Part 3, Chapter 14
Observation and Information in Training the Mind
Thinking is an ordering of subject-matter with reference to discovering what it signifies or indicates. Thinking no more exists apart from this arranging of subject-matter than digestion occurs apart from the assimilating of food. The way in which the subject-matter is furnished marks, therefore, a fundamental point. If the subject-matter is provided in too scanty or too profuse fashion, if it comes in disordered array or in isolated scraps, the effect upon habits of thought is detrimental. If personal observation and communication of information by others (whether in books or speech) are rightly conducted, half the logical battle is won, for they are the channels of obtaining subject-matter.
Thinking means organizing material to discover what it means or indicates. Thinking cannot exist without organizing material, just as digestion cannot occur without assimilating food. The way material is supplied is therefore fundamental. If too little or too much is supplied, habits of thought suffer. The same is true if material arrives in a disorderly jumble or in isolated scraps. We obtain material through personal observation and information communicated by others, whether in books or speech. If these are handled properly, half the battle of thinking logically is won.
§ 1. The Nature and Value of Observation
§ 1. The Nature and Value of Observation
The protest, mentioned in the last chapter, of educational reformers against the exaggerated and false use of language, insisted upon personal and direct observation as the proper alternative course. The reformers felt that the current emphasis upon the linguistic factor eliminated all opportunity for first-hand acquaintance with real things; hence they appealed to sense-perception to fill the gap. It is not surprising that this enthusiastic zeal failed frequently to ask how and why observation is educative, and hence fell into the error of making observation an end in itself and was satisfied with any kind of material under any kind of conditions. Such isolation of observation is still manifested in the statement that this faculty develops first, then that of memory and imagination, and finally the faculty of thought. From this point of view, observation is regarded as furnishing crude masses of raw material, to which, later on, reflective processes may be applied. Our previous pages should have made obvious the fallacy of this point of view by bringing out the fact that simple concrete thinking attends all our intercourse with things which is not on a purely physical level.
As mentioned in the last chapter, educational reformers protested against the excessive and misleading use of language. They argued that personal, direct observation was the proper alternative. The reformers felt that the prevailing emphasis on language left no opportunity for firsthand experience of real things. So they turned to sense perception to fill the gap. In their enthusiasm, they often failed to ask how and why observation is educational. This is not surprising, but it led them to treat observation as an end in itself. They were satisfied with any kind of material, observed under any conditions. Observation is still treated in isolation when people say that the ability to observe develops first, followed by memory and imagination, and finally thought. From this point of view, observation provides crude masses of raw material. Reflective processes may then be applied to that material later. The previous pages should have made the error in this view clear. They have shown that simple, concrete thinking accompanies all our dealings with things that are not purely physical.
I. All persons have a natural desire—akin to curiosity—for a widening of their range of acquaintance with persons and things. The sign in art galleries that forbids the carrying of canes and umbrellas is obvious testimony to the fact that simply to see is not enough for many people; there is a feeling of lack of acquaintance until some direct contact is made. This demand for fuller and closer knowledge is quite different from any conscious interest in observation for its own sake. Desire for expansion, for "self-realization," is its motive. The interest is sympathetic, socially and æsthetically sympathetic, rather than cognitive. While the interest is especially keen in children (because their actual experience is so small and their possible experience so large), it still characterizes adults when routine has not blunted its edge. This sympathetic interest provides the medium for carrying and binding together what would otherwise be a multitude of items, diverse, disconnected, and of no intellectual use. These systems are indeed social and æsthetic rather than consciously intellectual; but they provide the natural medium for more conscious intellectual explorations. Some educators have recommended that nature study in the elementary schools be conducted with a love of nature and a cultivation of æsthetic appreciation in view rather than in a purely analytic spirit. Others have urged making much of the care of animals and plants. Both of these important recommendations have grown out of experience, not out of theory, but they afford excellent exemplifications of the theoretic point just made.
