to the 
 schools. It is an undertaking which any individual may 
 engage in to a greater or less extent. Each one has at 
 least himself to educate, and the most of people are inter- 
 ested in trying to effect some beneficial changes in the 
 minds of others. The schools are not the only definite 
 social organization which pretends to educational aims. 
 The church, the state, the club, the meeting, business 
 concerns, and even gatherings for amusement are often 
 consciously educative. Any effort which is designed to 
 conserve values and develop personality makes a contri- 
 bution to education. 
 
 The school as a special organ for education must fit into 
 the rest of society, must supplement it where necessary, 
 and learn from it on every side. It must prepare the chil- 
 dren to live the best possible lives both for themselves and 
 others in the world which they are to enter. In order to 
 do this the school must be adapted not only to the present 
 state of society, but it must select the influences received 
 and perpetuate those which are best. It must carefully 
 avoid fitting children for a past or lower order of things.
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 It must indeed do more than this, because society itself is 
 constantly changing. Not only the industrial and business 
 world, but the whole life of to-day is quite different from 
 what it was thirty or even ten years ago. To be really 
 effective the school is forced to idealize the present activi- 
 ties of society, and prepare the young for a future world 
 which exists only in the minds and hearts of the com- 
 munity. The school at its best is a prophecy, as every 
 embryo is a prophecy of a better and nobler life. 
 
 To be a true prophecy the school must be itself alive 
 and growing. The ideals of the adult community for the 
 school remain sterile if they are not welcomed and do not 
 enter into the lifeblood not only of the teachers but also 
 of the pupils themselves. More than this, the school itself 
 must make and realize something at least of its own proph- 
 ecy. In doing so it must necessarily draw support and 
 nourishment from the adult world, and adapt itself to it, 
 but must at the same time be permitted an independence 
 of life and movement which will win the admiration and 
 approval of those who maintain its existence often at a 
 sacrifice to themselves. Individual parents frequently real- 
 ize this attitude with their several children. The adult 
 community should be able to do as much for the new 
 community which they are sending onward to the unfought 
 battles and the untried tasks of to-morrow. 
 
 If there is any measure of truth in the view of the 
 school as an indispensable organ of society, it is quite 
 plain that some preliminary insight into the nature of this 
 society, and some idea of the essential laws of its growth 
 and progress, is absolutely necessary to any one who would 
 wisely help in its evolution. From the mental mechanism
 
 THE SOCIAL RELATIONSHIPS OF THE SCHOOL 
 
 studied by individual psychology enough cannot be deduced. 
 Education can never be a mere matter of applied psychol- 
 ogy, if this term be used in the strictest sense. Social 
 relationships must be studied in themselves, and not con- 
 fined to the nevertheless necessary individual mechanism 
 of mind or brain. It is indeed a question, as Tarde claims, 
 whether even the power to think is not itself a creature of 
 communication, language, and social intercourse. 
 
 However this may be, all the important needs and 
 aspirations of man are revealed to him in his association 
 with others. Without his fellow, as Aristotle said, man 
 would be either a god or a brute. Except from a purely 
 physical standpoint, and as representing the unity of cell 
 life, man as an individual is an abstraction. His thoughts 
 and ideas, his ambitions, his hopes and fears, his knowl- 
 edge and morality, drive him constantly beyond the phys- 
 ical organism. His real self, as every one recognizes, is 
 not merely this physical organism, but includes something 
 spiritual and extra-physiological. What this may be in all 
 its aspects is not our present function to determine, but 
 part, at least, of this reality is social and consists of his 
 relationships to others. The consciousness of what worth 
 a man is to others represents and measures a large part of 
 his true self. Indeed, if we could discover any aspect or 
 portion of ourselves which never came into contact with, 
 and formed no part of, any other being, whether God or 
 man, is there any of us could claim it as his own ? Our 
 secret thoughts are no exception : we long to utter them 
 to some one. When we know them, they have already 
 clothed themselves in language of some form, unuttered 
 or expressed. This language is born from our contact 
 [3]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 with human beings, and is made for the purpose of com- 
 munication. 
 
 Man, as we know him, is already social. The existence 
 of society, or membership in society, does not depend upon 
 the will of any individual or any number of individuals. 
 Society was not formed by any one's intention. Associa- 
 tion itself is the primary fact and dominates and modifies 
 the character of each constituent. Like the copper in 
 bronze or brass, the individual plays his part in the com- 
 bination. The result may be brass or bronze, depending 
 on the ingredients, although in this case, since it is never 
 separable, we cannot know or rightly imagine what the 
 copper would be by itself. 
 
 The truth of this is easily seen if we observe our own 
 feelings and actions in the various groups to which we 
 belong. In the family we are one thing, with a group 
 of friends another, in business relationships still another. 
 Even when we are alone we are nevertheless in society. 
 Our thoughts are still busy with others. If we think of 
 ourselves, it is ourselves in relation to some social group 
 or situation, either imagined or real. Sometimes, indeed, 
 we are never more alone than when in the physical pres- 
 ence of others, and never more in society than when alone. 
 
 Society develops by the action of social individuals upon 
 one another, but the effects of this action are, at first, 
 largely unexpected and unforeseen by any individual. An 
 illustration may help to make this plain. The first trail or 
 pathway was worn through the woods, not because any 
 one thought that a pathway would be a good thing. The 
 pathway was the unlooked-for result of the frequent repe- 
 tition of the same action perhaps for different personal 
 [4]
 
 THE SOCIAL RELATIONSHIPS OF THE SCHOOL 
 
 motives. After the pathway has once appeared it becomes 
 a fact which is not dependent on any one's private volition. 
 It may grow into a well-marked roadway or into a crooked 
 city street. It has its own nature to which individuals 
 who travel on it must conform. It is not simply an effect. 
 It acts as a cause and produces effects in those individ- 
 uals who are forced to adapt themselves to it. Individuals 
 can use it or modify it only by submitting to its laws. 
 
 The application of the illustration is not difficult, since 
 society may conveniently be regarded as a complex of path- 
 ways which are worn into the minds and brains of human 
 beings by their mutual interaction. In one form or another 
 these pathways are always there. They are not made pri- 
 marily by the individual owner of the brain for the accom- 
 modation of the public. They are not made primarily by 
 the public for their own accommodation. They are as 
 much objective facts, with a nature of their own to 
 which all who use them must conform, as is the pathway 
 in the woods ; so long as people are in contact, which is 
 always, either by word or pen, in imagination or reality, 
 in pleasure or business, these pathways are being used, 
 whether we will or not. 
 
 Without doubt the individual whose brain paths are 
 being used socially is conscious of the fact. But he cannot 
 prevent it. It may give him pain ; the result may seem 
 useless to him ; but his private wishes and private feelings 
 are necessarily borne down by the coercive force of society, 
 as it exists in the structure of his own mind and the action 
 upon it of the minds of others. 
 
 Of this coercive action of society there is no better 
 example than the establishment of the school. This is not 
 [5]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 an institution which proceeded from individual intention 
 on the part of its members. Children did not invent the 
 school. They may yield to it with a good grace, they may 
 even wish to go ; but the school exists and is maintained 
 independently of their attitude on the question. The 
 school is primarily an effect of social action on the part of 
 the community. The original cause of the school exists in 
 the thoughts of the adult community. It has become intol- 
 erable to society at large to see a child grow up without 
 what are called the rudiments of education. That every 
 child who is capable of it shall learn to read, to write, and 
 to obey is felt to be necessary if he is to be a serviceable 
 member of society. It is not primarily for his own individ- 
 ual good that he is taken from his free and wandering life 
 of play. It is for what society can get out of him, whether 
 of a material or a spiritual kind, that he is sent to school. 
 
 In so far as the school responds effectively to the social 
 causes which maintain it, it acts as a cause itself, and pro- 
 duces return effects upon society at large. This is plainly 
 seen in the social effect of the present widespread ability to 
 read and write. As every one knows, without this power 
 modern business and industry would soon be at a stand- 
 still. Our post office, our newspapers, our telegraph and 
 cable systems, our railways, function as they do because 
 of this general public capacity developed by the schools. 
 If for no other reason than to maintain itself at its present 
 status, society would be justified in compelling every one 
 capable of it to learn this much. It is, however, to be 
 noticed that when children in any considerable numbers 
 were first sent to school and taught to read, the social 
 results which we have indicated were not thought of. No 
 [6]
 
 THE SOCIAL RELATIONSHIPS OF THE SCHOOL 
 
 one pictured our modern newspapers and our system of 
 advertising, or imagined the spread of our postal service. 
 These are the material expressions of objective social facts, 
 which are largely the unexpected result of the action of 
 the school. This, however, is simply an instance of all 
 social development. The effect always turns out to be a 
 cause itself, which, reacting upon the original cause, ree'n- 
 forces and partly changes it. 
 
 Still more fundamental and necessary than the wide- 
 spread capacity to read and write is the need of social 
 obedience. w It is difficult," says J. S. Mill (1), "to make a 
 free and warlike people submit itself to the yoke of civil 
 government." But where this has been possible, it may be 
 observed, says he, that there have been three conditions 
 fulfilled, an active principle of cohesion or sympathy 
 among the members of the state, a feeling of allegiance 
 or loyalty, and, most important, "a system of education, 
 beginning with infancy and continued through life, of 
 which, whatever else it might include, one main and in- 
 cessant ingredient was restraining discipline. . . . The 
 entire civil and military policy of the ancient common- 
 wealths was such a system of training ; in modern nations 
 its place has been attempted to be supplied, principally, 
 by religious teaching." 
 
 Where, as in America, religious teaching is no longer 
 associated with the state, it becomes all the more neces- 
 sary that training in discipline should be directly organized 
 by means of schools. If free and warlike people are to be 
 properly tamed, they must be caught while young. And 
 if religion is no longer to be taught, something else must 
 be found to give opportunities for the exercise of submission. 
 [7]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 Enough has been said, perhaps, to indicate the serious- 
 ness of the problem of discipline in social education. It 
 hardly needs to be dwelt on. The typical schoolmaster is 
 an embodiment of its most obvious and perhaps most 
 superficial demands. He transmits the pressure of the 
 causal forces of society behind him. And having done this 
 much, he often thinks he has done all. But a cause, how- 
 ever great and overwhelming, does nothing without its 
 immediate effect. A hammer falls. If it falls upon a nail, 
 it drives it in. If it falls upon an anvil, it makes a noise. 
 If it falls upon a stick of dynamite, it makes a still greater 
 stir. To confine ourselves to the falling of the hammer, 
 and to neglect its effects, would be dangerous as well as 
 unscientific. The study of the effect and its peculiarities 
 is not to be ignored. 
 
 Society establishes the school by the compulsive force 
 of its demands, and it requires of the school that this com- 
 pulsive force be maintained and reenforced. But the char- 
 acteristic effects of the action within the school itself are 
 not primarily considered in these demands, and are not 
 known to society as a whole. The operation of events 
 within the school is left largely to the schoolmaster. 
 Society as a whole is only concerned when these effects 
 begin to react as a cause. While society may profitably 
 enough ask the question, To what extent does the dis- 
 cipline of the school produce disciplined, loyal, and cohesive 
 members of society ? it is plain that the working prob- 
 lems which this question raises are problems of the school 
 and not of the demands of society. They are the business 
 of education which begins its characteristic work just 
 where the compulsory demands of society leave off. 
 [8]
 
 THE SOCIAL RELATIONSHIPS OF THE SCHOOL 
 
 Not that these educational effects would ever occur 
 but for their controlling causes, but only that when these 
 causes have once passed into the region of the school they 
 must necessarily become modified and transformed. Indeed 
 what we, as citizens of an adult community, feel about these 
 questions is not directly relevant. Such feelings belong to 
 the outside of the school and are but a part of the causes 
 which originate and maintain it. What we feel simply as 
 parents is no more relevant. Children in school, or in associa- 
 tion with other children from other families, find themselves 
 in different relationships and act and feel differently from 
 what they do at home. A given act, a word or look, has a 
 different effect upon them from what it has at home. The 
 school is something more than a mere extension of the state 
 or the home. It is a social combination, with social feelings, 
 sentiments, and needs of its own. By constituting it at all, 
 society has constituted it a social organism, certain to pro- 
 duce definite social changes in the brains of its members. 
 
 It is perhaps sufficiently evident from these considera- 
 tions that the schoolmaster should be not merely a mem- 
 ber of adult society, capable of transmitting its pressure to 
 the school, but at the same time a specialist in education. 
 He should know intimately the widest range of effects that 
 can be produced in the school. He should realize that 
 these are not effects which he is producing, except as a 
 necessary medium and contributing cause. He should real- 
 ize that the effects are written in the minds and characters, 
 the actual feelings and spontaneous social actions, of the 
 children themselves. 
 
 Nor does he need to wait till the children grow up to 
 study these effects. Not only what they do in school, but 
 [9]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 what they do when they leave the schoolroom and are free 
 to organize themselves, will tell the tale. Do they talk of 
 school affairs, and in what way ? Do they loaf in parlors 
 or on street corners, and find destructive mischief or idle- 
 ness more fascinating than anything they have gained in 
 school ? If social pathways are being worn into their 
 brains, are these pathways such as the children care to 
 use themselves when they come in contact with their fel- 
 lows ; or do the pathways which are actually used have 
 another origin, and are they of another character than 
 those which the fond ideals of the schoolmaster picture or 
 ' the interests of society require ? 
 
 The nature of any combination or association of human 
 beings is, of course, expressed by what the various indi- 
 viduals do and think. The social pathways we have spoken 
 of are in reality alive, and consist of thoughts, feelings, and 
 actions. Sometimes it is practically the same thought that 
 exists in all. A mere crowd may become possessed of a 
 single idea, and may be led to do things in a moment of 
 impulse, which most of its members would afterwards 
 scorn or believe impossible to accomplish. When a given 
 stimulus brings into the focus of consciousness of each 
 individual just the same experience, and when that experi- 
 ence is known to be shared, we have social action of the 
 same unvarying kind, whether we are dealing with a crowd 
 or with a succession of individuals. There is, of course, a 
 tendency for such individuals to get together, to select the 
 stimuli which make them feel alike, and thus to act as 
 a crowd. 
 
 This, however, is not the highest or most characteristic 
 form of social action. The focus of consciousness is, after 
 [10]
 
 THE SOCIAL RELATIONSHIPS OF THE SCHOOL 
 
 all, not the whole of it. Although it is intense, it is con- 
 tinually passing from one idea or impulse to another. 
 Better organization means that, even while we are feeling 
 the impulse that is in the focus, we have some conscious- 
 ness of what is in the margin. To make this marginal 
 consciousness felt, we need the stimulus of other people 
 who have a different point of view, and who may have in 
 their different foci of consciousness aspects of the situation 
 which are not in ours at the time, but which we recognize 
 as capable of being so. People related in this way, as a 
 group, correspond more perfectly to the large and varied 
 relations of the universe in which we live than if they all 
 thought alike. 
 
 Interestingly enough, the whole movement of civilization 
 has been a gradual change from the predominance of the 
 first type of organization to the second. The clan, the 
 tribe, the early forms of religion, insisted first of all upon 
 uniformity, and were unable to tolerate much difference of 
 character and opinion. As population increased, however, 
 differentiation necessarily followed ; while the division of 
 labor and other functions which this permitted reacted 
 favorably upon the maintenance and further increase of 
 population. Modern states and nations are characterized 
 by the extraordinary variety of individual character and 
 capacity, which they are able not only to tolerate, but to 
 turn to good advantage in maintaining their cohesion and 
 stimulating their growth. 
 
 This is evidently a most important fact for the schools 
 if they are to prepare the young for the present highly dif- 
 ferentiated state of society. That kind of education which 
 goes no further than to make every pupil as like his neighbor
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 as possible would not seem to be best fitted to advance the 
 progress of the race. 
 
 It is, however, quite natural that the school should begin 
 on this level. Until very recently there was no such thing 
 as public education. The schools of early times ministered 
 to a special class of the community, at least in the sense 
 that those who passed through them formed a special class. 
 The whole differentiated range of social capacity was not 
 represented in these schools. They existed practically for 
 the sake of the learned professions and the leisure class. 
 In such circumstances a considerable degree of uniformity, 
 since it affected but a small minority of the population, had 
 no very serious drawbacks. The rest of the people were 
 educated in other ways, in the family, and through the 
 trade or occupation to which they belonged. 
 
 When schools were made a necessity for all, it was also 
 quite natural that the same kind of education, more or less 
 suited to a small part of the community, should be opened 
 to all alike, regardless of the fact that by so doing the 
 uniformity latent in the class school would be magnified to 
 national proportions, and thus become quite ineffective in 
 training different individuals for their various tasks in life. 
 The unfortunate result has been that the masses of the 
 people have had thrust upon them second-hand schools 
 which were never made to their measure or adapted to 
 meet their needs. 
 
 Some consciousness of the deadly uniformity of school 
 training, and its inadequacy to meet the variety of modern 
 conditions, is shown in the increasing public demand for 
 individuality and independence. At first sight the demand 
 for obedience and the demand for individuality run counter 
 
 [12]
 
 THE SOCIAL RELATIONSHIPS OF THE SCHOOL 
 
 to each other. To the teacher who does not study closely 
 the operation of these contrasting demands in their effects 
 on the social organism of the school itself, they are certain 
 to seem antagonistic. But since the demand for discipline 
 is more ancient, as well as more obvious, while that for 
 independence is of more recent growth and harder to 
 understand, the average teacher does little more than 
 introduce a few variations of his authority, which are 
 supposed to make for independence. 
 
 Owing to the pressure of outside social sentiment, inde- 
 pendent thinking is usually held up as a great virtue in 
 education, and if such a thing could come by adjuration or 
 command, we should have no lack of it in the school. But 
 what is the actual practice ? Work is given out or prob- 
 lems enunciated, and the teacher insists that everything 
 be done independently. To accomplish this, separate desks 
 are used, and if the work is to be done at home, threats, 
 commands, or special honor codes invented by the teacher, 
 but not accepted naturally by the school, are employed to 
 prevent pupils from communicating. When the exercises 
 come in, the results of this "independent thinking" are 
 strangely uniform. This is, of course, the real aim of the 
 procedure, which originated wholly with the teacher. 
 
 In the recitation itself the situation is usually the same. 
 Here the pupils frequently raise their hands in order to 
 answer questions, or, rarely, to ask them. But what they 
 say depends upon what the teacher has determined that 
 they shall say, and their minds are mainly occupied in 
 thinking what this may be. Even when the recitation is 
 not a recital of a previously learned lesson, but of the 
 nature of a discussion (so-called), the teacher naturally 
 [13]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 " conducts " it, rules out stray remarks, and nods his 
 approval of those answers which he has been "looking for." 
 It is evident that the teacher is practically the cause of all 
 that is happening. No pupil is conscious, except indirectly 
 or surreptitiously, of causing effects in the minds of his 
 classmates. He is not using the social pathways of his 
 fellows, nor are his social powers being used by them. 
 Even when he is "allowed some rope," he is conscious that 
 the rope is always there. However necessary and right 
 such a condition of affairs may be, we need not be under 
 the illusion that it is cultivating independence. 
 
 But we are frequently told that in America, at least, we 
 are coming to have too much independence, that liberty 
 has become license, and individuality mere selfish individ- 
 ualism. This is, again, a demand on the part of society 
 which we should do well to heed. Yet we are forced to 
 ask how it is possible that the school, which is so filled 
 with compulsory demands that even its attempts at inde- 
 pendence turn out illusory, can ever be held accountable 
 for the smallest share in this increase of individualism ? 
 
 The answer to this is plain. If the school fails to 
 develop a true individuality, a false independence will be 
 likely to take its place. If pupils are brought up in exter- 
 nal compulsion, the responsibilities of freedom will be 
 unfamiliar to them. If they have no practice in making 
 and using social pathways in the brains of their fellow 
 pupils, adapted to the work of scholarship, culture, and 
 worthy production of whatever kind, when they leave the 
 school and are free from its coercion they naturally seek 
 those pathways which they know and which they have 
 been instrumental in creating. When a pupil leaves the 
 [14]
 
 THE SOCIAL RELATIONSHIPS OF THE SCHOOL 
 
 school we do not find him seeking social groups which 
 organize themselves as the school is usually organized. 
 We do not find people in offices and parlors getting up 
 and asking questions to which every one knows the answer, 
 or is expected to feel disgraced if he does not. The indi- 
 vidual who should become seriously enamored of the ordi- 
 nary school practice would find little room for himself in the 
 world of real life. The particular things that are done in 
 school do not cultiyate even a working majority of the 
 habits of action which are used in the world at large. 
 This is not because the habits of action of the school are 
 superior to those of the world, but simply because they are 
 narrower, and better suited as a preparation to the life of 
 a primitive clan than to that of a highly differentiated 
 society. They are the result of the pressure of the causal 
 forces of society, passed on by the teacher without consid- 
 eration of the actual effects which are being created in the 
 social organism of the school itself. 
 
 In real life, on the contrary, society at its best organizes 
 itself in groups in which each individual in the various 
 groups to which he may belong, finds himself in contact 
 with others whose weaknesses he supplements or whose 
 greater powers he depends upon. The idea of such a group 
 as a whole is not necessarily contained in the brain of any 
 single member, and as the idea develops by social interpen- 
 etration, it becomes, in all its many-sidedness, too large for 
 any member to contain. The function that each plays is a 
 different one, and the thought of each concerning the group 
 is likewise different. And yet such groups tend to stick 
 together. They exercise some form of moral constraint or 
 attraction upon their constituents, who yield them an 
 [15]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 obedience sufficient to maintain their cohesion for years, 
 and sometimes for generations. If the school is to prepare 
 for society as it is, it would be natural to expect that some 
 such form of social activity, however embryonic, should be 
 found as a necessary feature of its life. 
 
 This, however, is a feature of organization that cannot 
 come from the direct impact of outside pressure. Neither 
 society as a whole, nor its personification in the teacher, 
 can say : Go to ; let there be groups. Xet us put so many 
 in one group and so many in another. Let us select indi- 
 viduals according to their capacities, and give them work 
 that will be suited to their needs. No, a real social group 
 cannot be reduced to a mere instrument of the teacher, a 
 means or a method for accomplishing certain preconceived 
 purposes. It is necessarily too many-sided for that. Nor 
 can the constraint required and the obedience developed 
 originate from the outside of the group. It must be a part 
 of its own specific constitution and necessary to its main- 
 tenance. The group must be capable of going to pieces, a 
 thing it cannot do if it is to depend on the authoritative 
 backing or the constraint of the teacher. Indeed, it is 
 only when it can go to pieces that there is any reality in 
 the effort to hold it together. It is only then that there is 
 any true loyalty developed. It is only then that its mem- 
 bers feel the characteristic group restraint, and submit 
 their private wills for the good of the whole. True respon- 
 sibility, and even obedience of the highest type, is felt only 
 when the group as a whole is free. 
 
 Such conditions of responsibility and group freedom 
 must obtain wherever individuals are members of any 
 group, whether in society or the school. But in so far as 
 [16]
 
 THE SOCIAL RELATIONSHIPS OF THE SCHOOL 
 
 they are also members of the state, they owe a still greater 
 loyalty and obedience to the sovereign group or institution 
 which makes all the others possible. They should do 
 nothing, as members of a group, which is foreign to the 
 real purpose of the state, and the state must necessarily 
 be able to check by force any attempt which would militate 
 against it. The state must be held together, whether sub- 
 ordinate groups are so or not. 
 
 It is plain, however, that in present modern society this 
 does not turn subordinate groups into mere agencies of the 
 state. Such a kind of socialism is nowhere as yet a real- 
 ized fact. At present, on the contrary, self-organized 
 groups for business, for pleasure, for culture of various 
 kinds, still maintain their freedom within the state. They 
 are protected by it whenever force is necessary, and are 
 sometimes aided and encouraged. The state, in fact, as 
 sovereign and compulsory force of society, exists largely 
 for this purpose. Indeed the assumption back of any state 
 is always that social forces are already at work, and go on 
 continuously without compulsory force or legal coercion. 
 As every one knows, when widespread social sentiment is 
 not behind the restrictions or commands of the state, 
 action on its part soon becomes impossible. 
 
 The modern state is thus nothing more than a kind of 
 forcible reminder of what is latent in other and smaller 
 groups. In such circumstances, however, the focus of 
 social consciousness tends to appear within the subordinate 
 groups. The vital activities of society are carried out by 
 them. The experiments which are necessary, and the risks 
 which these entail, are naturally undertaken by such 
 smaller groups which, it is obvious, can better afford to 
 [17]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 go to pieces. Meanwhile the larger needs, representing 
 the total action of all the citizens, and often remaining in 
 the margin of the social consciousness of the smaller 
 groups, are always embodied in the state. As the reader 
 sees, this makes of the state not so much an initiator as 
 an active balancer of social forces already in existence, a 
 conception quite different from that of laissez faire. 
 
 We have already pointed out the fact that compulsory 
 social action is demanded in the establishment of the 
 school. As an organized whole, society gives the children 
 a compulsory reminder of what is really latent in them. 
 It insists that they shall grow up neither ignorant nor 
 rebellious. Such educated loyalty, however, is just the 
 thing which, when they do grow up, they realize as most 
 harmonious with their plans. If it were not so, there 
 would be no justice in the demand. Force is used, but as 
 soon as it is used the attempt must be made to show that 
 it is justified, that it has led to a larger liberty than was 
 formerly enjoyed. This attempt, indeed, sums up the 
 whole of education. We may stop a crowd by force from 
 traveling on a dangerous highway, but, having done so, we 
 must justify the action by showing them or educating 
 them to see that it is dangerous. By such a procedure it 
 is felt that force has been in reality but a reminder of their 
 own larger plans and true interests, something which 
 has brought into the focus of consciousness that which 
 was already in the margin (2). 
 
 But in the matter of the education of the young, when 
 
 are they capable of appreciating this larger liberty ? Must 
 
 they wait until their majority, and have it burst upon them 
 
 like an electric flash ? Or are they able to realize some 
 
 [18]
 
 THE SOCIAL RELATIONSHIPS OF THE SCHOOL 
 
 of it from the very beginning ? If this is possible, it is 
 plain that we cannot accept a mere theoretic acquiescence 
 a lip service superficially copied from others, and not 
 capable of controlling action as a self-sustaining motive. 
 Liberty can only be realized by conduct, and its expres- 
 sion is always self-direction, self-organization, and self- 
 control. As an outcome of this, it will mean for each, if 
 it means anything, the carrying out of plans which run 
 beyond the individual, and which will affect other indi- 
 viduals in a similar state of mind, and with whom he can 
 unite in a social group. It is only in such conditions that 
 the individual can be free. There is no liberty in merely 
 being quiet, in doing nothing that may involve, challenge, 
 or interest others. Individual self-control must have a 
 social motive. It cannot be merely negative. 
 
 The negative view of liberty and independence is, how- 
 ever, just the one which teachers are too prone to take. 
 In this attitude they are at one with a considerable portion 
 of the thinking public. Ever since the revolutions of a 
 century ago there has been a marked tendency to regard 
 the rights of the individual as separate rights, and to 
 claim that an individual may do what he pleases so long 
 as he does not interfere with others. The demand is an 
 impossible one, and even if a person could withdraw from 
 every contact that might disturb another, his very isola- 
 tion would be in itself an offense to society as a whole. 
 The real meaning of the demand in practical affairs is 
 social, that is, it is always a question of the kind of 
 interference ; and this is measured by the interests of the 
 social group to which the individual belongs. It is the 
 judgment of the social mind, not of one individual or of a 
 [19]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 number of individuals as such, which determines whether 
 any given action is an interference or not. There is no 
 "good" action which does not interfere with the imme- 
 diate focalized plans of some one, and often with those 
 of a considerable number, if progress be rapid. 
 
 There are, of course, few teachers who do not try to 
 make the individual pupil feel responsibility. But they 
 work with him as an individual. At least, this is what 
 they think they do. Yet an individual can no more feel 
 responsibility without some social motive than a fish can 
 breathe without water. In a school run on separatist 
 principles the children are like fish out of their natural 
 environment. Morally and socially they lie panting on the 
 bank. But the teacher who works with them at least 
 brings them one point of social contact, namely, himself. 
 Like water in a sponge applied to the gills of fish, this con- 
 tact doubtless succeeds in preventing complete dissolution. 
 
 Not that the teacher's contact is ever to be ignored. 
 Sometimes, indeed, instead of a sponge a teacher is an 
 open hydrant, pouring forth wastefully what ought to be 
 stimulating and life-giving contact with society, both of 
 the present and of the past. The fact remains, however, 
 that usually the contact is unnecessarily narrow. Ask the 
 average teacher who inculcates responsibility, "To whom 
 do you make the children responsible ? " The most spon- 
 taneous and general answer is, "Why, of course, to me." 
 Sometimes, however, reflection dictates the answer, "To 
 themselves," not meaning by this anything social, but 
 "each to himself" to his own conscience as an indi- 
 vidual. There is a truth in this latter answer, but only 
 when its meaning is social. Practically, responsibility to 
 
 [20]
 
 THE SOCIAL RELATIONSHIPS OF THE SCHOOL 
 
 self tends to break down in the schoolroom ; and the real 
 source of the feeling of responsibility on the part of the 
 pupil is to be found in his personal relation to the teacher, 
 the demands and wishes of his parents, or, in some rare 
 cases, the future, hoped-for career, with its contacts with 
 the wide social life of maturity, which some children are 
 capable of feeling at a fairly early age. 
 
 Meanwhile, in all these cases there is caused a serious 
 neglect of the immediate brotherhood of his companions, 
 necessary for all mutual upbuilding in the essentially social 
 and spontaneous work of education. The here and now of 
 real help and service is sacrificed to a beyond, which, even 
 when it becomes an active force, does so with less strength 
 and vitality than it might naturally possess. If children 
 are to be trained socially, they must feel the full effects of 
 social causes, not merely of society at large, but espe- 
 cially those of the embryonic society of child life to which 
 they belong. They must study these effects practically, 
 and must see to what extent, as social beings, they are 
 real causes themselves. It is on a basis of experience of 
 this kind that they can best interpret the larger and more 
 complex life of adult society and the state. 
 
 If liberty and obedience, characteristic of smaller groups 
 and of a vital and focalized social character, are a possible 
 combination for the young, there is no reason why it should 
 be left out of the school, although this institution, even 
 when of a private character, primarily represents the state. 
 Social groups of adults in society at large are always in 
 contact with the state, but in such a way as not to prevent 
 their real freedom. In the school the teacher represents 
 the state as well as society at large. If children's groups 
 
 [21]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 are left, without definite recognition by the school, to be 
 formed on the street or playground, they are left without 
 proper protection and hindered in their normal growth. 
 As a consequence they tend to relapse into organizations 
 for mere play. And even play is not sufficiently protected. 
 It is cut short on every side. Fifteen minutes here and 
 half an hour there is not continuous enough for the carry- 
 ing out of the best plans of which even play groups are 
 capable. Lack of facilities, especially in cities, hampers 
 their best development. The haphazard contact with the 
 state through the policeman, or other members of adult 
 society, tends to make such activities as may be under- 
 taken haphazard themselves, and deficient in true social 
 significance. That contact with the state, which the state 
 has itself devised as being suitable for children, namely, 
 the contact with an intelligent, learned, socially minded, 
 and sympathetic teacher, would appear to be the only con- 
 dition in which such groups could find the aid and the pro- 
 tection which they need. It is only under this condition 
 that we may expect them to go further than play and to 
 undertake real and serious work. 
 
 REFERENCES 
 
 1. J. S. Mill, System of Logic, Vol. II, pp. 519 ff. 
 
 2. Compare with Bosanquet's view of society in The Philosophical 
 Theory of the State. 
 
 [22]
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 TESTS FOR THE SCHOOL 
 
 If the school is to be judged by its success in giving 
 satisfaction to present society, and in providing for the 
 development of future citizens, it is necessary that there 
 should be some measurement of its efforts in these direc- 
 tions. Indications of this need are already seen on every 
 hand, but much remains to be done to render the tests 
 proposed suitable, as well as scientific and exact. 
 
 The demand, for example, is reasonably enough made 
 that pupils, when they leave the school, should be able to 
 use the best advantages of the life of the community. 
 They should have a taste for reading, and know their way 
 about in a library. They should appreciate art, and have 
 an intelligent interest in exhibitions and museums. They 
 should understand music, and cooperate in extending its 
 wholesome influence. The charitable, social, and ethical 
 activities of the church should be better grasped by them 
 because of their school experience. The newspaper should 
 be read more discriminatingly, and business life be guided 
 by habits previously acquired. No doubt with some pupils, 
 many of these results are obtained under the guidance of 
 a good teacher. But for the most part, the school as an 
 institution has not provided the special arrangements which 
 could secure the best results in these directions. It is felt 
 that there is a gap between the school and life. No doubt 
 [23]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 the pupils are often told that this higher effectiveness in 
 life is what they should look forward to. But there is lack 
 of opportunity in the school for the immediate practice of 
 this excellent precept. When the pupil leaves the school 
 his reading is no longer done at the dictation of an author- 
 ity who sees to it that a certain amount of work is covered. 
 No one insists that he go to an art gallery and give a 
 report of what he sees. His higher ethical life in the com- 
 munity will largely depend upon his own initiative and 
 upon the companions with whom he voluntarily chooses to 
 associate. His business life will be compelled only on its 
 lower lines. His own ambitions, his own honor, his own 
 power to plan in a social and nonselfish way, will yield the 
 best of what he is worth to the world, and even to himself. 
 The school arranges dictated courses of study, whether 
 elective or not, and proceeds to carry them out in the hope 
 of preparing the pupils for life. Its greatest failure is its 
 failure to test its product. The product of the work of the 
 school is evidently not a given amount of knowledge, or 
 skill, or mere mental power. It is not even character, 
 interpreted in the usual Puritan sense. It can be nothing 
 less than a capacity for effective social service, including 
 here as an essential the completest possible development 
 of personality. When a nurseryman cultivates seedlings 
 for the market, it is not sufficient that he plows and har- 
 rows, and plants his seeds. He must do more than cast 
 his bread upon the waters, hoping in some vague way that 
 it will return to him after many days. On the contrary, 
 he tests his product at every step. Before he sends his 
 growing trees to distant orchards, he must see that they 
 are already doing the very things that they should continue 
 [24]
 
 TESTS FOR THE SCHOOL 
 
 to do when transplanted. Upon this basis alone is he secure 
 in the faith that when the time comes they may do more. 
 
 If the capacity for effective social service of a self- 
 organized and voluntary character is the highest aim of 
 the school, and one that includes and controls all the 
 others, distinct opportunity for such work ought to be pro- 
 vided in the school itself. When this is done such work 
 will measure the rest of the work that is undertaken. It 
 will be known to what extent the pupils have actually 
 gained by their dictated courses of study if they apply the 
 results of these to social needs, or if, in attempting to carry 
 out their own social projects, they revert voluntarily to the 
 classic themes of education. If pupils spontaneously organ- 
 ize themselves for the purpose of studying certain aspects 
 of nature, to that extent the dictated nature study is jus- 
 tified. If they carry out, by their own efforts and the help 
 which they solicit from others, an historical inquiry in 
 which they become interested, or an arithmetical calcula- 
 tion based on their own wonder or others' needs, or write 
 and act a drama representing their own ideals of life, the 
 way in which they do these things, and the ideas which 
 govern them, will show whether they have been fructified 
 by the dictated courses of study or left untouched by them. 
 When one lights a fire it ought to keep on burning without 
 a constant application of matches or too much work with 
 the bellows. The result of education should be a self-feeding 
 fire. The only way to test it is for the teacher not to hope, 
 but actually to see whether or not it will burn alone. 
 
 Certain parts of the school system, particularly the 
 special and private schools, the trade schools, some manual 
 training schools, and professional schools generally, are not 
 [25]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 without rough means of testing their work. Professional 
 and trade schools are tested by the immediate success of 
 their graduates. The school of engineering, for instance, 
 cannot afford to recommend incompetents. Its growth and 
 maintenance depend on the reputation of those it sends 
 out. These results are attained both by selection and by 
 a watchful adaptation to the needs of the public. Many 
 private schools are constantly tested by the parents who 
 pay the bills. It is true that a test from this quarter is not 
 always of a highly educational or social character. Either 
 narrow self-interest or society in the special sense of the 
 word frequently dominates. The deportment and manners 
 of the children are often of the first consideration. Some 
 requirements, tending often to be ornamental, such as 
 music or French, follow next. Deep scholarship, high eth- 
 ical aims, or wide social sympathy are frequently neg- 
 lected. Within the circle of the demands actually made, 
 the contact of fellow-pupils, and this of a superficial and 
 conventional kind, usually counts for more than the per- 
 sonality or ability of the teacher. Inadequate as these tests 
 are as regards true usefulness, they serve the purpose of 
 those who make them. 
 
 It is the public school, devoted to general culture, from 
 the primary grades up to the college and university, that 
 suffers most from the failure to test its work. Public 
 schools ought to be the best schools. In them should be 
 realized the highest educational ideals of the nation. 
 Special schools may be roughly and imperfectly tested by 
 the success of individuals after they leave the school. 
 This is more difficult with the American public school, 
 which was not organized to fit the special interests of 
 [26]
 
 TESTS FOR THE SCHOOL 
 
 individuals but to serve the community as a whole. Most 
 American communities insist upon compulsory schooling 
 for all children until they are fourteen years old. Selection 
 of pupils who enter, with a view to improving the output, is 
 thus not possible below this age. Every one must be per- 
 mitted to come. Indeed, the most backward and recalci- 
 trant are, from some standpoints, deserving of the great- 
 est degree of attention. The cultivation of the best that is 
 in each child is the task of the people's school. 
 
 That the schools are largely unmeasured and untested 
 in an objective manner in harmony with their best aims, 
 leads to attempts to measure them by some lower standard. 
 We have already had some experience, in England more 
 particularly, of " payment by results." This has been carried 
 out by means of examinations. When the school is sup- 
 ported financially in proportion to the number of pupils 
 who take scholarships, or to the number who pass exami- 
 nations set by outside authorities, the efforts of the school 
 are focused on the acquiring of knowledge for a given ex- 
 amination. Teachers study the examiners' idiosyncrasies, 
 and cram their students to get the results required. 
 
 But it is not only in England, or where financial pay- 
 ment by results occurs, that similar practices obtain. In 
 Massachusetts and in the state normal schools, supposed 
 by the public to be dedicated to the study of the best in 
 education, a clever teacher has discovered a way to outwit 
 the examiners for the benefit of his pupils. He gives his 
 class a set of answers to learn, whether they understand 
 them fully or not. He then proceeds to teach them the 
 subject to the best of his ability. When the examiner is 
 more exigeant, or the teacher less bold and clever, a 
 [27]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 vicious selection often occurs, in which not the most 
 thoughtful and original, but the most malleable and reten- 
 tive minds receive the maximum effort. Even at the best, 
 a given quantity of knowledge is not a sufficient test of a 
 student's education. 
 
 In view of the manifest difficulty of testing a teacher's 
 work, a demand is sometimes made to approximate the gen- 
 eral culture schools to the type of special schools where 
 the work done is more easily measured. Where we have 
 manual training and industrial work in the schools, the 
 growing skill of the pupils can be readily demonstrated. 
 In so far as these occupations prepare for the special life 
 work which the pupil is to undertake, their effectiveness is 
 directly tested in the market. The children, moreover, like 
 such work, largely because they see results themselves 
 and are interested in the output. As incidental to work of 
 this kind, a considerable amount of the standard require- 
 ments of the school can very profitably be acquired. Cer- 
 tain kinds of arithmetic and drawing are necessary in 
 making and executing working drawings. Reading and 
 writing can be brought in by means of descriptions, direc- 
 tions, or recipes. Geography may be touched upon and 
 made interesting in connection with the material which 
 is handled or the object manufactured. 
 
 We have here the good old law of correlation, useful 
 enough in its place. The idea is that if a child is prima- 
 rily interested in doing something, all kinds of related inter- 
 ests can be loaded on. No doubt when a new requirement 
 of knowledge or a new effort appears that seems to the 
 child absolutely necessary to the accomplishment of what 
 he wants to do, he may have native energy enough to 
 [28]
 
 TESTS FOR THE SCHOOL 
 
 overcome the resistance. But he may, on the contrary, feel 
 like giving up his first desire. At least, he may simplify it 
 considerably so that it takes in far less than the teacher, 
 with his cargo of interests ready to load, had fondly hoped. 
 When the secondary interests are not absolutely necessary 
 as means, although they are ever so logically connected 
 from the point of view of the teacher, is it not the most 
 practical child, rather than the least, who betrays a disin- 
 clination to depart from the immediate aim in view, or, 
 after its satisfactory accomplishment, to tack on other 
 efforts as a decoration ? Logic consists in sticking to the 
 point. There is, after all, an irreducible surd in the doc- 
 trine of correlation, if it be carried very far and measured 
 by the natural interests of the child. It is unpractical to 
 run the whole school on this plan. If the compulsion of 
 the teacher is required to keep the process of expansion 
 going, it is hard to see why he might not just as well have 
 gone after his problem more directly. 
 
 The doctrine of correlation and the logical expansion of 
 interests suffers from the fact that the thinking that is 
 done under these titles too frequently refers to interests 
 looked upon as existing within an individual child. In 
 order to develop these interests, the better furnished mind 
 of the teacher is taken as the standard, and the child's 
 interests are not to be " indulged," but "directed " towards 
 this previously assimilated content (i). There is, however, 
 nothing new here, and although legitimate as a factor, it is 
 unnecessarily narrow. It is, moreover, exposed to the 
 danger already mentioned, that when the teacher's direc- 
 tion is removed the interests may revert to simple indul- 
 gence, and development be curtailed. If, on the contrary, 
 [29]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 interests are to get the trick of self-development, some- 
 thing must be found in these interests themselves which 
 leads to their expansion. 
 
 But interests are, as a matter of fact, really expanded 
 by numerous contacts with various minds, particularly with 
 those on similar levels. Something, of course, should come 
 from the teacher. But the total contact of the child's mind 
 with his social environment, both within and without the 
 school, is surely a more natural and broader source of 
 "direction" than the confines of any single mind. The 
 teacher should know how to organize the school socially, 
 so that stimulating influences flow from one pupil to another, 
 and from the school to the community as well as from the 
 community to the school. A feeling of greater voluntary 
 social service should arise in the pupil's mind when he 
 expands his interests. This is indeed the greatest, if not 
 the only effective motive capable of leading him to enlarge 
 his efforts. 
 
 When this expansion comes there is no reason why the 
 child should not feel that he is " indulging " his interest. 
 It is, of course, a changed and developed interest, but just 
 for that reason it is felt to be more worthy of being real- 
 ized. When interests are " directed " by the teacher, is it 
 supposed that the pupil does not discover the fact ? Is it 
 as easy as Rousseau thought to " dupe the child " ? Close 
 observation seems to show that the child realizes the fact 
 of outside direction very quickly, although he may not 
 formulate it very clearly. Moreover, if he is a good 
 child, he feels that in some way he is rendering a social 
 service to the teacher in acceding to the various " direc- 
 tions" of what are supposed to be his interests. How 
 [30]
 
 TESTS FOR THE SCHOOL 
 
 often in schools have we seen children acting particularly 
 well when they felt the teacher's professional reputation 
 was at stake ! 
 
 But if the child be at all clever, he soon sees that he is 
 not performing any intrinsic social service for the teacher. 
 He sees, for example, that the teacher already knows the 
 answers to the questions which he asks the children. In 
 fact, the teacher tells him that the recitations are for the 
 pupils' good, and not for the teacher's. What feeling of 
 social serviceableness can there be in this, and is it likely 
 that such activities will be continued when the conven- 
 tional atmosphere of the school is removed ? 
 
 Without denying the great importance of manual train- 
 ing and industrial work, it must be said that these, as well 
 as other single subjects, are not adequate as a center for 
 more than a limited number of the interests of the school. 
 While the outside measurement of the work of the school 
 is easy so far as these subjects themselves are concerned, 
 they do not cover some of the most important social 
 demands of the present day. Primitive people may have 
 advanced in civilization by means of industrial inventions, 
 but these were not the only factors of importance in their 
 social development. Greater affection, fewer superstitions, 
 purer religion and politics, are causes as well as effects of 
 industrial progress. Only a limited portion of the total 
 social serviceableness which we have a right to expect of a 
 well-equipped individual can be extracted from, or closely 
 and spontaneously correlated with, manual training and 
 industrial occupations. 
 
 In the kindergarten and primary grades the lack of 
 adequate and natural measurement does not seem at first
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 sight so important. These schools are often partly free 
 from the demands imposed upon them from without or by 
 the higher grades. To waste time wisely is sometimes 
 taken as their motto, though the measure of the wisdom 
 may seem hard to find. These schools lie near the home, 
 and it is not infrequently sought to make their methods 
 and atmosphere approximate what is supposed to obtain 
 there. This analogy seems rather superficial. The school 
 can never successfully imitate the home. The contact of 
 persons in the school is of a different kind. The school 
 should do more in some directions than any home could 
 ever do, while it certainly does less in others. Such an 
 analogy, however, probably stands for little more than the 
 feeling that the children in the primary school should be 
 happy, whatever else. This is certainly sound, but there 
 are many ways of being happy, some of which are more 
 educative than others. The test applied to the primary 
 schools by public or teachers ought in some way to reveal 
 the social serviceableness for which the children are being 
 educated. 
 
 The failure of proper objective tests for the work of the 
 kindergarten has recently led to some rather violent criti- 
 cisms. It has been said that the kindergarten produces 
 moral and intellectual flabbiness, and that, marvelous to 
 say, these effects are so lasting as to be traced all the way 
 to the university. How the origin of this flabbiness is 
 established we are not informed, and no statistical inquiry 
 is attempted. Mere opinions as they are, however, these 
 criticisms are met by little more than other opinions of 
 an opposite kind. Just what the kindergarten does suc- 
 ceed in doing is left obscure. 
 
 [32]
 
 TESTS FOR THE SCHOOL 
 
 The ideals of the kindergarten, as held by the teachers 
 of that department, are without doubt of a noble social char- 
 acter ; but how about the ideals and social purposes of the 
 kindergarten as held by the little tots themselves ? Are they 
 too young to have any social purposes, however simple ? 
 The circle and the group are the two social institutions 
 of the kindergarten, more fundamental to its constitution 
 than the gifts, the games, or the songs. It is to be pre- 
 sumed that the circle and the group are significant because 
 they are fitted to a stage of childish growth where mass 
 movements and tribal instincts dominate, and that they 
 succeed in transforming these instincts into something 
 more suitable for a higher stage of society. The circle 
 particularly reminds one of the celebrations of primitive 
 people, dances where every foot must strike the ground 
 at the same moment, songs in which every one must join, 
 and even dramatizations applied to useful work, where the 
 whole tribe performs the same action at the same time. 
 Biicher (2) for example, describes a Madagascar tribe, while 
 planting corn, as beginning at one end of the field and 
 moving down its length to the beat of a drum, each mem- 
 ber scratching a hole with one foot, dropping in the corn, 
 and covering it with the other. The law of the circle, like 
 that of the early tribe, would seem to be one of strict obedi- 
 ence and social uniformity, although the cohesion involved 
 is produced rather by the authority of the teacher than by 
 the compulsion of the circle as a whole. That this appeals 
 to the instincts of children there can be no doubt. 
 
 The kindergarten group, it would appear, represents a 
 step towards social differentiation, and the opportunity for 
 social initiative and responsibility. The question arises, 
 [33]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 however, To what extent has the practice of the modern 
 American kindergarten actually recognized this ? In many 
 instances, at least, it seems to have continued in the group 
 the same authority and leadership of the teacher which is 
 found in the circle. 
 
 It may be that the difficulty arises from the fact that 
 the kindergarten ideas, as they existed in Froebel's mind, 
 originated from his experiences with children of greater 
 age than those which the American kindergarten is forced 
 to receive. Froebel, at least, seems to have had in mind 
 the natural, self-formed groups of children from seven to 
 eight. In "The Education of Man," he describes boys of 
 this age building with blocks, sand, sawdust, fine green 
 moss, etc. They construct a chapel with a cross and altar, 
 a castle with a green hill, and a village. Down by the 
 brook they build " canals and sluices, bridges and seaports, 
 dams and mills." Vessels are made. The various groups 
 come into contact with each other. Treaties arise. "All 
 virtues proceed from this," says Froebel. 
 
 How far the modern idea of the group has departed from 
 this may be shown by the editorial remarks in the very 
 edition of Froebel from which the above has been selected. 
 Here a group is represented as constructing a small village 
 out of the fifth and sixth gifts, all uniting " to express what 
 they know about the history of wheat." This modern kin- 
 dergarten leader then goes on to show the value of a table 
 for such work : " so that with any given material at re- 
 spectively equal distances from the circle or margin, the 
 work will be strictly symmetrical and definitely related to 
 the sides and angles, diagonals and diameters of the table 
 top." " This symmetrical arrangement," he says, " serves 
 [34]
 
 TESTS FOR THE SCHOOL 
 
 as a powerful connecting link among the individual work- 
 ers. They soon learn to contribute their material and 
 energy to the execution of social purposes, with little or 
 no thought of individual gain, and with still less of indi- 
 vidual supremacy." 
 
 But was there ever formed any real human group, since 
 the days of the matriarchate, without some notion of indi- 
 vidual supremacy ? The tribes soon developed a leader, and 
 the state grew as leaders increased. This means sacri- 
 fice, but such sacrifice is gain and produces supremacy. 
 This is true so long as the gain is real and the supremacy 
 real in the sense of accomplishing results. 
 
 The real center of group formation lies in the under- 
 standing of leadership. This is very different in children 
 from what is found in adults. It is probably less perma- 
 nent and responds to different needs. Whatever it is, how- 
 ever, such leadership will take account of the actual per- 
 sonnel and size of the group, and of the actual situation, 
 material and social, in which the children imagine them- 
 selves to be, as well as of their aims, purposes, and ideals. 
 Boys do not keep together at the brookside nor form 
 treaties without such leadership. 
 
 But if the groups are not capable of being used socially 
 by children so young, at least the institution of free play- 
 time in the kindergarten might have been used as a test of 
 leadership and a revelation of what the children are capable 
 of doing through self -sustained social motives ; and to some 
 extent and with some teachers it is so used. But even 
 when free play is not looked upon with indifference or hos- 
 tility, or excluded altogether, insufficient care is taken to 
 find out what the children are capable of planning for this 
 [35]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 period. ( ' You may play any game you like, or you may 
 have any gift you wish," rather limits the possibilities. 
 The desire to do ought often to spring from home ex- 
 periences or from the games and plays of the streets. 
 As it is, there is little organization in the free playtime. 
 It has the merits of a relaxation, rather than a wished-for 
 opportunity for ambition and personal or social desire. 
 
 It would be foolish to suppose that any high degree of 
 social serviceableness can be expected of children so young. 
 If, however, their plays and activities ought not to be 
 largely social, but of a biological, hereditary, and racial 
 character, it is strange that we find in the kindergarten a 
 philosophy more saturated with social ideals than anything 
 that is to be found higher up in the school. It is a con- 
 dition that gives rise to a suspicion that the work of the 
 kindergarten, in the minds of the children themselves, is 
 not to be tested by, and does not flow from, the ideas 
 which are said to govern it, that the kindergarten philos- 
 ophy is not an explanation of things that actually happen 
 among the children, but that it is a product of the ideals 
 and aspirations of the developed adult mind. No doubt the 
 adult mind reveals a part of what lies latent in the child. 
 We may, as adults, see the germ of higher social organiza- 
 tion in children's plays, but the germ is not the tree, and we 
 need some means of testing germs. The laws of the germ 
 are its own laws, and to impose upon it standards derived 
 from a later stage is to destroy the possibilities of its growth, 
 while to be unable to apply any standard whatever is to 
 work in the dark with prejudice or sentiment for a guide. 
 
 While the standards employed are inadequate, there is, 
 however, no reason why the school should not continue to 
 [36]
 
 TESTS FOR THE SCHOOL 
 
 profit by the various tests, insufficient as they are, by which 
 the community has attempted to measure its work. Some 
 of these too might be made more scientific, as Dr. J. M. Rice 
 proposes. Knowledge is certainly to be desired, if it is not 
 made the controlling aim. Happiness should come as a 
 result of every good effort. To be equipped to earn one's 
 daily bread is necessary as a foundation for every overtone 
 of culture. In order to make our educational system more 
 social, we need a greater number and variety of special 
 trade schools, as well as a preliminary training in such sub- 
 jects as will lead up to them. But the school devoted prin- 
 cipally to general culture cannot afford to be measured 
 entirely by these demands. The work of a school needs a 
 test, not remote and future, not extraneous to its largest 
 aims, but one that can be immediately and constantly used, 
 that can be easily understood, that is as simple as possible, 
 and that will be welcomed and enjoyed by both teachers 
 and pupils. 
 
 Not long ago, during the holidays, I asked a typical first- 
 year high-school girl whom I knew very well, and who had 
 done well in her classes, whether she thought or talked 
 about anything that she had formerly done in school now 
 that she was free to do as she wished, or whether she now 
 used any of the interests which she might have been sup- 
 posed to have acquired. She told me that she never thought 
 of her Latin or algebra for a moment, but that she had 
 liked " Marmion " when she read it in school. I asked her 
 if she wished to read anything more of the same kind, and 
 suggested " The Lady of the Lake." " Oh," she said, " I 
 don't want to read anything of that sort ; I don't like poetry, 
 anyway." She was, however, reading a novel of Dickens's. 
 [37]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 She had formerly read another novel by the same author 
 at her mother's suggestion, and liked it so much that she 
 wished to read a second. She said, too, that if she were not 
 going back to school in the autumn, she should like to go 
 on with her French. I asked her why, and she replied that 
 she should like to be able to speak French if she ever trav- 
 eled abroad. As her sister was just about to spend a year 
 in France, the practical aspect of this appealed to her. The 
 same girl was popular with her school companions, had 
 joined a little club with them, and was naturally active in 
 a social way. 
 
 These replies seem to indicate just a natural, healthy- 
 minded girl. No one could wish that she continue her 
 high-school grind during the holidays. Nor ought it to 
 be said that her work in Latin and algebra was entirely 
 useless. She had doubtless learned the very important 
 lesson, that a daily task, when set by others, had to be 
 attended to whether it was agreeable or not. Her language 
 showed only ordinary culture, reflecting apparently her 
 home environment rather than the accuracies or subtleties 
 that might be supposed to come from translating Latin and 
 French. Others, at least, taking the same course, varied 
 widely from her in this respect, a fact also probably 
 connected with their home environments. Her reasoning 
 power in ordinary affairs revealed no traceable impress of 
 her work in algebra. A great part of what she had been 
 doing showed no perceptible results in her development. 
 Perhaps some teachers would say it was capitalized for 
 a college course, and not yet able to pay dividends. 
 
 The question is not at all whether such a course is value- 
 less. The Greek triremes or the barques of Columbus were 
 [38]
 
 TESTS FOR THE SCHOOL 
 
 of indispensable value, but they do not measure up with 
 an Atlantic liner. That a given course of study is better 
 than some others, or better than none, is saying very little 
 for it. Columbus might have said as much for his ships. 
 The Atlantic liner in education has not yet been invented, 
 but is this not largely because we do not realize sufficiently 
 the nature of the task we intend to accomplish ? We fail to 
 test our efforts objectively, especially along the lines where 
 we should well be justified in expecting the greatest progress. 
 If increased social serviceableness and the highest develop- 
 ment of personality are our aims, we need, as teachers and 
 as citizens responsible for education, not only the best ob- 
 tainable knowledge of the nature of these aims, but some 
 objective test of the results of our efforts in these directions. 
 The value of such a test, moreover, is to be estimated 
 not only from the standpoint of better work in the school 
 and better understanding of it by the pupils at large, but 
 by the beneficial effect it would undoubtedly have upon the 
 standing and organization of the teaching profession. This 
 suffers at present both from the large number of poor 
 teachers it contains and from their isolation and lack of 
 cooperation. In many branches, indeed, it is a question 
 whether we should not speak of the teaching trade rather 
 than of the teaching profession. Both incomes and social 
 consideration are reduced to the lowest terms. Many trades- 
 women, to say nothing of tradesmen, are paid more and 
 perhaps are equally honored in the community. In Boston, 
 for example, a moderately competent dressmaker receives 
 $3 or more per day (about $900 per year), and may rise 
 to well-paid business positions or succeed in obtaining an 
 establishment of her own. 
 L [39]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 One of the chief marks of a profession is that it controls 
 its own work. Teachers, however, frequently seem content 
 to have their work laid out for them. This is nominally 
 done by school boards, but practically by a superior class 
 of teachers, who often are proud to be called by some other 
 name. The course of study crystallizes the directions of 
 this superior class and makes it possible for them to see 
 that the pupils have a certain amount of instruction, even 
 if they are not really educated. 
 
