School Conditions and Training Thought

The so-called faculty-psychology went hand in hand with the vogue of the formal-discipline idea in education. If thought is a distinct piece of mental machinery, separate from observation, memory, imagination, and common-sense judgments of persons and things, then thought should be trained by special exercises designed for the purpose, as one might devise special exercises for developing the biceps muscles. Certain subjects are then to be regarded as intellectual or logical subjects par excellence, possessed of a predestined fitness to exercise the thought-faculty, just as certain machines are better than others for developing arm power. With these three notions goes the fourth, that method consists of a set of operations by which the machinery of thought is set going and kept at work upon any subject-matter.

The so-called faculty psychology went hand in hand with the popularity of formal discipline in education. Suppose thought is a separate piece of mental machinery, distinct from observation, memory, imagination, and common-sense judgments about people and things. Then thought should be trained through special exercises, just as someone might devise exercises to develop the biceps muscles. Certain subjects would then be considered intellectual or logical subjects par excellence. They would be seen as naturally suited to exercise the faculty of thought, just as some machines are better than others at developing arm strength. These three ideas lead to a fourth: that method is a set of operations that starts the machinery of thought and keeps it working on any subject matter.

We have tried to make it clear in the previous chapters that there is no single and uniform power of thought, but a multitude of different ways in which specific things—things observed, remembered, heard of, read about—evoke suggestions or ideas that are pertinent to the occasion and fruitful in the sequel. Training is such development of curiosity, suggestion, and habits of exploring and testing, as increases their scope and efficiency. A subject—any subject—is intellectual in the degree in which with any given person it succeeds in effecting this growth. On this view the fourth factor, method, is concerned with providing conditions so adapted to individual needs and powers as to make for the permanent improvement of observation, suggestion, and investigation.

In the previous chapters, we have tried to make clear that there is no single, uniform power of thought. Instead, there are many ways that particular things bring relevant and productive ideas to mind. These things may be observed, remembered, heard about, or read about. The ideas they suggest are relevant to the occasion and useful in what follows. Training develops curiosity, the ability to form ideas, and habits of exploring and testing. This development expands their range and makes them more effective. Any subject is intellectual to the extent that it fosters this growth in a given person. From this perspective, the fourth factor, method, involves providing conditions suited to individual needs and abilities. These conditions should bring lasting improvement in observation, the formation of ideas, and investigation.

The teacher's problem is thus twofold. On the one side, he needs (as we saw in the last chapter) to be a student of individual traits and habits; on the other side, he needs to be a student of the conditions that modify for better or worse the directions in which individual powers habitually express themselves. He needs to recognize that method covers not only what he intentionally devises and employs for the purpose of mental training, but also what he does without any conscious reference to it,—anything in the atmosphere and conduct of the school which reacts in any way upon the curiosity, the responsiveness, and the orderly activity of children. The teacher who is an intelligent student both of individual mental operations and of the effects of school conditions upon those operations, can largely be trusted to develop for himself methods of instruction in their narrower and more technical sense—those best adapted to achieve results in particular subjects, such as reading, geography, or algebra. In the hands of one who is not intelligently aware of individual capacities and of the influence unconsciously exerted upon them by the entire environment, even the best of technical methods are likely to get an immediate result only at the expense of deep-seated and persistent habits. We may group the conditioning influences of the school environment under three heads: (1) the mental attitudes and habits of the persons with whom the child is in contact; (2) the subjects studied; (3) current educational aims and ideals.