I. All people have a natural desire, much like curiosity, to become acquainted with more people and things. Signs in art galleries forbidding canes and umbrellas clearly show that, for many people, seeing is not enough. They do not feel fully acquainted with something until they make direct contact with it. This desire for fuller and closer knowledge is quite different from a conscious interest in observation for its own sake. Its motive is the desire to expand, to achieve "self-realization." The interest is sympathetic, socially and aesthetically, rather than directed toward gaining knowledge. It is especially strong in children because their actual experience is so limited and their possible experience so vast. But it still characterizes adults when routine has not dulled it. This sympathetic interest carries and holds together what would otherwise be many diverse, disconnected items of no intellectual use. The resulting systems are social and aesthetic rather than consciously intellectual. But they provide the natural basis for more conscious intellectual exploration. Some educators have recommended that elementary schools teach nature study with a love of nature and an appreciation of beauty in mind, rather than in a purely analytical spirit. Others have urged giving much attention to caring for animals and plants. Both of these important recommendations grew out of experience, not theory. But they provide excellent examples of the theoretical point just made.
II. In normal development, specific analytic observations are originally connected almost exclusively with the imperative need for noting means and ends in carrying on activities. When one is doing something, one is compelled, if the work is to succeed (unless it is purely routine), to use eyes, ears, and sense of touch as guides to action. Without a constant and alert exercise of the senses, not even plays and games can go on; in any form of work, materials, obstacles, appliances, failures, and successes, must be intently watched. Sense-perception does not occur for its own sake or for purposes of training, but because it is an indispensable factor of success in doing what one is interested in doing. Although not designed for sense-training, this method effects sense-training in the most economical and thoroughgoing way. Various schemes have been designed by teachers for cultivating sharp and prompt observation of forms, as by writing words,—even in an unknown language,—making arrangements of figures and geometrical forms, and having pupils reproduce them after a momentary glance. Children often attain great skill in quick seeing and full reproducing of even complicated meaningless combinations. But such methods of training—however valuable as occasional games and diversions—compare very unfavorably with the training of eye and hand that comes as an incident of work with tools in wood or metals, or of gardening, cooking, or the care of animals. Training by isolated exercises leaves no deposit, leads nowhere; and even the technical skill acquired has little radiating power, or transferable value. Criticisms made upon the training of observation on the ground that many persons cannot correctly reproduce the forms and arrangement of the figures on the face of their watches misses the point because persons do not look at a watch to find out whether four o'clock is indicated by IIII or by IV, but to find out what time it is, and, if observation decides this matter, noting other details is irrelevant and a waste of time. In the training of observation the question of end and motive is all-important.
II. In normal development, specific, careful observations first arise almost entirely from the urgent need to notice means and ends during activities. When someone is doing something, they must use sight, hearing, and touch to guide their actions. Otherwise, the work cannot succeed, unless it is purely routine. Even plays and games cannot continue without constant, alert use of the senses. In any kind of work, materials, obstacles, tools, failures, and successes must be watched closely. People do not use their senses just for the sake of sensing or for training. They use them because doing what interests them depends on it. Although this method is not designed to train the senses, it trains them in the most economical and thorough way. Teachers have devised various exercises to develop sharp, quick observation of forms. For example, they may write words, even in an unknown language, or arrange figures and geometric shapes. Then they ask pupils to reproduce what they saw after a quick glance. Children often become highly skilled at quickly seeing and fully reproducing even complicated, meaningless combinations. Such exercises may be valuable as occasional games and diversions. But they compare very unfavorably with the training of eye and hand that comes from working with wood or metal tools, gardening, cooking, or caring for animals. Training through isolated exercises leaves nothing lasting and leads nowhere. Even the technical skill acquired has little wider or transferable value. Some people criticize the training of observation because many cannot correctly reproduce the shapes and arrangement of the figures on their watch faces. This criticism misses the point. People do not look at a watch to find out whether four o'clock is shown as IIII or IV. They look to find out the time. If observation tells them the time, noticing other details is irrelevant and a waste of time. In training observation, the purpose and motive are all-important.