 Sometimes, it must be admitted, a clever teacher can 
 "get round" the principal or supervisor sufficiently to be 
 permitted to do the things that she judges best in her own 
 class room. It is a permission, however, and not a right. 
 On the other hand, the best principals and supervisors are 
 without doubt looking for original, progressive teachers, and 
 are glad to give them the necessary permission ; but, unfor- 
 tunately, both teachers and principals of this kind are ex- 
 ceptional. The average teacher meanwhile feels nothing 
 unnatural in her rdle of unreflecting docility. Indeed, she 
 seems to yearn for it. She " works " so many hours a day, 
 and only wonders why some one who does no more " work " 
 a day than she, often gets a higher wage. 
 
 It does not follow, however, that a teacher who is not 
 docile is independently or cooperatively responsible or origi- 
 nal. It is quite possible that, like the poorly trained me- 
 chanic, she can be relied on only up to a certain point. 
 The principal or superior is then forced to direct nothing 
 beyond what she is capable of executing, a position some- 
 thing like that of the old woman, who, having in vain com- 
 manded her dog to come out from under the bed, was at 
 last forced to say, " I will be obeyed at any rate ; so stay 
 [40]
 
 TESTS FOR THE SCHOOL 
 
 there and don't dare to come out." After some experiences 
 of this kind, the principal or supervisor is loath to overstep 
 the bounds set for him by the docility of his teachers, is 
 suspicious of originality, becomes fonder of platitudes and 
 more disinclined to take risks, but succeeds in holding his 
 job. If his soul could be freed from the slow and icy 
 flow of docility that overwhelms it, the scratches and sheep- 
 backed hummocks of a true glaciation would doubtless be 
 revealed. 
 
 So long as teaching is trade-like, centralization, over- 
 emphasized authority, and standardized courses of study, 
 although varying with every town and city, will be found 
 necessary, however inadequate they may be. As soon as 
 teaching becomes a profession all the way down, these 
 features will drop away, and a more social relationship, 
 where the rights of the individual teacher are properly safe- 
 guarded, will surely supervene. This is a condition that 
 can never come until teachers look beyond their daily or 
 even yearly "work " ; until they see more clearly the social 
 ideals for which education is striving ; until they grasp 
 the essentials of the social environment in which they are 
 living; until they cooperate freely and steadily with one 
 another ; and until they are competent to experiment with 
 and actually create and control a large portion of their 
 own professional activities. 
 
 Such experimenting and such creating, however, is im- 
 possible without measurement, and it must be a measure- 
 ment not of mere knowledge, but of social capacity and 
 productive powers. It must, above all, be so objective as 
 to leave no doubt in the mind of even the average citizen, 
 that the same self-organizing ability that is manifested in
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 school will be amply sustained in later life. As already 
 suggested, this test can be found only in the extent to 
 which pupils, when freed from the oversight and benevolent 
 coercion of the teacher, can use the knowledge and carry 
 out the habits and ideals which it is the aim of the school 
 to foster and protect. But this is a test which ought not 
 to be left out of the school itself. It should be an intimate 
 and organic portion of every school, and the results of it 
 should react immediately upon everything else that is at- 
 tempted. How can such a test be organized within the 
 school ? 
 
 REFERENCES 
 
 1. John Dewey, School and Society. University of Chicago Press. 
 
 2. Karl Biicher, Arbeit und Rhythmus. Leipsic, 1896. 
 
 [42]
 
 CHAPTER III 
 THE SCHOOL AS AN ORGANISM MONARCHY 
 
 The consideration of the question at the end of the last 
 chapter will lead us to look more carefully into the internal 
 organization of the school as distinguished from its service 
 to society as a whole. In order to pursue this inquiry as 
 inductively as possible, actual cases of schools which have 
 specially manifested the social spirit must be studied in 
 detail, and we must ask in these cases to what extent the 
 pupils are self-organized and productive members of the 
 embryonic society to which they belong. What social sat- 
 isfaction do the pupils themselves get out of their life is 
 a question which must be asked of every school. 
 
 In illustration of a similar theme, Professor Jenks (1) cites 
 an experience of his own, the public nature of which, he says, 
 should have been made manifest to him at the time. " When 
 a pupil in a district school," he goes on, "I trudged off with 
 a comrade a quarter of a mile to bring a pail of drinking 
 water, I believe that an added value would have been given 
 to the outdoor freedom if I had been made to realize that 
 I was doing a citizen's duty, working for the public ! " 
 
 It is not, of course, by any mere dogmatic explanation 
 that a teacher could best succeed, or even succeed at all, 
 in teaching the full social value of such a service. To be 
 socially effective, the action should proceed from the com- 
 bined desires of the participants. Under these circumstances 
 [43]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 various considerations might have entered into the selection 
 of the water carrier, his personal popularity, his general 
 merit, or his special fitness for the task in hand ; but in any 
 event the honor of being chosen by his mates would have 
 added meaning and value to what was permitted to seem 
 merely a release from the irksome confinement of the 
 schoolroom. 
 
 As far as the social motive of honor is concerned, it may 
 well be asked if the boy could have felt this any more if 
 chosen by the pupils rather than by the teacher. The psy- 
 chology of the honor feeling and honor motives lies at the 
 root of much that is best in society, and their deterioration, 
 as Franz Krauss shows in his study of folk death, means 
 the decadence of the race. To wish to be honored by those 
 distinctly above one, means that one respects them and has 
 a tendency to imitate them. It is probably easier to love 
 those above than those below, or to do them a service. How 
 eager we often are to lay our purses at the feet of a real 
 leader, while needed help or charity is carefully meted out 
 to those on our own level or below it. This is often true 
 where there is no conscious expectation of a return. Our 
 purpose is an idealized one, and arises in obedience to an 
 instinctive feeling. Even when love does not enter in, 
 admiration is sufficient to cause respect and imitation. 
 Lower races in this way imitate their conquerors, and the 
 lower classes aspire to the experiences which they observe 
 in those above them, which they never would have thought 
 of for themselves. In the stimulation of the honor feeling 
 by a superior there is without doubt an important element 
 of social education. But when the teacher dispenses the 
 honors it is almost inevitable that he consults only his own 
 [44]
 
 THE SCHOOL AS AN ORGANISM MONARCHY 
 
 judgment and is satisfied with his own point of view. 
 His choice often seems to the school purely arbitrary, 
 and a matter of personal favor, even when he is sin- 
 cerely honest in his purpose. In consequence, jealousy 
 and envy and the sense of injustice are aroused and work 
 the greatest havoc. When the teacher reserves the privi- 
 lege of honoring worthy pupils, he should certainly try to 
 ascertain the school's point of view and make his action, 
 so far as possible, coincide with it. If he defies it, he has 
 hindered his own ends. 
 
 When the school is a boarding school and takes charge 
 of the whole life of the child, a larger number of responsi- 
 ble privileges may be dispensed. This is certainly not often 
 realized in boarding schools, and in many such schools the 
 question, What boys are feeling themselves honored in the 
 activities they are performing ? would meet with a rather 
 negative answer. 
 
 Of a very different type is the school at Abbotsholme, 
 England, under the principalship of Dr. Cecil Reddie. Here 
 the boys are trained to a high sense of honor by a method 
 which goes far beyond the mere distribution of little privi- 
 leges. The school indeed has become a state, but it is a 
 state of a certain type. This is plainly indicated in Dr. 
 Reddie's designation of it as a school for the directing 
 classes, and in the fact that the whole life and management 
 of the school is derived from its monarch. This, however, 
 does not prevent a thoroughly willing system of honorable 
 and honor-loving cooperation, and the great success of the 
 institution in realizing the happiness and characters of the 
 pupils raises the question whether a good monarchy is not 
 better than an indifferent democracy. 
 [45]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 The social features of this remarkable school, which 
 already has a number of offshoots or colonies in other 
 parts of England, France, and Germany, are founded on an 
 insight into the real capacities and emotional undercurrents 
 of the pupils. As Dr. Reddie claims, the school aims to di- 
 minish competition and increase cooperation. This principle 
 is applied in the first place to the natural affections of the 
 boys for each other. The management of the ordinary board- 
 ing school often tends to sharpen rivalries. In class work 
 one boy is set against another. Close friendships among 
 the boys are carefully watched and broken up in the fear 
 of unmentionable evils. Such watchfulness against vice 
 becomes so marked at times that it actually suggests its 
 commission. 
 
 Dr. Reddie, on the contrary, believes rather in encourag- 
 ing affection for the purpose of promoting its best and 
 purest development. He thinks that such a spirit is the 
 surest protection against impurity, and that the antagonism 
 of competition is more liable to lead to vice. The boys room 
 together in small dormitories, where they are not overlooked 
 by teachers, but are left in a spirit of honorable confidence. 
 The personnel of each dormitory and the influence of one 
 pupil on another are carefully considered, one of the older 
 boys or prefects having a large share of responsibility. The 
 boys themselves discuss with Dr. Reddie the make-up of 
 their dormitory groups and what habits of manner, conver- 
 sation, and toilet make for character, health, and a true 
 manly spirit. In such conferences Dr. Reddie is careful 
 not to go beyond the point of view of the boys themselves, 
 or, at most, such a point of view, obtained from him, as they 
 can successfully carry out. They thus feel that it is an 
 [46]
 
 THE SCHOOL AS AN ORGANISM MONARCHY 
 
 honor to be trusted, and they help one another to be loyal 
 to the confidence reposed in them. There are rules posted 
 which are not too formal or simple, some of them, indeed, 
 being esoteric, if not occult. It is evidently considered un- 
 necessary to post a rule which every honorable boy would 
 naturally think of and obey. The rules are issued by the 
 head master, but they are explained to the boys, and are 
 accepted by them as right. 
 
 Some quotations from these rules, which are beautifully 
 printed by the boys themselves on the school press, will 
 serve to show the cooperative nature of this school. 
 
 WHAT ARE THE EDUCATIVE MERITS OF BATHING? 
 A. The educative advantages of bathing, etc., are as follows : 
 
 Of all possible physical exercises, perhaps the most wholesome 
 and most valuable, as well as most delightful, are those connected 
 with bathing. No other physical exercise is so completely a revel- 
 ing in contact with nature. 
 
 Bathing may, indeed, be considered a kind of worship of nature. 
 This worship touches at once all sides of our life, physical, mental, 
 aesthetic, and ethical ; and if we think of the symbolic meaning of 
 all natural things, we must add also that it feeds our spiritual life. ' 
 
 Contact with water, together with the feeling of affectionate 
 mastery over it ; exposure of the naked body to the pure air of heaven, 
 to the sun's heat, and, both in the water and on the banks, to the 
 sun's light ; bringing the feet, while running about on the greensward, 
 into living contact with Mother Earth ; all these are sources of health 
 and inspiration. Let us not forget Antaeus, son of Poseidon (Water) 
 and Ge (Earth) (i.e. Force, the child of Motion and Matter). 
 
 . . . One professor invents or rediscovers the earth cure, and 
 will have us walk with bare feet and bathe in earth or mud ; another 
 discovers, what seems so obvious, the power of air to heal or ward 
 off diseases of the air passages and lungs ; another cures, by means 
 of the sun's heat and light, maladies of the skin till now considered 
 incurable. But we need not go to Germany to find our Mother Nature ; 
 
 [47]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 she is as potent in our own England as ever she was or is elsewhere. 
 Let us lay aside unwholesome clothing, false shame, and impure 
 " morality," and no longer be afraid of worshiping nature in naked 
 simplicity. 
 
 Bathing affords the supreme occasion for this worship, and con- 
 stitutes, therefore, one of the chief elements in a wholesome school 
 life. We shall not lose, but increase the benefit by properly under- 
 standing it. 
 
 HOW IS BATHING, SWIMMING, ETC., ORGANIZED? 
 B. The general organization is as follows : 
 
 i. The bathing, etc., is under the management of the Swimming 
 Committee, at the head of which are the Captain and Vice Captains 
 of Swimming. 
 
 2. The Swimming Committee will have the advice of one of the 
 assistant masters, selected for the purpose by the head master, who 
 will be called the Swimming Master. He will advise on all matters 
 connected with bathing, and will decide, after consultation with the 
 Swimming Captain, whether, on any particular day, when the condi- 
 tions of weather, etc., are unfavorable, there shall be any bathing, 
 and if so, whether it shall be compulsory or optional ; at beginning of 
 term, however, and in any change of weather, he will take the opinion 
 of the head master. He will also act as judge in all examinations for 
 promotion. As far as possible, however, the organization and admin- 
 istration will be left in the hands of the committee. The aim in view 
 is to leave to the boys as much freedom for self-government as is 
 compatible with efficiency and progress in the aquatic arts, coupled 
 with safety to life. 
 
 Here follows a division of the boys into seven classes 
 separated by six swimming tests, with the prohibitions for 
 those in the lower classes. 
 
 The rules for haymaking begin with the general statement : 
 
 Haymaking, with all its concomitant sights, sounds, smells, activi- 
 ties, emotions, and ideas, is not only one of the most delightful events 
 of the school year, but is regarded at Abbotsholme as having an 
 educational influence of the highest value. 
 [48]
 
 THE SCHOOL AS AN ORGANISM MONARCHY 
 
 WHAT ARE THE EDUCATIVE INFLUENCES 
 OF HAYMAKING? 
 
 Haymaking, with all the attendant circumstances, exercises an 
 influence not unlike that of bathing, elsewhere described, for it is a 
 kind of bathing in air, warmth, and sunshine. . . . 
 
 Haymaking, unlike ordinary games which are practiced constantly, 
 comes only once a year. If, as here, it is conducted entirely by the 
 boys, under the head master's direct supervision, it affords time and 
 opportunity of seeing at a glance how far the boys, and particularly 
 the seniors, show a talent for unpremeditated organization. 
 Also it affords an opportunity for studying the application of the 
 principle of cooperation to a most delightful though useful occupation, 
 and for showing that leadership is as indispensable in peace as in 
 war, in the serious and necessary work of life as much as in sports. 
 All these influences of the harvest reach the climax when, at length, 
 the last load is dragged up the hill to the hay barn ; for then the 
 whole school, aided by full orchestra, marches in procession, singing. 
 As the joyous crowd draws near the barn, suddenly in the cool even- 
 ing appears, as if by magic, the red harvest moon, rising with soft 
 splendor behind the dark wood on the hilltop beyond ; and in the 
 gentle twilight every one feels descending upon him a mysterious 
 influence, as if it were the spiritual benediction of the queen of the 
 night, smiling upon the good work now completed. 
 
 Evidently the moon obeys the rules as well as the boys. 
 Happy boys ! 
 
 As is indicated in these short extracts from two of the 
 dozen or so sets of rules, there is a great deal of cooperation 
 in all the outdoor life^of the pupils. The same is true of 
 their domestic life. A certain degree of leadership is per- 
 mitted and encouraged, as in the case of captains or pre- 
 fects. The boys are even urged to take the initiative when 
 the head master is not available, or when it is well under- 
 stood that the head master would approve. The prefects 
 especially, being tried boys who have been in the school for 
 [49]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 some time, are delegated in this way. The care of the pre- 
 fects is likened to that of fathers for their children, and this 
 feature of the school is designed as a training for such a 
 function. The governing attitude of the prefects, as of the 
 rest of the pupils, is not, however, that of invention or ex- 
 periment ; they do not create society or social movements ; 
 they are simply loyal to the state which is established and 
 controlled by an admired and well-loved monarch, and feel 
 honored in carrying out his suggestions and commands. 
 They are captains and lieutenants of an authority which 
 neither they nor the pupils under them consciously organ- 
 ize. While they feel their membership in a social whole, 
 which they recognize to be for their own good, they are not 
 directly responsible to the body of citizens, but to the ruler 
 of the state. 
 
 The attitude of the head master is evidently one of great 
 care and tenderness for those placed in his charge. Even 
 the rules are plainly designed in a spirit of deepest and sin- 
 cerest service on his part. He has not put forth automatic 
 commands merely issued to save trouble, but has tried 
 to interest his pupils, and the present writer believes, has 
 succeeded, in penetrating imaginatively the minds and 
 hearts of happy and willing subjects, and in leading them 
 to become followers of the word, and not hearers only. 
 
 The reality and depth of the loyalty of the pupils, which 
 is not of a superficial, emotional type, is shown by a number 
 of things, but on a recent visit to Abbotsholme one fact 
 struck me as being of rather special significance. Although 
 many of the boys are over eighteen, none of them smoke, 
 even surreptitiously. On this latter point I satisfied myself 
 by cross-examining one of the old pupils who was making 
 [50]
 
 THE SCHOOL AS AN ORGANISM MONARCHY 
 
 a visit to Abbotsholme. And yet Dr. Reddie himself smokes 
 quite openly, on the lawns and in his library. There is no 
 watchfulness to prevent the boys from smoking. Its effect 
 is explained to them on the proper scientific ground of the 
 maintenance of health in a growing organism, although, as 
 every one knows, such knowledge alone is often ineffective 
 with boys whose gang or group approves the practice. .The 
 boys of this school do not regard smoking as wrong, but as 
 wrong for them until they have matured. There are, after 
 all, many things besides smoking, like marriage, the wear- 
 ing of long trousers, occasional late hours, or the spending 
 of large sums of money, which are suitable for one age or 
 station and not for another. To be made to recognize this, 
 and yet to be able to do the best that one's own position 
 requires, indicates a higher self-control and a stronger char- 
 acter than to be brought up to think that every detail in a 
 leader may be indiscriminately copied. In the former case 
 there is indeed a true understanding of the reality which 
 it is essential to imitate, and a wholesome assumption that 
 boys are really more like men than monkeys. 
 
 It is during the part of the school life which lies outside 
 the class room that the working of the honor spirit is most 
 apparent. Not that the discipline of the classes is some- 
 thing different. The pupils may safely be left alone. They 
 know it to be their duty to pay respectful attention to their 
 teachers and to carry out their wishes. The teaching, too, 
 is made as practical as possible. Modern languages are 
 begun before the classics, and pupils are made to identify 
 themselves as much as possible with Frenchmen or Ger- 
 mans. Boys perform actions, like taking off their shoes, walk- 
 ing, making a bow, and so on, and other boys describe these 
 [Si]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 actions in the foreign language. The maps used are made, 
 when possible, in the countries which they describe. Visits 
 to the Continent are made by the pupils under the care of 
 teachers. When the classics are studied the boys become 
 Romans and Greeks, and often carry out this spirit in their 
 games. Science is studied in close contact with nature. 
 Bees are kept, trees are cut and measured, houses are built, 
 harvests are garnered. The last load of hay is usually ac- 
 companied by a festal procession, led by violins and choris- 
 ters. The regular time schedule of the school, from 6. 30 A.M. 
 to 10 P.M., is scientifically arranged, and with the beautiful 
 chapel exercises twice during the day, its steady unfolding 
 gives a feeling of thorough artistic enjoyment to the visitor. 
 All of this beauty, healthfulness, order, and regularity flow 
 directly from the fertile brain and loving heart of the mon- 
 arch of the state. 
 
 If King George had been half as good and clever, Ameri- 
 cans never would have revolted. Even limited monarchies 
 are the result of the mistakes or defects of the monarchs. 
 Such a school as Abbotsholme fulfills its mission and affords 
 an admirable training for the directing classes of a monarchy 
 even as tolerant as that of England. The government of 
 India alone would doubtless profitably absorb as many of 
 such pupils as could be produced. 
 
 There is, as already said, a very important social bond 
 and a powerful appeal to the social instinct in being trusted 
 and honored by a superior. In its earliest form we find it 
 at work wherever the clan has developed to the stage 
 requiring a chieftain. The monarch, indeed, is a chieftain 
 carried to the nth power. The Jacobin Loyalists of Eng- 
 land show how important, even in recent times, is the claim 
 [52]
 
 THE SCHOOL AS AN ORGANISM MONARCHY 
 
 of such a functionary. Yet a monarchy never could have 
 existed on a large scale, if it had not effectively extended 
 itself to the protection of interests which grew up independ- 
 ently of the monarch himself. There must be possible under 
 such a government a large amount of organized variety, 
 much more than the monarch is capable of thinking of. 
 When not absolute, such a monarchy is really a disguised 
 democracy. The old forms have been retained, but a new 
 life has partly filled the mold. The loyalty of the citizens 
 of England to their king is only apparent when challenged. 
 Most of them are not thinking of conducting their lives 
 after his model or as he would wish to have them. The 
 directing classes alone may be appreciably influenced by 
 such motives. To find a prototype for a school monarchy 
 like Abbotsholme, we should need to go much further 
 back than the present condition of England. King Arthur 
 and his court, or the early kings of Greece and Rome, may 
 possibly have furnished such an example, although the 
 modern instance, through its modern ruler, is full of the 
 impress of modern times. 
 
 It is evident that the pupils of such a school are getting 
 a great deal out of it, and this of an immediate social char- 
 acter. The school is a real organism. The habits of life, 
 moreover, are of a kind calculated to reproduce themselves. 
 Tastes and interests, the habit of loyalty and the love of 
 honor acquired and developed here, are likely to be con- 
 tinued after the pupil goes away. The school is tested in 
 this respect by the parents, and its maintenance and growth 
 depend directly on their approval. In the school itself the 
 head master is also constantly observing and testing the 
 pupils as to their health, their tone and bearing, their 
 [53]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 courage and fidelity in carrying out the spirit of the 
 institution. 
 
 Having admitted so much in favor of an almost ideal 
 school monarchy, it may be feared that there can be little 
 left to say in behalf of democracy, and yet in America we 
 are committed to democratic government, and unless the 
 spirit of democracy appears in the school, it must in some 
 essential way be failing in its trust. 
 
 In the first place, however, we ought to make the claim 
 for the ideal American school that all the best virtues of 
 a monarchy should be retained in a democracy, which, 
 unless it is a higher development of a monarchy, has no 
 reason for its existence. The pupils ougnt to have the 
 experiences of loyalty to those above them. They should 
 wish to be honored and trusted by them, and they should 
 feel the social satisfaction and sense of responsibility which 
 comes from such confidence. Democracy does not mean 
 that there should be no superior in authority or in station. 
 Even forcible compulsion and implicit obedience are fre- 
 quently necessary in a good democracy. 
 
 What democracy means is a fair chance for the develop- 
 ment of all the opportunities there are. It means that the 
 blessings of life shall not flow constantly from one source, 
 and that not one and his lieutenants, or even a few, shall 
 rule continuously, but that every citizen shall have an 
 opportunity of dispensing honor for social service well per- 
 formed, and of removing those who fail in this respect. It 
 means that the virtues and opportunities of the best monarch 
 may become the virtues and opportunities of every citizen 
 who is capable of them. Going further than the easier love 
 and admiration that looks upward for guidance, it must also 
 [54]
 
 
 THE SCHOOL AS AN ORGANISM MONARCHY 
 
 develop to the highest degree the care and appreciation 
 which looks downward or to those on a similar level. 
 
 Not only the power of directing one's self under the eye 
 of a superior, but the power to create plans and direct 
 others should be widespread in a democratic state. As gen- 
 eral statements these truths are trite and uninteresting. It 
 is in the concrete facts which they represent that true prob- 
 lems arise. Applied to the school, it may well be asked if 
 the exhibition of the character of a noble monarch is not 
 a great stimulus, not merely to loyalty but to initiative. 
 This is undoubtedly true. A case in point may be cited 
 from Abbotsholme itself. A boy, when asked what he 
 would like to be, replied that he should like to be a 
 teacher. This is pointed out by Dr. Reddie as one of the 
 best recommendations of the school, and it certainly is. 
 But what opportunity is there under a monarchy, not per- 
 haps for the practice of all the socially creative powers 
 necessary for such a teacher as the head master of Abbots- 
 holme, but for any considerable part of them ? Mere lieu- 
 tenancy, however trusted, cannot afford such a role. The 
 boy will be forced to remain, so far as the highest appreciable 
 features of his model are concerned, in a passive attitude, 
 and await some future time before he can attempt the 
 active realization of his ideal. When he finally comes to 
 it, he may discover, or others for him, that his socially 
 active and inventive powers are weak and undeveloped, 
 and that he is forced to become a mere imitator of lower 
 qualities than those which were controllingly operative 
 in the original. There is thus some loss in the trans- 
 mission of life, to say nothing of the liberation of new 
 and undreamed-of powers. 
 
 [55]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 No one will be so shortsighted as to think that a boy 
 can suddenly be placed in the position of a teacher or the 
 head master of a school, or that he could even act suitably 
 as a substitute or monitor. The boy himself, if he possesses 
 common sense and does not simply wish to play, would be 
 among the first to see the futility of such a step. What 
 the boy really means when he says he should like to be a 
 teacher is only to be discovered by applying the test of 
 action. His answer might have been flattery, or, what is 
 more likely, it might have been an expression of that loose 
 dreaming, which, as Mommsen in his study of Caesar shows, 
 makes the mere idealogue rather than the practical idealist. 
 Not that one need to be in a hurry to kill out all immedi- 
 ately unrealizable dreams, but that it is necessary to give 
 practice at all times in life in the working out of dreams 
 that can, within a reasonable time and with some degree 
 of probability, be made to come true. But the progressive 
 realization of a dream or ideal is the natural means of its 
 control and the natural source of its sane development. 
 
 The boy's notion of becoming a teacher, if offered as a 
 real plan, could be met with inquiry so as to get at the 
 widest range of his point of view. The full vision of his 
 model is, of course, not possible for him. What are the 
 aspects, however, which have appealed to him ? From this 
 as a basis, it would be necessary to add some features of 
 self-revelation on the master's part, which could be under- 
 stood. We might imagine him saying : w What have I, as a 
 teacher, to do ? I must say, must I not, what the boys are 
 to do, and think of such things as are good for them, so 
 that they will do them willingly and cheerfully. Can you 
 get any boys to do what you suggest and keep them at it 
 [56]
 
 
 THE SCHOOL AS AN ORGANISM MONARCHY 
 
 until the purpose is accomplished ? What would these 
 things be ? Would they be worth while ? How could you 
 attract these boys ? What would be the difficulties in the 
 way?" The duties of scholarship and the necessity for 
 keeping up his school work are so obvious that it would 
 hardly be necessary to emphasize them. These duties 
 were very likely not the source of this boy's desire to 
 teach. It was probably something more vital than mere 
 learning that attracted him. 
 
 Propositions like these, however, go considerably beyond 
 the monarchical state even when this conceals, as at Abbots- 
 holme, much that is democratic in tendency. They may be 
 judged unpractical and visionary, but it is at least clear that 
 they are of the very essence of democracy. The carry- 
 ing out of great varieties of such schemes, properly organ- 
 ized and dovetailed into each other, would seem likely to 
 give us a school not for the directing classes or the directed 
 masses, but one capable of training the masses to direct 
 themselves. This is not accomplished when, as in an ideal 
 monarchy, each boy controls himself, either from mere self- 
 respect or for the love and honor which he feels flowing to 
 him from a superior. For a democracy it is also necessary 
 that a pupil should get an opportunity to direct others, to 
 change and mold their opinions, and at the same time to 
 submit himself as a leader to their uncoerced approval. 
 This means a social situation which would call for and 
 develop a higher and broader kind of control than that 
 which is mainly confined to self, and it would use resources 
 and expansions of the social instinct which are character- 
 istic of the present condition of civilization. 
 REFERENCE. 1. Jeremiah Jenks, Citizenship and the Schools, p. 32. 
 [57]
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE SCHOOL AS AN ORGANISM THE REPUBLIC 
 
 In order to show what difficulties underlie the realization 
 of such a conception as that suggested in the last chapter, 
 and to trace the active working of the democratic spirit as it 
 appears in the internal organization of some of our schools, 
 let us turn our attention to some contemporary examples. 
 
 The George Junior Republic of Freeville, N.Y., is an 
 instance of a school which is consciously organized on a 
 social basis. That it performs a great social service to 
 the community cannot be doubted. It has awakened inter- 
 est in hundreds of people who have come from all over the 
 country to study it, it is supported by private beneficence, 
 and it has turned out, since its foundation in 1895, a large 
 number of boys and girls who have been reclaimed from 
 vice and set on the way to become self-supporting citizens. 
 
 Published accounts of the Republic have not been crit- 
 ical, and have always been short. When passing beyond a 
 description of the mere appearance of facts, they have been 
 exceedingly laudatory. The complaints that have been 
 raised have had but a newspaper basis and an ephemeral 
 newspaper circulation, and have been satisfactorily disproved 
 by the investigation of the Society for the Prevention of 
 Cruelty to Children (i). 
 
 In view of its importance there is greatly needed at 
 present a larger and more complete study of the institution. 
 [58]
 
 THE SCHOOL AS AN ORGANISM THE REPUBLIC 
 
 With such material as is at hand, however, and with per- 
 sonal reports obtained from visitors and some conversation 
 with Mr. George himself, the founder of the Republic, the 
 present writer hopes to be able to convey an understand- 
 ing of the essential features of the school. 
 
 "The territory of the Republic," says Dr. William I. 
 Hull (2), "is even smaller than that of Marino, being only 
 forty-eight acres in extent, and its buildings are few and 
 simple. In the winter its inhabitants are only forty-four in 
 number, twenty-seven boys and seventeen girls ; and in the 
 summer, when the tide of immigration rolls in, the popula- 
 tion increases to two hundred and fifty, and tents are 
 erected to supplement the few simple buildings." The boys 
 and girls in attendance, all from twelve years of age up, 
 are for the most part drawn from circumstances far from 
 favorable. Of thirty-one members in the roster for one of 
 the earlier years, all were described as less than promis- 
 ing. Characterizations run as follows : arrested for crime ; 
 a young tough ; an all-round disagreeable character ; way- 
 ward young girl from bad home ; thief and runaway ; 
 degenerate (now in insane asylum) ; typical street Arab ; 
 wild, arrested for truancy ; a rowdy girl ; wild street boy, 
 leader of a gang. With the exception of the one in the 
 asylum, all of these thirty-one have for the most part 
 decidedly improved. Some of them are in college, others 
 in business or in responsible positions (Report of Bureau of 
 Labor and Charities, Syracuse, N.Y.). There is thus an 
 unfortunate selection of the pupils, whether voluntary or 
 not, which must be constantly borne in mind by the inves- 
 tigator. The pupils, moreover, are not free to leave, nor 
 in many cases are the parents free to take them away. 
 [59]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 The social features of the school which strike the visitor 
 most forcibly are its industrial and economic basis and the 
 degree to which the pupils exert the strong arm of coercion 
 in carrying out the laws. These laws are sometimes said 
 to be made by the children themselves, and a part of them 
 undoubtedly are ; but the original constitution was given 
 to them by Mr. George, and other measures have also been 
 introduced by him. The constitution imitates as closely as 
 possible the Constitution of the United States. There is a 
 Congress, consisting of a Senate and House of Represen- 
 tatives, which "has the power of passing laws in harmony 
 with the United States Constitution and the laws of New 
 York State" (3). Mr. George at first was the president of 
 the Republic and had a veto power over its laws, " but now 
 there is a boy president, whose veto can be set aside only 
 by a two-thirds' vote of the Congress." There are courts, 
 judges, guards, a jail, and a police force, but without the 
 industrial and economic basis these would be of much 
 smaller importance than they are. The fundamental con- 
 dition of the organization is that the pupils work for their 
 living. The motto of the Republic is, Nothing without 
 labor. In proportion to the work they do, wages are paid 
 them in imitation money, which is valid only within the 
 Republic. The labor day is from eight thirty to twelve, 
 and the wage from fifty to seventy-five cents per day. No 
 one need go unprovided with work. It is the part of the 
 superintendent, Mr. George, to give or make work for every 
 applicant, whether on the land or in the care of cattle, 
 ditching, leveling, chopping, sweeping, bed making, cook- 
 ing, waiting on table, etc. (4). Work is outlined and con- 
 trolled by the school state. It is, however, sublet to 
 [60]
 
 THE SCHOOL AS AN ORGANISM THE REPUBLIC 
 
 individuals, who can hire other workmen. No one, of course, 
 can become a contractor without sufficient capital. A pre- 
 mium is thus placed on thrift. 
 
 A citizen who can afford it may live in very comfortable 
 style. " The hotels, as they are called, are of three grades, 
 from the Hotel Waldorf, on the second floor of the main 
 building, where the millionaires sleep, and pay twenty-five 
 cents a night for the privilege of having a tastily furnished 
 room to themselves, to the lowest class of lodgings in the 
 attic, where the unsuccessful business men or the idlers 
 must take up their quarters at ten cents a night. If the 
 citizen has no money to pay for lodgings, he must pass the 
 night in the station house, and in the morning is arrested 
 for vagrancy and made to work out the fine imposed." 
 "The restaurants also are let to contractors, and their 
 prices vary from fifteen cents to twenty-five cents a meal." 
 " In addition to the contracts let by the government, other 
 industries have sprung up. The boys become carpenters ; 
 retail venders of fruit, candies, and other commodities 
 dear to children's hearts ; public officials ; lawyers ; and 
 skilled laborers of various kinds. The girls turn to sewing, 
 clothes patching, stocking darning, and housework." Fines 
 imposed by the court thus cut into the necessary means of 
 a good livelihood. Hunger or personal comfort, if no higher 
 motives, tend to enforce the laws. 
 
 In the winter time, especially when work is scarce, some 
 of the older boys are selected to act as "schoolmasters." 
 They prepare questions on all sorts of subjects, ferreted out 
 from histories, geographies, encyclopedias, etc. These ques- 
 tions are distributed and the successful answers paid for. 
 The usual expenses of the citizen are met with the money 
 [61]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 thus obtained, certainly a very extraordinary departure 
 from the seemingly industrial foundation of the school. 
 
 Apart from the labor and book learning, there are hours 
 for play and recreation. Christian influences are constantly 
 brought to bear, and everything possible is done by Mr. 
 and Mrs. George to establish the friendly relations of a 
 home. Being divested of the role of a constantly active 
 disciplinarian, the superintendent is more free to proffer 
 advice and counsel, which may or may not be taken, as the 
 citizen decides. 
 
 It is to be noted that back of all the pupil machinery 
 of government stands Mr. George. As the report of the 
 Labor and Charities Commission says, " It is to be under- 
 stood that it is the policy of the management to advise 
 sparingly and to command only when necessity requires." 
 Formerly the industry on the farm was carried on by in- 
 dustrial classes, "the citizens being enrolled in these, and 
 paid according to the number of hours spent in the acquisi- 
 tion of technical knowledge. . . . The class system was 
 done away with and the contract system substituted in 
 accordance with Mr. George's aim to introduce into the 
 Republic as many of the conditions of ordinary life as 
 possible. . . . An inspector for hotels is employed by the 
 government and makes his rounds daily, accompanied by 
 Mrs. George, who fines the inspector if he fails to discover 
 any faults of omission or commission." As Mr. Hull goes 
 on to say : " If we are consistent believers in the American 
 political theory, we must admit that the machinery adopted 
 by the founder of the George Junior Republic for carrying 
 on its work is the best which the mind of man has devel- 
 oped. But mere machinery is useless without a motive force, 
 [62]
 
 
 THE SCHOOL AS AN ORGANISM THE REPUBLIC 
 
 and this motive force is largely supplied by the clever brain 
 and kindly heart of Mr. George " (5). 
 
 We must, however, avoid being deceived by mere 
 machinery. It is the spirit and not the letter which 
 maketh alive. In the adult state there may be machinery 
 which is useless or even pernicious, but, apart from vicious 
 intention, that is usually because it has been useful at 
 some previous time. Real law and real government in 
 real communities spring up to protect real interests which 
 could not advance without their guardianship. Effective 
 voting is not simply a registration of opinion ; it is a 
 registration of an opinion about a vital issue. And just 
 because of this, it is more than the registration of an 
 opinion ; it is the expression of the amount of force in 
 fighting units which would be available, if necessary, to 
 back up this opinion. Voting came in during the course 
 of history as a substitute for a show of arms. The inven- 
 tion of gunpowder, which put the means of defense into 
 the hands of masses of men, was a necessary prerequisite 
 for a wide diffusion of the suffrage. The mere right to 
 vote does not characterize a citizen or a state, although 
 the lack of it sometimes does. In clan life a new band 
 was often formed when some one arose, proposed a proj- 
 ect, a marauding expedition, perhaps, and asked for 
 followers. Those who elected to go with him, by that 
 act also elected him as chief, an office he held only as 
 long as his success was approved by a sufficiently strong 
 majority. When the Afghans in the eighteenth century 
 captured Ispahan and destroyed most of the citizens, this 
 barbarian host, in their rude, indeliberative way, exercised 
 a suffrage among themselves. 
 
 [63]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 Government means force and the power to coerce the 
 minority. If it did not mean this, but consisted of a mere 
 registration of opinion, the aims of the philosophical an- 
 archists would be reached, and all of our apparatus of 
 courts, jails, mayors, congressmen, commissioner of police, 
 etc., would be sloughed off as an expensive luxury. When 
 voting does not represent fighting force and its intelligent 
 organization, it becomes a farce and is easily overridden. 
 This is evidently the condition of affairs in the negro belt 
 of the southern states. When society can get a more 
 direct registration of its fighting ability by counting the 
 votes of women, or can estimate with more delicacy and 
 accuracy the number of fighting units by employing women 
 in responsible governmental positions, it will be forced, in 
 order to survive, to extend to them the suffrage and to call 
 upon them to share in executive government. This is, of 
 course, not unreasonable and not an impossibility, but 
 mainly because of the influence of women over men, 
 which, however, they already exert, and not because it 
 is likely that women will ever make good soldiers. Voting 
 is not for individuals, but for society. 
 
 The real characteristics of a citizen in a civilized com- 
 munity are indicated much more truly by the votes that 
 he influences than by the single one that he casts, but 
 even this function is not the real measure of his value to 
 society. The forcible protection which government exer- 
 cises is always a means to an end. This end consists in 
 the interests, the plans, the schemes, the desires and ambi- 
 tions, the many-sided life of civilization which springs up 
 in the hearts of all mankind. Where these are of such 
 a nature as to run counter to the social good, coercion is 
 [64] 

 
 THE SCHOOL AS AN 'ORGANISM THE REPUBLIC 
 
 necessary to restrain or destroy them. When, on the con- 
 trary, they exist but in a weak and feeble condition, and 
 if they are recognized as of value to society, it is equally 
 necessary to supply them with the means of growth. Force, 
 however, can never make plans grow where there are no 
 plans in mind. People cannot be made good by compul- 
 sion. Just sufficient force to fulfill these two functions of 
 protection and of sustenance (not necessarily of the weak, 
 but of the socially desirable) is all that is required. An 
 excess is wasteful. 
 
 In early societies everybody was a policeman, and blood 
 revenge was the duty of each, not simply for his own sake, 
 but in obedience to the social instincts of all. To-day we 
 economize these executive powers by delegating them to 
 as few as possible, and thus secure for the rest freedom to 
 engage in other concerns. If there are interests and plans 
 of a social value, which even the weakest member of society 
 entertains, this delegated force should be at his disposal, 
 to protect him from imposition and to help him in his 
 ambition. If women, for example, are unable to carry out 
 socially valuable schemes of life because coercive force 
 stands in their way, fails to protect them, or refuses to 
 help them, the government as it exists is seriously faulty 
 and unjust. Whenever the strong arm of compulsion is re- 
 quired, men will be necessary to carry it out. Executive 
 government is, after all, nothing but a policeman on a 
 larger scale. 
 
 The same conditions apply, with even more cogency, to 
 
 children. The exercise of physical compulsion or constraint 
 
 can never spring from them so long as they are part of a 
 
 civilized community ; nor can it ever be rightly exercised 
 
 [65]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 by them except in so far as they act as delegates or mes- 
 sengers of a power which they do not help to create. Force, 
 however, by virtue of the social life within us, is bound to 
 be exerted on their behalf. Their best interests and desires 
 should be fostered and protected and their best develop- 
 ment guaranteed. In so far as the coercive aspects of life 
 in the George Junior Republic are concerned, it is an illu- 
 sion to suppose that it has evolved either a government of 
 the people or by them. All the machinery of force which 
 characterizes the school, down to the guns (unloaded, I 
 hope) which the guards carry, as shown in photographs, 
 is superfluous and unnecessary. A good deal of it is, 
 of course, a play which is educative in a certain sense ; that 
 is, the children get a dramatized presentation, in which they 
 are themselves the actors, of the way in which governments 
 are run. A play, however, necessarily leaves out that partic- 
 ular factor which makes the interest real. It is Mr. George, 
 and the authority vested in him by the adult state, that is 
 the real force back of all the children's laws. These must 
 be, in reality, verified by him in order to be valid. 
 
 The same thing is true, at the bottom, of the industrial 
 and economic features. The Republic does not maintain 
 itself, and there is only that discretion in pecuniary matters 
 that is permitted by the superintendent. If boys go in rags 
 or live poorly, that is approved by him as an instructive 
 experience. 
 
 Does this mean that there is no social self-organization 
 on the part of the pupils? Not at all. Mr. George, per- 
 haps unnecessarily, masks the flow of honor from him to 
 the pupils, and substitutes for this a machinery of offices 
 and laws ; but in doing this, does he prevent the children 
 [66]
 
 
 THE SCHOOL AS AN ORGANISM THE REPUBLIC 
 
 from getting out of their experience all that is possible for 
 them in the understanding and appreciation of a superior ? 
 That the laws do not prevent the children from feeling and 
 knowing that Mr. George is the real mainstay, the real ruler, 
 can hardly be doubted. But how is this controlling will to 
 be approached ? Not by wheedling, not by personal service, 
 smiles, or conformity to a few arbitrary rules of conduct. 
 This will chooses to be approached, so far as the funda- 
 mental necessities of food, clothing, and shelter are con- 
 cerned, in one way, and that by the skill with which each 
 individual shows he can play the game of the Republic. 
 
 These boys are surely sharp enough to find out what 
 their work means. Do they think that they are working 
 for Mr. George, and that he, perhaps, is making his own 
 living from the overplus of their efforts ? If this were 
 so, it would suddenly reduce the Republic to an economic 
 reality. The children, at least the intelligent ones who 
 would act as leaders, probably know well enough that 
 they are getting a greater return for their labor than 
 they would elsewhere, and that the institution is mainly 
 supported by private subscriptions, which Mr. George 
 alone is able to obtain. What they must realize at the 
 bottom is Mr. George's fatherliness, which is not an 
 economic condition to them. His favor, however, in mat- 
 ters economic, is bestowed not on individual boys as he 
 may think they need it, but on the Republic as a whole. 
 The honors and the honorable positions that are dispensed 
 are created by Mr. George, but the least of these may be 
 competed for by all the children in the Republic. 
 
 The honorable position at the lowest end of the scale is 
 that of a poorly paid laborer. Here there is no competition, 
 [67]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 as there is in the real world, since the superintendent finds 
 work for all. The more highly paid are more honored by 
 their comrades, and of course by Mr. George also. At times 
 it seems as if the Republic expected pure self-interest, apart 
 from social instinct and the love of being honored and looked 
 up to by others, to inspire the workers to thrift and ambition. 
 But these former motives can hardly be the controlling ones, 
 and if they were, such a condition would afford the gravest 
 ground for complaint on the part of the public at large. 
 
 One of the most desirable positions is that of police- 
 man. Unfortunately the street experiences of a New York 
 boy make him regard the policeman as about the summit 
 of human greatness. But there are evidently other more 
 practical reasons at work. A policeman in the Junior Re- 
 public gets pay, and during the time he is on duty he 
 does no manual labor. How many policemen does the 
 Republic need ? How is this decided ? If the mere selec- 
 tion, but not the creation, of the policeman is in the hands 
 of the children, it would seem natural for them to have as 
 many policemen as possible. In adult society, on the con- 
 trary, we have as few as possible, since their maintenance 
 is a tax on the community. If food obtained by individuals 
 in the Junior Republic depended on the combined efforts 
 of all, instead of on the individual efforts of each, it would 
 be a more thoroughly social institution than it is. If this 
 were so, it might possibly be seen by the children that 
 since they are but few in number they could do very well 
 without special policemen, and perhaps without their ex- 
 travagant legal paraphernalia also. 
 
 It is not, however, certain that they would see this of 
 themselves. The connection between policemen's support 
 [68]
 
 THE SCHOOL AS AN ORGANISM THE REPUBLIC 
 
 and the economic basis might be remote enough so that 
 in gratifying their immediate desires, including their social 
 instinct, without intelligent reflection, they would at least 
 lower greatly the earning power of the community. The 
 negro republic of Haiti has degenerated economically, 
 partly because positions in the army or government 
 were multiplied far beyond their serviceableness to so- 
 ciety. Meanwhile the means of production, roads, schools, 
 etc., were being starved because there was not foresight 
 enough to raise and apply taxes for their, proper mainte- 
 nance. Possibly American boys and girls might not make 
 such a mistake, and the small number in the Junior Re- 
 public would make both social oversight and foresight 
 more practicable. But if they failed to see so widely or 
 so far, surely they should have the advice of the superin- 
 tendent, based on exact estimation and calculation. Mr. 
 George at present uses his influence to advise individuals. 
 Why should the little society as a whole not receive the 
 best advice, I do not mean commands, instead of be- 
 ing allowed to discover things by groping in the dark ? The 
 trouble is, of course, in answer to this, that the little 
 society as a whole does very little experimenting. Their 
 constitution is already laid down and their laws are already 
 promulgated. As a society they do not exercise much, if 
 any, control over the means of subsistence. 
 
 Advice, however, might be given, but not followed. If 
 this resulted in a permanent lowering of the desirable 
 activities of the little society as a whole, it is plain that, 
 since it is, after all, but a part of a larger society, authority 
 and force should be used, and the advice would become a 
 command. Instead of a large number of policemen desired 
 [69]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 by the society, which would result in lowering its produc- 
 tiveness, just that number would be allowed which was 
 judged by the superintendent to be sufficient. This is, 
 however, the present condition. It is difficult to see how 
 the service done by the policeman is felt by the children 
 to be a service so needful that they would sacrifice anything 
 for its continuance. A real social basis for the honor feel- 
 ing, arising from the individual benefited by the service and 
 bestowed upon an individual chosen to perform it, does not 
 obtain. The policeman may be looked up to and honored 
 because he is clever, has passed his civil service examina- 
 tion (a necessary prerequisite for a policeman), and has got 
 an easy job, and not because he is felt to be of much use. 
 Honor has been bestowed upon him for some service, but 
 not primarily by the citizens of the Republic. In his selec- 
 tion, however, from among a number of candidates, there 
 is a real although limited opportunity of bestowing honor. 
 Here it is serviceableness in his office that ought to be 
 judged, but how can this serviceableness be measured ? Is 
 it not likely to be his affability and pleasant manner which 
 count for most ? These are, of course, social services, and 
 especially appropriate in a policeman, if at the same time 
 other aspects of his duty are rigidly performed. The test 
 of these latter may be passed up to judge, congress, and 
 president, but it must come back finally to Mr. George. 
 The difficulty is that the Junior Republic cannot fail or 
 go to pieces, and cannot even be lowered permanently in 
 economic or legal well-being. 
 
 This is, of course, as it should be. Children have a right 
 to be protected from economic strain. This is the most 
 fundamental fact about children from a societary point of 
 [70]
 
 THE SCHOOL AS AN ORGANISM THE REPUBLIC 
 
 view. To come into contact with real economic conditions 
 too early stunts mental and moral growth. Children are 
 like seedling plants which put forth leaves and begin to 
 strike root on nourishment which they did not elaborate 
 for themselves. Partly embryonic from a physiological 
 standpoint, they are still more so from a social one. 
 Schools are social embryos. They cannot be little states 
 modeled after that of adults. A physical embryo may 
 be provided with gill slits, but it is not a fish ; it may 
 have the sauropsidian liver, but it is not a reptile. 
 Neither is it simply a little edition of an adult human 
 being. 
 
 Similarly with the school. It cannot be simply a repro- 
 duction of an adult society, and yet the laws which govern 
 it and the motives which actuate its components must be 
 at the same time really social and show plainly that they 
 are developing into something better. Progressive change, 
 therefore, rather than the fixity of a constitution, we should 
 expect to find characteristic of a true child society. Its 
 point of contact with adult society is as vital as the func- 
 tion of the placenta in the physical embryo. Since the 
 school is an organism which is the result of conscious 
 thought, we must study it to find out what this point of 
 contact essentially is. If it is of such a nature as to 
 hamper the best spontaneous development of the school 
 itself, either by being too lax or too stringent, the organ- 
 ism suffers, and society as a whole is defrauded of its rights. 
 
 Two important points of contact, as we have tried to 
 show in our analysis of the Junior Republic, are the appli- 
 cation of force and the protection from economic strain. 
 But it is just at these two points that the management
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 of the Republic tries without success, except as a play, 
 to imitate adult society. Economic conditions and the use 
 of force enter into every school. Their favorable or un- 
 favorable action is keenly felt. But the children cannot 
 be held responsible for the results, and although they may 
 receive the benefits, they cannot wisely or profitably con- 
 trol either of the factors at work. 
 
 Mr. George's problem, however, was to develop the chil- 
 dren by getting them to use whatever power of social self- 
 activity and social initiative they did possess, rather than 
 to have them depend constantly on the command or direc- 
 tion of a superior. It is only where failure is possible that 
 this result can be obtained, and it is in the comparatively 
 non-coercive features of the Republic that we actually see 
 such a possibility realized. This comes out in business 
 ventures. A Junior Republic capitalist takes, for example, 
 a contract. He hires such boys as he can depend on. If it 
 is a restaurant he is running, he must please his custom- 
 ers, or they may go to other places. If his plan does not 
 work, he soon loses money and fails. If he succeeds, he 
 has employed a number of laborers in positions which they 
 like better than certain others. They are loyal to him as 
 he to them. There are honor motives on both sides, arising 
 from the differentiation of talent or on account of property 
 won by work or serviceable insight. The boy is a real leader 
 for real purposes which he can measure and control. Such 
 a social situation, however, exists within the circle protected 
 by force, and could be applied to other needs or aspirations 
 than to feed a clientele or to enrich one's self. What range 
 of opportunities for such plans and schemes does the 
 Republic really afford ? 
 
 [72]
 
 THE SCHOOL AS AN ORGANISM THE REPUBLIC 
 
 Is it not true that these opportunities are limited largely 
 to economic and legal matters, and do not rise frequently 
 enough into the higher sphere of idealism which is pecu- 
 liarly the heritage and the functional place of children and 
 adolescents ? The reduction of book learning to a falsely 
 economic basis is an indication of this fact. Curiosity about 
 the non-legal and non-economic world, wonder and admira- 
 tion of nature, joy in construction of things that have no eco- 
 nomic value, boats, cars, clubs, dramas, etc., even acts 
 of unpaid labor for social loyalty and devotion, quite capable 
 of being socially organized, are natural to children, and are 
 much more essential and fundamental to the life of society 
 than premature skill in earning a living. 
 
 It is, in fact, the development of such idealisms in the 
 shape of science, whether of nature or of humanity, which 
 have created our modern life with the vast industrial system 
 on which it floats. It is these, too, which hold it together 
 in the face of destructive tendencies, and which we hope 
 may yet be able to improve the present imperfections under 
 which we suffer. To develop these idealistic characteristics 
 of children, it will be noted, has always been the aim of 
 our culture schools, and in this they partially succeed. 
 Where they fail it is due to imperfect understanding not 
 only of the child as an individual but of children in their 
 social relationships, rather than to an error in the aim itself. 
 
 The motto, Nothing without labor, is one which is 
 much more suitable for the Junior Republic than for a 
 home or a school composed of normally constituted and 
 normally situated American children. The function of 
 the Junior Republic, as Dr. Lincoln points out, is mainly 
 the rebuilding of moral ruins. The children are already 
 [73]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 preternaturally and morbidly sharpened on just these legal 
 and economic aspects of life. To show them what these 
 powers are, at least to some extent, and to show them that 
 they do not necessarily hurt, it may be wise to emphasize 
 them in such a school. The children are probably over- 
 individualized before they come. The cruel necessity for 
 self-maintenance and self-protection has been forced upon 
 them, and has already tended to degrade them socially. 
 The narrow virtues of individual self-control rather than 
 the service, care, and thought of others may be the only 
 ones which powerfully appeal to them, and which at the 
 start can be successfully added on to their earlier experi- 
 ences. That to some extent, at least, the conditions and 
 the rewards of this control come from their own compan- 
 ions rather than from Mr. George, affords an opportunity 
 for their debased feelings and low views of life to rise to 
 something more truly ethical and social. But just in pro- 
 portion as this is true, the Junior Republic, without the 
 substitution of something more educative for its exagger- 
 ated economic and legal features, does not form a good 
 model for the democratic American school to imitate. 
 
 It may be that the school city of Mr. Gill arose as such 
 an imitation, or it may have been an independent concep- 
 tion. This is a plan of organization which consists in put- 
 ting into a school grade the government paraphernalia of a 
 ward or district of a city, or sometimes of the city itself, 
 in having laws, district courts, attorneys, etc., and especially 
 policemen. In a day school economic factors are of course 
 impossible. 
 
 In New York City, where the question of imitating pres- 
 ent city government gives rise to some qualms, the Ray 
 [74]
 
 THE SCHOOL AS AN ORGANISM THE REPUBLIC 
 
 System is sometimes used. This is modeled after Roman 
 fashions, and provides tribunes, senators, lictors, etc. It 
 will be noted that the focus of attention is still occupied 
 with government functions rather than with broad social 
 activities. True, in adult society, government functions 
 are indispensable and decisive, but they exist mainly to pro- 
 tect other interests which the citizens have originated and 
 which they hold steadily at heart. These interests, too, are 
 not wholly individualistic and selfish, but are such as re- 
 quire cooperative organization for their development. , 
 
 In a school we have the necessary force, represented by 
 the teachers, to protect all real educative interests likely 
 to arise. The added compulsive force of the children ought 
 not to be required. It is enough that they tacitly acquiesce 
 in its administration. Their effort and cooperation should 
 rather be enlisted in the work of voluntary committees or 
 groups, brought together naturally by a common interest 
 or purpose. 
 
 The term " self-government " has often been a mislead- 
 ing one in educational discussions. It has frequently been 
 used to signify self-control, either in the individualistic 
 sense, or as the self-direction of groups without outside 
 compulsion. In either of these interpretations self-control, 
 which is of course essential to all high social development, 
 goes far beyond the requirements of government. What is 
 really needed in our schools as a preparation for democracy 
 and our highly differentiated society is not self-government, 
 but self-control and the self -direction of groups. 
 
 It is the latter requirement which is the most signifi- 
 cant, and also the least understood. In adult society self- 
 directed groups abound. Every church in America is a 
 [75]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 good example of this fact. In earlier times a church was 
 an affair of coercive government. Forced taxes were used 
 for its support, and attendance was compelled by fines. It 
 is plain that this was a wrong use of force, which is now 
 applied only for the purpose of protection, or sometimes to 
 foster externally, as when taxes are remitted on church 
 property. The church, however, directs its internal affairs 
 without compulsion. Voting or parliamentary rules of pro- 
 cedure are often used, but it is plain that they have quite 
 a different significance from what they have in the state. 
 In the church they mean merely a registration of opinion, 
 but no compulsion follows. Individuals who are dissatisfied 
 can leave the church. No one, on the contrary, can avoid 
 the control of a government unless he leaves the country 
 and swears allegiance to another one ; and even in this 
 case, in the most important matters, the laws are the same. 
 Extradition, too, if he has broken the law, may follow him 
 to another state. Besides churches, there are committees, 
 voluntary organizations, etc., which carry on projects and 
 interests, and hold themselves together and are self -directive 
 without the need of compulsion. They are founded on the 
 common purposes and the natural social capacities and 
 affinities of their members, and are free, voluntary, and 
 highly social only because they are easily capable of going 
 to pieces. To succeed here, even as a follower, is an honor ; 
 to lead, a triumph. 
 
 It is the introduction into our schools of such voluntary, 
 self-directed purpose groups, rather than the functions of 
 coercive government, which may be expected to gratify the 
 social instinct of the children, to develop their resourceful- 
 ness and initiative, and to fit them for the complicated life 
 [76]
 
 THE SCHOOL AS AN ORGANISM THE REPUBLIC 
 
 of present society. It is in this direction that the school 
 may show itself naturally and easily as an embryonic social 
 organism, manifesting its own laws of growth, rather than 
 as prematurely molded after the model of a not too perfect 
 adult community. 
 
 REFERENCES 
 
 1. The George Junior Republic, a report of the Bureau of Labor 
 and Charities, Syracuse, New York. 
 
 2. Mr. William I. Hull, " The George Junior Republic," Publica- 
 tion of the American Academy of Political and Social Science, 
 No. 205, August 10, 1867. 
 
