It is hardly necessary to point out that the conception of history which is pleaded for here includes the history of thought, of art, and of religion; and that so far as is possible, this history should be learnt by direct recourse to its sources in the classic literature and art of the past. But generous and comprehensive as the provision for acquiring knowledge should be, the educational process has not finished its business until it has habituated the youth to the task of using this knowledge as the basis and material of independent thought. Democracy faces no greater danger than the inability of the people to exercise a critical judgment upon the voices that clamour for their suffrages; and the experiences of war-time have shown that freedom is not inconsistent with a very dangerous unreflective docility on the part of the public. This danger is the greater when the staple of a people’s reading is the daily press, which envelops men in the tumult and the clangour of passing events without providing them with the longer perspective necessary to a valid judgment. The power of the demagogue and the tyranny of the press are to be mitigated only by an educational process which does two things—first of all, provides a background of general knowledge and interest, and second, turns out individuals able and accustomed to think for themselves. And just because the life of democracy requires free discussion, the school curriculum should contain stated provision for the discussion of current matters, which would turn out to be a powerful stimulant of independent thought, especially in its critical aspects. The more constructive and sustained elements in independent thought may be encouraged by a careful development of the time-honoured method of the essay. But whatever the precise methods may be, the aim must be the systematic encouragement of the habit of independent thought; and in this connection, with proper safeguards against putting a premium on “cussedness,” it is important that dissenting and minority opinions, which whether right or wrong contain some guarantee of independence, should be welcomed and valued as the promise of ultimate social usefulness.
VI
Important as the materials and methods of education are, we cannot afford to forget that there are two other elements of our problem, closely related to one another, which are in the end of greater importance. The first of these is the teacher. It is not a gratuitous slander upon the general body of teachers to say that the whole method of recruiting teachers and the conditions of the teaching profession tend to degrade teaching into a trade. A great deal needs to be done to exalt the teacher’s office in the public mind; and the teaching profession should be so honoured as to give it the first call upon the human material in the community. As things are, it is far too much regarded as a means of livelihood, comparatively easily qualified for, and tolerably well remunerated; and the training required for admission into the profession is quite inadequate. If only teaching were rightly esteemed and its practitioners held in such honour as even judges, who do a much inferior work, are held, it would be possible to exercise a far more careful selection of persons suited by their temperamental and moral characters for the work. For we have to look for something infinitely greater than the successful communication of knowledge, or the training of mental faculties. Robert Owen followed an essentially sound instinct when, having established a school for infants in New Lanark he put at the head of it a man who could neither read or write, but who was familiar with birds and flowers and had “a way with him.” Robert Louis Stevenson, writing of Wordsworth, says, “I do not know that you learn a lesson. You need not agree with any of his beliefs; and yet a spell is cast. Such are the best teachers. A dogma learned is only a new error, the old one was perhaps as good. But a spirit communicated is a perpetual possession. These best teachers climb beyond teaching to the plane of art; it is themselves and what is best in themselves that they communicate.” It was said during the education controversy in England that some teachers taught more religion in an hour’s arithmetic lesson than others did in a year of “religious instruction,” and the saying is true. It is the spirit communicated that makes the difference between a real and a spurious education.
Especially is this the case when we consider the business of education from the point of view of social efficiency. For the prerequisite of social efficiency is social vision, social passion; and this is supremely a matter of contagion. For this reason, the true type of teacher will be devoid of the pontifical, ex-cathedra temper and will rather seek out a relation of comradeship with his pupils. The form of a democratic education will be essentially co-operative; and its spirit will be that of fellowship. This brings us to the second outstanding point of our discussion, namely, the question of “atmosphere.” Upon this subject there is little more to be said than what is contained in Professor Dewey’s dictum that the school should so far as possible be a miniature of the society we desire to create. The creation of “atmosphere” is of course specifically the task of the faculty; and the eagerness and the enthusiasm of their participation in the more informal amenities of school life is an important factor in the process. But most of all is a genuine social passion in themselves the surest guarantee that they will help in the making of socially creative and effective persons.