III. The further, more intellectual or scientific, development of observation follows the line of the growth of practical into theoretical reflection already traced (ante, Chapter Ten). As problems emerge and are dwelt upon, observation is directed less to the facts that bear upon a practical aim and more upon what bears upon a problem as such. What makes observations in schools often intellectually ineffective is (more than anything else) that they are carried on independently of a sense of a problem that they serve to define or help to solve. The evil of this isolation is seen through the entire educational system, from the kindergarten, through the elementary and high schools, to the college. Almost everywhere may be found, at some time, recourse to observations as if they were of complete and final value in themselves, instead of the means of getting material that bears upon some difficulty and its solution. In the kindergarten are heaped up observations regarding geometrical forms, lines, surfaces, cubes, colors, and so on. In the elementary school, under the name of "object-lessons," the form and properties of objects,—apple, orange, chalk,—selected almost at random, are minutely noted, while under the name of "nature study" similar observations are directed upon leaves, stones, insects, selected in almost equally arbitrary fashion. In high school and college, laboratory and microscopic observations are carried on as if the accumulation of observed facts and the acquisition of skill in manipulation were educational ends in themselves.
III. The further development of observation toward more intellectual or scientific work follows a path already traced. It parallels the growth of practical reflection into theoretical reflection (see earlier, Chapter Ten). As problems emerge and receive sustained attention, observation changes focus. It becomes less concerned with facts relevant to a practical aim and more concerned with what bears on a problem itself. Observations in schools are often intellectually ineffective. More than anything else, this is because they are made without a sense of a problem that they might define or help solve. The harm of this separation appears throughout the educational system, from kindergarten through elementary and high schools to college. Almost everywhere, at some point, observations are treated as if they had complete and final value in themselves. Instead, they are a means of gathering material that bears on a difficulty and its solution. In kindergarten, children accumulate observations about geometric forms, lines, surfaces, cubes, colors, and so on. In elementary school, children study the form and properties of objects under the name of "object-lessons." The objects, such as apples, oranges, and chalk, are chosen almost at random, and their features are noted in minute detail. Under the name of "nature study," children make similar observations of leaves, stones, and insects, chosen in almost equally arbitrary ways. In high school and college, students make observations in laboratories and through microscopes. They do so as if accumulating observed facts and gaining skill in handling equipment were educational ends in themselves.
Compare with these methods of isolated observations the statement of Jevons that observation as conducted by scientific men is effective "only when excited and guided by hope of verifying a theory"; and again, "the number of things which can be observed and experimented upon are infinite, and if we merely set to work to record facts without any distinct purpose, our records will have no value." Strictly speaking, the first statement of Jevons is too narrow. Scientific men institute observations not merely to test an idea (or suggested explanatory meaning), but also to locate the nature of a problem and thereby guide the formation of a hypothesis. But the principle of his remark, namely, that scientific men never make the accumulation of observations an end in itself, but always a means to a general intellectual conclusion, is absolutely sound. Until the force of this principle is adequately recognized in education, observation will be largely a matter of uninteresting dead work or of acquiring forms of technical skill that are not available as intellectual resources.
Compare these methods of isolated observation with Jevons’s statement about observation by scientists. He says it is effective "only when inspired and guided by the hope of verifying a theory." He also says, "The number of things that can be observed and experimented on is infinite. If we simply record facts without a clear purpose, our records will have no value." Strictly speaking, Jevons’s first statement is too narrow. Scientists make observations not only to test an idea (or a possible explanation). They also observe to identify the nature of a problem and guide the formation of a hypothesis. But the principle behind Jevons’s remark is absolutely sound. Scientists never collect observations as an end in itself. They always use observations as a means to reach a general intellectual conclusion. Until education adequately recognizes the force of this principle, observation will largely remain dull, lifeless work. Or it will be a way to acquire technical skills that cannot serve as intellectual resources.