 3. Hull, op. cit. 
 
 4. Dr. David F. Lincoln in The Laming Age. Boston, January, 
 1900. 
 
 5. Hull, op. cit. 
 
 [77]
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THE SCHOOL AND SOCIETY 
 
 Among the most significant of the' educational experi- 
 ments of a social nature that have appeared in recent 
 times, is what is familiarly known as the Dewey School. 
 This school was started by Professor Dewey, when he 
 was in Chicago University, in order to work out some of 
 his educational theories (l). As designed by him, the in- 
 stitution no longer exists, but it has been merged with 
 the Emmons Elaine School, originated by Colonel Parker. 
 The combined school is now under the direction of The 
 University of Chicago. 
 
 It will be impossible, in an essay of this character, to 
 give a satisfactory account of Professor Dewey's point of 
 view as an educator. This springs from his position as a 
 philosopher, which is again necessarily implicated with cer- 
 tain very strong and original views in logic, epistemology, 
 psychology, and ethics. The general trend of these views 
 is quite in the line of the modern movement in these studies. 
 Psychology is looked upon as essentially functional, and 
 although differing greatly in detail from James, Peirce, 
 Schiller, Bergson, and other pragmatists who are at all 
 careful about their presuppositions, Professor Dewey, in 
 agreement 'with these authors, makes will or intention the 
 prominent or controlling feature of the science. In logic 
 the modern thought has been, since Mill, to emphasize 
 [78]
 
 THE SCHOOL AND SOCIETY 
 
 inductive thought as a whole process, in which deduction 
 plays a subordinate part (see chapter on Reasoning). Expe- 
 rience, fact, verification, are regarded as the real sources of 
 validity of all categories, which, instead of being set eternal 
 in the heavens, are really nothing more than working 
 hypotheses. In ethics the discussions of ethnology have 
 compelled a similar point of view. The moral nature is 
 thought of as a result of successful social experience, and 
 it is shown that different times produce different con- 
 sciences as well as different manners (2). 
 
 Professor Dewey, in his analytic writings, has ably car- 
 ried out these views, which are not positivistic in the usual 
 sense of the word, and have no quarrel either with theology 
 or philosophy, since they are themselves philosophical or 
 speculative in the best sense. To show their peculiar 
 strength or weakness, a much more thorough examination 
 would be necessary than is possible here. 
 
 As a true pragmatist, however, Professor Dewey was 
 forced to do more than analyze. It was essential that he 
 should carry on the experimental life, and not only test his 
 theories by practice, but obtain from this practice the 
 necessary corrections of his theories. For this no better 
 field could offer than the school, and especially the elemen- 
 tary school, where social as well as logical motives are 
 comparatively simple and undisguised. 
 
 Professor Dewey regarded his school as a laboratory, 
 and called it an experimental school. He started not so much 
 from the point of view of the child, as from that of the 
 course of study, and his aim was to find a course of study 
 which, after being thoroughly tried out in this school, 
 would be suitable for application in others. This accounts 
 [79]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 for some features which have often been found objection- 
 able by so-called good disciplinarians. The material or 
 activities to be presented to the children, after being 
 worked out by the teachers beforehand, must not be forced 
 upon them by too great enthusiasm or by suggested 
 coercion. The children must be allowed the opportunity 
 to show their dissatisfaction and restlessness if their inter- 
 ests are not naturally engaged. While they did not initiate 
 any leading portions of the course of study, the children 
 were expected to cooperate in the details of its execution, 
 and were practically permitted the freedom of rejection. In 
 its application to other schools such freedom was never 
 presumed. It was only for the purpose of the experi- 
 mental school that it was to be tolerated. 
 
 Whether the children of the Dewey School knew that 
 this was the theory back of their lessons is not so impor- 
 tant. They soon enough discovered its working effects. 
 These effects, however, were at no time, during any visit 
 of mine to the school, productive of noticeable disorder. 
 New adaptations of the course of study were constantly 
 being made. Phases of work which attracted the children 
 were also being discovered. On the whole, the children 
 were interested in their work. Such a degree of interest, 
 indeed, as they manifested is never to be found in a 
 school which is clamped down to prevent natural reaction 
 on the part of the pupils. Schools of this latter type are 
 equally experimental, although as a rule the experimenter 
 is not provided with sufficient intelligence to know when 
 to stop. 
 
 Professor Dewey states that there were four principal 
 problems which were worked on from the beginning of 
 [80]
 
 THE SCHOOL AND SOCIETY 
 
 the school: (i) the question of the unity of the child's 
 experience, and the need for maintaining the connection 
 between home and school life ; (2) the question of import- 
 ing richer subject-matter into the usual seventy-five or 
 eighty per cent of merely form studies ; (3) the connecting 
 of these necessary formal studies reading, writing, and 
 arithmetic with subjects which appeal to the child on 
 their own account ; (4) individual attention, which, it was 
 hoped, would be secured by small grouping of eight or 
 ten in a class. In working out these problems, " shop- 
 work with iron and wood, cooking, and work with textiles 
 (sewing and weaving) " were emphasized. A certain amount 
 of geography, scientific work, chemistry, and art was natu- 
 rally correlated with them. On the history side primitive 
 occupations were used, designed to show the child the 
 steps of progress and development, especially along the 
 line of invention, by which man was led into civilization." 
 The groups or small classes were formed at first of children 
 of "different ages and attainments," since it was believed 
 that "there were mental advantages in having the older 
 assume certain responsibilities in the care of the younger. 
 As the school grew it became necessary to abandon this 
 method, and to group the children with reference to their 
 common capacities. These groupings, however, were based 
 not on ability to read and write, but upon similarity of 
 mental attitude and interest, and upon general intellectual 
 capacity and alertness." The groups were always formed 
 by the teacher in charge. 
 
 Two general and closely related aims of the school were 
 to give the children whole activities rather than small sec- 
 tions of work ; and, by bringing the children into contact 
 [81]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 with various teachers and various influences, to prevent 
 the isolation which is often the result of the grade system. 
 Such a purpose is evidently of a highly social character, 
 especially from the standpoint of the relationship of the 
 children to the essence of the past life of society. A clear 
 insight into the past is at least one way of grasping the 
 more complicated elements of which the present is composed. 
 
 Professor Dewey's book and his articles on education 
 are full of suggestions and demands which, if capable of 
 being carried out, as the reader is prone to understand 
 them, would probably realize the beginning of a true social 
 democracy in the school. There are no unnecessary eco- 
 nomic or legal complications. Essential societary organiza- 
 tion is seen to be a much broader affair than mere 
 government, and must affect the course of study rather 
 than confine itself to policing. The aims and ideals of 
 a true culture, rather than a narrow preparation for life, 
 are held constantly before the mind. " Education is life, 
 not a preparation for life." The school is often described 
 by him as a social embryo, and the spontaneous interest and 
 attention of the children are spoken of as the sine qua 
 non of the teacher's art. 
 
 Between some of the most significant social ideals for 
 the school and the particular exemplification of them as 
 expressed in Professor Dewey's writings, there is, how- 
 ever, so far as the present writer is able to understand it, 
 an irreconcilable gap. On the one hand, Professor Dewey 
 gives a clear and logical account of many of the social 
 needs and functions of a school; on the other, things 
 as they are worked out in the school itself, and de- 
 scribed by him as examples, fail to convince the observer 
 [82]
 
 THE SCHOOL AND SOCIETY 
 
 that they would actually fulfill the necessary requirements. 
 As the politicians say, he does n't deliver the goods. No 
 doubt the realization of any theory of education always 
 meets with serious obstruction in practice, lack of under- 
 standing on the part of the teachers, and material deficien- 
 cies as well as the nature of the children themselves ; but 
 these difficulties should return upon the theory and mod- 
 ify it, if it is to maintain itself as a guide and remain 
 free from the suspicion of being, to a considerable extent, 
 a priori and ready-made. A less seemingly perfect and 
 logical theory may thus be really a truer working hypoth- 
 esis and a more effective means of promoting both theoret- 
 ical and practical progress than one apparently strong in 
 every part. 
 
 Professor Dewey sees very clearly the tremendous social 
 
 defects of the usual type of school of the present day, 
 
 its narrowness and dullness, its isolation from life and the 
 isolation of the children from one another, its emphasis on 
 the mere absorption of facts by uncooperative individuals, 
 its competitive standards of success, the negative character 
 of its discipline, and he rightly claims for a reasonable 
 education more active work, where it is not a crime to 
 help one's neighbor, but where a " spirit of free communi- 
 cation, of interchange of ideas, suggestions, results, both 
 successes and failures of previous experiences, become the 
 dominating note of the recitation " (3). In another pregnant 
 passage he says, " We must conceive of work in wood and 
 metal, of weaving, sewing, and cooking, as methods of 
 life, not as distinct studies. We must conceive of them 
 in their social significance, as types of the processes by 
 which society keeps itself going, as agencies for bringing
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 home to the child some of the principal necessities of 
 community life, and as ways in which these needs have 
 been met by the growing insight and ingenuity of man ; 
 in short, as instrumentalities through which the school 
 itself shall be made a genuine form of active community 
 life, instead of a place set apart in which to learn lessons. 
 
 " A society is a number of people held together because 
 they are working along common lines, in a common spirit, 
 and with reference to common aims. The common needs 
 and aims demand a growing interchange of thought and a 
 growing unity of sympathetic feeling. The radical reason 
 that the present school cannot organize itself as a natural 
 social unit is just because this element of common and pro- 
 ductive activity is absent. Upon the playground, in games 
 and sport, social organization takes place spontaneously 
 and inevitably. There is something to do, some activity to 
 be carried on, requiring natural division of labor, selection 
 of leaders and followers, mutual cooperation and emulation. 
 In the schoolroom the motive and the cement of social 
 organization are alike wanting. Upon the ethical side the 
 tragic weakness of the present school is that it endeavors 
 to prepare future members of the social order in a medium 
 in which the conditions of the social spirit are eminently 
 wanting." 
 
 What more admirable short description of the social ideal 
 of the internal organization of the school could be written 
 than the last of these two paragraphs ! 
 
 But how adequate, it must be asked, are the means pro- 
 posed for carrying this out ? Work in wood and metal, and 
 the like, may sometimes be instrumental in this direction, 
 but that depends entirely on who it is that realizes them as 
 [84]
 
 THE SCHOOL AND SOCIETY 
 
 instrumentalities. Primitive people found them exceedingly 
 important. They are also necessary functions of modern 
 civilization. But although these social wholes of the past 
 and the present have found such activities useful and 
 necessary to the maintenance of their social efficiency, it 
 does not follow that it would be a social advantage for 
 every one to be able to work in wood, metal, or the prepa- 
 ration of food. Professor Dewey selects these activities 
 partly because they are simple and partly because they 
 are historical. In a group of a dozen children, weaving, 
 for example, is proposed by the teacher. In the usual 
 teacher's way he tries to get them interested. In discus- 
 sions with them he plans the work and arranges for a 
 certain division of labor among the dozen. They may see 
 the interconnection in the various parts of the work, 
 observe the economy in the division of labor proposed, and, 
 on account of its simplicity, may grasp the wholeness of 
 the product. If to understand the process of weaving as it 
 is never done at present is the chief aim, this is accom- 
 plished. But if it is the creation of society, and not of 
 Indian mats, which is the aim, it is to be observed that the 
 children have no real responsibility in this respect. The 
 boy who starts a restaurant in the George Junior Republic 
 is responsible for its success or failure, because the project 
 started with him ; he may modify it at will, and he may 
 fail. The children who are weaving mats under the direc- 
 tion of a teacher cannot fail. They may not succeed with 
 the mats, and they may be disappointed as a result ; but the 
 responsibility is that of the teacher, and the success of the 
 undertaking depends on his inspiration, on his judgment 
 and sense. The teacher is always the leader, and the 
 ( [85]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 children are directed by him. They are not even voluntary 
 followers. The groups are made by the teachers according 
 to their judgment of the personnel and the number which 
 is best. No pupils are free to leave. The freedom and 
 spontaneity of that social organization of which Professor 
 Dewey speaks cannot arise, as it does on the playground, 
 where there is a free selection of leaders, strict division of 
 labor necessary for the particular game, and exclusion of 
 those who are superfluous, unwilling, or socially unattract- 
 ive and inefficient. The " motive and cement " of social or- 
 ganization, if not wanting, is at least not cohesive enough to 
 bind the children together should the teacher be removed. 
 Despite the fact that a great many of Professor Dewey's 
 theoretical statements seem to demand it, the work is not 
 tested in its social aspects as a nurseryman tests his seed- 
 lings, to see if they can take care of themselves, and of 
 their own organizing force overcome resistance and accom- 
 plish results in the same spirit which should be expected 
 of them later on. Under these circumstances the gap 
 between the school and life must still show itself. The 
 "tragic weakness" of the school from the social standpoint 
 of democracy may be carried to a higher plane, but it must 
 still exist. 
 
 Professor Dewey analyzes admirably the working out of 
 an impulse or interest, and shows that this means " running 
 up against obstacles, becoming acquainted with materials, 
 exercising ingenuity, patience, persistence, alertness ; it of 
 necessity involves discipline ordering of power and sup- 
 plies knowledge. Take the example," he says, "of a little 
 child who wants to make a box. If he stops short with the 
 imagination or wish, he will certainly not get discipline. 
 [86]
 
 THE SCHOOL AND SOCIETY 
 
 But when he attempts to realize his impulse, it is a question 
 of making his idea definite, making it into a plan, of taking 
 the right kind of wood, measuring the parts needed, giv- 
 ing them the necessary proportions, etc. There is involved 
 the preparation of materials, the sawing, planing, sand- 
 papering, making all the edges and corners to fit. Knowl- 
 edge of tools and processes is inevitable. If the child realizes 
 his impulse and makes the box, there is plenty of oppor- 
 tunity to gain discipline and perseverance, to exercise effort 
 in overcoming obstacles, and to attain as well a great deal 
 of information." 
 
 How very true ! But all on one condition, namely, that 
 the child continues to want to make the box. At this point 
 of voluntary control appear the really personal and social 
 factors. If, in a misguided moment, a small child said he 
 wanted to make a box, and found gradually unrolling before 
 him not his idea of the making of a box but that of his 
 teacher, who keeps him at it, the above general analysis, if 
 applied to such a case, would need to be very materially 
 modified. 
 
 Unfortunately Professor Dewey actually fits his analysis 
 to just such a case. He goes on to say : "The little child 
 who thinks he should like to cook has little idea of what it 
 means or costs, or what it requires. It is simply a desire 
 to 'mess around,' perhaps to imitate the activities of older 
 people." But if this is so, would it not be well to find it out 
 at the beginning, and if the child's real idea or plan shows 
 no likelihood of enlarging in such a way as to be his perma- 
 nent possession until the work he plans is finished, is it 
 social or logical to substitute for this another plan of cook- 
 ing which contains the meanings and requirements that the 
 
 [871
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 teacher sees ? The child may get discipline and knowledge 
 out of this, but they are not the kind of discipline and 
 knowledge which Professor Dewey seems to have had in 
 mind when he wrote the analysis we have just quoted. 
 
 In the case we are citing, the cooking went on. " One of 
 the children became impatient at having to work things out 
 by a long method of experimentation and said : ' Why do we 
 bother with this ? Let 's follow a recipe in a cook book.' 
 The teacher asked the children where the recipe came from, 
 and the conversation showed them that if they simply fol- 
 lowed this they would not understand the reason for what 
 they were doing. They were then quite willing to go on 
 with the experimental work " ! 
 
 To follow that work will give an illustration of just the 
 point in question. " Their occupation happened that day to 
 be the cooking of eggs, as making a transition from the 
 cooking of vegetables to that of meats. In order to get a 
 basis of comparison, they first summarized the constituent 
 food elements in the vegetables, and made a preliminary 
 comparison with those found in meat. Thus they found 
 that the woody fiber or cellulose in vegetables corresponded 
 to the connective tissue in meat, giving the element of force 
 and structure. They found that starch and starchy products 
 were characteristic of the vegetables, that mineral salts were 
 found in both alike, and that there was fat in both, a small 
 quantity in vegetable food and a large amount in animal. 
 They were prepared then to take up the study of albumen 
 as the characteristic feature of animal food corresponding 
 to starch in vegetables, and were ready to consider the 
 conditions requisite for the proper treatment of albumen 
 the eggs serving as the material of experiment." 
 [88]
 
 THE SCHOOL AND SOCIETY 
 
 They went on to experiment quite successfully with the 
 white of the egg, and at the end, as Professor Dewey says, 
 " were prepared not simply to cook eggs, but to understand 
 the principle involved in the cooking of eggs." 
 
 It is certainly not educative " for a child simply to desire 
 to cook an egg and accordingly drop it into the water for 
 three minutes, and take it out when he is told," as Professor 
 Dewey says ; and if the child did truly " realize his own 
 impulse by recognizing the facts, materials, and conditions 
 involved," and then continued to regulate his impulse 
 through that recognition, it would be educative, as Professor 
 Dewey says again. But who can think that this is what has 
 been done ? There is no proof or indication of it. The child's 
 impulse and the child's real point of view were evidently 
 lost sight of quite early in the proceeding. The children 
 are said to have been willing to go on with the experi- 
 mental work, but after the teacher's talk and her plainly 
 implied attitude, what alternative was there ? From a social 
 point of viewand as a social factor in the, class, how much 
 further on is such a teacher, except perhaps in tact and 
 skill in carrying out a difficult proposition, than the teacher 
 who outlines such work as she thinks can be done, and sees 
 that the children do it, without bothering much about their 
 immediate impulses, their spontaneous and inevitable social 
 organization, or the natural development of their point of 
 view ? In both cases there is a social organization actively 
 springing from the teacher, and in which the children take 
 some part, but in neither case do the children stake them- 
 selves upon the issue and feel that truly voluntary and 
 creative responsibility which is rewarded by nothing further 
 than the success, and humiliated by nothing further than 
 
 ! [89]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 the failure, of cherished plans. It is the constant presence 
 of vital will and intention which is at the bottom of all 
 genuine effort, and this, rather than a prearranged simplic- 
 ity of material or occupation, gives the wholeness to any 
 activity. 
 
 Where the children's deepest intention is to follow out 
 the teacher's direction, to get into the spirit of it, to wel- 
 come the task that is set, we have, whether the work is in 
 weaving or in algebra, a highly moral and indispensable fac- 
 tor in social education. Necessarily mingling with this, in 
 various degrees according to the personality of the child, are 
 factors of will which spring from more self-centered desires. 
 Many children like such activities as weaving, for its own 
 sake. The freedom of movement, the natural and unforced 
 play of attention required, are quite enough to account for 
 this, without the operation of formative social desires. But 
 even small children also set themselves to much more diffi- 
 cult and even formal tasks, and maintain their intention un- 
 til accomplishment crowns their effort. This intention is 
 the background motive of their obedience to the teacher. 
 
 As an illustration of this I may quote the case, which is 
 not at all unique, of a little five-year-old girl whose father 
 read to her the story of Lamia from a book. She said 
 nothing until years afterwards of the intention that was 
 born of that experience, but it nevertheless controlled a 
 large part of her life. She said that this was the first 
 time she had noticed that people got their wonderful 
 stories by reading. The thing haunted her and she set 
 herself to the apparently formal task of learning to read. 
 She went to a very poor school, submitted herself willingly 
 to all the unskillful operations of a dull and inefficient 
 [90]
 
 THE SCHOOL AND SOCIETY 
 
 teacher, and as a result accomplished her ambition in a 
 comparatively short time. 
 
 There are some children, and perhaps more than is sup- 
 posed, who look upon weaving, picking cotton, etc., as fool- 
 ish, even when they do not get that attitude from the home. 
 They are doubtless comparing these operations with some 
 more revered and cherished plans of their own. These 
 plans need to be discovered, fairly dealt with, brought 
 out into the open, and, instead of being criticised out of 
 existence, helped along their way. If they are seemingly 
 formal, sympathetic inquiry will probably find a germ of 
 reality out of which they have grown. Being founded in 
 personal will, itself derived from previous social contact, 
 they are the true starting points of further social organi- 
 zation which can be real and effective only in proportion 
 as it carries out the original energy of those genuine and 
 too often unexpressed desires. 
 
 To find the best possible course of study that can 
 be organized by the teacher is a great work and of in- 
 estimable value to education. To this result Professor 
 Dewey has given the world a notable contribution. He 
 has seen, theoretically at least, that it is the course of 
 study rather than the rest of the daily life, as in Abbots- 
 holme, or the legal and economic conditions, as in the 
 Junior Republic, which is the essential work of the 
 school, and into which the spirit of democratic social 
 service ought to be introduced. 
 
 But the best possible course of study, if organized by 
 
 the teacher, gives us a teacher's tool rather than one for 
 
 the children. No doubt every teacher's tool should be 
 
 adapted to the children and to many of their instincts. 
 
 [91]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 The children, moreover, ought not only to yield or receive, 
 but to help in working the tool themselves. This is indeed 
 truly social, so far as it goes. But in order to complete the 
 social development needed for democracy, real leadership, 
 which is, after all, the highest kind of social service, is 
 necessary, as well as cooperative obedience. Its full limits 
 and highest potentialities should be recognized in the 
 school, and the children should, therefore, as true pragma- 
 tists themselves, be permitted or helped to make their 
 own course of study, to some extent, at least, and to find 
 or make such tools and social organizations as they them- 
 selves see to be necessary for the realization of their aims. 
 In no other way can one be sure that the character and 
 habits which we expect of them in life have really taken 
 root and can maintain themselves when the children have 
 left the school. When this is done, as an integral part of 
 the school work, teachers may obtain not only a measure- 
 ment of their own best efforts, but a better opportunity to 
 study the children's social processes, and thus adapt the 
 work, in which they as teachers are necessarily leaders 
 and directors, to the social capacities of those with whom 
 they deal. 
 
 In this short review of the Dewey School the reader 
 may have noticed that the cases which Professor Dewey 
 offers as illustrations show the mental mechanism of the 
 individuals, as such, much better than the nature of the 
 groups or the little societies of which they form a part. 
 While it is absolutely necessary to an understanding of 
 the general problem to obtain clear and detailed interpre- 
 tations of the mental happenings and development occur- 
 ring in typical children, it does not follow that this is 
 [92]
 
 THE SCHOOL AND SOCIETY 
 
 enough, or indeed that it supplies the most important 
 and controlling factor in the situation. Herbert Spencer 
 seemed to be of the opinion that a calculus of the psychic 
 traits of individuals would determine beforehand the nature 
 of the groups which arise from their association, and this in 
 spite of the fact that he claimed to regard society as prior 
 to the individual. The truth is, as already stated, that 
 neither is actually prior, and yet society as it exists at any 
 one time is much less plastic and more compelling from a 
 causal standpoint than the nature of the individuals which 
 compose it. 
 
 In this respect, as Durkheim points out (4), there is 
 something of a contrast between the biological organism 
 and the organization of individuals called society. In the 
 body the cell unit is, for the most part, permanent in place 
 and hereditarily fixed in function. With the higher animals 
 substitution of function among the different parts is very 
 rare, and most apparent in the brain, which is the organ 
 immediately subserving social action. The case is quite dif- 
 ferent in all highly developed societies. Here individuals 
 move freely from one position to another, and constantly 
 change their r61es, sometimes to a very great extent. For 
 America especially, this feature is fundamental and char- 
 acteristic. The successful mule driver of to-day may be 
 the successful President of to-morrow. Every kind of equal- 
 ity of opportunity for each and all is, as we are never tired 
 of saying, the presupposition and the aim of democracy. 
 
 Such interchange or development of social function is 
 impossible without the greatest plasticity on the part of 
 individuals. This plasticity, however, while it has a bio- 
 logical basis, is useful only as it is played upon by society. 
 [93]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 Habits of social action, not so permanent that they may 
 not be changed if occasion demands, must be formed and 
 used in building up the structure of society. The social 
 situation in which a person finds himself, or the group 
 with which he is in contact, has thus the most to do with 
 his role or function in society and his success in life. The 
 family in which the average individual is brought up has 
 usually even more to do with his serviceableness to society 
 than the one in which he is born. No doubt the possibilities 
 must be latent in the individual, but different groupings with 
 quite similar material produce entirely different results. 
 
 If, then, we are to educate the children for democracy, 
 it is the nature of the groups in which they work, the vary- 
 ing constitution and development of these, and the reper- 
 cussion of them on the constituent individuals, which form 
 the most important element in the process. 
 
 The group or society of which the teacher aims to be the 
 leader and inspirer from a social standpoint is usually more 
 or less of a mere aggregate, rather than an organization (5). 
 There is every reason why the teacher should aim to organ- 
 ize this aggregate. In no other way can he become really 
 the leader. When this is not done, the aggregate does not 
 remain in a neutral condition. Organization sets in, inde- 
 pendently of the teacher. It is not always fully conscious 
 of itself, but it is none the less influential. Certain boys 
 or girls are looked to by the others for guidance, and 
 become centers of disturbance. They are watched by the 
 others for indications as to how far the class as a whole 
 may go in opposition to the teacher. Sometimes there are 
 chiefs for war and chiefs for peace. When a teacher runs 
 against such a chief, it is no longer an individual he is 
 [94]
 
 THE SCHOOL AND SOCIETY 
 
 dealing with, and even when he finds fault with some 
 humble member of the tribe, unless the chief consents 
 to ignore or to condone the treatment given, the teacher 
 may meet with as much difficulty and silent antagonism 
 as if the individual had been socially important. The 
 flag of the tribe protects its feeblest member. 
 
 Frequently more than one such group or clique can be 
 found in a class, and although there may be some rivalry, 
 there is usually a status quo. Those not in any group are 
 left over, either as the teacher's pets, or as the offscouring 
 of the class. When groups have once formed, the teacher 
 who does not realize it is lost. His best resource is in 
 some way to get hold of the leaders. In old-fashioned 
 schools leadership was often determined by actual fight- 
 ing (e). If the teacher " licked " the leader, he had the rest 
 of the school. In modern city schools leadership is a good 
 deal more subtile, and the appeal to force, by calling in the 
 head master, or by physical punishment for offenses, is not 
 very effective. The group still remains loyal, and treats the 
 punishment as an act of war. This is just because such 
 punishment is not at all a fight in which personal address 
 and vigor have any part. The teacher, on the contrary, is 
 merely calling in the organized force of the community of 
 adults to which he belongs. This is known to be superior , 
 to any form of frontal attack. Guerrilla warfare is all that 
 is possible. 
 
 It is the impression of the present writer, due to a fairly 
 wide experience of schools, both in the East and West, that 
 at least fifty per cent of the higher-grade classes in the 
 public schools are, to a greater' or less extent, in such 
 a state of antagonism to the teacher. This is not always 
 [95]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 carried so far as to prevent a certain kind of work from 
 being done. The teacher may be respected as one would 
 respect an officer of an opposing army, but he is not in 
 any real sense a leader. It is also to be noted that the 
 members of the children's groups, taken individually, have 
 usually nothing criminal or even unsocial about them. It 
 is the group to which they belong, rather than their own 
 personality, which determines their conduct. Such organi- 
 zations, however, even when largely instinctive and uncon- 
 scious, are a menace to the best interests of the children, 
 who, no matter what their achievements may be in read- 
 ing, writing, and arithmetic, are getting an education in 
 hostility to many of the best things in society as a whole. 
 In some way the teacher must creep into or break into this 
 child community, if he is to lead it out of its narrowness 
 and set it on the way to a higher development. 
 
 Sometimes the doors open by accident, and the teacher, 
 if he realizes it, may enter naturally. A case told me 
 by a distinguished Boston educator of his own experience 
 when teacher of a ninth grade will illustrate this point. 
 A case of discipline had arisen, and the teacher said to a 
 certain boy, " Well, there is no doubt that I shall have 
 to punish you." The boy replied in the presence of the 
 class, " Oh, yes, punish me ; you're always down on me." 
 This touched the teacher, and, being human enough to 
 flare up, he said impulsively : " I'll leave it to the rest 
 if you don't deserve it. More than that, I'll leave the 
 class entirely to itself in deciding. I'll turn my face to 
 the wall, and they can vote without my seeing them, and 
 I'll never ask a boy how he has voted." The vote was 
 reported to the teacher as unanimously in favor of 
 [96]
 
 THE SCHOOL AND SOCIETY 
 
 the boy's being punished. At this point the boy broke 
 down completely, and through his tears said, " Well, it 
 must be right, since everybody says so." 
 
 The interesting and significant feature of this experience 
 is the effect of the class sentiment on the boy. His attitude 
 of defiance in the first place was evidently conditioned by 
 his thought that the class was back of him ; and, indeed, so 
 it might have been but for the action of the teacher. The 
 case throws a strong light on the real nature of punish- 
 ment. This is never the mere infliction of pain or other 
 inconvenience. With a desirable social backing boys are 
 proud of these signs of prowess. Although they may suffer, 
 and sometimes give vent to the natural expression of their 
 suffering, they are no more guided by this in their future 
 action than is a martyr on the rack. Punishment is the 
 disapproval and repression of the group one feels he be- 
 longs to. Nothing else is punishment. It may sometimes 
 require a rite or ceremony like the administration of pain 
 to make it understood and to show that it is serious,' but 
 it is the spirit of exclusion which is the reality back of this 
 physical expression. Indeed the infliction of some more or 
 less revengeful pain often has the effect of reconcilement. 
 By this act the community still remains in contact with its 
 recalcitrant member. It puts him in a position where his 
 fellows observe him closely. He is the central figure of the 
 tragedy. The others watch him and imagine how he is 
 feeling. If he acts in such a way as to awaken sympathy, 
 either by heroism or by more or less dignified humility 
 and repentance, the hate of the community generally turns 
 to a degree of admiration, and the punishment is over. 
 Capital punishment, unless where the imagination carries 
 [97]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 the drama into the next world, is thus the only form which 
 is quite hopeless from this standpoint. 
 
 When a teacher administers punishment or reproof it is 
 absolutely necessary that he carry with him the best senti- 
 ment of the class. He can do this on ordinary occasions, 
 at least, only if the punishment be applied to prevent hin- 
 drances, not to such activities as the teacher thinks are de- 
 sirable, but to those which the class can be made sincerely 
 to approve. To get in sight of the solution of such a prob- 
 lem, no mere knowledge of individuals as such, or course 
 of study, however excellent, will ever suffice. It is the 
 social action of the class, the nature of the groups really 
 at work, their aims and ideals, their leadership and organi- 
 zation, which the teacher must find an opportunity to 
 study, and, if possible, to modify or control. 
 
 The most reasonable way out of the difficulties we have 
 described would seem to be, not to hand over the strictly 
 governmental functions to the children, although this may 
 sometimes partially succeed, but to make some suitable op- 
 portunity in the regular work of the school for real leader- 
 ship and organization on their part. If this phase of work 
 is to exclude the use of force, it must find an opening into 
 the course of study. It must not be relegated to off days, 
 Friday afternoons, or to the home or the street, but must 
 be represented on the time-table. As we have seen, the 
 leadership of the antagonistic class groups does not depend 
 much, in modern city schools at least, on the use of force. 
 These groups are attractive enough to hold themselves 
 together without it. If, now, we can bring out the leader- 
 ship involved in these mistaken efforts of the children, and 
 use the force at the disposal of the teacher to foster and 
 [98]
 
 THE SCHOOL AND SOCIETY 
 
 protect the organizations that would be formed, the class 
 would get a lively sense of the benefits springing from the 
 teacher's power, and would be more disposed to admit its 
 use on other occasions. The leaders themselves would get 
 an opportunity for a full swing, and they would get this in 
 the presence of the teacher, and with his approbation and 
 consent. The teacher might, to some extent, become a fol- 
 lower in some groups, and offer advice and opinions which 
 might not always be accepted by the leader. 
 
 Indeed, if this did not sometimes happen, two alterna- 
 tives would arise. Either the teacher would stand off and 
 merely observe at a distance the operations of the group, 
 or there would be a feeling on the part of the children that 
 the teacher after all was the real leader of the group. Both 
 of these alternatives would be fatal to this phase of educa- 
 tion. The teacher needs to get into the groups as much 
 as possible, but by no means as an authoritative leader or 
 organizer. His advice must have no more weight than its 
 evident good sense and its capability of furthering the real 
 interests of the children will afford. When the class reverts 
 to the previous condition of affairs, and when the teacher be- 
 comes again the director, he will have an entirely different 
 community to deal with. Not only will he have discovered 
 some of the natural leaders (and who they are may often 
 be a surprise to him), but he will have been able to learn 
 a good deal about how the followers are influenced. Best 
 of all, he will be regarded by the leaders as one of them- 
 selves. If he is broad enough to allow his newly acquired 
 experience to modify his old habits, they will be disposed 
 to study his methods of leadership rather than to continue 
 to waste energy in warfare. They remain conscious of the 
 [99]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 power within them, which is shortly again to have oppor- 
 tunity for exercise and display. Under such conditions the 
 latent, underground kind of organization may find a normal 
 outlet, an opportunity to become more conscious and pro- 
 gressive, and at the same time it may provide the teacher 
 with a natural opening into the heart of the children's 
 social life. 
 
 As will be seen, it is not a revolutionary or radical 
 change of all school procedure which the introduction of 
 self -organized purpose groups would bring about. Such a 
 change means rather a conservation and development of 
 the educational values that are already to be found in the 
 real leadership of the teacher, although leadership on the 
 part of many of the students would also be made possible. 
 
 It might be asked, though hardly by practical people, 
 why, if a given attitude or relationship between pupil and 
 teacher is a good and social thing for one part of the day, 
 something different is needed for another. Or, if a teacher 
 can catch the spirit of true leadership which makes room 
 for all the children as active and constructive followers, 
 why he should not continue to lead throughout. This true 
 leadership is of course excellent, but it will come much 
 more surely and naturally as a result of the observation 
 of children's independent groups than it ever can with- 
 out them. For the very lowest grades, however, such an 
 attitude is probably all that can be expected. But, as we 
 have already tried to show, the true constructive power 
 of a follower cannot be measured when he is under the 
 direction of another, nor is it to be expected in a demo- 
 cratic society that leadership should be confined to one or a 
 few. We often hear that he who would command must first 
 [100]
 
 THE SCHOOL AND SOCIETY 
 
 learn to obey. Nothing could be truer, except its converse, 
 that he who would obey in spirit and in truth must also 
 know how to command. There is no individual in a demo- 
 cratic community who has not found it necessary, on occa- 
 sion, to direct others. This direction may not apply to many 
 at a time, and it may not be for long, but when the oppor- 
 tunity comes much more depends upon his action than 
 when he played a follower's role. At present our society 
 suffers more from the lack of true leadership, and the kind 
 of insight and morality necessary for such a function, than 
 from any other fault. The leader is so scarce that an undue 
 premium is placed upon him. This shows itself strikingly 
 in commerce as in politics, where the wage of even blunder- 
 ing leaders forms an enormous tax upon the community. 
 
 With greater practical experience and insight into what 
 leadership really means, we may hope to produce more com- 
 petent leaders to select from and more intelligent followers 
 to select them. Besides being a test and measure of the 
 capacity of the social work of the teacher to live and main- 
 tain itself when his direction is removed, the self-organized 
 group ought to afford a direct means of education designed 
 to touch the democratic problem at the point of its culmi- 
 nating service to the community at large. 
 
 REFERENCES 
 
 1. John Dewey, The School and Society. 
 
 2. Cf. Hermann Post, Der Ursprung des Rechts, 1876. 
 
 3. Dewey, op. cit., p. 29. 
 
 4. Emile Durkheim, De la division du travail social, p. 367 seq. 
 
 5. F. H. Giddings, Principles of Sociology. 
 
 6. Cf. The Hoosier Schoolmaster. 
 
 [101]
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 SELF-ORGANIZED GROUP WORK 
 
 The reader has now before him some of the social needs 
 which free, self -organized work would go far toward satisfy- 
 ing. In each of the three schools studied in the previous 
 chapters, we found elements of a high degree of social value, 
 and an approximate solution of the problem of educative 
 social organization. Space prevents us from studying other 
 schools in detail, although one of them at least, the Ethical 
 Culture School of New York, founded by Felix Adler, has 
 arrived under Mr. Manny, its recent superintendent, at a 
 high degree of social efficiency, and would amply repay 
 investigation. We must, however, hurry on to the prob- 
 lem of the average grade school of the times, and at- 
 tempt to show how it is possible, even with crowded 
 classes and without special equipment, to obtain in the 
 people's schools those cooperative and self-sustaining 
 motives which are worthy of democracy and best able 
 to measure the teacher's work. 
 
 The experiences to be described may be called experi- 
 ments, but not in the sense that they were instituted merely 
 to see how they would turn out. They were experiments 
 simply in the sense that all life is experimental, and were 
 devised with the view that the development of intention 
 and resourcefulness on the part of the pupil is the greatest 
 and most undeniable duty of any form of education. They 
 
 [102]
 
 SELF-ORGANIZED GROUP WORK 
 
 are not, however, the outcome of any particular a priori 
 theory of either individual or social action, and they have, 
 therefore, the character of scientific data, from which use- 
 ful generalizations may be made, capable of carrying both 
 thought and practice into larger fields. The naturalness of 
 the data is shown by the fact that in different schcols, and 
 in the same schools from year to year, a given piece of 
 work is never repeated. As some one has said, " Constant 
 change is the unchanging law of humanity." Different con- 
 ditions and different children always produced different re- 
 sults. There was nothing to justify any expectation that 
 we should ever be able to obtain by our experiments an 
 ideal course of study capable of being handed over to other 
 schools. There was no hope that we should ever be able 
 to stereotype the results in text-books and fix them upon 
 the brains of a rising generation. 
 
 The experiments naturally start from a background of 
 dictated work derived from the usual course of study, and 
 it was always a condition that no work was to be permitted, 
 the plan of which the teacher did not approve ; although 
 after it was started it might fail or succeed without the 
 teacher's stepping in to bolster it up or to coerce its sup- 
 porters. There never was any likelihood that in the lowest 
 grades, at least, the children's self-organized work would 
 absorb the whole of the school work or all the time on 
 the programme. Dictated work which the teacher leads 
 directly, and courses of study, however much they may be 
 modified, will always be needed to some extent in the edu- 
 cation of the young. 
 
 Several years ago the present writer, in cooperation with 
 two third-grade teachers in the Chicago and Cook County 
 [103]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 Normal School (Miss Margaret Mclntyre and Miss Jessie 
 Black) introduced the proposition of self-organized work to 
 their pupils. Each teacher said to her class, with as much 
 simplicity as was possible, something like the following : "If 
 you had time given to you for something that you enjoy 
 doing, and that you think worth while, what should you 
 choose to do ? When you have decided how you would spend 
 the time, come and tell me about your plan. You may come 
 all together, or in groups, or each by himself ; but whatever 
 you say you want to do, you must tell the length of time 
 you will need to finish it, and how you expect to do it." 
 
 We thus called for a plan as definite as possible, both as 
 to time and materials. It was understood that if the teacher 
 could not be convinced that the plan was feasible, or that it 
 was sufficiently worth while, she would not allow it to begin. 
 
 At first in one class there was but a single plan. This 
 started with three boys, eight or nine years of age, who 
 said they wanted to print. " How can you print ? " the 
 teacher asked. " We have no printing press." " Oh, yes ; 
 Harry here (the real names are not used) has a press that 
 his father gave him at Christmas, and if you will let us, 
 we'll print a list of those hard words, the names of the 
 days of the week, which you gave the class to spell. We 
 will place a copy on the desk of every pupil, and you will 
 see how quickly they will learn them." " How long will it 
 take you ? " the teacher inquired. " Three, or perhaps four 
 half-hours. We can divide up the work so that we think 
 we can get it done in that time." 
 
 The teacher gave the period from 11.30 to 12 on Mon- 
 day, Wednesday, and Friday. They chose the back of the 
 room to work in, and they agreed to be as quiet as possible 
 [104]
 
 
 SELF-ORGANIZED GROUP WORK 
 
 so as not to disturb the rest of the class, which meanwhile 
 was doing such work as the boys could best afford to miss. 
 They succeeded admirably, and completed their work within 
 the time specified. When they were fairly at work the rest 
 of the class woke up, and the teacher was presented with 
 a number of plans, many of them of a very mushroom char- 
 acter, devised mainly to escape the regular work of that 
 hour. But when the teacher asked in detail about the 
 plans, how long they would take to finish, etc., these latter 
 were spontaneously given up by the children, or enlarged so 
 that they became more practical. After the printing group 
 had finished their first contract, they still kept together 
 with the idea of becoming class printers when needed. 
 
 In the other third-grade class a similar group was started, 
 which soon took in more boys who wanted to join. On one 
 occasion the teacher found that they were not doing what 
 they had planned for that day. She asked them what was 
 the matter, and pointed out that if they did not do what 
 they said they would, they would have to go back to their 
 seats. They had a little consultation among themselves, 
 and decided that there were too many in the group for the 
 work to be done, and that they interfered with one another 
 instead of helping. The group was thinned by its own 
 action, and the work was finished successfully. This group 
 also kept on for some time, and printed a number of things 
 for the class. Here is a sample of their work. 
 
 Criticism of Report of Group 2 on Beef Tea. 
 The Group did not know all they should 
 know about it.. 
 
 It was worth giving' 
 
 [105]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 Some time after the beginning of these groups, and when 
 nearly the whole class was engaged in one or another of 
 them, Professor Albion Small paid them a visit. One of 
 the boys said to him : " Look at those girls cooking. Now 
 I don't see the good of that. But this work is just the 
 thing for me. I am a very poor speller, and every word I 
 set up I learn to spell." This group interested some of the 
 families from which the boys came, for they were never 
 tired of talking of it at home. One of the fathers, although 
 a working man, contributed fonts of type to the value of 
 $15. Pieces of work were taken home, and their merits 
 and defects fully criticised. These printing groups had a 
 leader, although he was not given any special name. 
 
 In one class three cooking groups were started. The 
 first of these was started to cook "just to eat," as one of 
 the members stated. It was at first composed of four girls 
 and one boy. The initial preparations required a good deal 
 of management. The mothers had to be persuaded to give 
 money or material. One girl brought an old gas oven, and 
 another a heater on which it was placed ; also a table had 
 to be provided, and shelves for dishes. An attachment had 
 to be made in order to use the gas. For this the permission 
 of the principal of the school was required, and how best to 
 approach him was carefully considered by the group. Books 
 of recipes were obtained, and although the reading was 
 difficult for third-grade pupils, much reading was done and 
 the merits of different recipes were discussed. A cake was 
 finally decided upon. I was called in as a guest when the 
 cake was finished, and since it was a sacrament of friend- 
 ship, I did my best to eat my piece. As we were sitting 
 around, the boy said between his mouthfuls, " It seems to 
 [106]
 
 
 SELF-ORGANIZED GROUP WORK 
 
 me this cake ain't as good as it ought to be." "What's the 
 matter with it ? " was the rather sharp retort of the little 
 girl who was the leader of the group. The boy, who was 
 phlegmatic, replied without a ruffle, " Well, maybe it's the 
 butter ; it might have been butterine." " You bought the 
 butter," said the little girl. The boy said nothing, but later 
 he went to the grocery store where he had bought it, and 
 asked if it was butterine. The grocer, probably vexed, said 
 among other things, " If you don't like the butter, perhaps 
 you'd better write to the Health Department." When the 
 boy came back to school, he asked the teacher, " What is 
 the Health Department, and what did the man mean by 
 saying I'd better write?" The teacher told him, and said 
 that perhaps it would be a good thing to write. 
 
 This he did, and got back a sheaf of pamphlets. Most 
 of them were too difficult for him, but in one was a marked 
 passage telling how to test for butterine by noting the 
 rate of melting. The whole group were so interested in 
 this that they stopped cooking and started in on the test 
 for butterine. They were quite successful, and they used 
 the test on several occasions afterwards. 
 
 By this time they had decided to keep all the recipes 
 they used, and each made a cookbook for his or her own 
 use. They obtained rubber stamps and " printed " these 
 recipes, and although it became somewhat like drudgery 
 later on, they insisted that no member of the group should 
 shirk that part of the work. The experiment with the but- 
 terine was also printed in their cookbooks. This is the way 
 it ran (grams were used because the children could get no 
 other weights in the school. The directions called simply 
 for equal weights) : 
 
 [ 107 ]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 EXPERIMENT WITH BUTTERINE 
 
 5 grams butterine melted in 66 seconds. 
 5 grams butter melted in 60 seconds. 
 5 grams lard melted in 39 seconds. 
 5 grams of tallow melted in 629 seconds. 
 
 Test for butterine. Butterine smells bad when it melts because it 
 has tallow and lard in it. 
 
 It sputters when it melts because it has tallow in it. It melts 
 slower than butter. 
 
 Meantime, the children had seen in a window a man 
 binding books, and they thought that it would be a good 
 plan to have their cookbooks bound. They visited the 
 bookbinder, and he showed them how to stitch the leaves 
 together and make a stiff cover. As a consequence they 
 all bound their books, an art which was copied by some 
 of the other groups that needed it. 
 
 After several experiments in cooking, the necessity 
 of having their plans made the night before, so that every 
 one would know what to bring for the next day, was seen 
 to be so important that the group decided to have a chair- 
 man, whose duty it would be to see that this was done. 
 The original leader was, without debate, made chairman. 
 The term " chairman " was attractive, and was copied by 
 some of the other groups, but in a few cases, after being 
 used, it was discarded, the children saying : " What do we 
 want a chairman for ? Every one knows what to do, any- 
 way." In the cooking group, however, the chairman was 
 a necessity. 
 
 The third or fourth thing that they wanted to cook was 
 
 Charlotte Russe. When the group assembled there were 
 
 no lady fingers. These were to have been brought by the 
 
 boy. Since the cooking could not be carried on that day, 
 
 [108]
 
 SELF-ORGANIZED GROUP WORK 
 
 the children had to go back to their seats and do some 
 work which the teacher outlined for them. They were 
 very much vexed at the boy and talked of asking him to 
 leave the group. The boy said, however, that the fault 
 was not his, but his mother's. His mother had told him 
 that she was tired of giving him money all the time. 
 
 The group then went to the teacher about the mother 
 problem. They wanted her to write to the mothers and 
 say that they were to send the things the children asked 
 for. The teacher did not look at the question in this light, 
 and said she did not think that she could write to the 
 mothers, since the group work was their own affair in 
 which they must depend upon themselves. They talked 
 the matter over again, and the chairman finally said : 
 "Well, it wasn't Harold's fault. It never would have 
 happened if we hadn't let Harold bring so many things 
 that cost money. For all the things we have cooked he 
 has brought more than any of the rest of us. What we 
 want to do is to get it evened up. Then those who can't 
 bring money can bring eggs or butter or sugar, but no 
 one should have to bring more than his share." 
 
 They perceived very clearly what they wanted, but they 
 did not see the means by which it was to be accomplished. 
 So they went to the teacher with the difficulty. " The re- 
 cipes," they said, "give things by cupfuls or spoonfuls, 
 while these same things are bought by the pound." The 
 teacher pointed out to them that they could get, for in- 
 stance, a pound of sugar and find how many cupfuls were 
 in it, and then divide the cost of the pound by the num- 
 ber of cupfuls. This idea they grasped at once. But after 
 they had got the cost of material by the cupful, they did 
 [109]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 not see how it could be divided evenly among the pupils. 
 The teacher again showed them the simple averaging that 
 was necessary, and although averaging is not usually in- 
 troduced into third grades and they were never shown 
 again, they used this method constantly and without errors 
 throughout the rest of their work. The plan of the chair- 
 man to meet the mother problem turned out to be quite 
 successful. 
 
 This cooking group, as it was first formed, was very 
 harmonious, and the resistance that they had to overcome 
 was almost wholly from the outside. It was the introduc- 
 tion of a new member which started friction and gave rise 
 to internal resistances which for a time hampered the suc- 
 cess of the work. A new pupil appeared in the grade, and 
 as she was a merry, black-eyed little thing with attractive 
 ways, she had an invitation to join from every one of the 
 groups then organized. Of all these invitations she ac- 
 cepted the one from the group that were cooking "just 
 to eat." 
 
 It was not long before trouble appeared. Bessy was 
 constantly forgetting things. The chairman mothered her, 
 pinning slips of paper on her coat to remind her, etc., all 
 to no purpose. She would lick cream off spoons, refuse to 
 wash dishes, etc., and, since the group were now in a little 
 room by themselves, would act noisily, so that the rest of 
 the group were afraid that their privileges might be with- 
 drawn. At last they came to the teacher and complained, 
 asking her to put Bessy out of the group. The teacher 
 said : " I did not invite her, you know, to join your group ; 
 but I am very willing to do what I can. Just now, how- 
 ever, I have a meeting, and you'll have to wait here an 
 [no]
 
 
 SELF-ORGANIZED GROUP WORK 
 
 hour till I return; then we can talk it all over." When 
 she came back the children were gone, but on her desk 
 was a note asking her to give the following papers, one 
 from each member of the group, to Bessy. 
 
 I think Bessy talks too much and I think she plays round the room 
 too much, and I think she makes too much noise. Bessy did not 
 bring her things while the others did to cock with. And she did not 
 stay to print at nights after school only once or twice. She would 
 not help wash the dishes. Then we told her we would put her out if 
 she did not do the work, and we thought we could do better without 
 her. Then she brought her things and helped wash the dishes, but 
 she quarreled so. L. 
 
 I think that Bessy ought to get out of the group because she 
 wants everything. Harold. 
 
 Bessy plays tag and she says, " This is mine, this is mine." And 
 she is always fussing all the time. I think she ought to be put out 
 of the group. M. 
 
 I think we could get along better in the group without Bessy be- 
 cause she talks too much. And disturbs us too much and we can't do 
 so much work. And she wants to do all the work and no one else to 
 do any of the work ; she wants to do all the cooking. I think she 
 should be put out. M. 
 
 Bessy plays tag when we are cooking and she is too fussy, and I 
 think she talks too much and too loud and she is too noisy and she 
 is always fussing and quarreling with the other children, and I think 
 she ought to be put out of the group. B. 
 
 I think Bessy should be put out of the group because she does not 
 help in printing and when we cook she quarrels with us. S. 
 
 The papers were handed to Bessy as the children had 
 requested. After reading them she took up her pen and 
 wrote the following reply, in which it will be noted the 
 beginning does not hang very well with the admissions at 
 the end. 
 
 Well, what I think about it. I have always brought the things 
 they told me to bring and when they told me to print I have always 
 [III]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 done it. And to the other school we would talk so loud and I am so 
 used to it. If they put me back again I would do lots better than I 
 did before and I would bring the things they would tell me to and I 
 would bring everything when they told me to and I would do 
 everything. 
 
 They did not, however, take her back, nor was she 
 ever invited into any other group while she remained 
 in the school, a fact which did not seem to depress her 
 in the least. Her family moved again before the end of 
 the term, and Bessy departed with them. 
 
 The teacher asked the children why they had written 
 the papers. The chairman replied that if one person told 
 Bessy that the group didn't want her any more, she would 
 be mad with that person (who probably would have been 
 the chairman), and more than that, she might cry ; while 
 now there was no one in particular to be mad at, and if 
 she wanted to cry, she could cry by herself. 
 
 To the student of government it is interesting to see 
 how the children went to the teacher when it was a 
 matter probably involving force. They wished to use the 
 policeman power of the teacher to insure Bessy's removal. 
 This, in case of any refusal on her part to leave, would 
 naturally have been exercised. In the same way a clergy- 
 man or member of a church who is voted out is compelled 
 to respect this decision by force of law if in no other way. 
 The law, however, stands outside of the organization itself. 
 
 The method of writing on serious occasions was copied 
 by some of the other groups. The following papers from 
 another working group indicate a happier termination. 
 
 i. Mildred as chairman. Mildred is not chairman and she wants 
 to boss everything. I like her, but I do not want her to do every- 
 thing. L. 
 
 [112]
 
 SELF-ORGANIZED GROUP WORK 
 
 2. What we think about Mildred. I think that Mildred is too bossy. 
 I think that we ought to write to her and tell her what we think. She 
 made a good chairman whether she bossed us or not, but she bossed 
 us too much. S. 
 
 Mildred replies as follows : 
 
 I think that what Sarah and Lila said was all right. I think that 
 we will get along all right now and a good deal better. I think that 
 the money is fixed. I think that we are going to have a better group. 
 
 There was no doubt that Mildred had been bossy. We 
 wondered indeed that the children had stood it so long. 
 After this for a week Mildred was a marvel of self-control, 
 but it wore on her and she persuaded her comrades to take 
 turns in the chairmanship. Neither of them, however, had 
 anything like the natural executive ability of Mildred, and 
 they did not succeed so well. Nevertheless Mildred made 
 no comment. When it was her turn again, the others asked 
 her to be chairman all the time, and to this she consented. 
 She at times broke out in the old ways, but the others bore 
 with it, and she herself was evidently anxious to improve in 
 this respect. It can hardly be doubted that all the members 
 of the group had in this experience a real lesson in ethics much 
 more practical and persuasive than any formal instruction. 
 
 The third cooking group in this room was composed 
 wholly of boys. They said : " We don't want to cook as 
 these girls do. But if any one should be sick in the house, 
 then we should like to be able to cook something." In ac- 
 cordance with this, the first thing they attempted to cook 
 was beef tea. They inquired into everything that made the 
 beef tea nutritious. They were told that it should not look 
 gray when it was done, as that shows that the albumen in 
 the meat, which is of the same substance as the white of 
 [US]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 an egg, has become hardened and cannot be digested so 
 quickly. They beat out of pieces of the meat some of the 
 juice and compared it with the white of an egg at the 
 teacher's suggestion. They were perfectly free, however, 
 not to do this if they had not wished to. This group did 
 not last so long as the others, but broke up voluntarily, the 
 boys joining other groups formed for other purposes. 
 
 During the year this class formed only fourteen groups. 
 Among them were a photograph group, a group for model- 
 ing in clay, two sewing groups, two science groups, one 
 printing group, and two groups for plays. The work of 
 these groups was usually carried forward to a considerable 
 degree of success. 
 
 The photographic group was composed of several boys. 
 They fitted up a closet as a dark room. They were always 
 looking for information on photography, and teachers often 
 brought them books and pamphlets. To some extent they 
 were photographers for the class, and they took photographs 
 of some of the plays and made lantern slides for them. 
 After they had been at work for several weeks the rest of 
 the class wanted them to tell something of their work. The 
 group were a little doubtful about the capacity of the others 
 to understand, but the leader thought of something which 
 he believed would help in this respect. During the period 
 for group work he fitted up his camera and focused it on 
 some buildings opposite. He then called out, one after an- 
 other, each member of the class, made him put his head 
 under the cloth, and asked him, " What do you see ? " "I 
 see the buildings upside down." "Do you want to know 
 why it's like that? If you do, we're going to show you 
 next time."
 
 SELF-ORGANIZED GROUP WORK 
 
 This they did, explaining how the rays of light cross 
 one another in the lens. The boys of this group kept a 
 record of their work, and, as with the cooking group, 
 bound it in a book. One of the boys made a small pin- 
 hole camera, which, without any lens, took some very 
 fair photographs. 
 
 One of the plays given in this room was The Sleeping 
 Beauty. There was no dramatic version of this tale that 
 the children knew of. They brought to school all the differ- 
 ent editions of the story they could find, and started to 
 turn it into dramatic form. This they did by arranging the 
 cast first. " You may be the prince, and you the queen," 
 etc. The members of the cast then began to extempo- 
 rize the words. The action was thus first thought of. As 
 they went on rehearsing, different members of the group 
 would criticise the words used, saying, "That doesn't sound 
 right." They avoided using big words or hard phrases 
 from the book. They divided the story into scenes, made 
 the costumes, and strung a curtain on a wire in front of the 
 teacher's desk. They used the blackboard as scenery, draw- 
 ing on it the castle seen through a forest. To bring this in, 
 a scene was invented which consisted of the prince inquir- 
 ing of two countrymen his way to the castle. It was not 
 until after the play had been nearly fixed in its final form 
 that they began to write it down. By this time there 
 were changes suggested and accepted about which a dispute 
 would sometimes arise afterwards, but one of the main rea- 
 sons for writing was pride in the play. One of the boys of 
 this group was very desirous of learning typewriting. He 
 brought an old machine to school, and, among other things, 
 made a typewritten copy of the play, which ran as follows:
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 The Play 
 
 of 
 
 THE SLEEPING BEAUTY 
 Written by 
 
 M. W. 
 Given by Grade 36. 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 ist Fairy. " I give you beauty." 
 
 2nd Fairy." " I give you the gift of dancing beautifully." 
 
 3rd Fairy. " I give you the gift of being a good cook." 
 