The teacher’s task, then, has two parts. First, as we saw in the last chapter, teachers need to study individual traits and habits. Second, they need to study the conditions that change how individuals habitually use their abilities, for better or worse. Teachers also need to recognize that method includes more than what they deliberately plan and use to train the mind. It also includes what they do without consciously intending to train the mind. Method includes anything in the school’s atmosphere and daily conduct that affects children’s curiosity, responsiveness, and orderly activity. A teacher who carefully studies both individual mental processes and the effects of school conditions on those processes can largely be trusted to develop suitable teaching methods. These are methods in the narrower, more technical sense. They are the methods best suited to achieving results in particular subjects, such as reading, geography, or algebra. But a teacher may lack an informed awareness of individual abilities and of the whole environment’s unconscious influence on them. In that teacher’s hands, even the best technical methods are likely to achieve an immediate result only at the expense of deep-rooted, lasting habits. We may group the influences of the school environment under three headings: (1) the attitudes and habits of mind of the people the child comes into contact with; (2) the subjects studied; (3) current educational aims and ideals.

Bare reference to the imitativeness of human nature is enough to suggest how profoundly the mental habits of others affect the attitude of the one being trained. Example is more potent than precept; and a teacher's best conscious efforts may be more than counteracted by the influence of personal traits which he is unaware of or regards as unimportant. Methods of instruction and discipline that are technically faulty may be rendered practically innocuous by the inspiration of the personal method that lies back of them.

The simple fact that people imitate one another suggests how deeply others' habits of mind affect a learner's attitude. Example is more powerful than instruction. A teacher's best conscious efforts may be more than canceled out by personal traits the teacher overlooks or considers unimportant. Teaching and discipline methods that are technically flawed may do little harm in practice. This may be because the teacher's personal approach behind those methods inspires students.

To confine, however, the conditioning influence of the educator, whether parent or teacher, to imitation is to get a very superficial view of the intellectual influence of others. Imitation is but one case of a deeper principle—that of stimulus and response. Everything the teacher does, as well as the manner in which he does it, incites the child to respond in some way or other, and each response tends to set the child's attitude in some way or other. Even the inattention of the child to the adult is often a mode of response which is the result of unconscious training.⁹ The teacher is rarely (and even then never entirely) a transparent medium of access by another mind to a subject. With the young, the influence of the teacher's personality is intimately fused with that of the subject; the child does not separate nor even distinguish the two. And as the child's response is toward or away from anything presented, he keeps up a running commentary, of which he himself is hardly distinctly aware, of like and dislike, of sympathy and aversion, not merely to the acts of the teacher, but also to the subject with which the teacher is occupied.

To limit the influence of a parent or teacher to imitation, however, is to take a very superficial view of how others influence a child’s thinking. Imitation is only one case of a deeper principle: stimulus and response. Everything the teacher does, and the way the teacher does it, prompts the child to respond somehow. Each response tends to shape the child’s attitude in some way. Even when a child ignores an adult, this is often a response resulting from unconscious training.⁹ The teacher is rarely a transparent medium through which another mind can reach a subject. Even then, the teacher is never entirely transparent. For young children, the influence of the teacher’s personality is closely joined to the influence of the subject. The child does not separate or even distinguish the two. And as the child responds toward or away from anything presented, the child maintains a running commentary. The child is hardly clearly aware of this commentary. It expresses likes and dislikes, sympathy and aversion, not only toward the teacher’s actions but also toward the subject the teacher is dealing with.

The extent and power of this influence upon morals and manners, upon character, upon habits of speech and social bearing, are almost universally recognized. But the tendency to conceive of thought as an isolated faculty has often blinded teachers to the fact that this influence is just as real and pervasive in intellectual concerns. Teachers, as well as children, stick more or less to the main points, have more or less wooden and rigid methods of response, and display more or less intellectual curiosity about matters that come up. And every trait of this kind is an inevitable part of the teacher's method of teaching. Merely to accept without notice slipshod habits of speech, slovenly inferences, unimaginative and literal response, is to indorse these tendencies, and to ratify them into habits—and so it goes throughout the whole range of contact between teacher and student. In this complex and intricate field, two or three points may well be singled out for special notice. (a) Most persons are quite unaware of the distinguishing peculiarities of their own mental habit. They take their own mental operations for granted, and unconsciously make them the standard for judging the mental processes of others.¹⁰ Hence there is a tendency to encourage everything in the pupil which agrees with this attitude, and to neglect or fail to understand whatever is incongruous with it. The prevalent overestimation of the value, for mind-training, of theoretic subjects as compared with practical pursuits, is doubtless due partly to the fact that the teacher's calling tends to select those in whom the theoretic interest is specially strong and to repel those in whom executive abilities are marked. Teachers sifted out on this basis judge pupils and subjects by a like standard, encouraging an intellectual one-sidedness in those to whom it is naturally congenial, and repelling from study those in whom practical instincts are more urgent.