§ 2. Methods and Materials of Observation in the Schools The best methods in use in our schools furnish many suggestions for giving observation its right place in mental training. I. They rest upon the sound assumption that observation is an active process. Observation is exploration, inquiry for the sake of discovering something previously hidden and unknown, this something being needed in order to reach some end, practical or theoretical. Observation is to be discriminated from recognition, or perception of what is familiar. The identification of something already understood is, indeed, an indispensable function of further investigation (ante, p. 119); but it is relatively automatic and passive, while observation proper is searching and deliberate. Recognition refers to the already mastered; observation is concerned with mastering the unknown. The common notions that perception is like writing on a blank piece of paper, or like impressing an image on the mind as a seal is imprinted on wax or as a picture is formed on a photographic plate (notions that have played a disastrous rôle in educational methods), arise from a failure to distinguish between automatic recognition and the searching attitude of genuine observation. II. Much assistance in the selection of appropriate material for observation may be derived from considering the eagerness and closeness of observation that attend the following of a story or drama. Alertness of observation is at its height wherever there is "plot interest." Why? Because of the balanced combination of the old and the new, of the familiar and the unexpected. We hang on the lips of the story-teller because of the element of mental suspense. Alternatives are suggested, but are left ambiguous, so that our whole being questions: What befell next? Which way did things turn out? Contrast the ease and fullness with which a child notes all the salient traits of a story, with the labor and inadequacy of his observation of some dead and static thing where nothing raises a question or suggests alternative outcomes. When an individual is engaged in doing or making something (the activity not being of such a mechanical and habitual character that its outcome is assured), there is an analogous situation. Something is going to come of what is present to the sense, but just what is doubtful. The plot is unfolding toward success or failure, but just when or how is uncertain. Hence the keen and tense observation of conditions and results that attends constructive manual operations. Where the subject-matter is of a more impersonal sort, the same principle of movement toward a dénouement may apply. It is a commonplace that what is moving attracts notice when that which is at rest escapes it. Yet too often it would almost seem as if pains had been taken to deprive the material of school observations of all life and dramatic quality, to reduce it to a dead and inert form. Mere change is not enough, however. Vicissitude, alteration, motion, excite observation; but if they merely excite it, there is no thought. The changes must (like the incidents of a well-arranged story or plot) take place in a certain cumulative order; each successive change must at once remind us of its predecessor and arouse interest in its successor if observations of change are to be logically fruitful. Living beings, plants, and animals, fulfill the twofold requirement to an extraordinary degree. Where there is growth, there is motion, change, process; and there is also arrangement of the changes in a cycle. The first arouses, the second organizes, observation. Much of the extraordinary interest that children take in planting seeds and watching the stages of their growth is due to the fact that a drama is enacting before their eyes; there is something doing, each step of which is important in the destiny of the plant. The great practical improvements that have occurred of late years in the teaching of botany and zoölogy will be found, upon inspection, to involve treating plants and animals as beings that act, that do something, instead of as mere inert specimens having static properties to be inventoried, named, and registered. Treated in the latter fashion, observation is inevitably reduced to the falsely "analytic" (ante, p. 112),—to mere dissection and enumeration. There is, of course, a place, and an important place, for observation of the mere static qualities of objects. When, however, the primary interest is in function, in what the object does, there is a motive for more minute analytic study, for the observation of structure. Interest in noting an activity passes insensibly into noting how the activity is carried on; the interest in what is accomplished passes over into an interest in the organs of its accomplishing. But when the beginning is made with the morphological, the anatomical, the noting of peculiarities of form, size, color, and distribution of parts, the material is so cut off from significance as to be dead and dull. It is as natural for children to look intently for the stomata of a plant after they have become interested in its function of breathing, as it is repulsive to attend minutely to them when they are considered as isolated peculiarities of structure. III. As the center of interest of observations becomes less personal, less a matter of means for effecting one's own ends, and less æsthetic, less a matter of contribution of parts to a total emotional effect, observation becomes more consciously intellectual in quality. Pupils learn to observe for the sake (i) of finding out what sort of perplexity confronts them; (ii) of inferring hypothetical explanations for the puzzling features that observation reveals; and (iii) of testing the ideas thus suggested. In short, observation becomes scientific in nature. Of such observations it may be said that they should follow a rhythm between the extensive and the intensive. Problems become definite, and suggested explanations significant by a