 4th Fairy. " I give you the gift of good health." 
 
 5th Fairy. " I give you the gift of playing well on the 
 
 harp." 
 
 Wicked Fairy. "Your daughter will grow to be 15 years 
 
 old and then will prick her hand with a 
 spindle and die of the wound." 
 Good Fairy. " She shall not die. She shall only sleep for 
 
 a hundred years." 
 (Fairies go out.) 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 (The princess goes into the tower room.) 
 Princess. Marjorie F. "What are you doing?" 
 Old woman. Helen. " I am spinning, my dear." 
 Princess. " Let me try." 
 
 Old woman. "All right, my dear." 
 
 (Princess pricks her hand. She falls asleep. All the 
 people in the castle fall asleep.) 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 (Prince comes near the castle.) 
 
 Prince to a man. " What kind of castle is that ? " 
 
 Old man. " It is the castle of a monarch." 
 
 2nd man. "It is an enchanted castle. A long time ago 
 
 a princess fell asleep in that castle. She 
 was to sleep for a hundred years. She is 
 sleeping there now." 
 [116]
 
 SELF-ORGANIZED GROUP WORK 
 
 (Prince cuts his way thru the hedge of thorns. He goes 
 thru the castle, sees the people asleep. He goes 
 into tower room, sees princess asleep, kneels beside 
 her and kisses her hand.) 
 
 Scene IIII. 
 
 (The princess wakes up. Prince leads her to the King 
 and Queen. All the people in the castle come and 
 dance around the King and Queen.) 
 
 This play created great interest in the homes, and the 
 teacher was surprised to receive many requests from the 
 mothers and other members of the family for permission to 
 see it when it was presented. This, of course, was granted, 
 and the simplicity of the play, with all the earmarks of 
 genuine child production, was thoroughly appreciated by 
 the audience. 
 
 The attitude of the teachers with relation to this play 
 was the same as in the other groups. I may perhaps call 
 myself one of the teachers, for I came into the room very 
 frequently while the children were rehearsing. I used to 
 think over what I had seen the day before, and see if I 
 could add anything or offer any suggestion that the chil- 
 dren would take up. Sometimes the children would say, 
 "That's right; let's do it that way," but at other times 
 they would shake their heads and say No. It was at first 
 a little disconcerting to be overruled, especially in matters 
 where I was quite sure I was artistically correct ; but I was 
 consoled by the reflection that only those criticisms which 
 they freely and voluntarily accepted were the ones which 
 entirely suited their stage of development, and when they 
 rejected modifications of my proposing I saw that ethically, 
 if not artistically, they were right. I felt that they were
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 standing on their own feet with perfect honesty of convic- 
 tion. Indeed, until they refused to do something which I 
 had recommended, I was never quite sure that they were 
 really independent. I knew, too, that it was a better exam- 
 ple, to their minds, of real service to them than if I had in- 
 sisted on my proposals. 
 
 To come in contact with realities in a child is the most 
 attractive thing about teaching. It is these realities which 
 we admire in children, and which afford the greatest pleas- 
 ure to parents in their contact with them. In schools of the 
 usual sort most of this naive originality is overruled and 
 crushed. It is feared that it may lead to lack of discipline, 
 and, moreover, where the initiative flows continuously from 
 the teacher, there is little room for it, and it comes out 
 accidentally, if at all. The teacher thus robs himself of a 
 great part of the pleasure of his work, becomes formal, 
 " teachery,"and at the same time blinds himself to the real 
 capacities of the children. 
 
 The time which was at first allowed for this work was, 
 as already said, three half-hours a week, but after a short 
 time many of the groups began to say to the teacher that 
 they wished they could have more time. They were sure 
 that they could do a great deal better if the time were 
 extended. The teacher replied that she was not sure that 
 every group could use the time well, and since it was a 
 matter that concerned the whole class, she could not ex- 
 tend the time unless she was sure of this. The children 
 used part of their group-work time to discuss this, and con- 
 vinced the teacher that all would be benefited. She accord- 
 ingly extended the time, at first two half-hour periods, and 
 later on, after further requests, to three quarters of an hour 
 [118]
 
 SELF-ORGANIZED GROUP WORK 
 
 per day. This contented the children of this age completely. 
 Their power to plan seemed to be entirely used, and after 
 this they never asked to have more time. The teacher 
 noticed also that they were better satisfied to be carried 
 along by her in work of her planning during the rest of 
 the day than ever they had been before. 
 
 From my experience with six third-grade classes I can 
 say that no class ever asked for more time than an hour 
 a day. These experiences thus show with a certain degree 
 of conclusiveness that there is a distinct limit beyond which 
 the children are not able to go. Whether it would always 
 be best to go so far as this limit is not asserted. In the 
 case cited it seemed, in view of the best interests and total 
 work of the class, the wisest thing to do. The teacher con- 
 stantly kept in mind the detail problems of her grade, partic- 
 ularly reading, writing, and arithmetic. Many of the groups 
 directly promoted interest and progress in the routine sub- 
 jects, so that the class made as good an advance along these 
 lines as any class had previously done. Leaving aside the 
 higher concerns of character, resourcefulness, and social or- 
 ganization, the teacher felt that, from the lower standpoint 
 of subject-matter alone, the time allowed was amply justified. 
 
 In this class there were four children who were never in 
 any group. They did not desire to join any, and the teacher 
 gave them work to do by themselves. They were all physic- 
 ally rather inert, and were always pleased to do as well as 
 they could anything that the teacher directed. 
 
 In the other class, during this year, instead of fourteen 
 groups there were thirty-eight formed, and there was no 
 child who was not in one or more of these groups. This 
 was in a class of fifty children, so that the percentage of
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 leadership was high, probably over sixty per cent, if we 
 allow for some who were leaders of more than one group. 
 When such a result is possible with children eight or nine 
 years old the outlook for democracy is good. Each child 
 was in six or seven groups during the year, and there 
 were usually about seven groups running at the same time. 
 The teacher did not find these too many to keep in con- 
 tact with, although there was some difficulty in getting 
 time for consultation during the planning of each group 
 and before it was started. The teacher pointed out this 
 fact to the children, and it was proposed to put the plans 
 in writing so that the teacher could read them at some 
 other period. There was the advantage of definiteness in 
 the writing, although children of this age only wrote the 
 salient points, and verbal discussion was also necessary. 
 
 These thirty-eight groups produced twenty-one plays 
 and playlike representations in which the children them- 
 selves took the parts, and five plays in which dolls, toy 
 soldiers, or figures made out of paper and wood were 
 used as actors. In the latter class there were three bat- 
 tles, The Battle of Bunker Hill, The Battle of Manila, and 
 The Battle of Thermopyla. The other two were girls' 
 plays, representing dolls of different countries, and the 
 story of Bopeep. This classic was played with a box for 
 a theater, the sheep being provided with tails which came 
 off easily. In the former class there was only one battle, 
 that of San Juan Hill ; but other representations, such as 
 The Indian and the Hunter, The Wild West, and The Fire- 
 men, had a good deal of the fighting element in them. It 
 may be pointed out that this element in a play, while 
 it probably springs from the fighting instinct, serves as a 
 
 [120]
 
 SELF-ORGANIZED GROUP WORK 
 
 radiation and control for it. The boy gets the opportunity 
 of seeing different sides. His imagination is appealed to 
 rather than any real emotion of anger. He adopts the 
 heroic attitude, which is chivalrous and knightly rather 
 than bloodthirsty. The emotions of injury which are char- 
 acteristic of the origin of war are really dissipated. 
 
 Besides plays and representations, there were groups 
 for clay modeling, for reading stories, for painting, for 
 sewing, for cooking, for the observation of ants, for the 
 study of birds, for printing, for woodcutting, for dancing, 
 for room decoration, for making a " Spring book," for the 
 study of the rules of baseball, for collecting postage stamps, 
 for running a post office, etc. Other plays not yet men- 
 tioned were Snow White, Beauty and the Beast, Three 
 Bears, Dear my Soul, Decoration Day, Six Years and Six 
 Fairies, Shepherd watching his Flocks, Cinderella, Red 
 Riding Hood, Farmers, Policemen, Yachtsmen, etc. 
 
 In the latter the group were yachtsmen, and made use 
 of the blackboard, on which they drew first a deck and a 
 mast, then, under orders from the captain, ran up rapidly 
 in chalk a huge white sail. Each was at his post, one at 
 the compass, another at the wheel. Land was sighted 
 through an extemporized pair of binoculars. Sail was 
 lowered and the anchor cast, after which the sailors 
 went ashore. 
 
 The Firemen was divided into three scenes. First, the fire- 
 men were represented in their everyday routine, getting 
 up in the morning, athletic exercise, etc. Next a fire drill 
 was given. Then there was a call to a fire. When the fire 
 engine and hook and ladder wagon came in, represented 
 by small express wagons with ladders, etc., on them, the 
 
 [121]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 fire could not be seen. The engine was attached, however, 
 with real rubber hose (from the garden) to a big hydrant 
 drawn on the board at the side of the room. The board at 
 the front of the room was covered with a large cloth. This 
 was suddenly twitched down, and we saw a house in flames. 
 These had been drawn with red and yellow chalk. The fire- 
 men got to work, making swishing sounds to represent the 
 play of water. Some climbed up the side of the house on 
 ladders, and with blackboard erasers put out the flames that 
 were pouring from the windows. Meanwhile other black- 
 board erasers which had been put up to represent bricks 
 were tumbling about the ears of the heroes. When the fire 
 was put out the engine was detached, some remarks were 
 made about the fire, and the squad retired in good order. 
 
 In getting up this play nothing was written, but a good 
 deal of fresh information was obtained. The boys visited a 
 fire station, and hearing that one of the Normal students 
 was a daughter of a fireman, wrote her a note, sending it 
 through the post-office group, asking if she would come to 
 them for half an hour. She did this, and found that they 
 not only listened eagerly to all she had to tell them, but 
 cross-questioned her to get the information they wanted. 
 It is evident that a method which leads the children in- 
 stead of the teacher to ask questions, although neither 
 Socratic nor Herbartian, would be desirable in any work 
 of the school. The subject-matter, too, is of a kind to give 
 the children a little understanding of the social services of 
 the city in which they live. 
 
 Another of the plays which was not written, but which 
 was original and carefully planned out, was The Indian and 
 the Hunter. In this play two boys who were the only actors, 
 
 [122]
 
 SELF-ORGANIZED GROUP WORK 
 
 as well as the authors, simply talked the matter over, and 
 in a couple of days were ready to come before the class. 
 Their presentation ran as follows. 
 
 All the blackboards in the room were covered with chalk 
 drawings of trees. At one end of the room was a large figure 
 of a fox which had been painted for them by one of the 
 practice teachers. At the beginning of the play they pulled 
 down the blinds and announced to the audience that this 
 was the woods. The hunter, appropriately dressed, came 
 in at one of the doors at the back of the room, and walked 
 through among the desks, which represented trees. He had 
 his gun under his arm, and was evidently looking for game. 
 He occasionally caught sight of the fox and raised his gun ; 
 but it either seemed too far or got away from him. About 
 this time, at another of the doors in the back of the room, 
 an Indian was seen to skulk along, hiding behind the trees. 
 After a little while the hunter came across a toy revolver 
 lying on the ground. He picked it up, and, speaking for the 
 first time, said to himself : " What's this ? Some one has 
 been here." He pocketed the revolver, went on cautiously, 
 and found an arrow. " An Indian has been here." He went 
 on much more carefully than before, this time up to the 
 teacher's desk. When he came across the fox, and was just 
 about to shoot it, an arrow whizzed by his ear. He turned 
 around, and saw immediately advancing upon him the In- 
 dian with upraised club (a baseball bat). He let fly the dis- 
 charge (a piece of chalk) intended for the fox, directly at the 
 Indian, who fell heavily to the ground. This was the end of 
 the play, but in a little while the Indian got up and walked 
 away. The rest of the children criticised this, asking whether 
 or not the Indian was supposed to come to life again. 
 [123]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 The rumor of this play reached the children of the first 
 grade, who sent up a request that it might be repeated for 
 their benefit. The boy who played the Indian then came 
 and told the teacher that he thought they should change 
 the play somewhat, since they were going to give it to first- 
 grade pupils. " No doubt Indians had to be killed," said he, 
 " but first-graders would not be able to understand that " ; 
 and he proposed therefore to adapt this portion of the play 
 to their moral perceptions. The play was thus amended by 
 making the hunter merely wound the Indian, and afterwards 
 come up and dress his wound, after which they shook hands 
 and went home together. 
 
 The moral and social effect of the organization of the 
 groups, rather than the artistic perfection of the plays, is 
 of course the first concern. In illustration of some of the 
 effects on individual character, one or two experiences may 
 be cited. There was a boy of great imagination, who had 
 no difficulty in projecting any number of ideas, but who 
 found carrying them out quite another matter. In the 
 ordinary class-room work under the teacher his hand was 
 always up, whether his answer was very much to the point 
 or not. No ignoring or snubbing made any difference. It 
 was felt by the teachers that he was given to " showing off." 
 When self-organized group work started he was the origi- 
 nator of several groups. He left some of them, and was 
 put out of others without ceremony. The formula in one 
 group was, * Jack, you're fired ; you talk too much and do 
 nothing." To this he did not even answer, but turned on 
 his heel and went off. At last he could get no one to join 
 him in anything that he proposed, nor was he included in 
 any other group. After a while he cultivated the friendship 
 [124]
 
 SELF-ORGANIZED GROUP WORK 
 
 of a rather awkward and quiet boy who had just come to 
 the school. It turned out that he was impressing him with 
 the merits of a grand play that he had in his mind. The 
 steadiness of this boy was sufficient to enable them in com- 
 bination to get others, and the play was finally started. 
 
 Jack always hated to write. He would say he knew the 
 play and didn't need to put it down. " Yes, you do," his 
 friend would say ; " because first you tell us one thing and 
 then you tell us another." The result was that he did write, 
 quite elaborately, first the story of the play and afterwards 
 the dramatized version. In the play, between the two parts, 
 came a full representation of the parade. The following is 
 the story form : 
 
 PART i 
 
 Decoration Day. It was in spring. One day the farmer came out 
 of the barn and said to Bub his little boy about eight years old, help 
 me with the horse because I am in a hurry for we are going to the 
 parade this morning? The boy said, "All write pa," and he hitched 
 the horse to the carriage. " May we take our dog Bruno with us he 
 can sit on my lap." " No, we will leave him at home for I heard that 
 some thieves got in Mr. Smith's house acrost the rood and we better 
 leave him at home to watch the house." After a little bit the mother 
 of the boy calls him to come in and get cleaned up ready for the 
 parade, the boy goes whistling to the house Bruno beging (beginning) 
 to whine " Nice dog, Good doggy " cried Bub. Then all the people 
 came out and soon they were spinning down the road. There was a 
 shout and down the road came the procession. They went ridding 
 around awhile until it was about 8 o'clock, then they started home. 
 
 PART 2 
 
 When they got home they heard the dog barking. Then they saw 
 a man with a lantern run past the door. Mr. Blake cried " Thieves ! 
 they wont be there very long any how. Bub get my revolver out in 
 the barn." There was very much noise and shouting. One thief was 
 wounded and the other ascaped. The people were very restless that
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 night. Mr. Blake was more restless than the other people In the 
 night. Bub called his mother and said " I think I hear that burglar." 
 She said " Your only dreaming go to sleep." 
 
 School will be let out while the people are sleeping. 
 
 There will be a boy with a blanket over him for bruno. Mr. 
 Blake is the father of bub. Some one will explain about the house 
 and the other things. 
 
 In presenting the play made from this story Jack 
 managed it very well. Later the teachers heard an in- 
 formal conversation which ran as follows : " Say, Jack's 
 play was all right. He's been fired from the group so 
 often the boys didn't think he'd have control enough." 
 
 F said : " Yes, you think it was fine ; but he didn't 
 
 have control as much as you think. He'd say, f Bub, go 
 and clean up,' and we didn't know where to go." " Never 
 you mind," said G , " it was the best play we had." 
 
 The effect of this experience on Jack was very marked ; 
 both the neglect he suffered at first, and his later reestab- 
 lishment in the esteem and honor of the class, were most 
 salutary. His father spoke of it specially to the teacher, 
 and said it had affected his home conduct also. To any 
 one who sees that moral conduct is but the subjective side 
 of service to society, these results will not appear at all 
 strange. The ugly outcome of free action which was not 
 responsible to any one whose opinion he deeply cared for, 
 had been changed to conduct in which he felt that he was 
 responsible to the public opinion of his peers, a demo- 
 cratic situation in which honor feelings flow between those 
 on a similar social level. 
 
 As is easily seen, the social force in each little group 
 ran out readily to the whole class, and tended to extend 
 [126]
 
 SELF-ORGANIZED GROUP WORK 
 
 itself to the rest of the school and to the home. Although 
 there was not always a direct recognition on the part of 
 each group that they were working for the whole class, 
 this was usually felt. In the plays it was intended from 
 the beginning that they were to be offered to the class. 
 When the first play was judged by the group running it 
 to be as good as they could make it, the question of pre- 
 senting ft to the class was brought before the teacher. 
 She said that she could not give time on the programme 
 beyond what she had already given for group work, and 
 therefore they would need to ask the rest of the class 
 whether they wanted to give up the various things they 
 were doing in order to hear the play. The group went 
 before the class and told them that the play would take 
 but ten minutes, and asked them if they cared to hear it 
 enough to give up their own work. This was done, and 
 some time was added on to discuss the play and ask 
 questions about it. 
 
 The result of other work besides plays was also brought 
 before the class. Some of the children who were not in the 
 printing group were interested in the subject, and they 
 asked the group to come before the class and explain the 
 process to them. A number of questions were asked, 
 among which the teacher wrote down twenty-seven. 
 
 1. Who printed first, or did people always print? 
 
 2. Who printed the first book ? 
 
 3. How are different presses worked ? 
 
 4. What force is used to make large presses work ? 
 
 5. Show us how you work your little press. 
 
 6. How are printing presses made ? 
 
 7- Why isn't printed stuff sold right away instead of being stored in 
 rooms as I've seen it ?
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 8. What different-colored inks do printers use, and what are they 
 
 made of? 
 g. Do you use different-colored inks ? 
 
 10. Did you print Alice's story (written by one of the children) ? 
 
 11. How do Chinese people print? 
 
 1 2. Can you use the little printing press as well as the big ones in the 
 
 store ? I want to buy one. 
 
 13. What different types are used? 
 
 14. Are they all made of the same stuff? 
 
 15. Why are rubber type, lead type, and steel type all used? 
 
 1 6. Why can't you print with a pen ? 
 
 17. What is the cost of those pages printed with the little types? 
 
 1 8. How did they discover the printing press? 
 
 19. Did the Indians use a press or did they print? 
 
 20. Show us how to set type. 
 
 21. Why do they make so many copies of books? 
 
 22. How is the ink put on the pad ? 
 
 23. How much would a thousand leaflets cost ? 
 
 24. How are newspapers like the Tribune printed ? 
 
 25. Is printing done just the same in other countries ? 
 
 26. What was the cost of the first book printed ? 
 
 27. How are different types made ? 
 
 The post-office group was organized for the use of the 
 whole class. The group arranged the room in streets, which 
 were the aisles between the seats, and put numbers on every 
 side to show the house at which each one lived. They asked 
 the teacher to give some time for every one to write letters, 
 and they showed the class how to address the letters properly, 
 pointing out that those not properly addressed would be put 
 in the dead-letter office. At another time they showed the 
 class how to write letters and what punctuation marks to 
 use, and got permission to have the letters opened at the 
 post office to see if they were properly written. The group 
 provided the members of the class with envelopes, and later 
 on with stamps which they made. Before this was done 
 [128]
 
 SELF-ORGANIZED GROUP WORK 
 
 stamps were drawn on the envelopes by each pupil. There 
 were, of course, regular times for collection and delivery. 
 One of these letters is given below, and is interesting as 
 showing the responsibility that the boy was feeling for the 
 group of which he was leader. It runs as follows : 
 
 April 2, 1900. 
 
 Chicago, Illinois. 
 Dear Ralph, 
 
 I am so sorry that I cannot come to school. I hope you will read 
 about the Battle of Bunker Hill for group work until I come. 
 
 When the post-office group came before the whole class, 
 they had prepared themselves for questions by a visit to the 
 substation near by, and what they said proved to be so in- 
 teresting that there were a great many questions asked or 
 statements made by different members of the class. The 
 teacher wrote down thirty-two of them. 
 
 At the end of the year we asked the children to write 
 out a paper giving a list of the groups they had been in, 
 and to say which of these they enjoyed most and which 
 they thought the best. Here is a paper from a girl. 
 
 1. Beauty and the Beast. 
 
 2. Reading group. 
 
 3. Sleeping Beauty. 
 
 4. Sewing. 
 
 5. Snow White. 
 
 6. Three Bears. 
 
 The group I enjoyed most being in was the Three Bears group. 
 The thing given to the room that I thought was the best was 
 Cinderella. 
 
 Here is one from a boy. ' 
 
 1. I have been in the printing group. 
 
 2. Farmer group. 
 
 3. Firemen group. 
 
 [I2 9 ]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 4. Wild West group. 
 
 5. Battle of San Juan Hill group. 
 
 6. Shepherd watching his Flocks. 
 
 7. Arts group. 
 
 8. Reading group. 
 
 The group I enjoyed most being in was the Firemen group. The 
 thing given to the room that was best was the Decoration Day play. 
 
 Some of the pupils were in as many as fifteen different 
 groups during the year. Of course these groups did not 
 last so long as those referred to in the above paper. There 
 was thus a variety of experience, suitable for young children, 
 and undue specialism was avoided. The whole class, more- 
 over, was interested in everything done by each group. 
 
 During the year the same kind of work was introduced 
 into the fourth grade, and here the pupils, during the latter 
 part of the year, took possession of the large attic in the 
 school and formed a village, with houses and workshops 
 in different parts. There was a townhall where the class 
 met together as a whole. The different houses were fur- 
 nished with wall paper, chairs, flowers, etc. Dishes were 
 modeled in clay. One boy set up a battery of his own, 
 made to run a bell as a signal to the villagers. Calling was 
 conducted formally, calling cards were printed, and a num- 
 ber of different activities were instituted. 
 
 [130]
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 SELF-ORGANIZED GROUP WORK (continued) 
 
 During the year 1901-1902 similar work was started in 
 the Training School of the Colorado State Normal School. 
 In the third and fourth grades one of the first groups formed 
 consisted of two boys. One of these spoke to the teacher 
 and told her that he wished to make a hay stacker. He ex- 
 plained how he intended to make it, and said that he had 
 another boy to help him. The teacher gave him a piece of 
 paper so that he could draw out his plan, which he did. 
 The two boys finished the work in about six weeks, having 
 at the beginning of this period only one hour a week in 
 which to work. During the work there was no hitch or 
 uncertainty of procedure. 
 
 The next important plan in the same grade was offered 
 by a boy who wished to construct a two-room cottage. 
 The plan of this was brought in at the beginning, and 
 showed a full comprehension of what was needed. He 
 had selected four or five boys to help him. The principal 
 difficulty was one of cost. He estimated, on the basis of 
 measurement of lumber, nails, etc., and prices obtained at 
 his own solicitation from dealers, that the cottage would 
 cost $23. There was some talk of raising this money 
 among the pupils, but only a very small amount was forth- 
 coming. The idea from the beginning had been that the 
 cottage could be used by all the members of the class as
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 a playhouse, or even for some recitations. The group were 
 asked to go over the calculations carefully and see if they 
 could reduce the proportions of the house so as to make 
 it less expensive. They changed it to a small, one-room 
 house with a shingled roof, a door, a large window, and 
 a small window at the back. The cost of all the material 
 was obtained from dealers. About $10 was found to be 
 the very lowest figure. 
 
 At this point the teacher obtained a grant of $8 from 
 the school, to be given to the class on the condition that 
 nothing further would be asked for that year. This changed 
 the conditions somewhat, and since the whole class was 
 concerned, the teacher described this offer to them, giving 
 them to understand that the money could be used, if they 
 chose, in other ways than the building of a house. Repre- 
 sentatives of the building group spoke on the advantages 
 of having a house, but some wished to buy a cabinet and 
 others wished to have an aquarium with goldfish. The 
 teacher even went so far as to suggest that they could buy 
 candy. They calculated the amount of candy that would 
 come to each at the teacher's suggestion, but the proposal, 
 though taken seriously, was not accepted, and indeed never 
 gained any adherents. The building group proposed that if 
 the house were built, other groups could be formed to make 
 various things that would be needed to furnish it. Chairs, 
 beds, and tables were necessary. The girls, they thought, 
 might make curtains and bed clothing. The house, too, 
 ought to be papered and a garden laid out. The small 
 window ought to be provided with a stained-glass design 
 (done in paper). No decision, however, was reached that 
 day. The day following further influence had evidently been
 
 SELF-ORGANIZED GROUP WORK 
 
 exercised by the group, for all the class were unanimous in 
 wishing to devote the money to the building of the house, 
 and to supply what additional money would be needed. 
 
 In carrying this out there were many difficulties to over- 
 come, and many mistakes were made. The time estimated 
 to complete the house was found to be altogether too short, 
 so that the work was stopped during part of the winter ; 
 but the house was finally finished, and stood resplendent in 
 its thick coats of green and white paint. Meanwhile chairs, 
 a table, and other furnishings had been made, the stained- 
 glass window put in, and the garden laid out, to be planted 
 and irrigated. It was viewed with pride and affection. The 
 faults in measurement of beams and laying of the shingles 
 were pointed out by the pupils, but these defects, which 
 were not at all apparent to an unskilled eye, did not pre- 
 vent the satisfaction of every one concerned. 
 
 It is evident that in work of this kind preliminary plan- 
 ning is of the greatest importance. It is at this stage that 
 the mental resources of the whole group should be com- 
 pletely drawn out. This is the period needing the most 
 thorough discussion. The image or impulse, as it exists in 
 the mind of one pupil, is not enough. This must be ex- 
 pressed clearly so that all the other pupils understand it, 
 and so that they can get an opportunity to modify it or to 
 object to it entirely. The teacher, too, since he must give 
 his consent to the plan, may need to be persuaded. He can 
 offer advice or make suggestions which have more effect 
 now than at any other time. This, indeed, must be done 
 carefully if at all, as there is the danger that the children 
 will be attracted to some brilliant proposal which they do 
 not understand sufficiently to carry out. These suggestions 
 [133]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 may be like the grain which fell by the wayside and grew 
 well at first, but withered away because it had not sufficient 
 depth of earth. 
 
 If the teacher makes what he thinks are good sugges- 
 tions, he should see to it that they are taken as nothing 
 more than suggestions, and that the children realize their 
 own responsibility. To succeed in this he will need to listen 
 carefully, and perhaps expand the objections that may be 
 offered to his suggestions ; or he may need to offer seem- 
 ingly crushing objections to his own ideas, and let the chil- 
 dren defend the original proposals if they are able or care 
 to do so. If the teacher fails to do this, he will find that 
 he really has the group on his hands, that his idea is not 
 the fertile, reproductive thing springing up in other minds 
 that he would like to have it, and that the original leader 
 of the group will have been practically displaced and reduced 
 to the position of a lieutenant. It is the democratic respon- 
 sibility to one's own ideals and to others on the same social 
 level, and not responsibility to the teacher, which this phase 
 of work aims to educate. 
 
 The preliminary planning should be pushed as far as 
 possible, and made as definite as the mental character of 
 the children and the nature of the project in hand will 
 permit. In this respect the building of a house, for ex- 
 ample, will be quite different from the making of a play. 
 The planning is itself often something which requires 
 concrete illustration and preliminary work in its produc- 
 tion. This was true of the drawings and the estimates 
 of the cost of the house described above, and the small 
 group of boys worked on these for some days. If the 
 plans had never been realized in the actual building of 
 [134]
 
 SELF-ORGANIZED GROUP WORK 
 
 the house, the time spent on their production would itself 
 have been quite worth while. 
 
 This would not be simply for the reason that it could be 
 regarded under the head of what teachers call "an educa- 
 tive exercise." Types of this latter are to be found plenti- 
 fully in all kinds of text-books. Arithmetics, for instance, 
 are rilled with such exercises. Pupils are asked to work 
 out the calculations for papering a room, for mowing a field, 
 for catching a hare, and what not, until they lose all sense 
 of the reality of these operations. It is supposed that 
 "drill," consisting of repeating these disjecta membra of 
 real arithmetic, will produce facility. Meanwhile the in- 
 sight required in applying processes is usually left out of 
 consideration, and the child is not trained to ask the ques- 
 tion or frame the problem which is essential to understand- 
 ing. One real problem, where calculation is applied to get 
 at results that are desired by the pupils, is worth hundreds 
 of this false, wasteful, and artificial kind. We have already 
 seen this in the averaging of the cooking group, and the 
 preparation of plans and estimates by the boys of the house 
 group is another similar case. This planning, even if the 
 building of the house had been given up, was not a mere 
 exercise. It was undertaken to find out whether the house 
 could be built or not, and if it had turned out that this 
 would have been impossible, the calculations would still 
 have served a useful purpose from the point of view of the 
 children themselves. On no other conditions could they 
 be regarded as yielding any satisfactory social service. 
 
 The main point in the preliminary planning is to decide 
 whether the project shall go on or not. It is well to realize 
 that not every plan or impulse in life needs to be executed, 
 [135]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 and in self-organized group work the children have before 
 them the choice of aims, as well as the selection of means. 
 Before their aims have been thoroughly fixed is the best 
 time for attempts to divert them from their purpose. To 
 give up a plan at the beginning may be wise, later on it 
 may be a desertion. It is also a favorable time for delibera- 
 tion and inhibition. It is a time for enthusiasm, but it is 
 well to delay somewhat, so as to be sure that the enthu- 
 siasm is well grounded and has sufficient carrying power. 
 With older pupils it would be well to inquire as to the pos- 
 sibilities of members wishing to leave the group later on, 
 or being forced to do so by external circumstances. Some 
 protection surely ought to be given to the rights of contract, 
 and this is a function which would naturally be exercised 
 by the state or governmental power of the teacher. The 
 possibility of failure at every stage ought to be taken into 
 account as far as possible. 
 
 In doing this, however, it is the experience of the chil- 
 dren and not of the teacher which is the main consideration. 
 It is to be expected that some plans will fail and groups 
 disband long before they have finished what they intended 
 to do. And this may be at unexpected points, or in face 
 of difficulties that have been previously thought of. There 
 must be an element of risk if the work is to be really or- 
 ganized by the children. " The best laid plans o' mice and 
 men gang aft a' gley." 
 
 In the beginning of the year a higher percentage of fail- 
 ures is to be expected, and the teacher may wisely enough 
 approve for trial more doubtful schemes at this time than 
 later on. After some experience of this kind has been at- 
 tained both teacher and children will have actual cases to 
 [136]
 
 SELF-ORGANIZED GROUP WORK 
 
 point to, where it will be found that not only the plans 
 themselves, but the character and disposition of the indi- 
 viduals back of them, as in Jack's case, are exceedingly 
 important. There ought to be opportunity for groups to 
 disband as well as for individuals to leave groups. Usually 
 this latter can be arranged without serious disadvantage to 
 the group. An individual who gets among his comrades 
 the reputation of being flighty, brings upon himself the 
 natural consequences, as did Jack. In the preliminary plan- 
 ning the teacher, in case he suspects the capacity of any 
 one, should raise the question and see that the other mem- 
 bers of the group appreciate the responsibility they are 
 taking in having him for a member. This stimulates 
 loyalty to one another and promotes honor feelings among 
 the group. 
 
 Where the group bond is weak, individuals are disposed 
 to be vacillating. In proportion as a feeling of union with 
 or service to some one else comes in, responsibility in- 
 creases. Even when plans were brought forward by single 
 individuals, they usually concealed or took on later some 
 social significance. I may illustrate this by a single case, 
 in which there was also a large element of failure. A fifth- 
 grade boy, rather belated in his development, wished to go 
 with a number of others who were modeling in clay. He 
 was not, however, connected with them in any organized 
 plan. His idea of what he wanted to do was proportionately 
 indefinite, and at first he looked forward to but half an 
 hour. He seemed to care very little about what he was 
 going to model, but mentioned a definite object, perhaps 
 more to get an opportunity of handling the clay than for 
 any other reason. 
 
 [137]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 As he was working, I came up to him and asked him if 
 I could help him in any way. The fact that he had no 
 particular problem in mind led to a vague answer. Now it 
 is plain, as already indicated, that if a plan has not sufficient 
 life in it to stand a struggle for existence with other plans 
 that may come easily to mind, it is not sufficiently intense 
 to be worth while. A resolution that cannot resist a certain 
 amount of temptation is not very well adapted for a hardy 
 life, nor is it likely to be well carried out. It is better that 
 such weaknesses be discovered at an early stage, if possible. 
 I accordingly set myself to see if, by using a moderate 
 stimulus, I could tempt the boy to desert his plan. 
 
 I think a cup or a vase was the object he was modeling. 
 I said to him : " What's the good of making a cup ? You 
 have plenty of them at home, haven't you ? " I said this, 
 of course, somewhat tentatively, so as not to suggest the 
 slightest feeling of authority on my part. The boy at this 
 stage was, I felt, too weak to resist a powerful stimulus. 
 He went on modeling without giving much of an answer. 
 
 I then said :" Why don't you make a rest for a pen or 
 something like that ? You could make it just long enough 
 to hold pens so that the ink wouldn't fall on the desk when 
 you laid them down. You could put in a little cup for ink, 
 too, and make it like a fern leaf, with the stem winding 
 round the little cup. Or you might, perhaps, make a frog 
 looking into the little pool of ink"; and so on, giving a 
 number of scattered suggestions. One of these appealed to 
 his imagination, and he said : " Yes, that would be better " ; 
 and he started to sketch in clay the new idea. (I may 
 say here that we had a kiln in the school, and that these 
 utensils could be fired, then painted, re-fired, and actually
 
 SELF-ORGANIZED GROUP WORK 
 
 used.) The next day he was working quite vigorously at 
 his penholder. 
 
 The teacher of the room, hearing the story of the boy's 
 change of plan, said : " That boy is so shilly-shally that if 
 I should go and ask him to change to something else, I 
 believe he would do it." I replied : "It would be good to 
 try. If he is to develop the power to resist temptation at 
 all, he must get just such experiences." She provided her- 
 self with a little china pinholder and showed it to him, thus 
 presenting him with a sense perception as against his own 
 image. She pointed out the advantages of the pinholder as 
 well as she could, including the ease of its manufacture. 
 The boy was again pleased with the new idea, but was 
 evidently somewhat disturbed. He finally said : " Well, I 
 would make the pinholder if I hadn't said that I was 
 going to make the penholder." "Oh, the superintendent 
 won't care," said the teacher. " No, I suppose he won't, 
 but I kind of thought I would make it and give it to him 
 so that he could use it on his desk. " And he went on with 
 the work he had in hand. 
 
 It is evident here that what enabled the boy to resist the 
 second temptation was the social motive, in which he had 
 chosen me as a member of his group. Unfortunately for 
 me, the penholder was never finished. A checkerboard 
 which he had started in the sloyd room weighed on his 
 mind, and the next day he proposed that he should use the 
 time which had been given for modeling to finish the 
 checkerboard. He said that the holidays were near by, 
 and that if he did not get some extra time the checker- 
 board would never be finished. The teacher permitted him 
 to make the change. 
 
 [139]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 I saw him the next day and said jokingly to him : " You're 
 a nice, kind of fellow, changing around all the time .' Is 
 that the sort of man you're going to be when you grow 
 up ? I dare say you would change again for very little. 
 Suppose I should give you ten cents, would you go on with 
 the penholder?" "No," he said, "I wouldn't." "How 
 much, then, would you take ? " " I wouldn't do it for less 
 than the price of a pair of boots." As the little fellow 
 came of a poor family and was sadly in need of a pair of 
 boots, I could readily appreciate the measure of his present 
 resolution. Further temptation was not offered, and the 
 checkerboard was finished in time. 
 
 A course in temptation may be a new thing for the 
 public school, but it is a necessary part of the process of 
 finding one's self. After all, in the most spiritual sense of 
 the words, every one has his price. The tragedy of it is, 
 as George Eliot says, that many sell their souls and fail 
 to get the price they really want. 
 
 When self-organized group work has been tried in the 
 higher grades, it is found that the social consciousness of 
 the children, since it is considerably more advanced, leads 
 often to an organization of the class as a whole as a leading 
 feature of the work. There is less naivett among older 
 children, and for this reason, when the idea is first broached, 
 they may look upon it somewhat askance. The school 
 habit has obtained a hold upon them, and many of them 
 have lost a good deal of their natural spontaneity and re- 
 sourcefulness. The idea of getting up lessons for the 
 teachers has been accepted, and in many cases the yoke 
 may have come to fit with a fair degree of comfort, espe- 
 cially when a good deal of time is left over for pursuits in 
 [140]
 
 SELF-ORGANIZED GROUP WORK 
 
 which they are more keenly interested from a personal 
 standpoint. 
 
 To pupils breathing this atmosphere the idea of putting 
 themselves into school work which they cut out for them- 
 selves seems a little too arduous. Why should they, when 
 they have taken passage in a ship which ought to arrive at 
 graduation in its own good time ? It is only necessary to 
 guard against falling overboard. Besides, is it not the 
 teachers' business to make things interesting ? Why should 
 pupils try to interest themselves or others ? 
 
 These tendencies are, however, only superficial, and if 
 all the virile individuals have not already left a school 
 which they feel does not appeal to their true ambitions, 
 pupils of the higher grades often go into such work with 
 the greatest enthusiasm. Some examples of this may be 
 cited from an eighth-grade class in the Colorado Normal 
 School, where a group of considerable size was started for 
 the study of German. The pupils heard that one of the 
 Normal students was a German, and they got her consent 
 to act as a teacher. Following her traditions she started 
 them off on exercises from a text-book. The pupils put 
 up with this for three or four days, but at the end of this 
 time they proposed they should do something more natural 
 and interesting. "Talk to us," they said, "in German. 
 Tell us the names of some of the things in the school- 
 room, and perform some simple actions, using the words 
 that accompany them, and ask more questions." From 
 this as a starting point the group made considerable 
 progress in spoken German. 
 
 After some experiences in small groups, the class practi- 
 cally turned the history period into self-organized work.
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 The subject for the year in this grade was American his- 
 tory, and the pupils proposed, toward the beginning of the 
 year, that, instead of studying about the historical events 
 in the usual way, they organize themselves into the Ameri- 
 can Congress and act out the debates and decisions of this 
 body from the beginning to the present time. It will be 
 noticed that the class accepted the general aim, namely the 
 study of American history, but proposed within this general 
 aim to outline their own course of study. The teacher 
 agreed to this, and promised to give them a written exam- 
 ination on the work they actually did. A boy was chosen 
 to act as George Washington, the first President, and mem- 
 bers of Congress for the different states were elected by 
 the class. The Senate and the House of Representatives 
 occupied different ends of the schoolroom, separated by 
 screens. A government printer was selected, who printed 
 copies of the bills that were brought into Congress. The 
 class prepared themselves at home for the debates on their 
 bills, but at times when this was difficult they adjourned, 
 sent to the library for books, and in little knots, assisted 
 by the teacher, got up the information that they needed. 
 The form of the bills was obtained from an actual bill of the 
 Colorado legislature. The total number of bills could not, 
 of course, be introduced, but the selection made was repre- 
 sentative of the important affairs agitating the country at 
 the time. I have in my possession about forty of these 
 bills, from which I have selected eight. It will be noticed 
 that these bills show errors in typography, spelling, and con- 
 struction. Different printers of course had different stand- 
 ards and capacities. Faults were pointed out by teachers 
 and pupils, but even at the end some still remained.
 
 
 SELF-ORGANIZED GROUP WORK 
 
 H. B. No. i 
 A BILL FOR 
 
 An act to appropriate $25,000,000 for the President's use, to buy 
 arms and ammunition, and to pay men to suppress the rebellion 
 which has been declared to exist in the northern states, 
 i . Be it enacted by the Senate and H. of R. in Congress assembled, 
 
 that we appropriate $25,000,000 for the above purpose. 
 
 Homer Randall. Sen. from Georgia. 
 
 S. B. No. i 
 
 A BILL FOR 
 
 An act to provide for the Compromise of 1850. 
 
 1. Be it enacted by the Senate and H. of R. in Congress assembled 
 that California be admitted as a free state. 
 
 2. That slave trade that is, buying and selling of slaves be 
 abolished forever in the District of Columbia. 
 
 3. That there should be a new and very stringent fugitive slave 
 law. 
 
 4. That Mexico and Utah should be made territory without refer- 
 ence to slavery that is, the people should make them free or slave. 
 
 5. That since Texas claimed so much of New Mexico as was 
 east of the Rio Grande, she should give up her claim and be paid 
 money for doing so. 
 
 John Gibbons. Rep. from Maine. 
 
 H. B. No. 3 
 
 A BILL FOR 
 
 An act to provide for the punishment of land misrepresentors. 
 
 1 . Be it enacted by the Senate and H. of R. in Congress assembled 
 that a fine of ($10,000) be laid on persons who misrepresent land. 
 
 2. That a term in prison not to exceed ten years be dealt out 
 to them. 
 
 Laura Waters. Rep. from Penn. 
 
 [US]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 H. B. No. 3 
 A BILL FOR 
 
 An act to provide for the building of a harbor at New Orleans. 
 Sec. i. Be it enacted by the Senate and H. of R. that we appro- 
 priate $2000 for the building of a harbor at New Orleans. 
 
 Mabel Collins. Representative from Maryland. 
 
 H. B. No. i 
 
 A BILL FOR 
 
 An act to provide for the purchase of Louisiana territory. 
 
 1. Be it enacted by the Senate and House of Representatives of 
 the U. S. that we give the President power to purchase the Louisiana 
 territory. 
 
 2. That we pay fifteen million dollars ($15,000,000) for it. 
 
 3. That we hereby appropriate that sum for this purpose. 
 
 Mattie Miller. Sen. from N.C. 
 
 S. B. No. 2 
 A BILL FOR 
 
 An act to provide for the fortification of the coast. 
 Be it enacted by the Senate and House of Representatives that 
 guns be erected along the eastern coast of the United States. 
 
 1. That 12 guns be placed at New York City, and that 12 mines 
 be laid in the harbor of New York. 
 
 2. That guns be erected and mines be laid at Charleston, S.C. 
 
 3. That we request the Sec. of War to place troops at Portland, 
 Maine. 
 
 S. B. No. i 
 
 A BILL FOR 
 
 An act to provide for the building of ships of war. 
 
 1. Be it enacted by the Senate and H. of R. that we direct the 
 Sec. of Navy to build 12 ships, arm and equip them as soon as 
 
 le. 
 
 2. And that we hereby appropriate $5,000,000 for this purpose, 
 
 [!44]
 
 SELF-ORGANIZED GROUP WORK 
 
 H. B. No. I 
 A BILL FOR 
 
 An act for payment of debts, with interest in full, made by the 
 
 Congress of the Confederation. 
 
 Be it enacted by the Congress of the United states that we 
 assume the responsibility of paying all the debts made by the Con- 
 gress of the Confederation ; also interest on that debt to be paid in 
 good sound money. 
 
 When the class came to the Dred Scott case, they had 
 not thought of the Supreme Court, but when its need was 
 apparent it was forthwith created, the prisoner was brought 
 in, and the case was argued on each side by lawyers, both 
 of whom made excellent speeches, and the historic decision 
 was finally reached. 
 
 When the Civil War arose generals were chosen, who, 
 with the assistance of other members of the class, laid out 
 the middle and southern portion of the United States in 
 the school yard. This was done on a large scale, occupy- 
 ing about one hundred feet each way. Hills of earth were 
 thrown up to represent the Appalachian Mountains, and 
 proper indentations marked the rivers and the seacoast. 
 The generals and their officers then described different 
 periods of the war, the rest of the class looking on and 
 asking questions. No acting out of the war was attempted, 
 imaged representations with the aid of the relief map, over 
 which the pupils walked, being all that was desired. 
 
 I hardly need to say that the class got a thoroughly good 
 grip of American history. A great deal of special work was 
 done. Libraries throughout the town were ransacked for 
 all kinds of information not to be found in the usual text- 
 books of history. Books and newspapers printed during 
 [145]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 the period that the class was reenacting were particularly 
 sought after. The discussions naturally were not confined 
 to school hours, but ran out into the playground and the 
 home. Those who were most interested did much more 
 work than they would have accomplished under the usual 
 course of study, and this probably applied to at least three 
 quarters of the class. Those who were not so eager or so 
 competent were, to some extent, kept up by the enthusiasm 
 of the rest ; and even the worst did as well as they could 
 have been expected to do under any circumstances. 
 
 As the last instance shows, self-organized work may be 
 dominated by the class as a whole, which maintains con- 
 trol over individual or subordinate groups that may be 
 formed. This, as already stated, is usually characteristic of 
 the higher grades, but it sometimes appears lower down. 
 As an instance of this, the experience of a teacher of the 
 fourth grade in the Everett School, Boston, may be cited. 
 This was a case where only one group was openly formed 
 in school, but the class as a whole took charge of the group 
 and modified it to suit themselves. This was possible largely 
 because the work selected was the making of a play. Here 
 follows the teacher's description : 
 
 The play of " Old Pipes and the Dryad " was given by a class 
 of girls in the fourth grade. Stockton's " Fanciful Tales " had been 
 read during the regular reading hours. One tale, " Old Pipes and 
 the Dryad," was enjoyed very much. It was suggested by the 
 teacher that the story might be dramatized and given by the class. 
 Two or three different groups of friends considered the possibility, 
 and finally one girl Teddy who was very anxious to be the 
 Dryad, really did dramatize the story and assigned the parts to girls 
 whom, as she said, read well and would learn quickly. They worked 
 together and consulted the teacher when in difficulty ; for instance, 
 [I 4 6]
 
 
 SELF-ORGANIZED GROUP WORK 
 
 they did not see how to put descriptive paragraphs into conversa- 
 tion. The process was illustrated and they did the rest alone. 
 However, the writing of the play was comparatively easy because 
 the text was followed minutely where possible. At first the play was 
 all in one act. 
 
 Rehearsals began before the parts were learned. "It is easier to 
 remember when you are doing the things," as one of the girls 
 expressed it. They used their own diction at first, simply keeping 
 the general sentiment of Stockton. But gradually, little by little, 
 the text expression was introduced, because it was admired by them, 
 as being more expressive than their own words. Hence there was no 
 formal declamatory air in the reading of their parts. All was simple 
 and childlike, for the words seemed to be their own. Most of the 
 rehearsals took place before the class, who proved to be hard yet 
 helpful critics. Each and all of the fifty girls felt at liberty to 
 speak at any time, if by so doing the play could be improved. The 
 production of that play satisfactorily was the aim not only of the 
 players but of the entire class. 
 
 Quite late in its growth the play was divided into four acts. 
 The change came about in the following way. The girls said, "It is 
 very queer to have just one act, as if the play took only one day. 
 In the story, first it is springtime and then it is fall. We must tell 
 the people that time has passed on, or else it will seem foolish." 
 
 " Yes, and in theaters where things take place at different times and 
 
 at different places, there are acts. Then the time passes in between." 
 
 So, to be logical, the play was divided into acts. The players 
 
 gave their play, and were stopped by the class whenever a natural 
 
 ending came. 
 
 One girl was dismissed from the play. She took the part of one 
 of the children in the play, and "wiggled too much, and exaggerated 
 her 'sh ! ' too much." Consequently the class objected, and a contest 
 was held to see who would have the part. Another contest took 
 place which was interesting. The Dryad was sick, and word came 
 from her mother that there was a possibility of her not returning to 
 school. This caused much disappointment, but the play had to be 
 given, so a contest was proposed to see who should take the Dryad's 
 part. One night's preparation was allowed at the suggestion of one 
 girl, and following are some remarks that were made at the contest. 
 About twenty took part. 
 
 [147]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 "Voice too high!" 
 
 " Voice too deep ! Not like a fairy's ! " 
 
 " Acts too stiff ! " 
 
 " No one can do it as well as Teddy ! She knows how to use her 
 eyes ! " 
 
 Naturally Teddy's reappearance at school was hailed with delight. 
 
 The class costumed the players, each one thinking it an honor if 
 her donation was accepted. A hat came from one, a cane from 
 another ; a bunch of flowers here, and a crown there. The staging 
 was very simple, on account of lack of room. A clothes closet was 
 the tree ; a screen, the house ; the desks, the trees ; and ordinary 
 chairs the benches and stones. 
 
 One girl persisted in saying, " I will bring the money," when 
 she should have said " take." The teacher objected, but with 
 no effect. One day, however, a stranger who saw the play said : 
 "Why do you say bring? I didn't like that one part." After she 
 left, the class asked why bring was wrong. A lesson not formal 
 of course was then and there given, after which take was always 
 emphasized. 
 
 The play was given fourteen times to audiences of about fifty at 
 a time, and once at another school before two hundred and fifty 
 grown-up people. The girls were never self-conscious and spoke 
 with exceptional clearness and distinctness. 
 
 During the rehearsals there was really no "discipline " necessary. 
 Each girl felt free to get up and express her ideas, and each one 
 seemed happy. 
 
 Once " Old Pipes " was absent, and a class had been invited to see 
 the play. But a substitute came forward, said that she knew the 
 part, and really did do it quite as well as Old Pipes himself. The 
 play was given by some of the other girls at their homes and 
 elsewhere. 
 
 The original story was reread once, and even the poorest reader 
 in the room read remarkably well. 
 
 Reading, writing, composition, language, and spelling were taught 
 indirectly and directly by the play, and the feeling of good fellow- 
 ship that resulted was worth hours of " moral training." 
 
 The first act of the play will show the character of the 
 children's work. 
 
 [148]
 
 
 SELF-ORGANIZED GROUP WORK 
 
 OLD PIPES AND THE DRYAD 
 
 ACT. I 
 Persons acting : Place of action : 
 
 Old Pipes i. Deep forest 
 
 Old Pipes' Mother 2. In front of Old 
 
 Three children Pipes' cottage 
 
 O. P. (sitting on a stone). Children, I am very tired to-night 
 and I don't believe I can climb up this steep path to my 
 home. I shall have to ask you to help me. 
 
 Chil. We will do that gladly ! Come ! (Two children take him 
 by the arms, the other pushes him up behind.) 
 
 O. P. (sitting down on bench in front of cottage). I am sorry 
 that I tired you so much ! 
 
 ist child. Oh, that would not have tired us if we had not been so 
 far to-day after the cows, the sheep, and the goats. We 
 thought we should never find them. (Other children mo- 
 tion to child not to tell.) 
 
 O. P. Had to go after the cows, the sheep, and the goats ! 
 Why, what do you mean by that? 
 
 2nd child. Why, you see, good sir, that as the cattle can't hear your 
 pipes now, some one has to go after them, and the Chief 
 Villager has hired us three to do it. 
 
 O. P. How long have you been doing this? 
 
 ist child. About a year now. But we are rested now and must go 
 home. Good night, sir. 
 
 Oth. chil. Good night. (Go downhill, 3rd ch. shaking others.) 
 3rd child. Why did you tell the poor old man ? 
 
 O. P. (shouting). Mother! Mother! did you hear what those 
 children said ? 
 
 Mother (coming out of cottage). Children ! I didn't know there 
 were any children here. 
 
 [149]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 O. P. Yes, three children helped me up the hill, and they told 
 me that for a whole year the cattle have not heard my 
 pipes and that they had to go after them. 
 
 Mother. They can't hear you ? Why, what's the matter with the 
 
 cattle ? 
 
 O. P. Ah, me! I don't believe there's anything the matter with 
 the cattle. It must be with me and my pipes that there is 
 something the matter. But one thing is certain : if I 
 don't earn the wages the Chief Villager pays me, I shall 
 not take them. I shall go straight down to the village 
 and give back the money I received to-day. 
 
 Mother. Nonsense ! I'm sure you've piped as well as you could 
 and no more can be expected. And what are we to do 
 without the money ? 
 
 O. P. I don't know, but I am going down to the village to pay 
 it back. Good-by mother ! 
 
 Mother (gazing at him until he disappears). Well, if you will go, 
 good-by. (Rises and goes into the cottage.) 
 
 The control of the whole class over everything that is 
 done is one of the characteristics of the self-organized work 
 carried on in the classes of Miss Lotta Clark, of the Charles- 
 town High School. Says Miss Clark : " I talked the matter 
 over with my classes and asked them how they would like to 
 try the experiment of conducting their history lessons them- 
 selves. The novelty of the idea pleased them, and after 
 considerable informal discussion we decided to carry on our 
 recitations in the form of business meetings. A chairman 
 was appointed from the class to take charge of the meeting, 
 and there was something of a sensation when I exchanged 
 chairs with him. He appointed committees to nominate can- 
 didates for a president, vice president, and secretary. These 
 officers were elected by ballot for one month, and their 
 duties were decided upon by the class. We had an amusing 
 [ISO]
 
 SELF-ORGANIZED GROUP WORK 
 
 time when they tried to decide what they ought to do with 
 me. I told them I was going to do just as little as pos- 
 sible in the class, so that they could have all the time and 
 opportunity there was. They finally decided to call me the 
 "executive officer," with power to exercise full authority 
 if necessity required. 
 
 "The business form of the meeting did not occupy a 
 great deal of time. As a matter of fact, we had time to 
 spare. The time which had previously been taken up by 
 the teacher's questions was saved, and the pupils could 
 easily recite in half an hour what it had taken them an 
 hour to prepare. ... The roll call and the report of the 
 previous day were sometimes finished in five minutes, the 
 lesson of the day in thirty more, and we found ourselves 
 with ten minutes to spare. There were various suggestions 
 as to what we should do with the extra time. One was, that 
 they take longer lessons, and this being adopted, the habit 
 grew of letting them assign their own lessons. The result 
 was that they almost always took longer ones than I had 
 been in the habit of giving them. 
 
 " Another suggestion was that the scholars should collect 
 pictures and show them to the class during spare minutes. 
 One boy said he didn't have much luck in finding pictures, 
 but would like to read things in other books and tell them 
 to the class. A girl asked if she might draw some pictures 
 from a book in the library, and still another boy asked me 
 to get permission for him to go to the Art Museum with 
 his camera and take photographs of the casts there, that 
 were connected with the work. We did all these things 
 and many, many more ; and these suggestions led to the 
 richest development of all in the work of this year. The
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 classes formed themselves into little informal clubs, met at 
 recess and after school, and decided what each would do 
 to contribute something interesting to the lessons. There 
 were the drawing clubs and the camera clubs, while the 
 club that brought in pictures and newspaper clippings, and 
 told interesting accounts which they had read, called them- 
 selves the Sidelights Club. 
 
 "Among these groups the most important and success- 
 ful was the Library Club of last year. It consisted of twelve 
 pupils most of the time (sometimes more). Their object 
 was to go to the library once a week and read there, among 
 the old and rare volumes and newspapers, interesting things 
 about the early history of their home Charlestown. As 
 some of these volumes were of great value and the news- 
 papers were very old, it was necessary to get permission 
 to use them from the head librarian of the main library in 
 Boston. During the interview which took place when the 
 teacher went to get permission for the pupils to use these 
 things, one of the head officials said after he had heard a 
 description of what was wanted : ' You may have anything 
 you wish either at the branch or at the main library, but 
 we tell you frankly that we do not expect that you will 
 accomplish anything. It is not our experience that school 
 children care anything for that sort of thing.' Their only 
 stipulation was that the teacher should be present when 
 the pupils went to the library, to be sure that the books 
 and papers were handled with the greatest care. The girls 
 selected Thursday afternoon, and the librarian at the branch 
 provided a special table for their use, and put all the books 
 we had asked for in a convenient place by themselves. 
 The girls were very careful that the teacher should be 
 [152]
 
 SELF-ORGANIZED GROUP WORK 
 
 punctual and regular in attendance, though at times it 
 was very hard for her to do so. 
 