Almost everyone recognizes how much this influence affects morals, manners, character, speech habits, and social conduct. But people often think of thought as a separate faculty. This has often blinded teachers to how real and widespread the same influence is in intellectual matters. Teachers, like children, vary in how closely they stick to the main points. They also vary in how rigidly they respond and how intellectually curious they are about matters that come up. Every such trait is an unavoidable part of a teacher’s teaching method. Teachers may accept careless speech, sloppy reasoning, and unimaginative, literal responses without noticing them. But simply accepting these tendencies endorses them and reinforces them as habits. The same is true throughout every kind of contact between teacher and student. In this complex field, two or three points deserve special attention. (a) Most people are quite unaware of what is distinctive about their own mental habits. They take their own ways of thinking for granted. They unconsciously use these ways as the standard for judging how others think.¹⁰ As a result, they tend to encourage everything in a student that agrees with their own way of thinking. They tend to overlook or fail to understand whatever does not fit it. People commonly overestimate the value of theoretical subjects for training the mind, compared with practical activities. This is doubtless partly because teaching tends to attract people with a particularly strong theoretical interest. It also tends to repel people with notable practical abilities. Teachers selected on this basis judge students and subjects by the same standard. They encourage intellectual one-sidedness in students who are naturally inclined to it. They also discourage from study those whose practical instincts are stronger.

(b) Teachers—and this holds especially of the stronger and better teachers—tend to rely upon their personal strong points to hold a child to his work, and thereby to substitute their personal influence for that of subject-matter as a motive for study. The teacher finds by experience that his own personality is often effective where the power of the subject to command attention is almost nil; then he utilizes the former more and more, until the pupil's relation to the teacher almost takes the place of his relation to the subject. In this way the teacher's personality may become a source of personal dependence and weakness, an influence that renders the pupil indifferent to the value of the subject for its own sake.

(b) Teachers tend to rely on their personal strengths to keep a child working. This is especially true of the stronger and better teachers. In doing so, they substitute their personal influence for the subject itself as a reason to study. A teacher learns from experience that his personality often works when the subject itself attracts almost no attention. He then relies more and more on his personality, until the pupil's relationship with him almost replaces the pupil's relationship with the subject. In this way, the teacher's personality may become a source of personal dependence and weakness. It may make the pupil indifferent to the value of the subject for its own sake.

(c) The operation of the teacher's own mental habit tends, unless carefully watched and guided, to make the child a student of the teacher's peculiarities rather than of the subjects that he is supposed to study. His chief concern is to accommodate himself to what the teacher expects of him, rather than to devote himself energetically to the problems of subject-matter. "Is this right?" comes to mean "Will this answer or this process satisfy the teacher?"—instead of meaning, "Does it satisfy the inherent conditions of the problem?" It would be folly to deny the legitimacy or the value of the study of human nature that children carry on in school; but it is obviously undesirable that their chief intellectual problem should be that of producing an answer approved by the teacher, and their standard of success be successful adaptation to the requirements of another.

(c) Unless the teacher carefully watches and guides their own habits of thinking, those habits tend to distract the child. The child studies the teacher’s quirks instead of the subjects they are supposed to study. The child’s chief concern is to meet the teacher’s expectations, rather than tackle the problems in the subject with energy. "Is this right?" comes to mean "Will this answer or method satisfy the teacher?" instead of "Does it meet the conditions of the problem itself?" It would be foolish to deny that children’s study of human nature in school is legitimate and valuable. But their chief intellectual problem should not be how to produce an answer the teacher approves. Nor should their standard of success be how well they adapt to someone else’s requirements.