certain alternation between a wide and somewhat loose soaking in of relevant facts and a minutely accurate study of a few selected facts. The wider, less exact observation is necessary to give the student a feeling for the reality of the field of inquiry, a sense of its bearings and possibilities, and to store his mind with materials that imagination may transform into suggestions. The intensive study is necessary for limiting the problem, and for securing the conditions of experimental testing. As the latter by itself is too specialized and technical to arouse intellectual growth, the former by itself is too superficial and scattering for control of intellectual development. In the sciences of life, field study, excursions, acquaintance with living things in their natural habitats, may alternate with microscopic and laboratory observation. In the physical sciences, phenomena of light, of heat, of electricity, of moisture, of gravity, in their broad setting in nature—their physiographic setting—should prepare for an exact study of selected facts under conditions of laboratory control. In this way, the student gets the benefit of technical scientific methods of discovery and testing, while he retains his sense of the identity of the laboratory modes of energy with large out-of-door realities, thereby avoiding the impression (that so often accrues) that the facts studied are peculiar to the laboratory. § 3. Communication of Information
§ 2. Methods and Materials of Observation in Schools The best methods used in our schools offer many suggestions for giving observation its proper place in mental training. I. These methods rest on the sound assumption that observation is an active process. Observation is exploration. It is inquiry undertaken to discover something previously hidden and unknown, something needed to reach a practical or theoretical goal. Observation must be distinguished from recognition, or the perception of what is familiar. Identifying something already understood is indeed indispensable to further investigation (see p. 119). But recognition is relatively automatic and passive, while true observation is searching and deliberate. Recognition concerns what has already been mastered. Observation concerns mastering the unknown. Some common ideas about perception have played a disastrous role in educational methods. These include the idea that perception is like writing on a blank piece of paper. Another is that it impresses an image on the mind, as a seal marks wax or a picture forms on a photographic plate. These ideas arise from failing to distinguish automatic recognition from the searching attitude of genuine observation. II. We can learn much about choosing suitable material for observation by considering how eagerly and closely people observe a story or drama. Observation is most alert wherever there is "plot interest." Why? Because the old and the new, the familiar and the unexpected, are combined in balance. We hang on the storyteller's every word because of the mental suspense. Possible outcomes are suggested but left uncertain, so our whole being asks: What happened next? How did things turn out? Compare how easily and fully a child notices all the important features of a story. Then consider how laborious and inadequate the child's observation is when the object is dead and static, raising no questions and suggesting no alternative outcomes. A similar situation arises when a person is doing or making something, unless the activity is so mechanical and habitual that its outcome is certain. Something will come from what the person senses, but exactly what is uncertain. The plot is moving toward success or failure, but just when or how is unclear. That is why constructive manual work involves keen, concentrated observation of conditions and results. The same principle of movement toward an outcome may apply to less personal subject matter. It is common knowledge that moving things attract attention while things at rest escape notice. Yet too often, it almost seems that care has been taken to strip school observation materials of all life and drama. The material is reduced to a dead and inert form. Change alone, however, is not enough. Shifts, alterations, and motion excite observation, but if they only excite it, there is no thought. The changes must build on one another in a certain order, like the events of a well constructed story or plot. Each change must both remind us of the one before it and arouse interest in the next. Only then can observing change be logically fruitful. Living things, plants and animals, meet this double requirement to an extraordinary degree. Where there is growth, there is motion, change, and process. The changes are also arranged in a cycle. The first feature arouses observation. The second organizes it. Children take extraordinary interest in planting seeds and watching the stages of their growth. Much of that interest comes from the drama unfolding before their eyes. Something is happening, and each step matters to the plant's future. On inspection, the great practical improvements in teaching botany and zoology in recent years can be seen to involve treating plants and animals as beings that act and do things. They are not treated as merely inert specimens with fixed properties to be listed, named, and recorded. When treated as inert specimens, observation is inevitably reduced to false "analysis" (see p. 112), to mere dissection and listing. Of course, observing the static qualities of objects has an important place. But when the primary interest is in function, in what an object does, there is a reason for closer analytical study of its structure. Interest in an activity gradually becomes interest in how the activity is carried out. Interest in what is accomplished becomes interest in the organs that accomplish it. But when study begins with morphology and anatomy, with noting distinctive features of form, size, color, and the arrangement of