 " Many interesting things were learned and reported to 
 the class and used as material for the school publication. 
 But toward the end of the winter they made a discovery 
 which was the most interesting of all. In reading a book 
 by Mr. Eades on old Charlestown, they discovered that 
 John Harvard was a citizen of Charlestown. Like many 
 other people, they had always associated Harvard with 
 Cambridge, and were amazed to find that the Harvard 
 grant and the site of the home were only a stone's throw 
 from the place where they were studying. They dropped 
 their books and started out to find it, and after some 
 searching and calculation they found the place which is 
 now occupied by a brick apartment house. Surprise was 
 expressed that the place had never been marked, and the 
 half-laughing suggestion was made that 'we mark it.' The 
 occurrence was reported in the history class, and the whole 
 class took the matter up and discussed different phases of 
 it at different times. One of the boys offered to find out 
 how much a suitable tablet would cost, and after discussing 
 materials and marking, the class decided that they wanted 
 a granite tablet 3x2 feet with the following inscription : 
 
 SITE OF THE HOME OF 
 JOHN HARVARD 
 
 1637 
 MARKED BY THE HISTORY CLUI 
 
 OF THE 
 
 CHARLESTOWN HIGH SCHOOL 
 1907 
 
 [153]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 " The boy wrote to a number of firms, stated what was 
 desired, got the prices, and reported to the class that the 
 best price he could get was $40. Another boy said he 
 thought he could do better, and he got figures and finally 
 asked the teacher and the first boy to go with him to a firm 
 in Boston where a former pupil of the school was employed. 
 This gentleman found that he could make us the tablet at 
 the price of $33.40. 
 
 " Then came the question of how to get the money. The 
 first suggestion was to give an entertainment, but the pupils 
 were confronted by some unusual difficulties. They were 
 occupying a temporary building while their new school was 
 being built, and there was no hall they could use. There 
 were only two months left before school closed, and at one 
 time it looked rather hopeless. The parents of most of the 
 children were poor, and graduation time was approaching, 
 which necessitates much expense, and for this and other rea- 
 sons class contribution was not favored. The pupils wanted to 
 earn the money, but there didn't seem to be any way to do 
 it in the time they had before their graduation. The teacher 
 suggested that they allow the next year's class to take up the 
 work where they had left it. This plan was rejected, as was 
 also the one to have the whole school take up the work. 
 They said frankly that they had begun the work and they 
 wanted the satisfaction of finishing it if they 'only could.' 
 
 " At just this point the teacher was invited to an evening 
 gathering, and in the course of the conversation was asked 
 to describe the work of this class. The listeners were all 
 educators and their sympathy was aroused by this partic- 
 ular piece of work, and an offer was made to collect the 
 money there in that company. The very kind offer was 
 [154]
 
 SELF-ORGANIZED GROUP WORK 
 
 refused by the teacher for this reason : it would have taken 
 the matter out of the hands of the pupils, and they would 
 have missed the benefit of actually doing the thing them- 
 selves, or the disappointment if they failed to do it. This 
 caused a good deal of discussion. One lady gave the argu- 
 ment that in the business world when a man has a good 
 idea he very often gets others to furnish the money to carry 
 it out. A gentleman remarked that it would be a crime 
 in his opinion to allow the thing to fail. The outcome of 
 the matter was as follows : suggestions were made as to 
 the ways in which the pupils could earn the money, and the 
 teacher was authorized to convey to the class the encour- 
 aging assurance that they were to go on and earn as much 
 as they could, and if they could not earn it all before they 
 were separated by graduation, the remaining sum would 
 be contributed. 
 
 "One of the ways suggested by the company for the 
 pupils to earn money was by lettering diplomas, and three 
 girls earned about six dollars by this means. One of the 
 other girls earned two dollars by sewing, and some of the 
 boys sold papers for their money. One girl's father sug- 
 gested that a gentleman who had been a graduate of the 
 school be told of the matter, as he is interested in history. 
 Through him the mayor of Boston was interested and sent a 
 check. Every pupil worked and did what he could, whether 
 it was much or little, and the tablet was procured and un- 
 veiled on their graduation day. 
 
 " That they were doing something ' real ' was the greatest 
 inspiration to the boys and girls, and they got much practi- 
 cal experience from it. They learned why treasurers should 
 give bonds, although one girl said that she considered it an 
 [155]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 insult to the treasurer, and stated quite forcibly, to the 
 amusement of the others, that she wouldn't be a treasurer 
 if the rest had so little confidence in her. The seriousness 
 of the position came home to the class, however, when the 
 treasurer lost her purse which contained one of the checks 
 belonging to the fund. She had not indorsed it and was 
 greatly pleased that she had not. When the advice of the 
 class was solicited, the matter of stopping the payment of 
 checks was considered, explained, and acted upon. 
 
 "The cooperation of the owner of the building on the 
 site of John Harvard's home was solicited by the pupils and 
 obtained. He imbedded the tablet in the wall for them. 
 During Old Home Week a laurel wreath was hung over 
 the tablet, and the boys and girls were glad to have done 
 ' something real,' as one of them expressed it." 
 
 With pupils of a college grade self-organized work ought 
 to be just as feasible as in lower grades. This is shown by 
 the work done in the classes of several of the teachers of 
 the Boston Normal School, who have experimented success- 
 fully in this direction. The following reports of two of these 
 self-organized groups in the classes of Miss Dora Williams 
 will indicate the spirit and the quality of the work. Other 
 groups in this class during the same time dealt with 
 Aquariums, Artificial Incubation, Hens and Eggs, Cocoons, 
 Migration of Birds, Trees, the Struggle for Existence, and 
 Adaptation to Surroundings. Self -organized work of this 
 kind must be distinguished from the ordinary college elec- 
 tions, in which the pupils are not called upon to organize 
 the subject. It differs also from the most of seminar work, 
 where the choice of subjects and effect upon the class is 
 left mainly to the teacher. 
 
 [156]
 
 SELF-ORGANIZED GROUP WORK 
 
 GROUP WORK IN SCIENCE 
 SEA LIFE 
 
 Having discussed the value of self-organized group work in the 
 psychology class last year, it was thought it would be decidedly ben- 
 eficial should the students of the Normal School be given an oppor- 
 tunity to try it for themselves. Consequently last fall this opportunity 
 was offered in the science class. 
 
 One period of home preparation was allowed, in which the students 
 might think up special topics upon which the groups might work with 
 benefit to both themselves and the class. At the next recitation each 
 student offered her suggestions, and a list of these was made and 
 their values discussed. Then each pupil looked over the list and 
 chose the topic in which she was most interested and which she 
 thought it would do her the most good to work upon. In this way 
 the groups were entirely self-chosen, for each pupil was free to enter 
 what group she wished, and even the topics were not assigned by 
 the teacher. 
 
 As was natural, the topics covered a wide range, for such a large 
 number of students could not help having widely differing interests. 
 This, however, was desirable, for when the groups reported to the 
 class the knowledge of the class was so much the more extensive. 
 
 As was also natural, the groups varied greatly in size, for some 
 of the topics appealed to many of the girls while others seemed to 
 interest only a few. Thus there were six in the group studying birds 
 and only two in the group studying sea life, of which I was a member. 
 
 Our reasons for choosing this particular subject were twofold. The 
 first was that we had spent a part of last summer at the Marine Biolog- 
 ical Laboratory at Woods Hole, Massachusetts, and had there become 
 much interested in sea life. We had also collected some very good speci- 
 mens. The second reason was that we thought that the recognition of 
 the ascending development of the organs of defense and offense would 
 be of use to the whole class, especially if we could actually show speci- 
 mens illustrating this ascent in type animals of principal phyla. 
 
 A description of the technical work done will be given later, but 
 just here I want to tell of what we got out of the group work aside 
 from subject-matter. 
 
 At the present time great stress is being put upon the fact that 
 we must keep the children interested and self-active to do them the 
 
 [157]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 most good in our work with them. We certainly were interested in 
 our work or else we should not have chosen the subject or formed 
 our group. We were decidedly self-active and independent, owing 
 to two facts : first, we wanted to have something of value, well ar- 
 ranged, to present to the class ; second, we needed to do the work 
 ourselves in order to accomplish this. 
 
 We are taught nowadays that the powers of cooperation and 
 organization must be trained to enable one to fill properly any station 
 in life. In this group work we had to cooperate, for had we not 
 met together and talked over what each should do that would best 
 further the end we had in view, we should never have reached that 
 end at all, and there would have been no unity in our work. We had 
 to organize our subject-matter and material, making a clear plan as 
 to how we should present the former and show the latter, else, again, 
 our work would, when brought before the class, have lacked unity 
 and would not have been logical. 
 
 A certain amount of self-control was necessary to prevent one 
 member of the group from acting selfishly or trying to dictate to the 
 other. Perseverance was needed in several instances where we had 
 difficulties in carrying out the plans we had made. It seems to me 
 that these last two qualities of the will are especially desirable, and 
 that if we can train them by such a delightful method as group work, 
 we should not hesitate. 
 
 I think that enough has been said to show how valuable a device 
 group work is in training important mental powers, so now I will give 
 a brief account of the work done. 
 
 We first made out an analysis of the ground we wished to cover, 
 and had it accepted by the class. The special line of thought which 
 we wished to follow was the development of the organs by which 
 the different animals are able to sustain life and keep their race sur- 
 viving. We did this by showing specimens of type animals of six 
 phyla, starting with ccelenterata and including vertebrates which 
 showed clearly these points. These specimens were some that we 
 had collected that summer and preserved with reference to some 
 such need as this. 
 
 We arranged these specimens around on the tables in the class room 
 before recitation in such a way that each three girls would have one 
 specimen. In a couple of cases we had only two specimens, so that 
 we had to have these passed around the class as they were discussed. 
 
 [158]
 
 SELF-ORGANIZED GROUP WORK 
 
 In order that both of us should have the opportunity of working 
 with the class, we divided the work into two parts, one of us taking 
 the introductory talk and the first three phyla, and the other taking 
 the other three phyla and the ground covered. 
 
 Our idea was to draw the facts from the pupils after they had 
 examined the specimens, instead of telling them everything. We got 
 almost all the points we wanted, with only suggestions from us as to 
 what line their observations were to follow, and in this way they 
 were much more interested and active than if we had simply stated 
 a number of facts to them. 
 
 As the different facts were mentioned, they were written on the 
 board in the form of the following topical analysis, which the pupils 
 were allowed to copy for future reference if they wished. 
 
 SEA LIFE 
 I. Ccelenierata. 
 Sea anemone. 
 
 1. Organs of offense and defense. 
 
 a. Tentacles lasso cells. 
 
 b. Stinging capsules contained in ectoderm. 
 
 c. Elongated cells containing slender barbs. 
 
 2. Sense of sight. 
 
 a. Isolated nerve cells at base of tentacles. 
 
 b. Round refractory cells. 
 
 3. Sense of hearing lacking. 
 II. Echinodermata. 
 
 1, Starfish. 
 
 a. Organs of offense and defense. 
 
 (1) Ambulacral feet or suckers. 
 
 (2) Rows of calcareous movable spines. Pedicellarise. 
 
 (3) Tentacles containing olfactory cells. 
 
 b. Sense of sight. Small eye (red spot) at end of am- 
 
 bulacral groove. 
 
 2. Sea urchin. 
 
 a. Organs of offense and defense. 
 
 (1) Movable spines. Pedicellariae. 
 
 (2) Tube feet. 
 
 b. Sense of sight. Ocular plates bearing eye plates. 
 
 c. Sense of hearing lacking. 
 
 [159]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 III. Vermes. 
 
 Nereis virens (sandworm). 
 
 1. Organs of offense and defense. 
 
 a. Two horny jaws. 
 
 b. Locomotive organs. 
 
 2. Sense of sight. Eyes in a head. 
 
 3. Sense of hearing lacking. 
 IV. Mollusca. 
 
 Squid. 
 
 1. Organs of offense and defense. 
 
 a. Ten arms provided with suckers. Two longer than 
 
 others. 
 
 b. Mouth with two horny jaws. 
 Tongue adapted to rasping. 
 
 c. Tail and mantle fins used for locomotion. 
 
 d. Change of color when excited. 
 
 e. Ink sac. 
 f. Siphon. 
 
 2. Sense of sight. Pair of large movable eyes on head. 
 
 3. Sense of hearing lacking. 
 V. Arthropoda. 
 
 1. Crayfish. 
 
 a. Organs of offense and defense. 
 
 (1) Two antennas (organs of hearing and balance). 
 
 (2) Four antennules (organs of smell). 
 
 (3) Appendages. 
 
 (a) Thoracic legs. 
 
 Three pairs maxillipeds. 
 One pair chelipeds. 
 Four pairs walking legs. 
 
 (b) Abdominal. 
 
 Six pairs swimmerets. 
 One telson or tail fin. 
 
 b. Sense of sight. Large eyes on a rostrum on stalks 
 
 movable in all directions. 
 
 2. Hermit crab. 
 
 a. Organs of offense and defense. 
 
 (1) Stolen shell. 
 
 (2) One pair antennae, organs of smell. 
 
 [160]
 
 SELF-ORGANIZED GROUP WORK 
 
 (3) Two pairs antennae, used for balance. 
 
 (4) One pair claws. 
 
 b. Sense of sight. Pair of eyes on stalks. 
 VI. Vertebrata. 
 Dogfish. 
 
 1. Organs of offense and defense. 
 
 a. Mouth bristles with several rows of double-edged 
 
 teeth. 
 
 b. Powerful tail. Rapid swimmer. 
 
 2. Sense of sight. Eye constructed on same plan as in 
 
 mammals. 
 
 3. Sense of hearing. Auditory labyrinth only (structure 
 
 simple). 
 
 DOGS 
 
 The subject " Dogs " is quite foreign to the usual subjects taken 
 up in the senior course at the Boston Normal School, but one which 
 has proved to be of great interest to me, and I hope assistance 
 to others. My plan of work was to study "The Recognition of 
 Common Types of Dogs" and "Louis Pasteur and Hydrophobia." 
 As no one else was interested at the time in the subject, I entered 
 upon the work by myself. 
 
 The first question is, Why did I choose the subject "Dogs"? 
 It was not because I have any especially sporty tendencies, but 
 simply because I was more interested in dogs than in birds or fishes 
 or various other subjects that have been forced upon me all my life. 
 Then, too, I have nearly always had a dog of my own, at one time 
 an Irish terrier, at another a Skye terrier, at another a Cocker spaniel. 
 Besides all this, I have often seen dogs of various breeds and wished 
 that I could tell what they were. My aim was primarily an uninten- 
 tionally selfish one, a hunger for knowledge that would be a pleas- 
 ure and an advantage to myself ; then it gradually broadened out 
 until it was a desire to share with others what might interest and 
 benefit them. 
 
 Now for some of the difficulties I encountered. When I declared 
 my intention to the science class, I read disapproval, doubt, and 
 even amusement on the faces of my listeners ; but they were all too 
 polite to tell me what they thought until afterwards. Instead of 
 being discouraged by their attitude, I think rather that I was spurred 
 [161]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 on to convince them that I could do it. Not until I was fairly 
 launched upon my task did I realize its extent ; and though I spent 
 hours and hours in my work, it was never anything but enjoyable. 
 The further I went on, the more and more absorbed in it I became. 
 In studying "The Recognition of Dogs," besides consulting various 
 books upon the subject, I made numerous excursions to hospitals for 
 animals, and it so happened that the dogs I most wished to see were 
 seldom sick in the hospital when I went there. Pure types were hard 
 to find, too, and it seemed to me that mongrels were numerous. At 
 first, while studying " Pasteur and Hydrophobia," I was in despair, 
 for it seemed as if every book on that subject in the Boston Public 
 Library was written by an antivivisectionist, who bitterly denounced 
 Pasteur. At last, quite accidentally, I happened upon M. Renaud 
 Lezor's book on "Pasteur and Hydrophobia," and also on M. Rene 
 Vallery-Radot's " Life of Pasteur," both of which gave me most 
 valuable information. Pasteur achieved so many important tasks that 
 I found it difficult in studying his life to stick to my point " Hydro- 
 phobia" and not to get side-tracked on " Spontaneous Generation," 
 or "Tartaric Acid," or some other interesting subject. 
 
 Owing to the kindness of Dr. Tobin and Dr. Wellington, I was 
 finally given the privilege of escorting the senior class of this school 
 to Dr. Tobin's hospital for animals on Newbury Street, to see some 
 dogs and to have a little talk about them. I must confess that I was 
 wicked enough to wish that I might be ill, so that the trip to the 
 hospital for animals might be indefinitely postponed. 
 
 From the work that I have done in studying the subject " Dogs," 
 I feel that I have consciously gained more than I ever expected. In 
 the first place I gained a great deal of useful information ; and by 
 planning out the work myself, I had a chance to exercise choice and 
 to arrange material logically. By studying the live specimens I gained 
 in powers of observation. A desire to impart to others what I had 
 learned brought out cooperative spirit and a feeling of responsibility. 
 The independence of the work also gave me pleasure. The trip to 
 the hospital for animals and the presentation that I gave to the 
 school of "Pasteur and Hydrophobia" gave me more self-confidence, 
 and that is what I need more than anything else. 
 
 For the success of my work I owe a debt of thanks to the Bio- 
 logical Club, which loaned me a most interesting letter written by 
 Miss Helen Scott to Dr. George Gibier Rambaud, Director of the 
 
 [162]
 
 SELF-ORGANIZED GROUP WORK 
 
 New York Pasteur Institute, who loaned and suggested books to me 
 which were invaluable ; and to Dr. Tobin, who gave me the privilege 
 of taking the class to his excellent hospital. 
 
 Before closing these two chapters on what might be 
 called the technique of self-organized work, and going on 
 to consider its application to different culture themes, a 
 few words seem to be needed on the subject of marking 
 and examinations. 
 
 A just recognition of merit is an exceedingly important 
 aspect of all educational work and a necessary presupposi- 
 tion of a good society. To what extent effective merit can 
 be determined by examinations and recorded by marks is 
 a fundamental question of distributive justice both for 
 society and the school. Part of the presuppositions and 
 results of the current marking system have been discussed 
 in the chapter on Tests for the Schools, but a more special 
 inquiry, however short, as to the possibilities of marking 
 in its social relationships is necessary to an understanding 
 of the subject as a whole. 
 
 Will stated examinations and formal marking diminish 
 or destroy personal ambition to social service on the part 
 of the pupils, or can these instruments be used to further 
 earnest and serious effort for the good of others ? 
 
 The answer to this will depend on whether the marks 
 register individual excellence independently of the proved 
 ability to organize and take responsibility for the interest 
 and advancement of others, or whether this additional merit 
 is included in the record. Although the latter virtue is 
 always recognized by every one, it is usually left to be 
 its own reward, and the marking and ranking which fol- 
 lows is concerned with individual ability in an intellectual 
 [163]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 performance rather than in successful service to the class, 
 the school, or the community. 
 
 One reason for the failure to include the virtue of 
 responsibility and helpfulness to others in a mark is the 
 difficulty of seeing how it can be done. It is doubted 
 whether merit of this kind can be measured with even 
 approximate justice, and attention is thereby focused on 
 the pupils' knowledge of the dictated course of study. It 
 is moreover recognized that certain moral qualities, such 
 as that of faithful industry or application to a task, are 
 indirectly measured and included in the mark given for a 
 well-conned lesson or a brilliant recitation. 
 
 It is quite evident that marking of this kind, or, perhaps, 
 any marking whatever, would rarely be resorted to if each 
 pupil were taught alone. Tutors of single pupils are satis- 
 fied to commend or to point out the deficiencies in the 
 work that has been attempted, or even to ignore either 
 praise or blame, and encourage and interest the pupil 
 simply by analyzing for him the difficulties and indicating 
 the problems of the lesson that is to follow. Ordinary 
 marking is used chiefly when there is in the same class a 
 number of pupils of about the same standard, and since it 
 is employed without any reference to self-organization or 
 cooperation, the only possible social result is one of individ- 
 ual competition. In addition to this, in the grammar grades 
 at least, the pupils frequently look upon the mark given 
 as pay for work done for the teacher. When this is the 
 case they talk a good deal with each other and with their 
 parents about the marks earned, and the comparative 
 standing of this pupil and that, but very little about the 
 subjects which they are supposed to be studying. 
 [164]
 
 SELF-ORGANIZED GROUP WORK 
 
 It is often assumed by teachers that such marking has 
 a good effect upon scholarship. But what can be the mean- 
 ing of scholarship under such conditions ? Why do we wish 
 to know things anyway ? Is it in order to get ahead of other 
 people ? Or is it practically assumed, when pupils work for 
 marks, that they really do not wish to know the subject 
 and therefore they must be forced to acquire it by outside 
 pressure ? If this is so, why use such a word as scholar- 
 ship ? A monkey can be bribed or forced to take off his 
 little hat and beg for pennies. Is it education which has 
 produced this result ? Have we here a simple kind of 
 scholarship a something that is learned for advantage or 
 for fear of consequences to self ? Ironically enough, slavish 
 learning of this kind in either monkeys or men often turns 
 out to be the very weapon by which they are exploited by 
 others. They have acquired habits of obedience and indus- 
 try, but are without resource and initiative. The knowledge 
 they have gained is devoid of any inner power to grow. 
 Except for the commonest work of the world, it remains 
 sterile and unproductive, both to society and themselves. 
 
 Real scholarship, on the contrary, means a thorough 
 organization of knowledge from two points of view. First, 
 from the standpoint of the individual pupil. He must con- 
 struct the subject for himself and make it his own. In the 
 mind of one no subject can ever be the same as in the 
 mind of another. One person will study history because 
 he is going to be a lawyer, another because he expects to 
 preach. The reason for study in each case is different. 
 The center of organization is different, and the result will 
 necessarily be different. Minds grow like plants of differ- 
 ent species. They may live in the same soil and air, but 
 [165]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 they select and use the nourishment at their disposal for 
 different purposes. One cannot expect a pine tree to be 
 organized like a sunflower or a fern. 
 
 The second point of view from which it is necessary to 
 regard the organization of knowledge is social. Individual 
 differences must exist, but they must also be combined in a 
 unity of service. Knowledge is not fully organized until it 
 can be used for the practical, aesthetic, or intellectual inter- 
 ests of other people. Such organization demands on the 
 part of the individual more effective energy of the will 
 and a keener mental insight in order to see his own partic- 
 ular knowledge from the point of view of some one else. 
 For this purpose the student must not only adapt himself 
 to the other person, but readapt himself to the content of 
 knowledge which he wishes to express. The result is to 
 make more profound as well as more practical the internal 
 individual organization of knowledge with which he -set out. 
 In order to attain an adequate and thorough individual 
 knowledge, the social point of view, and a more or less ap- 
 proximate view of how this knowledge is organized in the 
 minds of others, is necessary to the scholar. 
 
 Scholarship, after all, is never something capable of being 
 divided into blocks or morsels put together in patterns and 
 copied with more or less fidelity. Scholarly knowledge is 
 always dynamic and creative. It grows. It never stays 
 " put." It passes from mind to mind like the spirit of life 
 over dead bones. It vibrates through a different prism in 
 every intellect. It plays a different tune in every heart. 
 Such scholarship is the only scholarship there is. Children 
 are capable of it to the extent of their capacity, and may 
 have as much joy in their little knowledge, if they see its 
 [166]
 
 SELF-ORGANIZED GROUP WORK 
 
 power with others, as a great scientist in his world-wide 
 structures. 
 
 When teachers themselves possess an adequate idea of 
 scholarship, they are disposed to regard the current mark- 
 ing system as an evil, albeit, perhaps, a necessary one. 
 The initial question, however, returns at this point with 
 greater insistence. How is such scholarship to be recog- 
 nized ? Must the recognition be altogether informal and 
 unorganized (as is of course most suitable in the lower 
 classes), or is it possible, as differentiation goes on, to find 
 some way in which the social spirit of cooperation may 
 express itself in favor of those who render it the greatest 
 service ? To do this is difficult in society at large. Is it 
 impossible in the school ? 
 
 The present writer is not of the opinion that this impor- 
 tant question of distributive justice can be solved by one 
 or two experiments. The standing of persons in the com- 
 munity or the school and the formal rewards or approval 
 they receive must always be but roughly proportionate to 
 their real merits. It is enough if an approximate solution 
 be indicated, but one which will distinctly recognize the 
 social efforts and the social success of individuals who have 
 been of service in changing the convictions of others, in 
 interesting them in new ideas, in encouraging them to 
 more arduous endeavor, and in organizing their knowledge 
 in deeper and more comprehensive forms. 
 
 The work of certain of the classes of the Boston Normal 
 School will give an example of an attempt to mark along 
 this line. The standing of the pupils is determined by a 
 final written examination which counts for one third, and 
 the class work which is estimated at two thirds of the total 
 [167]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 rank. The class work is the only part of the work which 
 the pupils themselves share in estimating. For the present 
 year all but one of the sections into which the class is 
 divided in one of the subjects has voluntarily chosen the 
 cooperative marking. No section was persuaded by the 
 teacher to adopt the scheme ; some of them tried it tem- 
 porarily, but afterwards adopted it permanently because 
 they considered it fairer than marking by the teacher alone. 
 At any time they please they may revert to the previous 
 style of marking. 
 
 The plan is briefly as 'follows. The class work is in the 
 first place cooperative. Each pupil, either individually or 
 as one of a group, prepares work which is expressed to the 
 section as a whole. Discussion follows, including questions, 
 cross-examination, and the pointing out of difficulties. Each 
 person who presents any idea labors to be assured that this 
 idea is landed in the minds of every one who hears. Any 
 one may call upon any one else to speak. In order to see 
 how successful any individual has been, the pupils and 
 teacher frequently ask how many have got the idea, and 
 whether it was new to them, convinced them of something 
 they were not sure of, or was distinctly helpful in any 
 way. An idea which every one knows already, and which 
 might easily be obtained by ordinary reading, is not con- 
 sidered helpful. 
 
 At the end of a certain period chosen by the class, say 
 six weeks or a month, an hour or more is given up to the 
 examination. A preliminary paper is written by each pupil, 
 stating from whom help has been received and outlining the 
 facts of this quite briefly. The pupils then sit around in a 
 circle with papers for marking, and one pupil is called after 
 [168]
 
 SELF-ORGANIZED GROUP WORK 
 
 another. The other members of the class are then asked 
 what they remembered this pupil to have contributed to 
 their individual advancement. They are required to prove, 
 under cross-examination, by every one including the teacher, 
 that this help is genuine. Its degree of importance is also 
 estimated. The pupil to be marked is then allowed to say 
 what has been left out of account, and if this is regarded 
 as worthy and has merely been temporarily forgotten, it is 
 counted with the rest. To the pupil's credit will then be, 
 for every distinct contribution that has been made, a figure 
 representing the number of other pupils who have been 
 helped ; for one contribution, perhaps the whole of the 
 section ; for another, but a few. If the material is re- 
 garded as unimportant, although every one remembers it, 
 it is divided by some figure, two, three, or four, by 
 common consent. 
 
 After all the pupils have been examined in this way, by 
 the amount and value of the knowledge that can be re- 
 covered from their comrades, they are easily classified by 
 a simple inspection of the list. The following example of 
 such a list will be of interest to the reader. The letters 
 stand for the names of the pupils. 
 
 A 9, i, 1/2, 2, 4= 16 1/2 17 =7 
 
 B 10, 4 =14 J 4,3,4,9,2 =22 
 
 C ii, 10/4, 7/3 = 15 5/6 K 14/2, 12/2, 5 = 18 
 
 D 10,2 =12 L 1/2 =1/2 
 
 E 12,3,3,2,1 =21 M 10 =10 
 
 F 9,4 =13 N o =o 
 
 G o =o O 6 =6 
 
 H 12,8,6/2 =23 P 15/2,5/2 =10 
 
 [169]
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 REASONING AND THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE AND 
 ARITHMETIC FROM A SOCIETARY STANDPOINT 
 
 The process by which society "keeps itself going" is 
 fundamentally a process of reasoning. Even industrial op- 
 erations are the results of thinking to realize an end, and 
 are judged by the perfection and logical effectiveness with 
 which they attain it. The primitive hunter, for instance, 
 makes a trap or a fishhook, and catches his dinner as a 
 result of his power to reason. When he uses a tool previ- 
 ously invented, he still invents the adaptations to the par- 
 ticular situation in which it is to be used. Weaving, the 
 making of pottery, the building of a fire, etc., are equally 
 the results of reasoning, even although accident may have 
 led to the observation which started the process. 
 
 The end to be reached is always the " truth " in some 
 form or other. A bird in the hand on one side, two in the 
 bush on the other, are the alternatives which the construc- 
 tion of the bird trap aims to decide between. Whichever 
 alternative results becomes the conclusion, and is forced 
 upon the experimenter by the data, some change in which 
 may also change the conclusion. The reasoning here may 
 be largely on a perceptional plane, but in more purely idea- 
 tional forms the movement is the same. There are always 
 two possibilities, at least, which the mental constructions 
 aim to decide between, nor is it always true that these 
 [170] 

 
 THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE AND ARITHMETIC 
 
 different mental constructions are made more rapidly than 
 are the material constructions which represent them. 
 
 The alternatives or questions to be decided by the facts 
 have been called working hypotheses, or conclusions when 
 the data support them. Given as certain a set of data or 
 previously known truths, the conclusion is easily obtained. 
 It is a mere verbal exercise. If all are mortal, there is no 
 doubt that Socrates is so. In the same way, if the trap, the 
 nature of the bird, and all the circumstances entering into 
 the result are previously settled, the conclusion is certain. 
 But the conclusion is, in reality, not settled because the 
 previous facts are not known until the bird is caught or 
 Socrates dies. All that can be known is a question or 
 a degree of probability. A working hypothesis thus in- 
 cludes not only the outer form of the hypothetical conclu- 
 sion, but all the facts which are contained in it. 
 
 Since reasoning is always engaged in trying to settle a 
 problem, it is in reality always inductive, i.e. essentially 
 constructive. Deduction is only a part of the problem, and 
 counts as the analysis or clear recognition of what is con- 
 tained or implied in the construction made. No one makes 
 an analysis without an object in view, and the object in 
 view in reasoning is the proved hypothesis or conclusion. 
 
 The direction of reasoning depends on our interests, and 
 we are never much interested unless a problem appeals to 
 us as something which can be settled one way or another, 
 and which is worth while settling. If we already consider 
 a matter known or beyond knowing, we do not reason about 
 it. A being who knows everything does not need to reason. 
 In ordinary perception we usually feel (whether rightly or 
 not) as if we knew directly what seems to be before us. If
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 our perceptional powers were sufficiently vast to take in the 
 universe, we should not need to reason. But since they are 
 limited and we cannot see round a corner or into a stone 
 wall, we are forced to imagine what it would be like if we 
 could ; that is, we build hypotheses based on our experience 
 in order to penetrate the unknown, and we test these hy- 
 potheses by further appeals to experience. We never do 
 this, however, unless we have some purpose in view. The 
 chemist looks into the stone wall and sees atoms and mole- 
 cules, because he wants to control in some way the material 
 there. The general of an army imagines what his opponent 
 is doing beyond the hill because he wishes to worst him in 
 battle. An hypothesis is thus simply an imagined or con- 
 ceptual extension of the world of primary or perceptional 
 experience, and is always tested or verified by the changes 
 produced in this same experience. 
 
 These experiences, however, are by no means lacking in 
 subtlety. The smile of a friend or the whisper of love is a 
 perceptional experience which may occasion more mental 
 effort, more hypothetical and material construction, to pre- 
 serve its memory intact, or to produce its repetition, than 
 either the thought of the general on the battlefield or the 
 chemist in the laboratory. In order to get experiences of a 
 high degree of value, we never confine ourselves to the inner 
 side of the world. Even God is no longer the Great Com- 
 panion if we do not see Him in the human beings we live 
 with and the deeds we do. 
 
 The development of reasoning is simply the question of 
 making conscious, and therefore more inventive and con- 
 trollable, the adaptation of means to ends. But since we 
 are always social beings, both these means and their ends 
 [172]
 
 THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE AND ARITHMETIC 
 
 are measured by the good of society. Even when reasoning 
 is applied to gross material, or to mechanical concerns, we 
 need the cooperation of our peers. Since building hypoth- 
 eses is a work of the imagination, we need to test every hy- 
 pothesis by the imagination of others. During the process 
 of experience we are forced to analyze, as well as to add 
 new features to our conceptions as a result of the criticisms 
 of others. And when we produce in the outer world the 
 physical result of our hypotheses, we need others to observe 
 these results and to test our perceptions as well as our 
 ideas. Apart from general presuppositions as to the nature 
 of the universe, the background condition of all truth is 
 social, and its ultimate criterion is the survival of the 
 society to which the individual belongs, a result brought 
 about by its improved external or internal adaptations. 
 
 These few and scattered remarks on the general char- 
 acter of reasoning may serve as a hint of the pragmatic 
 point of view in logic, already ably worked out in this 
 country by Professors Pierce, Dewey, James, Moore, and 
 others. This point of view is doubtless of service in all 
 branches of education, but its value is nowhere plainer or 
 more emphatic than in the teaching of science. It is also 
 nowhere more needed. 
 
 Science teaching, after having stimulated laboratory and 
 research methods in other subjects, has reverted in many 
 quarters to an inadequate classical treatment in its own 
 field. In view of the fact that the older disciplines have 
 been at work for centuries, it was to be expected that 
 the conscious and unconscious methods they pursued 
 should have arrived at a high degree of excellence. These 
 methods are, however, quite unsuited for transfer. The 
 [173]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 same kind of training is not to be expected ; and although 
 classics and their allied subjects may develop reasoning and 
 observation as well as memory and imagination, it is a dif- 
 ferent phase of reasoning from that which properly obtains 
 in the sciences. Perhaps it is not too much to say that it 
 would be better to teach less science than to fail to have it 
 fulfill its characteristic ends. 
 
 To a class containing seventeen high-school graduates 
 of Boston and vicinity, who had taken physics (all young 
 women), I recently described a lesson given in a third- 
 grade class. For this lesson the teacher had rigged up in 
 the basement a rude windlass with a rope running along 
 the floor. The children were allowed to handle the appa- 
 ratus, and they easily discovered that the rope could be 
 wound up. At this point the teacher proposed to one boy 
 that he might see if he could wind up the rope with some 
 one holding back on it. He chose a boy of his size, and was 
 surprised to find it was so easy to do. He then tried two, 
 and so on till he came to six. Here he stuck, but he said 
 that if the handle were closer up to the axle he could pull 
 up more, as he could run it round faster. The teacher for- 
 tunately recognized this idea as the true budding of scien- 
 tific method, and, instead of ignoring it or deciding upon 
 its merits dogmatically, called the attention of the rest of 
 the class to the statement, without indicating whether she 
 agreed with it or not. In the language of the logician, the 
 boy had stated a working hypothesis. About half the class 
 thought the boy's idea was right. In order to test his hy- 
 pothesis, the boy proposed to bore a hole halfway up the 
 bar to which the handle was attached, and thus bring it 
 closer to the axle. An augur was obtained and this was 
 [174]
 
 
 THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE AND ARITHMETIC 
 
 done. At this point in telling the story I stopped and 
 asked the seventeen high-school graduates if they knew 
 what was going to happen. Only one claimed to know, 
 although another said that if she had the formula she 
 thought she could work it out. The rest were in doubt 
 as to what the result of the experiment would be. 
 
 This is not an exceptional case, so far as my knowledge 
 of high-school graduates goes ; and the answers to certain 
 questions of the dean of the Brooklyn Polytechnic Insti- 
 tute, relating to matters of common observation of nature, 
 indicate that such a condition of affairs is widespread. The 
 fault is not to be laid wholly at the door of a lack of work 
 or ability on the part of either high-school teachers or 
 pupils. It is due rather to the narrowness with which prep- 
 aration for college has been made, and to the consequent 
 exclusion of free, self-organized work. The result is that 
 independence and self-reliance, either of reasoning or ob- 
 servation, and the spontaneous love of nature which these 
 spring from and engender, are not encouraged by the 
 school, and in some cases are actually blighted by its 
 influence. Secondhand knowledge is peddled out by the 
 teacher in the shape of laboratory directions in lectures, 
 through a text-book, or in catechetical form. The appeal 
 for facts is not made to nature but to the teacher, who, 
 when he gets as far as asking the pupil what he thinks, 
 frequently furnishes the conclusions ready-made by telling 
 him whether he is right or wrong. In such conditions, 
 instead of studying nature the pupil is studying, in stupid 
 and roundabout fashion, the mind of the teacher, and is 
 not being helped to investigate for himself. If, on the con- 
 trary, the facts are sufficiently convincing, the pupil does 
 [175]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 not ask the teacher whether the idea is right or wrong. 
 When the little boy in the case above mentioned had 
 placed his handle nearer the axle, he soon found that he 
 could pull up fewer boys than before. His hypothesis, 
 useful while it lasted, had been disproved by facts, and he 
 did not need to turn to the teacher and ask whether he 
 had been right or wrong. How many science pupils in the 
 high schools ever get so far as to have an hypothesis, or, 
 if so, have the still more illuminating experience of seeing 
 it either proved or disproved by actual facts ? 
 
 In the elementary schools it is still rarer than in the 
 high schools to find an intelligent appreciation of the value 
 of true hypothesis and experiment. The teacher usually 
 seems to have it all previously arranged, running the course 
 of nature with one hand and her class with the other. A 
 lesson I observed in a third grade by a teacher in training 
 illustrates a very general practice. The teacher's subject 
 was condensation and evaporation, and she very piously 
 knew just what she was going to do in that half hour. She 
 lit a spirit lamp, put a dish over it, and asked the children 
 to say what they observed. She was a very young teacher, 
 and she asked this question a little too soon. The children 
 held up their hands, but she told them to wait a little, as 
 they couldn't see yet what she wanted them to see. Later 
 on the children saw "steam," or water vapor, coming off 
 from the water. "That's right," said the teacher. "Where 
 else have you seen this ? " " From horses, locomotives, off 
 sidewalks," etc. ; the teacher responding, " That's right," or 
 indicating her approval or disapproval by other words or 
 signs. In this way she led the children to say that " Heat 
 turns water into steam." This she wrote on the board. 
 [176]
 
 THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE AND ARITHMETIC 
 
 She then brought in a bottle which had been cooling out- 
 side the window, and turned it round in the steam. The 
 children saw the water on it. " Where does the water come 
 from ? " " From the steam." " Quite right." The ques- 
 tions and answers went on for a little while. I interrupted 
 and asked the children, " What would happen if I should 
 put the pan of water (which had been left aside meanwhile, 
 and had stopped steaming) outside the window where the 
 bottle came from ? " They did not know. One pupil said 
 he didn't think anything would happen, but he should like 
 to try it. I let him take the pan to the window, when great 
 clouds of steam came off. Here I retired without writing 
 on the board, " Cold turns water into steam," although the 
 same kind of procedure that had been applied in the first 
 place would have justified me in doing so. 
 
 The fault in the practice of the teacher above described 
 is not in her directing the children's attention to certain 
 facts by means of the experiment she brought in, or in her 
 asking for observations the children had previously made. 
 Her fault lay in her treatment of the statement, " Heat 
 turns water into steam." Leaving aside the way this was 
 led up to and suggested, as soon as expressed it was 
 pounced upon and stamped as right, evidently because it 
 was the statement the teacher had been looking for. All 
 other statements as to cause she was evidently prepared to 
 ignore or reject. This one she really treated as a proved 
 conclusion, and not as a working hypothesis which, in 
 order to play its part, ought to have been definitely related 
 to the previous facts that had been mentioned, and should 
 have been expected to stimulate the observation of new facts 
 and the production of rival hypotheses. When something 
 [177]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 of the latter kind is not done, the children feel that the 
 exercise is a sort of guessing game, a conundrum to which 
 only the teacher knows the answer ; and even after they 
 have obtained it they are left in such a position that they 
 are not able to defend their conclusion. The procedure in 
 such a case may review facts of observation and put ready- 
 made conclusions into the children's minds, but it fails to 
 give them the independence and self-reliance necessary to 
 treat novel data, which is an essential of inductive reasoning. 
 To get this independence some wonder must be aroused in 
 the child's mind. The question, moreover, must be put in 
 such a form that he can get the answer by a new search 
 for facts either directly observed or obtained through wit- 
 nesses that he has good reason to believe are reliable. 
 
 " To what extent can children reason at a given age ? " 
 is a problem which ought to be conscientiously studied by 
 every teacher. This is not usually done. The question is 
 much more frequently settled beforehand by saying, " We 
 do not expect children to reason so at this age," or "We 
 now expect them to be able to reason out this or that for 
 themselves." 
 
 Real reasoning of an independent character is frequently 
 regarded as too unattainable for ordinary children and ordi- 
 nary teachers. Reasoning is much more truthfully and 
 profitably to be regarded as an instinct of a very funda- 
 mental kind, one which is found to a certain degree in 
 many of the lower animals and at the beginning of men- 
 tal life in the child. It is in its rudiments, as Dantec says, 
 "the hereditary resume" of ancestral experiences covering 
 thousands of ages during which our ancestors rubbed up 
 against the outside world." The early races of men did
 
 THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE AND ARITHMETIC 
 
 not fail to reason. It was by means of their reasoning that 
 we have the present advantage of civilization. The inven- 
 tion of fire, of various tools, of the first canoe, the discovery 
 of death as a natural fact, etc., represent greater triumphs 
 of reasoning than many of the more elaborate inventions 
 and conclusions of the present day, which would, moreover, 
 be impossible without their early forerunners. We should 
 expect reasoning of a certain kind quite early instead of late 
 in the child's development ; and if we observe the child out 
 of school rather than in it, we are frequently struck not only 
 with the persistence of his inquiries and investigations but 
 with the extent of them. The child likes to reason, and it 
 is by means of his reasoning that he develops. 
 
 This reasoning, however, has some features of its own. 
 Like the reasoning of primitive people, that of the child is 
 necessarily related to his experiences, and he must not be 
 tested on data which he feels do not have a direct bearing 
 on his interests in life. These interests are of course much 
 less complicated than those of civilized adults ; but within 
 his narrower although gradually widening range, and applied 
 to objects he can handle, his conclusions are quite likely 
 to be correct. His reasoning is simple because his experi- 
 ence is limited, not because his logic is defective. 
 
 If this is true, the part of the science teacher would be 
 to widen the child's experience while keeping within the 
 grasp of his independent reasoning capacity. We are not 
 really widening the child's experience in this sense when 
 we merely interest him in facts which are given him ready- 
 made, without inquiry or hypothesis. Many children, if 
 asked what shape the earth is, will say, " It is round " ; but 
 if one enters into conversation with them and finds out 
 [179]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 their actual point of view, one soon discovers that they do 
 not believe it is round at all. The facts they observe go 
 against the hypothesis, and they are sufficiently truthful 
 and sufficiently logical in the depths of their minds not to 
 admit the unproved statement, however glibly they may 
 conform outwardly to the demands of the teacher or the 
 adult world. A great many things that go by the name of 
 science are of this hearsay type. 
 
 This does not mean that the child should repeat the 
 whole history of the race and find out everything for him- 
 self without the advantage of stored experience. Quite the 
 contrary. To be able to sift evidence offered by others is 
 a necessary phase of investigation, but the criterion of any 
 such process is actual primary experience. If one is really 
 reasoning, this very reasoning will itself decide in any given 
 case whether it is more economical to get the facts directly 
 or by the cross-examination of witnesses. If the child is to 
 be helped to reason, it is part of his training in judgment 
 to decide how much of one method and how much of the 
 other is suitable in various situations. If the child is to 
 gain any power in reasoning, he must be allowed to use the 
 reasoning power he already has, and must not be told by 
 the teacher in the cases' chosen that this or that is right 
 or wrong. He must learn to study the facts themselves, 
 rather than to be able merely to repeat what teacher or 
 text-book says. 
 
 The main difficulty, as above suggested, is to get down 
 to the child's real point of view, to go with him as far as 
 he is able to go, and not to force him to go farther. A little 
 four-year-old girl, walking with her father, came across some 
 toadstools growing in the woods. " Oh, look at the little 
 [180].
 
 THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE AND ARITHMETIC 
 
 tables ! " she said. The teacher who cares neither for 
 science nor the child's point of view, if asked at this point 
 what she would do or say, is likely to give the reply I 
 recently received from a teacher, " I should tell the child 
 as quickly as I could that they are not tables, but toad- 
 stools." To follow the child's lead and get her whole point 
 of view, one would need to say, " Yes, let us look at them." 
 Wonder is a main ingredient in the child's state of mind at 
 this juncture. If the father feels some of this wonder him- 
 self, it will be easier for him to get the child's point of 
 view. " I wonder how these little tables came here," she 
 says. " Perhaps there are some little people who put them 
 here," her father says, guessing at what she means. Both 
 father and child are working on the same stream of thought, 
 and it makes little difference which of them expresses the 
 thoughts that come. The father may express the child's 
 thought, or the child may express her own. The father 
 may even express his own thoughts in so far as they are 
 not accepted authoritatively. Let us trace a possible devel- 
 opment, although many others are equally possible and 
 some perhaps more probable. " If there are little people, 
 I wonder where they are." " Perhaps they hide in the day- 
 time." " But all these little tables are not alike ; here's one 
 that has a top like a ball, and not like a table." " If the 
 little people come out in the night, or when we're away, 
 I wonder if we could see them." " I am afraid they might 
 hear us coming and hide." "I wonder what they use the 
 one like a ball for." "What do they make their tables out 
 of?" "Well, let's go now, and we'll come back and see 
 them to-morrow." " Why, here they are, and the round one 
 is flat like the others. The little people must have been 
 [181]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 here." " Let's take another round one and put a box over 
 it and big stones on top, so that the little people can't 
 move it, and then let us leave it and come back again." 
 " Here's the box again and the stones on it, just as we left 
 them." But when the box is taken off, the child sees the 
 little flat table just as before. " It can't be the little people. 
 It must be something else. Perhaps there are no little 
 people," etc. 
 
 We have imagined the latter part of this experience, 
 rather than kept, as we have done in the other instances, 
 to actual cases, because the mental picture of what may 
 happen is necessary to the teacher, and an instance of it 
 is not out of place. No doubt such a piece of imagination 
 is visionary ; and if the teacher intended to make this vision 
 come true in its details, or expected the child to walk 
 along this path and fall into this particular trap, as 
 Rousseau would doubtless have suggested, he would be 
 missing the whole drift of the present argument. If, at 
 any point, either the child or the teacher, working in the 
 child's stream of thought, can get a hint of a more direct 
 way to a satisfactory explanation, it should be adopted at 
 once. All real short-circuiting is intellectually an advantage. 
 We have here, however, the case of a child only four years 
 old, who, we have presumed, has not yet attained a con- 
 ception of growth as applied to plants. This should not 
 seem strange when we remember that the Indians of the 
 Hudson Bay region could not be persuaded to plant beans 
 because they had never observed and could not believe that 
 plants grew from a seed. If this is the experience which 
 will yield a conception of growth strong enough to meet 
 the other natural hypotheses in the field, then we should 
 [182]
 
 
 THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE AND ARITHMETIC 
 
 not be devoting too much energy to this work if twice the 
 time needed in the above process were required. 
 
 At the same time, whether a child reaches a given con- 
 clusion to-day or next year is not the most important point. 
 The important thing is that he makes a real advance, and 
 not an illusory one ; that the old point of view really 
 changes into a new point of view for good and sufficient 
 reasons and because of facts that can be obtained. To 
 force him to change it is like committing an assault upon 
 the child. It is not helping his reasoning power, but killing 
 it. That the child should remain at what we call the myth- 
 ical point of view for years is to be expected. If he doesn't 
 care to take the trouble to help get the box and stones to 
 prove or disprove his hypothesis, there need be no regret 
 on the part of his teacher. The land of myth is a goodly 
 land. The science teacher ought to know his way in it. It 
 is not simply a land of imagination ; it is also one of reason- 
 ing. When both imagination and reasoning get more vig- 
 orous, they become sharper and more skeptical, and both 
 are carried to a higher stage. It is a process of growth. 
 
 The danger is that with our too prevalent centrally 
 authorized, secondhand science, the power of growth is 
 checked ; and this so-called science becomes worse than 
 myth, since it is not backed up by things as they appear, 
 even superficially, nor does it offer an explanation of them 
 capable of being defended by the pupil. Instead, it is 
 hooked on adventitiously in the memory, useful only at 
 times of examination for a grewsome display, and because 
 such exhibitions are fashionable. 
 
 How can the teacher proceed so that he really gets the 
 child's point of view and develops this along its own lines ? 
 [183]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 This is comparatively easy if the teacher is not obsessed 
 by his own preconceived lesson plan or course of study, 
 scheduled to pass certain way stations and arrive at the 
 terminus on the hour of the day and at the season of the 
 year duly stated in the time-table. To dispense with such 
 an obsession, however, is not to get rid of planning : it is 
 to make the planning larger and better suited to the mental 
 growth of the child. An example of what can be done by 
 mere beginners may be of benefit. The training class in a 
 city Normal School recently attempted the problem of the 
 lesson on steam already described, their main idea being 
 to see to what extent the children could reason. Some of 
 their experiments were tried in classes and some with little 
 groups at home, with about the same result. In the case 
 of the groups at home, the children were free to leave if 
 they wished. " To what extent would my pupils stay with 
 me if they were free to leave ? " might be a very profitable 
 test question for every teacher to ask himself. In the fol- 
 lowing report of one of these lessons, selected for its brevity 
 and not in any way exceptional, the preliminary account of 
 the way of approach is also inserted : 
 
 My experience in approaching children: A close acquaintance 
 with a child and his ways is essential when trying to get good rea- 
 soning from him. When I began I did not think this necessary. I 
 now ask as few questions, and these in as unoffending a manner as 
 possible. In this way I get the children to take the part of the teacher, 
 and find that they give eagerly whatever knowledge they have. Many 
 a child's reasoning powers blazed forth with a brilliancy that was 
 remarkable. The children's quaint sayings are full of conclusions 
 drawn from an imaginative brain. 
 
 Experiment with steam : I put some cold water into a pan, and as 
 I placed it over the gas I asked a child what she thought would 
 happen. After thinking for a moment, she said smoke would come 
 
 [184]
 
 THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE AND ARITHMETIC 
 
 off. When the water began to boil, she pointed to the vapor and said 
 that was smoke. " Where does it come from ? " " From the water," 
 was her answer. " It came from the water because there was a fire 
 under the water, making it burn." " Do you think that smoke is the 
 same as the kind that comes from burning paper ? " I asked her. " Yes, 
 of course," she replied. When the paper was burned, she said that the 
 smoke of the burning paper seemed thicker, drier, and did not burn 
 her hand when she held it over it. " Smoke from the water was wet," 
 she said. A piece of cold glass held over the boiling water showed that 
 there was dampness in the "smoke " from the water ; and by tasting the 
 liquid on the glass, the child found that it was water. That nothing 
 would happen when the pan of warm water was put outside the win- 
 dow was the child's theory. When the steam came off she said that the 
 air outside must be making the water hot. I told the child to feel of 
 the air and then of the water, and see if her theory was correct. " No, 
 it must be the cold air made the steam show." As she said this, she 
 thought that maybe the same thing was true in the room. To her delight 
 she found that it was, after having proved it by several experiences. 
 
 Another example shows the reasoning processes of the 
 children in a more latent condition, and gives an illustra- 
 tion of social class management favorable to the cultivation 
 of an interest in science ; but it also shows the application 
 of the scientific point of view and the building of hypoth- 
 eses applied to the work of teaching itself. A pupil teacher 
 of some experience in a normal training school proposed 
 to give a lesson on certain birds to a fourth-grade class. 
 He had prepared the lesson on Herbartian lines. The ap- 
 perceptive masses were to be aroused by his questions on 
 how many had seen birds that spring, what they were doing, 
 etc. He would then bring in nests that he had collected, 
 have the children examine them, and read some poems 
 about birds. The application was to be the moral evil of 
 robbing birds' nests, despite the fact that he was exhibiting 
 birds' nests himself. 
 
 [185]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 The lesson was really so good, and the pupil teacher so 
 intelligent, that the superintendent of training thought it 
 might be possible to get something better than this dried- 
 out Herbartianism into the young man's head. So he said 
 to him something like the following : " What do you need 
 these apperceptive masses for ? Are they not simply for the 
 purpose of understanding the new material, or making pos- 
 sible the new processes which you hope to arouse? You 
 are going to try to have the children braid together certain 
 strands of experience which they already have, so as to 
 make something new ; or, to change the figure, their ap- 
 perceptive masses are like little hands stretching out for 
 something to fill them. The new experiences you hope for 
 are the closer observation of the bird's nest, the wonder aris- 
 ing from this, and the love and admiration that will sympa- 
 thize with the bird that made this little home. Do you think 
 you need to go through so many preliminary motions ? Do 
 you think their little apperceptive hands are so benumbed 
 that they need to have their joints elaborately stretched to 
 get them to work ? If a boy suddenly sees a bird's nest on 
 the ground or in a tree, his apperceptive masses seem to 
 work instantaneously. He doesn't need to call up in his 
 mind all sorts of things. They are there already. 
 
 " Even if he had never seen a bird's nest before, there 
 would be apperceptive masses, perhaps all the more eagerly 
 stretching out for satisfaction. Questions would arise. 
 What is it ? What shall I do to find out ? Let me touch 
 it. Let me look at it on every side. 
 
 " The apperceptive mass you want is not simply previous 
 knowledge, but it is that knowledge in an active, organizing 
 state. There must be intention or will in it. Something 
 [186]
 
 THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE AND ARITHMETIC 
 
 to be done about it is the first consideration. You do not 
 want this only at the end of the lesson ; you want it even 
 more at the beginning. And surely you do not think that 
 the mere will to pay attention to whatever may be 'pre- 
 sented ' is sufficient. By the way, what was it that started 
 the idea in your own mind to give this lesson ? " 
 
 The young man replied that he had seen some birds 
 building their nest in a small tree a little distance from 
 the school, and this was what made him think of it. 
 
 "Excellent. Why not tell the children this to start with, 
 and say what now comes into my mind : ' I wonder if any 
 of you children could make a bird's nest like the one I 
 saw.' Now go and think that over and see if you can 
 imagine what the children are likely to reply." 
 
 He returned the next day, and had imagined quite a 
 variety of things that might happen if he asked this ques- 
 tion. " Well," said the superintendent, " all of these lines of 
 imagination are good hypotheses. They are all good les- 
 son plans, although they do not seem to have the usual 
 Herbartian earmarks projecting too strongly from the head. 
 Which of these are you going to follow ? " 
 
 The young man said that he could not say, that it was 
 a problem which depended on the facts, or on what the chil- 
 dren would do or say, but he felt that he was more truly 
 prepared from a pedagogical standpoint for having thought 
 out not one cut-and-dried course but a considerable num- 
 ber of mere hypotheses. He also made his preparations of 
 material, books, etc., to cover a number of different possi- 
 bilities, and when he started his work he found that several 
 of these had been correctly anticipated by him, although 
 new ones developed which he had naturally failed to foresee. 
 [187]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 When he got before his class and asked his question, he 
 had to wait a little for the answer. But a brilliant flash of 
 silence is sometimes a relief in the schoolroom. One boy 
 finally said : " I don't know about it, you see the birds 
 have bills and we have only hands ; but if I had a needle, 
 I think I could do it." Some one asked : "What kind of nest 
 is it ? Where is it ? " The teacher told them the exact place. 
 " Why can't we go and see it ? " they said. The teacher 
 agreed, and a short excursion was forthwith planned. This 
 was something the teacher had thought of in the list of pos- 
 sibilities, and a ladder had been placed near the door of the 
 school. The children carried the ladder over to the tree. 
 There were about twenty-five of them, and only one could 
 go up the ladder at a time. The teacher pointed this out 
 before they left the schoolroom, and asked what they would 
 do during this time. A plan was adopted, suggested by the 
 teacher, that as soon as a pupil came down from the tree 
 he should write a list of all the things he saw that the bird 
 had used in making its nest, and that afterwards all could 
 compare what they had written. No plan was made for 
 those who stood around before they mounted the ladder. 
 
 After the nest had been seen, nearly every one thought 
 that it would be a good thing to try to make one, and then 
 some one said : " The bird must have got his material near 
 here somewhere. Let us hunt around and see." They did 
 this, and soon collected large quantities of dry, dead grass, 
 which they raked out from among the new grass coming up ; 
 they found bits of string and a horsehair or two, and finally, 
 some distance away, they came upon a large bunch of ex- 
 celsior which they concluded must have been the very one 
 the birds had laid under contribution. 
 [188]
 
 THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE AND ARITHMETIC 
 
 The next day every one was ready to make a nest, and 
 the teacher had provided little branches of trees which he 
 had stuck in every ink-well aperture. But one of the chil- 
 dren proposed that they should go outside and stick the 
 branches in the grass, where they could work better, and 
 that they should work two by two. This was not to imitate 
 the birds, but simply for convenience a case of coopera- 
 tion and division of labor which proved wholly successful. 
 The teacher had provided also a nest belonging to the 
 same species, which the children could examine when they 
 wished. They finished very good nests in the half hour. 
 Some of them were firm and well modeled, and at a little 
 distance could hardly be distinguished from the original. 
 