Studies are conventionally and conveniently grouped under these heads: (1) Those especially involving the acquisition of skill in performance—the school arts, such as reading, writing, figuring, and music. (2) Those mainly concerned with acquiring knowledge—"informational" studies, such as geography and history. (3) Those in which skill in doing and bulk of information are relatively less important, and appeal to abstract thinking, to "reasoning," is most marked—"disciplinary" studies, such as arithmetic and formal grammar.¹¹ Each of these groups of subjects has its own special pitfalls.

Studies are commonly and conveniently grouped under these headings: (1) Those that especially involve learning skills, such as reading, writing, figuring, and music. These are the school arts. (2) Those mainly concerned with gaining knowledge. These are "informational" studies, such as geography and history. (3) Those in which practical skill and a large amount of information are less important. These studies rely most on abstract thinking, or "reasoning." They are "disciplinary" studies, such as arithmetic and formal grammar.¹¹ Each group of subjects has its own particular pitfalls.

(a) In the case of the so-called disciplinary or pre-eminently logical studies, there is danger of the isolation of intellectual activity from the ordinary affairs of life. Teacher and student alike tend to set up a chasm between logical thought as something abstract and remote, and the specific and concrete demands of everyday events. The abstract tends to become so aloof, so far away from application, as to be cut loose from practical and moral bearing. The gullibility of specialized scholars when out of their own lines, their extravagant habits of inference and speech, their ineptness in reaching conclusions in practical matters, their egotistical engrossment in their own subjects, are extreme examples of the bad effects of severing studies completely from their ordinary connections in life.

(a) In studies meant to train the mind, especially those emphasizing logic, intellectual activity may become separated from everyday life. Teachers and students alike tend to create a gulf between abstract, remote logical thought and the concrete demands of everyday events. Abstract thought tends to become so removed from application that it loses its practical and moral relevance. Scholars can be gullible outside their specialties and prone to exaggerated conclusions and statements. They may struggle to reach conclusions about practical matters and become self-absorbed in their own subjects. These are extreme examples of the harm caused by completely separating studies from their usual connections to life.

(b) The danger in those studies where the main emphasis is upon acquisition of skill is just the reverse. The tendency is to take the shortest cuts possible to gain the required end. This makes the subjects mechanical, and thus restrictive of intellectual power. In the mastery of reading, writing, drawing, laboratory technique, etc., the need of economy of time and material, of neatness and accuracy, of promptness and uniformity, is so great that these things tend to become ends in themselves, irrespective of their influence upon general mental attitude. Sheer imitation, dictation of steps to be taken, mechanical drill, may give results most quickly and yet strengthen traits likely to be fatal to reflective power. The pupil is enjoined to do this and that specific thing, with no knowledge of any reason except that by so doing he gets his result most speedily; his mistakes are pointed out and corrected for him; he is kept at pure repetition of certain acts till they become automatic. Later, teachers wonder why the pupil reads with so little expression, and figures with so little intelligent consideration of the terms of his problem. In some educational dogmas and practices, the very idea of training mind seems to be hopelessly confused with that of a drill which hardly touches mind at all—or touches it for the worse—since it is wholly taken up with training skill in external execution. This method reduces the "training" of human beings to the level of animal training. Practical skill, modes of effective technique, can be intelligently, non-mechanically used, only when intelligence has played a part in their acquisition.