parts, the material is so cut off from meaning that it becomes dead and dull. Once children are interested in how a plant breathes, it is natural for them to look closely for its stomata. It is just as repellent to examine the stomata closely when they are considered isolated features of structure. III. Observation becomes more consciously intellectual as its center of interest becomes less personal and less aesthetic. It becomes less a matter of finding means to achieve one's own ends. It also becomes less a matter of how parts contribute to an overall emotional effect. Pupils learn to observe for three purposes: (i) to discover what kind of puzzle confronts them, (ii) to infer possible explanations for the puzzling features observation reveals, and (iii) to test the ideas thus suggested. In short, observation becomes scientific. Such observation should follow a rhythm between broad and intensive study. Problems become definite, and proposed explanations become meaningful, through alternating between two kinds of observation. One is a broad, somewhat loose absorption of relevant facts. The other is a closely accurate study of a few selected facts. The broader, less exact observation is necessary to give students a feeling for the reality of the field of inquiry. It gives them a sense of the field's context and possibilities. It also fills their minds with material that imagination can turn into suggestions. Intensive study is necessary to define the problem and secure the conditions for experimental testing. Intensive study alone is too specialized and technical to stimulate intellectual growth. Broad observation alone is too superficial and scattered to guide intellectual development. In the life sciences, field study, excursions, and familiarity with living things in their natural habitats may alternate with microscopic and laboratory observation. In the physical sciences, students should encounter phenomena of light, heat, electricity, moisture, and gravity in their broad natural setting, their setting in the physical landscape. This should prepare them for exact study of selected facts under controlled laboratory conditions. In this way, students gain the benefit of technical scientific methods of discovery and testing. At the same time, they retain a sense that the forms of energy studied in the laboratory are the same as the larger realities outdoors. They thereby avoid the impression, which so often develops, that the facts studied are peculiar to the laboratory. § 3. Communication of Information
When all is said and done the field of fact open to any one observer by himself is narrow. Into every one of our beliefs, even those that we have worked out under the conditions of utmost personal, first-hand acquaintance, much has insensibly entered from what we have heard or read of the observations and conclusions of others. In spite of the great extension of direct observation in our schools, the vast bulk of educational subject-matter is derived from other sources—from text-book, lecture, and viva-voce interchange. No educational question is of greater import than how to get the most logical good out of learning through transmission from others.
In the end, the range of facts any one person can observe alone is narrow. All our beliefs are shaped, often without our noticing, by what we have heard or read about others' observations and conclusions. This is true even of beliefs we have formed through the closest firsthand experience. Schools now make much greater use of direct observation. Even so, most educational material still comes from other sources: textbooks, lectures, and spoken exchanges. No educational question is more important than how to get the greatest benefit for clear thinking from learning through others.
Doubtless the chief meaning associated with the word instruction is this conveying and instilling of the results of the observations and inferences of others. Doubtless the undue prominence in education of the ideal of amassing information (ante, p. 52) has its source in the prominence of the learning of other persons. The problem then is how to convert it into an intellectual asset. In logical terms, the material supplied from the experience of others is testimony: that is to say, evidence submitted by others to be employed by one's own judgment in reaching a conclusion. How shall we treat the subject-matter supplied by text-book and teacher so that it shall rank as material for reflective inquiry, not as ready-made intellectual pabulum to be accepted and swallowed just as supplied by the store?
Without doubt, the main meaning of instruction is passing on and instilling the results of other people's observations and conclusions. Without doubt, education places too much emphasis on gathering information (ante, p. 52) because it emphasizes learning from others. The problem, then, is how to turn what we learn from others into an intellectual asset. In logical terms, material drawn from others' experience is testimony: that is, evidence others offer for us to judge as we reach a conclusion. How can we treat material from textbooks and teachers as a basis for reflective inquiry? How can we avoid treating it as ready-made intellectual food to be accepted and swallowed just as the store supplies it?
In reply to this question, we may say (i) that the communication of material should be needed. That is to say, it should be such as cannot readily be attained by personal observation. For teacher or book to cram pupils with facts which, with little more trouble, they could discover by direct inquiry is to violate their intellectual integrity by cultivating mental servility. This does not mean that the material supplied through communication of others should be meager or scanty. With the utmost range of the senses, the world of nature and history stretches out almost infinitely beyond. But the fields within which direct observation is feasible should be carefully chosen and sacredly protected.