 In the next, or third lesson, the teacher asked them if 
 they wished to know anything more about the birds whose 
 nests they had been studying, and a large number of ques- 
 tions were asked. In asking these the teacher got an op- 
 portunity, sanctioned by the class, to read at least one of 
 the poems he had in mind, and to impart a great deal of 
 information about the eggs, the probable number of this 
 species in the locality, their winter quarters, their enemies, 
 etc. The children were so much interested in the work 
 that of their own initiative they proposed making some 
 more nests of a different species. 
 
 Work of the kind just described starts with the initiative 
 of the teacher, but runs out immediately into work which 
 is largely cooperative and self-organized. But when fully 
 recognized, self-organized groups, working more or less in- 
 dependently, are permitted, the point of view of the chil- 
 dren is perhaps even more easily obtained. As an example 
 of this I may cite the following case. A group of these 
 [189]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 third-grade boys came to the teacher, saying that they 
 wanted to find out if ants could hear. They asked her to 
 give them a half hour of the school time which had been 
 set aside for such purposes. They had provided themselves 
 with mouth organs, etc. The teacher considered that the 
 half hour would not be wasted, and after hearing their plan, 
 and perhaps offering some criticism and advice, gave them 
 permission. They reported that they could not decide. They 
 had counted the ants that came up out of the hole during 
 the sounding of the various instruments, and found that 
 there were about the same number as when there were no 
 sounds made, although one boy claimed that there were a 
 few more and that perhaps they could hear. But while they 
 gave up this problem, they had found another. Whether 
 ants could hear or not, was a question which could wait for 
 solution ; the point of interest now was whether they "went 
 around like dogs, by smell," and the group asked for more 
 time for this investigation. It was the springtime, when the 
 ants came out and moved around their holes for a few hours 
 only, in the warm part of the day. The boys chose a hole 
 near a large flagstone on which they marked with chalk the 
 course of each ant that came out of the hole. They made 
 a map of this on a piece of paper in order to show the rest 
 of the children in the class. After the ant had gone a cer- 
 tain distance they touched him, and in many cases he went 
 back into the hole. They found that when the ants were out 
 about two or three feet they did not go back along their 
 track, but when a longer distance from the hole they did. 
 The latter observation supported the hypothesis of the boy 
 who thought it likely that they "went around like dogs," 
 while the former observation went against it. As the hole 
 [190]
 
 THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE AND ARITHMETIC 
 
 was lower than the flagstone, the hypothesis, that as the ants 
 came near they saw the hole, was excluded. The boy who 
 advanced the first hypothesis said that close to the hole there 
 might be lots of tracks made by other ants which had not 
 been marked, as there were a great many more ants moving 
 around near the hole than farther out, and, in harmony with 
 this, although the returning ant did not follow his track, yet 
 he didn't go straight to the hole either. Farther out there 
 might be but one track and this the one which was marked. 
 The theory of smell was accepted as demonstrated. 
 
 They returned, however, with still another problem. 
 They had been poking sticks down the ants' hole, and 
 wondering how far down it went. Some weeks before this 
 they had been molding candles in illustration of early New 
 England life, and one of the boys said, " If we had some 
 candle grease and poured it down one of these holes, and 
 then dug it up, we would see where it went to." They 
 expressed this to the teacher, who helped them to get some 
 paraffin. They thought they ought to have enough, and 
 provided themselves with nearly a pint. They melted this 
 over a spirit lamp out at the ants' hole, meanwhile prevent- 
 ing the ants from going in. When the paraffin was melted, 
 they poured it down. Nearly the whole of it disappeared. 
 Then they commenced to dig the cast up, carefully follow- 
 ing its branches in every direction. The discoverers of 
 Herculaneum or Pompeii probably had no greater pleasure 
 than these boys in unearthing their buried city. They 
 broke the cast somewhat, but put it together as best they 
 could, took it into the class, showed it and explained it, 
 and later had a photograph made of it by another group 
 of boys who were organized as a photographic group.
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 Whether Tarde's hypothesis that all reasoning is social 
 is correct or not, there can be little question that social 
 organization greatly stimulates the process by giving the 
 individual reasoner both the help of criticism and the sense 
 of social serviceableness in case of success. Although this 
 whole chapter has been a plea for what is called independ- 
 ent reasoning, it should be realized that what is aimed at 
 is rather a displacement of the exclusive approval of the 
 teacher for the broader social interest and approval of the 
 whole class, including here the child within the heart of 
 the teacher. The judgment of his peers, even when unfav- 
 orable, cannot be dispensed with by any reasoner. If it is 
 difficult to prove that it is always society which reasons 
 in and through the individual, at least it is plain that he 
 reasons best who is in free contact with a social environ- 
 ment sufficiently close to his own level to permit of his 
 making and unmaking its opinions, rather than being con- 
 stantly dominated by a semi-supernatural being who is 
 always right even when he isn't. 
 
 And yet how differently "independent reasoning" has 
 been interpreted by many teachers. It seems to have been 
 thought that the direction, " Reason this out by yourself, 
 do your problems without any assistance," represented 
 the essence of good pedagogy in the matter. It does not 
 seem to have been generally realized that a social motive 
 on the part of the child is necessary for the best results. 
 Independence is in reality an outcome of interdependence, 
 and becomes differentiated as a special process only as a 
 social economy. Every individual should, of course, carry 
 any process or product as far as he can without persons 
 waste of time and energy, before he submits it to society 
 [192]
 
 THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE AND ARITHMETIC 
 
 either as a service to them or in the hope of getting help 
 himself. But the object of this is social, and the social 
 reactions of those he appeals to are the best corrections of 
 a tendency to be too dependent on others. The limits of 
 this dependence and the measure of economical independ- 
 ence he can only learn from experience. To force and 
 exaggerate independence beyond the social feeling of one's 
 peers is to make it false and vain, and leads to egoism 
 rather than to true strength and power. 
 
 Space does not permit us to deal with all the possible or 
 even practicable opportunities for reasoning in the schools. 
 A few words may, however, be permitted on arithmetic, which 
 is a kind of science, and which has long been supposed to 
 be useful in educating the power to reason. There is little 
 doubt but that this subject ought to offer great advantages 
 in this direction, and there is equally little doubt that it 
 seems to fail very largely in producing the expected results. 
 
 Several years ago the present writer, with the help of 
 some of his pupils, examined two schools in arithmetic. 
 Thirteen hundred and fifty children, from the third grade 
 up to the eighth, were taken, one after the other, into a 
 separate room, and handed a tally register capable of count- 
 ing up to a thousand. This, as the reader knows, is con- 
 structed, although only about the size of a large watch, 
 somewhat like the register for ringing up fares on the 
 street cars. The children were interested in handling the 
 tally register and experimenting with its power to count. 
 If they did not develop this interest spontaneously, they 
 were shown how the instrument worked. 
 
 The register was then set at a number between two and 
 three hundred, which did not end in a zero. A watch was 
 [193]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 pulled out, and the child was told that we wished to see 
 how many strokes of the little lever he could make in a 
 minute, but first he was asked to read off the number with 
 which he began. If this, for example, was 232, the figure 
 was written down in the exact middle of a sheet of paper 
 fourteen inches square. The child was then told to go 
 ahead. As the reader will suspect, it was soon spread 
 around by the boys and girls that they were being tested 
 for their rapidity, and each was anxious to do his best. No 
 word of arithmetic was mentioned to either teacher or pupil. 
 
 When the minute was up, the child was stopped, and 
 with apparent carelessness the pencil and the paper with 
 the record were pushed over to him, and with the last record 
 of the tally register in his hand, he was asked, " Well, how 
 many have you done ? " Except for a few decimals, the 
 examples never went beyond simple adding, subtracting, 
 multiplying, and dividing, but examples of all these were 
 found. At this rate, without any intelligence, and from a 
 calculation of mere chance, twenty-five per cent of the cases 
 ought to have been subtraction, but as a matter of fact the 
 percentage never fell so low as that. The table on the 
 opposite page gives the percentage of pupils of each grade 
 who put the larger number above the one already written 
 on the paper and subtracted the smaller one from it. 
 
 The question of why the drop occurred in the fifth and 
 sixth grades is not so important. It came out in both 
 schools, but was greater in one than in the other. Doubtless 
 a still larger number of children would tend to flatten out 
 the irregularities of the curve considerably. The important 
 fact is the total number who divided, added, or multiplied, 
 instead of subtracting. It would seem as if the work in 
 [194]
 
 THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE AND ARITHMETIC 
 
 arithmetic had not produced a great deal of gumption or 
 reasoning power in the pupils when a simple problem of 
 this kind, although a little outside the stereotyped school 
 requirements, produced such disappointing results. 
 
 The trouble is evidently at one point. The experiment 
 requires the pupil not merely to solve, but to frame the 
 problem to himself. He has not simply to answer the 
 
 ri'oo* 
 
 90* 
 80* 
 70* 
 60* 
 50* 
 40* 
 30* 
 20* 
 10* 
 
 346678 GRADES 
 
 question ; he has to ask it. He needs to make some kind 
 of hypothesis as to how he is to go to work, and if the 
 hypothesis is to be a good one, he must compare it with 
 other possible hypotheses and submit them both to the 
 reasonableness of the results obtained. The children who 
 were examined probably had had little practice in this kind 
 of thing at school. Instead, they had probably, for the most 
 part, worked out examples after they had been shown how 
 [195]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 to do other examples of the same kind. This tends to 
 build up a habit which is often wholly unreasoning. The 
 essence of reasoning is lost if the original question or 
 hypothesis is not developed. 
 
 It seems plain that children's work in arithmetic ought 
 to be derived much more largely than at present from their 
 own needs and their own spirit of inquiry (cf. case of arith- 
 metic in cooking group, page 109). If this is done, the 
 impress of their actual environment will usually be found 
 in the questions they ask. An instance of this may be cited 
 from the work of a seventh-grade class in a small town. 
 This town is supplied with water from a standpipe, around 
 which the children had often played, and which had aroused 
 their admiration on account of its large size. When the 
 teacher asked them if they had ever wondered about any- 
 thing that perhaps some calculation could solve, some of 
 them said that they had wondered for a long time how 
 much water was in the standpipe, but did not see how they 
 could find out. 
 
 The teacher did not take it upon himself to show offhand 
 how this could be done. It may be that he was not very 
 certain himself. But since every one was willing to look 
 into the question, he proposed that they study the prob- 
 lem overnight and see how far they could get with it. They 
 knew how to measure cubical contents if the figures were 
 rectangular, but they had had no experience with cylin- 
 drical bodies. The problem was to invent a method, if 
 possible ; or, if not successful in this, to enumerate as 
 many of the facts as they saw to be necessary. 
 
 Next day all of the class thought it would be necessary 
 to get the height and the diameter. An excursion to the 
 [196]
 
 THE TEACHING OF SCIENCE AND ARITHMETIC 
 
 standpipe was made, and the height was obtained by meas- 
 uring the lowest sheet of cast iron of which it was built and 
 counting the number of sheets to the top. The breadth was 
 obtained by measuring across the shadow cast by the sun. 
 These methods were, of course, invented by the pupils. 
 Some one measured the circumference, not because he 
 knew what to do with it, but because he thought it might 
 possibly be needed. 
 
 At this stage the problem was laid by for some days, no 
 one seeing what to do next. Then an hypothesis was brought 
 up by one boy. If it were a rectangular figure of the same 
 diameter, the contents would be so and so, or if we cut off 
 the corners of the rectangle and added the opposite corners 
 together, we could then subtract two of these new rectangu- 
 lar figures from the first mass. This, at least, would come 
 somewhere near the contents, but it was not very satisfactory. 
 
 A couple of boys had meanwhile been experimenting with 
 a roughly cylindrical piece of wood. They split it longitu- 
 dinally and piled it as cord wood is piled; and then they 
 saw that if they could only make the pieces fit together, 
 the problem would be solved. A piece of wood was split 
 into quarters, these divided again and again, and the pieces 
 piled together so that they fitted to each other like wedges. 
 After doing this, the boys saw at once that this pile had a 
 height equal to half the diameter, a width equal to half the 
 circumference, and a length equal to the original length of 
 the cylindrical piece of wood. The application of this bit 
 of experimenting to the standpipe, as the reader sees, was 
 a very easy matter. 
 
 In this work the teacher criticised hypotheses and offered 
 suggestions only in the spirit of self -organized work, without 
 [197]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 expecting them to be adopted, and without assuming that 
 the problem would ever be solved, or that he as teacher 
 was responsible for its solution ; nor did he need to say 
 when the work was done, whether the answer was correct 
 or not. 
 
 Science and arithmetic, like reading and writing, are in 
 reality arts of life and of the school. It is, moreover, the 
 art of reasoning, rather than the dry facts of science, which 
 is best capable of being taught. When effective social ac- 
 complishment of some kind is the aim placed before pupils, 
 rather than the passive reception of facts, not only does 
 this treatment inspire pupils to better efforts, but permits 
 the teacher to act as their helper and adviser in the great 
 art of living. Society and the teacher may act as causes in 
 putting before pupils preferred ideas and demands, but not 
 until the pupils can reciprocate, regard themselves as crea- 
 tive causes, and find a social environment which they can 
 treat as an effect as well as a cause, can these very ideas 
 and demands on the part of society be comprehended and 
 willingly obeyed. To create society is as necessary as to 
 be created by it. 
 
 [198]
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 READING, LANGUAGE, AND LITERATURE 
 
 The gap between life and the school is nowhere more 
 apparent than in the teaching of reading, language, and 
 literature, and yet there are no subjects which afford a 
 richer educational reward when the aforesaid gap is closed 
 up or eliminated. Ordinary thinking on the subject of the 
 teaching of reading has got so far as to recognize that 
 learning to read means the use of a language for the eye, 
 and that the way in which a child learns the spoken lan- 
 guage may throw some light on the way in which he can 
 best acquire the written one. W. T. Harris, for example, 
 has convincingly shown that a large part of the work in 
 school consists in changing the ear-minded pupil into one 
 who is eye-minded. 
 
 Reading means what may be called eye-mindedness, but 
 it is not eye-mindedness to the neglect of ear-mindedness. 
 With hearing people a written word is always based on a 
 spoken one, and retains its connection with the auditory 
 experience as a part of the meaning lying back of the sym- 
 bol which is seen. The acquisition of eye symbols is thus 
 not a substitute for auditory symbols or auditory experi- 
 ences. It is an extension of them which reacts upon and 
 actually increases the refinement of the auditory experience. 
 
 For example, a person may read silently a poem which 
 he has never before heard, and notice rhythms which he 
 [199]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 never previously experienced. It is evident that there is 
 here an auditory experience underlying the recognition of 
 the symbols for the eye, and that the silent reading of the 
 poem recasts this plastic auditory material and creates some- 
 thing new out of it. When one reads a poem in a foreign 
 language which he has never heard, although he may un- 
 derstand the text, he usually fails to get the pleasurable 
 rhythms that should belong to the exercise. This is not 
 because he is without auditory experience of ajrnental char- 
 acter, but because he has built up uncouth auditory experi- 
 ences which serve as stepping-stones to the understanding 
 of the visual symbols. This may have been done without 
 any outward sounding of the words. Put in another way, 
 he reads the foreign language in nearly the same way that 
 he would read his native tongue. The eye-mindedness de- 
 manded some sort of ear experience as a prerequisite. 
 
 When deaf people learn to read, the case is different. 
 There is no preliminary ear-minded experience. The mean- 
 ing of the visual symbols is obtained as an extension of 
 another class of conventionalized signs largely composed 
 of movements which are built up by a direct association 
 with objects, actions, and various experiences of life. 
 
 If this is true, the attempt to teach hearing children to 
 read by the direct association of the visual sign with action, 
 objects, etc., must be characterized as a mistaken effort, 
 one, however, which has in some quarters been taken seri- 
 ously and practiced in the schools. The fact that in such 
 conditions the children do learn to read is no disproof of the 
 futility of the theory. If, by extra enthusiasm on the part 
 of the teacher, they may even learn as quickly, if not more 
 quickly than in other ways, there is still no disproof. The 
 
 [200] 

 
 READING, LANGUAGE, AND LITERATURE 
 
 teacher, for example, holds up an apple, or performs some 
 action, and, without saying anything, writes the word apple 
 or the name of the action on the board. What a fond illu- 
 sion for her to think that a direct association has been 
 made between the visual idea or impression of the apple 
 and the written word ! What happens in the child's mind 
 is probably some form of inner conversation : " What does 
 dear teacher mean now ? Oh, yes ; she wants us to know 
 that what she has written stands for apple." The inner 
 auditory experience has been revived, somewhat clumsily, 
 no doubt, but with sufficient effectiveness in most cases. 
 
 These current illustrations of perverse applications of 
 the laws of association will serve to show the direction of 
 their true use, but no dependence on association alone will 
 serve to solve the problem of reading for the teacher. The 
 development involved in learning to read means a great 
 deal more than an added layer of eye-mindedness. The 
 problem of language is deeper and more comprehensive, 
 and directly involves character and personality, social rela- 
 tionships, power of interpretation, beauty, utility, and need 
 of expression. These somewhat vague conceptions are all 
 controlled by the idea of social relationships. For the stu- 
 dent of the individual child this resolves itself into the 
 necessity for a stronger motivation, which, as Mr. Reeder 
 says in his excellent monograph, constitutes the next step 
 forward. The aim of the present writer is to show that 
 this motivation is principally social, and that service gladly 
 given and eagerly received is the mainspring of progress 
 in learning to read. 
 
 As to its origin, spoken language must be inferred to be 
 primarily a social phenomenon, a means of communication. 
 
 [201]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 It could only occur when a considerable degree of social 
 organization had already become a fact. As soon as it 
 appeared, there was nothing that acted more powerfully 
 on social combination itself. Spoken language became the 
 vehicle and foundation of all kinds of social action. Think- 
 ing was forthwith lifted from the animal stage of the per- 
 cept to the human one of the concept. Such thinking is 
 necessarily the outcome of social relationships, and involves 
 the use of a conventional sign understood by others, and 
 representing no longer an outward object, but an aspect or 
 portion of it capable of being recognized in other objects 
 of an entirely different kind. 
 
 If we follow briefly the development of a child's speech, 
 we shall see that, while it is impulsive and inventive, it is 
 also socially pragmatic or experimental at all stages. From 
 the beginning it involves a social environment. It is by 
 noticing the effect upon others of the sounds he makes 
 that the child slowly learns the use of language as a tool, 
 and only in proportion as he can use it upon others does 
 he appreciate its effect upon himself. 
 
 Children, when learning to talk, begin with a twittering 
 of vowel sounds, and very soon add the guttural consonants. 
 They readily respond to adults in their own way by the 
 ninth week. This is as yet nothing more than a kind of 
 recitative, more like music than language, and reminds us 
 of the fact that musical sounds are probably a precursor 
 of speech in the development of the race (1). At about the 
 same age, or a little after, they also initiate sounds for the 
 purpose of producing an effect on those around them. By 
 the next month there is an improvement in the musical 
 qualities and an appreciation of rising and falling inflection, 
 [202]
 
 READING, LANGUAGE, AND LITERATURE 
 
 but yet without words. The consonant sounds requiring 
 the front of the mouth and lips are now added ; and it 
 is to be noted that at this period the child is experiencing 
 an irritation of the gums due to the cutting of his lower 
 incisors, which appear about the seventh month and take 
 from one to ten weeks to erupt. It would seem likely that 
 this is what brings in the use of the labials, which are often 
 made rather by the gums and lips than by the lips alone. 
 
 It is not until these sounds are pretty well established 
 by practice that the brain is sufficiently developed to asso- 
 ciate experiences with the sounds in such a way as to at- 
 tach specific meaning to them (there is, of course, some 
 meaning as mere sounds from the time of the first re- 
 sponse). The first real words occur about the ninth month, 
 when the upper incisors are giving trouble. Bye-bye is 
 sometimes a first word. Di-di, pa-pa, and mam-ma are often 
 the first. These are words requiring the use of the frontal 
 part of the mouth. Let us study the possible origin, in the 
 experience of the child, of one of these words, and we shall 
 see that its use is probably neither a matter of pure imita- 
 tion nor of invention, but a process requiring the coopera- 
 tion of both the effort of the child and its interpretation 
 on the part of adults. 
 
 Let us take the word mamma, which many children use 
 as a name for " mother." The usual view is that they hear 
 this and imitate it. The name, however, is widespread in 
 many languages, and may have some deeper origin than 
 foresight on the part of parents, who, realizing the need to 
 be called something, invented this word as a suitable name. 
 The exceptions throw some light on the process at work. 
 A child recently reported to the present writer called his 
 [203]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 mother ga-ga, a word which was accepted and used in later 
 life as a pet name. I found that this child began to cut his 
 front teeth quite late. Now, why did this child say ga-ga 
 instead of mamma ? A reasonable hypothesis is at once 
 suggested. The probability is that this child was still say- 
 ing ka-ka, ga-ga, etc., when most children are engaged on 
 labials. Let us continue the hypothesis and see how it will 
 fit the facts which may have been present at the time. 
 
 The baby is lying in his crib after awaking, and cooing 
 comfortably, when hunger or some other irritation disturbs 
 him. As this increases slowly, the cooing changes in char- 
 acter, without any intention, but simply because there is 
 an overflow from the center of the disturbance into the 
 processes already going on. The noises become what the 
 adult calls more fretful or angry, and at the same time 
 louder. This naturally brings the mother. If the baby has 
 not yet arrived at the crying stage, but is still making 
 rather loud guttural sounds, the mother, as she rushes in, 
 imitates these sounds : Ga-ga, mother's blessed ga-ga," 
 etc. This is doubtless repeated many times. So far the 
 sound is not yet a name, but might as well be one for the 
 baby as for the mother. But presently the baby associates 
 the noises he makes with the appearance of the only object 
 of the environment which relieves his disturbance. To bring 
 in the loud sounds sooner, even when the disturbance is 
 very slight, is easy because the pathway is already formed. 
 This may, indeed, happen automatically, without the baby's 
 intention, but when it does happen, the mother notices the 
 difference. She rushes in more quickly because the baby 
 seems to be calling her. She repeats the call word with an 
 almost festal celebration. It becomes attached to herself in 
 [204]
 
 READING, LANGUAGE, AND LITERATURE 
 
 the baby's brain, and may afterwards be used with definite 
 intention because he knows the results which will follow 
 its use. 
 
 So far there is only the preparation for a concept. The 
 conscious process includes too much, and in another way 
 too little. Ga-ga means nothing more than relief from dis- 
 turbance. Others beside the mother will answer this, and 
 at first the child may call any one ga-ga. By a similar 
 process, however, the particular kind of relief, and, later 
 on, other things besides relief, even repression or correc- 
 tion, become added to his experience, but always associated 
 with the original germ from which they have grown. The 
 word stands now for a whole complex of social relationships 
 and intercommunications which spring to the mind as an 
 apperceptive mass whenever it happens to be thought or 
 spoken. Still later it may be applied to other mothers, and 
 be used as a real class word, defining certain relationships 
 and excluding others. This, at least, happens readily in 
 cases where the same kind of process yields the word 
 mam-ma instead of ga-ga, and where the child finds other 
 children using, with a different personal application but 
 with a similar meaning, the same word which he himself 
 has learned to use. The finishing of the word, and the 
 finishing of the concept behind it, requires a social en- 
 vironment as much as its original inception. In the 
 development of its latter aspects as a class word, the ex- 
 perience required is the intermingling with other people, 
 particularly those on the same level, and the interpreta- 
 tion of their slightly different standpoint. It requires a 
 community as a presupposition. Both the language and 
 the thinking are social functions. 
 [205]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 In this process the uniqueness of the individual's expe- 
 rience and its essential solidarity with the experience of 
 others play an equal part. Neither of these aspects, how- 
 ever, can be developed without actual social contact ; that 
 is, without the expression, and at the same time the recep- 
 tion, of another's point of view. Conception, as Baldwin 
 claims, may doubtless be viewed as the motor side of 
 thought, at least in a social being. Discussion of ideas 
 that people actually have is thus necessary to the devel- 
 opment of both thought and language. The object of dis- 
 cussion, moreover, is not simply to find the similarities 
 involved. No working cooperative similarities of experience 
 are found without also revealing differences. To find the 
 point at which each can take hold in his own way of the 
 social rope, and pull with others for the good of all and 
 the good of each, this is the aim of education in lan- 
 guage as in other spheres of culture. 
 
 Unfortunately many teachers seem imbued with a differ- 
 ent notion. Their idea of teaching is not one in which the 
 thoughts and characteristics of the pupils are to be re- 
 vealed, and to some extent exchanged, but one in which 
 the teacher's thoughts and ironically enough, these not 
 always his own thoughts are expected to play an enor- 
 mously predominant r61e. Language is thus, like other 
 subjects, imposed from above, and even when the pupil is 
 called upon to " express himself," he finds that he is com- 
 municating nothing of interest either to the pupils or to the 
 teacher. He is simply exhibiting his paces in order that he 
 may be corrected by his master. Nature, however, saves 
 the situation for the social spirit, if not for the refinements 
 of language. Many children who know the rules of grammar 
 
 [206]
 
 
 I 
 
 READING, LANGUAGE, AND LITERATURE 
 
 perfectly well would be ashamed to follow them with their 
 comrades. Pupils who can write elegant themes for the 
 school drop most of what they seem to have learned when 
 they write real letters, and during their holidays they care- 
 fully avoid reading the same kind of literature which they 
 have been led or forced to read at school. 
 
 To advance, however, to the transition from spoken to 
 written language. The question of how or when children 
 should begin to use written or printed language is usually 
 settled for them without much reference to what they feel 
 they need. No doubt any single individual, so long as he 
 is isolated from others, would never wish to extend his lan- 
 guage to the visual form. But he is not isolated, and in a 
 school he ought to be favorably situated as regards social 
 helpfulness and mutual cooperation. The difficulty in teach- 
 ing children to read even at the early age of five or six is 
 not, however, so great at the beginning as a little later on. 
 The child brought up in civilized surroundings is frequently 
 eager to learn to read, and will go through a good deal of 
 drudgery, and even unnecessary drudgery, to get hold of a 
 power which he sees used by every one. He already real- 
 izes a good part of the social importance of the achieve- 
 ment. This, however, tends to be somewhat abstract and 
 external, appealing rather to his social vanity than to any 
 deeper feeling of personal pleasure and satisfaction, or 
 increased power to serve others. It is because of this in- 
 efficiency of motive that reading often becomes a drudgery. 
 
 There ought, therefore, in the first place, in everything 
 
 the child reads, to be some immediate satisfaction. If he 
 
 works hard on a sentence or a paragraph, he ought to get 
 
 something out of it. Apart from his general satisfaction 
 
 [207]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 in overcoming difficulties, and his satisfaction in the work 
 as bringing him nearer to his desire to read like grown-ups, 
 he should feel that every sentence or paragraph is of value 
 for its own sake. It ought to stir a desire, satisfy a need, 
 complete a picture, give valued help in his play, or be of 
 use to him in a more immediate way. The succession of 
 sentences or paragraphs ought to follow in such a manner 
 as to help one another and build up his growing image. In 
 other words, the arrangement should, from the standpoint 
 of the child, be as artistic and dramatic as possible. 
 
 Very much the reverse seems to be characteristic of most 
 of the reading lessons in our primers, as well as of the other 
 reading material which teachers use. I recently observed 
 a characteristic scene in a first-grade class which will illus- 
 trate this feature. The teacher had made for the children 
 a lesson on the squirrel, and had interested them by a little 
 preliminary talk. She then wrote the first sentence on the 
 board : See the squirrel. This did not require much work, 
 and the children were ready for the second : His name 
 is Chippy. There were two new words in this, and the 
 effect of the sentence was stimulating and attractive. One 
 little boy turned round to the rest of the grade (the class 
 was standing up in front), and whispered the news with 
 pleasure, "His name is Chippy." It is easy to see that 
 the suggestion so far is that there is to be something indi- 
 vidual and interesting and real in what is to follow. Expec- 
 tation is aroused. The next sentence was, His coat is red. 
 The "children attacked this courageously, but when the 
 meaning dawned on them there was a decided loss of 
 interest, and the teacher had to begin to call upon them to 
 stand straight and look toward the board. The reason of 
 [208]
 
 READING, LANGUAGE, AND LITERATURE 
 
 this seems obvious. The sentence did not carry out any 
 of the expectation that had been suggested by the previous 
 one. It was flat, stale, and unprofitable. They all knew 
 that the squirrel was red. They had seen the picture of it, 
 and even if they hadn't, it was not important. As to its 
 being a coat instead of a skin or fur, this was a figure of 
 speech that was evidently commonplace. They began to 
 feel now that there was "nothing doing," and the expec- 
 tation of a romance was blighted. The next sentence, His 
 tail is btishy, completed the debacle, and there was hardly 
 any recovery at the next sentence, He lives in a den, 
 which, if it had been introduced earlier, might have seemed 
 alluring. As this lesson went on, it became plain that the 
 children were right, there was nothing in it to reward 
 them for the labor expended. Children are, after all, like 
 other people in this respect. They do not object to work, 
 but they want the work to yield a return proportionate to 
 the effort involved. 
 
 One essential thing about all interest, and therefore 
 about all reading and literature, as suggested above, is the 
 expectation it arouses as to what is to follow. This is an 
 important aspect of the development of attention and the 
 will, and when it is neglected children are being taught 
 to recoil from work rather than to meet it with courage. 
 Even if they are forced, or led by extraneous motives, to 
 do what is required, the reflection comes later that in itself 
 it was not worth while. This is most disastrous, and is 
 alone sufficient to account for the vulgar newspapers and 
 other cheap reading matter which the masses educated in 
 our public schools instinctively fall back upon when they 
 are free to direct themselves. 
 
 [209]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 Let us take a piece of reading matter suitable for a sec- 
 ond or third grade, and see how this sense of expectation 
 can be utilized. Let us suppose, moreover, that the teacher 
 finds a certain number of the class who need some assist- 
 ance in order to arouse their expectation. If the reader 
 follows the lesson without skipping, perhaps putting a card 
 over the lower part of the page and slowly sensing the 
 meaning of the words printed in italics, at the same time 
 imagining what is to follow, he will get an idea of what 
 the children, who are compelled to read slowly because 
 they are working hard, may be experiencing. 
 
 A frog saw two birds flying overhead. 
 
 The first sentence is never very difficult for any one, so 
 that the teacher may pass on without remark. There are 
 not likely to be any stragglers. 
 
 He called to them and said: 
 
 This distinctly arouses expectation, and in order to see 
 that every one gets this, the teacher may ask, " What do you 
 think he said ? " The children will offer various answers. 
 The teacher should be careful not to show that he approves 
 or disapproves of any of them. These answers are only 
 hypotheses, like the speculations we make at the begin- 
 ning of a novel as to how it is going to turn out. If the 
 teacher favors any of the answers, there will be less need 
 for the children to read the next sentence in order to see 
 for themselves who is right or nearest being right. 
 
 " Take me with you" 
 
 If none of the children had hit upon what the frog said, 
 it may be still more interesting than if they had. This 
 depends upon whether the story goes the children's imagi- 
 nation one better or not. 
 
 [210]
 
 READING, LANGUAGE, AND LITERATURE 
 
 "How can we? " said the birds. "You have no wings'' 
 
 What is going to happen now ? Perhaps by this time 
 something further on than the next sentence, something 
 of the drift of the whole story, may be imagined by the 
 children. 
 
 " / will show you how" said the frog. " Here is a stick. 
 Let each of you take hold of one of the ends, and I will take 
 hold of the middle." 
 
 This, at least, raises the question of the success of the 
 plan, and the children will readily speculate on how it is 
 going to turn out. 
 
 The birds did as they were told, and then flew off with 
 the frog, who held on tightly with his mouth. 
 
 If the children are already aroused and expectant, it 
 would be idle to pile one thing on top of another and delay 
 further by asking for the expression of their ideas. If the 
 teacher sees by their looks that they are working well, with 
 enthusiasm for the result, this is a good time to go right 
 on without interruption. 
 
 As they were flying over a field some farmers saw them. 
 Said one of them : " Look at those birds carrying the frog. 
 What a good idea ! " The frog heard this and was filled 
 with pride. He opened his mouth to tell the farmer that he 
 was the one who had thought of this plan, but in doing so 
 he let go of the stick, and, falling to the ground, was dashed 
 to pieces. 
 
 It is quite obvious that if this story should be illustrated 
 by a picture showing the frog tumbling through the air 
 while the birds are sailing aloft with the stick, such a 
 picture would spoil rather than help the interest of the 
 children. This might not be the case with adults, the 
 
 [211]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 difference being that children are compelled to work much 
 harder in getting ideas from the printed page than are 
 people who have already learned to read. The pictures in 
 most of our readers seem to be inserted almost wholly 
 from the adult standpoint, and without consideration of 
 the children's needs. 
 
 Anything that is more than commonplace in the fore- 
 going analysis of reading matter for children is dependent 
 on an application of the rights of social existence. Reading 
 means that some one, namely the author, is talking to the 
 children and telling them something they wish to hear. 
 When they no longer care to hear it, the thing becomes 
 an imposition, and trains the habit of finding ways to close 
 one's ears. This is done at different mental levels. A child 
 may be able to pronounce words and sentences, may even 
 put in all the elocutionary twirls and twitches which the 
 teacher demands, and yet have his higher hearing closed 
 because there is no need that it should be used. It is also 
 plain that permitting children to express their expectation 
 of what is coming, and asking other children what they 
 think of their surmises, is in itself a social process which 
 results in extending the imaginative grasp and stimulating 
 the interest of every child concerned. 
 
 Mere reading, even if conducted in a partially social 
 spirit, is only the passive half of a completely social 
 process. The procession of gaunt bookworms that crawls 
 forth from the British Museum every evening when the 
 doors close have acquired the reading habit, but very few 
 of them have acquired anything else. It is a question 
 whether the habitues of the dramshops are not having as 
 good a time and getting as much out of their lives. If the 
 
 [212]
 
 READING, LANGUAGE, AND LITERATURE 
 
 schools do no more for reading than to teach people to 
 read, it may be said paradoxically that they are not even 
 teaching them to read. Unless passive reading results in 
 active power, even the first half of the process is incom- 
 plete. A man may read and hear the Golden Rule ; may 
 assent to it passively or theoretically ; may think he under- 
 stands it ; may even regard it with religious adoration ; but 
 unless he uses it in the practice of his life, he will fail to 
 get its meaning. The motor outgo, on the contrary, yields 
 not only vividness to intellectual content, but actually 
 increases clearness. Mr. Henry D. Lloyd's book, to take 
 a recent example (2), evidently derives its insight as an 
 expression of the Golden Rule from the test of action. 
 All ideas, indeed, are but hypotheses, which must be tried 
 out to be understood. Adults, with a wider range of re- 
 membered results in life, may not need to experiment so 
 often in order to test the notions with which they are 
 already familiar. It is frequently forgotten that children 
 are without this experimental data, and that education is 
 for the purpose of supplying this deficiency. Some things 
 are, of course, instinctive, having been stamped into the 
 nervous tissues by the forgotten experiments of the race. 
 But if this summed up the case, conscious education would 
 be as unnecessary for a child as for a chick. Most things 
 of the highest and most controlling value are not so in- 
 stinctive. Even the prejudice against lying is an acquired 
 one in most cases, when it is acquired at all. " Don't 
 lie" is a theory until the child, either personally or by 
 observation of others, has had some experience which has 
 bitten into his soul. If, then, we are to apply the Golden 
 Rule to children in the school, their reading matter must 
 [213]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 furnish them with ideas which they can use, and which 
 they care to use experimentally, in their present lives. The 
 future application is a long way off, and, moreover, can be 
 built only on a discriminating and voluntary use of present 
 opportunity. Give us, O Lord, our daily bread, and let us 
 not feed the children with stones. 
 
 The value of the motor side in all intellectual work has 
 already been seen, but it is taken, for the most part, in an 
 individualistic sense. The practice of teachers shows the 
 result. They try to get some opportunity for the child to 
 do something, and hit upon the profound device of reading 
 aloud. Now surely his motor centers are being exercised ! 
 Or, after the story is read, they ask for a reproduction in 
 the words of the children, and make this a " language exer- 
 cise" by jacking up the children's words to the standard 
 of the book. They may ask one pupil to remember one 
 section, the next another, and standing them in a row, 
 jerkily unravel the yarn and wind it up. Or they may 
 mystically suppose the child to have some undischarged 
 emotion, and get him to express it in painting or write it 
 out in the form of an exercise, repeating as much as pos- 
 sible the story read. With the exception of the first 
 device, these are called methods of giving back the story, 
 and, if the teacher gets beyond the idea of mere memory 
 training, are supposed to supply a motor reaction. 
 
 Now why does the child read aloud ? I have asked sev- 
 eral children, and they were surprised at the question. 
 They thought it was obvious that they did so because the 
 teacher told them to. A further reason came to some, 
 namely, that the teacher wanted to see whether they could 
 pronounce the hard words. Their attitude in both cases 
 [214]
 
 READING, LANGUAGE, AND LITERATURE 
 
 was entirely passive. A few had a show-off feeling, and 
 took it as a compliment to be asked to read, because it was 
 a sign of the teacher's favor, placing them on a competitive 
 eminence with their mates. It is obvious that in most class 
 rooms children do not read aloud because they are in pos- 
 session of some idea which they have derived from a book 
 and wish to communicate it to some one else. This is, how- 
 ever, the principal social basis for reading aloud, and is the 
 reason any sane adult would have if he wished to read to 
 any one else or any one else cared to listen to him. In 
 school, on the contrary, the rest of the children are pro- 
 vided with books, and have often prepared the lesson at 
 home, while the teacher, of course, knows the story before- 
 hand. There is no one to communicate any ideas to, and 
 a spiritual vacuum necessarily results. 
 
 It may be said that elocution remains, including here 
 pronunciation of words, inflection, pauses, rhythm, quality 
 of voice, the erect position, the book in the left hand, or 
 even gestures. No doubt these do remain, and some 
 teachers make the most of them, but they are abstract and 
 artificial, without content or meaning back of them. It 
 is practically impossible to make oral reading effective 
 unless the reader is guided by a desire to communicate 
 something of interest. In some way a real audience must 
 be provided, if reading aloud is to be made a part of a 
 reasonable and social education. 
 
 The other devices above mentioned, consisting of giving 
 back the story to the teacher, are also usually treated in 
 an individualistic manner. With the possible exception, in 
 some cases, of painting or drawing, the children have no 
 direct and active interest in giving anybody anything 
 [215]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 through their performance. There is no one to whom they 
 desire to express anything. They would not go on with 
 these things by themselves, and none of these actions will 
 form habits likely to be sustained in later life. No adult, 
 after he has read a story or an essay, is likely to sit down 
 and reproduce it unless he has the intention of giving this 
 reproduction to others who may be unable, or for whom it 
 may be inconvenient, to read the material for themselves. 
 
 It is plain that, so far as these so-called motor reactions 
 are concerned, the child is not directing them and that they 
 are not motor for him. He has no feeling that he is caus- 
 ing anything. He is not experimenting. There is no social 
 effect directly connected with what he is doing, which he 
 can observe, correct, and thus shape nearer to his heart's 
 desire. No eye is fastened upon him as he reads, greedy 
 to hear the end of the story. The wandering glances of his 
 classmates do not disturb him. No natural interjection is 
 made, and at the close no voice is softened by emotion or 
 alive with curiosity. The breathing is unaffected, and the 
 funeral obsequies are conducted by the teacher alone. As 
 for the further and larger experimenting which may be de- 
 rived from the ideas of the matter read, this is, for the most 
 part, supposed to belong to life and not to the school, and 
 must be left to a vague hope in the future, or to what is 
 sometimes called the individual conscience. 
 
 Merely to change the outward appearance of such prac- 
 tice, and to tell the child to read to his classmates while 
 they close their books and listen, may not effect the results 
 desired. The child may still not feel that he is causing any- 
 thing, or making changes that are worth while in the minds 
 of his fellows. This will almost certainly be the situation if 
 [216]
 
 READING, LANGUAGE, AND LITERATURE 
 
 a story is read which the children have already looked over, 
 while if one child reads one section of a new story and 
 another reads the next, there will be a general lack of 
 understanding and of synthesis. 1 
 
 The ethical and moral thing to do for every one who 
 reads to another is to grasp the idea to be expressed, and 
 to judge whether it would interest or benefit the person 
 who listens. With adults the general value of the idea may 
 be very quickly seized, and sometimes without reading the 
 whole piece. That it is on a certain subject, or written by 
 a certain author, may be enough in some cases. The next 
 thing the reader must be sure of is that his listener is dis- 
 posed to receive the message. He then proceeds, if he is 
 a good reader, to grasp the subordinate ideas which the 
 author expresses to him. His eye sees them coming con- 
 siderably ahead of the words he is actually pronouncing, 
 and his mind is still further on, with a degree of expecta- 
 tion, looking for the more important thoughts. 
 
 Meanwhile his voice is delivering the ideas which he has 
 previously grasped. The operation is like a ball game, in 
 which the author throws one ball after another of varying 
 size, while the reader throws them to the listener. He is 
 careful of the large ones and handles them so that they 
 may be caught. To do this the reader must evidently ob- 
 serve his listener sufficiently to see what is happening, or 
 even stop to inquire. This may seem complex, but it is 
 probably not half so complex as what actually takes place. 
 
 1 This will, of course, obtain to a greater extent in the higher grades. 
 With the younger children the work done on every selection is greater ; it 
 should therefore afford a more complete picture or idea, and yield an op- 
 portunity of service done for the child who masters it and communicates 
 its meaning to the class. 
 
 [217]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 There is plainly enough in all this a training in judgment 
 and ethics, but it is impossible to carry it out if it is not 
 made a part of real, cooperative life processes conducted 
 in the school. 
 
 A few years ago the present writer took charge of a read- 
 ing class of high-school juniors, and made an effort to see 
 what could be accomplished in this direction. The pupils 
 were invited to give their ideas of what could best be done, 
 and to describe both aims and processes. The aims were 
 at first, as might be expected, very abstract, where they did 
 not result from an attempt to pose. Gradually, however, 
 real desires made their appearance, and with these, common- 
 sense efforts to carry them out. The pupils began rather 
 early to bring into the class things that they had read with 
 pleasure themselves, to ask the class if they cared to hear 
 them, and, after a good deal of home preparation, to read 
 them aloud, and to ask for criticism or comment. The 
 teacher was in a position to give advice during the prepara- 
 tion, and to join in the criticism at the close. It is needless 
 to say that these functions were at first performed very 
 gently indeed, in order not to frighten the pupils out of 
 taking a full initiative themselves. Individual pupils fre- 
 quently ran to specialties. One girl was always bringing in 
 sentimental pieces, which she read with a great deal of feel- 
 ing ; and, strange to say, this feeling was reciprocated by 
 many of the pupils. I saw tears in some eyes during the 
 reading of pieces which left my own heart untouched. I 
 refrained from expressing my adult and presumably more 
 cultivated feelings further than would be really welcomed 
 by the class. One boy was a born humorist, and after the 
 tears he occasionally set the class in a roar by some little 
 [218] 

 
 READING, LANGUAGE, AND LITERATURE 
 
 story which he had found perhaps in a newspaper, and 
 which he told, and often acted, without reading. 
 
 Every one came to have an ambition to read as if he 
 were speaking to the rest. Instead of general criticism, 
 the reader sometimes asked the class for the succession of 
 images they had received, or for the ideas and images which 
 they had found particularly interesting. Very soon a daily 
 programme had to be prepared in order to economize time 
 and get the best order of the pieces presented. 
 
 After this degree of organization had appeared, some one 
 proposed that where there were two or three persons rep- 
 resented in the pieces read, these parts might be taken by 
 different members of the class, rather than that the single 
 reader should be first one person and then another. They 
 frequently took pieces written in indirect discourse, and 
 turned them into direct address. Indeed, this was often 
 done by the single reader as he went along, if by doing so 
 he thought he could get more into the spirit of the piece or 
 give a more vivid impression to his hearers. Very soon dia- 
 logue and dramas were brought in, one of the first I remem- 
 ber being the quarrel scene between Brutus and Cassius. 
 By this time home preparation did not seem sufficient, and 
 they voted to give part of the time to preparation in the 
 school. For this purpose they broke up into several groups 
 in different rooms or hallways, and planned and rehearsed 
 their various presentations. During this period the teacher 
 was in great demand, going round among the groups and 
 giving help and criticism. The most important technical 
 problems were frequently broached, the dictionary was in 
 constant service, and even books on elocution were not 
 despised. 
 
 [219]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 Still later the pupils began to make stories for them- 
 selves from real life, and to read sketches or essays. These 
 were not allowed, by the class as a whole, who had to listen 
 to them, to occupy too large a share of the programme. Only 
 the best survived. Some of these, however, were very good. 
 One little dramatic sketch, which was impersonated by the 
 author, and represented an experience which happened to 
 him in a life-saving station, was particularly interesting and 
 even romantic. In all this the teacher took part also, by 
 presenting reading material which he thought would be 
 interesting, and which he calculated would gradually raise 
 the standard of the class. 
 
 This experiment was satisfactory as far as it went, and it 
 was quite plain that the young people, while they enjoyed 
 their experience, never lost sight of the educational purpose 
 of becoming better readers. Many who had never had such 
 an idea before woke up to its value and pursued their am- 
 bition with the greatest success. I say "as far as it went," 
 because this reading class was not in such organic connec- 
 tion with the rest of the school that life activities going on 
 in the other classes could be related to the new ideas de- 
 rived from either the authors read or from the social prac- 
 tice of this class. That the pupils could read better and 
 were a little more confident was perhaps the greatest value 
 apparent in other classes. It was rather the life processes 
 going on outside the school, in home and church and play- 
 ground, that were most organically united with this work 
 in reading. To get the best results the whole school should 
 be allowed to organize on a social basis. The experiences 
 of one class should be intimately connected with those of 
 another, and the school itself should grow from the life of 
 
 [220]
 
 READING, LANGUAGE, AND LITERATURE 
 
 the community which surrounds it. This can never be done 
 by correlating subjects on a course of study, or in any other 
 way put in from the top. It is growth from the roots which 
 will yield flowers and fruit. 
 
 The experiment above described revealed other things 
 than the powers of pupils to organize their own work. In- 
 stead of sinking individuality, their social cooperation was 
 the very thing which brought it out. True independence is 
 always a result of, and follows rather than precedes, a stage 
 of interdependence. Both are desirable in education, but 
 one is fundamental, the other accessory. 
 
 From the point of view of the individual reader, it was 
 also brought out in the mutual criticisms of the class, that 
 after he felt the most fundamental social relationship and 
 was in control of the ideas to be delivered, the means neces- 
 sary to carry out these prerequisites followed a certain natu- 
 ral order. The voice, or the book in the left hand, was not 
 found to be the most fundamental or controlling factor. 
 That which governed the rest was the position and motion 
 of the body. Instead of adding on the actions to the word, 
 the first thing to be thought of, or rather felt, was the 
 physical attitude and the actions themselves. In reading, 
 as in real life, these bodily attitudes and actions precede 
 the voice. They represent to the others and give to the 
 reader the kinaesthetic and emotional experience of which 
 the words are an accessory accompaniment. A person does 
 not say, " Give me the book," and then proceed to supply 
 appropriate gestures. He turns his head, directs his eyes, 
 leans his body, and begins to stretch out his hand a little 
 before the words are uttered. He no doubt begins to get 
 the idea before these things happen, but this belongs more 
 
 [221]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 to the receptive side of the process, and we are here con- 
 sidering the art of delivery or expression. If these funda- 
 mental things are right, the words tend to take care of 
 themselves, and to derive from the more passive bodily 
 states the timbre, pitch, and melody which are suitable to 
 the physical organism of the reader. A stereotyped posi- 
 tion, such as standing erect with the heels together, ob- 
 viously spoils the opportunity of natural expression, and 
 indirectly prevents the reader from getting or giving the 
 full meaning of what he is reading. When this mistake is 
 once made (and this follows immediately from ignoring the 
 social conditions of expression), there is nothing left for it 
 but to supply stereotyped inflections, rhythms, and pauses, 
 with other technique, imitated directly from the teacher. 
 How often do we see children's natural grace of movement 
 and the beautiful quality of their voices, which ought to 
 be as different as the differences of their mental make-up 
 and bodily structure, forced into elocutionary antics quite 
 foreign to their real feelings or desires ! Because they are 
 not dealing with realities in the children themselves, except 
 to override them, teachers do not even express their own 
 individuality, but imitate the forms they use from others. 
 A mannerism of inflection will thus run like a disease of 
 fashion through a whole city. When all are alike, it is 
 supposed that every one must be right. 
 
 With younger children, what adults would feel to be an 
 excess of bodily expression is natural, and is to be expected 
 if the social atmosphere is normal. Reading matter full of 
 visual imagery and dramatic possibilities is most necessary 
 for them. But with larger and deeper experience, the voice 
 undertakes a larger share of the expression, and gestures 
 
 [222]
 
 READING, LANGUAGE, AND LITERATURE 
 
 are checked. The significance of the whole paragraph, or 
 of the whole speech, is more readily grasped, and its appli- 
 cation to events and actions which lie beyond the present 
 looms up larger in consciousness. The bodily attitude 
 expresses a feeling of simple waiting for the point or 
 denouement of the whole idea. Emphasis of tone, or force, 
 is moderated. More work is laid on the higher processes 
 of association and judgment. President Eliot of Harvard 
 is much admired by the present generation as a speaker, 
 and rightly so. He hardly ever makes a gesture. His 
 voice, although clear and confident, is almost level in its 
 flow. Slight pauses and slight inflections form the princi- 
 pal means of emphasis. But even this style of expression 
 has not lost its dramatic implications. It is still controlled 
 by the test of action. It is full of purpose and vibrant 
 with endeavor. 
 
 Reserved power is, however, the end and not the begin- 
 ning. Immediate action and its consequences must be mas- 
 tered first. Where these are capable of being controlled 
 for social purposes, the more far-reaching effects may be 
 experimented upon. It is needless to say that to imitate 
 the mere form of a finished speaker is to satisfy ourselves 
 with husks, and to prevent the development of a normal 
 growth. 
 
 The foregoing analysis of both the receptive and the 
 active side of reading has already thrown some light on its 
 higher development in literature. That only is literature 
 which speaks to people's hearts, and which they care to 
 read and hear. To label a collection of authors, Fine Lit- 
 erature, and to apply this in small doses, suitable for rhe- 
 torical or grammatical analysis and philological research, 
 [223]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 is to dishearten pupils and to remind them of a drug store 
 rather than of the pure Pierian spring or of a well of 
 English undefiled. This is an attitude which is fortunately 
 passing away in our best high schools and colleges, and 
 teachers, much more than formerly, depend on reading to 
 the pupils. The next step will be to allow pupils to read 
 among themselves, and to exercise frequently their own 
 admiration and their own choice in what they read to 
 others and in what others read to them. 
 
 As we have tried to show, reading and literature, to be 
 of any service, must never get far away from the will or 
 intention of those who read. It is also true that this 
 expression must be a natural outcome of their emotions. 
 What are the emotions which children experience, and 
 which they suffer from when they are not controlled and 
 educated ? 
 
 Fear is certainly one. We have had some excellent 
 studies of children's fears (3), but it would be hard to find 
 much appreciation of these studies in our pedagogical prac- 
 tice. And yet every tragedy is a record of a fear that is 
 overcome. To guide the soul between fear and love was 
 Aristotle's formula for education. Perfect love casteth out 
 fear, says the New Testament, but the fear must exist in 
 order to be cast out. Death, sin, hell, and the grave are 
 symbols which stand for something. A Scotch preacher 
 once told me that it was his frequent practice to " shake 
 his hearers o'er the mouth o' hell" before picturing to 
 them the saving grace of redeeming love. Some such 
 emotional curve, although not always representing thoughts 
 so primitive and crude, is to be found behind every sig- 
 nificant human endeavor. To be aware of risks and to 
 [224]
 
 READING, LANGUAGE, AND LITERATURE 
 
 appreciate them to the full is a sign of wisdom and a 
 stimulus to true courage. 
 
 On the other hand, to have fear and see no outcome, to 
 be chronically afraid, expresses the depth of defeat. To be 
 so cautious as to be afraid to stir or to take risks for worthy 
 ends is a conservative attitude governed by a subconscious 
 fear. To adopt the suggestion that there is no fear, no 
 death, no evil, may be comfortable for the time, but it puts 
 the realities of life a little further beyond one's personal 
 control. Better the war song of the Norman as he rode 
 along the ranks swinging his battle-ax in the air. 
 
 If it is a law that love casts out fear, chronic fear is only 
 a state of arrest, and the proper development of the situa- 
 tion will result in happiness and power. We see this plainly 
 in the tragedies of our great poets. But the small tragedies 
 of children are often allowed to fester, and form points of 
 departure for an organization of fear states which, although 
 their origin may have been forgotten, keep on like " sunken 
 bells " through the whole of their after life. Let us take 
 the case of a little four-year-old girl who, when she went to 
 bed, imagined all kinds of reptiles and other terrible crea- 
 tures underneath the bed. Comforting words from her 
 mother did no good. One night, however, the child imag- 
 ined that four great lions stalked into the room. They took 
 up their positions, one at each corner of the bed ; they 
 fought off the reptiles, and the little girl fell peacefully 
 asleep. The next night the lions came in earlier ; and with 
 repetition the whole thing became a pleasant play, but not 
 without the tang of fear from which it was derived. 
 
 It is evident that we have here the making of a poem, 
 a drama, for which nature had finally provided the missing 
 [225]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 fifth act. When the chain of imagery is stopped in the 
 middle, the spectator in the "private theater" is naturally 
 disturbed. 
 
 To educate and control children's imaginary fears, we 
 must find the fifth act for them when they do not find it 
 for themselves. Many children's stories do this more or 
 less successfully. w Little Red Riding Hood " is a classic 
 example. The wolf should be painted with all the suitable 
 horrors gradually introduced in the most seductive manner. 
 That it all turns out well in the end, although crudely from 
 the adult standpoint, is the necessary feature of this kind 
 of spiritual homeopathy. Children are bound to hear stories 
 involving fear, and if they are not told them by the proper 
 artists of their lives, they will get them from less worthy 
 sources, and perhaps from persons who have a morbid 
 pleasure in merely making them afraid. Why should not 
 teachers make stories which should fit the experiences of 
 the actual children to whom they are told ? The old myths 
 are useful enough, but the modern child has new fears, 
 the streets, the trolley cars, stairs to fall down, failure at 
 promotion, robbers, and automobiles are full of terrors 
 which might well be provided with suitable myths. 
 
 In a similar manner, every other emotion may acquire 
 through literature its natural discharge. Let us not sup- 
 pose that these emotions are issued by nature in job lots, 
 and because we have a general name for anger, that every 
 anger state is like every other. Probably no two cases of 
 resentment are emotionally the same. A piece of literature 
 or an idea that will touch the heart in one case may fail 
 in another. The little girl above described needed just 
 those four lions, or something else that would fit as exactly 
 
 [226]
 
 READING, LANGUAGE, AND LITERATURE 
 
 into her fantasy. The power to read into the large dramas 
 our own smaller ones comes later. At first we need more 
 particular treatment. As Browning, with an application to 
 his own poetry, says : 
 
 What matter to me if their star is a world ? 
 
 Mine has opened its soul to me ! therefore I love it. 
 
 Teachers ought to be able to make stories that will fit par- 
 ticular emotional situations closely similar to those actually 
 experienced by their pupils. If they are unable to do this 
 with a fair degree of success, is it likely that they will be 
 competent to select wisely from the store of accredited lit- 
 erature with which they may be familiar ? 
 
 It may be said that teachers are not expected to select, 
 that this is done for them by their superiors. So much 
 the worse for the children. The bread of life needs to be 
 baked fresh if moldy crusts are not to take its place. So 
 much the worse also for the teachers. Until teachers are 
 able to control the work of their own profession, their life 
 will be one of ineffectual martyrdom and discontent. 
 
 But there is, fortunately enough, immense unused capac- 
 ity among our teachers. Even although we load them like 
 donkeys and drive them like mules, the Pegasus will still 
 appear. There are thousands of teachers capable of free 
 creative work, who are balked and discouraged by the 
 formalism of dictatorial methods and by courses of study 
 arbitrarily imposed from above. 
 
 As a slight illustration of this, I may cite some work 
 
 done by mere beginners in a city normal school. The 
 
 problem was to write a story that would portray a situation 
 
 in a child's life, painting the character so sympathetically 
 
 [227]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 that the hearer would identify himself with the hero 
 of the story ; and after this was done, and the arrested 
 emotional stage clearly grasped, to lead the story up to 
 a better and higher mode of thought and feeling. The 
 following is a typical story, selected mainly on account of 
 its brevity, and was designed for an eighth-grade class of 
 boys. In a preliminary investigation it was discovered that 
 about half of these boys had had, at one time or another, 
 serious thoughts of running away from home, and that 
 some of them had actually done so. 
 