(b) In subjects that focus mainly on acquiring skills, the danger is just the opposite. The tendency is to take the shortest possible route to the required result. This makes the subjects mechanical and limits intellectual power. When students learn reading, writing, drawing, laboratory technique, and similar skills, certain demands are very great. They must save time and materials, work neatly and accurately, and be prompt and consistent. These demands tend to become ends in themselves, regardless of their effect on students' general mental attitude. Simple imitation, step-by-step instructions, and mechanical drills may produce results most quickly. Yet they may also strengthen habits likely to destroy the capacity for reflective thought. The student is told to do specific things, with no reason except that they produce the quickest result. Mistakes are pointed out and corrected for the student. The student is made to repeat certain actions until they become automatic. Later, teachers wonder why the student reads with so little expression or calculates without thinking carefully about the terms of the problem. In some educational theories and practices, the very idea of training the mind seems hopelessly confused with drill. Such drill hardly touches the mind at all, or affects it for the worse. It focuses entirely on developing skill in carrying out actions. This method reduces the "training" of human beings to the level of animal training. Practical skills and effective techniques can be used intelligently, rather than mechanically, only when intelligence has played a part in their acquisition.

(c) Much the same sort of thing is to be said regarding studies where emphasis traditionally falls upon bulk and accuracy of information. The distinction between information and wisdom is old, and yet requires constantly to be redrawn. Information is knowledge which is merely acquired and stored up; wisdom is knowledge operating in the direction of powers to the better living of life. Information, merely as information, implies no special training of intellectual capacity; wisdom is the finest fruit of that training. In school, amassing information always tends to escape from the ideal of wisdom or good judgment. The aim often seems to be—especially in such a subject as geography—to make the pupil what has been called a "cyclopedia of useless information." "Covering the ground" is the primary necessity; the nurture of mind a bad second. Thinking cannot, of course, go on in a vacuum; suggestions and inferences can occur only upon a basis of information as to matters of fact.

(c) Much the same can be said about subjects that traditionally emphasize the amount and accuracy of information. The distinction between information and wisdom is old, yet it constantly needs to be made again. Information is knowledge that is merely acquired and stored. Wisdom is knowledge put to use to develop the ability to live life better. Information alone does not require any special training of intellectual ability. Wisdom is the finest result of that training. In school, the accumulation of information always tends to stray from the ideal of wisdom or good judgment. The aim often seems to be to make the student what has been called a "cyclopedia of useless information." This is especially true in a subject such as geography. "Covering the ground" is the main priority. Developing the mind comes a poor second. Of course, thinking cannot take place in a vacuum. Ideas and conclusions can arise only from a foundation of factual information.

But there is all the difference in the world whether the acquisition of information is treated as an end in itself, or is made an integral portion of the training of thought. The assumption that information which has been accumulated apart from use in the recognition and solution of a problem may later on be freely employed at will by thought is quite false. The skill at the ready command of intelligence is the skill acquired with the aid of intelligence; the only information which, otherwise than by accident, can be put to logical use is that acquired in the course of thinking. Because their knowledge has been achieved in connection with the needs of specific situations, men of little book-learning are often able to put to effective use every ounce of knowledge they possess; while men of vast erudition are often swamped by the mere bulk of their learning, because memory, rather than thinking, has been operative in obtaining it.

But there is a world of difference between treating the acquisition of information as an end in itself and making it an essential part of learning to think. It is quite false to assume that information gathered without using it to recognize and solve a problem can later be freely used in thinking whenever we choose. Skills that intelligence can readily draw on are skills acquired with the help of intelligence. Only information acquired through thinking can be put to logical use, except by accident. People with little book learning have gained their knowledge in response to the needs of specific situations. Because of this, they can often make effective use of every ounce of knowledge they possess. Meanwhile, people with vast learning are often overwhelmed by its sheer bulk, because they relied on memory rather than thought to acquire it.

It is, of course, impossible to separate this somewhat intangible condition from the points just dealt with; for automatic skill and quantity of information are educational ideals which pervade the whole school. We may distinguish, however, certain tendencies, such as that to judge education from the standpoint of external results, instead of from that of the development of personal attitudes and habits. The ideal of the product, as against that of the mental process by which the product is attained, shows itself in both instruction and moral discipline.