In response to this question, we may say (i) that the material communicated should be needed. In other words, it should be material that pupils cannot easily discover through their own observation. Teachers or books may cram pupils with facts they could discover for themselves with little more effort. Doing so violates their intellectual integrity by teaching them to depend passively on others. This does not mean that the material supplied by others should be limited or scanty. Even with full use of our senses, the world of nature and history stretches almost infinitely beyond what we can observe. But we should carefully choose and protect the areas where direct observation is possible.
(ii) Material should be supplied by way of stimulus, not with dogmatic finality and rigidity. When pupils get the notion that any field of study has been definitely surveyed, that knowledge about it is exhaustive and final, they may continue docile pupils, but they cease to be students. All thinking whatsoever—so be it is thinking—contains a phase of originality. This originality does not imply that the student's conclusion varies from the conclusions of others, much less that it is a radically novel conclusion. His originality is not incompatible with large use of materials and suggestions contributed by others. Originality means personal interest in the question, personal initiative in turning over the suggestions furnished by others, and sincerity in following them out to a tested conclusion. Literally, the phrase "Think for yourself" is tautological; any thinking is thinking for one's self.
(ii) Material should be provided to stimulate thought, not presented as rigid and final. Pupils may come to believe that a field of study has been fully explored and that knowledge of it is complete and final. They may remain obedient pupils, but they stop being students. All thinking, as long as it is thinking, contains some originality. This does not mean that a student's conclusion differs from others' conclusions, much less that it is radically new. A student can be original while making extensive use of materials and suggestions provided by others. Originality means taking a personal interest in a question and taking the initiative to consider others' suggestions. It also means sincerely following those suggestions through to a tested conclusion. Literally, the phrase "Think for yourself" is redundant. All thinking is thinking for oneself.
(iii) The material furnished by way of information should be relevant to a question that is vital in the student's own experience. What has been said about the evil of observations that begin and end in themselves may be transferred without change to communicated learning. Instruction in subject-matter that does not fit into any problem already stirring in the student's own experience, or that is not presented in such a way as to arouse a problem, is worse than useless for intellectual purposes. In that it fails to enter into any process of reflection, it is useless; in that it remains in the mind as so much lumber and débris, it is a barrier, an obstruction in the way of effective thinking when a problem arises.
(iii) Information should be relevant to a question that matters in the student’s own experience. The same criticism of observations that begin and end in themselves applies to learning from others. Instruction is worse than useless for intellectual purposes if it does not connect to a problem already stirring in the student’s experience. The same is true if instruction is not presented in a way that raises a problem. Such instruction is useless because it plays no part in reflective thought. It also remains in the mind as clutter and debris, blocking effective thinking when a problem arises.
Another way of stating the same principle is that material furnished by communication must be such as to enter into some existing system or organization of experience. All students of psychology are familiar with the principle of apperception—that we assimilate new material with what we have digested and retained from prior experiences. Now the "apperceptive basis" of material furnished by teacher and text-book should be found, as far as possible, in what the learner has derived from more direct forms of his own experience. There is a tendency to connect material of the schoolroom simply with the material of prior school lessons, instead of linking it to what the pupil has acquired in his out-of-school experience. The teacher says, "Do you not remember what we learned from the book last week?"—instead of saying, "Do you not recall such and such a thing that you have seen or heard?" As a result, there are built up detached and independent systems of school knowledge that inertly overlay the ordinary systems of experience instead of reacting to enlarge and refine them. Pupils are taught to live in two separate worlds, one the world of out-of-school experience, the other the world of books and lessons.
Another way to state the same principle is that communicated material must fit into some existing system or organization of experience. All students of psychology know the principle of apperception: we absorb new material by connecting it with what we have understood and retained from past experiences. As far as possible, the "apperceptive basis" for material from teachers and textbooks should come from the learner's own, more direct experiences. There is a tendency to connect classroom material only with earlier school lessons, instead of linking it to what the pupil has learned outside school. The teacher says, "Don't you remember what we learned from the book last week?" instead of asking, "Don't you remember something you have seen or heard?" As a result, separate and independent systems of school knowledge build up. They sit passively on top of the pupil's ordinary experience, instead of interacting with it to expand and refine it. Pupils are taught to live in two separate worlds: one of experience outside school and another of books and lessons.