Much is being said at the present time concerning the introduction of military training into schools. It is worth notice in passing that Mr. Fisher, the British Minister of Education, recently informed a deputation of miners that the government had canvassed the question and had decided that the innovation had neither educational nor military value and would not be adopted. It is no doubt true that military training would have a beneficial effect upon the physique of the boys; but, quite apart from its dubious value for education and any subsequent purpose, it must be observed that the genius of the military business is intrinsically hostile to the development of the democratic ideals. For the military organisation is a regimentation of men for power; it entails the mechanisation of the human material and imposes a discipline of uniformity upon those who are subject to it. Democratic education has to do with life, and its genius moves in the direction of the largest possible spontaneity and variation in the individuals with whom it has to do. Moreover, military discipline introduces the authoritarian temper into the atmosphere; and this is a temper altogether at variance with the spirit of frank comradeship in which a democratic education should be pursued. What advantages may accrue to the future in the shape of improved physical health and strength in the community is more than counter-balanced by the injection of an undemocratic virus into the minds of those who are called to sustain the democracy of the future.
Nor is it impossible to compensate ourselves for the loss of physical training consequent upon the rejection of military training. For there are other ways of providing for physical efficiency; and those other ways are more consistent with the aim of a democratic education. In the sports field, for instance, you have at once an instrument of physical training as well as a definite education in a team work, which does not depend upon uniform and synchronous movements commanded from without, but upon the intelligence and dexterity of the players themselves. Moreover, the sports field affords an illustration of the proper use of the competitive spirit. The military discipline has its eye upon potential enemies to be destroyed; the sports discipline has its eye upon rival teams of friends and thus always a cheer for the beaten team in the end. It has been observed that the difference in temper between the behaviour of the German and the English soldier was to be traced to the fact that the football field had played a large part in the training of the latter; and it is not unlikely that even the superior military efficiency of the English soldier in the latter stages of the war has to be attributed to the same circumstance. In any case, sportsmanship is nearer akin to the spirit of democracy than the military discipline.
A plea has been made for military training on the ground that the rhythm of its movements has a certain psychological value. That the place of rhythm in education has been neglected is indeed true; and there is little doubt that a more sustained attention to it would add much to physical grace and the joy and beauty of life. The question, however, remains whether the military rhythm which rests upon a principle of regularity is likely to have the psychological effects proper to such education as these pages contemplate. The rhythm of the folk-dance like the rhythm of the ballad is a far more accurate version of the rhythm which is natural to men and women; and the rhythm of Walt Whitman, which is of the same order, reflects the genuine rhythm of democracy. The Eurhythmics of Dalcroze, because they encourage a spontaneous self-expression through the free rhythmical movement of the body promise more for the future grace and beauty of democratic life than a military discipline can from its very nature do.
VII
The sum of the matter then is this, that the test of a true democratic education lies in the quality and power of the social vision it evokes in the growing child, in the measure of power and capacity it gives to the child to share in the realisation of the vision, and in this sharing to give to the child the inspiring and joyous promise of personal self-fulfilment. Here we have tried only to sketch in very rough and fragmentary outline what would appear to be the temper and the general configuration of such an educational process; and much has been omitted which naturally belongs to a full discussion of the subject. Of the place of dramatic and symbolic activities in education, generous notice should be taken in any extended treatment, for it is obvious, first of all that the dramatic and the symbolic make a peculiar appeal to the child, and second, that the social enthusiasm which it is our desire to quicken can be quickened more effectively in no other way. There is one point, however, upon which it might serve an immediate purpose to dwell. The graduation ceremony in an American school provides a fitting close to a school career; it rounds it off with dignity and solemnity. But something more than this should be done—whether on leaving school or college or trade school—in order to impress upon the individual that he is passing into another world demanding other and more responsible service. Some solemn ceremonial of initiation into the rights and responsibilities of citizenship, accompanied by every circumstance of gravity and reverence, should furnish the fitting close to the period of training. At present we slip out into the business of life in a ragged insignificant way. Our entry upon responsible citizenship should be signalised by a great public observance which should serve the purpose not only of launching the youth upon his course in life, but also of reminding the rest of the community of its vows and its obligations to the common life.[[58]]
[58]. This discussion closes without any attempt to deal with the problem of education beyond the school age. The office of the University in democratic development is obviously large and important; but here again the writer confesses his inability to handle the subject adequately with any degree of confidence. Valuable suggestions concerning the social ministry of the University may be found in The Coming Polity, by Patrick Geddes and Victor Branford, especially in the chapter on “The University Militant.”