 Yes, it was just a month since Willie had run away from home. 
 He had felt very happy when he had first joined the circus, but now, 
 as he thought more of it day by day, he was sorry he had acted so 
 unwisely. This is how it happened. 
 
 Willie lived in a very cosy little house in a small village, with his 
 parents, to whom he was very much attached. There he had dwelt 
 happily for twelve whole years, and had had no cause for vexation, 
 as every wish had been gratified. One day the circus came to the 
 neighboring town, and a large party of boys, Willie's friends, had 
 obtained permission to go to see it. As Willie desired to share this 
 extraordinary pleasure, he soon acquainted his father with his wish. 
 At first his parent saw no objection, but when he learned that the 
 boys intended to go unaccompanied by an older person, he withdrew 
 his consent, deciding that it would be far safer to keep Willie at home. 
 
 Now the circus had planned to stay a week, and the boys had 
 planned to go on the fifth day. When this day arrived the boys 
 gathered together, ready for the journey. Eager anticipation for the 
 great joys and surprises awaiting them were depicted on every coun- 
 tenance. Willie sat at the window watching all the proceedings. 
 He had felt bad when his father told him he could not go ; but now, 
 as he saw the boys setting out on the way, it seemed as if his heart 
 would break. 
 
 He went to his own room, where he sat down and cried pitifully. 
 Suddenly he roused himself, and, with a determined look on his face, 
 began to search for something in the bureau drawer. After a while 
 he drew out his hand, in which he held a small iron savings bank. 
 [228]
 
 READING, LANGUAGE, AND LITERATURE 
 
 " Yes," he exclaimed aloud ; " this is enough to take me to the 
 circus, and I can there earn enough to see the show and pay my 
 way back. I shall start early to-morrow morning, before any one is 
 awake, and I will be far away from here when they first discover 
 that I have gone." 
 
 With such thoughts as these Willie's mind was filled, until he 
 finally closed his eyes in sleep. His sleep, however, was not in the 
 least refreshing : strange, he was continually troubled by the thought 
 that his parents would be very anxious and worried by his absence. 
 But he put this thought aside, saying : " What do they care about 
 me ? If they thought very much of me, they would let me go to the 
 circus, as the other boys' parents did. They ought to be glad to 
 think that I am enjoying myself." 
 
 The following morning Willie rose bright and early, ready for 
 his journey. He slipped quietly downstairs, took his hat from the 
 hook, and was off. Reaching the railway station, he took the train 
 to town. 
 
 He arrived just at the time when the circus manager was opening 
 up for the day. Willie stood watching him for a while, hoping to get 
 a glimpse of the interior of the tent. Seeing the little boy standing 
 there and taking in all the proceedings, the manager called to him. 
 Willie approached timidly. Had this great man, who owned so many 
 wonderful animals and could do so many tricks, condescended to 
 speak first to a strange boy ? When near enough to him, the mana- 
 ger asked him several questions as to his name, where he came from, 
 and what he intended to do. Willie answered him truthfully, and 
 then waited for the great man to speak again. He did not open his 
 lips for a moment, then suddenly he asked, " Willie, would you like 
 to join the circus ? " 
 
 Nothing could have been more unexpected than this question, 
 and Willie was so surprised that he stood for a moment dumb- 
 founded. Was this man actually going to let him see the circus for 
 nothing, and also travel with it from place to place about the world ? 
 It really seemed impossible. Could he have heard rightly? perhaps 
 not. This last question was not left long unanswered. 
 
 "Willie," repeated the manager, who had taken a noticeable inter- 
 est in the boy ; " would you like to join the circus ? " 
 
 Willie did not now hesitate a moment to reply, " Certainly, sir." 
 
 " Very well," continued the manager ; " follow me." 
 
 [22 9 ]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 Willie did so, and soon found himself amid the various great 
 attractions of the circus he had so desired to see. 
 
 He passed up and down before the cages containing gigantic ani- 
 mals and curious birds, elephants, giraffes, lions, tigers, ostriches, 
 etc. With the few pennies he had left, he bought peanuts and amused 
 himself by feeding the monkeys. Later he saw the clown making 
 the dogs do tricks and jump through rings, and also the celebrated 
 bareback rider. 
 
 His first day passed very quickly, and Willie was not required to 
 do any work. But as the days passed on, he was asked to do more 
 and more. At the end of three weeks he had a considerable amount 
 of work to do, which kept him busy from early morning until late at 
 night. He was obliged to clean out the cages of the animals, and 
 bring them food and fresh water. 
 
 The worst part of all was that nobody took any notice of him, and 
 he was knocked about as if he were a strange dog whom nobody 
 cared for, and who was really in the way. 
 
 As a result, he had not much time for sleep, and when that time 
 did come, he could not sleep. His thoughts constantly went back to 
 his home and his parents. How they must have missed him, how 
 lonesome they must have been without him, how they had longed 
 to have him come home. But it had all been in vain, for Willie did 
 not return. He saw his mother weeping silently as she busied her- 
 self with the housework, and his father, too, had a careworn expres- 
 sion on his face. How he would like to be at home ! Once there he 
 would never run away again. 
 
 But how could he return ? The manager kept a pretty strict watch 
 over him, and did not allow him out of his sight for one moment, for 
 he knew that Willie would be of great assistance to him as he grew 
 older. Besides this, the boy was a patient and faithful worker. And 
 yet Willie felt that he must free himself. But how was he to do it ? 
 This question was the most difficult to answer. 
 
 Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder, and some one was shak- 
 ing him gently. He opened his eyes, and beheld his mother looking 
 down at him. 
 
 " Well, Willie," she exclaimed ; " I had called you three times 
 already, but as you did not answer, I came to wake you. Hurry up, 
 or you will be late for school." 
 
 [230]
 
 READING, LANGUAGE, AND LITERATURE 
 
 Could it be possible that he was really at home and in his own 
 room, lying on his soft little bed? He put out his hand to reas- 
 sure himself that he was truly awake. Yes, it was just so, and he 
 had only been dreaming after all. How glad he was to be at home 
 again with his dear parents. No, he would not mind staying at home 
 on Friday, when the other boys went to the circus. His father knew 
 best ; and besides, after that terrible dream, he would never venture 
 alone to the circus, for that might lead to the realization of the 
 dream itself. 
 
 But it is not enough for a satisfactory social develop- 
 ment that teachers learn to interpret children at first hand, 
 and in doing so, learn to free their own personality for this 
 purpose. The children must learn to interpret themselves 
 to each other. They can do this only when they produce 
 for each other. This is the law of spoken language, and it 
 is equally valid for that which is written or printed. In 
 fact, unless the teacher is in contact with children who 
 are producing for each other, it will be very difficult and 
 perhaps impossible for him either to catch the method 
 or understand the matter which is best suited to their 
 mental level. To ask children to write an imaginary letter 
 for an imaginary situation, or even to write to mother 
 or grandmother, is not so exhilarating nor so capable of 
 being controlled by the writer himself as if he wrote to 
 people on his own plane. He is then in a position to get 
 the kind of criticism that comes from seeing how the 
 others take his production, whether it has been of serv- 
 ice to them, interests them, arouses their admiration, or 
 calls for their friendly help or correction. In no other 
 way, moreover, can the teacher be sure that the truths 
 she would fain inculcate have actually entered into the 
 life processes of the pupils. 
 
 [231]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 Children are, of course, very ready to do this. They 
 often do it by surreptitious note writing, without the 
 teacher's approval. But they are still more willing to write 
 for each other with the help of the teacher, and with 
 worthier aims. Examples of this practice can be found 
 under our best teachers and in a few of our schools. The 
 Ethical Culture School of New York organizes some of 
 its reading exercises on what the children write. Both the 
 Francis Parker School in Chicago, under Miss Cook's lead- 
 ership, and the University Elementary School carry still 
 further the development of the children's own activity. 
 Under Miss Martha Fleming the original dramatic work 
 of the children reaches a very high degree of excellence. 
 Often one section of the class, or one whole class, forms a 
 group to write something for the other section or class to 
 read. This is more effective morally, and in the other 
 results gained, than when each child writes by himself. 
 The two following examples of this kind of work, the 
 first from Miss Port's class (second grade), the second 
 from Miss Wygant's (first grade), both of the University 
 Elementary School, will serve as examples. The first 
 lesson runs on aesthetic lines ; the second is more scien- 
 tific and practical, and represents actual work the children 
 had done. In both cases they were telling about their own 
 experiences to a real audience. 
 
 CO 
 
 On Thursday, November 3, we went to Beverly Hills. At ten min- 
 utes of 9 we crossed the Midway, and went on the street cars to 
 Englewood. We had to wait until a quarter of ten for the train. 
 We were on the train about fifteen minutes. 
 
 On the train Denison saw men making a new park. 
 
 Geraldine saw seven cows. 
 
 [232]
 
 READING, LANGUAGE, AND LITERATURE 
 
 Elizabeth saw some pigeons walking around a pigeon house. 
 
 Dent saw a flock of birds flying south. 
 
 Lanning saw a wagon of corn. 
 
 Denison saw some corn that had not been cut down. 
 
 Beatrice Lovett saw cornfields where the corn was stacked like 
 tents. 
 
 Meredith and Miss Port saw a field of cabbages. 
 
 Lanning saw a man plowing. 
 
 Paul saw many pumpkins in a store. 
 
 Mary saw some ducks. 
 
 When we got off the train the air was clear and fresh and breezy. 
 It seemed like the country. We walked and ran and screamed. We 
 saw a pond of water and a burro. We wanted to find snakes and 
 frogs in a pond. But we had to go on. 
 
 Miss Port said it was too far to go to the farm. We were disap- 
 pointed, but we had just as good a time in the woods. 
 
 The woods were beautiful and quiet, and there was not a house 
 near by. There were oak trees and the leaves were brown and yellow. 
 We found some red leaves. The oak leaves rustled in the trees. 
 Many came floating and whirling down. Some fluttered down. The 
 ground was covered with dry, brown leaves. 
 
 We had a leaf fight. Then we covered Mrs. Thomsen with leaves. 
 We said, " Where is Mrs. Thomsen ? " and up she jumped. Then we 
 covered Miss Port. Some children climbed trees and shook the 
 leaves down. 
 
 After a while we took a walk. We found another pond. We 
 think it was an old milldam. We ran down the old logs. We played 
 a long time. Then we wanted a drink. Six of us went to a farm for 
 water. Before we got any water, the woman told us to be careful in 
 the pasture. We said, "Why?" She said there was a wild bull in 
 the pasture. We ran for the woods again. 
 
 We ate our lunch in the woods. We wanted water all the time. 
 Next time we are going to take bottles of water with us. While we 
 were eating our lunch some bees came to see us. One bee stung 
 Gordon on the finger. 
 
 After lunch we played games and told stories. We saw a man 
 with a gun. We told him about the wild bull, and he said he would 
 have to shoot him. But we think he was just fooling. 
 
 At 2 oH:lock we started for home. We had a good time. 
 
 [233]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 (2) 
 
 We went hunting. 
 
 We did not take a gun. 
 
 We took acid. 
 
 Guess what we were hunting for. 
 
 We found it in marble and in limestone. 
 
 We found it in bones, shells, and chalk. 
 
 We found it in lake water. 
 
 We found it in the soil in our school yard. 
 
 " Lime seems to be in a great many places," said Charles. 
 
 Work of this kind is being done by Miss Nelson of the 
 Pierce School, Brookline, and by Miss Shaw of the Wells 
 School, Boston, although in these schools the work tends 
 to the production of plays which are acted by the pupils. 
 The following was written by an eleven-year-old pupil of 
 Miss Shaw. It was her own doll that the little girl had 
 in mind. She put in the grandmother, not because she had 
 one, but, as she said, because she wished she had. Spelling 
 and punctuation and arrangement are those of the author 
 of the play. 
 
 PATSY AND LAURA 
 Scene (i) Conversation between Patsy and Laura. 
 
 (Patsy) I wonder where Laura is. I hope she will come. 
 
 (Laura) Here I am Patsy ready to play with you. I brought 
 
 Celia with me. 
 
 (Patsy) Oh there she is with that horrid old doll again. I 
 
 know your mother bought that doll in the Five and 
 Ten cent store. My pretty Anna came from Paris. 
 
 (Laura) My Celia looks just as pretty as your Anna. 
 
 (Patsy) Now don't you say that any more Laura. You know 
 
 very well that Anna is far prettier than Celia. Can't 
 you see her beautiful head and curling hair and such 
 pretty eyes and the lovely clothes my grandma makes 
 for her. 
 
 [234]
 
 READING, LANGUAGE, AND LITERATURE 
 
 (Laura) You know, Patsy, that my mama is very feeble, she 
 
 cannot even sew as well as your grandma. 
 
 (Patsy) Come here Laura I'll tell you something. We'll 
 
 run off to my grandma and ask her to make Celia 
 some clothes. 
 
 (Laura) Oh that's delightful Let us go right away. 
 
 Scene (2) Grandmother in sitting room. 
 
 (Patsy) Grandma ? 
 
 (Grandmother) What my little dears what ? 
 
 (Patsy) I want to ask you if you will make some clothes for 
 
 Laura's doll. 
 (Grandmother) Of course I will I'll begin right off. Hand me 
 
 your doll Laura. Why Laura is that your doll. 
 
 Well, well, well, I should think you need another 
 
 one. Here's one my dear. 
 (Laura) Oh thank you ever so much. 
 
 (Grandmother) Now there will be no quarreling both the dolls are 
 
 the same. Run off and play together. Now both of 
 
 them are jolly. Oh ! how short the time is. I hear 
 
 the bell calling me to dinner. I must leave my work 
 
 and go. 
 
 This little play is well worth close analysis. One thing, 
 at least, stands out, namely, that the larger controlling 
 features are better managed than the lesser consistencies. 
 
 These few cases are perhaps sufficient to show the direc- 
 tion in which the teaching of reading must necessarily ad- 
 vance. The main clew likely to lead to future progress is 
 a further study of spoken language. In following this, it is 
 easily seen that the most important condition of both spoken 
 and written language is their service in social relationships. 
 Both are merely means of communication, and thus must 
 constantly and steadily be used as such by the children 
 themselves, if either satisfactory technique or understand- 
 ing is to be looked for. The business of the teacher is not 
 [235]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 so much to drill and lesson the children as to help them to 
 organize themselves socially, to stimulate a flow of honor 
 feelings from one to another, and to give each a chance to 
 make and unmake the habit and opinion of his fellows. 
 
 REFERENCES 
 
 1. Donovan, The Festal Origin of Human Speech, Mind, 
 Vol. XVI, October, 1891. 
 
 2. Henry D. Lloyd, Man the Social Creator. New York, 1906. 
 
 3. G. Stanley Hall, Children's Fears, American Journal of 
 Psychology, Vol. VIII. 
 
 [236]
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 MANUAL ARTS : INDUSTRIAL AND CONSTRUCTIVE 
 WORK 
 
 It may safely be said that manual arts are more funda- 
 mental to the development of humanity than even the 
 power to read and write. They have, nevertheless, been 
 tardily recognized on the programmes of modern schools. 
 Many a so-called " safe " educator is still gazing mildly at 
 them, when he is not actually hostile. The reason of this 
 belated recognition is not far to seek. The school began 
 as an accessory to real life, and was limited at first to the 
 accessory classes of the community. The aristocratic feudal 
 education despised work. Education, to quote Spencer's 
 phrase, was largely ornamental, and the main virtue to 
 be inculcated under the ornament was obedience of either 
 a military or a monastic order. Later on, when people's 
 schools were started, as in New England, elementary man- 
 ual arts were already taught at home. To-day the high 
 specialization of modern labor makes it impossible to teach 
 these fundamental life activities and the morals that guide 
 them, except in schools. Even the apprentice system has 
 disappeared. 
 
 The apperceptive masses of commonplace educators, as 
 
 this condition is forced upon them, assimilate these new 
 
 studies to the old ones, with which the pedagogic mind is 
 
 more familiar. Manual training is organized as a subject, 
 
 [237]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 as much like previous subjects as possible. Paradigms in 
 joints are substituted for those in Latin. Even the declen- 
 sions have their analogues in painfully graded exercises in 
 wood or metal. But military obedience is thereby saved, 
 examinations are still possible, courses of study can be 
 made, the ordinary " culture " and the ordinary discipline, 
 although manifestly in reduced circumstances, continue to 
 pay their calls. This blindness and this narrowness is 
 sometimes called a compromise. 
 
 Many pupils seize the essentials in spite of the form, but 
 others are disheartened. Mr. H. D. Lloyd's notion, that 
 because boys from different homes work together at the 
 same bench they will therefore honor labor and love their 
 comrades, is not so true as we could wish. Whether they 
 will or not, depends on why they are working, and whether 
 they have realized that comradeship is help, either given or 
 received. Why are they working ? Is it to produce ideas ? 
 The joy of the artist in his work is the spring of all satis- 
 factory labor. The essence of this is the idea which he is 
 producing. But however useful in its place, the analogy 
 of the highly developed artist, such as the painter, is fre- 
 quently a stumbling-block. In his case the ideas to be real- 
 ized are largely within his personal control. Ideas in the 
 ordinary manual arts, on the contrary, are realized by 
 cooperation and the division of labor. The magnitude of 
 the work demands it. What becomes, then, of the artistic 
 and creative intelligence of the individual laborer ? Is he 
 not forced to work at a part in obedience to the orders 
 of others ? 
 
 This is certainly what results when the laborer is not 
 
 educated. But is it not precisely to overcome this economic 
 
 [238]
 
 MANUAL ARTS 
 
 and ethical defect that our schools for manual training are 
 established? Why, then, should they repeat the artistic 
 and social faults of uneducated labor ? Why should pupils 
 be asked to do work which does not spring from their 
 own minds as a result of their productive and creative 
 imagination ? 
 
 The reason for this is near at hand. It is not seen that 
 productive and creative work, when it is large enough to 
 require many hands, requires also a social organization to 
 carry it out. This social organization is a tool more impor- 
 tant than planes or chisels. Pupils should be trained in its 
 creation and its use as much as and even more than they 
 are trained in the use of any material tool. To make or 
 help to make a serviceable social organization, in order to 
 produce results in iron, wood, or clay, is itself a work of 
 art. But unfortunately, instead of training pupils in social 
 organization, most teachers borrow second-hand the crude 
 organization of the past labor world, descended as it is 
 from military and feudal times, and still maintained and 
 multiplied by modern oppression. They accept it as a 
 necessity, use it blindly, and, without intending to do so, 
 pass on to their pupils its unchristian practice and its 
 
 , worn-out philosophy. 
 
 The present labor world is becoming wiser. It is begin- 
 ning to understand, in a certain dim way, that conscious 
 social organization is imperative. Workmen are uniting all 
 over the world. The immediate purpose is to protect their 
 jobs and increase their wages. The more remote purpose 
 
 fj is somewhat vague. Many look to a reconstruction of 
 society along socialistic lines. This is the old a priori dis- 
 ease, and consists in picturing an accomplished state of 
 [239]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 affairs, although remote and inaccessible, in order to get 
 the easy opportunity of making deductions. To obtain con- 
 trol of the tools of production is admittedly the logical aim 
 of those who work. But what are the tools of production, 
 and who are those who work ? Social organization is the 
 principal tool, and all who work on this are genuine work- 
 men. It is not practical to assume an ideal, and therefore 
 an a priori societary tool. Numerous experiments in all 
 walks of life are necessary in producing such tools, in order 
 that growth and selection may give increasing control. Sud- 
 denly inject the socialistic state and who could run it? 
 Cooperation in smaller groups is more feasible, followed by 
 natural federation into large protective unions. 
 
 This cooperation, however, must be a cooperation of ideas 
 and of life. Production is for the sake of consumption. 
 Man as a producer is not exploited any more viciously than 
 man as a consumer. In the latter role he is robbed and 
 fooled at every turn, and rarely gets what he wants. Inar- 
 tistic consumption is just as bad as inartistic work. Art for 
 art's sake, or work for work's sake, are both quite mis- 
 leading. The artist and the worker have joy in their work 
 only when they feel that they are producing with and for 
 those with whom they are united in social bonds, and to 
 whom they look for love, admiration, honor. The social 
 organization that workers need is one that definitely 
 includes consumers. 
 
 How this is to be worked out on the large scale of an 
 adult society is not our immediate concern. Helpful be- 
 ginnings, however, are made in various places. Municipali- 
 zation or communization of various economic functions, 
 although far from fully social, have already shown their 
 [240]
 
 MANUAL ARTS 
 
 right to live. But education must not wait till things are 
 already accomplished. That education is comparatively in- 
 effectual which merely imitates the existing state of society, 
 and aims to bring up the young for nothing better than to 
 fit in, more or less exactly, to given conditions. Present 
 conditions are always dying out, and if we begin, ten years 
 before his graduation, to fit a boy for his particular niche, 
 the particular niche may meanwhile disappear. To what an 
 enormous extent has the whole industrial business and pro- 
 fessional world changed in the last few years ! To be practi- 
 cally efficient, education must lead as well as follow. It 
 can never divest itself of the function of assisting in the 
 creation of society. 
 
 The school is, above all, an embryonic community which, 
 although simpler and more generalized, forms the key to 
 the adult community of citizens into which it is to grow. 
 Municipalization and other social aims must be partly 
 worked out in the schools before they can reach any great 
 ethical depth in the community as a whole. To prevent the 
 full realization of the cooperative spirit of the social embryo 
 is to malform and degenerate that which should result from 
 it. Mere intellectual knowledge of civics, customs of vot- 
 ing, etc., will never nourish the soul of youth, unless this 
 knowledge is experimented with and proved to be a power 
 in gaining results actually wished for by the pupils them- 
 selves. For this kind of experimenting there is no better op- 
 portunity than is afforded in manual training and industrial 
 work. Here results are concrete and objective, even to 
 the dullest mind. This we see clearly from the individual 
 standpoint and in application to the mere material worked 
 with. To the social point of view we are strangely blind. 
 [241]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 Children themselves are not so blind in this respect as 
 most of their teachers are for them. When they want to 
 do a thing of any complexity or magnitude, they naturally 
 look for help among their comrades and such adults as they 
 can interest. They size up the fitness of these different in- 
 dividuals with considerable accuracy, and select them to 
 perform different functions in the group which is thus 
 created. If they do not succeed perfectly at first, they 
 learn rapidly by experience. They instinctively rely on the 
 specialists among them, who have shown their capacity in 
 different directions. 
 
 A superficial observer of children's activities is accus- 
 tomed to think that children work and play just to be 
 together, and have no particular interest in what they pro- 
 duce. This is partly true of a certain class of activities, but 
 there are others where the thing produced is the key to the 
 situation. Whoever has seen children building a house, for 
 example, ought to have observed that cooperation and divi- 
 sion of labor, social organization, selection, and leadership 
 were used as means and tools, largely for the sake of the 
 product which all were to enjoy. That such work is not 
 conducted wholly for the product and its future use, but 
 partly for the enjoyment of the process also, is, however, a 
 factor which is most important, and one which would solve 
 many of our labor difficulties if the adult world could be 
 brought to understand and use it. 
 
 The process at work is not simply the exhilaration of 
 physical exercise. It is much more the social touch and 
 comradeship of group activity. It depends upon selection 
 for its effectiveness. A mere heterogeneous crowd will not 
 undertake such work unless compelled. Those who have 
 [242]
 
 MANUAL ARTS 
 
 sufficient mutual liking, confidence, or admiration to enable 
 them to overlook slight disagreements are the only units 
 out of which free social organization can arise. This carries 
 with it the necessity to exclude for the time being (and 
 with all friendliness) others who do not fit in with the 
 genius of the enterprise. The effectiveness of the group 
 is tested, in the first place, by its power to hold itself to- 
 gether. It is, as a consequence of this, that it can produce 
 satisfactory results. 
 
 When children spontaneously organize in this way, why 
 do our manual training schools and manual arts courses fail 
 to recognize and enlarge these truly human and productive 
 powers? To utilize them successfully would help on a 
 twentieth-century renaissance which would far outshine 
 the renaissance of the Middle Ages. To put the whole 
 workman into the work always leads to the most produc- 
 tive ends. To increase the practical understanding of such 
 cooperative work is one of the best services of social educa- 
 tion to the adult community as well as to the young, and 
 as it permeates the whole of society, it will slowly mitigate 
 the present crude and tyrannical practice, where too much 
 work is done without joy, without honor, and without 
 responsibility. 
 
 Let us look at the question for a moment from the phys- 
 iological side. To train the hand as an organ of the indi- 
 vidual brain, to show that the motor regions of the cortex 
 are necessary to vital thinking, is a solid advance for the 
 theory of manual arts, but these considerations are con- 
 cerned at present primarily with individual mechanism, and 
 omit important aspects of this. The special social regions 
 of the brain, the language centers, the directive centers of 
 [243]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 the frontal lobes (if Flechsig's localizations be admitted), 
 are equally important for the individual regarded as a unit, 
 while for the individual regarded as a member of society 
 they are absolutely necessary. It is the brain as a whole 
 that must be trained, and this cannot well be done if the 
 various functions are severally stimulated, first one and 
 then another, but without definitely recognizing their power 
 to associate, a power that can never be gained without a 
 normal and natural social environment. 
 
 Why should this largest and controlling work in brain 
 building be left to chance, to unreasoned pedagogic habit, 
 or to a comfortable hope in the future ? To expect pupils 
 to combine powers in later life which have been separately 
 polished in school is like handing them the parts of a deli- 
 cate machine whose function is unknown, and wondering 
 why they do not put these parts together. The result is 
 that thousands sell single parts to others, who build mis- 
 shapen machines to suit themselves. To teach the pupil 
 to be the bench assembler of his own brain capacities will 
 not prevent, but will necessitate, his dovetailing in his own 
 mechanism to that of others; and to allow him to dovetail 
 socially is the only way of teaching him to assemble indi- 
 vidually. Resourcefulness, initiative, and gumption are 
 social powers, and can never be cultivated alone. Without 
 them mere manual skill is largely wasted. 
 
 In earlier chapters we have already described several 
 cases of self-organized group work as applied to manual 
 training in the schools. In fact, children select work of 
 this kind in much larger proportion than adult-made cur- 
 ricula are usually willing to recognize. If the courses of 
 study were made more largely by children themselves, we 
 [244]
 
 MANUAL ARTS 
 
 should find a great increase of industrial and constructive 
 work immediately appearing in the schools. For this there 
 is both an instinctive and an intellectual reason on their 
 part. Children are more motor-minded than adults, in the 
 sense that they have a more pressing need for the immedi- 
 ate motor realization of their ideas. 
 
 But there is, perhaps, a deeper reason. Children are sur- 
 rounded by a world which they do not understand, and 
 they differ from some adults in that they usually realize 
 this and make attempts to penetrate it. They see around 
 them all kinds of industrial activity, railroading, bridge 
 building, house building, road making, dressmaking, cook- 
 ing, etc. These haunt their imagination. Children cannot 
 look upon them passively until they understand them to 
 the depth that their mental capacity will allow. How is 
 it that a wagon runs, or that a fire is made ? There is no 
 answer to such questions until it comes through the expe- 
 rience of controlling action. The child must experiment to 
 know. In this work the main difficulty that the child strives 
 to overcome is one of synthesis. The various details are 
 seen, but they are intellectually scattered until they are 
 united by actual construction. At the beginning the child's 
 point of view is not to make things exactly like the objects 
 that he sees, and serviceable from our adult standpoint. 
 His production is serviceable to him, if it unites for him in 
 his own mind and in the minds of those on his own level 
 the features in the adult production which he has been 
 able to observe. 
 
 In accordance with this need to synthesize, manual 
 training and the industrial arts begin in the young child's 
 mind as a kind of dramatizing. The nature of this may be 
 [245]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 illustrated by a case which is principally dramatizing, and 
 gives but indications of material construction. A little girl 
 who had just begun to go to school carried a number of 
 buttons in her pocket. There were a number of little 
 smooth white ones and one big black bristly one. These 
 she occasionally took out and arranged to represent the 
 scholars and the teacher in her school, supplying the con- 
 versation and the proper climaxes as she went along. This 
 varied from time to time. There was no single drama. 
 What use were the buttons ? Simply to keep her mind 
 from wandering. When she got through with the cross 
 words of the bristly one and the chain of images connected 
 therewith, she was confronted by the chance of a fatal gap 
 and the possibility of losing the whole thread of her per- 
 formance. But when the little buttons stood patiently 
 ready she could wait with safety for them to remind her 
 of the next step. 
 
 Grown people use similar devices. Train dispatchers 
 frequently provide themselves with models of cars and 
 engines, which they arrange over the floor of a room just 
 as the trains are to be found at any given moment through- 
 out the division. Von Moltke is said to have had, during 
 the war of 1870-1871, a room representing France and 
 Germany, and covered with toy battalions placed exactly 
 as described by the latest dispatches from the field. The 
 handful of buttons is really a simple piece of material 
 construction, and shows the germ of all more elaborate 
 manufacture. 
 
 Indeed, all our complicated industries are but means of 
 enhancing life, and are useful only as they help us to syn- 
 thesize our thought or feeling. With a pen, a table, a book, 
 [246]
 
 MANUAL ARTS 
 
 a chair, proper clothes, and a roof over one's head, feelings 
 and thoughts are less discontinuous, and one's image of 
 life becomes more satisfactory and complete. It is in order 
 to get these results that we take the trouble to reconstruct 
 the material world, and build bridges, railroads, steamboats, 
 houses, looms, and printing presses. Our thoughts and 
 feelings are pragmatically measured by what they accom- 
 plish in yielding us all larger, more consistent, more social, 
 more attractive and lovely thoughts and feelings. Von 
 Moltke was not only dramatizing his toy battalions, he 
 was reconstructing Europe. In the same way the child 
 was attempting to reconstruct her world with her buttons 
 and her drama, and was doubtless succeeding in doing it. 
 
 To recover constructive work for the soul is the only 
 way to make it educative or even practical ; and it is the 
 only way to make it serve the progress of the labor world. 
 No one cares to construct just for the sake of constructing, 
 although it is the curse of uneducated labor to be forced in 
 large measure to do so. Material construction must be felt 
 to be a part of the construction of life in order to give it 
 human value. 
 
 As a step to this human value, dramatizing is a great, if 
 not a necessary, feature. Dramatizing is, after all, only a 
 kind of concrete and creative planning, which prepares the 
 way for real action. It moreover always emphasizes the 
 social aspects of the plan, and often gives an opportunity 
 for other individuals actually to take part. It is natural for 
 children to begin their constructive efforts, as applied to 
 material, within the circle of their social relationships, and 
 to produce either for an actual, or, more frequently, for a 
 dramatized social need. 
 
 [247]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 In working out these schemes children are not usually 
 in a position to have adults make models to help them defi- 
 nitely in the construction which they most wish to under- 
 stand. They must, therefore, make their own. There is, 
 however, a further reason. Children have an immediate 
 desire to construct for themselves. Simple dramatizing, 
 with the weight on personal relationships, begins to develop 
 into an interest in the structure itself. A small child will 
 accept a toy wagon ready-made, and dramatize social rela- 
 tions with it. Later on, he wants to know how it is made, 
 and will prefer to make one for himself. This interest in 
 structure is definitely related to the dramatizing instinct, 
 and is indeed an offshoot of it. In thinking out the struc- 
 ture, the child thinks of its parts as he thinks of the per- 
 sons in a play. The spoke will do this, the axle that, 
 will play this or that part, as our idiom unconsciously 
 expresses it. His need now is to synthesize all these parts 
 and make of them a working whole. Just what are the 
 features that make them work together ? Is it the exact 
 length ? Is it the red paint, or what ? To gain a concep- 
 tion of what a wagon is essentially, he sees that his actors 
 in the drama do not need to be exactly and painfully 
 imitated. Nor, on the other hand, do superficial imi- 
 tations satisfy him. Cardboard wagons, for example, leave 
 out just the essential thing he wants to get, and do not 
 give him the slightest help in real construction, although 
 they may be useful in other kinds of dramatizing. Mere 
 analysis is not sufficient. He may take the wagon to 
 pieces and have no good idea of how to put it together, 
 or even if he succeeds in doing this, he has not learned 
 the essential characteristics of the various parts, and the 
 [248]
 
 MANUAL ARTS 
 
 limits within which they may vary and still accomplish 
 the purpose. 
 
 The thing he wants to do, and needs to do at this stage, 
 is to make a translation of the original wagon which he 
 desires to understand. This requires some resourcefulness, 
 some invention, some imagination. He must choose such 
 material as he thinks will do, and he will naturally lighten 
 his task by omitting the features which are not, in his 
 expectation, quite essential. His mental process is a kind 
 of reasoning, partly inductive and partly deductive. He 
 builds a working hypothesis as to how the wagon works, 
 and proceeds to verify it by making the wagon. 
 
 While dramatizing that involves only persons thus runs 
 into and gives rise to construction of material, it rarely, if 
 ever, does so without retaining a real connection with its 
 offspring, a sort of umbilical cord which feeds the new 
 tendency. The wagon is made not merely for the wagon's 
 sake or in order to understand the method of manufacture, 
 but for a wider purpose of some kind. The child thinks 
 how fine it will be to use it in this way or that. He invents 
 all sorts of situations where the wagon will be the hero of 
 the play. In doing this he constantly has other persons in 
 mind, and this larger drama feeds his ambitions and gives 
 deeper social motive to his work. Many manual training 
 courses cut the umbilical cord and destroy the social motive, 
 though it is encouraging to note that this is becoming less 
 and less the rule. 
 
 In cases where the natural social motive has been 
 removed, the prescribed course of study and the ready- 
 made teacher attempt to substitute some other motive. 
 They say practically to the child, " You must do this work 
 [249]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 because it will be useful to you in your adult life." Unless 
 the child is capable of reflecting on his coming duties as a 
 father of a family and a citizen of the community, he does 
 not get the full force of this counsel. In fact, he gets so 
 little of it that no teacher would ever think of such a motive 
 as self-sustaining. It is, after all, the here and now that 
 gives fundamental and self-sustaining motives to the child. 
 The hope of immortality in the Valhalla of the grown-ups 
 is not sufficient for his needs. No child really desiring to 
 make a wagon has any motive referring to adult life except 
 as a remote accessory to others. The teacher therefore 
 backs this up by the hope of promotion to the next grade, 
 and, as a step to this, perhaps a mark, or, at least, approval 
 for the day. 
 
 This is what the so-called practical teacher does, and 
 having done so, he is supposed to get the child " interested " 
 in his work. Tremendous intellectual contortions are per- 
 formed to show how this may be done, and the outcome is 
 far from satisfactory. A much pleasanter and more effect- 
 ive r61e awaits the teacher who can see that what is needed 
 is to turn the thing around, and half the time, at least, to 
 allow the child to interest him. 
 
 Even where teachers realize that it is good for children 
 to have some use for the things they make, they frequently 
 invent this use for them. Something altruistic, from the 
 teacher's standpoint, is frequently chosen. "Let us all 
 make ironing boards for our mothers, and you can take 
 them home, and your mothers will be so proud of them." 
 Bookcases, paper knives, pencil holders, etc., go to supply 
 an imaginary demand. The child often knows beforehand 
 that there is no real wish for these things. But the high, 
 [250]
 
 MANUAL ARTS 
 
 ethical motive of self-sacrifice does not need to inquire. 
 " Don't tell till you have it all done ; it will be such a 
 surprise." 
 
 Admit cooperation and the production of individual 
 ideas, and we have quite a different state of affairs. The 
 child no longer wastes his work. He takes the consumers 
 into account, and he is likely to be one of the consumers 
 himself. But he is not selfish. He shares his work product, 
 and he looks forward to doing so, although the sharing is 
 largely with those on his own level. Two boys may make 
 a wagon together, or a sled, and reap the advantages of 
 division of labor and rapid execution. In these cases they 
 look forward to a common use, and it is this which guides 
 the production. They produce together because they have 
 confidence enough in each other to think of sharing. But 
 while two boys in a room of fifty may cooperate in this 
 way, it will never happen that two more, and two more, 
 will do so until the fifty are exhausted. Confidence is not 
 so mathematical as that, nor do all happen to want sleds 
 or wagons at the same time. 
 
 If individual interest is to be maintained and a natural 
 ethical spirit developed, production must be organized in 
 relation to consumption. There will be all kinds of pur- 
 poses relating to production and consumption in the minds 
 of fifty children. It is simply a matter of foresight on their 
 part to see what can actually be accomplished. It is at this 
 point that full discussion and estimation of consequences 
 is most valuable. Here the teacher can help through his 
 greater experience. Such discussion is, in reality, a kind 
 of preliminary acting-out, and during its course some of 
 the things* first desired are seen to be unsatisfactory, 
 [251]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 intrinsically or because of the circumstances. The foresight 
 gained by mutual discussion limits the things desired, and 
 leaves over a number of more practicable plans. The dis- 
 cussion also leads to better cooperation. New confidences 
 in one another are awakened by the attitude taken and the 
 knowledge revealed during the planning stage. The case 
 already described (p. 131) where a third and fourth grade 
 united to build a house and to decorate and furnish it 
 shows all these stages in full activity. 
 
 It may be pointed out, however, that such a wide degree 
 of confidence and organizing capacity cannot always happen, 
 nor is it to be expected. Indeed, where the class divides 
 into a number of groups there is frequently a more intense 
 cooperation and a more easily managed kind of organiza- 
 tion. A large variety in the products to be consumed, with 
 the consequent variety in the organizations which produce 
 them, is not lost upon the children. They compare the 
 different products, and borrow good features of group or- 
 ganization from each other. It is difficult to say whether 
 they get most out of the large scheme of organization which 
 definitely involves the whole class, or out of the multiplica- 
 tion of smaller groups. Both are useful where they are 
 real, and have been invented to further real desires of the 
 children themselves. 
 
 Constructive work, manual training, and industrial work, 
 as these are understood in the schools, naturally raise the 
 question of vocational or continuation schools. These already 
 exist for the more favored classes as technical and profes- 
 sional schools, and it is one of the most glaring injustices 
 of our educational system that they are not also provided 
 for those classes of the community which have naturally 
 [252]
 
 MANUAL ARTS 
 
 the most difficulty in making their way in life. The 
 lack of such schools, even on the basis of our present 
 coercive industrial organization, results in enormous waste 
 in production. 
 
 As a recent report of the Massachusetts Industrial 
 Commission shows, the work of boys and girls from four- 
 teen to sixteen years of age is worth so little, and is so 
 poorly paid, that those who work during this period actually 
 earn less before they are twenty, and much less before they 
 are thirty, despite their two extra years of labor, than do 
 those who are better prepared. Although selection of those 
 who are most fit by nature may contribute to this result, it 
 does not seem unreasonable to assume that skill and habits 
 gained by proper preparation play the greater part. Trade 
 schools that succeed most emphatically in raising the wages 
 of their graduates, as in the case of the Manhattan Trade 
 School of New York, sometimes actually select the least 
 promising of those who leave the public schools at fourteen. 
 But the reality and concreteness of the tasks appeal to the 
 children. They are able to see into them as they were not 
 able to see into their previous school work ; and although 
 their experimenting is within narrow lines and too strictly 
 confined to material things, they are able to see the results 
 and to measure them by actual conditions in the labor world. 
 
 Trade schools, however, are only patches joining the 
 ragged garments of our educational and industrial systems. 
 They simply educate the child so that he can be used as a 
 cog in some industrial wheel a thing they can do well be- 
 cause they are close to the wheel. They send out individual 
 parts well enough fitted to prevent them from being thrown 
 into the scrap heap. For this they deserve high honor. 
 [253]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 But the common schools, when they are true to their ideals, 
 have a deeper and more comprehensive task. Their place 
 is to train human beings for citizenship. Although we can- 
 not have good citizens without vocations, neither can we 
 have them without a culture which brings them into con- 
 tact with the broader interests of humanity. The power 
 to organize and to appreciate existing conditions for the 
 worthiest aims, whether for work or play, is the chiefest 
 virtue of a citizen. Merely reading or hearing about such 
 organization will never produce satisfactory results. Habits, 
 insight, and judgment gained from actual experience are 
 the only practicable and progressive educational instru- 
 ments. Pupils must be trained to create society, not to 
 float in it. 
 
 The constructive and manual training courses in our 
 high and common schools should afford the most admira- 
 ble opening for this kind of work. All studies are, of 
 course, to be measured by their value in social service, but 
 direct work with material yields a service which is both 
 simpler and more fundamental than any other kind. The 
 aims and purposes of the worker doubtless come first ; but 
 the complexities of these cannot be developed much beyond 
 the power to execute, without becoming fantastic and ster- 
 ile. Science, literature, art, and philosophy may enlarge our 
 aims, but if, either directly or through the organization of 
 others, they fail to show results in actual, material better- 
 ment, their spiritual significance is lost for this world, 
 whatever may be true of the next. Manual training and 
 industrial work become true cultural subjects on one con- 
 dition, namely, that they be used to give the pupils the 
 power to construct, not models in wood or clay, but their 
 [254]
 
 MANUAL ARTS 
 
 own lives and the lives of those with whom they are 
 united in self-made social bonds. 
 
 With such a training widespread in our schools, we may 
 expect to have steadily growing in the community an ethics 
 founded on work. This, too, will be guided by a conscience 
 which works and which can work, because it will be more 
 largely dependent on actual self-organized contact with 
 fellow-men. Society will become an extension of the 
 school, and the work of social education will be kept up 
 in later life. If purpose groups formed in school are self- 
 sustaining, they will be still more so in maturity. Even 
 now the kinds of association which have been left to self- 
 organization in school and college, although they are of the 
 least spiritual and material significance, show a considerable 
 tendency to go on. Dining clubs, fraternities, and other 
 friendly organizations of fellows project themselves far 
 beyond the school or college, and many are of the opinion 
 that the effects of such associations are the most valuable 
 results of a school or college course. Even when these 
 organizations are considered, as they are in some educa- 
 tional circles, dangerously inimical to the work of the 
 school, it is only further proof of the unwisdom of allow- 
 ing so powerful a force to escape enlistment in the more 
 purely cultural field. When self-organized group work is 
 recognized as the controlling condition of satisfactory work 
 in school, it will be seen to apply even more effectively to 
 adult industry and culture. 
 
 Some such extension of social education is the only hope 
 
 for democracy. On any other lines society breaks up into 
 
 warring camps. The result of this is waste, when it is not 
 
 positive degeneration affecting both industry and education. 
 
 [255]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 As Franz Krauss says, in his study on folk death : " A 
 people which is divided into two such camps can never avoid 
 destruction, since extreme wealth and poverty are condi- 
 tions which oppose the maintenance and development of 
 the folk body. In the one camp there is failure of intelli- 
 gence, because the individual organization is weakened in 
 consequence of frivolous and unwholesome lives lasting 
 through a file of generations, a fact shown by the defi- 
 ciency in organic strength and natural talent. In the 
 other camp also there is failure of intelligence because, 
 although there may be actual constitutional vigor, the 
 means and opportunity are lacking for proper develop- 
 ment. The sentiment of right is numbed and the feeling 
 of solidarity is lacking on both sides, and completes the 
 picture of deep decadence. The results of injustice, coer- 
 cion, exploitation, antagonistic friction, produced within 
 such a folk body, or precipitated by outside oppression, 
 are written in terms of character degeneration and its ac- 
 companiments. Decadence is plainly bound up with mal- 
 formation of social relationships, and this itself is again fed 
 from the injustice which finds its supporters and purveyors 
 within the folk body. In this process education and oppor- 
 tunity play an important part in that they bring to the 
 surface these secret changes in character, which indeed are 
 not plainly seen at once, but which, in the succession of 
 generations, evolve drilled and sharpened, changed and 
 degenerated social types." 
 
 If America is to avoid such a condition of affairs, the 
 schools, long idly complimented as the bulwark of our lib- 
 erties, must be actually organized to produce the intelligent 
 cooperation necessary for their preservation. In early times 
 [256]
 
 MANUAL ARTS 
 
 the American common school contained pupils from all 
 classes of the community, and the contact of the children 
 of both rich and poor produced a fellow feeling not entirely 
 outgrown in later life. To-day private schools for the rich 
 are steadily increasing in number. It is idle to inveigh 
 against this tendency as an evil without looking into the 
 causes for the change. The prime condition is that the 
 rich do not feel that the common school offers the advan- 
 tages and opportunities which they wish their children to 
 have. They do not measure this in mere scholarship, but 
 in life values so far as they understand them. They object 
 not so much to the curricula of the public schools as to 
 the kind of social contact to which their children are 
 exposed. If any one will think himself into the place of 
 these parents, he will find much to justify their course. 
 
 There is, however, one life value germane to the common 
 schools, although rarely practiced therein, which would ap- 
 peal powerfully to the rich, namely, a training in leadership, 
 in social effectiveness, and in honor. The rich who are not 
 degenerates desire to lead in society. They desire, honor- 
 ably enough, to convert a part of their wealth into social 
 power and prestige, and even if this be impossible for them 
 personally, they desire such opportunities for their children. 
 It is not wholly with their approval that they see their off- 
 spring grow up to spend their lives in frivolity, or to expa- 
 triate themselves for mere pleasure. 
 
 If the common schools offered actual experience in lead- 
 ership, and an actual acquaintance with the problems of 
 social organization, there are few parents, however rich, 
 who would not see the value of such a training. Other 
 things being equal, the son of rich parents would have 
 [257]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 an advantage as a leader, although he would need to learn, 
 by actual self-organized contact with others, the limits 
 of this advantage. He is much more likely to find this 
 out in school, where practically all are removed from the 
 severity of economic strain, and where aims and purposes 
 are naturally idealistic, than ever again in later life. He 
 is also more likely to find an opportunity for his leader- 
 ship in a common school than in one for the rich alone. 
 The life of the playground is absolutely inadequate for 
 such a culture. The youngest children in the schools 
 know the difference between self-organized, productive 
 work and mere play, and where there is no cooperative 
 organization in higher concerns play itself tends to revert 
 to brutal and uncultivated forms. The contact of the chil- 
 dren of the favored classes with their less wealthy fellows, 
 in such a way that the advantages of home refinement and 
 material resources obtain the weight that they can naturally 
 command in the presence of ideal interests and in face of 
 the criticisms of an organized group, is not the kind of 
 contact to which the undegenerate rich object. It is need- 
 less to point out that such a truly common school must be 
 presided over by teachers who know both rich and poor, 
 and who are capable of being honored by both. 
 
 In such a school constructive work, manual training, and 
 industrial work would form the foundation of a large part 
 of the activities of the children. To be properly carried 
 out, this requires the best and most expensive equipment. 
 Private resources ought to unite with general public taxes in 
 paying the bills. For much of the self-organized work the 
 pupils themselves ought to be the avenue through which 
 the private support should flow. Our present practice of 
 [258]
 
 MANUAL ARTS 
 
 putting the same book or the same saw into the hands 
 of every pupil, because, forsooth, the schools are to give 
 equal opportunity for all, barely preserves the letter, and 
 omits a great part of the spirit of real cooperation. Pupils 
 should have the opportunity of giving themselves, or of 
 interesting their parents to give, for specific purposes which 
 they wish to carry out in combination with their fellows. 
 On the other hand, means and equipment should not be 
 lavished on those who do not know how to use them, and 
 have no moral purpose in mind. Things that are made 
 should be used in the school, or possibly sold under such 
 regulations as would prevent competition with established 
 industries. It might even be possible for such a school to 
 pay for a certain part of its running expenses. 
 
 Such an attitude on the part of those who support the 
 school would be most socializing and humanizing both for 
 rich and poor. The children of the wealthy would be 
 trained to give, not for charity, but for the carrying out of 
 schemes in which they are interested, and in which they 
 have succeeded in interesting others. The children of the 
 poor would not only learn to respect, but to appreciate and 
 know, the stored human value of wealth, nor would they 
 ever be overloaded with things which they would neither 
 understand nor appreciate, since nothing would develop 
 further than their desires and organized plans could carry 
 them. With such conditions in the social embryo, the 
 adult society which grows from it is not likely to show the 
 extremes of material wealth and poverty which it unfortu- 
 nately reveals to-day. Self-organization would take the 
 place of coercion, and property might be seen to be what 
 it essentially is, a social product and a social good. 
 [259]
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 FINE ART 
 
 Drawing and, in a growing number of cases, painting and 
 modeling are now fully recognized on the ordinary school 
 programme. What can best be done with them is still, 
 however, a subject of debate. Too often they have been 
 regarded as standing alone and affording a kind of relaxa- 
 tion to the more strenuous work of the school ; and too 
 often they have been handed over to outside teachers, or 
 even to those who were not teachers at all. At one period 
 in our history, courses in drawing and "drawing books" 
 were practically dictated by Kensington. Amiable artists, 
 inspired doubtless by ambition for art rather than for the 
 development of pupils, consented to arrange in so-called 
 logical form a series of exercises from straight lines up to 
 historical designs or complicated perspectives, for the small 
 consideration of the royalty on the books. 
 
 The effect on the children was quite disastrous. An 
 experience told by a lady of natural artistic taste, but now 
 entirely unable to draw, will illustrate what Herod was 
 doing among the innocents some twenty years ago. When 
 a little girl this lady was provided, along with the rest of 
 the class, with the usual drawing book : first page, verti- 
 cal lines ; second page, horizontal ; third, oblique ; fourth, 
 simple combinations, leading up through upright oblongs 
 to a gravestone, with little marks for grass around the base. 
 [260]
 
 FINE ART 
 
 " How I worked and slaved for weeks with pencil and 
 rubber," said she, "to get on to that gravestone, the one 
 alluring object within my scope." 
 
 Since those days drawing at least has been "correlated." 1 
 This was the introduction, and the acquaintanceship has 
 been ripening ever since, until now there are few good 
 schools that do not use drawing in more or less intimate 
 connection with many other subjects. It soon began to be 
 seen that one could draw in color, or even use color with- 
 out much drawing. It became plain that mere line was an 
 abstract, and that if crayon or brush were available, the 
 child's imagination, which deals earliest with masses and 
 wholes of things, was capable of expressing itself with in- 
 telligence, rapidity, and force. But drawing in clay is also 
 possible, and plastic work in this medium, simpler and more 
 fundamental than either line drawing or color, was soon 
 added. Kilns were established to burn and glaze the toy 
 dishes, pottery, and figurines, which the children delighted 
 to make. The subject as a whole has been striking its 
 roots not only into other subjects, but back through the 
 minor arts and crafts into life itself. 
 
 A great part of this change was stimulated by the in- 
 terest in child study. The work of Earl Barnes, Herman 
 Lukens, and others on the spontaneous drawings of children 
 revealed the imaginative and constructive features of such 
 drawings, and showed that they were in reality ideographs 
 rather than attempts at objective characterization. It was 
 found that the young child drew much more what he 
 
 1 The work of Dr. J. P. Haney in New York, where art and manual 
 training have been put under one head, is one of the best examples in 
 America of broad and liberal correlation. 
 [261]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 thought than what he saw. He would thus represent in 
 one picture the four sides of a house, or, like the early 
 Greeks, show a full eye in a profile. It was also observed 
 that he liked to portray a succession of events on the same 
 page, and, quite contrary to Leasing' s ancient canon as 
 expounded in the " Laocoon," was accustomed to represent 
 the time element and turn his drawings into a kind of drama. 
 
 Another reason for the change was, doubtless, the devel- 
 opment of art itself. In this, both impressionism and the 
 increased interest in the minor arts have played a part. 
 Impressionism led the teacher who understood it to look 
 for the large and environmental aspects of what was seen, 
 and to tolerate an emphasis which left out much. Such 
 treatment is indeed quite characteristic of children's use of 
 clay, crayon, and color. Although lacking the profound- 
 ness, they begin in the spirit of Rodin and Monet, and 
 naturally omit, because they do not see, what these men 
 artificially repress. The growing prominence of the minor 
 arts, with such leaders as Anning Bell, M. Bailie Scott, 
 Professor Kolaman Moser, and Peter Behrens in their 
 service, have shown the world that a chair, a chain, or 
 an enameled comb may appeal to the imagination with as 
 pure a note as any form of art. 
 
 The tendency of these changes, depending on a more 
 adequate conception of the subject on the one hand and 
 the nature of the children on the other, can be summed up 
 as increasing consciousness of the value of expression. As 
 in other subjects, however, the semi-military or patriarchal 
 organization of the school has led teachers to regard art 
 expression as a matter of the individual rather than of the 
 group or society of which he is a part. Mere expression is 
 [262]
 
 FINE ART 
 
 thus often sought for without its natural conditions. As 
 a result, such expression becomes vague and empty, loses 
 motive, and would die out entirely but for the stimulus of 
 artificial competition and the teacher's demands. One side 
 only of the rights of expression has been duly recognized. 
 The other side, however, is equally important ; for what 
 external reason, or to whom is the expression directed, is an 
 even more controlling element than the ideas and emotions 
 that are supposed to surge within the individual himself. 
 
 The evils of this lack of insight are not so apparent in 
 the lower grades. The reason is that the social reference 
 is really present, although partly concealed. As already 
 indicated, children make dramas of their drawings. Their 
 figures are practically dolls, and are personified for the pur- 
 pose of action. These constructions help them to imagine 
 society, and this is the purpose for which they are made. 
 Such play naturally runs into constructive work in paper 
 and cardboard, which at this stage may properly enough be 
 quite superficial. Even in this work, however, children are 
 too much isolated, and therefore require to take the same 
 "course" and repeat the same model. They would natu- 
 rally undertake, if their motives were recognized, to com- 
 bine with each other and divide their labor, in order to 
 enjoy a larger and more complicated production. When 
 this is done a transition is made from the imagined society 
 of the single player to a real society of his fellows, and this 
 reacts both on his idea and on his expression of it. He 
 must fit in his idea and its expression to the conceptions 
 of others. 
 
 An example of this is seen in the following case. A 
 number of children, from eight to ten years old, were 
 [263]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 accustomed to meet on Saturdays and rainy days in the 
 attic of the house of one of their number. Here they con- 
 tinued from week to week a play based on their reading of 
 Sunday-school books and other sources which had appealed 
 to them. One of the tables in the attic represented Africa. 
 Here were sand and palm trees made of grass and matches. 
 Dolls were cut out of paper and painted black. In another 
 place were the South Sea Islands, with tattooed savages 
 and canoes ; in still another, China. The dolls here were 
 ornately dressed, and tea and rice, obtained from the 
 mothers, lent reality to the scene. London was repre- 
 sented, from which the missionaries, dressed in long black 
 coats, started on their journey in paper ships. Speeches 
 were made, followed by an exercise in rhythmic gymnas- 
 tics (would it not be ?), which represented the long voyage 
 over the very high and swelling waves to the benighted 
 shores of the South Sea Islands. Sermons were delivered 
 to the natives, but .to no purpose ; the missionaries were 
 duly killed and eaten up. During the development of this 
 play they " bothered the life out " of their parents to find 
 out more about Africa and such places, but never thought 
 of asking their teacher, who at this time was drilling them 
 on the boundaries of the states and their capitals. But this 
 was twenty years ago. 
 
 This parable of the attic has many applications, but one 
 is evident here, namely, that concerned with the draw- 
 ing and painting involved, which, indeed, took most of the 
 time in actual preparation for the production. Now sup- 
 pose a teacher should suddenly have been transported to 
 this attic, full of ambition to educate the mind and soul. 
 Would he have rapped for order, put the children in 
 [264]
 
 FINE ART 
 
 checkerboard rows, and directed them what to do ? Would 
 he not have shown wisdom if he had first made sure of 
 what was actually being done ? If his knowledge had been 
 of the right kind, he might have helped this activity in such 
 a way that the children would have welcomed it heartily. 
 Here are the South Sea Islanders. What beautiful designs 
 they used to tattoo on their bodies, and how strikingly they 
 ornamented their canoes ! Chinese art, too, is shown in 
 both the color and form of these magnificent robes. If the 
 teacher does not happen to know such things at the moment, 
 why can't he go and learn ? Libraries and museums may 
 be near, and the children are already pretty well occupied 
 for the day. This case is not so accidental as it seems. 
 Such things could be done in the schoolroom, and with 
 plenty of notice given to the teacher as to what topics it 
 would be wise to prepare. 
 