Of course, this somewhat intangible condition cannot be separated from the points just discussed. Automatic skill and the quantity of information are educational ideals that pervade the whole school. However, we can distinguish certain tendencies. One is the tendency to judge education by external results rather than by the development of personal attitudes and habits. The ideal of the product, rather than the mental process used to achieve it, appears in both instruction and moral discipline.

(a) In instruction, the external standard manifests itself in the importance attached to the "correct answer." No one other thing, probably, works so fatally against focussing the attention of teachers upon the training of mind as the domination of their minds by the idea that the chief thing is to get pupils to recite their lessons correctly. As long as this end is uppermost (whether consciously or unconsciously), training of mind remains an incidental and secondary consideration. There is no great difficulty in understanding why this ideal has such vogue. The large number of pupils to be dealt with, and the tendency of parents and school authorities to demand speedy and tangible evidence of progress, conspire to give it currency. Knowledge of subject-matter—not of children—is alone exacted of teachers by this aim; and, moreover, knowledge of subject-matter only in portions definitely prescribed and laid out, and hence mastered with comparative ease. Education that takes as its standard the improvement of the intellectual attitude and method of students demands more serious preparatory training, for it exacts sympathetic and intelligent insight into the workings of individual minds, and a very wide and flexible command of subject-matter—so as to be able to select and apply just what is needed when it is needed. Finally, the securing of external results is an aim that lends itself naturally to the mechanics of school administration—to examinations, marks, gradings, promotions, and so on.

(a) In teaching, the external standard appears in the importance given to the "correct answer." Probably nothing else works so strongly against teachers focusing on training the mind. Their minds are dominated by the idea that the main thing is to get pupils to recite their lessons correctly. As long as this goal comes first (whether consciously or unconsciously), training the mind remains incidental and secondary. It is not hard to understand why this ideal is so popular. Teachers must deal with large numbers of pupils, while parents and school authorities tend to demand quick, visible evidence of progress. Together, these pressures give the ideal widespread appeal. This goal requires teachers to know only their subject matter, not the children. Moreover, it requires knowledge only of clearly prescribed portions of the subject, which are relatively easy to master. An education that aims to improve students' intellectual attitudes and methods demands more serious preparation. It requires sympathetic, intelligent insight into how individual minds work. It also requires broad and flexible command of the subject, so teachers can select and apply exactly what is needed when it is needed. Finally, the goal of securing external results lends itself naturally to the mechanics of school administration: examinations, marks, grading, promotions, and so on.

(b) With reference to behavior also, the external ideal has a great influence. Conformity of acts to precepts and rules is the easiest, because most mechanical, standard to employ. It is no part of our present task to tell just how far dogmatic instruction, or strict adherence to custom, convention, and the commands of a social superior, should extend in moral training; but since problems of conduct are the deepest and most common of all the problems of life, the ways in which they are met have an influence that radiates into every other mental attitude, even those far remote from any direct or conscious moral consideration. Indeed, the deepest plane of the mental attitude of every one is fixed by the way in which problems of behavior are treated. If the function of thought, of serious inquiry and reflection, is reduced to a minimum in dealing with them, it is not reasonable to expect habits of thought to exercise great influence in less important matters. On the other hand, habits of active inquiry and careful deliberation in the significant and vital problems of conduct afford the best guarantee that the general structure of mind will be reasonable.

(b) The external ideal also has a great influence on behavior. The easiest standard to use is whether actions conform to rules and principles, because it is the most mechanical. Our present task is not to say how far moral training should rely on dogmatic instruction or strict adherence to custom, convention, and the commands of a social superior. But problems of conduct are the deepest and most common of all life’s problems. So the ways people deal with them influence every other mental attitude, even those far removed from any direct or conscious moral consideration. Indeed, the deepest level of everyone’s mental attitude is shaped by the way problems of behavior are treated. If thought, serious inquiry, and reflection play a minimal role in dealing with those problems, we cannot reasonably expect habits of thought to have much influence in less important matters. On the other hand, habits of active inquiry and careful deliberation about significant and vital problems of conduct provide the best guarantee that the general structure of the mind will be reasonable.