 Art used in dramatizing doubtless goes further than the 
 primary grades. Even in adult life the connection is strong 
 and vital. A large part of our highest art, our best paint- 
 ing and illustrating, to say nothing of plastic work, scene 
 painting, costuming, and lesser forms, draws sustenance 
 from the stage. In Greek times the drama and sculpture 
 were religious services in their own right, while painting 
 was only accessory. But to-day painting must rise to a 
 direct social value for itself. Like music it must deliver 
 its own message. As an independent form of expression 
 it must appeal immediately to the perceptions of those to 
 whom it is addressed. The painter lends his eyes, and it is 
 quite as important that the borrowers appreciate the favor 
 and know how to use it, as that the eyes of the painter 
 should be trained and developed for this service. 
 [265]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 It is in the lower grades, as already indicated, that the 
 present ideas of teaching art succeed the best ; that is, so 
 long as children are content to mess around with a little 
 drama in the background of their minds, drawing and paint- 
 ing appeal to them most. In the middle and upper grades, 
 just when they should begin to do something more impor- 
 tant, children seem to lose interest in what they are asked 
 to do, and too few of them would continue their work if it 
 were not for the teacher's control. This is a fact which is 
 generally recognized. The cause of it is not so clearly seen. 
 It does not seem likely that this falling off will be wholly 
 remedied by making drawing more dependent on the arts 
 and crafts. There is a real and most important value in 
 art work as an independent culture, and this is one, more- 
 over, which controls all other aesthetic expression appealing 
 to the eye. Teaching ought not to decline upon a lower 
 plane of success, however real, if it is possible to overcome 
 the difficulties of the more arduous task. 
 
 Are these difficulties not largely due to an ignoring of 
 the social aspects of art and a failure to find a natural social 
 environment which the child artist of the middle and upper 
 grades can appeal to, and whose admiration and love he can 
 effectively arouse ? An adult artist aims to cause something 
 in the minds of those who see his pictures. The same feel- 
 ing of being a social cause to the fullest extent of his power 
 must also be permitted to the child. 
 
 At present the social environment of the child artist of 
 the middle and upper grades is too largely adult. Even 
 when his productions are exhibited to the class it is usually 
 done with the purpose of getting from them the kind of 
 criticism the teacher approves of. The practice is simply a 
 [266]
 
 FINE ART 
 
 "method" in the teacher's armory. Left to himself, it is 
 doubtful whether the artist would care to exhibit. Since 
 others are producing the same idea, the result is one of 
 competitive effort rather than of individual cooperation and 
 division of labor. 
 
 But it is not the school alone that makes the child indif- 
 ferent to art at this age. Since he is not protected by a 
 natural child environment for whom he can produce, the 
 adult idea of art, as it exists in the world at large, begins 
 to impinge upon him too soon. He suddenly wakes up to 
 the feeling that, judged by adult standards, he is not able 
 to draw. His early attempts look crude and foolish. , He 
 adopts the genius theory and excuses himself from all fur- 
 ther attempts. The art infant has been prematurely born, 
 and naturally dies. The wrappings and membranes of a child 
 world, that should have protected it and nourished it, have 
 been allowed to become thin, or are even torn off unwit- 
 tingly by the adult-made course of study and the teacher. 
 
 Few fully developed adult artists can look back at the 
 productions of their adolescent years without feeling 'that, 
 owing to the force of illusion, they have been mercifully 
 preserved. If they had known at the time more of what 
 art ought to be, it would have killed rather than stimulated 
 their artistic growth. Hence it happens that many artists 
 come from the country or from regions where in their early 
 years they heard and saw but little of art. The same is true 
 of races. The na'fve beginnings of Greek art would doubt- 
 less have withered away if they had been confronted with 
 the present development of, let us say, the art of Japan. To- 
 day it is a question whether Japanese art, while giving much 
 to our own, will not find itself arrested by the contact. 
 [267]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 Undeveloped races of adults cannot well be protected 
 from other races of adults, but nature has provided other- 
 wise for children. Just as they are protected biologically 
 from sexual strain, and, except where great poverty inter- 
 feres, from economic strain, so should they be protected 
 from every form of social strain. Such protection permits 
 growth and prepares for the proper sexual, economic, and 
 other social functions of maturity. This does not mean ab- 
 solute isolation from the adult world. The forces of growth 
 gradually remove the relative isolation of the beginning, 
 but no step is naturally taken until there is inner power 
 sufficient to cope with the external conditions. The natural 
 means for this protection, as well as for its gradual removal, 
 is self-organized interaction and cooperation among the 
 children themselves. The teacher's function should be to 
 further this activity both on its protective and its disrupt- 
 ive side. 
 
 When this attitude is taken, and the children's own plans 
 for their artistic productions are allowed to lead, invention 
 and individuality appear at once. On the other hand, just 
 because there are others to please as well as the teacher, 
 the teacher himself is able to give more fearless criticism 
 than when his praise or blame determines everything. The 
 rate of progress is more rapid, and the children, being con- 
 scious of a background of social admiration and approval, 
 do not adopt a bias/ attitude towards adult art, but stretch 
 out towards it and strive to understand it, in order to use 
 what they can for their own productions. They are being 
 educated in effectiveness as well as in execution. 
 
 An example of this kind of work, produced towards the 
 end of the year by a group of third-grade children, may 
 [268]
 
 FINE ART 
 
 serve as an illustration. A " Spring Book " group was 
 formed by four or five girls. Each wished to make a book 
 of paintings suggested by the spring, which was just begin- 
 ning. They decided to confine themselves to flowers, and 
 to paint one on each page. One of these books, which I 
 possess, contains ten flowers painted from specimens that 
 had been collected by the members of the group. They 
 painted together and admired each other's work, and were 
 glad to have it seen by others, but they made no special 
 attempt to interest the rest of the class, who were occupied 
 with other things. 
 
 Another illustration from the sixth grade of the Wells 
 School, Boston, in which the children drew pictures for 
 several days in order to get the best arrangement for a 
 series of tableaux which they were preparing, shows some 
 interest in art for its own sake as well as for its service in 
 other aims. 
 
 Let us glance now for a moment at the matter which is 
 expressed, the thought or feeling which is passed from 
 one to the other, and we shall see that here also the 
 social point of view is amply justified. The two cases given 
 above express a content ordinarily accepted as beautiful, 
 passing from an emphasis in color and form in the one case 
 to action and dramatic quality in the other. Certain children 
 are, without doubt, capable of understanding some features 
 of the beautiful as it is ordinarily understood, but it is often 
 overlooked that most children are still more impressed by 
 the grotesque and the comic. In their natural expressions, 
 however, and apart from adult decadent influences, some- 
 times exemplified in the Sunday papers, these are as legiti- 
 mate forms of the beautiful as any other. The grotesque, 
 [269]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 especially, as distinguished from the comic, which is simply 
 a more superficial form of the same feeling, is both deep 
 and penetrating. As Ruskin pointed out, the whole of 
 Gothic art originated in the grotesque. The dragon of 
 China and Japan is a motive which, however decorative, 
 always retains its value as a grotesque. If it is flattered 
 so as to lose its touch of the unnatural and weird, it also 
 loses its hold upon the imagination, and we feel that its 
 place would be better filled by a flower or a bird. 
 
 The grotesque originated in fear, and offers a means for 
 its radiation and control. An example of the operation of 
 these forces may be found in the quaint carvings decorat- 
 ing the old Gothic cathedrals. When Christianity entered 
 Europe it represented a higher love and reverence than the 
 European nations had previously known. The old gods 
 were, however, only slowly displaced. These had obtained 
 a deep hold on the emotions and the imaginations of the 
 people. Even where genuine convictions were established 
 as to the greater nobility, tenderness, intellectual consist- 
 ency, and social power of Christianity, the old gods were 
 still to be reckoned with. They had always been gods of 
 fear, although before the advent of the new religion they 
 had also shown their protective qualities. This protection 
 had now been repudiated, profitably on the whole, but not 
 without the possibility of reprisals. As a result, an under- 
 ground cult of the old gods was still continued. They were 
 turned into fairies, sprites, gnomes, dwarfs, satyrs, devils, 
 powerless under the sign of the cross, or at Christmas time, 
 but still capable of doing a great deal of harm. In many 
 parts of Europe, in Ireland for example, a serious view of 
 these agencies still exists. 
 
 [270]
 
 FINE ART 
 
 Whether from an intellectual plan, or, as is more likely, 
 simply as a result of the logic of the emotions, Christianity 
 showed its wonderful socializing force by taking hold of 
 the more hideous forms and turning them into gargoyles 
 and other grotesques, and making them of service both in 
 the material building of the church and in the spiritual puri- 
 fication of its members. It is to be remembered that these 
 figures are to be found principally, if not always, on the 
 outside of churches. They seem to have been made as hide- 
 ous as possible, but still subject to law, doing some task, 
 never the most honorable, their faces usually downwards, 
 not forming finials, and finally, as another expression of 
 tame submission, considerably conventionalized in design. 
 
 The effect of this upon the beholder is easy to imagine. 
 At first startled with the fearsome figure, the associa- 
 tions representing his imagination of, and half belief in, the 
 old gods thoroughly aroused, the next moment he realizes 
 where he is. The immense pile of the cathedral, repre- 
 senting his new love and reverence, rises powerfully before 
 him. He is saved from his fears, and if they occur again 
 at a distance from the place of sanctity and salvation, he is 
 very likely to remember the experience he has had. He 
 has been provided as in a drama with the reconcilement of 
 a fifth act. 
 
 If the fear has been deep, his feeling becomes one of 
 relief and peace, characteristic of the real grotesque. If, 
 however, the fear aroused is somewhat slighter, a sense 
 of comic humor is awakened and he may smile or laugh, 
 especially if he finds himself with companions whose pres- 
 ence both weakens his fears and strengthens his assurance 
 of sympathy. This latter attitude is probably the only one 
 [271]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 which men of the present generation are capable of feeling, 
 and even our sense of the comic in these figures is not 
 strong without some realization of the historic past in 
 which they are placed. 
 
 The grotesque is, on the whole, an embryonic form of 
 art, appearing in races at the beginning of civilization. It 
 expresses strong and primitive feelings, and sometimes the 
 deepest convictions. It may be executed with the simplest 
 means, and although capable of high technique, is not sub- 
 merged by the lack of it. It is a combination of similar 
 elements that makes children's drawings also naturally 
 grotesque, although the particular themes dealt with are 
 not identical with those of primitive adults. Unfortunately 
 the usual courses of study made by adults tend to kill out 
 this form of childish expression by insisting on a content 
 of thought and feeling concerned with the beautiful as 
 ordinarily and too narrowly understood. 
 
 Some years ago the present writer made an attempt to 
 get back of the usual course of study and see whether 
 children had any fears which they could naturally express 
 by means of art in school. After being started by the 
 teacher, who told what he used to be afraid of, the chil- 
 dren were ready enough to describe what troubled them. 
 Doing this to their comrades in broad daylight, with laugh- 
 ter and sympathy, was itself, although a little exciting, an 
 experience which gave courage, confidence, and consolation. 
 As Aristotle said, we make war in order to have peace, 
 and have fear in order to love. Later on, the teacher asked 
 those who remembered things they were afraid of, which 
 could not well be described in words, to draw or paint 
 them. This was done gladly, and the children showed 
 [272]
 
 FINE ART 
 
 them to each other, often with great humor and much 
 laughter. The drawings made from the second to the 
 eighth grades represented snakes, ghosts, burning houses, 
 runaways, horses, elephants, bears, murders, pursuits, bur- 
 glars, dark rooms, falling from cliffs and high buildings, 
 and horrible things which the artist saw but could not 
 name. There was no doubt of the reality of the experi- 
 ence, but the most interesting feature of the experiment 
 was the vigor of the artistic treatment. Economy of effort 
 was marked throughout. Everything was done with "two 
 dots and a dash," as modern art requires. 
 
 A word may be said in conclusion as to the development 
 of art and its social significance in the higher grades and 
 in the life of the ordinary citizen. In order that the indi- 
 vidual be trained to the appreciation of the highest adult 
 art, it is of course necessary that he rise beyond the point 
 of view of the grotesque or comic and enter into the under- 
 standing and enjoyment of the beautiful as such, or in its 
 finer and more restricted sense. The age at which this 
 begins to be possible is probably not before the beginning 
 of adolescence. There seems to be good reason for believ- 
 ing that art is in reality a radiation of sexual emotion which 
 it serves at once to stimulate, to purify, and to control. If 
 this is so, it is in the upper grades and in the high school 
 that the taste for the characteristically beautiful ought to 
 make its appearance, and it is beyond this period that it 
 ought to produce its greatest effects. 
 
 It is quite apparent, even to ordinary observation, that 
 
 the great symbols of beauty do not appeal to little children. 
 
 They would rather play in the sea than gaze at it, rather 
 
 count the stars than wonder at their majesty. Children 
 
 [273]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 miss the tenderness of landscape. They see the dawn, but 
 not its blush. Their blood does not sing with " the color of 
 rain and riot in the woods." The romantic and the passion- 
 ate as well as the austerely beautiful, the vibration of deep 
 feeling, or the ecstasy of a quiet dream which stills emotion 
 because it rises out of it, finds no response within their 
 souls. The reason of this is obvious. The master passion 
 of love, which gives tone to all these other varieties of 
 feeling, is not yet awakened within them. 
 
 Among the first signs of a real appreciation of the beau- 
 tiful is the special interest that boys and girls begin to take 
 in their personal appearance and adornment. This is quite 
 different from the desire to be merely clean or neat, which 
 may be inculcated at an earlier age or even be quite want- 
 ing. A child may despise another who is dirty and be proud 
 of its own superior condition, but not until it approaches 
 puberty does it use its cleanliness or other qualities for the 
 purpose of attracting and capturing the admiration of others 
 of its own age, especially those of the opposite sex. When 
 this time comes, mere neatness or cleanliness is not regarded 
 as a sufficient means of expression. Something much more 
 unique and individual is felt to be necessary something, 
 indeed, which draws attention to and enhances the phys- 
 ical or psychic perfection of the individual or conceals 
 or disguises what is supposed to be deficient. A bright 
 ribbon or a necktie, an open laugh if the teeth be good, 
 smiles if a dimple shows, rings if the hands are fine, poses, 
 ways of walking, witty remarks, fine phrases, well-toned 
 modulations, and all kinds of actions and stage properties 
 which display or show off personal charms, are in constant 
 use. It is quite evident to any observer that it is not the 
 [274]
 
 FINE ART 
 
 opinion or approval of older people which is sought for. 
 The effect that the individual aims at is the admiration of 
 persons about the same age of the opposite sex, and the 
 defeat or outclassing of rivals of his own. This latter 
 motive in the earlier stages may overshadow the primary 
 one, and by arrest of development become a prominent 
 feature throughout life. It is, however, based upon the sex- 
 ual emotion. As the males of the passerine birds arrive 
 at the nesting places days in advance of the females, and 
 spend their time in singing or other rivalry, so both boys 
 and girls often prefer to separate for the unavowed and 
 partly unconscious purpose of showing off, or practicing 
 and perfecting their powers without the immediate pres- 
 ence of members of the opposite sex. These, however, it is 
 safe to say, are not far from either their thoughts or their 
 feelings. 
 
 The result of this courting play, it will readily be seen, 
 is to produce a sharper appreciation of certain rather crude 
 but important and fundamental manifestations of the beau- 
 tiful. This appreciation is not merely passive, but primarily 
 creative. To decorate one's self properly and to display one's 
 charms and powers is a work of art. Until the person cre- 
 ates for himself, he does not well understand the creation 
 of others. Just as the grotesque is a radiation of childish 
 fear, so this art of personal display is a radiation of love. 
 
 It is quite evident that at this stage a higher form of art 
 landscape, for example would be wasted on the youth. 
 Not until his longings are more mature does he care for 
 the moonlight night, in which he may wander, lovelorn, or 
 happy with his sweetheart, or in which his thoughts may 
 wander with equal mystery and much the same background 
 [275]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 of emotion. The lonely sea, the majestic mountain, the 
 woods and fields are not till later suitable symbols for his 
 feelings ; nor do they ever become so until he finds in them 
 an echo of the deepest sentiments of his life. Although at 
 this later stage he may not set down on canvas the record 
 or analysis of his aesthetic feeling, he really creates a work 
 of art, and paints a landscape suffused with emotion in the 
 depths of his soul. Until he does so he can never under- 
 stand, because he cannot feel the works of art produced 
 by others. 
 
 That children may occasionally look at pictures by great 
 masters is no proof of any adequate appreciation. They 
 look at these pictures as they look at anything else : 
 "There are three cows," "Here is a man and he is chop- 
 ping wood," "That is the sun; it is going down." Some 
 information, perhaps, may be gained, but there is hardly 
 the slightest touch of aesthetic feeling. In this they are 
 quite like a great many grown-up people, and perhaps like 
 some of their teachers. The use of cheap reproductions, 
 with which our primary schools are beginning to be filled, 
 is no indication that art or a feeling for the beautiful is 
 thereby advanced to any considerable extent. 
 
 From the seventh grade up, it is, however, quite reason- 
 able to expect that if principles of decoration were taught 
 in a sufficiently concrete manner, and as applied to per- 
 sonal adornment and household stage property, there would 
 be real appreciation on the part of the young. It is equally 
 reasonable to expect that there would be, under these con- 
 ditions, a real development of their conceptions of art and 
 the beautiful, and one that would lead them to a higher 
 stage, such as is involved in an understanding of painting 
 [276]
 
 FINE ART 
 
 and the related graphic and plastic arts. The principles of 
 form and color apply to a hat or a gown as well as to a 
 piece of colored canvas in a gold frame. 
 
 The social implications of such a point of departure are 
 quite obvious. First, as concerns the ideas dealt with. A 
 study of the different ways in which human beings living 
 at the present time and in past ages have satisfied their 
 need of adornment would lead to a study of the costumes 
 of different nations and an examination of smaller objects 
 of art, such as rings, brooches, pins, etc., and the artistic 
 processes which have produced them. A study of the fab- 
 rics which people use in clothing would be of the great- 
 est social significance. The help of some science or labora- 
 tory work would probably be appreciated. How much 
 wool and how much cotton is there in a piece of cloth, is 
 an important question for the purpose of the best adorn- 
 ment, and a knowledge of how to apply a suitable test 
 would have excellent economic results in the control of the 
 supply of inferior goods frequently offered in the market. 
 Such a simple test as boiling in caustic potash is within the 
 means of every one. 
 
 Secondly, in working out such ideas, cooperative and 
 productive effort on the part of the students would be 
 easily obtained. As a simple illustration of this I may cite 
 the work of a group in the Girls' English High School, 
 Boston, in a class in literature under Miss Elizabeth M. 
 Richardson. This group made a study of Elizabethan man- 
 ners and customs to present to the class, and, in order to 
 express part of their ideas, dressed five dolls most charm- 
 ingly in the costumes of the period. In doing this, they 
 followed Dion Clayton Calthrop's work on the history of 
 [277]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 English costume. Although the dressing of the dolls was 
 done under the title of English, it is quite plain that it is 
 also art work, and surely no one will be disappointed to 
 find such work so closely correlated, and capable of service 
 in other fields (l). 
 
 The further education in art, which should come after 
 pupils leave the school, is at present conspicuous by its 
 absence. This is particularly true of the arts which appeal 
 to the eye. The art museums attempt in some places to 
 do something for the public, but for the most part effect 
 practically nothing, except for the specialist. The higher 
 stages of art seem to have moved almost entirely outside of 
 the range of the people, who content themselves with char- 
 acterless photographs of living friends, air-brush crayon 
 portraits of dead ones, cheap representations hung upon 
 the wall and never looked at, to say nothing of the vulgar- 
 ity and lack of composition of the objects of furniture 
 which encumber and disfigure the ordinary home. The 
 peasant life of Europe may have been bitterly wanting in 
 fundamental necessities of life, but it was not so poverty- 
 stricken and squalid in matters of taste. 
 
 The failure of the sense of the beautiful is already hav- 
 ing serious social and economic results. It is at the bottom 
 of a considerable part of our industrial difficulties. Manu- 
 facturers supply a demand. But when the demand is undis- 
 criminating, childish, and about as well satisfied with the 
 ugly, vulgar, and merely costly as with the truly beautiful, 
 the supply begins to control the demand, and manufactur- 
 ers, like glass-bead traders among savages, are able to dic- 
 tate the situation and twist the market more and more to 
 suit themselves. Trash is sold at high prices, while, quite 
 [278]
 
 FINE ART 
 
 often, better goods are overlooked. This reacts upon the 
 laborers themselves. Since the demand is not discriminat- 
 ing, goods can be produced by unintelligent help, who are 
 poorly paid, massed in battalions under the eye of a task- 
 master, and more interested in their wage than in their work. 
 
 The only way to check this tendency is to educate the 
 people, in a self -organized and cooperative manner, to pro- 
 duce the beautiful for themselves. This will not only partly 
 supply the market and give interesting and lucrative occu- 
 pations for dangerously unoccupied hours, but will raise 
 the general standard of taste and improve the production 
 of the country as a whole. If the art museum is to help 
 effectively in this effort, it must be turned into an institu- 
 tion even more thoroughly social than the excellent public 
 libraries of our towns and cities. It must drop its sphinx- 
 like attitude and bring itself down to the actual lives of the 
 people. It must answer their questions as to the beautiful 
 in their homes, the clothing they wear, the houses they 
 would build or rent. It must devote more space to the 
 minor arts, and particularly to the cultivation of those arts 
 like needlework, lacemaking, pottery, carving, etc., which 
 the people can pursue at home. It should provide local ex- 
 hibitions, kilns for firing pottery, and lectures for explain- 
 ing the beauties of ancient and modern masterpieces. 
 
 Unless some such effort is made, there is danger not 
 only of losing the sense of the beautiful, but of falling 
 behind as a nation in the markets of the world. Success 
 in husbanding and promoting our artistic resources would, 
 on the other hand, lead to a happier as well as to a pro- 
 founder social life. Many of our moral and religious ques- 
 tions would receive a better answer. Manners and customs 
 [279]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 would be more refined, amusements less coarse and shallow. 
 Sanitary and hygienic needs would press more strongly 
 upon us. Art and the sense of the beautiful is by no means 
 a mere luxury, but a necessity for our most effective social 
 and personal development. Like a crown of harmony be- 
 tokening real command over subordinate powers, the angel 
 of life holds this blessing above our heads, waiting for us 
 to recognize our birthright as a civilized nation and a truly 
 social people. 
 
 REFERENCE. 1. Elizabeth M. Richardson, Social Education Quar- 
 terly, Vol. II, No. I. 
 
 [280]
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 THE EDUCATION OF THE CONSCIENCE 
 
 The education of the conscience means the teaching 
 of practical as distinguished from theoretical ethics. Like 
 other teaching it implies learning on the part of pupils. 
 The learning, in this case at least, must be learning to do. 
 But doing is already started and in full swing before learn- 
 ing is possible. The problem of teaching (and of learning) 
 the best conduct must therefore begin with what is going 
 on habitually or instinctively, and must attempt to develop 
 out of this something better. The individual must learn that 
 he is to be held responsible for his acts, that he must gradu- 
 ally rise above instinctive or impulsive conduct, must study 
 and criticise the effects of what he does, and control his 
 life to the fullest extent that his intelligence will permit. 
 He must feel that either singly or in combination with 
 others he is a cause of what happens. 
 
 In many and to some extent in all instances in life we 
 are causes without realizing it at the time. A great part of 
 the tragedy of existence arises from this fact. We do 
 things without knowing or being able to know their full 
 consequences, and yet we feel impelled to stand by these 
 acts, and to assume that because they were ours we are 
 responsible for their outcome. This is really the essence of 
 courage, and life would break down without some such 
 attitude. In fact, if we attempt to eliminate from ourselves 
 [281]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 all responsibility for consequences except those which we 
 had fully foreseen, there would be very little of us left. 
 Although it is an assumption, and quite monstrous from a 
 purely intellectual standpoint, yet it is one which all of us 
 who are not morally imbecile, spontaneously and naturally 
 accept. And it is only after we have staked ourselves on 
 the issue that we begin to bolster up our conviction by 
 appeals to reason. We say that we accept this or that re- 
 sponsibility because we were the unwitting cause, whereas 
 we really see and admit our causal action (without much 
 foundation so far as our purely individual life is concerned) 
 because we have already assumed the responsibility. The 
 glory of such conduct does not arise out of the apparent 
 premises. It comes rather from the fact that in the moment 
 of expansion when the individual accepts the action and 
 calls it his own, he is really then a cause, and feels the joy 
 of being so, but, by a kind of mirage, projects the event to 
 some past period which has at least the convenience of 
 being easily objectified. That this is the truth seems plain 
 when we consider that we can never rest in any portion of 
 the past. If my action at a previous time is the cause of 
 what is now happening, what was the cause of that action 
 then ? And so on, till, with modern ideas of heredity, we 
 are far beyond the confines of the individual, or even of 
 the human race. 
 
 It thus appears that the "imperatives" of which we are 
 conscious are the result of our own selection. They are 
 revealed to us in the clash of actual living. If we reject 
 them, we can always find seemingly satisfactory reasons 
 for doing so. If we admit them, we can also make them 
 appear to be reasonable. In reality these imperatives are 
 [282]
 
 THE EDUCATION OF THE CONSCIENCE 
 
 simply guides for experience. We treat them as working 
 hypotheses, which are to be justified by the verifications 
 of facts of conduct of which we regard ourselves as the 
 cause. We make these hypotheses come true by the acts 
 which we perform. 
 
 But if we select our duties, we no sooner do so than we 
 feel that all the circumstances of the world are powerless 
 in the face of them. We may sacrifice happiness or life to 
 maintain them. Even if we fail to produce the facts they 
 call for, the original selections still remain, each of them 
 a monarch, without an empire, but not without a crown. 
 Nothing can shake them except a flaw in the title, followed 
 by a further and broader selection of new duties involving 
 still greater assumption of responsibility and a more pro- 
 found and expansive feeling of causality. Indeed, we are 
 not able to see the flaws in the duties we have already 
 selected, except in the light of the larger duties to which 
 they cede. 
 
 It is plain that the child, as he grows to maturity, passes 
 through stages of moral development in which he arrives at 
 a gradually increasing consciousness of the reality of per- 
 sonal causation. At first he is surrounded in the family by 
 stimuli to action which affect him by way of unconscious 
 imitation. A large part of this is without the incitement of 
 words, and is quite like what occurs in the education of any 
 young animal. The chick learns to peck partly through the 
 stimulus of seeing its mother do so. The child runs, puts 
 out its hand, laughs and cries when others are doing the 
 same thing. It is not that he chooses to do these things 
 he cannot help doing them. The stimulus drives through 
 his organism and sets him going. Later on, words have a 
 [283]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 similar effect. By creating a motor image composed of 
 activities already used, by picturing another, or himself re- 
 garded as another, as doing certain things, the imitative 
 action follows automatically. At any part in this process, 
 however, the feeling of being a cause may arise. He may 
 observe the effects that are being produced, and may either 
 experience an inward joy as he sees the meaning of his 
 action, or may arrest it as unsatisfactory. 
 
 While the first fact about conscience is the feeling of 
 causation, the content and direction of the action and the 
 particular effects aimed at are always the result of social 
 environment, modified by the creative imagination of the 
 individual agent. If we look at conscience functionally or in 
 action, it is experimental, pragmatic, and a question of the 
 sense of individual effectiveness. If we look at it statically, 
 either as the ground or as the imaged aim of the action, it 
 is always a state of society which we have in mind. We 
 are surrounded and controlled by a great cloud of witnesses, 
 actual friends and neighbors, opponents and enemies, past 
 saviors and heroes of the race, the future wife or husband, 
 the unborn child, or the Great Companion, God a brother- 
 hood and fatherhood and childhood for whose sake and by 
 whose tragic or inspiring example we live and act. 
 
 To develop an imaged assembly of persons in an indi- 
 vidual is the work of education. For this the first thing 
 that is necessary is actual primary contact with other indi- 
 viduals. It is from this contact as a basis that we build up 
 our images and ideals. But what other individuals ? Shall 
 we select them, if possible, so that their manners shall be 
 perfect, their morals irreproachable ? Shall we fill the mind 
 with perfect pictures, pure Sir Galahads ? Would heaven 
 [284]
 
 THE EDUCATION OF THE CONSCIENCE 
 
 be a good place for the purpose of education and develop- 
 ment ? If moral training were simply a matter of uncon- 
 scious imitation, there is no doubt that such a plan would 
 be the most efficacious, but when we remember that it is 
 primarily a matter of the feeling of being a cause, it is plain 
 that something more is requisite. Some opportunity, and 
 the greatest opportunity he is capable of using, must be 
 found for the individual to accomplish results in social 
 causation. Sir Galahad, the flawless teacher, or the care- 
 fully chosen circle of companions, do not call very poignantly 
 for assistance. And even if we take them as examples, we 
 must find some field to carry these examples into practice. 
 If we are to obtain an imaged assembly of persons that we 
 care for, we must do these persons some service. While 
 part of this service may not be appreciated, or may even be 
 objected to at the time, it is surely reasonable to think that 
 by far the greater bulk of it should be welcomed and hon- 
 ored. If we are to do unto others as we would have them 
 do to us, a return of honor, if not of other service, is as 
 unavoidable as action and reaction in the law of gravitation. 
 
 Even if we say that our first business is to reform our- 
 selves, the purpose of making ourselves better is narrow, 
 unethical, and devoid of causal feeling, if we have not also 
 in mind the service that this improvement will be to others. 
 As a matter of practical experience, it is always for some 
 loved person's sake that we hold ourselves together, resist 
 temptation, or scale the heights of heaven. What would 
 they do, or what would they think of us if we fell, is the 
 question which fortifies us. 
 
 On the other hand, to work upon ourselves is heartless 
 work, if some one else is not helping us in the effort. If 
 [285]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 some one else does not feel an interest in our being better 
 and stronger, does not long to have us so, and does not 
 admire and honor us for the good that is already in us and 
 the service we have already performed, there is little like- 
 lihood that we shall ever improve. It is isolation that 
 is hell. 
 
 It is thus not the receptive attitude, but the active 
 outstreaming of initiative and leadership, which, as distin- 
 guished from its basis in social habit and custom, is the 
 starting point of all personal morality. We give in this 
 sphere before we can get. To give is not only more blessed, 
 but more necessary than to receive. We do first and under- 
 stand afterwards, and by virtue of the return that comes 
 to us from those we serve. This return of honor, more- 
 over, is a part and measure of the action, whether it be 
 honor received from those above us, from those on a simi- 
 lar level, or from those below us. 
 
 The first of these is the easiest to strive for. Humanity 
 is almost instinctively ready to oblige, to serve, and to re- 
 ceive honor from those really felt to be on a higher level. 
 It is more difficult to deserve and receive honor, in the 
 sense of feeling its value, from those on the same level or 
 those below us. But it is at the same time more necessary 
 for democracy and for the school. When those who are 
 looked up to by others receive a service without returning 
 honor and admiration, or give a service and feel too indiffer- 
 ent or unwilling to receive and actually treasure its natural 
 return, they are meanly and proudly attempting a fraud upon 
 human nature. If the good Samaritan cared nothing for the 
 feelings that would be awakened in the traveler to Jericho, 
 but was only serving God, he missed the point. 
 [286]
 
 THE EDUCATION OF THE CONSCIENCE 
 
 The feeling of being a cause is weakened and diminished, 
 if it does not extend to the back effects of the causal action 
 upon self as well as to its direct effect upon others. The 
 chain of social causation may be broken at this link as well 
 as at another. As in simple muscular action, the muscular 
 sense itself is as necessary to guide the finger or the limb 
 as its contact with an external object. So in the higher 
 ranges of action, the feeling of honor, the morally kinaes- 
 thetic element, reveals itself as necessary to the best ad- 
 justment and the most effective conduct. And yet there 
 seems to be a class of moral paralytics whose defect is not 
 so much that they do what is overtly wrong, as that they 
 are insensitive to the joy of honor feeling, and thereby 
 impair their own power of social contact. They attempt 
 austerely and ascetically to insulate themselves, and conse- 
 quently fail to get the stimulating impression on their own 
 hearts of the true personality of others. Honor becomes in 
 their minds something purely subjective, for which they are 
 indebted to no one. They sometimes say that they act 
 from principle, and not for any return. But the content of 
 this principle is an idea of their own, a fragment of self, 
 which is not simply a working hypothesis, but is regarded, 
 as well as the principle, as a priori and eternal. As George 
 Meredith is never tired of showing in his novels, they love 
 their idea of Love better than they love their lovers. 
 
 But it is not only cold egoism which tends to weaken 
 the range and depth of moral causation. Our imaged as- 
 sembly of persons suffers as much from the refusal to give 
 honor as the inability to receive it. When we compare the 
 image of self with that of another, and find a discrepancy 
 against us, there are two ways of leveling up. We may 
 [287]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 admit the conduct or virtue that we have observed. To do 
 this is to enlarge ourselves. Or we may, on the other hand, 
 attempt to reduce the discrepancy by minimizing the value 
 of what we observe. In this case we contract our image of 
 the other, and really diminish our own resources and our- 
 selves. This is envy, and must be distinguished from the 
 just and discriminating criticism which aims to give the 
 truth without flattery on the one hand or depreciation on 
 the other. 
 
 Condemnation or blame is another important phase of 
 the psychology of honor. It cannot be said that justifiable 
 blame is useless in society ; but it is probably, to a large 
 extent, a reversion to the instincts of the tribe. Here the 
 criminal was made the scapegoat, and the rest of the tribe 
 were educated in solidarity and protected against the future 
 commission of the particular crime by the powerful social 
 awakening of horror which its condemnation in the person 
 of the criminal involved. To reclaim the criminal himself 
 was never a part of the intention. 
 
 To-day, with the development of a higher, more individu- 
 alized social solidarity, the instinct to condemn, in slighter 
 offenses at least, is nearly always accompanied or quickly 
 followed by a feeling of the individual worth of the offender. 
 But we often try to drive the two opposite tendencies in 
 the same direction. We say we blame for the good of the 
 person blamed. Does this ever go farther than words ? Is 
 there not always a subtle loading off of our own responsi- 
 bility ? Not until we feel our own human solidarity suffi- 
 ciently to be able to blame ourselves at the same time and 
 for the same offense, although we may not have committed 
 it in detail, do we win the right to issue blame that is truly 
 [288]
 
 THE EDUCATION OF THE CONSCIENCE 
 
 cooperative. Judge not unless we are also judged. It is 
 not so much a question of the mote in the eye of one, and 
 a different kind of beam in that of the other ; the beam is 
 quite likely to be a piece of the same stuff as the mote. It 
 may be, however, that even yet some people need the privi- 
 lege of being allowed to blame others in order to protect 
 and fortify themselves. The fairly general use of the term 
 "force of public opinion," to cover cases of repression 
 rather than of encouragement, would seem to indicate such 
 a need. 
 
 The service that is appreciated by others is quite fre- 
 quently of an apparently insignificant character, but if it 
 is timely, based on a true image of the other person, and 
 delicately adjusted to his actual needs, it may go further 
 in social causation than more heroic efforts. In real causa- 
 tion nothing is stereotyped and nothing occurs again. The 
 situation calling for our activity is always a new one, in- 
 volving different persons and untried possibilities. Our idea 
 of how to act must therefore always be an hypothesis, and 
 our action an experiment. If a cup of cold water is the 
 thing to-day, it will be something else to-morrow. When 
 we become mere repeaters, we have fallen below the level 
 of free organization and effective causality which is our 
 privilege and joy. We can never adapt our services effect- 
 ively to another by merely imitating good examples or fol- 
 lowing excellent prescriptions. Originality and invention, 
 based on a clear image of the actual personality of the 
 other, is a necessity of successful moral conduct. 
 
 When we serve another we build up our own conscience 
 because we improve our understanding of the other, and at 
 the same time we increase our own causality by liberating 
 [289]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 causal forces in another individual. Every moral act either 
 removes hindrances to accomplishment or directly liber- 
 ates energy in some one else. To enable some other person 
 to feel that he is a greater and more effective cause and 
 can better carry out the aims and purposes that he desires, 
 is a necessary feature of all service. Moral conduct, as 
 already suggested, is concerned not only with the heroic 
 part of life, but with it all. The individuals to be served 
 do not usually need to be heroes, and do not often desire 
 to be ; but there is nearly always some point at which they 
 wish to be more effective, although it may be nothing more 
 than to earn a livelihood or to get a better job. Lyman 
 Abbott goes so far as to recommend that the man who is 
 already doing well in life should hand over to others as 
 much work as he can, and search for new labor himself. 
 Let him get some one else to tend the furnace or clear the 
 sidewalk, while he finds something more productive and 
 more difficult to do for himself. Finding suitable work for 
 other people, planning that others may plan, is particularly 
 the teacher's art, and we shall never be a truly moral com- 
 munity until, to this extent, we are all teachers. The care 
 and the culture of men is the background of all the com- 
 mandments. 
 
 How simple the point of application often is may be 
 illustrated by a case drawn from the school. A boy who 
 had been dismissed from six different schools, one after the 
 other, and received into a seventh, was sent by the teacher 
 of his grade to the child-study specialist attached to the 
 school, to see if he could give any advice. The boy was 
 reported as generally troublesome and disobedient, and he 
 was, at fourteen years of age, three years behind his grade. 
 [290]
 
 THE EDUCATION OF THE CONSCIENCE 
 
 Physical examinations showed no defect of sight or irregu- 
 larity of hearing. He was a stout, ruddy, apparently healthy 
 boy. He was, however, several inches below the normal 
 height for his age, his arms were abnormally long and 
 of considerably uneven length, the skull was much larger 
 on the left side than on the right, and the bones of the 
 face were also irregular. These indications led the special- 
 ist to inquire through the teacher as to heredity, and it was 
 found that grandfathers on both sides had been epileptics. 
 The father was a hard drinker and very quarrelsome. The 
 boy also, although generally good-humored, was known to 
 be violent when provoked. The specialist observed the boy 
 also in class, and noticed a series of little actions, like clap- 
 ping out of time when the class was singing, frequently 
 dropping things on the floor, stumbling, etc., which did not 
 seem to be done out of malice, although they were not 
 apologized for when they occurred. It was from accidents 
 of this kind that nearly all the trouble had arisen. 
 
 At another interview the specialist found that the boy was 
 very anxious to be a good baseball player, but that he had 
 had little success in the game. The lad said he didn't know 
 what was the matter, but he always seemed to miss the 
 ball just as he thought he was going to catch it, and that 
 he was little better at the bat. At this point an hypoth- 
 esis came into the mind of the specialist. Said he, " It 
 seems to me that you are like a horse that breaks." (The 
 boy had previously shown a large knowledge of race horses, 
 due to the fact that his father worked with them.) " What 
 do you do with a horse that breaks his trot ? Do you whip 
 him ? " The boy said : " No not if it is serious. We 
 generally put him in the stable for a few days and take 
 [291]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 care of him." The specialist replied : " I have an idea. I 
 believe we can help you both to get on at baseball and in 
 school. When you go back to your room, take some part 
 of your body, say your right hand, and place it somewhere, 
 on your desk, in your pocket, or anywhere else. Look at 
 the clock and decide on the length of time you can keep 
 your hand in that position without moving it. But every 
 time you ' break,' put the record down, and bring me the 
 number of times you have succeeded and the number of 
 times you have failed. Of course, if the teacher asks you 
 to do anything during the period, that will be understood 
 to be no break, and meanwhile we will say nothing to the 
 teacher or anybody else about it." 
 
 " That's easy," said the boy ; " I could do that for half an 
 hour at a time." 
 
 "Better not try more than fifteen minutes," said the 
 specialist. 
 
 The first day, even at this rate, was filled with failures, 
 and five minutes was tried. This he succeeded with, and 
 after two or three days took ten minutes. He kept increas- 
 ing the time for about a month, and thought himself that 
 it had a good effect on his steadiness in baseball. At least, 
 he was gaining for some reason. The teacher, who was 
 told nothing of the arrangement until some time later, 
 was delighted with the improvement in the boy's conduct. 
 "Did you give him a talking to? " she asked. On the con- 
 trary, as the reader sees, the real secret was cooperative 
 planning between the boy and the specialist. 
 
 Conscience, as the origin of the word suggests, is a sort 
 of knowing together. Its law is that of love and honor. It 
 expects others to treat us as they would treat themselves. 
 [292]
 
 THE EDUCATION OF THE CONSCIENCE 
 
 It commands us to do to others as we would have them do 
 to us. This, as Henry D. Lloyd expresses it, is the law of 
 social gravitation to which every act is forced to be obe- 
 dient. Our conduct and our images of conduct tumble to 
 pieces like badly constructed buildings when we ignore 
 it. The law of love in conduct, however, like the law of 
 gravitation in building, does not actually invent the con- 
 structions that will survive. It only tests them after they 
 have been invented. The estimate of how others should 
 do unto us varies with every generation and every state of 
 society. Certain savages, for instance, would rather be 
 killed and eaten by their relatives than be buried in the 
 ground and perhaps be dug up afterwards by wild beasts. 
 While the law is constant, the acts governed by the law are 
 as widely opposed as the primitive hut and the New York 
 skyscraper. Images of conduct different from what is cus- 
 tomary must therefore be entertained. We cannot strangle 
 them in the cradle. They must be developed, expressed to 
 others, and even acted out to some extent before they can 
 be judged either by other people or by the person who has 
 originated them. If this is not done, the individual remains 
 sterile, and even to make mistakes is not so wasteful nor 
 such a disappointment to our fellow-men as to contribute 
 nothing. Indeed, the man who never makes mistakes is 
 not likely to make anything else. 
 
 It is neverthless reasonable that in our experimentation 
 with new and possibly explosive ideas, the greatest care 
 should be used. Discussion the fullest freedom of speech 
 is the great invention by which humanity insures the 
 safest exploitation of new ideas. Talking, as well as other 
 forms of mere expression, is, of course, a kind of action, but 
 [293]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 it is specially useful because of its economy. Discussion 
 brings to light ideas of other people, and necessarily modi- 
 fies them by either strengthening or weakening the original 
 idea. "To unpack the heart with words," does not always 
 delay action. It sometimes accumulates and precipitates it. 
 The result depends in each case upon the social environ- 
 ment, and to whom or for whom we unpack. 
 
 In ordinary business affairs the value of discussion is 
 regarded by every one as of the greatest moment. A 
 large and successful business firm of some thirty members, 
 known to the present writer, is led by a man of extraordinary 
 business genius. This man will come to the meetings of 
 the firm and talk for two hours, sometimes saying nothing 
 that is not, in the eyes of the others, the most astounding 
 foolishness. But occasionally in the middle of this exhibition 
 of fantasy, he will drop a hint or sketch a brilliant plan 
 that no one else would have been able to think of. When 
 this is seized by the others and carried out in action, it is 
 sometimes worth hundreds of thousands of dollars to the 
 firm. The so-called well-balanced, conservative individual, 
 proud of his "judgment" and relying narrowly upon it, is 
 evidently an inadequate competitor with the man who can 
 find friends who will permit, and perhaps wring from him, 
 the last vagary of fancy. 
 
 In the deeper, more personal business of life the situation 
 is the same. Parents and teachers need to offer opportuni- 
 ties for the most complete confession, not so much of 
 faults committed, but of plans and purposes for the future, 
 even if these should be but half formed, imperfect, and 
 fanciful. It is, indeed, those dreams and prospects just 
 beyond our reach which are often the controlling factors 
 [294]
 
 THE EDUCATION OF THE CONSCIENCE 
 
 of conduct. It is not sufficient to direct, advise, and im- 
 press children and pupils with the right way of acting. It 
 is a mistake to instill constantly. One must not omit the 
 delicate distillation necessary to extract the last aroma of 
 personal revelation. 
 
 The provision of such a confessional for the experiments 
 of the future, free as possible from past regrets, and full of 
 the atonement of divine and human fellowship, is a work 
 not only for the school but also for the church and the 
 home. Parents should not only be ordinarily approachable, 
 but in order to be so they should be known to be experi- 
 mentalists themselves. Children should not feel that they 
 know beforehand the cut-and-dried reaction of father and 
 mother on any question capable of different solutions. The 
 kind of friends, occupations in life, amusements, and many 
 habits have been chosen differently by very worthy people. 
 Parents should realize that their own lives, no matter what 
 their achievements, might have been even more successful 
 than they are, or, at least, successful in a different way. 
 Every life as a whole is largely an experiment, and nature 
 is trying it over again in the new generation. Indeed the 
 new conditions demand change of some sort. Moral insight, 
 like the manna in the wilderness, spoils if it is kept. Many 
 tragedies in home life would possibly be averted if this 
 educational condition were realized. How many mothers 
 who agonize over wayward sons succeeded in drawing from 
 them the secret, nascent thought which later on controlled 
 their lives and led them astray ? The boy is bound to 
 experiment ; the question is, Shall he experiment alone ? 
 
 There is no reason why the church should not be a great 
 clearing house for moral and social experimentation. The 
 [295]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 Sunday-school lessons, let them be learned never so per- 
 fectly and illustrated by cases never so apposite ; the moral 
 precepts and directions of the teacher, however forcible and 
 clear ; the sermon of the clergyman and the rites of the 
 church, all leave the particular experiment that emerges in 
 the mind of the individual without direct recognition. To 
 say that the application must be left to the individual con- 
 science is only partly true. The individual conscience, in 
 so far as it is educated, is a result of free, intimate contact 
 with other people. Such contact, far from diminishing the 
 feeling of causality, increases it, and both are most fruitful 
 and effective when some actual scheme about to be carried 
 out is the subject of mutual consideration. 
 
 So far as a division of labor in this mutual planning with 
 the young can be effected and distributed among the 
 school, the church, the home, and other agencies of soci- 
 ety, it is probably clear that the school cannot confine 
 itself to the merely intellectual. As everybody knows, 
 morality as well as intelligence belongs to the whole of 
 life, and the school is forced to realize its responsibility in 
 this direction. The particular moral questions and propos- 
 als for living that arise in the school, however, are natu- 
 rally somewhat different from those which arise anywhere 
 else, and if the school deals effectively with these, it has 
 contributed its share to the education of the conscience. 
 
 It is probably clear that the plans for life suitable to the 
 school, if they are to arise from the pupils themselves, or 
 are to become their deep possession, cannot be outlined 
 beforehand by the wisest executive or board of managers. 
 General expectations may be, and doubtless should be, 
 expressed as fully and attractively as possible. But if the 
 [296]
 
 THE EDUCATION OF THE CONSCIENCE 
 
 moral action of the individual is to rise to the full causality 
 it longs for, just this leading and controlling feature of 
 moral life is forced to become selective and experimental. 
 It is thus the things that pupils themselves think are suit- 
 able to be undertaken as a part of the broadest and most 
 educative school life which will give the only basis for the 
 highest moral development in connection with the school. 
 It is plain that this will vary according to the vitality and 
 the previous conceptions of the pupils, the kind of teachers, 
 the nature of the material resources, the sentiment of home 
 and outside community, or whatever influences may effect 
 the experiences and aspirations of the young. Such activi- 
 ties as those which have already been described in the 
 chapter on self-organized group work will both reveal what 
 the nature of these opportunities will be and test the dis- 
 tance to which they can carry the moral development of 
 those whom they enlist. 
 
 Where conditions are favorable and individuals sympa- 
 thetic, plans of conduct, usually associated with a good 
 home or a good church, may appear in the school ; but on 
 the other hand, where the home and the church are already 
 doing their full work, such plans, while showing their influ- 
 ence, would probably not be brought bodily into the school. 
 Life is to be " regarded as a trust held for the benefit of 
 the community," whether in school or church or home. If 
 allowed to act and react upon each other through the self- 
 organized plans of their members, these social agencies 
 would, in all probability, mutually and almost automatically 
 supplement each other's activity. It is only when a priori 
 dogmatism rules that hard-and-fast demands are made 
 that the home and the school must do this, the church 
 [297]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 that ; and since the church and the home have already won 
 a certain measure of self-direction for their members, it is 
 the school which suffers first, although not necessarily last 
 or most. 
 
 The flower and fruit of the moral life is self-organized 
 cooperative production for the service and upbuilding of 
 human beings. Let the opportunity for such work once be 
 blighted or impaired, and the whole subordinate structure 
 of drill, discipline, and obedience becomes but a carcass of 
 tyranny and oppression. The moral life, like the beautiful 
 Spiraea of our meadows, rooted often in marshy soil, builds 
 up, through dark and sunny days, its leafy ladder towards 
 the sky, and finally unfolds its white and spiral flower, full 
 of sweetness, to every breeze. But let the growing bud at 
 the center be cut out at any stage in its growth, and the 
 whole supporting stem withers and dies, as if it knew itself 
 to be but a standard bearer for the germinating flame with 
 which it blossoms on the world. 
 
 [298]
 
 INDEX 
 
 Abbotsholme, 45 
 
 Abbott, Lyman, 290 
 
 Ants, group on, 190 
 
 Arithmetic, 135 
 
 Arithmetic, experiments in, 194 
 
 Art and economics, 278 
 
 Art and sex, 273 
 
 Art and work, 238 
 
 Art museum, 278 
 
 Arts and crafts, 262 
 
 Attic, parable of the, 263 
 
 Authority, 50 
 
 Barnes, Earl, 261 
 
 Bathing, rules for, 47 
 
 Bergson, 78 
 
 Bird's nest, lesson on, 187 
 
 Blame, 288 
 
 Book binding, group for, 108 
 
 Bosanquet, 22 
 
 Brain building, 244 
 
 Biicher, 33 
 
 Causation, personal, 284 
 
 Child study, 261 
 
 Civilization, development of, 1 1 
 
 Clark, Lotta, 150 
 
 Clay modeling, case of, 137 
 
 Concept, 205 
 
 Conscience, 281 
 
 Consciousness, form of, 10 
 
 Cooking, 87, 107 
 
 Correlation, 28 
 
 Course of study, Dewey's, 91 
 
 Crowd psychology, 10 
 
 Decoration Day, play of, 125 
 Degeneration of race, 44 
 Democracy, 54 
 Dewey School, 78 
 Discipline, 13, 50, 80, 82, 86, 94 
 Discussion, value of, 294 
 Division of labor, 238 
 Drawing books, 260 
 
 Durkheim, 93 
 Duties, 283 
 
 Economic strain, 70 
 
 Egoism, 287 
 
 Elocution, 215, 221 
 
 Emotion, 226 
 
 Envy, 288 
 
 Ethical Culture School, 102, 232 
 
 Ethics, 281 
 
 Examinations, 27, 163 
 
 Expectation, 209 
 
 Expression, 222 
 
 Eye-mindedness, 199 
 
 Fear and art, 270 
 Fear and literature, 224 
 Fleming, Martha, 232 
 Force, 18, 64, 112 
 
 Foreign language, 52 ; group on, 
 141 ; reading of, 200 
 
 George Junior Republic, 58, 85 
 Golden rule, 213 
 Grotesque, the, 270 
 Group work in science, 156 
 Groups, going to pieces of, 17 ; self- 
 organization of, 102; social, 15 
 
 Hall, G. Stanley, 224 
 Haney, Dr. J. P., 261 
 Harris, W. T., 199 
 Haymaking, rules for, 49 
 Herbartianism, 185 
 History, class in, 142, 150 
 Honor, motive of, 44, 70 
 Hull, Dr. Wm. I., 59 
 
 Idealism, 73 
 
 Impressionism, 262 
 
 Imperatives, 282 
 
 Independence, 117, 192 
 
 Independent thinking, 13 
 
 Indian and the Hunter, play of, 122 
 
 [299]
 
 SOCIAL EDUCATION 
 
 Individual, rights of, 19 
 Individualism, 14 
 Interest and expectation, 209 
 Interest and production, 251 
 Interests, 29, 30, 37, 53, 86 
 Isolation, 82 
 
 Jenks, Jeremiah, 43 
 
 Kiln, 26 
 
 Kindergarten, 31 
 Krauss, Franz, 44, 256 
 
 Language, as social, 205; spoken, 
 
 201 ; written, 207 
 Leadership, 98, 257 
 Leadership, proportion of, 119 
 Liberty, 19 
 
 Lincoln, Dr. W. F., 73 
 Lloyd, H. D., 213, 238 
 Loyalty, 50 
 Lukens, Dr. Herman, 261 
 
 Manny, Frank, 102 
 
 Manual arts, 237 
 
 Manual arts and dramatizing, 245 
 
 Manual training, 28 
 
 Marking, 168 
 
 Mill, J. S., 7, 78 
 
 Moral constraint of group, 1 5 
 
 Motor reaction in reading, 214, 243 
 
 Mushrooms, lesson on, 181 
 
 Myth, 183 
 
 Myths, 226 
 
 Obedience, 7, 16, 101 
 Old Pipes and the Dryad, the play 
 of, 146 
 
 Patsy and Laura, play of, 234 
 Payment by results, 27 
 Photography group, 114 
 Planning by pupils, 133, 135 
 Play, 22 
 
 Post-office group, 128 
 Pragmatism, 79 
 Primitive people, 31 
 Printing group, 104, 127 
 Psychology, 3 
 Purpose groups, 76, 100 
 
 Ray system, 74 
 
 Reading, 90, 199, 207 ; lesson on, 
 
 208, 210; social basis of, 215; 
 
 class in, 218 
 Reasoning, 170; as instinct, 178; 
 
 age for, 178; as social, 192 
 Recitation, the, 13 
 Reddie, Dr. Cecil, 46 
 Responsibility, 16, 20, 137, 282 
 Rice, Dr. J. M., 37 
 Richardson, Elizabeth M., 277 
 Roundness of earth, 179 
 Rousseau, 30 
 
 Scholarship, 165; defects of, 79, 80 
 
 School, experimental, 79, 80 ; as a 
 cause, 6, 8, 15, 21 ; as an effect, 6, 
 8 ; as a prophecy, 2 ; tests for 
 the, 23 ; as organism, 43 ; and 
 home, 8 
 
 Schools, professional, 26; second- 
 hand, 12 
 
 Self-control, 51, 57, 74 
 
 Self-government, 75 
 
 Self-organization, 66, 89, 242 
 
 Shaw, Clara, 234 
 
 Sleeping Beauty, The, play of, 115 
 
 Social service, 25, 30, 36 
 
 Society, 84 ; development of, 4 ; 
 organization of, 1 5 
 
 Speech of child, 202 
 
 Spencer, Herbert, 93 
 
 State, the, 17 
 
 Steam, lesson on, 176, 184 
 
 Stories for children, 228 
 
 Teaching, profession of, 39 
 Temptation, 138 
 Tools of production, 240 
 Trade schools, 253 
 
 University Elementary School, 232 
 Voting, 63 
 
 Will, 91 
 
 Williams, Dora, 156 
 Windlass, case of, 174 
 Working hypotheses, 171 
 Wygant, Elsie, 232 
 
 [300]
 
 ANNOUNCEMENTS
 
 AMONG COUNTRY SCHOOLS 
 
 By O. J. KERN 
 Superintendent of Schools, Winnebago County, Illinois 
 
 I2mo. Cloth. 366 pages. Illustrated. List price, $ 1.25 ; mailing price, $1.35 
 
 THE author's endeavor in preparing this work has 
 been to create a new ideal in the training of the 
 country child. 
 
 The book is the result of seven years of very earnest 
 thought and hard work in an endeavor to secure for the 
 country child his rights so far as an educational opportunity 
 is concerned. The country school should have that freedom 
 which country life affords. This book has but little to say 
 about the mechanics of school management 
 
 In the training of children and the development of char- 
 acter no greater opportunity can be offered than that now 
 presented to the teacher in the country school. The author 
 hopes that this book will prove suggestive to the teacher and 
 school officer who are striving for the spiritualization of 
 country life through the medium of the school. He believes 
 that a careful reading of its pages will show a practical way 
 of interesting the "farm child through farm topics." 
 
 Some of the chapter titles, indicating the suggestions given 
 in this distinctly novel treatise, are : 
 
 THE RIGHTS OF THE COUNTRY CHILD 
 OUTDOOR ART BEAUTIFYING SCHOOL GROUNDS 
 
 INDOOR ART AND DECORATION 
 
 A FARMER BOY'S EXPERIMENT CLUB 
 
 THE COUNTRY SCHOOL AND THE FARMERS' INSTITUTE 
 
 GINN & COMPANY PUBLISHERS
 
 ASPECTS OF CHILD LIFE AND 
 EDUCATION 
 
 By G. STANLEY HALL, President of Clark University and Professor of 
 Psychology, and Some of His Pupils 
 
 Cloth. 316 pages 
 
 DURING the last twenty years one of the lines 
 of research carried on by President G. Stanley 
 Hall and students working under his direction, at 
 Clark University, has been the psychology of child- 
 hood and its applications to education. These 
 researches have been published in the University 
 periodicals, which are of necessity expensive and 
 limited in circulation, and have not, therefore, 
 hitherto been available to the general public. The 
 object of the present volume, which is to be the 
 first of a series, is to make accessible to parents 
 and teachers, in somewhat condensed form and 
 at moderate price, the results of these researches 
 which are now recognized as of fundamental 
 importance in all educational work. 
 
 GINN & COMPANY PUBLISHERS
 
 A 000028792 _